#and not diffusing it through layers

[bodhiscurls]

put a little love on me. ( bodhi durran )

after a surprise attack on bodhi, being jumped by four cadets you're the first person he runs to. or alternatively, fire signet reader using her hands as a diffuser after she washes his curls.

pairing: bodhi durran x fem! reader

themes: fluff mainly, mentions of blood.

a soft thud lands at your door.

it's not strong enough to be a knock which alarms you. nobody you know has any reason to be at your door and the one person who does can just walk right through the wards. you knot your brows in confusion and turn the handle, a body immediately collapsing into yours.

"bodhi?" your heart stops as you catch his tired frame before he does more damage and hits the stone floor. his breath is hot on your skin as he lets out a groan, hand clutching his side. "bodhi?" you whisper again, "come on babe we gotta get you up," and you make a plan to move him to the bed.

he's heavy and so warm, the sweat trickling from his brows and down to the sides of your neck. by the time you've sat him upright, you're heaving for air.

"you're okay right?" he makes out through a wince. he lets go of the side of his ribs he's been clutching since he landed at the door and reaches for your hands, looking to your gaze. you stand above him and the muscles in neck ache to reach up but he does it to meet your worried eyes.

"i'm fine," you stress, "what the fuck happened to you?" and he lets out a sigh of relief, shoving his head into your stomach to relieve the pressure. your fingers find his hair and you tug at the strands, blood still wet flattening his usual bounce of curls and you pull back.

at the withdraw of your touch he opens his eyes again, "some asshole cadets jumped me on my way back," and he fights to stand up. your hands immediately go to his shoulders and plant him back down onto your soft sheets with a quiet but forceful shush. the warning in your eyes is scary enough to make him comply immediately and he relaxes at the sight of you being safe.

it takes you a second to let realisation hit and when it does your heart splits open in to. he didn't head straight for the healers, he came straight here for you. he assessed and asked how you were even as he was collapsing in your embrace.

"i thought they would've tried coming for you too," he lets out softly, fingers itching to cradle your face gently and you lean into his touch.

"where are they now?" you ask in the quiet of your bedroom.

"dead," he hangs his head low but there's no ounce of regret in his being. he did what he had to do to survive and you more than anyone knew that living at this hellhole was a constant matter of survival. "don't know who they are though," he says after a moment.

"i guess we'll find out tomorrow when they meet the death scroll," you run your fingers up and down his arm and he shivers at the touch. "come on big boy, let's get you cleaned up."

bodhi's regained some little strength to lift himself off the bed but you still are slung under his arms, shifting his weight as you both paddle in the direction of your bathroom. he takes a seat on the edge of the bathtub and slowly you peel each layer of clothing off him until he's laid bare.

"fuck," you swear softly.

usually it's said in adoration, in disbelief and absolute love for the man infront of you. only tonight, the feelings are still there but its overshadowed with worry and fear.

"maybe we should get you to a healer," your fearful eyes meets his and he shakes his head softly. you guess he doesn't want to make a fuss, he doesn't want it to be known that he'd been attacked in case it'd fuel further questions about his abilities and strength. as a marked one, you would always be targeted and bodhi durran had accepted his fate as being at risk. he'd still punish those who crossed him with death but it was just part of life.

the blue and purple hues are splattered across his body. there must have been a good few of them to damage this wide and this quickly to him. your eyes land on a gash to his side- the ribs he was clutching earlier and you wet a small towel with some water and hold it to his side as a compress. you're razor focused on his skin, maintaining immediate injuries and calming the fury inside of you at tonight's events.

he places a hand over your own, enveloping you in warmth. "really," he promises, "you should've seen the other guys," he weakly jokes and immediately silences himself when he doesn't find you laughing with him. a scold at the tip of your tongue ready to burn him.

you grab hold of his hand to take over as a compress and make your way around him to start filling up the tap. the sounds of water rushing takes over the angry silence between the two of you, and he wonders what he could possibly say to lighten the load off your shoulders. your hands sink into pool of water forming- a small sizzle before the water heats to a perfect temperature.

"get in,"' you look at him.

"yes ma'am," he holds out his hand for you take and lead him in, and multiple groans leave his mouth as soon as his flesh meets the warmth of the basin.

"fuck me," his muscles relax.

"maybe tomorrow after dinner if you're still alive by then,"' you return and hand him a washcloth. he makes work of it quickly, scrubbing down his body and softening the remenants of blood. his body tenses with pain after a few moments and you take the cloth from him, carrying on into the spots he's missed till hes all clean. he's leaned back into the tub and you refill clean hot water into it.

"yn," he mutters softly.

"yes my love," you're round the back of the tub and bodhi hates that he's hardly gotten to see you face to face tonight but he's thankful more than anything that you're here by his side. you work your way with some shampoo into his roots and he knocks his head back, relishing in your touch.

"please keep doing that," he lets another moan slip from his lips and you massage his head gently. when the rush of water runs through turning clear from the reddish brown splotches, you are satisfied and start with conditioner. you massage and scrunch his hair, tugging at his roots and the spots you know he loves and he enjoys every moment of this. next comes a blend of cream into his hair and you're gentle when you detangle, curling each strand around your fingertips till they drop down onto his forehead. the inky silkiness shining in the dark of your bathroom.

"almost done," you breathe and he nods lightly, finding himself drifting to sleep. your hands heat up with another sizzle and you gently cup each of his curls, taking the time to make sure his hair is dried at a temperature that doesn't burn his scalp.

soft snores envelope the air and a small smile breaks into your lips. you could've lost him tonight. instead of going straight to a healer and safety, he ran to you out of concern for your wellbeing. even as death knocked on his door, you were his first priority and your heart swells.

a tear slips from your eye from the love embodied infront of you and you fight back a sniffle, distracting yourself in hopes the sleeping soldier will stay resting.

your hands heat up with another sizzle and they find the back of his neck and into the muscles at back tracing all the skin thats burned into your memory and he shifts slightly.

"bodhi darling," your voice trickles, heavy with emotion.

"hmm," he stirrs.

"we need to get up my love," and you have the towel ready for him to step into. he complains and groans, wanting to say in the warm slumber for a moment longer but you rest your hand on his.

"come on baby, just a couple more steps and you can sleep as long as you can," you coach. he complies silently, and wraps himself into the towel. you guide him back to the bedroom and sit him back on the bed.

"i'll be back in a moment, just gotta grab some clothes," you press a kiss to his warm forehead. he whines and tugs you back into his grasp and holds you steady as you stand between his legs.

"stay," he mumbles against your skin.

"i will," you promise, "we just have to get you changed." he nuzzles into you and you sigh, weaving your fingers back through his freshly washed hair. it's intimate and seeing him so relaxed, so off guard is special to you knowing you're the only one who's allowed to see this version of him.

the version that carries no burdens only a boyish charm.

"i'll be right back baby," you promise and he nods sleepily. you race to the dresser to find some clothes he's left here last and return within milliseconds. you help him dress and tuck him into the covers, climbing in next to him.

"you're so toasty," he presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek. and you thank the universe for your gift of a signet.

"i'm glad you're okay," your words tug a smile onto his face and he draws you closer till theres no air left between the two of you. "i don't know what i'd do without you," your breath catches in your throat.

he looks up lazily but theres earnest swimming in those brown eyes. "you don't have to," he swears, "because nothing on this earth can keep me from you."

note: don't ask me how there's a war but you have shampoo conditioner curl cream gel and some oil. there just is!

[faebled-stories]

In the Shadows of Fantasy

Kinkvember Day 2: Roleplay/CNC

Shin Ryujin x Male (????)

TW: Non-Con Themes (first time writing this sort of scenes.)

6.2k words

On a quiet evening in her snug apartment, the bustling world outside felt like a distant dream, imbued with an air of surreal calmness. The remnants of a vibrant day, filled with the excitement of promoting for ITZY, lingered faintly in her mind, but like a gentle tide, it was ebbing away, gradually replaced by the soothing hum of her sanctuary. After conquering the frenetic energy of rehearsals, interviews, and eager fans, Ryujin relished stepping across the threshold into her own little bubble of peace. The muted symphony of the city—a soft hum of distant honks and faintly echoing conversations—enveloped her, whispering tales of life outside while allowing her the comfort of solitude.

Her sanctuary was a refuge, a warm hug against the chill of the metropolitan hustle. As she entered her cozy space, the atmosphere exuded comfort; the soft, golden glow from carefully placed lamps created playful shadows that danced across the walls, turning the stark lines of her apartment into something softer, more inviting. The ambiance wrapped around her in layers of warmth, a stark contrast to the chaos of the outside world. As she sank onto her plush bed, enveloped in a knitted blanket, the remnants of the hot shower she had just indulged in lingered around her, a steamy embrace that melted away the exhaustion of her day. The warm water had worked wonders, loosening her tense muscles and leaving her in a state of relaxed bliss.

Wrapped in her silky pink pajamas—a delicate tapestry of fabric that brushed against her skin like a soft whisper—Ryujin felt a wave of relief wash over her. The delicate lace trim of her pajamas was not just an embellishment; it was a small act of indulgence, a reminder that even in a world that demanded strength and poise, the quiet luxuries of self-care were invaluable. Her long black hair, still damp and slightly tousled from the shower, had been pulled into a loose, messy bun, radiating an effortless elegance as if she were embodying the beauty of simplicity. In this personal space, Ryujin cherished the joy of authenticity, free from the public scrutiny that accompanied her life on stage.

Before fully sinking into the serene embrace of her evening rituals, Ryujin felt the familiar buzz of her phone. She reached for it, quickly thumbing through her messages. A smile tugged at her lips as she read through the lively chatter in her group chat with her bandmates. They were making plans for the night, a rare and precious opportunity to unwind amidst their demanding schedules. She quickly typed her response, crafting her words with care,

“Sorry, I can’t meet up later. I’ve already got plans for tonight.”

A wave of hesitation washed over her. It was true—she had plans, albeit not the kind that involved meeting friends for dinner or drinks. As she sent the message, a flutter of excitement coursed through her, igniting a spark of anticipation. The girls replied with understanding, their supportive words bringing a warmth to her heart. She locked her phone and tucked it beneath the comforting folds of her blanket, her pulse slowing as she glanced around her apartment. The gentle glow of candles flickered soothingly, the air thick with the aroma of serenity, a sharp contrast to the exhilarating chaos she had just left behind.

The scents of lavender and vanilla blended harmoniously, wrapping around her like an invisible shawl. A diffuser on her nightstand sent delicate puffs of lavender oil into the air, its calming properties weaving throughout the room, while a vanilla-scented candle flickered softly on the coffee table, casting moving shadows that danced playfully across the tidy space. Scattered around her were remnants of the day—magazines, photos, promotional flyers—tokens and trinkets of her fast-paced existence. Yet, in this tranquil sanctuary, they felt more like mementos of a bygone affair, whispering echoes of a vibrant life now tucked away as she embraced her present.

Ryujin let out a deep, contented sigh, surrendering fully to the plush comfort of her bed. As her mind wandered, she began to scroll through pictures from the day’s events—captured smiles and spontaneous laughter with her bandmates and the adoring fans who filled the venue with enthusiasm. The vivid memories—bright stage lights, pulsing music, and the electric energy of a crowd—swirled within her, a vibrant tapestry woven from moments of authenticity and connection. Yet, here, nestled in her softly lit living room, with the city humming a lullaby outside, she felt a reassuring sense of peace wash over her. This was her moment, a rare stillness amidst a world that rarely paused to breathe.

With her feet tucked comfortably beneath her, Ryujin relished every second of this quiet solitude. The world outside could wait; tonight, she would luxuriate in her own tranquility, enveloped by warmth, the scent of her favorite candles, and the knowledge that within the chaos of her life, she could carve out a corner meant solely for introspection and self-appreciation. Here, in her sanctuary, she could simply be Ryujin—the girl behind the stage lights, the one finding solace in the quiet power of her own company.

The tranquility of Ryujin's home was shattered by a sudden, deafening crash. The sound, akin to a gunshot, reverberated through the living room, its echoes bouncing off the walls and jolting the young idol from her peaceful reverie. The serene stillness of the dimly lit hallway before her was now a corridor of uncertainty, a pathway to an unknown danger that had so rudely intruded upon her sanctuary.

As the initial shock subsided, the pounding of heavy footsteps against the wooden floorboards sent waves of dread through Ryujin's petite frame. Each thud was a drumbeat of impending doom, the rhythm growing louder and more insistent as the source of the disturbance drew nearer. Her heart, a wild drum in her chest, pounded in sync with the advancing threat, the surge of adrenaline sharpening her senses to a painful acuity.

The darkness in the hallway seemed to deepen, and from its depths, a figure emerged—a menacing silhouette that moved with deliberate intent. Ryujin's instincts screamed for her to flee, but fear rooted her to the spot. Her attempt to cry out for help died in her throat, a silent scream that hung heavy in the air.

As the intruder drew closer, the dim light revealed his obscured features—a black ski mask concealed his identity, and his eyes, those piercing, manic eyes, gleamed with a dangerous intensity that sent shivers down Ryujin's spine. His presence was a palpable threat, a predator in her home, and she knew with a sinking certainty that her world was about to be upended.

With a roughness that took her breath away, the man seized Ryujin by the shoulders, his grip an iron vice that she couldn't break free from. He hoisted her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing, ignoring her frantic struggles and the blows she rained down upon his back. Her attempts to break free were met with a firm smack to her backside, a humiliating assertion of his control over her. His hands, now freed from the task of restraining her, roamed over her body with a sense of entitlement that made her blood run cold.

The journey down the hallway to her bedroom was a blur of panic and disbelief. Ryujin's mind raced, searching for a way to escape the nightmare that had ensnared her. But her efforts were in vain; the intruder's strength was overwhelming, and her bedroom—a space that had always been a haven—was now the stage for her terror.

Tossed onto the bed like a ragdoll, Ryujin's breath was knocked from her lungs. The bedframe creaked ominously under the sudden addition of weight, and she scrambled to regain her footing, to put distance between herself and the monster that loomed over her. But he was on her in an instant, his body pinning hers to the mattress with terrifying ease.

"Stop! Who are you? What are you doing?" Ryujin's voice was a tremulous whisper, laced with the kind of fear that claws at the throat and threatens to suffocate. The room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a prison, the air thick with the scent of her own fear and the sickening sweetness of the intruder's breath.

His response was a cruel laugh that seemed to mock her vulnerability, he silenced her attempts to scream. "Silence," he hissed, the command a low growl that filled the room and silenced the last of her protests. His hands, calloused and rough, tore at her clothing with a ferocity that left her exposed and shivering in the cool air.

Ryujin's heart pounded in her chest like a trapped animal desperate for escape as she lay there, her wrists firmly ensnared in the iron grip of her captor. His hands, large and unyielding, were like manacles, pinning her to the cold, unforgiving surface beneath her. Her struggles were futile, her strength no match for the brute force that held her captive.

Tears carved rivulets down her cheeks, each one a silent testament to her terror. Her voice, once strong and defiant, was now a mere whisper as she begged for mercy. "Please, don't do this," she pleaded, her words laced with desperation. But the intruder, his eyes darkened with a lust that brooked no room for compassion, was deaf to her entreaties. He was a man possessed, his mind clouded by a perverse obsession that had consumed him whole.

"You’re mine now," he declared, his voice a guttural growl that resonated with the promise of unspeakable acts. The words hung in the air like a specter, filling the room with a palpable sense of dread. Ryujin's body trembled, not just from the chill of the room, but from the deep-seated fear that gripped her soul. She knew that her life was hanging by a thread, and that the man above her was the only one who held the power to sever it.

His breath, hot and ragged, washed over her face as he leaned in closer, his intentions clear. Ryujin felt a wave of nausea rise within her as she realized the horror that was about to unfold. She closed her eyes, trying to transport herself to a safer place, a happier memory, but the reality of her situation was an unbreakable chain that tethered her to the present.

The intruder's hands roamed over her body with a sense of entitlement, each touch a violation, a desecration of her being. Ryujin's mind raced, searching for a way out, a miracle that would deliver her from this nightmare. But as she lay there, helpless and afraid, she knew that her fate was sealed. The only thing left to do was to endure, to survive by any means necessary, and to hope against hope that she would live to see another day.

The roughness of his hands scraped against her soft skin, leaving a trail of dread in their wake. Ryujin's heart pounded in her chest, a frantic drumbeat that echoed the turmoil in her mind. Each grope, each unwanted caress, sent shockwaves of revulsion through her. His touch was a violation, a harsh juxtaposition to the gentle caresses she had once known.

His fingers, unyielding and intrusive, pried at her most private sanctum, a sacred space now desecrated by his relentless, cruel exploration. The intimate touch that should have been filled with warmth and mutual desire was instead laced with a cold, brutal possessiveness. It was a reminder of her loss of control, her autonomy stripped away by force.

Ryujin felt her very essence recoil from the abomination of his touch. Her body, once a vessel of joy and pleasure, now served as a battleground, a site of abuse. With each passing moment, the vile invasion further tainted her, leaving her feeling irreparably soiled, her spirit crying out against the defilement of her temple.

In the depths of her being, Ryujin's mind railed against the horror, a silent scream reverberating through her consciousness. She clung to the fragments of her dignity, a desperate act of defiance against the physical and emotional ravaging of her person. With each heartbeat, she fought to preserve a piece of herself untouched by the brutality that surrounded her, a small flame of resistance flickering in the darkness of her ordeal.

His depraved taunts sliced through the air, each word a lash against her dignity. "God look at you getting wet, I knew you were a slut hiding as an idol," he sneered, his voice dripping with malicious glee. His words were not just spoken; they were a deliberate and cruel violation of her spirit, an attempt to strip her of her identity and reduce her to nothing more than an object of his twisted desires.

Ryujin's denials were fierce, yet they seemed to dissipate into the ether, unacknowledged and invalidated by the monster looming above her. She mustered all her strength to form coherent words through her sobs, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and outrage. "No, please, you're wrong!" she pleaded, her eyes wide with terror, reflecting the shattered remnants of her once untouchable world.

But her tearful pleas fell on deaf ears. The intruder reveled in her distress, feeding off it, his smirk growing ever wider as he watched her struggle against the nightmare he had forced upon her. With each passing moment, her torment seemed to intensify, a crescendo of emotional and psychological pain that threatened to consume her entirely.

The man who claimed to be her fan, who had morphed into her captor, traced the contours of her vulnerability with a touch that was both invasive and terrifying. With a single finger, he probed her innocence, curling it in a gesture that was as much a violation as it was a perverse display of control. Scooping the essence of her fear and arousal, he brought it to her tear-streaked face, a macabre exhibition to prove his twisted point. "See? Even when you deny it, you love it," he sneered, before indulging in the taste of her terror, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure as she watched, paralyzed by the moment, her struggles futile under his oppressive grip.

