#but he’s Desperate for it to stay the way it is

[yzzart]

౨ৎ⊹. BOYFRIEND!KENJI HEADCANONS!

── content warnings: F!reader, mention of Emiko, Emi and Mina, Ultraman form, Kenji being a little needy (once again), fluff, a little something to warm our hearts and minds so dreamy.

── word count: 683!

⭑.ᐟ Underneath, and sometimes over, tight-fitting t-shirts and extremely expensive fabrics, wear a necklace; however, there is something special there. — His promise ring hangs on the gold chain; like a talisman, something that surrounds he with luck and passion. — Staying attached and close to you, even with a small object.

⤷ If he needs to think or try to decide something dramatically important and you're not around, Sato will take his fingers to the necklace and hold the ring; looking for guidance. — Oh, and waking up, before him, and contemplating that shiny and significant piece, which rests on his broad chest, is angelic.

⭑.ᐟ It's not uncommon to feel, in the middle of the night, Kenji's face trying, persistently, on your neck; readily, wanting to harness the huge and strong body between your. — He doesn't care about the grotesque difference in size, just at that moment, and he doesn't give up.

“Kenji, be careful…!” — Your voice, fully, drunk with sleep and maintaining stillness, murmured between the boy's black and shiny locks; who only responded with a snore, more like a purr and clinging even tighter to you.

⭑.ᐟ Sato can't keep his hands off you, no matter what's going on, what you're doing or what simple task you're performing; hands on your waist, kisses on every exposed and revealed part of your body, thin and wide fingers catching on some part of your clothes. — Don't be upset with him, this poor man is in love with you.

⤷ One day, Mina compared him to a sloth and obviously got a frown of disapproval and the adorable Emi observes how her “father” remains so attached to her “mother”. — Even laughing and grunting when he saw a completely sleepy and desperate Ken crawling towards you.

⭑.ᐟ Please, we have, we need to talk about all the times Kenji and Emi train together, most of the time, being just leisure moments, you sit in the stands, virtually, scheduled and cheer for them; accompanied by Mina. — The feeling of nostalgia, remembering an incredible part of his life, is exposed in Ken's chest; remembering his mother.

⭑.ᐟ I can easily imagine Ken pressing his nose against your cheek or neck wanting your attention; also, when he wants to show you the way Emi is sleeping, enjoying the baby's sweetness. — And, together, pressing his forehead against yours during countless moments of the day and night, when you get home after confronting some creature and every time he want to say "i love you" to you.

⭑.ᐟ This man knows you like the back of his hand; no one can disagree or dispute this fact. — Kenji pays attention to your gestures, noticing your body language and, for a matter of seconds, he knows that something is bothering you; and, there he is, dedicating himself, with all his attention, to doing his girl well.

⭑.ᐟ Funny situations, for Ken, between you and his Ultraman form are included in your lives. — Once, while chasing Aboras, he ended up finding you on the street, wanting to go home, and clearly he was distracted by wanting to cause a provocation. — Mina gave the boy a long, and rightly so, scolding.

“Go back to the house, young lady.” — The robotic voice filled a part of the city's environment, wanting to convey an authoritarian image. — “You know…” — He pointed one of his gigantic fingers in your direction, then towards the place he was. — “The streets have been very dangerous lately.” — Oh, you stopped yourself from answering him like you really wanted to.

“Thank you, so much, for the advice, Ultraman.”

⭑.ᐟ There are nights — many, many nights — that Ken spends watching, contemplating you sleeping, peacefully; your face remained full, without signs of tiredness, exquisite and messy locks spread out, this was adored by the player's eyes. — Between seconds of fascination, Kenji longed, dreamed, deeply and painfully, of his mother meeting you; this way, she would have the chance to know the light that raised her dear son.

⤷ Kenji prospers, sometimes praying, that one day his mother will return, safe and sound, and be able to achieve what he wants so much in his life.

[thestrongestkikufuku]

a business proposal, p. 1

» part two, part three, part four, part five - ⟡⋆˙

» synopsis - ⟡⋆˙ you find yourself pretending to be your friend to meet up with her blind date, surely nothing could go wrong, right?

» contents - ⟡⋆˙ fluff, crack, au, satoru gojo x f!reader, ceo!gojo, reader works in the same company, made up character 'rin' as your bestie, suggestive themes, just chaotic

» word count - ⟡⋆˙ 2.8k

» notes - ⟡⋆˙ hello everyone!! I hope you enjoy reading this new fic! you might already know, based on the title, that this fic is heavily inspired by the k-drama 'business proposal'! i'm planning to make more parts but i won't follow the entire story of the show to a tee but the fic will take situations and elements from it! so all rights goes to the respective owners and contributor, this is just a fanfic inspired by the show! anyways, happy reading and if you want to be in a taglist for next part please let me know!! :D<3

» m.list - ⟡⋆˙

“Come on, just this once!” Rin pleaded, her eyes flickering with desperation as she blocked the door to your office. “You know how my blind dates always turn into disasters. Pretend to be me and scare him off!”

