#back to digital again for the last two days

[cb97percent]

Aphrodisiacs · 「Déclencheur」

➥ Model!Minho x Photographer!Reader (f) — 3.5k

➥ The author chooses not to issue tags for everything that takes place in this work to preserve some element of surprise where applicable. By continuing, you accept to proceed at your own risk. Read full disclaimer here.

⚠ — Crass & objectifying language, raging praise kink.

➥ It’s a known fact that Lee Minho is a whore for compliments, but it’s a particularly useful piece of information when you want to seduce the shit out of him.

If you had Lee Minho on the cover of your magazine, that issue was a guaranteed killer sale. Regardless of his obscenely high booking fee, he was the it guy everybody was after to do a pictorial with. So pleasant to look at, extremely attractive, smolder for days, practically a modern-day sex icon who could and would fuck you through a goddamn photograph.

Your shoot days with him were more like a self-indulgent me time rather than work due to how aggressively you were flirting with each other. He probably did this with everyone, but who would give a rat’s ass really? Your ego was getting stroked to the point of having violent orgasms, and you weren’t complaining.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t have the teensiest bit of a crush on him, though.

“There’s my favorite model,” you greeted him into your studio, “How we doin’ today, pretty?”

“We would do fucking great if someone didn’t forget the Cartier pieces,” Minho shot death glares to his assistant by the door, “You like the styling at least?”

“Give the man a break. You look fantastic,” you reassured him and grabbed your camera, “Ready to begin?”

Poof. On cue. Minho’s entire personality changed into whatever you wanted it to be every time he walked in front of your lens. You wanted dreamy? You got it. You wanted a player? You got it. You wanted an unhinged serial killer? You got it, got it, got it.

“Show me your side profile again?” you shot five frames back to back, “Fucking gorgeous.”

What you absolutely loved about working with Minho was what a goddamn exhibitionist he was, and unapologetically so. You never had to indulge in camera foreplay with him because he was just always in the mood. Every time you had a shoot together, not only was he clearly into it, but it was almost like he was striking these bold-ass poses on purpose to seduce you, manspreading, excessive use of his tongue and lips, literally feeling himself as if to say ‘You wanna hit this, don’t you?’, taunting you without a single word. You knew why that was, of course. 

Minho fished for praise like the attention whore he was every chance he got, and to his absolute pleasure, you were never stingy with it.

“Thank you, everyone, for your hard work,” you wrapped up the shoot and addressed the set, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone with my model. I’ll do a few more shots for my portfolio now that I have him cornered.”

It was standard practice at this point. Minho never said no to having extra photographs taken by you on the condition that you provided him with the digital copies right afterwards. The set was cleared momentarily, and you looked Minho up and down, grinning to yourself thinking about the alleged concept you concocted.

“Shall we do a little exercise? So that you can get in the zone,” you changed the memory card of your camera, “What turns you on, pretty?”

“The question is pretty redundant, don’t you think?” he sprawled on the leather tufted chair he was posing on moments ago, “Are you asking on purpose to hear it out loud?”

“Hear what out loud?”

“That it’s you that turns me on,” he pressed two fingers on his right temple, “I can’t stay soft when I have a shoot with you, and I think you know.”

“Are you sure it’s me because I can bet money it’s the compliments.”

“What if it’s you showering me with compliments?” 

You squinted your eyes, thinking about how Minho had this compulsive need to have the last word. You walked towards him and lowered your body to be at his eye level.

“Why do you like hearing how gorgeous you are so much?”

“You know you like it when I hardcore simp over you. You’re no better than me,” he mockingly chuckled, “Shall we do a little exercise?”

He suddenly sat up in his seat and brought his face millimeters away from yours. He was so close, you could practically feel his lips on you.

“You’re the sexiest fucking woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on, and you get me weak as fuck in the knees,” he spoke in a voice at least one and a half octaves lower, “Everybody knows how bad I wanna fuck you.”

“Do they?” you sneered with an amused expression on your face.

“Yes, because I tell them.”

“You actually tell people that you want to fuck me.”

“No, I tell them I want to blow your back out so fucking hard you won’t be able to walk straight for a week.”

This was way past your usual back-and-forth at this point, and you were goddamn perjuring yourself if you claimed you weren’t aroused even in the slightest. A part of you absolutely wanted to close the microscopic distance between you, but the other well-versed-in-Minhoism part of you got the sickest pleasure from not giving him what he wanted and was dying to see how far he was willing to take it.

“Has anyone ever told you you might be giving too much credit to yourself?”

“Free trial,” he reclined back in his seat, exhibiting the outline of what you could be sitting on like a badly wrapped present, “If you’re not satisfied, 200% money back guarantee, no questions asked.”

You snorted in amusement and went back to your camera, changing the setting to monochrome and zooming in on his eyes.

“If you give me what I want, I’ll take you up on your offer.”

That was the beauty of macro lenses. If you zoomed close enough, you could see the unspoken words flash in someone’s eyes, and Minho’s were currently screaming ‘No fucking way’ even though his façade was perfectly intact.

“Name your price,” he smugly demanded instead.

You peeled your eyes off your viewfinder and looked directly into his eyes.

“I want to shoot nudes of you.”

He was surprised, but not because of the shock value. He just thought you would throw something much harder at him.

“That’s nothing.”

“While you’re masturbating.”

Now he was contemplating. Stripping was one thing—he modeled for boudoir photographers from time to time himself, but even though Minho was infinitely comfortable with his sexuality, masturbating without knowing where these photos could end up at…

But it was you for fuck’s sake.

“Do you guarantee you’re not going to make a profit off of these without my knowledge?”

“Absolutely.”

“And you’ll sleep with me?”

“No.”

You pushed a nearby leather armchair next to the camera and assumed the exact same position as him. You looked like mirror images of each other.

“I’ll fuck you,” you declared as if you were challenging him.

The hesitation evanesced as quickly as it came, and Minho returned to his insufferably smug self in a matter of seconds.

“Then give me something to work with, baby.”

“You want magazines or something?”

“No, I want you.”

You burst out laughing, more hysterically than out of amusement. This guy could insist.

“You can’t touch me just yet.”

“I know,” he acknowledged, “but whatever you want me to remove, you’ll also take it off.”

Your eyes briefly traveled on his face, trying to figure out what kind of a game he was after. If it was Lee Minho, shortcuts were out of the question unless he was the one taking them.

Well… Whatever.

“Fine,” you accepted his proposal, and the battle began in earnest. 

You took off your shoes, and so did he. You took off your watch, and so did he. You took off your top, and so did he.

And you were now 1-0 ahead because you had a bra on whereas his fucking sculpted-in-the-Renaissance of a torso was all bare, ready to be eyefucked by you.

“You should go on one of those sexiest men alive lists. It’s annoying how hot you are,” you went on aggressive offense, “It’s like somebody photoshopped you.”

Minho didn’t say anything and just grinned at you. You grinned back while unbuttoning your jeans. He got rid of his pants with you. 

When you discarded your underwear, however, all his arrogance was erased from his face. He was staring at your pussy like a virgin seeing a naked girl for the first time.

“Do you like it?”

“I knew it was pretty, but I didn’t know how much,” he thickly swallowed.

You opened your legs wider apart, putting your slick folds on perfect display for him. Minho had no control over how he was reacting to you, audibly grunting at the delicious sight.

“See how wet?” you spread your labia to give him a better view, “It’s because of you.”

“I get that a lot,” he flashed a shit-eating grin, then channeled all his attention to your core again, “I think my tongue and your cunt might be a perfect match made in hell.”

“Your underwear,” you urged him to follow through, “Take it off.”

You had witnessed Minho sporting a hard on in front of your camera like it was part of his styling several times before, but seeing in the flesh?

Fucking priceless.

“Spread your thighs for me,” you demanded, naïvely thinking he would oblige without a hiccup.

“I will if you come closer.”

“I will if you lay down on the floor.” 

It was a battle, and Minho knew he had a lot more to lose compared to you. Even though he was being a pain in the ass, he had no choice but to do as asked, but you were at least playing fair. Once he held up his end of the bargain, you set up your camera to take shots every eight seconds, then walked to him.

“You’re not close enough,” he complained like a kid being denied a shiny toy, “I want to feel your warmth next to me.”

“Then no peeking. Close your eyes,” you took off your bra and threw it on his face, crawling closer to him like a preying tigress right after, “I’m right beside you. Now touch yourself.” 

Minho wrapped his fingers around his delicious girth, languidly stroking himself to full hardness with no rush whatsoever like he was in his bed on a lazy Sunday morning.

“Bring your pussy close to my face,” he quietly pleaded, “I swear I’m not gonna do anything. I just wanna feel it close.”

You didn’t think much honestly. Within two seconds, you were straddling his face, your thighs on either side of him, and if your reflexes hadn’t kicked in, Minho’s sudden attempt to steal a lick was indeed going to be successful.

“Shh, behave,” you rebuked him and squeezed his face between your fingers, “You swore.”

Eyes still closed, he bit into his mischievous smile, having infinite amounts of fun. So what if he did? Were you that gullible to believe everybody that pinky promised you? 

“Come on, at least make it drip on my face.”

“Less talking, more jerking.”

You urged him, but unbeknownst to Minho you were doing the same thing. You licked your fingers and started rubbing your pussy on his face, close enough to make him go insane because of the wet sounds, but far enough that he couldn’t try anything again. All you could think about was how it would be the hottest fucking thing in the world if you squirted all over his gorgeous features right about now.

“I can hear how wet you are. I can smell it,” he hissed out of sheer lust, “You want me, too. You want me bad.”

“Yes, I do. Who wouldn’t want you?” you responded shamelessly, “Look at you, a fucking sex god in the flesh.”

Minho moaned so loudly hearing your words that you knew you got him where you wanted him. Right in the palm of your hand, literally and figuratively.

“Say it again,” he begged, “Again.”

You had never seen him this fucking desperate before, and it was more satisfying than the best porn out there. You lowered your body and breathily spoke into his ear.

“You’re a sex god, Minho.”

“Then worship me.” 

You lay down beside him and started running your hand all over his torso, his firm skin under your fingertips forcing more slick to ooze out of you.

“Your body is fucking unreal,” you uttered almost like a moan, “You make me wanna do really nasty things to you.”

“Who’s holding you back?” he squeezed his cock tighter, and drops of precum began pooling around his slit, “I’m available for your personal use anytime you want.”

“I can start by sitting on your pretty face maybe. Ease you into it,” you placed a ghost kiss on his forehead.

“If you let me creampie you first, it’ll be a treat to watch me get messy on your cunt later on.”

His words literally took your breath away, and Minho was simply in love with how much power he had over you without doing anything. This was the moment to land the killshot.

“I wanna have the nastiest fucking sex of my life with you. Sweat, spit, cum everywhere,” he rubbed his flushed cock faster, “Say yes. Say yes and I’ll blow your fucking mind.”

You could watch Minho jerk off to you for hours if he could last, but you had negative willpower left to resist the raging urge to fuck him like your life depended on it. You wanted him like you’d never wanted anything else in your life. 

And he knew.

You pressed your lips on the corner of his mouth for a long while, then whispered the answer he was dying to hear.

“Yes.”

He suddenly snapped his eyes open and immediately grabbed your waist, pulling you close to make you straddle him.

“Sit on it, gorgeous. Take all of it.”

It didn’t matter how wet you were. Minho’s girth was so thick that you were struggling to even push the tip in, and all his self-control was working at full capacity not to cum to this right then and there. 

“Shh, you can take it, baby. I know you can,” he soothed you, “I’ll mold your pussy for myself just right.”

He finally broke through. You were so tight around him that he had to move extra slow inside you until he bottomed out, otherwise he really was going to explode. All of you right in front of him to feel, and he didn’t know where to grope you first. His hands eventually landed on your ass and gave your cheeks a firm squeeze.

“Bad move to play mind games with me,” he maniacally smiled, “I’m so fucking obsessed with you, now we’re gonna have to fuck every time we see each other. I don’t give a shit if we’re in public or not.”

When that first thrust hit, you sharply inhaled and closed your eyes. It felt too full inside you.

“See what you’ve been missing out on?” he derided, arrogance dripping from every single one of his words, “I want all your holes, one for each meal of the day. I’ll be damned if I ever skip breakfast again.”

“You’re gonna give me yours in return I presume?” you pressed your hands on his chest.

“Anything you want is yours. Just fuck me.”

You obscenely licked all over your palm and cupped his balls behind you. They were so tightened already, and the frenzied moans Minho let out when you caressed him were just everything you could ask for.

“So full, you’re dying to unload inside me, aren’t you?” you jeered contently, “Go on, cream my pussy so I can finally have you make out with it.”

“With absolute pleasure,” he held onto your waist tighter, “Not gonna lie, eating my cum out of your cunt has been the number two fantasy of mine for the longest time.”

“What’s the number one?”

You lost your balance when he abruptly pulled your body down. His face was right in front of yours, begging to be revered with as many kisses as you could offer him.