The chill of his words cut deeper than the physical intrusion. "I've been watching you for some time now, I even attended your fan meet," he growled into her ear, the proximity of his breath a violation in itself. "The way you spoke to me, I knew you wanted this, wanted me." His statement was a delusion, a fabrication born from his obsessive desire to possess her.

With no regard for her well being, he forced his three longest fingers into her, cruelly exploring her depths as she fought against the invasion, her legs flailing in a desperate attempt to deny him access. A swift, stinging slap to her thighs served as a harsh reminder of her helplessness, and he pinned her legs open with his knees, ensuring her resistance was crushed under his relentless assault.

His hands were unyielding, pistoning with a ferocity that ignored her pleas for mercy. The slickness of her own arousal betrayed her, fueling his relentless rhythm. Each thrust was a reminder of her captivity, each cry that tore from her throat a testament to her suffering. But Ryujin was not one to surrender easily. With a surge of adrenaline, she mustered the strength to fight back, freeing a leg and landing a kick that momentarily freed her from his grasp. The brief respite was a fleeting victory, as her attempt to escape was swiftly thwarted by his longer reach and quick reflexes.

"You never know when to quit, do you?" he taunted, a smirk playing at his lips. "I should have seen this coming; you were always so strong." His eyes gleamed with a dangerous mix of admiration and malice. "But that only makes it sweeter—knowing how satisfying it’ll be when I finally reduce you to nothing but a toy." His words, dripping with twisted admiration, laid bare the sinister depths of his obsession.

The room that was once a haven of tranquility and self-expression, a scene of unfathomable horror was unfolding. The room, bathed in the dim glow of a solitary lamp, bore witness to a transformation that would leave its occupant forever scarred. This was no longer a sanctuary; it was a site of a struggle that would test the very limits of human resilience.

The walls, once adorned with vibrant colors and personal mementos, now stood as silent sentinels to an act of domination. As the assailant's eyes swept across the room, they settled on an object that would chill the blood of any onlooker: a length of rope, its very presence an ominous harbinger of what was to come. The rope, an everyday item twisted into an instrument of torment, lay coiled and waiting—its innocent origins now a distant memory in the face of its dark new purpose.

With a grip born of malice, the assailant seized the rope, its fibers a cruel contrast to the softness of the skin it would soon bind. The victim, a soul whose light had drawn many, now found herself ensnared by the very space that once celebrated her essence. As she was dragged towards the bed, a symbol of comfort turned into an altar of suffering, the rope in the assailant's hand became a grim portent of her impending entrapment.

"What is this for? You're a kinky little bitch, huh?" he sneered, the words a vile distortion of intimacy. Ryujin's denial was written in the frantic shake of her head and the terror etched across her face. Her gaze flickered towards a drawer.

Noticing her glance, he leaned over and pulled it open, his expression twisting with dark amusement as he uncovered the hidden item. "Well, well," he murmured, lifting the rainbow-colored dildo wrapped in cloth. "Looks like you've got your secrets." His tone was laced with cruel satisfaction as he held her private joy aloft, a personal item now transformed into a weapon for her degradation.

In a swift and brutal motion, she was thrown onto the bed, the force of the action resurfacing memories of what happened just moments ago. The assailant, driven by a desire to dominate and degrade, secured her hands to the bedpost with ruthless efficiency. The rope dug into her flesh, each strand a thread in the tapestry of her suffering.

The decision to leave her legs untied was a calculated one, a means to leave her completely and utterly vulnerable. The sense of exposure was all-consuming, rendering her utterly defenseless against the violence that was to follow.

Ryujin, whose name evoked images of a fierce idol known for her strength, grace and power. Now found herself trapped in a human drama of the darkest kind. Her heart raced, a frantic drumbeat against the silence that enveloped the room. With each desperate pull against the restraints, her unyielded spirit shone through the darkness of her situation, a beacon of resistance that refused to be extinguished.

The moment of violation arrived with a swift and violent plunge, an act that would seek to strip away her sense of self. The toy, once a source of personal enjoyment, was now an extension of her assailant's twisted desires. Its rainbow markings, a grotesque contrast to the act they were now part of, stood in stark contrast to the vibrancy they were meant to represent.

The struggle was internal as much as it was physical. I can't… not like this she thought, but her body, a finely tuned instrument honed through years of dance and performance, betrayed her. A quiet gasp slipped out, her legs trembling as she fought to maintain a composure that was being systematically dismantled. The toy filled her in a way that was impossible to ignore, its movements an unwelcome rhythm dictated by hands that had no right to touch her.

Teetering on the edge of her endurance, her mind spun in a desperate search for an anchor—a lifeline to cling to amidst the relentless onslaught. But the man, a specter of menace was unrelenting, a manifestation of her deepest fears made flesh.

With each passing second, Ryujin felt the invisible grip of inevitability tighten around her. It's too much, she realized, the thought piercing through the haze of her resistance. And just as this realization coalesced into a stark acceptance, her body tensed, betraying her final shred of resistance. A soft cry, born of a place where strength and vulnerability intertwine, escaped her lips as she let go, surrendering to the overwhelming sensation that threatened to consume her whole.

The orgasm that followed was not just a physical response; it was a shattering of the self, a detonation that rippled through every fiber of her being. For a moment, everything else vanished—erased by the pulsating, all-consuming release she had tried so hard to deny. "No, no, not like this—" she gasped, but her plea was lost in the tempest that raged within. The orgasm crashed through her like a rogue wave, her entire body seizing with the sudden intensity, leaving her breathless and exposed.

Her legs shook violently, her control lost to the tide of pleasure that surged through her core in overwhelming pulses. Each throb was a testament to the power of her adversary, a man who watched with a dark satisfaction etched into the harsh lines of his face. His gaze was fixed on her, a predator savoring the sight of his prey coming undone in his arms.

Ryujin's body arched into the pleasure she had tried so hard to resist, her mind too clouded with sensation to mount any further defense. Her composure, once a fortress, lay in ruins, each shudder tearing away the last remnants of her armor. She was completely vulnerable, exposed to the cruel whims of her attacker, a man who seemed to revel in the unraveling of her defenses.

With her legs trembling and the last of her resistance shattered, her orgasm wracked her until there was nothing left to give. She lay there, spent, her breaths coming in shallow bursts as the aftershocks pulsed faintly through her limbs. He held her, still reveling in the sight of his idol succumbing so completely to the moment.

The assault on her dignity continued as he began to undo his pants, letting her glimpse his hardening cock—a sight that was both repulsive and terrifying. He repeated his previous actions, dipping his fingers and letting Ryujin see just how wet she was from being handled against her will. "Just accept it, Ryujin, you're a slut, a slut who loves to be ra-" His words were cut off as a glob of saliva hit his face. Her defiance was palpable, "how dare you say such things, let me go, you freak," she tried to intimidate him despite her position.

This only made the man chuckle, a sound that was incongruously light against the gravity of the situation. He wiped the spit from his face and, without warning, he slapped her pussy and suddenly inserted his full length into her throbbing folds. A sharp gasp escaping Ryujin's lips as her body adjusted to the sudden abuse. His pace was relentless, each movement rough and mechanical, offering no reprieve from the overwhelming sensation.

"Stop… please…" Ryujin whimpered, her voice barely audible as she fought to hold on, her body bucking beneath him as she tried in vain to push him away.

"You want this," he hissed in response, his hips slamming into hers. "You knew what would happen, all those times you were up on the stage, shaking your ass with nothing but shorts that didn’t even cover your ass, you know what you were doing, don’t pretend you didn’t."

The words sent a shudder through her. In the privacy of her home, the fear took hold—would anyone even know to come help her? She should've just gone with the ITZY girls, but this was what she had wanted, a moment to herself, a chance to stay home and relax. Now, her desire for solitude had backfired, trapping her in a nightmare. Her mind rebelled against the raw brutality of it, while her body betrayed her with its responses.

"I… I don’t…" Ryujin gasped, her voice trembling as his thrusts became more punishing, forcing her to feel every inch of him inside her. The sensation was overwhelming—pain and pleasure mixed into one confusing, intoxicating wave.

The man grunted, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "You will take it. You’ll take everything I give you." He forcefully grabbed her hair, using it as a handle as he thrusted harder into her. If she just slightly brought her eyes down, she would be able to see the assault happening to her precious core, a sight that would haunt her long after the physical scars had healed.

Tears of frustration and shame spilled down her cheeks as Ryujin struggled to process the overwhelming intensity. Each brutal thrust tore through her, making her feel both powerless and consumed. Her body quaked with each movement, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she fought the conflicting emotions warring inside her.

"Please… stop…" Ryujin whispered again, but the plea fell on deaf ears. Her body, traitorous in its response, began to react to his touch, a warmth pooling deep within her core, betraying the turmoil of her heart and mind.

This scene, fraught with a harrowing mix of fear and arousal, is not just a moment but a narrative that underscores the intricate and often misunderstood nature of human sexuality and consent. Her voice, barely a whisper, laced with a mixture of fear and desperation, "No… No… I can't cum like this, not again," underscores the internal conflict that many victims of sexual coercion face. The struggle within her was palpable, a conflict between the primal urges of her flesh and the clear boundaries she so desperately wanted to maintain.

Yet, her tormentor was relentless. "You can, and you will. You want it, your body craves it," he growled, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate within her, stirring feelings she wished would remain dormant. His words were not just a statement but a command, an assertion of control that left her feeling powerless and exposed.

The intensity of the situation was undeniable, pulling her closer to the edge despite the tears that streamed down her face. Each sob was a silent scream, a plea for mercy that went unheard. She hated how much her body had betrayed her, how it responded to the very touch that repulsed her mind. The paradox of pleasure and pain intertwined, creating a storm of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

Just as his brutal thrusts reached their peak, his voice broke through in a ragged growl. “Fuck, your tight pussy is making me cum. I’m gonna fill you up so well,” he groaned, his member starting to pulsate inside her.

Panicking, Ryujin tried one last time to regain control. “Please don’t—anything but that. I’ll swallow everything, please don’t cum in me. I need to keep my job, please!” Her voice was desperate, her pleas frantic. But he ignored her, too far gone, the sound of her cries only pushing him closer to his inevitable release.

With a final, forceful slam of his hips, he buried himself deep inside her. His body tensed, grunting as the rush of his climax took hold. Ryujin’s body, pushed to its breaking point, betrayed her in the worst way possible. A choked, involuntary cry escaped her lips as she felt a molten heat bubble up from her core. “No, no, no—I can’t cum like this, I can’t—OH FUCK! NO!” Her protest turned into a scream as an intense orgasm ripped through her, unstoppable, her body convulsing against her will..

Every nerve was on fire, her entire being wracked with sensation as her climax overtook her. She could feel him inside her, his length pulsing, pumping one wave of release after another, spilling every drop of his cum deep into her womb. It was too much, her body buckling as the pleasure overwhelmed her.

When it was over, she lay there trembling, her limbs weak and unsteady. Conflicting emotions tore at her—shame and disgust mingled with the unsettling, undeniable relief her body had experienced. She felt a profound sense of humiliation, haunted by the fact that even under such circumstances, her body had responded so intensely, climaxing harder than ever before.

Her breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps as she tried to make sense of the chaotic swirl of sensations and the hollow feeling left behind. Finally, his movements slowed and stopped, his weight pressing heavily into her, pinning her further into the bed. For a moment, the only sound in the room was their ragged breathing, thick with exhaustion, filling the air like an unwelcome reminder.

But then, something shifted. He slowly peeled himself away from her, his movements hesitant, as though the air had grown thick between them. She felt him exit her, and a cold breeze hit her core, leaving her to shiver and her pussy pulsing. He stood, silent, and as Ryujin looked up, she saw him reach for the mask he had been wearing. He pulled it off, the fabric falling to the floor.

Her gaze followed it, and then she looked up, meeting his eyes. Something in his expression made her heart lurch. It wasn’t anger or disgust that she felt now—it was guilt. Sympathy and regret welled up inside her, twisting her stomach.

You stood there, staring down at her with a look of conflict, your shoulders heavy as if the weight of the moment had just settled on you.

“Did you… like that?” you asked finally, your voice soft, uncertain, almost fragile.

Ryujin blinked, trying to sort through the storm of emotions inside her. She had liked it, loved it even—there was no denying the raw intensity of what had just happened. The power of the orgasm had been overwhelming, consuming her entirely. But seeing the guilt in your eyes now made her chest tighten. She hadn’t realized the toll it had taken on you.

“I did,” she admitted softly, sitting up and pulling the blanket around herself for comfort. “But… I didn’t think it would be like this for you. I thought you’d enjoy it too.”

Her voice was tender, her eyes searching for understanding. She hadn’t anticipated this outcome, hadn’t realized that what had been a moment of intense release for her had left you feeling something much different. The realization hit her hard, and suddenly the thrill of the moment faded, replaced by the weight of everything left unsaid between you.

You let out a slow breath, running a hand through your hair. “I thought I would enjoy it. But halfway through, it stopped feeling like an act. It felt… too real.” You shook your head, guilt flashing across your face. “I don’t want to hurt you, Ryujin. Even if it’s just role-play.”

Ryujin’s heart sank as she heard the strain in your voice. The plan she had been so excited about—the one she’d been texting you earlier, coordinating in secret—suddenly felt like a misstep. She had wanted to explore this fantasy together, to push your boundaries, but now she saw how deeply it had affected you.

Seeing your troubled expression, Ryujin immediately reached out and took your hand, squeezing it gently. “You didn’t hurt me, I promise,” she said softly, her voice full of warmth and reassurance. She shifted closer to you, her fingers brushing through your hair, trying to comfort you. “I trusted you completely, and you didn’t cross any lines. You gave me exactly what I wanted.”

Your eyes softened as you looked at her, but the weight of your emotions was still evident. “I just didn’t expect it to feel so real. Seeing you like that—so vulnerable—it scared me. I wasn’t sure if I should stop. I wanted to make you feel good, but then it felt like too much.”

Ryujin’s heart ached seeing the guilt and confusion in your eyes. She could sense how much you had been battling internally, pushing through the moment for her sake. Her fingers gently traced your jawline as she spoke. “I know it felt intense. I know it was a lot. But you did everything right. You didn’t hurt me. It’s okay to feel unsure sometimes—it means you care, it means you’re thinking of me. And I love that about you.”

She pressed her forehead against yours, her breath warm and steady as she tried to ease your anxiety. “I’m sorry if I pushed you too far,” she whispered, her hand gently squeezing your shoulder. “This is our time, not just my time. If it ever feels too real, or if you’re uncomfortable, we stop. That’s what the safe word is for, remember? We’re always in control together.”

You exhaled, your body relaxing a little as her words sank in. You knelt beside her on the bed, your hands resting on her thighs, drawing strength from her presence. “I didn’t want to ruin it for you,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. “You looked so caught up in it, and I didn’t want to let you down.”

Ryujin shook her head gently, her heart full of affection as she cupped your face in her hands. “You could never let me down. You did exactly what I asked of you, and you did it because you love me. That means more than anything. We tried something new together, and that’s what matters. The fact that you care enough to worry about me—that’s what makes this work.”

Your eyes filled with gratitude as you leaned into her touch, feeling the weight of your worry begin to lift. “I’m not mad,” Ryujin continued, her voice soothing as she spoke. “We don’t have to rush back into this. I know it was intense, and maybe we can try again in the future if we both feel ready. But not until you’re comfortable.”

You nodded, your forehead resting against hers. “Thank you… for understanding and for being patient with me. I really didn’t like seeing you cry, even if it was part of the role-play.”

Ryujin smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “I know. I could feel it when you hesitated, but I also knew I was safe with you. You did everything right. It’s okay to take things slow next time. We’ll figure out what works for both of us.”

As she spoke, Ryujin wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close. She could feel the tension slowly ebbing away from your body, replaced by the quiet understanding that, while you hadn’t shared the exact same feelings during the moment, your love and trust remained strong.

“I love you,” Ryujin whispered into your ear, her voice steady and full of care. “We’ll always figure this out together. Don’t carry this weight by yourself.”

You hugged her tightly, your grip firm but tender. “I love you too. I just… I want to be what you need.”

Ryujin pulled back slightly, her eyes locking with yours. “You already are. Just by being here, by talking to me like this—you’re everything I need.”

Your breath hitched slightly, and Ryujin could see the relief wash over you, your shoulders relaxing as the guilt you’d been carrying finally started to dissolve.

You sat together, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the earlier intensity now softened by the quiet hum of the room. The air, still charged with the echoes of your shared vulnerability, gradually became a sanctuary of comfort. The rhythmic thrum of Ryujin’s heartbeat under your ear anchored you, a gentle reminder that in this moment, safety and love surrounded you.

The night hadn’t unfolded as either of you expected. While it was intended to push boundaries, it ended up brushing too close to an edge that felt unsettling. But here, in the quiet aftermath, the true strength of your bond revealed itself—not in flawless moments, but in facing the imperfect ones together.

Ryujin’s hand moved with a tender steadiness, fingers threading through your hair as she held you close. Her eyes, soft with understanding and glistening with unshed emotion, searched yours. The apology she whispered carried the weight of sincerity. “I’m sorry again for making you do something you weren’t comfortable doing,” she said, her voice low and earnest. The kiss she placed on your forehead lingered like a promise, warm and reassuring. “We should always both be enjoying it, okay?”

You felt a lump rise in your throat, a mixture of relief and gratitude. Her words resonated in the space between you, washing away the remnants of doubt that had lingered in the corners of your mind. You nodded, the gesture small but full of resolve. “Okay. If it ever feels like that again, I’ll tell you,” you said, your voice steadying as her hand tightened over yours.

A smile broke through the lingering tension on Ryujin’s face, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she nestled closer. The room felt warmer, filled not just with the heat of bodies, but with the shared understanding that mistakes were not failures—they were lessons. The moments of discomfort were laid to rest, and in their place grew something deeper: the affirmation that your love thrived not in perfection, but in how you navigated the imperfect.

Ryujin’s embrace became your refuge as the minutes passed, her breathing synchronizing with yours in a comforting rhythm. The world outside fell away, leaving only the steady beat of two hearts, learning and loving as one. Trust, communication, and care—these were the foundations of what you had. And in that moment, it felt like more than enough.

[eternalguk]

Pink Hearts & Black Clouds || jjk. — 01

Love me at my lowest, I’ll love you when you’re barely holding on

↠ Pairing : Jungkook x Reader

↠ Summary : Jeon Jungkook is the epitome of a brooding grunge. Moody, distant, and always a little too sarcastic. A grumpy, tattooed college student who barely tolerates anyone… except you. Somehow, the girl who’s a whirlwind of pink hearts and strawberry lipgloss is the one who keeps dear Jungkook on his toes.