“To eat it out of your ass,” he sighed right before crashlanding on your lips.

Minho’s appetite knew no bounds. If he kissed you long enough, you could cum to that alone. His thrusts went berserk as he ran his hands all over your back, his mouth refusing to detach from yours, and you eventually felt something erupt inside you. Warm. Pleasantly sticky. Filling you up to the brim.

He didn’t even wait to gather his wits. You found yourself on your back with one hasty turn, and before you could register what was happening, you saw Minho between your legs.

“Forcefeed me,” he squeezed your thighs so hard there would surely be Minho-shaped bruises on your skin the next day, “Keep my face down. Don’t let me breathe.”

“Eat till you’re full,” you pressed his face closer, “Like a hardcore fucking simp would.”

He immediately started ravaging your pussy as instructed. The feeling was so intense that you were about to lose your mind, and it was worse because you could hear the shutter sounds recording the way you were absolutely disheveling the Lee Minho’s million-dollar face, his entire mouth and chin soaked with your slick.

If these frames ever went public, his crazed fans would actually kill you, and it was the weirdest fucking turn on you were experiencing.

“Did you know I have a picture of you on my sun visor next to a vibrator?” you confessed while riding his face, “You’re so fucking pretty I can’t stop masturbating to you even in the middle of traffic.”

You were absolutely murdering him with your words. His moans in your pussy were pathetically loud as if he was the one getting his dick sucked. This was like all of Minho’s most violent wet dreams come true, and he didn’t give a shit if he overdosed on desire tonight. He would die like a fucking rockstar.

“Like that. Fuck, just like that! Spit on it,” you gritted your teeth, “God, nobody does it like you.”

It was as though you wanted him to wreck you. Every word you uttered that even remotely resembled praise was bringing out the absolute worst in Minho. He was eating your pussy like an out-of-control animal in heat, growling into you and smacking his lips to make the wettest fucking sounds ever. 

You weren’t wet—you were fucking flooding his face, so much so that it should have been considered waterboarding. He wasn’t moaning—he was grunting into you as if he was mad, like a full on rampage. You had never had your pussy ravished like this before. Your legs were uncontrollably shaking. You were practically screaming, but you’d run out of fucks to give as to who heard it. You had Lee fucking Minho eating your soul out of you like a goddamn dementor—you wanted them to hear it and die a painful death because of jealousy for all you cared.

When you started clenching too much, Minho got alerted to how close you were, which prompted him to immediately stop and ram his fully hard cock into you. You forgot everything you had in your vocabulary. All you could moan was his name over and over and over again, and it was the perfect opportunity for Minho to take advantage of.

“Who gets this pussy dripping wet?”

“Minho…”

“Who gets to eat your creampied cunt?”

“Ah, Minho…”

“Who’s fucking you this good, baby?”

“Minho…”

“Who’s the only god you worship?”

“Minho. Minho. MINHO!!!”

Who the fuck would be able to resist cumming when you were screaming your lungs out in hellfire level pleasure anyway? Sure as fuck not Minho. Your own orgasm hit you so hard that dragged-out moans kept spilling from your lips. He slowed his pace down thinking he was making you uncomfortable, however…

“NO!” you grabbed his waist in panic, “Keep… Just keep… don’t stop y—”

“Are you still cumming?”

You fervently nodded while making stupidly incoherent sounds. Your entire body was shaking like you were having a seizure, and needless to say, Minho lived for that shit.

“Fucked so good, can’t let go just yet,” he let out a teasing laugh and held you in his arms, “Shh, shh, shh I got you. Hold on to me.” 

He fucked you through your orgasm with his lips on yours, but it felt unnecessarily intimate. When you were finally done, you could feel your heart beating in your pussy, and the soreness in your legs became way too perceptible all of a sudden.

“I think we make a fantastic pair,” Minho brushed the damp strings of hair away from your face, “I want a copy of that entire memory card.”

“Not this time, pretty,” you softly bit into his lips and diabolically smiled, “You either see this pussy in the flesh, or you don’t see it at all.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Battle of wits with the singular tolerable little shit. Pull up.

「© 2021-2024, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

✉ Enjoyed this? It would be cool of you to reblog so that my work can reach more people.

[octuscle]

I'm your average joe who works an average desk job and at 45 I have nothing great going for me. Sometimes I just wish I could do it over again. Maybe take up a diffrent major in college, something that would set me up for a more adventurous life. Can you help me achieve this?

Okay, who wants to be average? And who wouldn't want to know what their life would have been like if they had made a different decision at some point? I mean, your decisions weren't actually bad. Bank apprenticeship, business studies, going to the gym twice a week… You have a house in the suburbs, a cool car. It could have been worse! But also better. We can manage that! Monday, 12:00 noon, let's get started!

When you finish work in the evening, you're still full of energy. Even though you worked until 19:00 today. It's paying off that you started making the gym your home seven months ago. When you arrive at the gym at 8 p.m., Steve greets you at reception with a fist bump. Everyone here greets you. Some of them are good friends of yours. The rest at least know you by sight. No wonder, you're here every day. In the morning before work. In the evening after work. And the effort pays off. From a very well-built man with the typical rolls of flab, you have developed into an athlete. A machine. Not one of the big boys. But close. You call it a day at 22:00. You need seven hours' sleep, you want to be back here at 07:00. One last critical look in the mirror. Not bad for a man in his mid-40s…

Get up, gym, office… You work like clockwork. You're good at your job. The development of your body has boosted your career. Today you have another lunch date with a division manager. He asks you if it's time to take the next step in your career. It's been two years since you moved to the "Digital Research and Development" division. That was also the initial spark for your physical transformation. As an accounting employee, you had previously become a lazy and saturated couch potato… You smile and, as if by chance, flex your huge biceps. You know that makes him hot. And the prospect of a blowjob after lunch is tempting. Of course, he immediately notices that your cock is getting hard… You have his hand in your crotch for the rest of lunch.

When you arrive at the gym at 7pm on Wednesday, you first have to go through your post. As the largest shareholder, you are only the chairman of the supervisory board. But many people confuse that with managing director. Idiots who are just stealing your precious time on the weights. Since you introduced the "Meathead Gym" brand and turned your old gym into the flagship of the new brand, you feel even more at home here. No classes, no machines, no women. Just honest, hard bodybuilding. Dress code is at least off-the-shoulder. In fact, shirtless is preferred. It goes without saying that you don't wear a tank top either.

You're the first one in the gym on Friday morning. Good thing you have the keys. You look around. Your empire. It was a big step to leave your good job almost eight years ago and start working at the fitness start-up. For hardcore bodybuilders, you are now the market leader as a fitness studio, but also in nutritional supplements and gym clothing. Steve arrives at 05:30. He has the early shift at reception. You greet him with a fist bump. Good man. A little weak in the chest. At least compared to you… But he'll get there!

You visit a school friend at the weekend. His son is a handsome stud. He could turn into a real gym hunk. He asks if he can take a selfie with you. Sure, I'd love to, you say. He asks you if you can give him any tips on what he should do now. He's finishing high school now. You ask him what position he plays football. He grins and says that he prefers to spend his time in the gym. You can see that. You tell your school friend to listen away for a moment. And then you tell your son that he shouldn't bother with college and university. You're glad you didn't do that either. You started pumping iron straight away. And then brought your dream to life. Live your dream, you tell him. And that you'd be happy if it could start at your company.

[maniculum]

Bestiaryposting Results: Hratgrog

This week's installment is once again coming kind of late in the evening -- and a bit less wordy than usual -- because I just got back from the ICMS conference at Kalamazoo last night and have been running around doing stuff all day. So, sorry about that.

Anyway, also worth noting that a surprising number of people have indicated that they know this one.

If you aren't sure what this is about, you can find an explanation and previous posts at https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting.

You can also find the entry people are working from here:

If you want to participate in the next installment, you can find the entries posted under the tag maniculum bestiaryposting. Also, to make it easier on y'all, here's the current one:

Anyway, art below the cut in the order it was posted:

@silverhart-makes-art (link to post here) took the description of the animal's behavior and designed a bird who could feasibly fit that -- if you want the details on what birds went into this and why, they're in the linked post. I particularly like the iridescent effect on the feathers.

@sweetlyfez (link to post here) also drew a bird, but went in a different direction with the references, eschewing them entirely on the grounds that the monks probably didn't have any references on hand. I think the "colour of a wild sea" comes out well here.

@cheapsweets (link to post here) decided to resolve the issue of the wings being sapphire but also "sheathed in silver" by making the Hratgrog a beetle with silver elytra, which I think is quite clever. Again, the colors are very good in my opinion -- and as usual, you should check the linked post for an explanation of the design.

@coolest-capybara (link to post here) has, as per usual, done some amazing medieval stylization. I find this landscape really pleasant, birds aside. The design of the creature is also really solid, and you can find an interesting description of why it looks the way it does in the linked post. I would particularly draw attention to the interpretation of how this bird "does not live by theft", which you will have to click the link to find out.

@strixcattus (link to post here) gives us a bird that appears to be waving to us. Again, I like the coloration here; the many lines really add to the effect. Clicking the linked post will get you Strixcattus's modern interpretation of this animal, which includes a brief explanation of why it's necessary to specify that this bird does not eat corpses.

All right, to the Aberdeen Bestiary:

Or, rather, a dove.

(The distinction drawn between dove and pigeon in modern English is not formalized or universal, but the translation I'm using says "dove".)

The description for this page in the digitized manuscript notes:

This rather plain lifeless bird does not do justice to the luscious pictorial descriptions devoted to the dove on ff.26-30r. However, raking light reveals a lustrous silvered quality to the paint.

Since the description goes on so long -- like I said, I was excerpting bits of physical description from a lengthy sermon on symbolism -- there are actually multiple illustrations. It looks like there were originally four, but two have been cut out of the manuscript. The other surviving one is as follows:

That would be the Hratgrog on the left -- the bird on the right is its antagonist, the hawk. No word on why this one doesn't get any coloration.

Anyway... how do I end this one?

Go forth and contemplate the pigeon. It's what the bestiary author would want.

[hartwinorlose]

got inspired by @neyafromfrance95's soulmate posting

COOPER HOWARD - NINE

1 & 2 - Linda and Robert Howard 

Most people’s first threads are their parents. Cooper is no exception. He’s born with two tiny circles of red around his thumbs and an instinctual knowledge: they are there until death; they will remain even if he cuts them. He has eight more. It is far better to have these two than not. 

Like most children, he makes threats in the midst of his tantrums. “I’ll cut it off!” he screams at his mother when she won’t let him have his way. “I’ll cut your thread!”

Of course, he never does. 

Three decades later, in his father’s hospital room, he watches the brilliant crimson fade to a colorless gray. The last bit of red fades away right as the flatline sounds. 

Cooper is sick for a week straight afterwards, can’t so much as get out of bed. When he finally does haul himself back into the real world, the ache in his heart stays. He resents it — there was no love lost between him and his father, but every time he catches a glimpse of that gray thread, it makes him hurt all over again. In the end, it takes more than a year before his heart feels well and truly whole.

It’s the first thread he loses. It won’t be his last.  

3 - Mrs. Abernathy 

He’s only seven when he gives the third one away. He’d developed a lisp, and his parents had immediately put him into speech therapy. He’s grateful for it. The other children have been picking on him incessantly. 

Mrs. Abernathy never does. She works with him, tells him where to put his tongue to get his consonants just right. She’s exceedingly kind and excessively patient, and he wants to show her how much he appreciates what she’s done for him in the best way he can think of. 

On the last day of therapy, when his lisp is well and thoroughly gone – his peers in third grade will never even know he had it – he edges his way shyly to her desk. 

“Mrs. Abernathy,” he says, proud that he can say her title without it sounding like he’s speaking through a spoonful of peanut butter. 

She graces him with a smile. “Yes, Mr. Howard?” She always addresses him like that, like he’s her equal. It makes him feel distinctly grown-up. 

Puffing out his chest, he holds up his hand. “I want you to know that I gave you a thread.” He knows she can’t see it, and he knows she almost certainly won’t give him one back, but it’s the highest honor he’s capable of bestowing. 

“Oh, Cooper.” Mrs. Abernathy places a hand to her heart. “That’s very kind of you, sweetie, but I want you to be careful with who you give those to, okay? Here.” She holds up her own hands and counts out her fingers, then gives them a wiggle. “Ten. It seems like a big number, doesn’t it?” 

He nods solemnly. Double-digits. He’ll be a big kid when he hits double-digits, that’s what everyone keeps telling him. Ten seems a very long way away. 

Mrs. Abernathy places her hands on her knees and leans forward. “I’m going to tell you a secret. It isn’t very big at all. In fact, in a few years, you’ll probably wish you had a lot more than ten fingers for those threads. So you keep them for people who can give them back to you.” 

He gets a similar lecture from his parents when they find out what he’s done. Mrs. Abernathy must have called them because he comes home to find his father in a fine state. 

“Soft-hearted nonsense!” he blusters when Cooper confirms he has, indeed, bestowed Mrs. Abernathy with one of his threads. “This is what comes of going too easy on him. He gets these sort of fool-headed ideas.” This to his mother, who sits with an almost contemplative look on the sofa. 

“I don’t know,” she hums. “I think it’s sweet of him.” 

Robert’s face goes as red as a tomato. “Sweet! It’s permanent, Linda. The boy’s gone and permanently tied himself to a woman four times his age. What’s he going to get out of that?” He yanks loose the knot in his tie and rakes a hand through thinning hair. 

Cooper quails backward as he rounds on him. 

“You listen here, Coop. You do something this stupid again, I’ll cut the damn thread myself. You hear me?” Robert advances a step, goes so far as to make his fingers into scissors and snip the air. 

Tears well in Cooper’s eyes, and he clutches his hand to his chest. He doesn’t want to lose any of his threads. 

Linda jumps up and slaps Robert’s hand down. “Stop it, Bob! He’s going to think you’re serious.” Spinning, she crouches down in front of Cooper and pulls him into a hug. Runs a soothing hand over his hair and murmurs, “Don’t worry, dear, no one can cut it but you. You know that, don’t you?” 

Cooper nods, but his father’s threat stays with him for a long time. 

4 - Grant 

Cooper doesn’t even think about giving away another thread until he’s fourteen. Grant is his best friend, has been for the past six years – practically a lifetime. Grant probably knows him better than he knows himself. 

It feels monumental when they ditch their bikes at the edge of what they think is the woods – in reality, a two-acre patch slated for development that happens to have some dense shrubbery and trees – and hike to a group of rocks. The rocks are famous with the neighborhood kids for being infested with snakes, but they climb fearlessly to the top. 

Grant takes out his pocket-knife and scrapes it against the unyielding stone. It leaves marks behind, white on gray, and he carves out a clumsy “G.” 

“Here.” He hands the knife to Cooper. 

Dutifully, Cooper adds a “C” right next to it. “Now what?” 

“We gotta bleed.” Grant holds the knife over the pad of his index finger and digs the point of it in until a drop of blood wells beneath it. Once again, he hands Cooper the knife. 

His breath hisses through his teeth as the blade punctures his skin, but he lifts his finger to show Grant he’s done it. 

Grant presses their fingers together, their blood mixing and falling combined onto the initials they’d carved. “There,” he says, wiping his hand on his pants and leaving a rusty streak behind. “Now we’re blood brothers.” 

“Blood brothers,” Cooper repeats, wrapping his hand around his finger to stem the bleeding. When he opens his fist, he realizes a thread has wrapped itself around the base of his bloodied finger. His eyes follow it to where it terminates somewhere within Grant’s rib cage. He hadn’t even realized he’d given one away. 

5 - Janet 

Cooper is seventeen and a bit of a romantic. He’s been dating Janet since Grant moved away two years back, and he’s pretty sure it’s going to be forever. 

By the time he’s eighteen, he’s sure enough to run a thread between them. Never before has he wished so fervently that she could just see it herself because it is, frankly, a little embarrassing to admit. At first, he’s not sure how to say it. Then: genius strikes. 

He waits until prom night, when they sleep together for the first time. When Cooper sleeps with anyone at all for the first time. They lay in her bed afterward because her parents are out of town and they have all night. 

It takes him longer than he’d like to admit to pluck up the courage, but he eventually draws a line from his finger to her heart. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, looking slightly amused. 

Cooper shrugs a shoulder. “Loose thread. I fixed it.” 

She opens her mouth, starts to ask him what he means, but she seems to figure it out as her face flushes bright pink. “Oh, Cooper. I mean… um. Thank you. But I… I can’t…” 

“You don’t have to do it back,” he rushes to assure her. Fuck, this is worse than he thought. 

“No, no.” Janet cradles his face in her baby-pink-manicured hands. Her prom dress, the same shade, is crumpled on the floor. “It’s so nice of you. Seriously. You’re like the cutest thing ever. It’s just, my parents, if they found out…” 

“Right, no, yeah. It’s fine, Jan.” Cooper cannot get out of there fast enough. He makes some awful excuse about how his own parents will be home soon and he needs to get back before he’s missed. 

Janet watches him get dressed, stops him before he can get out the door. She takes his hand and dusts his knuckles with a kiss. “Someday,” she says, rubbing his thumb. “I promise. I’ll give you one of my mine.” 

Feeling slightly more reassured, he kisses her goodbye. 

They break up three months later. Cooper signs up for the Marines.

6 - Agnes 

“I require all my clients to give me one of their threads.” Agnes has her thin hands folded on her desk, her lipstick a professional shade of red. Not a hair is out of place on her head. Her suit has lines so sharp they look like they could cut him. In other words, she strikes Cooper as a woman who knows what she’s doing. 

She’s still talking. “It’s a cutthroat industry out here, Mr. Howard. I have to be sure you really want this, and that means commitment. So you tell me.” She steeples her fingers, stares at him expectantly. “What are you willing to give?” 

Agnes Powell is not the first agent Cooper has met with. She’s not the third or the fourth or even the fifth. All of them had found something in him lacking – just not meant for the screen is the phrase haunting his nightmares.  

If he doesn’t sign with someone soon, it’s back to readjustment. That hasn’t been going so well for him, being a civilian. War had been bigger than life; he needs something to fill this new space inside him.   

He studies his hands. Five threads left. He’s still young, and he wants a family. Not for the first time, he wishes he’d been a little more discerning over the years. 

Agnes blinks, tilts her head. “Hollywood is the best step you’ll ever take, Mr. Howard, and I’m eager to take it with you. I think you’ve got talent; I really do. It’s just one little thread, right?” 

Cooper rubs the empty space around his left pinkie. One thread not to go back to his job as a bagger at the Super Duper Mart. One thread to potentially leave the mundanity of normal life behind. He’s given them up for less.

He reaches across the desk to shake Agnes’ hand. “Just one little thread,” he agrees.

7 - Sebastian Leslie

In his right mind, Cooper would never hand Sebastian one of his four remaining threads. Three hours of steady drinking and mindless celebration have driven him from his right mind. Agnes had come through – she’s gotten him a role and not just any role. A starring role. 

It’s a Western, which is not a genre he would’ve picked, but Sebastian had clapped him on the shoulder when he first hears. 

“They’re big, Coop. Trust me on this. You’re going to be huge.” Then he’d offered to buy him a drink, and Cooper had said why the hell not. 

Filming starts in a week, and he’s determined to spend most of the time not-sober. Sobriety gives him too much time to think about how he could fuck this up. It’s a lot easier to shed that self-doubt when the room is hot and swirling and Sebastian is in his ear pitching all sorts of storylines. 

The hero. The villain. The heartthrob. 

Cooper snorts. “Neither of us has the face for that.” 

Sebastian makes an obnoxious buzzer sound. “Wrong! Women flock to this face.” He frames his with a flourish. “It’s not about the features, it’s about the confidence. They love that shit.” 

“I’ll leave you to them,” Cooper laughs. He downs the next shot, which has somehow ended up in his hand. 

Slinging his arm over his shoulder, Sebastian clinks his own glass against Cooper’s newly empty one. “You play this right, Coop, you’re going to rule this town. Just do me a favor and take me along with you, yeah?”

“Sure I will.” Agnes had been right about everything – the industry was cutthroat, and he hasn’t managed to make a lot of friends out here. Sebastian is pretty much it. As far as Cooper can tell, he owes it to him to pay back that generosity.

Tequila-addled and high on imagined success, Cooper holds up his hand. “I’ll do you one better than a favor. I’ll make you a promise.” 

Sebastian stares at him dully for a moment before his eyes gleam with unshed tears. “You bastard,” he sniffs. “You know I’m an emotional drunk.” Half-sobbing, he pats Cooper on the chest, right over the heart, as he sticks his own in place. 

When Cooper wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache, he squints at the new line of red encircling his finger. Bleary memories of exchanging threads swim to the surface, and he sighs. Well. Shit. Old habits, it seems, die hard.

8 - Barbara 

Barbara laughs when he tells her about Janet. Her teeth and earrings gleam in the soft glow of their candlelit dinner. She holds her wine glass with an elegance he can’t help but admire. 

“Eighteen?” she echoes. “Absurdly young for a lifetime, don’t you think?” 

Cooper shrugs. “Yeah, well. I was an optimist.” He tilts his head toward where her fingers clutch the glass stem. “How about you? I’m almost afraid to ask how many spaces you’ve got left.” 

She takes a measured sip before setting her glass down precisely where it had been when she picked it up. “Six,” she tells him. 

“Wow.” Assuming her relationship with her parents is decent, that means she’s only given two away by her late twenties. “Some people might call that cold-hearted.” 

Barb slices into her steak. “I prefer to think of myself as selective.” She arches an eyebrow, as though challenging him to break through all of those restrictions, to be one of those she selects. 

Somehow, miraculously, he must because when he gets down on one knee, she accepts the ring and the thread he offers. She even gives him one of her own. 

It’s a few years later, and they’re sitting on a ridiculously large couch in the ridiculously large house he can afford. Barb reclines against his chest; he’s reading through the latest script Agnes has sent his way with his elbow propped against the back of the couch. 

Barb breaks the silence. “You know what I’ve been thinking?” 

“Mmm?” he hums, right in the middle of a monologue and only half-paying attention. “What’ve you been thinking?” 

She lifts one hand and examines the back of it. “It might be nice to have a new thread.” 

That gets his attention. “Oh yeah?” It takes a minute for understanding to dawn – then she turns on him with such a pair of bedroom eyes that it clicks into place. “Oh.” 

She runs her fingers over the back of his hand. “If you’ve got room, that is.” 

“Baby, I’ve got room for as many as you want,” Cooper says, already scooping her into his arms. “As long as it’s not more than two.” 

He carries her, laughing, to bed. 

A few more years, and Cooper is not so blinded by the lights of Hollywood anymore. Barb, however, seems to be capable of shielding her own eyes from whatever shit is going on at Vault-Tec. Things get more and more sour between them. The fault line in his heart grows bigger and bigger. 

Until it cracks open completely. 

He drives home in a haze, replaying the staticked voice of his wife as she proposed the end of the world. When he walks into the house, he stands for a minute in the living room, not moving, not thinking, just letting himself breathe in and out while he still can. This is going to hurt like a motherfucker. 

He doesn’t let himself do it immediately. He’s made enough rash decisions – this one deserves time. Two days later, he pulls the kitchen shears out of the knife block. 

Cooper is not entirely certain how one is supposed to do this. Eventually, he decides on clutching the thread between his teeth and stretching his arm as far out as it can get. Places the mouth of the scissors to the edge of the thread. Squeezes his eyes shut. And cuts. 

There’s so much pain, it’s like his other senses give up. His vision goes dark, and he collapses to the ground, the scissors clattering off somewhere. All he can hear is the rush of blood through his ears. For a minute, his heart beats so off-kilter, he worries he’s gone into cardiac arrest. But slowly, surely, it gets back to normal, and his eyesight comes back – blurred and imperfect, but good enough to let him stumble into his bedroom and collapse onto the mattress. Good enough for him to see the string that once shone scarlet is now a bitter, ugly black. 

9 - Janey 

Nobody’s perfect is an age-old adage that Cooper has heard dozens, if not hundreds, of times throughout his life from all sorts of people. Well, those people haven’t met his kid. The connection is instant. The very second she lands in his arms, he feels the ninth thread encircle his finger. 

He counts her fingers and toes, a perfect ten of each. He watches her flawless nose crinkle as she winds up for another round of wailing. 

“Good set of lungs on that one,” a nurse remarks as she bustles around him. 

Not good, Cooper would tell her if he could pay attention to anything other than Janey. Perfect. 

She is the one thread he never, not for one minute, regrets. 

THE GHOUL - ONE

10 - Lucy MacLean

The weeks after the bombs are hell. Cooper can’t tell which he’s sicker from: the radiation or the rapidly graying threads. Mrs. Abernathy goes first, then Janet, then Sebastian. He can’t help but imagine how they all died. The bomb for Mrs. Abernathy. Some desperate fucker guts Janet behind the shell of a grocery store. Sebastian doesn’t make it through the radiation poisoning.  

Grant and his mom are next. He does everything in his power not to think of what might have ended them. 

Agnes makes it a while. He’s become something else by the time her red runs out, something with rough skin and a body running on chemicals. Her survival makes sense to him – she’d always been a remarkably capable woman. 

Every day, he dreads the moment he opens his eyes. There is only one line of red left to him, and if it goes out, he’ll put a bullet in his head. 

The years go on, but he doesn’t change with them. The knowledge terrifies him – how long will he be around? He thought he’d be dead by eighty, but it comes and goes with no effect. He didn’t budget for this much existence. No matter how long he survives, the fact remains: he can make only one more connection. 

So he does a pretty damn good job at not making any. Can’t risk another Grant. Wouldn’t survive another Barb. Much easier to keep to himself and forget he ever even had the option.