But you must admit… behind that gruff exterior, there’s a side of him only you get to see—gentle, caring, and ready to spoil you in his own way. Everyone else may see him as the tough guy with a permanent scowl, but you know better. Jungkook’s heart? It’s all yours.

↠ Genre : established relationship au, college au, grunge!bf x bimbo!gf, angst, fluff & smut

↠ Word count : 3.8K

↠ Warnings : swearing, making out, teasing, exhibitionism (sex in a lecture theatre), unprotected sex, penetrative sex, rough sex, slight dumbification, dirty talk, begging, oral sex (m. receiving), ass smacking, scratching, dom!jungkook x sub!reader, use of pet names, sex on a desk (he hits it from the back at one point), a very moody but flirtatious Jungkook paired with bimbo!oc deserves its own warning :) - I think that’s about it?

↠ A/n : Hi there ; here it is! Chapter 01 of my first series, ‘pink hearts and black clouds’ which I am so excited to share. This story means a lot to me as it explores two completely different personalities finding their way together. With bimbo, sunshine!reader and grunge, grumpy!jk, I hope you enjoy exploring this world as much as I loved creating it. It’s messy, it’s fun, it’s emotional, it’s steamy (at times 👀) and it’s absolutely everything I could ask for! I’d love to hear what you think - your reactions, favourite part, or even anything you’d like to see from them in the future! Feedback / comments are always appreciated. Thank you for giving my story a chance & happy reading 🦢.

↠ Song : ‘Closer’ by Jungkook / ‘Good for you’ by Selena G

❧ Chapter 01 : Lipgloss & Leather

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A stream of light filters through the wooden, venetian blinds of the lecture theatre windows, slicing through the warm, cinnamon-scented air.

God bless Ms. Choi for her diffusers.

The ambience of the empty theatre is a sharp contrast to the wintry chill that is dancing around outside. The time of season where it bites at your cheeks and refuses to let go. Inside though, the warmth feels like a holiday cocoon, the kind that makes you shed layers and forget the frost clinging to the world beyond your surrounding.

Unfortunately, despite the serene atmosphere, you don’t feel any less distracted.

You are perched in a chair at the back of the theatre, mindlessly playing with your pink glitter gel pen while Jungkook sits on the desk in front of you, legs spread arrogantly, one boot perched on the seat beside yours. The light catches on the silver chain hanging from his neck, a stark contrast to his black t-shirt and ripped dry-denim jeans.

You should be focusing on taking notes for the upcoming midterm, like he told you to do, but instead, your eyes keep wandering back to the powerful man in front of you.

Powerful because he consumes your entire being.

You pout as you swirl a strand of your hair around your finger, oblivious to the smirk curling on Jungkook’s lips as he catches onto your little daydream.

“Not taking notes, princess?” he asks, tone dripping with mockery.

“Erm…” you blink at him, momentarily caught off guard. “I was… thinking?”

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Thinking. Right. About the syllabus or about how good I look right now?”

Your cheeks flame as he leans forward, chin propped lazily on his tattooed hand. His dark hair falls messily over his face, making him look even more impossibly cocky.

“Both?” you meekly offer, putting down the glitter pen and propping your chin onto your soft hands.

His grin stretches wider. “You’re cute when you lie.”

You smile at the compliment as Jungkook reaches out and grabs the gel pen from the desk, inspecting it like it was the most interesting thing in the world. The sight of his tattooed fingers gripping the sparkly pink plastic makes your heart race.

“Why do you even need this?” he teases, holding the pen just out of reach when you try to grab it back. “It’s ugly, you definitely don’t use it to write anything down and it’s pink.”

Jungkook grimaces, observing the pen as though it’s a foreign object.

You huff and pout harder, crossing your arms. “You said you’d help me study, but all you’re doing is being mean!”

“Mean?” Jungkook cackles, the sound low and gravelly. “Doll, I’m just keeping it real. Someone has to be with you.”

“Ugh, you’re the worst!” you whine, trying again to snatch the pen, but Jungkook is faster. He swiftly moves it behind his back, staring you down with his usual, conceited smirk.

“And yet, here you are. With me.”

“Because you don’t let me leave,” you shoot back, a small huff escaping as you try your best to appear annoyed.

But you aren’t. Not even a little bit.

Especially when Jungkook leans in even closer, his dark eyes scanning your face like he is trying to memorise every detail.

“C’mere,” he says softly, contrasting his suddenly serious expression.

You blink up at him, your heart fluttering. “Why?”

“Just come here, doll. Trust me.”

You hesitate for half a second before leaning forward, and that is all the invitation Jungkook needs to grab your chair and yank you forward, placing you between his legs. Your breath hitches as he cups your face in his hands, the rough pads of his thumbs stroking your cheeks.

“You’re too fucking pretty, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice so low and intimate that it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Jungkook…” You trail off, feeling utterly flustered and ridiculously warm under his intense gaze.

“What?” he questions, cocking his head playfully. “You don’t like compliments? Want me to call you dumb instead? You like that, huh?”

“N-no!” you stutter, and the way he leans in closer makes your head spin.

“That’s what I thought,” he says with a smirk, brushing his nose against yours. “My good girl likes being told she’s pretty.”

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest as his lips find yours, the kiss starting soft but quickly turning hungrier. Jungkook kicks your chair back before tugging you impossibly closer, his hands sliding down to your waist.

“Fuck, you taste sweet,” he mumbles against your lips.

“Strawberry lip gloss,” you utter, still fairly dazed.

He hums appreciatively, a smile now evident on his face. “My favourite.”

Jungkook’s hands slides lower, squeezing your hips as he deepens the kiss. You moan softly when he nips at your bottom lip, his pierced tongue sweeping over it a second later.

The sound of the theatre door creaking open in the distance makes you freeze.

The wind.

“Jungkook!” you hiss, pulling back slightly. “What if someone comes in?”

Jungkook grins, completely unbothered. “Free show?”

“You’re impossible!”

“You love it,” he teases, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth. His hands tug at the hem of your short pink skirt, hiking it up higher as his fingers toy with the edge of your lace underwear.

“Ahh, is this the pair I got you the other day?”

“Jungkook…” you mewl, voice barely above a whisper. You manage a quick nod, before falling to rest your head on Jungkook’s shoulder.

“My doll is always so needy,” he grumbles, his dark eyes locking with yours. “But I don’t mind.”

Jungkook continues to fiddle with your underwear, his hand slipping inside to cup your now soaked sex in his rough hands. “Nice and wet.”

You squirm in his grasp, your cheeks burning as he presses another kiss to your neck, nipping the sensitive skin until you gasp.

“Relax, baby,” he whispers. “I’ve got you, I promise.”

And with that, you give in - like you always do with your lover boy.

“Get on the desk.”

Your heart races as you turn toward the heavy, wooden desk behind you. It feels cold beneath your palms as you hoist yourself up, the sound of your skirt rustling loud in the quiet space. Jungkook watches you intently, his eyes darkening as you settle onto the surface, your legs dangling over the edge.

He steps closer, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing the hem of your skirt higher.

“Look at you,” Jungkook whispers, his voice dripping with approval. “So pretty. So perfect for me.”

You shiver, your hands gripping the edge of the desk as his fingers trace patterns on your skin. Jungkook’s touch feels electric, sending sparks shooting through your veins.

“J-Jungkook—” you stutter, your voice shaky.

“Shh,” he interrupts, his voice firm but gentle. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

Your boyfriend's words send a wave of warmth washing over you, and you let your body sink into the desk as he leans in, his breath hot against your neck. You feel the stubble on his jaw brushing against your skin, the faint scent of his woody cologne filling your senses.

“The way you give in,” he begins, his lips grazing your ear, “is fucking beautiful.”

A soft whimper escapes your glossy lips as his hands move higher, pushing your skirt up to your waist. His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, and you gasp as he tugs them down, leaving you exposed.

Jungkook is quick to toss them onto his discarded leather jacket draped over the chair beside him. The delicate blush of your pink panties against the rugged, worn leather is a stark contrast that sends your mind spiraling.

“Stunning,” he utters to himself, eyes roaming over your body with a hunger that quickens your pulse.

Why the fuck is this man so hot?

You squirm, cheeks burning with embarrassment, but Jungkook doesn’t give you time to think. Not that there was much going on up there anyway.

His hands grips your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the desk. He wraps your delicate legs around him, engulfing you in his embrace.

“As beautiful as you look like this,” Jungkook mutters, caressing your cheek, “I need you on your knees.”

You’re quick to comply, gently shoving Jungkook away. He cackles at your eagerness, but deep inside his brooding heart, he feels at awe.

“Open your mouth,” he commands, quick to change personas, voice rough with desire.

Again, you obey without hesitation, your lips parting as he unzips his jeans. His cock springs free, already hard and straining, and your eyes widen as he steps closer, the tip brushing against your lips.

“Suck,” he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You hesitate for only a second before leaning forward, taking him into your mouth. His taste is salty and masculine, making you moan softly as you begin to move your tongue, your lips wrapping tightly around his girthy member.

Jungkook groans, his hand tangling in your hair as he guides your head up and down. “That’s it, doll,” he encourages, his voice thick with pleasure. “Take all of me.”

You sink deeper, gagging slightly as he hits the back of your throat. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t stop, determined to please him.

“Such a good girl,” Jungkook effortlessly praises, his grip tightening in your hair. “You were fucking made for this.”

The words send a jolt of heat straight to your core, and you moan around him, the vibrations making him shudder.

“Fuck,” he curses, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. “I’ll be painting your face with cum if you keep that up.”

You pull back slightly, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Isn’t that what you like?”

Jungkook chuckles darkly, his thumb brushing over your swollen lips. “Not yet, baby. I have other plans for you first.”

Before you can even think of a response, Jungkook pulls you off the floor, spinning you around so your back is pressed against his chest. His hands roam over your body, cupping your breasts through your satin blouse as he nips at your earlobe.

“You’re turn, princess,” he whispers, voice sending shivers down your spine for the umpteenth time this afternoon.

You gasp as his cold fingers find their way between your legs, exploring your already soaked folds. He teases you mercilessly, touch light yet maddening enough that it has you writhing in his bulky arms.

“Please,” you beg, voice trembling with need.

You try to grind against him, but Jungkook’s firm grip stops you from doing so.

“Please what?” he taunts, feigning confusion, breath hot against your neck.

“Fuck me,” you whimper, the words spilling out effortlessly.

Jungkook grins, his teeth flashing in the dim light. “What my pretty doll wants, my pretty doll gets.”

In one swift motion, he lifts you onto the desk, positioning himself between your legs. Jungkook’s cock presses against your entrance, and you yelp as he thrusts into you in one smooth, powerful movement.

”God, why are you so tight?” Jungkook groans, his hands gripping your hips as he begins to move. “I fucked you this morning.”

The sensation, along with the reminder of your earlier shenanigans, is overwhelming and both the stretch and burn send waves of pleasure through you.

You wrap your legs around Jungkook’s slim waist, urging him deeper as he pounds into you relentlessly.

“Harder,” you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders. “More.”

Jungkook obliges, slamming into you with a force that has the desk rocking against the floor. The sound echoes through the lecture theatre, mingling with your desperate moans and his guttural grunts.

“Could fuck this cunt all day,” Jungkook growls, his pace increasing as he mercilessly hammers his thick cock into you.

You cling to him, body trembling on the edge of release. But just as you’re about to let go, Jungkook pulls out, leaving you gasping and empty.

“No!” you cry, your eyes snapping open to meet his smug grin.

“Not yet,” he warns, voice firm. “You’re not cumming until I say so.”

You whimper, your body aching with need, but Jungkook isn’t done. He flips you over onto your stomach, hoisting your hips up so your ass is in the air.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice muffled by the desk.

“Giving you what you wanted,” he replies casually, his hands spreading your cheeks apart.

And then Jungkook is inside you again, filling you completely as he drives into you with a ferocity that leaves you utterly breathless.

Your sopping pussy lewdly squelches around Jungkook, completely soaking him. The sound turns the pair of you on further.

“Right there!” You mewl, pushing yourself back onto Jungkook, the pressure making you moan uncontrollably.

“Say it,” he demands, his voice rough with exertion. “Tell me who fucks you this good.”

“Y-you,” you stutter, your voice breaking as he hits your g-spot deep inside you. “This drenched pussy is yours.”

“And who do you belong to?” Your boyfriend growls, his hand coming down on your plump ass with a sharp smack.

“I’m yours!” you cry, the pain mixing with pleasure in the most delicious way. “Love the way you fuck me.”

Jungkook smirks, his pace slowing as he leans over you, lips brushing against your ear. “Good girl. Now come for me.”

As soon as the words leave his filthy mouth, your body convulses, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over you as you come undone. Jungkook isn’t far behind, his own release hitting him with a force that leaves him trembling.

The feeling of his cum oozing into you has you wanting to turn around and ride the fuck out of your lover boy.

Jungkook collapses on top of you, his breath hot against your skin as you both struggle to catch your breath.

“You okay, doll?” he asks, his voice softening as he turns you around and carefully seats you on the desk.

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips. “Yeah. I’m- wow.”

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re amazing.”

“And you, Bakugo,” you reply, your voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.

Your lover boy grins, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back. “Round two after lunch?”

The cafeteria hums with energy, alive with the noise of lively chatter and the sporadic clatter of trays hitting tables.

You’re perched on the bench beside Jungkook, a tray of half-eaten chips and an unopened can of Samjin Mango Soda sitting in front of you.

Across the table, Taehyung and Jimin are engaged in a heated debate about Haikyu, their hands waving dramatically as they try to outtalk each other about the anime the two of them are currently rewatching.

Well, truthfully speaking, all of you have been rewatching, but only the two of them are so deeply interested. Maybe Jungkook, but he’d never admit it.

Speaking of Jungkook, he is slouched against the table, one elbow propped up as his thumb scrolls lazily through your phone, staring at pictures you had taken of yourself today.

And he says he isn’t obsessed.

As usual, he hasn’t said much, just the occasional grunt when someone asks him a question. He looks effortlessly intimidating, his black hoodie (that you finally returned) pulled low over his forehead, his iconic silver chain around his neck catching the light and his usual scowl that is always imprinted on his beautiful face.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t be more of a contrast. You’re in your own world, a makeshift beauty station spread out in front of you, next to yours and Jungkook’s shared meal. Your compact mirror is propped against the soda can, brushes and glosses neatly scattered around it.

A soft pout forms on your lips as you reapply a coat of your signature lip gloss, the sticky sheen glistening in the light. You’re blissfully focused, tilting your head to inspect your work like an artist perfecting their masterpiece.

“You’re so wrong,” Jimin says, leaning forward with a look of betrayal. “There’s no way Seijoh vs. Karasuno is better than Shiratorizawa vs. Karasuno.”

“It’s about the emotional stakes, Jimin,” Taehyung replies, sipping his iced tea as though he is a certified anime critic. “Oikawa’s genius mind versus Kageyama’s raw talent? That’s art.”

“Art?” Jimin scoffs. “Bro, real art is Ushijima annihilating them with a spike.”

Taehyung shrugs. “Oikawa’s smugness had more impact than any spike ever could.”

“Who’s Kageyama again?” you pipe up, tilting your head.

Jungkook’s phone, well your phone, lowers an inch as he glances at you, his expression blank. “You can’t be serious. We literally watched an episode yesterday.”

You shrug, completely unbothered by the disbelief in his tone. “I don’t remember the boring ones.”

Jimin nearly chokes on his drink, eyes wide in horror. “Boring?! He’s literally the King of the Court!”

“Don’t,” Jungkook says flatly, cutting off Jimin’s impending rant. “She’ll just start listing the hot ones.”

You grin, batting your lashes at him. “Is that a problem, Koo?”

Taehyung leans back in his seat, smirking. “You’ve got your hands full, don’t you, Koo?”

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Jungkook mutters, though his ears tinge pink. “And don’t fucking call me that.”

Taehyung catches it immediately, raising his brows. “Is that a blush I see, Jungkook? The same guy who nearly broke someone’s nose in basketball last week?”

“Fuck off,” Jungkook grumbles, sliding your phone over to you.

“Bro, you’re whipped,” Jimin adds, his laugh practically echoing across the room.

“No I’m not-”

“You are,” Taehyung interrupts, pointing a chip at him. “It’s so obvious. You’ve got that whole, ‘don’t fucking talk to me’ thing going on, but this one over here bats her fake lashes and you’re folding fast.”

“Hey! They’re real,” you protest, leaning forward and resting your chin in your palms.

You study Jungkook with a teasing smile. “Is that true? Am I your kryptonite?”

His eyes flick to yours, dark and unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something - amusement, maybe, or fond exasperation. Jungkook simply doesn’t answer, just grabbing a chip from the tray and popping it into his mouth.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you say, your smile widening.

Jungkook rolls his eyes, but it’s half-hearted. He leans back in his seat, stretching his long legs out under the table, and you notice the way his fingers tap rhythmically against his knee. He looks relaxed, but you know him well enough to recognise the effort it takes to hold back a snarky comment.

“He doesn’t even deny it,” Jimin continues, grinning like he’s won something. “You know what? I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think you’re good for him.”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden compliment. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung agrees, though his tone is far more mischievous. “You’re like the sunshine to his thundercloud.”

“Lipgloss to his cigarette,” Jimin chimes in.

“Or the idiot to his genius,” Jungkook finishes off, his voice dry as ever.

You gasp, smacking his muscular arm lightly. “I’ll have you know I’m very smart!”

“Name the capital of the United States,” he challenges, barely hiding the smirk tugging at his lips.

“Easy,” you say confidently, shrugging your shoulders. “Hollywood.”

Taehyung and Jimin dissolve into laughter, and even Jungkook can’t hold back the small shake of his shoulders.

“Christ,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re unbelievable.”

You pout, confused why the boys are laughing. But, the sight of Jungkook joining in with them has you leaning into his side, grinning up at him. “You still like me, right?”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, but his hand moves to casually rest against the small of your back, his fingers caressing the exposed skin.

And that?

That’s the only answer you need.

You busy yourself with dabbing some extra Dior blush onto your cheeks, the sunlight streaming through the window catching the shimmer within it. Jimin plays with your Ilia mascara, shaking his head as he takes in the rest of your makeup that is scattered around.

Taehyung sees that you’re occupied and smirks, leaning closer to Jungkook. “You defo love it, you’re just too much of a moody shit to admit it.”

“Love what?” Jungkook asks, deadpan, though the tightening of his jaw gives him away.

“Having someone fuss over you,” his best friend teases, motioning his thumb towards you with a grin. “She’s got you wrapped around her finger.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, looking down at the now empty takeaway container in front of him like it’s suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. “You have nothing better to talk about?”

Your eyes dart to him, catching the faintest hint of red creeping up his neck.

Smiling to yourself, you lean your chin on your palm. “It’s okay, Jungkookie,” you coo softly. “You don’t have to say it. I already know.”

He glares at you, but there’s no real bite to it. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” you ask, pouting in innocence. “You love it when I call you that.”

Taehyung and Jimin burst into laughter once again at your audacity.

Jungkook narrows his eyes at them before turning to you. For a split second, his fingers twitch on the table, like he’s about to pull you closer. His gaze softens as it lingers on you - like he’s on autopilot, already halfway to pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

But then he stops.

Clearing his throat, he leans back in his chair instead, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over his head like armour. “You’re insufferable and annoying.”

You blink, caught between surprise and amusement. “You almost- you almost did it!”

“What?” he grunts, refusing to look at you.

“You were going to kiss my head.” Your voice is laced with a playful lilt, but there’s a flicker of something tender beneath it. “Don’t worry, Kookie. Next time, you’ll follow through.”

His tongue pokes against his cheek, a telltale sign of his rising frustration - or embarrassment, you can’t quite tell. “Shut up and eat,” he mutters, tugging his hood lower before he shoves a packet of crisps your way.

Jimin and Taehyung howl in laughter, and you can’t help but join them, even as Jungkook mumbles curses under his breath.

Somewhere beneath the gruffness, there’s the faintest quirk of his lips - a fleeting smile that only you seem to notice.

And in small moments like this you conclude that while Jungkook doesn’t give you flowers or grace you with love letters, he gives you something that is endless - pieces of himself: his time, his trust, his unwavering presence, and a love so consuming it feels like forever.

And there we have it! Please do let me know your thoughts ; the support I receive means the world to me ����🏻

↠ Taglist : @bangchanwantsmesobad @rklvez @doulcha @starlight-1010 @mimi1097 @khadeeeeej @jkslvsnella @royalguk @gaebestie @iamstilljk @myjungkookthighs @jungshaking @kookiesgiggles @minimoninini @lovejkmilitarywife @pplongoing @pokolunolino @dontcallmeelle @taeisbae13 @ronyiboniyy @nerdycheol @onlyforyoukook @ukandtwme @morosisxx @smwhrinthehaze @thebluegoddess @ramyun-h @remgeolli @minniejim @cherricherryy @avawants2havefun @fr0ggieth1nk @ahgasegotarmy116 @jeeykey @ficluvr613 @deeznutkooks @kookienooki (names in italics could not be tagged).

[aventurineswife]

HEYY!! I just wanted to start off by saying i absolutely ADORE your work 🫶 also i have never requested before so i hope im doing this correctly lolol 😭

Could i please request a teen reader with parental figure! Aventurine?? I was thinking maybe the reader could be like Ratio's student but they don't like him all that much, so when they meet Aventurine they sorta cling to him instead. The reader follows him around, loves to give him hugs or presents, just very affectionate overal.

I feel like that'd be sooo cute. The whole Dad!Aventurine thing has been stuck in my head for days now.

Anyways, thank you!!

The Gambler’s Heart

Summary: Disillusioned by Ratio's cold, clinical demeanor, you find yourself drawn to Aventurine, one of the IPC's enigmatic Ten Stonehearts. Captivated by his charisma and warmth, you begin following him everywhere, showering him with affection, hugs, and small gifts. Though caught off guard at first, Aventurine grows into a reluctant yet protective parental figure, finding solace in the bond you share. As you help him confront his own vulnerabilities, Aventurine realizes that sometimes, the best gambles are the ones that involve the heart.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Teen!Reader, Parental Figure Aventurine, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Mentorship, Emotional Vulnerability, Protective Parental Figure.

Warnings: Mentions of past trauma (Aventurine's backstory), Light angst (themes of self-worth and vulnerability), Mild language and references to intense emotions.

A/N: OMG THANK YOU!! 🤭💖 ALSO, DON'T WORRY YOU DID PERFECT FOR A FIRST REQ, AND I HONESTLY LOVED THIS AND I HOPE YOU TOO!!💕

The first time you met Aventurine, it was like stepping onto a stage where the lead actor suddenly took notice of you. He was magnetic, his voice weaving through the room with a charisma that demanded attention. But what caught you wasn’t his charm—it was the warmth in his gaze, a flicker of something genuine beneath the layers of practiced bravado.

Ratio had introduced you as his “protégé,” though you hated the label. Ratio was cold, clinical, and calculating in a way that left you feeling more like a pawn than a student. His mentorship, if you could call it that, felt transactional—like he was shaping you into a tool for his own ends. So when Aventurine strolled into the room, all flair and easy smiles, you latched onto him like he was a lifeline.

“Ah, Ratio’s ward,” Aventurine greeted, his eyes glinting with intrigue as he looked you over. “Tell me, do they teach you how to smile in his classroom, or is that considered extracurricular?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you, surprised by his wit. Ratio scowled, but Aventurine only winked.

From that moment on, you decided you liked Aventurine far more than Ratio.

Weeks later, Your affection for Aventurine blossomed quickly, and to everyone’s surprise—his included—you made a habit of sticking to his side whenever he was around.

“Gambler, you’ve got a shadow,” Ratio remarked one afternoon, his tone clipped as he gestured at you trailing after Aventurine through the IPC’s marble-floored halls.

“I don’t mind,” Aventurine replied, grinning down at you as you walked beside him. “Every gambler needs a lucky charm, after all.”

You beamed at that, practically skipping to keep up with his long strides.

It wasn’t just his charisma or the way he made you laugh that drew you to him. Aventurine had a knack for making you feel seen. When Ratio barked orders or critiqued your every move, Aventurine would swoop in with a sly quip or a kind word, diffusing the tension with an ease that left you in awe.

You started bringing him small gifts—things that reminded you of him. A shiny card-shaped pendant you found at a market. A peacock feather pen. Once, you even baked him cookies, though they turned out slightly burnt. He ate them anyway, ruffling your hair as he said, “Risky move, kid. I like it.”

But your favorite moments were the hugs. You weren’t sure why you started hugging him—it just felt natural, like he was a safe harbor in a stormy sea. At first, Aventurine seemed caught off guard by your affection, his body stiffening slightly before he returned the gesture. Over time, though, he grew accustomed to it, even leaning into your embraces.

“You’re gonna spoil me, kid,” he teased one evening after you wrapped your arms around him in the middle of the crowded mess hall.

“Good,” you replied, grinning up at him. “You deserve it.”

At first, Aventurine wasn’t sure what to make of you. He’d never been anyone’s role model—not intentionally, anyway. His reputation as one of the Ten Stonehearts painted him as a man of ambition, not affection. But you… You were different.

He saw pieces of himself in you—the yearning for connection, the fear of failure lurking behind your determined eyes. It was in the way you hesitated before speaking up, as if bracing for criticism, and in the way your shoulders relaxed when he offered a kind word.

You reminded him of a younger version of himself, before the world had stripped him down and rebuilt him into something harder, sharper. Protecting you, in some small way, felt like protecting the part of himself he thought he’d lost.

It was late in the evening, the halls quiet as Aventurine worked in his office, poring over the latest reports from Penacony. He barely noticed when you slipped in, carrying a steaming cup of tea you’d made for him.

“Hey, kid,” he greeted without looking up. “Burn the midnight oil too often and you’ll end up with bags under your eyes like Ratio.”

You set the cup down beside him and leaned against his desk. “I wanted to check on you. You’ve been working a lot lately.”

He paused, finally meeting your gaze. There it was again—that unwavering concern you always showed him, as if you truly believed he was worth worrying about.

“I’m fine,” he said, but the words felt hollow even to him.

You frowned, crossing your arms. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know. You always say I’m your lucky charm, but you’re mine too.”

Aventurine stared at you for a moment, the weight of your words settling over him. Slowly, he reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder, his usual smirk softening into something more genuine.

“Thanks, kid,” he said quietly. “That means more than you know.”

That night, as Aventurine watched you doze off on the couch in his office, wrapped in a blanket(aka his coat) he’d draped over you, he felt something he hadn’t in a long time—a sense of peace. For all the gambles he’d taken in life, this one—letting you into his heart—felt like the best bet he’d ever made.

[m0reighn4]

Shared warmth.

In which Sae notices that your hands are cold while taking a walk. He then decides on the simplest way to warm them up.

Tags: Sae Itoshi, Rin being a third wheel, fluff, hand holding, cold, mentions of a long distance relationship

With each step taken, the pale snow crunches beneath your feet. Bundled up in thick layers— and topped off with a scarf, gifted to you by your boyfriend— you walk through the chilled streets of Japan. Not a word is said, only piling onto the already quiet atmosphere.

It had been ages since you've had a day like this. One where you simply enjoy the chilled quiet that winter brings to the streets. And this is not a luxury you get to enjoy alone. No. It's one with your lover, who had recently returned from Spain. Having been away from Japan for so long, this moment holds more significance than either of you care to admit.

Speaking of your boyfriend, the man in question, strides beside you, enjoying the tranquility provided by this moment. His hands are tucked into the warmth of his pockets. This causes Sae to let out a soft sigh of relaxation. The heated breath condenses in air, creating a soft cloud of mist from his mouth.

The soccer prodigy peeks at you from the corner of his eye. Teal irises soften at the sight of you, shivering from the cold. With a swift glance, he takes in your appearance— cheeks and fingertips flushed from the icy temperature, body bundled up in thick fabric to ward off the cold, the scarf he gifted you (and totally doesn't match with the one he's wearing right now.)

His eyes trail right back to your hands. And without skipping a beat, he reaches for it. Sae's fingers intertwine with yours, sharing the warmth he managed to generate. Your hands are just as cold as he assumed, if not colder. This revelation makes him hold back a slight shudder at the sudden temperature drop at his palm. You look over to him with widened eyes, surprised by his action.

His gaze has long since been set on the path ahead, wanting to remain nonchalant about the whole ordeal. He gently squeezes your hand before raising it to the pocket of his jacket. The warmth immediately relaxes you and you can't help but shift just a bit closer. This catches Sae's attention. His aloof gaze meets yours.

The moment feels almost magical. The biting cold is forgotten as the two of you simply stare at one another, hands locked together, fingers interwoven, sharing your warmth. Your near non-existent proximity only adds to the intimacy as the two of you continue your journey.

Every moment the two of you had spent apart is almost worth it. The tears shed at the airport after his departure, the constant calls and texts that had been sent back and forth between continents, the indescribable emptiness that came with not being able to physically be with one another. Each lonely moment that came with your relationship over the last few years pales and withers away when faced with this very moment. And neither of you would trade it for the world.

The two of you arrive at the Itoshi household after your silent walk, Sae opening the door with his free hand to let you in. You enter to find Rin, having come out his room for a snack. His eyes meet yours before dropping to the sight your hand interlocked with his brother's. He lets out a sound that draws a mix between a scoff and a gag as his expression pulls into a frown, "Ugh!"

The younger Itoshi's reaction causes you to pause, making the elder Itoshi look over to you both. Sae shrugs, still not removing his hand from yours. "Problem, Rin?" he questions. Whether it's him, trying to deflect whatever foul energy his brother is throwing your way or him, spurring his brother on is indecipherable.

The brothers share a heated stare for a few moments. And quiet frankly, you can't figure out if you should attempt to diffuse the situation or let them be. Rin beats you to it, clenching his jaw, "No."

He shifts his gaze to the kitchen, his body following suit. Sae let's out a huff and simply drags you along to his room.

This was actually fun. Maybe I should do this kind of thing more often. Also, how do we deel about the 'Additional Time' thing? Otherwise, I STRUGGLED with writing Sae's section. And don't get me STARTED on the additional time cut. I originally wanted a gif or something for it. But gave up, because I couldn't find one and can't be bothered to put in the effort to make one. 😔

[lalasimmer]

How to convert Sims 4 3D CAS Rooms to Sims 3

Disclaimer: If you’re not familiar with Blender/TSRW/UVs then this tutorial may not be for you. If you don’t have Sims 4 Studio which needs the Sims 4 base game (or don’t know how to extract the meshes without it) this tutorial may not be for you. Honestly it’s pretty straight forward, but there’s a lot of trial and error and going in game and out of game checking placement, etc. I use Blender 4.1 for this, but you should still be able to do the same things in the older versions. I'm trying to make this as easy as possible. I’m here to answer any questions though 💕 Tutorial below

Things you’ll need:

Blender (whatever version you prefer)

Sims 4 Studio

TSRW ( I use version 2.0.86)

My Christmas CAS Room here

My TSRW work file here

Tutorial:

Find a Sims 4 CAS room that you like and open it up in Sims4Studio. This is the one I'll be using for the tutorial.

In the Texture tab, export the textures. The only textures that matter are the first 3 diffuse. Go to the Meshes tab and export the mesh, it will save as a .blend file. After that you can close out of Sims4Studio.

Open my Christmas CAS Room in TSRW. You'll get this message. Hit ignore and don't send. We only need this file as a reference to resize the SIms 4 CAS room. Export the mesh as an obj, name it whatever you like. You can close TSRW for now.

Open Blender and open the .blend file you exported from Sims4Studio. Make sure to delete studio_mesh_0 as it's just the shadow map and we don't need that. This is what mine looks like after fixing the textures.

Then import the wavefront obj you just exported from TSRW. Again we're just using this as a size reference.

This is what it looks like after I added the obj. I scaled, moved, and rotated the room to match up as close as I could with my reference mesh. When you have it lined up to your liking you can delete the reference mesh. I usually import the sims 3 body to see where my sim would be in CAS as well so feel free to do that too.

Now we have to separate the objects that use transparency in the scene to their own group. The transparent objects will always be located on studio_mesh_1. I usually do this in UV mode. Make sure UV Sync Selection is on. Where the red arrow is, that's the UV Selection button. It's blue so that means its on.

Tip: If you're using the same Blender version I am (I'm not sure if the older versions below Blender 3.0 do this) you can disconnect the alpha in shader editor and then you can easily see what uses transparency because it has a black background like the plants. Don't worry about the one outside the window as that's on the backdrop image and doesn't show in CAS.

Important: Also, make sure you delete the back of the mirror frame or it will show through the mirror in game. I usually select it in the UV editor as well and delete it.

After selecting all the objects that use transparency, I go to the 3D viewport window and press P, then selection. Now they're on their own layer as you can see. That's a very important step so please don't miss it.

Sims 4 CAS Rooms don't have a closed room like ts3 and if you don't add walls/ceiling with planes you'll be able to see that it in CAS. You can do this in any way you're comfortable with. If you don't understand how to do it feel free to ask me. For this tutorial I will not be doing this perfectly lol I've done enough rooms and I'm just trying to teach here 😩

Okay now last is renaming groups to import into TSRW. Make sure it's in this exact order and uses the exact group numbers.

Group 0 - Mirror

Group 1 - Windows/Curtains

Group 2 - View outside the window

Group 3 - Walls

Group 4 - Objects with transparency

Depending on the CAS Room you convert, yours may not have a mirror you know. You can delete groups in TSRW, experiment, feel free to ask me questions as well.

After renaming the groups, select only the groups you renamed and export as an obj. Make sure that object groups is checked so that they can stay in groups.

Open TSRW and open the testroom_cas.wrk file.

After opening the file you'll see this exact room in this tutorial lol because I had to test some things first 😅

Import the CAS room you converted from ts4. You'll get these two messages. Click yes on the first and no on the second.

Disclaimer: Make sure you reduce polygon sizes or it won't import and give you an error

Import your textures (yours may be different than mine depends on the converter) but most have been the same that I've seen. Group 0 is the mirror it doesn't require a texture. Group 1 and Group 4 usually have the same texture.

Disclaimer: TSRW an be finnicky with textures sizes, I havent gotten any issues since using the 4GB patch, but just in case. Texture sizes from ts4 can run pretty big 4096x2048 even 8196x4096. I would resize to no bigger than 2048x1024 in my opinion, but whatever works for you.

After export to sims3pack or export as package file. Make sure you compress your files and you should be good to test your CAS room in game.

This is the finished product. Should look something like this or better lol considering this was quick 😅

If you would like to make your own from the original ts3 cas room, I would suggest watching this Youtube video (it's for TS4 but it still applies and is helpful) and the link to the original ts3 cas room is here. Since we can convert ts4 to ours you could probably just build your own and go from there as well.

Thanks to @mookymilksims for testing things for me and converting her own. If you would like to try this tutorial out and experiment with room placements using @boringbones Ultra wide CAS mod which changes the field of view in cas so that you can see the whole cas room, it is here. I didn't use it for mine, but that's only because I found out about it after from Mooky lol and I'm tired of converting them 😅 but feel free to ask me any questions if you need help 😊

[yawnderu]

delulu time🤭

Everybody keeps talking about how Simon’s hands are constantly cold… But I have a feeling this man is a fucking furnace.

He’s so big and burly, so warm and cuddly… He’ll take off his hoodie and give it to you and it would as warm as if it just got out of the dryer. He’s so warm his cologne just spreads out like from an oil diffuser.

He’s looking so warm and cuddly just laying on the couch, you just want to put your hands down his sweatpants🤭 He’ll let you lay down on his chest, pulling his hoodie over your head and body.🦘

And with Simon being such a girl dad we have to talk about the ‘hot balls’ phenomenon. A theory that athletes and physically active people have more baby daughters because of having a slightly higher body temperature and the heat destroys male spermatozoa😭🫶🏼

I also believe he always wears a lot of layers, as many as the weather allows. He’ll always spare you his jacket… He has so many hoodies, socks, it’s insane… He’s so clean and disciplined, folding his clothes impeccably, his bed always perfectly made. His apartment is so neat, a remnant of his army ways.

Only problem is his place is always a little cold, he simply doesn’t need the heating like you do :( Your feet would get so cold he would simply have to warm them up in his lap, rubbing your soft soles against and tenderly kissing your pretty toes… He secretly loves it and that’s why he never puts the heating on :(

Don’t get me wrong, Simon isn’t a feet guy per se, but he adores every single part of you… He worships the ground you walk on. So he’s utterly blind to the fact that you’ve been feeding him so well these past months all in an attempt to get him to the optimal cuddling weight🤤 (photos for reference🤭)

Ps. This is so discombobulated and corny but I can’t stop thinking about it. I swear I’m a better writer in my native language.🎀

YES YES YES TO ALL OF THIS.

I used to date a guy who was ALWAYS a fucking furnace. It was lovely during winter, but summer were nightmares in a small bed. x_x

Yeah!! I'm also a firm believer of Simon always having VERY warm hands, to the point he can easily sandwich your cold hands and heat them up almost instantly. Simon's body is always very warm, yet he uses long-sleeved shirts out of habit, keeping his tattoos hidden from his enemies to keep both of you safe and away from Ghost and his enemies.💗

One of his favorite things is putting his hoodie over your body when you're cuddling or standing together at home, watching your pretty face peer up at him from the fabric has to be the closest thing to heaven he's ever gotten.