Unfortunately, there’s a girl. He fully intends on killing her, but she talks like he hasn’t heard anyone talk for centuries, all sickly corporate. The stain of Vault-Tec is all over her. She’s a good opportunity, so he takes it, and he tries to ignore the little voice in the back of his head whispering that maybe he never has to really let her go. 

He ties her to him with everything he can think of that isn’t one of those damn threads. A cable, a lasso – hell, he even sews part of her onto him. That voice still won’t shut the fuck up. 

The worst part? He can’t even figure out the reason. What is it about her that makes him want to give her the last, shriveled part of him? She gave me the chems, he tells himself, but he knows that’s a lie. He should have shot her dead the second she tried to speak to him, and he hadn’t. It doesn’t make any goddamn sense. 

It’s no clearer to him when he sends a bullet ripping through Henry’s cheek. For himself, yes, but also for Lucy. He knows all too well what that kind of betrayal feels like. Wouldn’t be surprised if she cuts that particular thread as soon as she gets the chance. 

He holds out for as long as he can, but he’s never been a strong man. The second she shoots her mother instead of him, he feels the very last of his threads stretch between them. Permanent and maybe a mistake, but he’s hers now. 

He half-turns. Sure enough, a bridge of crimson stretches all the way to her heart. He asks if she’s coming with him. Relief fills him when she does. 

[nedeii]

[averlym]

no one would notice if i ever vanished // if bodies could sustain // this never-ending army // like blood pumping through a vein

(click for better resolution!)

:OOO hello. anyway since these are all posters i'd have in an ideal world or smth and i'd like to store the high res versions somewhere,,, here's the google drive folder for them? hehe ''

close up!

[todayisafridaynight]

i found two old zines i was a part of while looking for something and MAN i miss doing zine work..

[harrylights]

.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ BURNER ACCOUNTS — GOJO SATORU.

contents. fem! reader, loser ex-boyfriend! satoru, exes to lovers, college! au, satoru making burners to watch your stories, miscommunications—satoru is not perfect but he’s trying okay?, gossip icons shoko & suguru <3, i had a silly idea and it turned into 2.6k words my bad

there’s a peculiar account watching your instagram stories—@user273582838, to be exact. you don’t think it’s a very well timed coincidence seeing as you and satoru have just broken up—so you decide to do some digging. 

which of course, means enlisting the help of shoko.

“i think satoru is stalking me,” you mumble, making her pause in the middle of sipping on her energy drink—for a med student, her habits don’t seem every healthy. this is her third one of the day.

“okay,” she nods, “i wouldn’t put it past him, but what makes you say that?”

“look,” you turn your phone to face her, the blank, anonymous instagram account right there on the list of users who have viewed your story. she crinkles her brows, blinking for a moment before humming.

“that definitely seems like something he’d do,” she nods—and then, “i have an idea.”

“okay,” you brighten, nodding enthusiastically, “what’s the plan?”

“try and log in with that user.”

“shoko,” you look at her like she’s grown two heads. maybe the lack of sleep is finally getting to her—no amount of energy drinks can save her at this point. “we don’t have the password—”

“—and that, dummy,” she rolls her eyes, making you scowl at the name, “is why we click forgot my password and see the last four digits of the phone number that registered the account. if it’s satoru’s number, we’ll know.”

okay—you take it back. shoko is a genius and a full-blown brilliant mastermind that you could never hope to come close to. you’re glad you chose her to help—you’re even more glad she agreed because you would not have thought of that. this is fantastic. a fool-proof plan. 

you grin wide, eyes lighting up as you gasp, “shoko! you’re so smart, that’s a great idea!”

“i know,” she grumbles, “took you long enough to notice.”

ignoring her, you quickly pull out your phone and try to log onto the account, typing user273582838 into the username box and clicking forgot my password. shoko is hovering over your shoulder, and your breath is held as you wait for the page to load and the number to pop up. within just a few seconds, the first few digits are censored with asterisks, but the last four show, and—

yeah. it’s satoru’s fucking number. just as you suspected—you and shoko scoff together at the same time, rolling your eyes. 

“well,” you look at her, lips pursed in irritation—of course, satoru refuses to give you space and leave you alone after your break up (which was his fault, might you add), “what now?”

“send the verification code to his number,” she presses, “it’ll definitely spook him when he sees.”

she’s so good at what she does, you think in awe, staring at her with heart-eyes. nodding quickly, you press send code. 

hopefully, that’ll give satoru the heart attack you want it to.

———

satoru stares at his screen in abject horror—who could be trying to log into his burner account? the only person who should possibly stumble across it is you, but surely you’re not closely inspecting your story viewers, are you? so then, who could be trying to log onto the instagram account of @user273582838?

“suguru,” he says in a trance, “are you trying to log onto the burner?”

“are you bringing that shit up again?” suguru grumbles, controller in hand as he pays attention to the screen, “i told you that was a stupid idea. a pathetic one too—”

“well, i didn’t want to keep waiting for you to send screenshots to see the stories—”

“you’re a fucking loser, do you know that? pathetic,” suguru reiterates. “move on.”

“no,” satoru hisses in disbelief, “why would i do that? now, was that you or not? you’re the only other person who knows the user.”

“as if i care to log onto your loser burner account,” suguru snorts, shaking his head in amusement. he beats satoru’s high score, turning to give him a sly grin as he adds, “i wasn’t removed, so i can view the stories all i want.”

“you’re a jerk, you know that?” satoru grunts, crossing his arms and pouting, “i’m having the worst heartbreak of my life, and you—”

“who’s fault is it that you’re dumped?”

satoru deflates. 

okay, so he supposedly hasn’t been the best boyfriend. it’s not that satoru isn’t helplessly committed to you—he’s so sickeningly obsessed with you, it’s actually a bit unhealthy. suguru says so, at least. but satoru is…well, satoru, and he doesn’t always seem to take things as seriously as most people would hope. 

evidently, that includes your relationship—though, he does insist on disagreeing on that. according to you, he doesn’t take you on dates often enough, and sometimes he flirts back with random strangers. that’s not true—he’s simply a bit of a tease and enjoys it when you’re jealous, but he doesn’t flirt back. that’s outrageous. you’ve even claimed he’s mean about it and makes a joke out of it all—satoru would never be mean on purpose; he only teases because the banter is always endearing. 

but, unfortunately, you don’t seem to see it the way he does, and now he’s woefully single and cold and alone in bed. no cuddles, no goodnight kisses, and no head scratches. 

life is so cruel sometimes. 

“suguru,” he says in distress, “i’m serious. someone’s trying to hack my burner—who could it be?”

“hmm, i don’t know…maybe the one and only person who would notice the account in the first place?”

“but why try and log in if the password is unknown?”

suguru looks at satoru like he’s stupid—apparently, he is because he’s not putting two and two together. 

“maybe because sending a verification code shows the last four digits of the registered phone number? you’ve probably been caught, you idiot.”

satoru pales at that—he didn’t think about that. it slipped his mind completely. fuck, he should’ve used a burner email instead. he stares down at his phone numbly—yeah, he thinks, he’s screwed. 

———

after two days of continuous log in attempts into satoru’s burner account—it’s only just to spook him extra—you finally decide to confront him. 

we need to talk. is all you send him. 

the three bubbles appear on his end multiple times before disappearing—you and shoko get a good cackle out of that and laugh at him for a bit before he finally answers. 

miss me already? knew it ;)

wow. what a dickhead. 

so, because you can be equally as much of a prick, you send him a screenshot of his phone number on the log in page followed by a message that says: no. it’s so you can explain this. 

the three dots show up again for a few minutes before he finally responds with: okay. you caught me. when do you wanna meet?

well, that was easy. satoru is the type to not go down without a fight no matter how cornered he is—he’s stubborn and annoying like that. you turn to shoko for help.

“meet him now,” shoko crosses her arms, “don’t give him time to come up with some ridiculous excuse.”

“what excuse could he possibly come up with?” you snort, “that he was possessed and the evil spirit in his mind made him stalk his ex like a loser?”

“true,” she concedes, taking a sip from her energy drink—seriously, how many of these does this girl drink in a day? “i just want to know what happens,” she shrugs, “so do it now.”

of course, as on brand as ever, shoko is merely in it for the drama. you roll your eyes before sighing and nodding. 

“okay,” you huff. 

meet me at my place. now.

on my way, he sends back almost instantly. 

“he’s probably just excited to see you,” shoko snorts, “like the loser he is.”

“you’re probably right,” you purse your lips in exasperation. in all your time knowing him, you’ve definitely realized that satoru is definitely…well, a case. 

———

“hey,” shoko whispers to suguru through the phone, walking out your door so you can prepare to confront satoru. “did you know satoru’s been stalking—”

“—on a burner account? yeah, i know.”

okay, she frowns to herself, that was no fun at all. suguru is already aware of the drama. but that’s no matter—surely, he can’t possibly already know that satoru has been invited over to be scolded. 

“yeah, well,” she says smugly, “did you know he’s actually on his way over to—”

“—get yelled at? yeah, i’m aware. he called me panicked. what a fucking loser.”

“okay, well since you’re up to speed,” shoko grumbles bitterly, rolling her eyes. she was supposed to be the knight in shining armor with the juicy updates—but evidently, satoru is pathetic enough to already cry to suguru about his dilemma. “wanna meet up and get sushi nearby? i bet they’ll get back together in twenty minutes.”

“i bet ten. loser pays for the food?”

“you’ve got yourself a deal.”

———

satoru sits on your couch in shame, bouncing his leg nervously as you sit on the opposite end with your arms crossed and brow raised. 

it’s quiet. he doesn’t have the guts to say anything, waiting for you to break the silence. maybe you’re not that mad.

“so,” you start, “it’s nice to finally meet you, user273582838.”

he rubs his neck awkwardly, chuckling through his nerves as he mumbles, “oh, hey there! it’s a small world, huh?”

“satoru.”

yeah, never mind. you seem pretty mad. 

“okay, look,” he begins, “you can’t blame me. you dumped me, your sweet, loving, and unsuspecting boyfriend out of nowhere! i was heartbroken and shattered—and then you didn’t even give me a chance to work it out! i was not in the right headspace to make wise decisions so…so this is basically not my fault.”

that doesn’t seem to help his case—in fact, it only makes it worse. 

“so it’s my fault?”

“wha—no!” he says quickly, “no, definitely not.”

you sigh, rubbing your forehead in defeat as you mumble, “satoru, we are broken up for a reason. you can’t overstep and—”

“it’s a pretty stupid reason,” he grumbles under his breath, crossing his arms and frowning. you glare at him from the side as you scoff in disbelief. 

“of course,” you chuckle dryly, “of course you would say that. nothing is ever serious enough to you—”

“it’s pretty fucking serious to me,” he spits, shooting you a look that tells you he’s just as shocked as you, “that’s obviously why i’m the one who’s still not moved on as easily as you. how seriously did you really take it?”

“that’s not fair,” you grit, “you made it abundantly clear you didn’t care enough, so why should i—”

“i fucking cared a shit ton,” he says incredulously, “that’s bullshit, and you know it—”

“don’t curse at me, satoru—”

“well, don’t accuse me of not caring when i clearly—”

“oh, yeah cause you cared so much when you were laughing with that waitress as she hit on you,” you seethe, throwing a pillow from your couch at him. he can catch it easily—you know this for sure, but he lets it hit him out of what you’re sure is at least a little consideration to your feelings. 

“i wasn’t laughing because i enjoyed it,” he crinkles his brows as if you’ve said the most ridiculous thing ever, “it was just funny because she was trying so hard. and you looked all cute when you got mad.”

“what kind of boyfriend enjoys watching his girlfriend get mad—”

“the kind of boyfriend who thinks his girlfriend is adorable when she’s mad—”

“yeah, well your idea of a date is going to the mall with shoko and suguru. what kind of date is that—”

“okay, i was a bit clueless sometimes, but you could’ve said something instead of just dumping me like i was some random guy in your dm’s—”

“you need to grow the fuck up, satoru—”

“now look at who's cursing!”

it’s silent—both you and him have your arms crossed and lips curled into scowls as you both glare at each other. you’re stubbornly convinced satoru doesn’t care as much as you do, and he’s firmly committed to the idea that you’re twisting him into some douche who doesn’t give two shits. 

it’s quiet like that for a bit before he deflates and slumps against the couch, rubbing his face as he groans. 

“look,” he starts, “i’m sorry. i never meant to make it seem like i enjoy attention from other girls, and i didn’t realize you wanted more dates. i’d have done things differently if you told me how you felt.”

he sounds sincere. and he’s looking at you with those eyes of his—god, those stupid little eyes that are so wide and blue and deep and full of love. even after that whole argument, satoru is clearly as painfully in love as ever. 

you sigh before playing with a loose thread on your sweatpants. 

“i…guess i could’ve talked it out first. i probably shouldn’t have skipped straight to breaking up,” you mutter, not meeting his eyes. 

satoru stares glumly at you from the corner of his eyes before he adds bitterly, “you don’t seem to miss me. not even a little.”

“toru,” you pinch your nose, “of course i miss you. i was not gonna be mopey on instagram, though—”

“doesn’t seem like it,” he huffs. he’s a bit hurt—you can tell because he’s not meeting your eyes, and he’s not got that playful little upward curl of his lips. 

you’re a bit weak, you realize—but you suppose you always have been for satoru, because you’re shuffling to his end of the couch and poking his cheek gently. 

“i miss you tons, y’know,” you murmur—you smile a little at his pout before adding, “i want more dates this time around. and stop letting girls get away with being shameless flirts.”

he finally meets your eyes—it’s like a child on christmas, the way his face lights up and his lips curl into an excited grin.

“you mean i get to be your boyfriend again?”

it’s cute—the way he asks to be your boyfriend and not if you’ll be his girlfriend. maybe you’ve been a bit unfair, maybe satoru has always cared deeply in his dumb little clueless way of his own. 

“fine,” you pretend to roll your eyes. he looks hopelessly excited as he wraps an arm around you and pulls you into his side, tucking you under his chin as he rests his cheek on your head. 

“you should really talk to me more,” he murmurs, “i’m…things fly over my head sometimes. i’m sorry.”

“i’m sorry too,” you admit, “i’ll talk to you—but you better listen to me if i do. don’t turn it into jokes.”

“i never turn things into jokes,” he grumbles petulantly, huffing to the side as you shoot him an unimpressed raise of your brow. “does this mean i can follow you again?”

“yes,” you snort.

“and you’ll follow back, right?”

“yes, satoru,” you sigh, shaking your head in amusement. he’s already back to being a handful—but you can admit you might have missed it just a bit. “but for the love of god, please delete that burner.”

“fine,” he pouts, tugging you closer. 

you giggle, he grins, and then you’re kissing—and everything feels as it should be. 

———

“they’re back together,” shoko says in disbelief, staring at your text. suguru groans, pausing mid bite as he rubs over his forehead in defeat. 

of course, you and satoru just have to make up in exactly fifteen minutes. not ten. not twenty. exactly fifteen. 

how considerate of you both. 

“are you kidding?” suguru grumbles, “so neither of us win.”

“guess not,” she says sourly, rolling her eyes. 

woefully, they both agree to split the check. 

suguru and shoko are so me and my friend every time our other friend argues with her boyfriend we deadass be making bets over when they make up and loser has to pay for boba LMAO

[gojoest]

“KEEP YOUR PRETTY EYES SHUT” — gojo satoru

MDNI, f! reader, established relationship, somno, fingering, unprotected sex, pet names (baby, pretty, my love), 1k, being sent on a mission out of town satoru agonizes over the fact he has to spend another night without you in his arms, therefore he comes back home earlier than planned — in the middle of the night, while you’re sleeping soundly, dressed only in his shirt

satoru endured exactly 46 hours away from you, almost two whole days — which to him felt like two months, or even more. the higher-ups had sent him to a mission out of town, on the pretext that, as the strongest sorcerer, he was the only one fit to deal with it. the case required his presence, the higher-ups had said, which eventually, not to his surprise, turned out to be out of true. at times like this it felt like sending him on away missions was a way for the higher-up to take revenge on him for always meddling with their decisions. those bastards had certainly found his weak spot.

when he came back, it was the middle of the night. the lights in the house were off, indicating that you were already sound asleep, which he already knew — you were dozing off during your hour-long call earlier to say good night. he was supposed to return in the morning but hearing your sweet sleepy voice on the other side of the line, telling him you love him and how you were wearing his shirt to sleep again tonight, made his stomach in knots from longing to see you, and he missed you all the more. agonizing over the fact he had to sleep another night without you in his arms, he found himself already packing to leave and go back home, to you.

and there you are at last — right before his eyes, a sleeping beauty in his bed. despite the darkness filling the room, satoru could see you clearly — lying on your back, lips slightly slick with spit, chest moving up and down, nostrils slightly flaring and matching your breathing pattern, hair messy from all the tossing and turning, and a pinkish hue on your cheeks. were you thinking of him, too?  in your sleep? is this why your cheeks were all red? did you miss him as much? — he thinks while creeping forward, careful enough not to make any sound as his feet move on the wood, not to let any of it creak.

he slowly sits on the bed, hooking two fingers underneath the edge of the blanket covering your body and pulling it back, cautiously peeling the cover back from your legs and setting it aside, to take a good look at what’s hiding beneath.

he was only supposed to tuck himself in, next to you, take you in his arms and fall asleep to your scent filling his lungs. but you, although unintentionally, were working against him. the shirt of his you were wearing had sometime along the night ridden up while you were sleeping, revealing your beautiful skin up to your belly which allowed satoru a perfect gaze between your legs.

“come on, baby. really now? so unfair…”, he huffs under his nose, his cheeks starting to burn hot, “just my shirt — and no panties?!”, lips parting slightly as he’s taking in the surprise before his eyes, your bare pussy stirring ideas in his head. both heads, actually.

“fuck”, he whispers; he’s getting hard.

he sucks two of his long digits into his mouth, getting them wet enough before putting them between your inviting legs. his free hand unbuckling his slacks to rub his palm on his growing cock, spreading the precum already gathered at the tip along the entirety of it. getting himself all wet and sticky for you before he does the same with you, too.

satoru starts from the bud of your clit, touching it very carefully, pressing on it with the tip of his finger.

“nghh…”, you sigh in your sleep, eyelids still closed but legs parting further at his touch.

“shh…”, he hums, “it’s okay, my love”, stroking down the sides of your cunt before pushing a digit in, and then slowly — another one, too, spreading your lips, exposing the openness of your hole and the wetness glistening there.

“keep sleeping, my love”, he speaks quietly. his fingers pushing themselves deeper in your cunt, playing and rubbing at its walls and earning sweet sleepy moans from the low in your throat. his mouth hangs open, goes dry at the feeling of your warmth inside, the way you welcome him and clench around his fingers, even in your sleep. “shit, baby. now i have to do it”, he groans quietly, his other hand now stroking his throbbing cock more furiously. he wants his dick to feel it, too; his hand is not doing it for him anymore, he needs to sink it deep inside of you.

“i just wanted to come home to you and cuddle you to sleep, but now…”, satoru huffs through a hearty pant, stopping his ministrations to slowly climb on top of you, between your legs, moving them apart with his hands sticky from your both of your fluids, one covered in you, and the other — in him.

“but now i want to cuddle myself in and come in you, too”

satoru couldn’t handle the temptation that is you anymore; his cock so fucking hard, he couldn’t stand it any longer. and you’re just right there — open and easy for him, eager for it even, despite not being awake. “shit, it’s all your fault, you know?”, he growls, slowly rubbing the tip against your wet entrance, up and down the length of it a few times — “messing with me like this..” — before thrusting into you, hands pressing and sinking into the plush of your thighs, whimpering at the tight clutch around him, that wonderful heat, the sweetness and wetness of your pretty pussy; his pussy.

“aghh..” you choke out and your eyes flutter open, suddenly overwhelmed and awakened by the fullness filling your cunt, “s-satoru.. nghh.. what are you d—”, you gasp in surprise, “are you fucking me?”

“shh..”, he presses your lips shut with a finger, “keep your pretty eyes shut and leave it all to me”

[moechies]

sugu breaking your fever 〜（ゝ。∂）

“how d’ya feel pretty?”

“still feel like shit.”

you whine into his chest, the warm compress that once laid on your tummy is held in place by the man.

“y’know.. i heard that orgasms break fevers.”

“what? can’t be, s-stop it.”

“mm what’s the harm in trying?”

“c-cus i’m sick sugu! don’t wanna get you sick too. s-s okay, i’ll get better so—“ your quieted by a cough, followed by the man pressing the glass of water towards your lips.

“doesn’t seem likely pretty. c’mon, let me finger you at least, hm?”

“y-you’re so weird, sugu.”

“that means yes, right?” he slithers atop of you, looking down with a sly grin that you can’t help but flush at. he presses kisses to your hot skin, whining when he nips at your sensitive neck.

“s-sugu, ‘s hot.”

“hmm.. air conditionings on gorgeous..” he teases.

he lifts your shirt, releasing your tits, giving them a light grope. you whine at the sensation of his cold hand pressing against your hot flesh, a slight buck in your hips that yearns for more.

“don’t rush, pretty. we have all day.”

he leans in between your thighs, slim fingers that come to toy with the band of your panties. he presses a harsh kiss to your sticky clit, twitching from the attention.

“needy girl.” he snickers, whistling when he pulls the crotch of your panties to the side. he watches your feverent cunt pulse with need, cute clit swollen and aching for more.

“s-sugu, stop staring.!”

in a short attempt to close your thighs, to prove some decency to the perverted man, you’re met with a gentle slap to your inner thigh. you mewl, anticipating more as he drags a gentle finger through your slit.

“mm, say you want it. tell me ya want my fingers inside, honey.”

“s-sugu don’t tease please.. y-you were the one that said you wanted to give it t’me..”

“mhm, know what i said. now tell me, you want it right?”

you huff, but at last you fall into the man’s trap, “yes s-suguru, wan’ it. want you inside, y-your fingers, please.”

“mm, good girl.” he hums against your thigh, a singular digit slipping into your moist cunt.

“s-sugu..!” you moan with surprise.

“see? if you’re good, ya get what you want, right?”

“y-yes..!”

“now take it gorgeous.” he slips another finger along side his first, curling himself against your sweet gummy walls. you flinch at the sensation, every moment he’s inside of you pushes you towards your high.

he comes up to face your ecstatic expression, smothering your hot skin with gentle but sloppy kisses. you flinch at the sensation, body sensitive due to your cold. it’s all so intense, better, even.

“suguru, p-please..!”

“mhm, patient sweet girl.”

“need t’cum, pleasepleaseplease.. daddy..”

“oh? how dirty, baby. thought you were feeling sick. y’asking for more now?” he chuckles.

“mfgh, d-daddy please.. gonna cum..!”

“yeah? want daddy t’make you cum?”

“yesyes, please..!”

and you do, back arching from the intense sensation, your boyfriends fingers covered in a heavy slick; a sight he’s definitely not new to.

“there you go baby. good girl, such a good girl.”

he pulls himself out gently, wrapping his lips around his own digits, sucking your cum off his fingers. the entire time he stares into you, a teasing smirk spread across his expression.

“stop doin’ that sugu.! ‘s gross!” you whine, flustered from the eye contact he forcefully holds.

“taste so sweet baby.” he teases once again.

he unlatches himself with a ‘pop!’ bending over you to press a heavy kiss onto your lips. he can’t help but laugh when you moan into his mouth, overwhelmed.

“sugu.. tired..”

he presses another kiss onto the soft of your cheek, leaving your side to clean you up for bed.

upon cleaning you up, his heart softens at your sleepy expression and soft snores, pressing a final kiss onto your forehead before slipping besides you.

bonus . . ♡

the morning after is so much better. the sunlight beams through the curtains , the blankets laid on top of you two is just warm enough. doubt him all you want , but turns out his dumb little factoid proves to be true !

but of course he didn’t listen , and now he’s caught your cold.. whining and tugging at your sleeve for you to take care of him , to ride his pain away and make him orgasm so that his fever breaks too.

“y’have to return the favor princess.”

“no, you perv!”

“please, you owe me baby.”

[landosjpg]

mischief | ln

the one where your boyfriend has a bad race.

lando norris x fem!reader

word count: ~0.7k

warnings: smut (minors dni), pwp, p in v, unprotected sex

note: lando’s special helmet is so hot it had me thinking all types of things all weekend so i couldn’t help myself. wrote this during the red flag after an all-nighter so excuse any possible spelling mistakes :)

lando had a bad race. he had even missed on a podium for a little mistake he’d made during his last stint.

it really shouldn’t matter that much, really; he’d had an overall great weekend. but everyone knew how lando was and how he used to get in his head over those things every time. this one time, however, he wasn’t sad.

he was just pissed off.

once the race was over and he got out of the car, he didn’t even bother taking a few minutes to talk to his engineers. instead, he took your hand and practically dragged you to his driver’s room, promising his team that he would be back in less than fifteen minutes to complete his media duties.

he hadn’t even had time to take his helmet off, and of course he hadn’t explained what he was up to. but before you could think about it, he had you bent over the nearest surface as soon as he slammed the door of his driver’s room close.

the sudden roughness of his movements stole a yelp from your lips, making you look up at him over your shoulder. he probably caught on the confused look in your eyes, because before you could even say a word, his gaze found yours and he asked:

“can i, please?”

the hint of neediness in his voice made you instantly nod, he didn’t had to explain what he wanted. with your quick answer, he proceeded to quickly undo his suit just enough to free his hardening cock.

luckily for him, it was hot that day so you had decides to put on a sundress that very morning. his fingers slowly caressed your thighs up to your hips, pulling the skirt of your dress up with them and revealing your soft skin to him.

he couldn’t help a groan from escaping his throat as he saw the wet patch that was already forming between your legs; and without wanting to waste any more time, he gently kicked your feet to spread your legs open and with two of his digits, pulled your underwear to the side.