The ‘hot balls’ phenomenon made me giggle GRJFEHJB God, he's such a girl dad that it hurts. I can see him cuddling his baby daughters, holding them close to his bare skin because they find it comforting and always sleep through the night without waking up whenever their papa puts them to sleep. <3

YES!! Simon loves rubbing and kissing your feet, simply because he loves you and loves using his body to make you feel better, his warm breath tickling your feet to the point you've been close to accidentally kicking his face more than once, yet it's worth if for him the moment you start thanking him for warming you up, rewarding him with a rapid-fire of kisses all over his rough face.

I stand by the fact that the easiest way to Simon's heart is his stomach. He needs to eat plenty of calories to maintain his body mass and keep growing muscles, coming home especially hungry after being at the gym, ready to eat whatever hot meal you've prepared for him. :((

Sometimes you have to remind him to eat slower, yet the small hiccups he gets after eating fast serve as reassurance that he absolutely adores and devours anything you cook.<3333

[pascalissmoked]

Hello, I am wondering if u take request for a Tony Stark x female reader, who is also best friend of Tony Stark before he came Iron Man but she has been by his side through everything as well. But it’s a fluff one shot as at the end where they both reveal their feelings for each other which they had from the moment they met and they have their first kiss between them as well.

Ofcoursee, here it is! Hope you like it :)

Virtual Insanity

Summary: In which the infamous line "make love not war" isn't well-respected by this pair of friends. When cyberbullying at Stark industries level develops into a game between these two collegues and friends, something more begins to unravel between the two.

Word Count: 1.7K Warnings: none except Tony's unsufferable ego (all jokes)

A/N: This is a short oneshot. Might turn into more. I'm also still working on the "Soft in the right hands" series for bucky so stay tuned!

You’d known Tony Stark long enough to remember when he didn’t wear the suit — physically or emotionally.

Back then, he was all sharp smiles and sharper intellect, more interested in building arc reactors with cocktail napkin schematics than charming investors. Reckless with nearly everything except the way he treated you. Somehow, against all odds, you’d slipped past the velvet rope that guarded the real him — the sleepless inventor who showed up on your fire escape at 3AM with a bottle of Scotch and a theory about thermal diffusion that couldn’t wait till morning.

You were best friends before Afghanistan. Before Iron Man. Before Stark Tower had its own AI department and a floor reserved just for “Tony’s regrets, part I through XXV.”

And none of that stopped him from hacking your firewall during lunch.

You were approximately three minutes into a well-deserved lunch break — grilled cheese in hand, Spotify playlist on shuffle, and the sanctity of a lab entirely free of explosions — when your firewall went up in flames.

Digitally speaking.

The code on your main monitor began to twitch. Literally twitch. Then twist. And then it smiled at you. A little pixelated smiley face blinked up from the line of code you’d just written, followed by a dancing ASCII cat wearing sunglasses.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, setting your sandwich down like it had betrayed you.

You knew that coding style.

You knew exactly who was responsible.

With the patience of a saint and the energy of someone who was one click away from snapping, you launched into the system’s backend, pulling apart the layers of the digital graffiti with expert ease, unraveling each line of smug Stark-ware. And sure enough, right at the root folder, embedded in a hidden command string, was a line of text:

"Nice firewall, sweetheart. 7/10. Would hack again. - T.S."

Your eye twitched. Your soul twitched.

He didn’t just breach your system. He decorated it. That wasn’t a hack — it was a housewarming party in enemy territory.

The man had billions of dollars, a global tech empire, multiple Iron Man suits, and — apparently — nothing better to do than hack into your secure files during his downtime like a caffeinated raccoon with a superiority complex.

You were going to kill him. Slowly. Or worse — give him a lecture so long and boring it could be classified as psychological warfare.

And thus, the war began.

With your jaw clenched and your heart pounding in that very specific, very annoying way it only ever did around Tony, you stormed out of your lab and stomped down the hallway of Stark Tower.

You bypassed three interns and a mildly offended elevator AI before slamming open his door like righteous judgment. Finally, you flung open the doors to his R&D suite without knocking.

Tony didn’t flinch.

Sleeves rolled up, arc reactor glowing, fingers dancing across a holographic interface. He looked up. Grinned.

“Hey, sunshine,” Tony said lazily from behind a table cluttered with open panels, a half-dismantled drone, and at least three coffee cups. “I was just thinking about you."

“You’re a menace.”

“I’ve been called worse.” He finally looked up, dark eyes glinting with amusement. “But usually by people who didn’t bother updating their encryption protocols.”

You crossed your arms. “You hacked into my system during lunch, Stark. That’s below the belt. I was eating grilled cheese.”

“Maybe next time add some brie and fig jam. Class it up a little.” He grinned. “You’re welcome, by the way. I just gave you a free security audit.”

You stared at him, deadpan. “Did your ego eat your moral compass for breakfast?”

He stood, sauntering over like confidence incarnate in a Henley and jeans, and leaned against the edge of the workbench — arms crossed, smirk fully loaded.

“I’d argue my ego is my moral compass. And it always points due north to: mess with you.”

“You hacked my system,” you repeated.

He tilted his head. “If I can break in, so can Hydra. I’m doing you a favor.”

You crossed your arms. “This is the third time this month you've done something like this. Last week, you turned my digital assistant into a sassy version of yourself. I had to argue with my microwave for twenty minutes before it would heat my soup.”

He beamed. “He’s got a personality now! Named him Toasty.”

“I’m going to rewrite your DNA.”

“Only if we cuddle after.”

You were going to scream. Or kiss him. It was a very fine line these days.

“I’m going to kill you,” you said conversationally.

He grinned wider. “You’re going to miss me.”

So instead, you narrowed your eyes and said, “I hope you like Shakespeare just as much as JARVIS does.”

He blinked. “What?”

You pulled your phone from your pocket, already typing."Your little AI pet seems to have brushed up on his Shakespeare, because he’s about to speak exclusively in iambic pentameter for the next twenty-four hours."

“Wait. No—”

“And make all puns food-themed.”

Tony’s jaw dropped. “You’re a monster.”

You shrugged, already walking toward the door. “Some people bake sourdough for fun. I emotionally sabotage billionaire AIs.”

Tony groaned. “JARVIS

, don’t you dare—”

“Verily, sir,” JARVIS chimed in serenely from the overhead speaker, “I find thy attitude rather cheesy, like brie upon a croissant most greasy.”

Tony’s head hit the desk.

You smirked. “Toasty says hi.”

It went on like that for weeks.

Tony retaliated by installing a movement sensor in your lab. Every time you entered, SexyBack blared at full volume. FRIDAY wouldn’t let you disable it. She said it was “legally classified as a morale booster.”.

It was a war.

You replaced his AI’s voice with Gilbert Gottfried reading Twilight.

Tony responded by having your smartwatch shout hourly affirmations about his hair.

You hacked his suit’s startup sequence. Now it greeted him with:

“Iron Man: The Human Hot Pocket. Online.”

It didn’t stop there.

He replaced your screensaver with a live feed of himself winking, finger guns included.

You programmed his coffee maker to scream “INCOMING!” every time it dispensed espresso.

Naturally, collateral damage was inevitable.

Bruce’s tablet was cursed to play Baby Shark whenever opened. He developed a twitch.

Sam’s Falcon gear announced all takeoffs with: “I’m a little teapot, short and stout.”

Steve’s toaster quoted Pride and Prejudice in Cher’s voice.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged,” it belted one morning, “that a single man in possession of breakfast must be in want of jam.”

He punched a wall. You both got fined.

Even Clint, ever the stealthy one, wasn’t spared. Every time he drew an arrow, it whispered “pew pew” in Tony’s voice.

The tower teetered on the brink of chaos.

Pepper threatened to move to Dubai.

It was late.

The Tower was asleep, mostly. Except for Tony, who you found in the R&D lounge, hoodie on, arc reactor glowing soft under worn fabric. He looked… still. A rare moment for a man who moved like his thoughts could outrun time.

“You gonna yell at me for the coffee pot thing?” he asked, not looking up.

“I should,” you said, easing into the seat beside him. “FRIDAY tried to launch a counterstrike when I made a cappuccino.”

“She’s passionate.”

Silence fell. He just stared at you like he was debating something he’d rehearsed a hundred times in his head.

You blinked. “What?”

Tony opened his mouth. Closed it. Then, “Do you want me to stop?”

You frowned. “Stop what?”

“The pranks. The hacking. I mean, I know it’s probably childish and annoying and… I don’t know. Maybe I just like having a reason to see you all worked up, to just see you more.”

You sat back, heart thudding.

“That,” you said slowly, “is the least emotionally articulate confession I’ve ever heard.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. I build flying suits, not feelings.”

You stood and walked over, stopping inches from him. His breath hitched, and yours did too.

“For the record,” you said, “I love your flying suits. But I also kind of love… this.”

He blinked. “The chaos?”

“The banter. The sabotage. The way your face lights up when you think you’ve outsmarted me, even though I’m always two steps ahead.”

“Debatable,” he muttered.

You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“And I love the way you look at me like I’m the only firewall you’ve never wanted to break.”

He stilled.

Then: “I’ve been in love with you since the day you fried that Russian botnet and called it ‘a poorly coded insult to my intelligence.’”

You smiled.

And then, you kissed him.

It was messy and hot and gloriously overdue. His hands cupped your face like he’d been dying to do it for years, and your fingers curled into his shirt like gravity had given up and he was your anchor now.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, he whispered, “I should have hacked you sooner.”

You smacked his shoulder. “Shut up and kiss me again.”

He did.

And that night, neither of you changed each other’s passwords.

You called a truce.

Sort of.

Now your prank war has a rulebook and a scoreboard. Nat is the referee. Bruce runs support (begrudgingly). Steve is still in therapy.

JARVIS still speaks in sonnets during thunderstorms. Toasty hosts a podcast. FRIDAY hosts a revenge fund.

A year later, Tony proposed via custom hologram code embedded in your firewall — romantic, glitchy, and absolutely extra.

You said yes.

And now, sometimes, late at night, you’ll find yourselves coding side-by-side, teasing each other like always — except now, there’s no more pretending.

Just love. Loud, messy, sarcastic love. With bad lighting, too much coffee, and more happiness than either of you thought you’d ever deserve.

And every morning, when you walk into the lab, “SexyBack” still plays.

You don’t stop it anymore.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. Don't hesitate to leave a comment behind <3

[mariacallous]

“Hello? Are you a male or female in there?” a rumbling voice called into the women’s restroom. A man’s boots stepped across the threshold, clunking on the tile floor, as I sat alone in the stall closest to the door.

I stopped breathing and my heart skipped. My pants were down around my ankles, and no one else was within earshot.

My hands went to where my freshly shorn curls used to be — fingers twining into my 2 remaining inches of hair — and I wondered if I had made a mistake. I had been using women’s restrooms my entire life, from when I had long braided pigtails and my mom taught me to lay down two layers of toilet paper on the seat, to my road trip around California as a white, skinny, short, nonbinary person in my early 30s.

***

My partner and I were on an adventure. We had sublet our apartment and were camping in a van for the summer. We slept every night on a memory foam mattress in the van and cooked most of our meals outdoors on a propane stove. Immersed in nature, at a distance from society and community, I could recognize my true self more clearly, and I took the opportunity to explore a more masculine appearance.

I don’t have much experience with people thinking I might be a man. Growing up, people always assumed I was a girl. I still can’t cut my hair without shame, hearing women’s voices in my head: “Oh, but your hair is so lovely, you should keep it long.” It’s as if I hurt my community every time I do it.

Despite the shame, I had cut my hair earlier that week, camped alongside a beautiful, remote river. I trimmed a couple of inches off to give myself the 2-inch-long “men’s” cut I usually give my partner. He is supportive of whatever hair length I want for myself. I squinted into a little travel mirror and lopped off chunks, feeling bits of hair drift down my bare shoulders. Finished with the trim, I dove into the brown river water and scrubbed my scalp with my fingers. I floated in the sun, naked and unjudged by the birds watching me from the trees.

I didn’t feel judged for my haircut until we traveled back into town. While I was washing my face at the sink in a restroom, someone peeked in and then left. I put my glasses back on and walked out. A woman with long hair was standing outside, uncertain, wearing a long skirt. As she turned to face me, I said hello.

“Is this the women’s room?” she asked.

“Yes,” I answered curtly, forced a smile, and walked away quickly, past the word “Women” in 6-inch green painted letters on the wooden wall of the building.

I guess I had been gendered as too-butch-to-be-in-the-women’s-room. Affirming? Slightly. But it was a preview to an unsolvable problem. If I’m not supposed to be in the women’s room, but I also can’t use the men’s, how can I use the bathroom?

***

My partner and I found a lovely city park with a picnic area and gazebo to eat breakfast in after camping on National Forest land nearby. After a mug of coffee, I visited the public restroom. I didn’t expect a stranger to yell at me through the flimsy stall door.

“Hello? Are you a male or female?”

I was the only person using the restroom — the kids who had been in there a minute ago had left. I felt this man’s eyes on my sneakers and blue hiking pants under the stall. I was scared this harassment could escalate if I didn’t say something to diffuse the situation. I gulped and called back, “Hello?”

“Oh, you’re a female. My bad.” He sounded reassured by my quavering voice. I heard his footsteps leaving the room. My heart raced as I fumbled with toilet paper, fingers shaking. I felt nauseated.

My voice had immediately identified me as the “female” I didn’t feel myself to be — and all it took was two syllables. But my “female” voice had also saved me from further harassment. Would that man have dragged me out of the stall if I sounded “like a man” or remained quiet? Would he have looked under the stall? Would he have tried to check what was between my legs while my pants were down? Did he have any idea how much of a violation these real and imagined threats were to me?

And why was a man even in the women’s room, questioning me? Did a kid’s mother report me to her husband for looking too much like a man in the women’s room? Perhaps they were alarmed that I, with my short hair, had been in the restroom with their young kids. I felt physically ill at the troubling thought that someone would assume I would do anything harmful to children. I hadn’t said anything, made eye contact with anyone or done anything other than sit quietly in the stall in the room that matches my assigned sex at birth.

I felt bad for looking masculine to make myself more comfortable, because I didn’t want to make anyone else uncomfortable. Some part of me longed to return to my habit of looking more like a woman, but I also felt sick from not feeling right in my body.

I can empathize with these strangers viewing me and my body as a threat because I have also viewed my body as a threat. I have been unhappy with the shape of my body, my appearance in the mirror and the tone of my voice. And to have that thrown back in my face in such a vulnerable moment — pants down, defenseless, forced by my body’s very personal needs to be in this gendered room — hit close to home.

It did not occur to me to call the police, because the last thing I needed was to wait around for law enforcement to judge my qualifications to use a bathroom and give a police report about someone I hadn’t actually seen. Instead, I texted a friend — a woman with short hair — to tell her my story of being harassed in the bathroom and share how uncomfortable that made me. She responded that women have screamed after seeing her in the restroom, and she’d had security called on her. My experience seemed mild by comparison. I appreciated her perspective.

For the next several days, I felt intensely conflicted and full of gender dysphoria. I was tense and nervous using public restrooms. I wore my pink hat, forced a big smile and strode in confidently, femininely, trying to look like the kind of woman no one would object to. But I’m not a woman. I came out as a transmasculine, nonbinary person in my late 20s — a person who feels more like a boy than a girl on the inside. A person whose anxiety and depression eased once I no longer had to hide who I am.

I have to choose between a women’s or men’s restroom in most public spaces, as unisex bathrooms are uncommon. Laws restricting bathroom access, which are becoming more prevalent in the United States, attempt to define sex based on whether an individual can produce eggs or sperm. In practice, people look at your body shape, clothes and hair and make an assumption about which restroom you should use. Most people assume I would use the women’s room, so that’s what I continue to use. Trans women often have harder choices. Anyone who pushes back on my use of the women’s room suspects that I am a trans woman. They correctly identify me as trans, but in the incorrect direction.

Trans women are the target of these “bathroom bills” and may encounter harassment and violence in either restroom. Being legally required to use the “wrong” restroom can out people as trans, which can be dangerous for them.

Trans women may need to go more frequently on average. One of the most common testosterone blockers, spironolactone, is a diuretic which means you need to pee often while taking it. The constant stress of navigating public spaces as a trans person with a filling bladder is incredibly — literally — painful.

A couple of weeks later, my partner and I returned to the same city park. After relaxing at the picnic tables, I walked over to the bathroom. A new porcelain toilet sat whimsically outside the building, prepped for installation. Uh oh, I thought, rounding the corner to see a plumber with a pickup truck. A “closed for cleaning” sign was braced across the door of the women’s restroom.

The plumber, burly, with a beard, glanced at me and asked, “You need to use the restroom?” gesturing to the men’s door. I nodded, but looked back to peer past the closed sign into the women’s room.

“Oh, you want to use that one?” he asked, squinting at me. It was a cold morning. I was bundled up in a knit cap and two layered jackets. Looking at me, the plumber honestly seemed to think I was heading for the men’s. I shrugged and took what I hoped was a few casual steps toward the men’s room.

“Use the toilet in the last stall,” he prompted me. Perhaps the other plumbing hadn’t been hooked up yet.

“All right, thanks,” I said, pitching my voice down, trying to sound like I’d meant to go in the men’s room all along.

I used the toilet in the empty men’s room to pee, washed my hands, walked out, nodded to the plumber and walked off. I felt rattled but also surprisingly comfortable. Someone had told me that I could use that bathroom, that stall, and I felt validated in doing the right thing. It was the opposite of being questioned for being in the women’s room. I hadn’t made anyone else uncomfortable by existing. Was that a success? Is not making anyone uncomfortable except myself a healthy baseline?

***

Although that experience felt validating, using the “wrong” bathroom can have very real consequences. In California, I didn’t face legal consequences for using a men’s bathroom. If I had instead been in Florida and refused to leave the men’s bathroom if asked, I could have been charged with criminal trespass, likely a first-degree misdemeanor, which carries a prison term of up to one year or a $1,000 fine.

Proponents of “bathroom bills” claim they protect children from predators, but assaulting children in restrooms (or anywhere else) is already illegal. A bathroom law doesn’t physically prevent male abusers already willing to break the law from stepping into women’s spaces. However, these laws can prevent trans women from comfortably and legally using any public bathroom, including restrooms in their workplace.

U.S. Rep. Nancy Mace introduced the Protecting Women’s Private Spaces Act in November 2024. If enacted, this law would prohibit transgender individuals from using restrooms that align with their gender identity on federal property, specifically targeting U.S. Rep. Sarah McBride, the first openly transgender member of Congress, who would no longer be allowed to use the women’s bathroom at her workplace in the Capitol.

I am lucky I don’t work in a place where I can’t use the bathroom, but navigating my gender identity is still a constant struggle — not solely with myself, but with everyone I interact with. I have to justify my gender expression to strangers and negotiate with them, whether or not our interactions are negative or positive. So why do I subject myself to this frustration? Because it would hurt more to hide myself every moment of every day.