“so ready for me,” lando mumbled, his voice low and muffled under his helmet.

before he placed his cock at your entrance, his fingers gave your clit a gentle tap, making you squirm and moan under his touch. then, he quickly slid inside of you, filling you completely with one swift movement.

one of his hand found your hips as he started thrusting into you relentlessly, gripping your body as the other one pressed against your lower back, holding you down in place.

the tip of his cock hit the sweet spot inside you with every single movement of his body, and soon you couldn’t keep the sounds to yourself.

aware of the thinness of the walls and not wanting people to hear you, the hand that was pressed in your lower back slowly creeped up to your hair, holding it in a fist before he pulled you up, your back against his chest.

quickly, his hand found home in your mouth, covering it to muffle your oh so sweet sounds as you looked at his eyes behind his half-open visor.

despite of the helmet covering his face, you could see the lust in lando’s pupils, which was enough to send you over the edge, your walls strangling his cock as you came around him with a muffled cry.

feeling your hands trying to grab onto him and your pussy getting even tighter as he kept fucking into you, it didn’t take him long to reach his own high, filling you with a loud groan.

he stilled himself inside you, his grip on your hip softening and his hand dropping from your mouth, letting you catch your breath again.

you felt your boyfriend’s arms circling around your waist, keeping you close to him before he murmured a low “i love you” in between labored breaths.

after a few seconds in which the only sound that could be heard were your gasps for air, a knock on the door took the two of you back to reality, someone reminding lando of his media duties.

he sighed and took his helmet and balaclava off after putting his suit back in place. not without giving you a peck on the lips, he left you in his driver’s room and rushed to his interviews, a lot more calm that only a few minutes before.

[chrollohearttags]

good girls finish last • e. jaeger

your best friend was always adamant that he’d have you and he follows through on it in a huge way.

word count: 2.3K

black fem!reader, heavy dom!eren (he’s yandere if you squint), PWOP, overstimulation, back licking, squirting, reader calls him daddy, calls reader princess, growling/marking, orgasm denial. he speaks German/Italian, many other themes I don’t feel like listing

in case you all were wondering what inspired this: enjoy! 🫶🏾

════ ⋆★⋆ ════════ ⋆★⋆ ════════ ⋆★⋆

“Mmmm!…please..”

“Shhh, keep your voice down, baby. I won’t say it again..”

the deep vibrato rang out in your ear in almost a growl like tone..his voice tantalizing and almost honey like as it deeper into your brain. He was trouble..that you had always known since the day you met him. Your best friend of several years, even when everyone else told you otherwise. However, that was of no consequence. Especially when you were certain that he was the only man for you. Someone who saw your flaws as perfections, who thought the world of you even when you seemed insignificant. It was more than what could be said of the man who had you before..hence why he was now there to pick up the pieces.

“..don’t talk, just breathe..that’s all you need to do right now. Just focus on my voice..” the command simultaneous with the sounds and sensation of his thick, warm fingertips fluidly moving in and out of your warmth. Your slick building up on the hilt of his knuckles as he flexed his wrist. His tattooed digits and arm were already decorated in the remnants of your previous orgasms and he was looking to add more to the collection. “I—I just..this isn’t right..we shouldn’t be doing this.” A statement only followed by that same maniacal laughter you had heard many times before and a soft clutch around your throat. “And why is that? Hmm..scared that he’s gonna walk in here? Good, let him see what a real man is supposed to do.” Even so, your chest couldn’t help but to heave with every delicate, calculated movement he made. Working your cunt over with the most intricate of strokes. He occasionally uses his free hand to squeeze your throat or grope your tits that were pulled from your tank top. That thong dangling at your ankles and your plaid skirt flipped up to expose your lower half..he was enjoying this! All of it far more than he should’ve but he couldn’t help himself, really. Eren had been in love with you since the two of you first became acquainted. Those beautiful lips, those thighs and pretty dark skin he found so perfect..the best part was? It was all his!…regardless of how many losers you allowed into your life. You were his lady, forever and always. And he’d make certain that everyone knew it. Removing that hand from your throat, he’d quickly replace it with a trail of gentle kisses. As well as the slight drudge of his teeth up the sensitive skin.

“Don’t you get it? We were always supposed to be together. Just me and you against the world, princess. That’s what you told me, right?” Your answer seemingly coming a moment too late for him, as he snatched your head around to meet his gaze. “Right?!” “Ah!—yes! Yes, daddy..” the name inciting more of a fire in him than before. Truth be told, he knew you liked it. You loved it, in fact. That much apparent by the subtle smirk on your face. “Look at you fucking smiling..admit it, mama. You never loved him. You were only pretending. You always were such a people pleaser..my good girl.” His voice dropped even lower as his fingers elevated to your g-spot once more. Pressing on the fleshy pad and making you writhe in his grasp. You were as good as stuck..you wouldn’t leave this spot. This bed where you and your ex had consummated your relationship several times. And not once did it ever bring you the thrill and rush that fucking Eren did. The way he spoke to you, held you close and made you feel as if he existed solely for you.

“But that’s why I’m here…you don’t have to appease anyone. You can be selfish with me, baby. Give in to what you really want…so tell me..what is that? Tell me what you want me to do…” all the while, his movements became sped up and you were clawing at his tattooed forearm; mere seconds from climaxing whilst he coaxed you through it. “C’mon, closed mouths don’t get fed, princess. Talk to me..” just as smooth as ever and devilish as well. He always had such a way with words and knew exactly how to articulate them to get his wishes. Maybe that’s why so many people despised the cocky brunette. Because he was the total package, head to toe. But an asshole to his core. Still, that didn’t mean shit to him..or you! Through your lens, he was picture perfect and nothing could change that. Working those digits in and out, you’d finally screech and yelp, unable to keep your voice lowered and in response, all he could do was laugh. Knowing that you were trying so hard to spare the feelings of someone you shouldn’t have. You’d quickly cup your hand over your mouth but to no avail.

“Aww, what’s the matter? Don’t want your ‘man’ to hear us? Hear me playing with this lil’ pussy? Afraid it might break his little heart? You’re so considerate..” sarcastically stroking the side of your face with a lilt in his tone. But there was simply no need for you to be so courteous. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. He’s with another bitch right now. Somewhere laid up with a girl who couldn’t even think of competing with you. So why hold back, baby? Why are you trying to fight what’s meant to be for his sake?”

in a moment of haste, Eren retracted his fingers and used them momentarily to pacify your cries. He’d work them in between your jaws and meanwhile, usher you onto all fours. Prompting you to arch your back. Just as quickly, he’d tug those sweatpants down and remove his shirt in the process. He could feel you teeming right on the edge of climatic bliss but he was selfish. He needed to reach that point with you…to feel every bit and part of you as you made it to that point. Once he freed his stiff cock from those boxers, he’d align himself with your slit and immediately begin slapping it against your folds. Leaning down, he’d lace your shoulder blades with those same markings on your neck; biting gently into your flesh like a predator claiming its sweet little prey. Grunting and moaning into your ear how gorgeous you were and how he couldn’t wait to beat your pussy up. You were so delicate, soft and pretty. But he couldn’t help but to defile you..to make you a product of his sick perversions. He’d dreamed of the nights that he could pound this little pussy into oblivion. Making you cream on his shaft until you left him an utter mess..going deep until he forced you to squirt all over him and then shortly after, breed you so that he was with you in more ways than one. Having vivid daydreams of your belly swollen with his kid..it was the ultimate sign of possession!

“Fuck me, Eren! I can’t take it…” “..now where’s those manners you love so much? Say please..” there was that slick mouth. You always loved it when you weren’t the one on the receiving end but seeing as you were about to combust, you were feeding into it. “Please, daddy. I need it so bad..need you to make me come, right now..”

grasping at the sheets beneath you, you’d feel a sharp sting when his palm collided with your asscheek before those same fingers laced your throat. Eren never did like being told what to do but for you?…he could possibly overlook it.

“Shhhh! pazienza, amore mio..” pushing a finger to your lips.

the switch in dialect sending a pang to your stomach. You were always so fond of the fact that he was trilingual, being the son of immigrants. He’d tested it out on you earlier in the night as his tongue drudged between your folds and lapped at your clit. He’d begin complimenting your flavor and scent in his native languages; letting the words ooze like honey.

“We’ll get there when I say so..” suddenly, you’d feel yourself become full as he impaled you on his cock. Shoving that girthy, long member into that swollen heat. It was no time before you acclimated, despite his massive size. It was almost as if you designed just for him. “Ahh…so fucking tight. Just like old times..when you’d sneak out of class or practice, just to come fuck me. Ooh..that pussy felt so good..” Referring to your high school days when you were just alike. Delinquents and deviants only caring about each other. Fast forward and you were trying to get your act together. In college, new job, and supposedly a new man. However, old habits die hard and he was a hell of a one to crack. “You used to be such a slut f’r me. Let’s see if you still have it in you..” mocking whilst he smacked your ass repeatedly, telling you to meet his thrusts. The collision of that plump backside driving him crazy, especially when you reached back voluntarily and spread yourself open; glancing back with a smirk on your face. “Mmm..like that?” “Fuuuck..yeah, there’s my nasty lil’ bitch. Here..open up.” In one fell swoop, Eren tugged your head back and your jaw would fall slack; opening your enough for him to fill it with spit which made you giggle in return.

“Mmm, thank you, daddy..” he couldn’t help but to twitch each time you uttered the moniker. It always did sound so much sexier when you said. “You’re so welcome, princess..thank you for being so patient. I know you wanna come so bad. I want you to..” as he persisted with his speech, his strokes became a bit more sped up. The sounds of clapping flesh growing louder as well as your moans.

“ ‘Rennn…oh my God..” “..that’s right, baby. Pray to me, worship this fucking dick like you used to.” Commanding that you take it. Tightening his grip on the back of your neck, he’d force (y/n) face down, flat on the mattress in a prone position. Now, he could go as fast as he pleased without you faltering. “I’m the only one that can make you feel this good. The fuck were you thinking give my pussy to these fuck ass little boys? Are you crazy?” Seemingly switching his demeanor midway. That side of him always did scare you. But he’d never even so much as entertain the thought of hurting his princess. The only pain he wanted to cause you was consensual and pleasure filled. The kind you’d beg for.

“Nnngh, I’m so sorry, daddy. I’m so fucking sorry..” your voice high pitched and wailing as he pounded you mercilessly. You couldn’t take another minute of this. Your bladder felt as if it were going up burst, your eyes rolling back and tears staining your cheek. But he was inconsolable, thinking about another man in this bed with you. Being inside of you without a clue of how to make you happy. That was his job and his alone.

“It’s okay, it’s okay…don’t cry. I’m not mad at you..I’m just so disappointed that you’d settle like this..” breaking into yet another chuckle whilst his strokes became sporadic. “Please!..I’m so close..” “I know, I know you are..” leaning down to mark your spine with kisses as he lifted you back up and to also rattle off in your ear. “..so let’s get you there, pretty girl..” just then, those strokes would reach maximum speed and you’d find yourself trying to brace but you were coming undone! You could barely keep a grasp on those sheets and he was drilling you like no one’s business. Tugging you back to his chest with that same grasp on your throat, Eren kept talking; coaching you through your orgasm. Telling you when you squeeze and hold your muscles. To not release until he gave you explicit permission. Meanwhile, he’d stroke your clit repeatedly until you were nearly convulsing, trying to hold back. You had always trusted him but this teasing was too much to bear. You had to let go right now! And luckily, he wouldn’t keep you waiting for much longer

“Come for me, princess! Come for me..squirt on my dick! Spritz auf meinen Schwanz..” repeating the phrase a couple times more with a heavy growl and with that accent peeking through, you’d fall apart right there in his grasp, releasing a puddle onto his cock and the linen. You were finished; completely spent and on the brink of collapse. But he was quick to hold you in place and steal one last peck from those pretty lips.

“I love you..I love you so fucking much..you hear me? Don’t you ever leave me again..” his voice faint through his seemingly overwhelming amounts of emotions. He was so happy that you were back where you belonged. In his arms, in his life. Maybe being a goody two shoes got you nowhere and you’d gotten your heart broken trying to do the right thing…

“I love you more, baby..I’m right here..”

and hell, maybe good girls did finish last but if this was what was waiting at the end of the line?

“I’ll never leave you again, Eren. I promise.”

you’d fall behind every time!

@dancingwithdeities @iadoreprettygirls @arminsbbymami

@shamelesshoefairy @chiquititaosita @greenieweeniesworld @ichigosluvrr @thickbihhwitdagapp

[anantaru]

THE PRICE IN MYSTERIES CONCEALED

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — who was the man you fell in love with? why did it seem like he was hiding his true self away from you, and why, at last, was he hesitant to deepen the connection in your new relationship?

— ꒰ word count ꒱ — 3.4k

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — [ns]fw, fem! reader, first time intimate, playing with your tits (tit lover neuvillette), unprotected, he has marks on his chest, loads of cum lmao, virgin! neuvillette but skilled, quick learner, established relationship, size kink (dragon cock giggles), sweet sweet neuvillette he's the sweetest man

there are no two ways to go on about it, but you can clearly hear the words neuvillette doesn’t say to you, you can see it in the light of his eyes. hidden verses evaporating in slow heaves, how rain puddles disappear on a hot day, when he ultimately decides against reciting his longings out loud to you.

instead, he imagined it in his hankering memories, how you'd feel under him, topless, bare and exposed, how it would feel when he was luxuriating in your velvet walls of your entrance and the vivid heat that would envelope him every time he sinks his cock all the way inside.

nonetheless, it's futile, he couldn't do it, he won't make the first step, but he knows, he could swear on it, that there was nothing warmer nor more welcoming then being inside of you.

in such predicament, neuvillette doesn’t know what to do nor on how to get rid of those improper fantasies circulating in his psyche, because, as it happened, he felt disgusted in himself to even daydream in such manners, about his significant other— someone he regarded as infinitely perfect beyond the limits of his own imagination.

besides, he's never done this before, again, he’s fucked his hand while thinking about you, feverish pants and hot breathes exposing him behind closed doors, most of the times it's uncoordinated and without knowing how to bring himself to a nice, proper climax.

neuvillette could never stop his digits from traveling down south before rutting into his hand so fucking desperate, with a heartfelt heat plummeting on top of his body, shudders when he drags over the slit of his cockhead, brows furrowed, pale skin battered in champagne rose, wishing it was your soft, warm cunt he'd be fucking into instead.

and it's not like you denied yourself to him, because there certainly were enough moments in the past where he was presented with the opportunity of advancing it forward, magnifying your new, fresh relationship— souls nurturing in the most sacred, wonderful way, while right before it could be turning into that direction, his eyes would suddenly be unable to hold yours any longer and his worry kicks in right afterwards.

then, as it happens so often, he could feel his embarrassment bottle up when he pushes himself away from you, leaving you behind, yet— remember, he doesn't lie upfront to you, he'd never defy your trust nor succumb to altering the truth, which made it even more awkward to begin with.

to be transparent, gone were the days where he wouldn't have to deal with the enriched pressure and heaviness in his groin, new, unlocked desires that if he were to ignore them, or at least try, only would bounce back with a more intense power, until he was painfully hard all day, not knowing on how to get rid of it once and for all.

to counterbalance, you eagerly note and remember the words he did speak out to you, and despite the veiled meanings behind it all, sheltered below a smokescreen of mysteries, it's there.

furthermore, it was perceivable in the doubled seemings, and despite that, the mysterious man seldomly exchanged words of affirmations, protecting the hidden truth that had been stored in his heart for decades on end.

the man rather spoke in the elusiveness of his delicate glances, and in his imperceptible touch, because there was a primordial light inside the action of his trails. from first principles, he never sought out any of this, because the way he saw it was that unclouded emotions for another individual are best left unrevealed in life. all that mattered, in the end, was what the brain spoke out to yourself, because strict rules must be followed.

but if any moment in time anchored his very soul, created a strong tether to this plane of reality he found himself bound by, it was the moment he fell in love with you.

neuvillette never let you touch him more, currently, he only kisses you smoothly, plants wet, open mouthed pecks along your collarbones before lapping his tongue up, sharp teeth slowly grazing over the soaked skin. it's as if he was scared of unspoken consequences if he were to move this forward, or of the sudden possibility to hurt you.

humans were fragile, he said, like a vase falling on the ground, broken into a million pieces and unable to be fixed again.

presently, your hands find his hair, and the bed dips as you shuffle your frame into him, smothering the small distance of your bodies, laying your warm hand against his clothed chest, just above the little jeweled medallion he always seems to wear. he gulps out strongly when you lock your digits into his form-fitting garments, just to pull him closer to your body as you open his mouth with your tongue, lapping over his wet muscle before pulling away with a pop.

"feel me." you say intimately, guiding his trembling hand over your chest, and awaiting his reactions, testing the waters, while his luminous eyes watch you contently as you pause, his touch reaching your covered breasts, and neuvillette draws his fingers into the concealed mounds, his lips parting for a low grumble, eyes opening wide as it got hard.

"feel how my body reacts when you touch me," you speak in a hitching voice, whining when he pulls at the erected nipple, whilst the fabric of your shirt turned his traces all the more roughened, intense with the garment rubbing against your sensitive tits, "feel how i love you." 

neuvillette sucks in a breath, crossing his tongue over his bottom lip, "i do not want to hurt you." he whispers, his cock growing hard and heavy squished against your core when he unintentionally grinds down a little, both moaning against each other, his breath hot, his noises hanging across the walls of the room. it's without a doubt that this time it's different from prior instances where he was, although with enough discipline, able to remove himself from you, faster and without making a complete idiot of himself.

now, neuvillette was unable to keep his own hips to a complete stand still, he moves them, softly grinds against your clothed cunt before fisting the pillow right next to your head, knuckles turning white at the sheer intensity and power he was graced with, chasing more of the incomparable relief that you are so preciously giving him.

you whine, a noise all winded and hot when you wrap your legs around his hips, "you won't hurt me." you murmur, catching his face with your palms so he could rest in them, "because i trust you."

he believes that maybe you miss it too, desire it, the pleasure that was unlike others, perhaps it had been lacking in every aspect of your relationship which neither of you expected to have in the first place.

and you're ravishing, he can't say if often enough, believing that you were made for living once, because you were one of a kind, made of mesmerizing lights and clear, pure water and a soothing birdsong, sprouting flowers and the finest silk in teyvat.

... unlike him.

neuvillette groans into your lips when you lick across his mouth, leaving his infectious tunes stretch the need in his rough voice, stretching it out long and slow enough until it sounds like a clear beg to fuck you, or at least continue with this.

but besides that, you cannot look into his mind, blinking up at his reddened face that was towering on top of you, "do you want me to stop?" you breathe out, smoothly circling your thumb over his bristling cheek, stilling your hips and attempting to close your legs when he wishes you would just kiss him again.

"no.." he replies almost a little too fast, as if he was ready to beg for it, and his cheeks catch on the color of scarlet red rather quickly, his hands scattering down to your hips to keep you from concealing your movements away from him, fuck, it just feels so fucking good he cannot believe himself.

"i apologize.." his face crumbles with the vulnerability in it, exhaling from his parted lips, "i've never—"

"that's okay." you mouth a spot on his neck, reaching his earlobe, "but i want to hear you." you tip your head forward and give a twist of tongue into his lips, skillfully arching your hips to rub over his erected groin yourself— teeth colliding against each other bound by a crushing sensation that was growing each second.

with a muffled, breathless laugh giving way to a soft whine when he adds more strength to his thrust, you longed to let him know how you felt— yes, right there, you say when he at last, slips his fingers into your shirt to touch your bare breasts, just like that, do it more.

you aid neuvillette in unclothing you as his body flexes under your hands, shivering when your eyes lift to meet his glowing ones, and there’s a moment— you can never forget it, crystalline and trembling on the edge of a leaf, that you could tell that he has been buried inside of his own mind but instead of going back to suppressing his desires, as he did countless of instances before, he answers now, without words— and oh, he gets bolder, the faint, needy whines that crawled into your ears made you rock into him, his digits slipping over your skin and circling on top of your nipples.

the prickles and vibrations in your veins and in your bones multiply and the temperature in your room changes into humidity— your craving body lightening up and threatening to float away by his ever so subtle, sweet traces and rounds on your tits, getting himself to work while you're anchored here only, all eyes on him, under him, by the rhythm of his fingers.

"take your clothes off for me." you say, pinching the hem of one leg and giving it a gentle tug. neuvillette hums in agreement, nodding right after, tongueing at the roof of his mouth in nervousness, because everyone could clearly see that he was tense, yet his cock was turning harder under your attention, he feels like it's going to explode if he doesn't do anything about it now.

he drops all the way back, body lifting off the bed as he slides his high-priced pants down yet not before opening his belt one handed, the "click" of the metal making you tremble, followed by the rest of his clothes which you aided him on, reaching down to drag down your soaked panties as well.

his cock bounces as he kicks the fabric away, and by the time he’s back up on both elbows towering above you, the fullness of it rests long and heavy against the crease of your thigh. His long, slender fingers giving it a slow tug as you watch, entranced by its size and shape— he was way above average, not even that would do it justice, coated with a bunch of small yet thick veins that reached all the way up, hard and aching, right under his cock head that had been desperately glistening with his pre cum.

time slows, stops, holds entirely; he dares to glance down, looking at your drenched pussy and how your hole fluttered around air, shimmering with your slick.

and you wrap yourself around him, arms out so he could lean into you. you know he's sharpening his senses to catch your reactions, adjusting his rubs on your tits when he notes a particular place being a little more sensitive and how you moan out when he touches it.

everything hits all at once, and he cannot get enough, both of you cannot.

for the first time, he experienced actually being free from his shackles and neuvillette needed your affirmations that it was in fact okay, you wanted to continue, because he never kept his eyes off you, always watching you closely through hungry eyes— for all that could happen, despite him continuing to be content with you.

the man was intoxicating, he was handsome from the depth of his ocean eyes to the gentle, sweet expressions of his voice when he whispers sweet nothing into your ears. neuvillette was beautiful, as if carved by literal gods, his chest defined, blue'ish traces, reminding you of tattoos, outlining the sides of his torso— but they weren't tattoos, they appeared to be a part of him since birth, how beauty marks are visible on some bodies, his were larger and resembling the kindest, most soothing waves.

neuvillette kisses down on your collarbone and you gasp out when he suddenly moves a little lower to take a nipple into his warm mouth, shudder when he crosses his tongue over it for the first time, it feels warm and wonderful with his complete weight on top of you.

and you can feel his hand, the rhythm of it on your other breast as it’s wrapped around the solid heat of your bud, continuing to palm your tits when his warm breath fans across your skin.

in this room, the man experienced so many different emotions now, but he feels more alive, within seconds, more awake, more present, and he doesn’t try to talk nor voice too much in the beginning, he just wanted to listen to the pace of your breathing, your whines and what your moans did to him.

he was waiting for your heaves to even out, align in soft decrease whilst he certainly doesn't realize that if he were to continue to hump your bare, thudding pussy the way he did, in accessory to playing with your tits and lapping his tongue across as if famished, there was no way for your heart rate to ever go back in an even pace.

regardless, neuvillette alters his breathing to match your own, his heaves on your wet skin, breathless, hot, when you begin to move your hips up a little, his cock nudging on your hole but never sliding in, his tip alone seemed to be big in it's own right and you wondered if you could even fit him in you.

of course, you were plenty wet, he made sure of that, always so kind and gifting.

your entire face buzzes with pins and needles when he draws himself back from your tits and your hand travels down to catch his girth in your warm palms, fisting him a little and spreading his pre over his drumming girth, grinning when he hooks his hands to your hips, pulling you straight down so his cock would be perfectly situated and ready to feel you, for real this time.

"tell me.." he mutters, "if you want to stop." and you kiss his lips featherlight, "of course, don’t worry about it." and nodding when you drag him across your folds to collect enough slick before slowly, agonizingly slow, push his tip inside.

your eyes flare wide and you arch your back instantly, no thoughts, no judgements, only your breathing getting cut short by the sudden piercing thrust burying inside your tight hole with a stretch that's more shock than anything else, and you hide yourself in his chest when you whimper into his ears, "slower, please". he understands and the restraints in his chest loosen as he wraps his arms across your body, as if protecting you in a sense.

neuvillette shuffles his knees wide and splits your legs further apart, holding you how he wants you, how he thinks will hurt less and even out the burning split on your cunt— he proceeds and fucks into you slowly, inch by inch, waiting a little, before adding another.

you ease up into him eventually, your walls getting used to his girth, the slap of his body against you quiet yet precise, his hips pumping in a slow, rhythmic roll that grinds the low of his stomach against your clit, spotting the prickling point on your cunt. you're turning hazy at the fullness, dipping your fingers into his long hair before pulling him in for a sloppy kiss, lapping across him in slow twists, pinching your hips up to meet his blows.

now, all you could do was to relish in his warmth, curve your back like a bow and let the most desirable, filthiest moans spill from your pretty, pursed lips. neuvillette was quick to catch and watch you, swallowing down every gritty moan and whine that you offered him, because of him, he couldn't fathom that he was the reason you felt that good, passing his cock back into you, in, out, in, out, humming in appreciation between sucking kisses that leave a pinching trail from your neck to your tits that he ever so graciously played with.

neuvillette got a pretty good first impression of it now, and he doesn’t slow, while, his thrusts become faster and more, greedy, not until he unthreads an arm from the mounds of your breasts and caresses the length of your body— slowed and appreciative, sliding his hand over your stomach and up, reaching to your shoulder before hooking his fingers on it— thrusts now faster as he drags you into him, harder, and your tits bounce back and forth with each jolt of his large cock splashing into your hole.

of course he blushes when you tighten your muscles, clenching down on his girth and milking him preciously, it was a dead give-away that he wouldn't last long when he releases a long, lagged moan of your name. like his warm, wet kisses, the drags and fondles of his traces left a wake rippling along your entire skin, a sensory memory, never overridden by anything else.

the coil in your stomach builds up quickly, nerves lighting up when his tongue flicks out to tease the sensitive point of your neck and jawline, body sizzling as if electro infused as pleasure jolts down your flesh until reaching your cunt.