Finding more authentic ways to express myself feels like a weight that I wasn’t aware of has been lifted off my chest, and suddenly, I can breathe deeply, newly grounded in the reality of my body. Swimming in the river after I cut my hair, I felt distantly afraid but excited about what was to come. I felt grateful I took this step toward my true self.

[arkofangels]

Don't wait up

Summary: In the heart of Gotham, you juggle the pressures of your final year at college and your prestigious Wayne Tech internship while sharing a cramped apartment with your chaotic but well-meaning roommate, Mia. A quiet night in quickly takes a turn when Jason Todd—your elusive criminology classmate—crashes, quite literally, onto your fire escape, wounded and bleeding.

a/n: slight swearing, mention of blood/injury, not proofread I wrote this half-asleep

Next>

You never thought Gotham would be home. Not really. It was a pit stop, a means to an end, a place where you could work, grind, and claw your way toward a future that didn’t involve dimly lit apartments and the constant hum of sirens outside your window. But Wayne Tech’s internship program was too good to pass up, and now, here you were—sharing a cramped studio apartment with Mia, your chaos-loving, party-going, endlessly exasperating roommate.

Mia was a hurricane, a whirlwind of bad decisions and infectious energy that somehow made life feel a little less bleak. She had a way of pulling you into her orbit, dragging you to bars, forcing you to meet new people, reminding you that there was more to life than deadlines and high-stakes projects. But tonight? Tonight, you needed quiet. Needed stillness. Needed a break from everything and everyone.

You curled up on your bed, cradling a mug of tea as lavender-scented air from your diffuser wrapped around you. The new semester was already stretching you thin—your grades had slipped last year, and you weren’t about to let that happen again. You had a plan. Study. Work. Graduate. Get the hell out of Gotham.

And then the window rattled.

The sound wasn’t loud, not at first, but something about it sent a spike of unease through you. The city had its own rhythm, its own sounds—the low thrum of traffic, the occasional shout in the distance, the ever-present hum of life pressing against the glass. But this? This was different. A sudden impact. A groan of metal under weight.

You turned, heart in your throat, just in time to see a shadow slump against the fire escape. A hand smeared red streaks across the glass, and beyond it stood the last person you’d ever expect to see in this part of the city.

Jason Todd.

You knew him. Or rather, you knew of him. The quiet guy in your criminology class who always sat in the back, never spoke unless called on, and somehow still managed to answer everything perfectly. The guy with the sharp eyes and the sharper wit, the one who never stuck around after lectures, always disappearing before anyone could get too close.

And, apparently, the guy bleeding out on your fire escape.

Your first instinct was to call the police. But something about that felt... wrong. Jason Todd wasn’t the type to be involved in anything illegal—at least, not in the way that would warrant calling the cops. But the leather jacket, the streak of red across his chest, the faint emblem of a bat barely visible beneath layers of fabric—it all told a different story.

Your stomach twisted.

You knew what you’d seen before. The Red Hood. A myth, a ghost, a brutal hand of justice that left criminals broken in Gotham’s gutters. You had seen him once, in passing, in Crime Alley when you’d taken the wrong turn after class. You’d been more intrigued by his tech than the man himself—wondering what kind of genius had built something so efficient, so powerful, so lethal.

And now he was here. Bleeding out. On your fire escape.

“Fantastic,” you muttered, grabbing the first aid kit you kept under your bed. You weren’t a medic by any stretch, but this was Gotham. Everyone had to learn basic wound care at some point.

You unlatched the window and shoved it open. The cold air bit at your skin as Jason tensed, his hand twitching toward the pistol at his side.

“Relax,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “I'm just trying to help”

His mask tilted up, white lenses locking onto you. A pause. Then, with a grunt, he staggered forward, collapsing onto your couch with the kind of drama that suggested this wasn’t his first time doing this.

“Thanks,” he muttered, voice rough, like gravel scraped across asphalt. “Hope you’re not too attached to this couch.”

“Not particularly,” you shot back, already pulling out gauze and antiseptic. “But I’d rather not have to explain a bloodstain to my landlord.”

Jason let out something that might’ve been a laugh, but it turned into a wince. You peeled back the ruined fabric of his shirt, assessing the damage. A deep gash along his side, ugly but not fatal. He’d live. Assuming he didn’t pass out on you first.

That was Jason Todd. The guy who never talked in class. The guy who was always there but never quite present. And now, the guy bleeding out on your couch, wearing the unmistakable gear of the Red Hood. Your classmate. The vigilante. The myth you’d only half-believed was real.

Your hands kept moving, more out of instinct than conscious effort, dabbing antiseptic onto the wound, pressing gauze against it. The weight of the realization settled in your chest, heavy, cold.

Jason Todd was the Red Hood.

It should have sent you into a spiral. It should have had you freaking out, or at the very least, demanding an explanation. But instead, you found yourself slipping into something easier—small talk, grounding yourself in the mundane while your mind scrambled to process everything else.

“What the hell did you get into?” you asked, threading a needle with steady hands.

“Let’s just say Black Mask and I have some... unresolved issues.” His smirk was sharp, even through the pain. “He doesn’t play nice.”

“Neither do you, apparently.”

He didn’t deny it. Just watched as you worked, his breathing slowing as the pain dulled to something distant. You didn’t ask the obvious questions. Not yet. How long had he been doing this? How had no one figured it out before? What else had you missed, sitting three rows behind him in class, thinking he was just another student with sharp eyes and sharper instincts?

The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken questions. You weren’t sure why you spoke, why you let curiosity override common sense, but the words tumbled out anyway.

“The mask,” you said, nodding toward the helmet on your coffee table. “Tech like that doesn’t come cheap.”

Jason’s lips quirked. “What, you looking to upgrade?”

“Maybe,” you admitted. “I’m a tech designer. It’s kind of my thing.”

He blinked, like he was seeing you for the first time. "Wayne Tech?" he asked, his gaze lingering on the employee ID you’d left on the coffee table, his expression unreadable.

“Intern,” you clarified, finishing the last stitch. “Not that I’d expect you to care, Mr. Vigilante.”

“Wayne Tech, huh?” His tone shifted, edged with something unreadable. “Guess that explains why you’re not running for the hills right now.”

You snorted. “Please. I’ve seen worse injuries in the R&D lab. You’re lucky I didn’t just slap a band-aid on it and call it a night.”

That earned a real laugh, low and rough, but not unpleasant. “Fair point.”

You leaned back slightly, taking him in. The Red Hood. Jason Todd. The same person. And yet, nothing about him had really changed. He was still the sharp-eyed guy from class, still the one who always seemed to know more than he let on. The only difference was that now you knew, too.

“Not many people build helmets with integrated HUDs and infrared vision,” you shot back, “or crash into my fire escape, bleed all over my couch, and make themselves at home, But here we are."

Jason smirked, something softer beneath it.

As the silence stretched between you, the sudden jingle of keys at the apartment door shattered the fragile stillness. Both of you froze, your breath catching in your throat.

Your stomach dropped.

Mia was home.

"Oh shit... that's my roommate," you whisper sharply, snatching Jason's mask off the table. Without thinking, you step closer and position yourself in front of him, blocking the unmistakable bat emblem on his chest with your body. It wasn’t subtle—you could feel Jason’s eyes on you, probably amused despite the situation—but it was the best you could manage under the circumstances.

The door flew open, and Mia swept in with her signature flair, her hair slightly disheveled and her eyeliner smudged. She froze mid-step when her eyes landed on Jason sitting on the couch.

"Uh... hi?" she said, raising an eyebrow, her gaze darting suspiciously between you and him. "Did I miss something?"

"This is... Jason," you said, fumbling for words and gesturing awkwardly toward him. "He’s in my Data Analysis class. Had a bit of an accident and, uh, needed some first aid."

Jason gave her a small nod, his expression unreadable. "Nice to meet you," he said smoothly, somehow managing to make the situation seem less bizarre than it was.

Mia narrowed her eyes for a moment, clearly not convinced, but then shrugged it off. "Right. Well, I’ll leave you two to... whatever this is," she said, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and disappearing into her room without another word.

The door clicked shut, and you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. "That was close," you muttered, turning back to Jason. He was leaning back now, one eyebrow raised, clearly amused.

“Data Analysis class? Really?" he asked, the corners of his mouth twitching into the faintest smirk.

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. "You're welcome for saving your secret identity, by the way. And it's not that bad—we're going to the same college. She’s bound to see you around campus eventually."

You let the silence settle for a moment before shifting your weight, glancing at him. "So," you began, your voice softer now. "What's it like? Being..." You gestured vaguely at his suit.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Being what? A guy who bleeds on random people’s furniture?”

You rolled your eyes. “A vigilante. You know what I mean.”

He leaned back, his gaze fixed on you, as if weighing how much to reveal. “It’s not glamorous, if that’s what you’re asking. You get used to stitches, bruises, and sleeping with one eye open. But… someone’s gotta do it.”

You shifted on your feet, watching him carefully. "Hey, you know you don’t have to do this, right? There are people—Batman, for one—who can handle this kind of thing."  

Jason let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "Batman can’t save everybody." His voice was firm, unwavering. "Someone has to step up."  

"And that someone has to be you?" you asked, your voice quieter now.  

He shrugged. "Guess so. Not like I could sit back and watch this city tear itself apart."  

Your lips pressed into a thin line. There was something undeniably admirable about his resolve, even if it sounded like a lonely existence. A life of sacrifice. Before you could respond, the sharp buzz of Jason’s phone cut through the quiet room. He glanced at the screen, his jaw tightening.

“Trouble?” you asked.

“Always,” he muttered, standing up and grabbing his jacket. 

“Thanks for the patch-up. I owe you one.”

And just like that, he was gone, swallowed by Gotham’s shadows. You stood by the window for a long moment, the cool night air brushing against your skin. 

You weren’t sure what this meant, if it meant anything at all. But one thing was certain—Jason Todd had crashed into your life, and something told you he wasn’t done yet.

[another-lost-mc]

I really liked the lactation headcanons for the brothers and Solomon! I was wondering if your planning to make more for the other characters?

A/N: This series was a wild ride. It started as crack-treated-seriously and then I kind of liked it more than I thought I would. The comments and requests along the way motivated me to keep going. If you were one of the readers waiting for these characters to show up, I hope the final installment was worth the wait!

LUCIFER, SATAN, DIAVOLO & BARBATOS, SIMEON, KARASU

5k words | NSFW/MDNI | gn!Reader

Content/warnings: due to magical mishaps, reader has larger, lactating breasts that are vaguely described. Mostly hurt/comfort, smut and fluff. Lactation kink, breast/nipple play, breast massaging/fondling, threesome/poly relationship, fingering, cockwarming, oral sex, rough sex. Reader pronouns: you/your, they/them.

More in the Lactation Kink series: Mammon | Levi, Asmo, Beel, Belphie | Solomon

LUCIFER

Lucifer thinks it's so precious when you cross your arms and insist he turn around so you can strip out of your soiled pajamas. Your chest strains against the buttons of the Devilmoth silk pajama shirt he bought you, and it’s dotted with wet spots from your leaking nipples. Your frown deepens when he insists that he’s seen you naked plenty of times before, but he finally relents with a sigh and turns to face the wall so you can undress. 

He’s still not sure how this unusual situation occurred, but he has a gut feeling that a certain white-haired sorcerer has something to do with it. He’ll have to hunt Solomon down and string him up later as penance, but for right now, his only priority is making sure you’re comfortable and cared for. 

The first thing he thought might help your stress and discomfort was sitting in a warm bath. He used his personal shower gel to add a bit of fragrance and foam to the water. The subtle notes of coffee and amber mix diffuse into the steamy air. He was afraid that Asmo’s floral bubble bath might be too overpowering.

(He secretly prefers that you use scented products that will remind you of him anyway.)

Once he hears the soft sloshing of bath water, he finally turns around. There’s a small stool perched in the corner of the room, and he drags it over so he can sit behind you. You look at him over your shoulder and comment that maybe it's best he leaves—you're afraid his clothes might get wet. He offers you a small smile but shakes his head and reminds you to stop being silly.

He assumes that your deflection is your attempt to draw his attention away from you and your body's recent changes. Your breasts are larger now, and he's hesitant to admit out loud that it’s a bit strange. It’s not the same body he’s mapped with his hands and worshipped with his tongue. But what he realized when he found you like this earlier, and what he hopes you'll always believe, is that it doesn’t matter what you look like. Nothing could ever change how he feels for you. You’ll always be stunning in his eyes, the single person who captivates him effortlessly with a smile, a touch, a kiss—all the things you offer freely that prove how much you love him.

He doesn't know how to change your body back, but what he can do is help you feel better instead. He starts by massaging your shoulders gently, and he feels the tension start to melt away under his fingers. Your arms float weightlessly in the water at your sides, and you’re no longer focused on shielding your chest from his view. He uses the opportunity to rake his greedy, curious eyes along your body. Glimpses of wet, naked skin peek through the fluffy layer of bubbles; the slick tops of your breasts rest just above the water’s surface.

He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows and scoots his seat a little closer. He kisses the ticklish spot below your ear while his hands curl over your shoulders and smooth down your chest. He cups the heavy weight of your tits in his palms, and his cock twitches when you sigh softly at his touch. You tip your head back against the edge of the porcelain tub so he has better access to the soft column of your throat. He kisses along your jaw and down your neck as his fingers pinch greedily at your swollen nipples. You push your chest against his hands encouragingly, a silent plea to keep going. He rolls the hardened buds between his fingers and smirks into the crook of your neck when you breathe out a quiet moan. He does it again and again, alternating pinching your nipples gently and massaging your breasts until you’re both desperate for more.

The bubbles slowly start to dissipate and he can see more of your naked body below the water’s surface. His cock aches when you start squirming in the water and clenching your thighs together; you're desperate for some sort of friction to relieve the heat building inside you. He’s tempted to tear off his clothes and lower himself into the bath with you, but your nipples have started leaking again. The creamy discharge expels into the water and lingers on the surface like a film. The renewed scent of warm milk in the air envelops him like a fog. He coaxes you to sit up straight, and your tits hang heavily from your chest, no longer buoyant in the bath water. He flicks his thumb across your nipple and gathers some of the pearly-white milk before sucking it into his mouth with a hum.

You shift in the tub to face him properly, and his eyes drink in the delectable sight of your warm cheeks, your lust-darkened eyes and your soft, pouty lips. Your eyes flick down when you notice the obvious bulge in his pants. You slowly lick your lips and all he can think of now is tracing your mouth with the tip of his cock. He thinks about thrusting himself gently into your mouth and teasing the back of your throat while you swallow around him. He’ll have to pull away before he comes because he wants to paint your skin with his release. The thought of his cum mixing with the drops of milk clinging to your tits makes his cock ache and throb against his zipper.

Fantasies can only satisfy him for so long, and he’s run out of patience for daydreams. He stands up and starts unbuttoning his shirt; he’s tempted to tear the damn thing open because the desire to have your mouth around his cock tests the limits of his self-control.

“The bath water is getting cool, my love,” he murmurs thickly. (It's not, but you don't correct him because you already know what he wants.) He keeps his hungry gaze locked with your own as he starts unbuckling his belt. “Rinsing off in a warm shower might be best for now—but this time, I think I’ll join you.”

SATAN

Satan is touched that you would ask him for help with your unfortunate little problem. Problems. He skimmed through his collection of human world medical texts before coming to your room but he’s not prepared for the reality when he walks through your door: the lactonic scent in the air, your damp night shirt that sticks to your swollen chest and hardened nipples, the apprehension in your eyes because you’re afraid he’ll tease you.

Your expression is hesitant because of your self-consciousness, but right now he wants nothing more than to comfort you, to help you so that this strange mishap passes as painlessly as possible. He sent word to Lucifer already and got permission for both of you to stay home: you can relax easier without the others loitering nearby, and he can take care of you in peace and quiet.

He sits at your desk and reads from a medical book in his lap. He explains that massaging might help with the excess fluid and the swelling that's causing you some discomfort. His cheeks burn flaming-hot because he's so tempted to offer to do it for you, but he doesn’t want to make you feel even more awkward or exposed. 

He clears his throat and looks down at his book to give you some semblance of privacy. He pretends to read, but he steals glimpses of you from the corner of his eye instead. You peel away the sticky nightshirt and toss it aside, and his breath hitches when you cup your heavy tits in your hands. You hold them gently, looking down at them curiously like you haven’t really looked at them before. You squeeze them and utter a little gasp that makes his cock twitch inside his pants. You do it again, and again, and you try pinching one of your nipples too. There’s a fresh wave of milky scent in the air, and he can hear the quiet drip—drip—drips as the creamy fluid falls onto your lap.

His fingers twitch with the urge to touch, to squeeze your soft breasts himself. He desperately wants to hear more of your whiny little sounds in his ear as he plays with your tits, but he reminds himself that this isn't about him, this is about you.

(He doesn’t realize you’ve been watching him, too. He thinks he’s fooling you with the upside-down book in his lap that he’s clearly not reading, or the way his cheeks and the tips of his ears are bright-red from embarrassment or arousal—probably both—and the loudest sound in your room is his jerky, panted breaths.)

He stares blankly at nothing while he imagines what it might be like to watch your tits jiggle from the force of his thrusts as he fucks you. He thinks about squeezing them in his hands and watching the milky fluids seep between his fingertips. His mind races and he thinks about jerking off as he kneels over your stomach, spilling his release across your skin and watching his cum drip between the valley of your breasts into the little pools of your milk. He could gather it up on his fingers and feed it to you, if you’re curious what both of you taste like mixed together…?

He looks over in a panic when he realizes you’re trying to get his attention. From the mischievous smile on your face, apparently it wasn’t the first time you called his name. His eyes linger on your chest before he snaps his gaze up to yours, but you look even more devious now. His cock throbs between his legs when you lay back against your pillows, slowly and deliberately, and you start playing with your tits again. 

You ask him in the sweetest, most innocent tone if he’d like to help, and he’s out of the chair in an instant. The book in his lap falls carelessly to the floor, revealing the hard outline of his cock in his jeans and the little wet spot forming near the tip. He climbs onto the bed and settles himself over your thighs. He leans forward and covers your hands with his, squeezing your tits gently and muffling your soft moan when he captures your lips in a desperate kiss.

DIAVOLO & BARBATOS

Your brunch date with Diavolo and Barbatos takes an unexpected turn when you show up with swollen breasts and leaking nipples. You threw on an oversized sweater to try and hide your unexpected condition so you wouldn’t have to cancel on them.

They escort you inside the castle to Diavolo’s private chambers where the breakfast table has been set on his private balcony, but both demons can sense right away that something’s not quite right. Diavolo will know if you lie, and you’re not a good liar at the best of times, so you tell them the truth. You shuffle your feet nervously and brace yourself for their reactions—surprise, worry, disgust?

Above all else, they’re concerned about your condition and whether you’re in any pain. You reassure them it’s mostly embarrassment and they seem relieved to hear it. The three of you loiter awkwardly in Diavolo's room and you realize that they're acting a little strange after you confess your secret to them. They lean in close and sniff curiously at your skin. Barbatos mutters something about not wanting you to get cold and he tugs at the hem of the damp sweater. Once the heavy shirt is removed, you only have a soaking-wet undershirt to cover your chest. The thin, flimsy material is nearly see-through and it clings to your breasts and your hardening nipples in the cool air. Two pairs of eyes roam your chest eagerly, and Diavolo pulls you into his arms—he shrugs off your feeble concerns about his clothes getting dirty too.

(While the young prince distracts you, Barbatos turns away and brings the discarded sweater to his nose. He breathes in your natural scent laced with milk and licks experimentally against the wet cotton. It has a surprisingly warm, semi-sweet taste. He draws a bit more of the fabric between his lips and sucks lightly, but the increasingly persistent throbbing between his legs snaps him out of his daze.)

Barbatos sets everything aside to be washed and by the time he returns to your side, Diavolo reaches for the hem of your undershirt next. The heat in their eyes is unmistakable and you suddenly realize what they mean when they offer to help you. Their dark eyes promise all sorts of sin to distract you from your unfortunate predicament, but like always, they wait patiently for your permission. As soon as you've nodded your consent, Diavolo takes off your undershirt while Barbatos reaches for your waistband. Gentle hands remove the last of your clothing, and they lead you to the bed.

They press against you, Diavolo in front of you and Barbatos at your back, and you're engulfed by the heat of their bodies. They take turns peppering your lips and your bare skin in a flurry of hot, sloppy kisses. Greedy hands roam across your body as they hastily rid themselves of their own clothing.

Barbatos manages to take his clothes off first, and his naked body is hot and firm against your back. He wraps an arm around your waist and buries his nose against your neck. He tilts your head towards his and kisses you while his slick tail strokes between your legs and teases at your entrance. He holds you steady in his arms despite the tremor in your legs as the precise pace of his tail flicking in and out of you teases you with pleasure. Your skin grows slippery from his tail’s secretion, and once he's satisfied he won't hurt you, he replaces his tail with his fingers next. Two fingers slip inside easily and he scissors them wide to stretch you open for his cock. His name falls from your lips in jerky little whimpers and groans, and you grind your ass against his cock when you're ready for more.

You’re so perfectly distracted that you nearly forgot about Diavolo. He watches silently with lustful eyes as Barbatos’ hand works between your thighs. He undresses himself slowly while he enjoys the sight of his butler’s dexterous fingers thrusting in and out of your greedy hole. He meets Barbatos' questioning look over your shoulder; when he nods, Barbatos sits on the edge of the bed and pulls you down into his lap.

Your body trembles with anticipation as Barbatos guides his cock inside you, and you groan his name when he bottoms out. He murmurs praise into your ear about how you take him so well and you’re so warm and soft for him. He holds your hips still when you try to squirm in his lap. He denies you the friction you crave, but he promises they'll both reward you if you listen and behave.

He wraps one arm around your tummy to keep you pressed against him while the other hand starts fondling one of your tits. His cock twitches inside you every time you moan or shudder, but he still won't let you move. His fingers play with your nipple, tracing the sensitive nub before surprising you with a sharp pinch between his finger and thumb. Milk drips onto your lap and rolls lazily down the inside of your thighs. Your face burns with embarrassment and desire, but his lips brush the shell of your ear. You're doing so well, he promises with a kiss. What a delightful treat you are, dearest.

Diavolo watches your sweet torment as he lazily fists his cock. The tendrils of milk and sweat stain your skin and he longs to trace them both with his tongue. These little games benefit from a bit of a tease, and he lets desire build within him like an inferno.

When he can't possibly wait anymore to touch you, he finally kneels between your legs. His large hands push your thighs apart so he can pepper your ticklish thighs with soft kisses. Your breasts bounce lightly each time his feather-light lips brush over a sensitive patch of skin. Barbatos continues pinching your nipples and his young master waits patiently for it to roll down your thighs. He laps up your milk greedily between nips of teeth. Your musky arousal and your sweet milk on his tongue makes him ravenous for you.

Diavolo buries his head between your legs and sucks at your arousal earnestly, and Barbatos finally starts to move. He grinds his hips lazily against yours so his cock fills you deeply with each little thrust of his hips. He fondles both of your tits with both his hands as Diavolo’s hands curl around your hips. Each roll of your hips draws Barbatos deeper inside you while Diavolo ravishes you with his tongue, desperate for every drop of milk and cum your body can give him.

SIMEON

Simeon is startled from his book when an angry knock pounds on the front door of Purgatory Hall. He’s not sure what Solomon did to you, but judging by the frustrated purse of your lips and the angry glint in your eyes, it must be serious. The sorcerer is nowhere to be found, but Simeon leads you to his room—he hopes you’ll be more comfortable and willing to talk to him about what’s bothering you in private.

He’s shocked by the sight of your large chest when you take off your jacket with a frustrated grumble. There are some dried stains around your hardening nipples and you point at yourself derisively. You complain about the mess you woke up to and how most of your tops don’t even fit anymore. You compare yourself to a leaky faucet and he stops your self-deprecating rant with a gentle hand on your shoulder. He’s not sure how he can help but he desperately wants to. Your eyes look so sad and it’s gut-wrenching to see you like this.

You look away from him in embarrassment, but he reassures you that he wants to help. He strokes your cheek gently with the back of his fingers and promises he’ll do whatever you ask of him. His thumb wipes away a stray tear that slips from the corner of your eye, and you melt into his chest when he pulls you into a gentle hug. 

“I could use a distraction,” you murmur quietly into his shirt with a sniffle.

A distraction?

If it’s a distraction you need, then that's what he'll do for you.

He helps you take off your clothes first. Your top is already a lost cause, and there’s small drip stains on your pants now too. He drops them into a messy pile on the floor. He quickly takes off his own shirt and pants next while you scoot back on his bed until you’re resting comfortably against the pillows.

It’s not often he gets to enjoy you like this: naked and trembling with anticipation against his sheets, gazing at him with dark eyes blown-black with lust. He drinks in the sight of your chest and swallows thickly when your breasts bounce slightly when the mattress dips from his weight.

He runs his hands slowly up your legs and pushes them apart gently. He lays between your thighs and press sweet, soft kisses against your warm skin. He teases you with little nips of teeth and leaves behind little marks that you can remember him by tomorrow. He glances at you curiously when one of your hands brushes away the curtain of hair over his eyes. He stares hungrily at the tantalizing sight of your hand cupping one of your swollen tits; you pinch your nipple playfully when you’re sure he’s watching.

You little tease.

He licks a thick stripe up the inside of your thigh before he buries his face against your sex. Your surprised yelp trails off into a moan, and he hisses when your free hand tangles roughly in his hair. You roll your hips against his face while the fingers clenched in his hair keep his mouth exactly where you want him.

He’s messy when he goes down on you, teasing you with kitten licks between greedy sucks between his lips. Your skin grows slick with your own musky arousal and his spit. When he hums at your taste, you can almost feel it vibrating deep in your bones. Your body quakes delightfully as he coaxes you towards your release, and your shaky voice pleads for more. 

He regrets not bringing a bottle of lube with him earlier; you're nearly begging for him to fuck you. He doesn’t want to get up even for a moment, so he settles for the next best thing: he traces your entrance with his tongue instead. One hand holds your hip down on the bed while the other snakes up your body and closes over your heavy tit. He squeezes the soft flesh as he slips his tongue inside you; his fingers dig into your hip when your body clenches around him. You rock your hips to encourage him to give you more, to touch you deeper inside, and he happily obliges.

He might not be fucking you with his cock, but it still doesn’t take long for you to fall apart from his ministrations. His name is a desperate chant that falls from your lips, punctuated by curses and groans and breathy whimpers. Your thighs tremble from your impending release, and his fingers end up covered with milk as he continues playing with your breasts. He ruts against the mattress to provide his cock some relief as you finally fall to pieces against his mouth. He coaxes the last remnants of pleasure from you, lapping greedily at your cum and flicking his tongue against your hole until you’re too sensitive and nearly begging for him to stop.

When you’re satisfied and exhausted, he slides up the bed and braces himself over you. Your chest heaves from exertion and your breasts are soft against his when he lowers his chest to yours. His cock hangs heavy between you and it smears precum where it rests on your belly. He lowers his head and kisses across your chest as he starts grinding his cock against you. Your hands card through his hair as you hold him against your chest. He latches onto one of your nipples and moans as a fresh burst of creamy fluid spills across his tongue.

KARASU

Karasu will gladly do anything you ask, or give you anything you want if it’s in his power to give.

He comes to the House of Lamentation as soon as you call, your voice thick with tears, and he takes a personal day off work to see you. He tries to keep the shock and confusion (and interest) from his expression when he arrives and discovers your temporary ailment. He hugs you and kisses your cheeks and leads you to your ensuite bathroom where he runs a warm shower for you. He changes your damp, milk-stained sheets while you wash. He has a clean, dry set of pajamas waiting for you when you step out in your bathrobe.

He does all these things, and he offers to do anything else you need, because he loves you no matter what. It surprises him when you ask him to fuck you, and for the first time since he arrived that morning, he hesitates. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, because he does. He’s filled to the brim with desire for you, a never ending itch just below the surface of his skin that only finds relief when he’s inside you. 

Karasu expected that you might like a relaxing day in front of the TV. He could help you stay clean and dry while your…larger chest…continues leaking. He thought about ordering your favourite takeout for lunch, and maybe going for a walk in the garden if you’re up to it later.

The thought of spending the day in bed with you never crossed his mind. The idea is awfully tempting, but above all else, he’s concerned about hurting you somehow. It's not a risk he's willing to take, but you reassure him it'll be fine as you unfasten your robe and let it drop carelessly at your feet. He stares at your naked body and realizes that he’s powerless to deny you; if you want him so badly, you can have him.

One thing you can't lie about is your chest; your breasts are heavy and swollen, and he knows they can’t be comfortable. You’re surprisingly shy about letting him touch them, so he doesn’t ask. However, you seem to have a clever idea when you stack your pillows and cover them with a towel. You kneel on the bed and lay with your chest resting comfortably on the pillows to support your breasts while the towel catches any fluid that leaks out. The extra cushioning helps relieve some of the strain on your shoulders.

Karasu can’t deny that you make an extremely desirable sight like this: your back curves beautifully in this position, and your ass is raised high in the air when you lean forward. He strips quickly and the mattress dips slightly under him when he kneels onto the bed. He shuffles into position behind you and runs his hands up and down your lower back before smoothing over the generous swell of your hips and ass.

He prefers to see your face when he fucks you, but you wiggle your hips impatiently and he admits that this position is tantalizing in its own way. If you’d rather feel pleasure than discomfort, why would he deny you when your body begs him so beautifully?

He slicks his fingers with lube and rubs them together for a moment to warm them. You gasp softly when his hand explores between your legs and brushes teasingly against your entrance. He rubs his fingers across the sensitive opening, and each little noise you make shoots straight through him to his cock; he’s already hard and dripping for you.

He ignores the ache of his own desire as he slips one finger inside you. Your body is so inviting, so soft and pliable under his touch. You might’ve begged for him before, but he thinks he might be even more desperate than you are now. He adds another finger, and a third quickly after that. He stretches you wide and savors the whimpered pleas falling endlessly from your lips when you beg him to fuck you already.

He positions himself behind you and rubs his cock between your thighs so the messy slick and lube coats his shaft. He holds you steady with one hand curled around your hip while the other guides his cock tip to your entrance. He slips inside with a groan and pushes in until he’s fully sheathed inside you with one deep stroke. 

Sweat beads along his brow and rolls down his temples. He gives you a moment to adjust as your greedy little hole wraps snuggly around his cock. There’s nothing sweeter than the hot, tight embrace of your body clenching desperately around him. When you push back slightly with your hips to grind against him, he finally starts to move. He’s slow and steady so the force of his thrusts don’t put too much weight on your chest.

He pauses when you whimper quietly, but before he can ask what’s wrong, he sniffs the milky scent of your discharge in the air. 

“Don’t—don’t stop,” you plead breathlessly, hands fisting the sheets.

He snaps his hips harder than before—there’s something about the whiny tremor in your voice that makes lust surge through his veins. “Making a mess already, dear one?” 

You moan his name and roll your hips, trying so desperately to fuck yourself on his cock. He rarely talks dirty like this, and you like it. You nod eagerly with a quiet, uh huh. You roll your hips and urge him to move harder, and deeper and faster, and he obeys. He meets your rhythm, panting heavily as he pounds into you. A stream of curses and moans and grunts fall from his lips while your own pleased noises mix with his own.

The bed frame groans and creaks beneath you, but he can still hear the obscene squelch of his cock dragging against your walls as he thrusts inside you. His own release builds inside him as his pace becomes rougher and faster; he won’t last very long but he'll be damned if he comes before you do. He leans against your back and reaches between your legs so he can stroke you with his wet, sticky fingers. “Come for me, you beautiful thing, that’s it—I want to feel you come on my cock, you‘re so perfect for me, just a little bit more—”

Your orgasm crashes over you as he coos filthy praise against your ear. He strokes you through it until your sinful vice tightens around his cock and he comes too. He pumps into you lazily as thick ropes of cum make his thrusts wet and sloppy. His hips finally stutter to a halt when he’s too sensitive to keep going. His softening cock slips from your body and he collapses beside you with a drawn-out groan.

You rest flat on your tummy while you catch your breath, but there’s a pleased smile curling your lips when you turn your head to look at him. “That helped,” you admit cheekily, and you both break into bashful laughter. “I like it when you’re a little rough,” you admit as you reach for his hand.

He laces his fingers with yours and nuzzles against your shoulder. “Let me order something for us to eat,” he suggests. “After that, maybe we can experiment with other ways to help you feel better.”

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[izaanagi]

There is a moment of panic when you knock on the door, your nerves giving a jolt - before a curt ‘Come in’ seals your faith. 

As the door creaks open, exactly like it would in a horror movie, you step in only to have the man sitting at his desk and typing away at laptop fill up your vision. He does not look up from the task he is completing, but even the clacks of his drawn out fingers sound elegant and useless to argue with. The aura that Barou exudes is simply that of complete devastation and utter dominion: there is no way to fight such a beast and even for a second hope you could come alive out of it. 

“I have the documents you asked for earlier. I am going to leave them on the desk, sir,” you put out, as the boss has not spared yet a glance, and you don’t  have enough time to waste. 

He does not answer, and so all is left to do is to pace forward, place the pile on top of the flawlessly arranged working desk and turn around to leave. But you still have to make a step towards the door, when the clacking stops. 

“Wait,” he snaps, as you hear him getting up and cross over to go towards the door, and shut it close. 

It’s not a good sign, and you swallow the clump of saliva just formed inside your mouth. There is anticipation and dread, and they’re both equally as powerful. 

As Barou approaches, all you can do is step back - but there is nowhere to go, as soon your back hits the desk and his splayed hand trap you right where you would not like to be at this time: right in his cage, his eyes fixed on yours, his cologne being overbearing of the citrus lemon ambiance diffuser he has somewhere hidden on one of his shelves. 

“You thought you could simply go like this after what happened yesterday?” He asks, almost curious. “Did you think that it was a one-time thing and that now we could just go back to working in the same space with no repercussions?” 

You swallow again, and shake your head. “I did not dare to think so, sir.”

Then, he comes closer and closer, until your mouths are a breath away and his deep red eyes are the only splash of colour you can focus on. 

“Then you can get on your knees and make me forget that for a second you did, little peach,” he whispers, as a grin tries to appear on his mouth. 

There is already a knowing pool of wetness forming over your grey panties, your hands slightly trembling both in fear and anticipation of what his newly formed connection will be like. It does not matter that Barou’s cock was inside you not even twenty four hours prior, this is a place of work and tainting it with the smell of sex is not something that you could have imagined. 

Almost on autopilot, a dull throb possessing your faults hidden beneath a layers of clothes, you sink on your knees, your face landing directly in front of your boss’ crotch, a tent in his pants evident. He’s semi hard by the time you pull down his zipper and his pants. 

Your nose bares close to his cock, a small smear of pre cum staining the white boxers - when Barou’s hands grabs your neck, almost enveloping it, and presses your face against himself. 

“This is all your fault. I’m sitting here and all I can think about is how tight your pussy was,” he almost moans. 

Your lick his shaft through the fabric, the firmness of his member weighting on your tongue. The fabric gets in the way, wet under your ministrations, until Barou gets tired of it and with a small “Fuck this,” simply tugs at his waistband, and draws his dick out, red and swollen. 

You lose no time to envelope his tip inside, sucking on the soft skin and trailing your tongue over his slit, salty from the precum. Your left hand then wraps around his length, from the base up to the middle, as your struggle to let your fingers meet, given his girth. There is a ton of Barou and your mouth is simply too small to take him all in. 

“You look good on your knees with my cock in your mouth,” he says, as he pushes your head once again, his tip almost hitting the back of your throat with the power behind it. “Make use of that mouth wisely.”

Your head starts bobbing up and down, taking as much of him as you can, as your tongue swirls around his vein underneath, his glans and wherever it reaches. You almost gag before you can remove yourself from him, a thread of saliva connecting you to the majestic statement of manhood. You look up only to find Barou Shouei flushed, one hand still on the desk to support himself and the other ready to take advantage of you again. 

Blowing him is a hard job, as you twist your hand around the parts you cannot reach with your mouth, licking his shaft up and down with your tongue, and then sucking in his tip, cheeks hollowed up. 

As his cock hits the back of your throat again and you gag for the umpteenth time, you can feel Barou’s cock twitch. It reverberates throughout your wet pussy, looking for some kind of release, but Barou’s hands are soon on your head and all you can do is grasp his hips as he thrust into your mouth with ferocity, seeking a climax. 

There is an abrupt “Holy fuck,” as cum flows into your mouth, thick and hot, the taste of sea water. There is no time to spit out as his hand closes your mouth and all you can do is swallow his semen, make a disgusted face and wipe your mouth. 

“I hope you enjoyed your meal,”he says as he shoves his dick once again in your mouth, in order for it to be clean. But that’s as far as it goes, as you stand up, your knees hollering at you from being in that position a minute too long and wobbling at the door, mentally scanning your desk to remember whether you brough some water with you. 

“Close the door as you go,” Barou adds, as he zips himself up and goes to sit back again at where you found him when you came into the office. 

“You are such a dick,” you mutter to yourself as you bang the door after you, and can all but see the satisfied shit eating grin that Barou Shouei has plastered on his lips. 