"make me cum," you cry, "i need you!"

"—you have me."

throat tight, body tighter, your hands quick to push him from your neck to your mouth, lips pressing together as you arch and jolt off the bed, up and down, his cock faster than before as the wet, filthy smacking sounds almost overrode your noises. you squeeze around him, hungrily, strongly, suckling in his cock with your thudding hole as his hand on your shoulder clasps behind your neck, pushing you so far up against his glossy lips that you exchanged breathes and whines, throaty groan and cries.

you turn your arms around his chest to strengthen the touch, throat bobbing, mouth dry. there’s no space for anything left and when he pushes himself in you completely, cock disappearing in your used hole, your eyes roll into the back of your head and you shake viciously, climaxing around him, making a mess of yourself, when the bubble in his stomach popped instantly whilst seeing you become free, your liquids drawing a white ring around his girth— neuvillette couldn't go on about it any longer, not when you gnaw down on him so fucking desperate, so loved and fulfilled.

he cums hard, and a lot, and he tenses up, a thrill running over his flesh as his brows furrow, releasing his warm whites with shallow thrusts into your pussy before tucking your body tight to his front and pulls you even more tightly against him, messing you up with his seed. he has been so touch-starved that he can feel drizzling tears form and connect under his lashes in tune with his own orgasm taking him hostage.

his expression softens afterwards, looking like a heavy burden has been lifted off his shoulders, and he dips his head forward, foreheads resting. it's quiet for a while, well, if it weren't for your loud breathes and the clear exhaustion quelling on your facial expressions. the both of you are puffing and blowing out air, finding comfort in the silence when a torrid heat of swirls casts on your bodies, the atmosphere in the room on-fire and fiery.

you decide to kiss his lips, when you finally smirk up at him, eyes aglow, and his own lips are pulled up into an ethereal, handsome smile, his demeanor cascading with an intensity, an honesty, a gentleness and love.

real love.

"i craved you." he whispers, "and i desire you." and kisses your lips one more time.

alas, neuvillette came to terms with himself, knowing that there would never be anything, nothing, that could ever beat the feeling of this.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[moralesluvr]

being miguel’s pretty assistant who’s always willing to help him in lots of different ways! <3

oh baby yes…just yes. | nsfw included, fem!reader

“good morning sir, i brought your coffee!” you’d chirp in the morning time, waltzing into your boss’s office with a sweet sway to your hips, lips pursed and eyelashes fluttering as you sat his morning beverage in front of him.

he looked up at you with a sweet smile, though it seemed like his happiness was driven at something else by the way his eyes relocated to your teeny skirt, one that you knew was too short to be wearing around the place anyways. but it was cute, and you felt confident in it, so you wore it anyways. you smiled at him, “i put 3 sugars and one creamer, just how you like it. anything else i can do for you, sir?”

miguel nods at your perfect making of his coffee, eyes glossy with emotion as he looked at you, “yes, actually, can you come here for a second?”

you nodded at his request, sliding over to his chair as he spun to look at you, habds finding your waist as he pulled you closer to him. your breath hitches in your throat, eyes landing on his as he trickled his right hand up and down your bare thigh. his big hands meet the hemming of your skirt, tugging it lightly as he cocked his head to the side, “why would you wear this little skirt to work, y/n?”

“oh, i’m—“ you choke, face heated, embarrassment coursed in your expression as miguel raised his eyebrows, waiting for your response. you frown at him, genuinely worried that you made your boss upset, until he grabs your hips and props his knee up, bending you over it. a gasp finds you when you feel his hand slither underneath your skirt, fingers toying with your bright pink thong. “tell me to stop.”

you bite your lip as you feel miguel’s hand cup the sweet, soft flesh of your bottom, the warm feeling making pleasure erupt in your stomach, head hanging low as you felt hun lift your pretty skirt completely, the cold air hitting you.

“tell me to stop, sweetheart.” he mutters again, and when you don’t answer, he lets out a chuckle, hand drawing back before connecting with the flesh of your ass, making you yelp.

“don’t.” slap!

“wear.” slap!

“this.” slap!

“skirt.” slap!

“ever.” slap!

“again.” he delivers one last lash onto your sore bottom, tears brimming your eyes as he sat you up in his lap, thumb coming up to wipe your pretty doe irises, cooing at you.

“why the crocodile tears, pretty mama?” he nearly chucked, his hand dipping underneath you, pulling your thong to the side as he collected your wetness onto the tips of his veiny fingers. when the tips of them brush against your clit, you gasp, making miguel giggle lightly as he continued to tease you.

“wearing that skirt around here…what if you had to bend down and someone saw these pretty panties, hm? showing your cunt off for the world to see? what a dirty girl.” he seethed at you, venom laced in his tone as he slipped two fingers inside of you, stretching you out sweetly. you let out a whimper as he curled his digits, hips rolling against yours, nothing but a scowl on this face, “you wear this skimpy shit again, i’ll have you limping for days, sucio chica. ¿lo entiendes?” (dirty girl. do you understand?)

“yes…yes sir.” you choked out, waves of pleasure crashing into you harshly as you came undone on miguel’s fingers, coating them in your warm juices. he didn’t waste a single drop, scooping them up and into his mouth as he eyed you, tongue flicking against the roof of his mouth in contentment. you clung onto him, head buried in the crook of his neck as you whimpered, still recovering from your intense orgasm. his thumb found itself on your clit and your legs instantly shook against his thighs, “mi- miguel…i can’t…no more…”

“mi chica, you can do it..” he coaxed, his free hand pulling his pants and boxers off, the tip of his cock angry and beaded with his pre-cum. his thumb ripped away from your clit, landing on your waist as he sat you on his dick slowly, a moan escaping him as you swallowed him whole.

“hermosa…” he murmured, hands still taking home on your waist as he guided you slow up his cock, walls squeezing him tight as you frowned at the gradual loss. he rubbed your cheek with his thumb as you pouted, so caught up in your sweet aura— it was all too much. the way you were slowly riding him, pussy warm and welcoming, all for him. he was drunk on you, mouth parted as he whispered incoherent, spanish phrases, urging you to keep going.

“feels…s’good…miguel.” you moaned his name, and you moaned it loud, so loud you were sure the others in HQ could pick up your sounds, but you didn’t care. miguel’s pretty brown eyes were boring into your own as your pace quickened, pretty tits nearly spilling out of your low cut top as you whined, your second orgasm already bubbling in your tummy.

“so tight, ah— coño, takin’ me so well…bebé, i’m addicted to you.”

you purse your lips at that, trying so hard to conceal your moans as your head fell into his chest, his hands holding you up as his cock furiously pistons inside of you, desperate for that high, that release. he’s so overwhelmed with your fluttering cunt and the heat of your body and your pretty moans that his hips rut into you, stuttering thrusts quickening as he whispered into your ear, “gonna fill you up, sweetheart— shit, how would you like it, hm? my pretty little assistant, dripping with my cum…having my babies…”

“please.” you squeaked out, “miggy, please.”

miguel wasted no time adhering to your request, thrusts becoming slow as he came inside of you, thick cum filling you to the brim as he grunted lowly, sighing against your skin. he lifted you up and off of his length slowly, both of you whining from the loss, cum dripping out of your cunt and onto his chest.

you stood up and miguel pulled your thong back onto your cunt, pulling your skirt down as he yanked his clothes back on, heaving as he laid back in his chair. he furrowed an eyebrow at you,

“can i get another coffee, please?”

[daycourtofficial]

Empty Bed Blues

Summary: based on this request - you and Azriel have a spat and he can’t sleep without you. So he takes things into his own hands.

Divider by cafekitsune

“Do we have to go to this stupid dinner?”

Azriel had nuzzled his face into your neck, attempting to keep you in his arms. You stood from the bath, reaching for a towel.

“Yes, we do.”

“But m’tired.”

You run your fingers through his wet hair, his sounds of contentment permeating the silence.

You two were staying in the House of Wind for the evening, anticipating debauchery. You were planning to drink to your heart’s content and you hated winnowing and flying when you were drunk. The last time you flew while extremely drunk, you made him stop so you could throw up in the bushes of a few Velaris storefronts. You sent copious gifts the next morning in apology, but you still felt incredibly bad about it.

“And whose fault is that?”

Azriel had been working like a dog all day, having left your home before the sun rose. His grip tightens on the tub, a pause before he says, “Rhys’s.”

You laugh, “you’re the one who left at the ass crack of dawn to go work when you knew we were going to see everyone tonight.”

He groans, tilting his head back against the porcelain. “Why can’t we stay here? We know exactly what’s going to happen. Cassian’s going to make a crude joke to you to get me riled up, Mor’s going to drink and talk about who she saw the past week, and Amren’s going to sit in the corner and make me uncomfortable.”

You move closer to him, looking at him incredulously, “Wow, do you even like your family?”

“No,” he replies, his lips in a pout. “But I like you.”

You laugh at his attempts to keep you here and his blatant lie about not liking his family. However, you’d been looking forward to this dinner all week and you wouldn’t let a pouty mate keep you from it.

“Baby, I love you, and I’d do anything for you,” his eyes light up at your praise of him, “except miss out on this dinner.”

He deflates, sighing. “I’ve been gone all week and you’d rather see my family?”

You exhale through your nose, trying to keep your agitation to a minimum. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing them all week - you’ve been off on a mission, and I’ve been in Summer all week for Rhys. I’m just excited to let my hair down.”

His jaw ticks, “I just wanted to rest tonight.”

You blow out a breath, “you’re the one who decided to work all day after being gone all week.”

You can feel his annoyance down the bond, and you push some of your own back at him. You two stare each other down, withering gazes trying to get the other to back down. You clutch your towel closer to yourself, walking away calling over your shoulder, “well then, you can get some rest up here, alone.”

-

You retreat down the stairs, having dinner with your family. You refused to see your mate after your argument this afternoon. You had been looking forward to seeing everyone all week, and yet it wasn’t the same with the seat next to you empty.

Nesta had walked past you as you had exited your room, so you’re sure she had heard your argument based on the look she gave you. You’re also sure she told Cassian, who spent the evening trying to keep you in good spirits.

You appreciated his efforts, and you loved your family, but it truly wasn’t the same without your mate next to you.

Upstairs Azriel huffed, turning once again in an attempt to get comfortable. Nothing felt right. The comforting weight of you was nowhere to be found, leaving him in a sleepless fit. He swears he can hear your laughter from downstairs where you’re talking with his family at a dinner he elected not to attend because he was being stubborn and just wanted his stubborn, beautiful mate to lay in bed with him.

He runs his hands down his face, remembering the years where he could sleep wherever necessary. His romanticized version of those years doesn’t last long, as he also remembers how little he slept, weeks where his time spent asleep tallied in the single digits.

Your presence has made it nearly impossible for him to sleep without you nearby, but it also makes him actually sleep. The once permanent purple and blue bags under his eyes have slowly disappeared thanks to you.

Your presence is a luxury he’s been afforded, and damn it all, he’s going to indulge. Azriel gets out of bed, not even bothering to put on a shirt. He moves with speed, determination moving his feet through the halls and down the stairs. He reaches the entrance to the living room, his family lounging across various sofas and couches. His eyes find yours immediately, your lips parting in surprise. You’re standing next to Cassian and Nesta, looking at something in Nesta’s hands.

He stalks over to you, not letting you get a word in before ducking down and lifting you over his shoulder.

“Hello?” You call out, hands gripping onto his hips to stabilize yourself. You can hear Cassian whistle while Nesta mumbles, “dumb brutish male,” after you. He carries you up the stairs, the sounds of your family’s snickering dying down the further you go.

He doesn’t speak as you wind down the hall, or as he opens the door, or as he sets you down on the bed. He’s silent as he lays back down, and you start to ask what this is all about when he reaches a hand out, wrapping around your bicep. He pulls you towards him, settling you on top of his chest.

He sighs contentedly, finally opening his eyes and looking at you.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he mumbles, and his eyes start drooping, his body finally able to relax.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the fond smile on your face as you ask, “and why’s that?”

He wraps his arms around you, holding you to his chest. “Needed you,” he breathes into your neck, nuzzling you with his nose. “Can’t sleep without you.”

“You’re spoiled,” you tell him, hands grazing over his cheeks.

He pretends to bite one of your fingers without opening his eyes. “I’m a male who knows what he wants.”

“Can I at least change into a nightgown?”

“If you can do it without getting out of my arms, yes.”