[apod]

2024 December 27

Planet Earth at Twilight Image Credit: ISS Expedition 2 Crew, Gateway to Astronaut Photography of Earth, NASA

Explanation: No sudden, sharp boundary marks the passage of day into night in this gorgeous view of ocean and clouds over our fair planet Earth. Instead, the shadow line or terminator is diffuse and shows the gradual transition to darkness we experience as twilight. With the Sun illuminating the scene from the right, the cloud tops reflect gently reddened sunlight filtered through the dusty troposphere, the lowest layer of the planet's nurturing atmosphere. A clear high altitude layer, visible along the dayside's upper edge, scatters blue sunlight and fades into the blackness of space. This picture was taken from the International Space Station orbiting at an altitude of 211 nautical miles. Of course from home, you can check out the Earth Now.

∞ Source: apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap241227.html

[solsticehymns]

eden: oneshot (hogmarch 2025!)

remus lupin x f!reader / fluff / yearning / cozy & intimate

part of @thatdammchickennugget's organized hogmarch 2025 writer's challenge (week 1)! so fun to participate in!! <33

summary: You drag Remus to the greenhouse in the dead of night, a hidden Eden tucked away from the rest of the world. He follows without hesitation. But when a storm traps you inside, the quiet warmth between you begins to bloom into something more.

a/n: ooohhhhh i had a lot of fun thinking of ideas for the prompts and writing this!!! i thought of them getting trapped in a storm in the greenhouse first for the cozy vibe so i ran with it hehehe can't wait for the upcoming weeks :D -sunny ☀️🌻

wc: 1588

The passage to the greenhouse unfolds with an almost meditative stillness, the crisp night air suffused with the residual hum of Hogwarts as it settles into the hush of twilight. The scent of damp earth and petrichor permeates the atmosphere, layered with the faint yet intricate fragrance of nocturnal flora—subtle hints of jasmine, moss, and the lingering traces of rain-slicked bark.

With your cloak drawn tightly around you, each step through the frost-laced grass is punctuated by a muted crunch. Beside you, Remus exhales a slow breath into the cold, rubbing his hands together in an attempt to chase away the lingering chill.

The distant glow of the castle fractures the darkness, its light diffusing into an ambient orange glow that highlights the structure. Overhead, the sky extends infinitely, a vast and unyielding canvas of deep indigo punctuated only by the faintest celestial flickers.

“Remind me why I needed to be here for this?” he asks, amusement threading through his tone. “You seem more than capable on your own.”

You smirk, nudging his shoulder lightly. “Because I like having you here.”

It is an honest response—perhaps too honest. You hope he does not scrutinize it, does not think too long on the implications. If he does, he may notice the way your pulse skips at his nearness, the way your fingers twitch against your cloak to prevent an unconscious reach toward him.

A chuckle escapes him, the corners of his mouth lifting in a subdued, near-involuntary smile.

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” he teases, but there’s a warmth to his voice. “Though I suppose I like your company too.”

It is a simple admission, yet it pools in your stomach like honey in warm tea, slow and steady, dissolving before you can hold onto it. Rolling your eyes in mock exasperation, you grasp his wrist and tug him toward the greenhouse door. “Come on. The Moondew Blossoms don’t take care of themselves, you know. It’s colder than usual, and I just want to make sure they’re all right.”

He sighs—dramatic, long-suffering—but follows without protest, trailing in your path like someone who has long since surrendered to your whims.

The greenhouse stands ahead, its iron framework entangled with ivy, glass panes blurred by condensation where internal warmth resists the encroaching cold.

The moment you push open the door, a wave of humid air envelops you, thick with the scent of damp loam and flourishing greenery. Within, a controlled chaos of vegetation thrives beneath the glow of enchanted lanterns. Droplets of moisture cling to violet-hued petals, heavy with the slow pull of gravity. Ivy stretches upward in quiet ambition, its growth imperceptible yet ceaseless.

Remus follows, exhaling softly. He never requires an invitation. He never has. He is simply there, steady and unobtrusive, always offering his presence without demand. If you ask for his company, he gives it freely. If you slip into silence, he meets you there, holding the quiet as if it belongs to both of you. And when you drift just a fraction too close, close enough to feel his warmth, he does not pull away. He never does. Maybe he enjoys it too much. Maybe he’s waiting, just as you are, for the moment when neither of you will have to pretend it’s coincidence.

Or perhaps he always knew. Perhaps that’s why he lingers now, watching you with a focus he rarely grants anything else. He studies the way your fingers skim delicately over the petals, the way you cradle the fragile stems as if they are something sacred. His fingers twitch at his sides, restrained but restless. It would be so easy—to reach out, to tuck a leaf behind your ear, to let his knuckles graze your wrist and feel the warmth of your skin beneath his touch.

He exhales, slow and measured, as if trying to convince himself this is nothing—just another moment, just another night. But the familiar feeling settles in his chest, something unspoken pressing against the quiet between you. He should look away, should move, but he doesn't. Instead, he watches, gaze tracing every careful movement, every soft exhale, as if searching for permission in the spaces neither of you have dared to cross.

Then the rain begins.

At first, it is a light, rhythmic tapping against the glass—soft, delicate. Within minutes, it crescendos into a relentless downpour, sheets of water cascading against the structure, lightning streaking across the sky in jagged interruptions. The world outside distorts, blurred into an abstraction of shadow and refracted light.

The realization settles slowly, insidiously—you are trapped here with him. Remus, for his part, seems to take in the situation with a bemused sort of acceptance, rocking back on his heels as he peers outside at the storm. There is no casual escape, no easy way to pretend this moment never unfolded. The castle is unreachable without stepping into the storm’s unforgiving grasp.

Your stomach clenches, pulse faltering as your mind catches up to the weight of it all. You press your forehead against the glass, the cool surface grounding you against the thick, cloying warmth of the greenhouse. “This is my fault.”

“Well, on the bright side,” he cuts in, his voice light, teasing, “at least we won’t die of thirst in here. Plenty of condensation to go around.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Oh, fantastic. That’ll keep us going for at least another hour.”

“Exactly,” he says, flashing you a grin. “Really, we should be thanking the storm for this—great opportunity for character growth. Maybe we’ll develop some survival instincts.”

“Or pneumonia.”

“A small price to pay.”

You roll your eyes, exhaling sharply. “And I suppose this is hilarious to you?”

“A little,” he admits, rocking back on his heels. “But mostly, I’m just enjoying watching you come to terms with the consequences of your own impulsivity.”

You shoot him a glare. “I am perfectly capable of handling my own impulsivity.”

“Mm.” He makes a noncommittal noise, but the corners of his mouth twitch with amusement. “Sure.”

You shove at his arm lightly, and he chuckles, catching your wrist in an easy grip before you can pull away. It’s meant to be casual, playful—but the moment his fingers brush against your skin, something shifts. His grip lingers just a second too long, and when you glance up, the teasing glint in his eyes has softened into something else entirely.

He is nearer now. His expression is composed, unreadable, but something within it shifts—something that lingers just beneath the surface, waiting. He has always held himself in careful restraint, but there is an unspoken gravity in the space between you, something tenuous and fragile yet undeniably real.

“If we’re stuck here,” he murmurs, voice lower now, “We might as well make the most of it.”

The words unfurl between you, gentle yet irrevocable. The greenhouse, once vast and teeming with life, now feels smaller—quieter, as if the moment itself is holding its breath. The storm beyond ceases to be an interruption, instead existing only as a distant echo, a force beyond this singular, suspended reality.

Your pulse quickens, though whether it is from the moment or the warmth of his proximity, you cannot say. “And how exactly do we make the most of it?”

Remus watches you, gaze tracing the delicate curve of your cheek, the parted shape of your lips, as if committing them to memory. “I could think of a few ways,” he murmurs. His hand lifts, hesitating near your face—an unspoken offering, a final opportunity to retreat.

Yet you do not move.

Your breath falters. Has he always looked at you this way? Or have you simply refused to acknowledge it? Your heart pounds against your ribs, a cacophony of every unspoken thought, every moment stolen in silence, every possibility left untouched.

This is happening. It is real, it is tangible, and there is no time to think, no space for hesitation. You have imagined this moment before, turned it over in your mind in quiet solitude, but now it is unfolding before you in its entirety, and there is nothing abstract about it.

Your breath is shallow. Your hands twitch at your sides—uncertain, waiting. Do you move? Does he? Or is this one of those moments that swallows you whole before you can decide?

You’ve thought about this too much, yet somehow, you are unprepared.

The space between you collapses in increments, deliberate and measured. He looks at you like you're a secret he’s finally been allowed to uncover, something long sought but never touched. There’s wonder in his eyes, a quiet reverence, as if he is realizing in real time what is directly in front of him.

The warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his breath, the way his fingers twitch as if restraining himself—it's all overwhelming, but you don't want to escape it. Remus exhales—uneven but certain—his gaze flickering down to your lips as though caught between intention and instinct. And then, finally, he moves, slow but deliberate, closing the distance, pressing his lips to yours.

It is not rushed. It is not hesitant. It is the inevitable conclusion to every lingering glance, every touch that never lingered long enough. His hand finds your waist, steadying you, though you are already anchored to this moment. Time expands, stretching into something infinite, something that exists solely within the space between his lips and yours.

When you part, breath mingling in the thick air, you find yourself smiling.

“You were right,” you murmur. “This isn’t so bad.”

☀️🌻 masterlist

[jadeshifting]

new anon here! how do you suppose having a friendship between the golden trio and the slytherin gang would work? as in a middleman that is close with both parties? I am overthinking how that would play out and believe that would lead to the biggest fallout. any tips? 😔

hiii anon, UGH this is so good !! sooo true about the drama, i’m in a similar spot in my DR and i’m definitely happy to talk about it and try to help you out a lil

i think my situation is easier than yours, since i’m best friends with the Slytherins and just friendly with the golden trio—plus, it helps that i’m the only one who knows Draco and Hermione are secretly together. a dash of friendliness in the hallways mixed with me smacking Theo lightly on the shoulder and telling him to “grow up” when he makes fun of Ron or Harry certainly keeps the balance

you, however—equally as close with both groups? i don’t envy you, your position is more difficult to juggle than mine, but i know you can handle it :^)

— BEING THE MIDDLEMAN BETWEEN THE GOLDEN TRIO AND THE SLYTHERINS. ( good luck )

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

juggling the two groups at Hogwarts that arguably hate eachother more than anyone else is a balancing act, one that’s practically as nerve-wracking as walking a tightrope over a pit of Hungarian Horntails. but someone’s gotta do it, i GUESS

.　　. 　 ˚　. CLASS TIME. you’re sliding into Potions, a class that’s practically a battlefield for Gryffindor and Slytherin egos. you plop down at a table with Draco and Blaise, who exchange smug glances, their cauldrons bubbling ominously. Snape’s drawling voice echoes through the dungeon, and you kinda know better than to show any friendliness toward the Golden Trio sitting a few rows back while Draco has his eyes on you. but there’s a flicker of acknowledgment—a quick eye contact with Harry, a subtle nod from Hermione. it’s a quiet reassurance: we’re good, right?

during Transfiguration, it’s a whole different scene. this time, you’re between Harry and Ron, casually flipping your wand in hand as McGonagall’s sharp eyes scan the room. Ron’s cracking jokes under his breath, Hermione’s frantically scribbling notes, and Harry’s leaning in, whispering about Quidditch strategies. you whisper along with them of course, while you keep one ear out for any snide remarks that may drift over from the Slytherin side

.　　. 　 ˚　. LUNCH & DINNER. the Great Hall is practically a battlefield, but you’re table-hopping like a pro. you start off with the Gryffindors, sliding onto the bench beside Ron, who’s already stuffing his face with roast chicken. the conversation flows easily, filled with laughter and plans for the next D.A. meeting. as dessert rolls around, you oh-so casually wander over to the Slytherin table, plopping down next to Pansy, who’s picking at a fruit tart while casting sidelong glances at the Gryffindor table

the vibe shift is immediate—the conversation turns to the latest school gossip, Draco’s complaints about Mudbloods barely veiled under layers of sarcasm. of course, you navigate tension expertly by now, joking in a way that diffuses Draco’s smirk and earns a chuckle from Blaise. you giggle and keep the conversation light, careful not to let anything slip that might betray your earlier lunch companions

.　　. 　 ˚　. HOGSMEADE TRIPS. on Hogsmeade weekends, you’re practically a blur, splitting your time between two vastly different scenes. (weekends like this would benefit from a time turner.) first you’re with the Golden Trio, wandering through Honeydukes, laughing as Ron tries (and fails) to sneak an extra handful of Chocolate Frogs. there’s a warmth in the air, things are easy

later, you’re slipping into the Three Broomsticks with the Slytherins. Draco’s leaning back in his chair, feet propped up on the table, while Pansy orders Butterbeers with a flourish. you fit right in, effortlessly switching gears as you scold Draco and then turn to passionately debate the latest Quidditch match. you keep an eye on the door, though—there’s always potential for an awkward run-in with the Trio, you know?

.　　. 　 ˚　. SUMMER BREAK. over summer, things mellow out a little—you’re not crammed in one castle with all of them, at least. letters fly back and forth, though Ron and Harry don’t write, Hermione and a couple of the Slytherins do

there are evenings spent at exclusive Slytherin gatherings, where the conversations are sharp, and the stakes feel higher. Hermione and Harry have returned to their respective muggle homes, so you sigh as you navigate interactions with the purebloods and look forward to the balance that will at least be restored when you go back to school

.　　. 　 ˚　. DAY-TO-DAY. it’s a careful dance, almost. you’re constantly switching hats—one moment, you’re deep in a strategy session with Harry and Hermione, the next, you’re in the Slytherin common room, lounging on the emerald-green sofas, debating the finer points of wizarding politics. it’s impressive, you’re a chameleon, blending seamlessly into both worlds, all while keeping a tight grip on the threads that connect it all

SOME TIPS FOR JUGGLING THEM ( that i’m gonna be following most of )

keep the walls high. never, and i mean never, let one side know too much about what’s going on with the other. it’s keeping two magical worlds separate to prevent a catastrophic collision. if Harry asks what Draco’s up to, keep it vague. if Pansy pries about the trio, dodge with a biiiiig smile and change the subject

be a great listener. each group wants to feel like they’re your “real” friends, the ones who get you the best. listen intently, validate their feelings, and make each one feel like they’re the most important people in your world—at least while you’re with them. avoiding finger-pointing “you like them better” accusations is crucial

avoid hot topics. best to steer clear of subjects that could spark suspicion or jealousy—you know, no need to mention that really funny thing Ron said if you’re hanging with Draco. similarly, don’t bring up Blaise’s latest scheme or test grade when chatting with Hermione

be a chameleon. adapt to the vibe of each group (without losing your vibe, obviously.) the Trio is usually warm and open; the Slytherins are usually cooler and more measured. it’s about blending in without compromising your core

prepare for a fallout, god forbid. let’s be real—the juggling may not last forever. be ready for the day when someone gets into a bad mood and decides to snap off on you for “playing both sides.” just have a solid explanation, emphasize your loyalty to each, and be prepared to work hard to mend fences. eye roll, why can’t everybody just get along

despite the challenges, there’s a certain thrill in it all. tension, secrets, the delicate balance. you know deep down that one misstep could bring it all crashing down, but for now, you’re keeping both worlds spinning in perfect harmony and enjoying the warm friendship of everyone involved. after all, why should you have to pick your friends based off of who-likes-who? it’s your life

good luck and happy shifting xoxo :^)

[distant--shadow]

When Imogen wakes it is with an ache in her neck

a drop into reality unusually cushioned

a hand combing through her hair

and she can’t help the smile that breaks when she meets Laudna’s watchful eyes peering down at her, flushes shortly after.

“Sorry, did I fall asleep?”

Laudna smiles back at her, halts the hand playing with her hair.

“You did.”

An unspoken mutual agreement allows the moment to stretch in silence –

that or time is still fucky from Imogen only just waking up. It gives her enough of it to contemplate.

The sun must be high, the atmosphere muggy and the fauna all bustling as if it were a market day and the critters had stalls to set up and produce to bring home for their litters in the burrows. She feels the layer of sweat on her skin wherever the sun directly touches it, smells in waves where it heats the floor and diffuses the groundcover as if it were potpourri-

Above her, backlit - Laudna’s wearing a halo. The giant leaves of the giant trees are so high above them that the scale almost looks normal, the light breaking between the canopy in beams, sparkling in places where it catches insect wings and pollen, silhouetting edges of wiry strands of hair that act as though curtains on a canopy bed, all giving cover from the storm (should it come). It all feels so hazy, could be the vision starting to turn to grains of sand in her eyes like before a migraine but it’s also unusually clear, her head weightless despite the aching neck – funny what a handful of hours of good sleep can do.

The unspoken mutual agreement is ended.

“Did you rest well?” what did you dream about?

“I did, yeah...”

Unintentional, excusable really - waking with her defences down.

Wouldn’t be outta the ordinary to share.

“…dreamt we were back at Oddrún’s, was nice-” she withholds the details, just to save a little face. Exposes it anyhow, when she finds herself inadvertently taking the hand that had stilled in her hair, holding her palm up above her head with Laudna's lying flat on top of it “-then the roof caved in again and the place got swarmed with birds.”

“Birds?”

Imogen's thumb traces the knife-edge of the long nail on Laudna’s.

“Birds.” Imogen confirms, distracted, half-awake, giddy. The word already sounds funny; thrown back and forth between them. She chuckles at how her lips form around the repetition of it, says it again in Marquesian to see if it feels as abstract- that causes Laudna to quirk her brow from behind the fan of their fingers. “All different kinds, real cute and stuff, mostly. Place got furnished in feathers, was pretty chaotic - parakeets nestin’ in the cups and saucers and kingfishers in the rafters…” Laudna exhales a single syllable of a choral chuckle and Imogen has never felt so relaxed. “There was a kinda shady lookin’ big one standin’ on one leg in the corner by the hearth though, kept squawkin’.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, think it was a shoebill. You ever seen one of those?”

“You know, I’m not sure. I wonder if there was any significance…”

Their fingers interlace, under Laudna's initiative. Imogen stares at the long nails now reaching to her wrist like plates of fine ebony gauntlets.

“I could try draw it for y’all, but I don’t think it’d help…” comes out audibly distracted, the points of Laudna's talons gently making contact with Imogen's scarred skin-

“Allow me to get my notebook~” Laudna enthusiastically sings – nearly cutting Imogen, their hands separating - and Imogen is left staring at the empty space that was occupied by the shape that the two of them made, wonders if there is a word for that, like ‘bird’ - each hand a wing of some amalgamation, dream chimera, released between palms.

Probably a word she doesn’t have the language for.

(passage and illustration from @picturesofthegoneworlds ' intertwined)