You sighed as you took a step back to look at your friend, your expression a mix of disbelief and annoyance. “Rin, your dates are disasters because you keep sabotaging them yourself. Who knows, maybe if you just give this one a chance—”

“Give him a chance?” Rin interrupted, her voice rising an octave. “The last guy tried to sell me insurance for the entire dinner! I can't go through that again.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing once more as you try to reason with her, “can't you just cancel?”

“No! My parents will flip, and they'll just set me up again. But they said if this one goes badly, they'll stop.” Desperation seeped into her voice. “Please.”

You shook your head, trying to stay firm. “But pretending to be you? That's just...”

“Please!” she cut you off again, her eyes widening with hope. “You're my only hope. If he sees you being all weird and crazy, he’ll run for the hills and we’ll never have to deal with this ever again.”

You groaned, glancing at the clock. The deadline for your project was looming, and the last thing you needed was to get involved in Rin's romantic escapades. But the look on her face was hard to resist. 

“Please, [name]? I just need you to go in there, act completely nuts, and make sure he never wants to see me again. You can do that, right?”

You stared at her, unsure if you should feel insulted or amused. “So, you want me to act crazy? How exactly?”

“Like, order the most expensive items, complain about everything, and—oh! Talk about how you collect toenail clippings or something,” she suggested, waving her hands enthusiastically.

You raised an eyebrow. “Toenail clippings? Really?”

“Or whatever gross hobby you can think of. Just be as annoying and undesirable as possible.”

Sighing, you finally relented. “Alright, but you owe me big time for this.”

Rin's face lit up with relief. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She hugged you quickly before stepping back. “Okay, here’s the plan. He’s meeting me at this restaurant around seven—”

“Wait, tonight?” you interrupted, the feeling of regret already settling in. 

The thought of spending your evening pretending to be someone else on a disastrous blind date was not how you had envisioned your night.

Rin nodded eagerly, oblivious to your inner turmoil. “Yes, it’s at this fancy little restaurant. It’s perfect, maybe you’ll enjoy yourself even!”

You rubbed your temples, trying to come up with a way out of this situation. “Rin, I have a major deadline coming up. I really don’t think—”

She cut you off with a pleading look. “Please, [name], just this once. I promise it won’t take long, and then you can get back to your work.”

You sighed heavily, realizing that arguing further would likely be futile. “Fine. But after this, no more blind dates, okay?”

Rin beamed with gratitude. “[name], I love you! Thank you so much, you’re a lifesaver!” She clapped her hands together in excitement. “Okay, I’ll text you all the details. Just be ready to unleash your inner chaotic side tonight!”

—

And that’s how you found yourself at an upscale restaurant, nervously fidgeting on your seat as you wait for Rin’s blind date to arrive. Glancing at your reflection in the restaurant's polished surface, you barely recognized the person staring back at you. The image was a stark departure from your everyday self: the calm, composed professional now adorned in attire and style that screamed unfamiliarity. It was a transformation you never anticipated nor desired, yet here you were, committed to Rin's plan despite your reluctance.

“Miss Takahashi?” A voice calls out from behind, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You turned around slowly, mustering a confident expression, which faltered immediately. Standing before you was Satoru Gojo, the famed CEO of the company you work at. 

Oh no. Panic surged through you like a tidal wave. Satoru Gojo, of all people? The legendary man known for his good looks, charisma and power? This is bad. This is real bad. If he finds out.. That will be trouble for you. How was this even possible? This was the guy Rin was trying to get rid of?

Gathering your wits, you managed to nod in acknowledgment, trying to suppress the rising panic. “Yes, hi,” with an imposed smile, you grab his hand to give it a firm shake, “I’m... Rin Takahashi.”

Gojo's expression softened into a smile that made your heart skip a beat. “Ah, I'm Satoru Gojo. It's a pleasure to finally meet you.”

You swallowed hard, mentally cursing Rin for dragging you into this predicament. “Likewise..”

‘Keep it together, [name].’ You urged yourself silently. ‘Remember the plan. Shouldn’t be too hard.’

Gojo’s grin widened, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he sat down in front of you. “I must say, you look different from what I’ve seen in the pictures.”

You swallowed thickly, desperately trying to remember Rin’s ridiculous advice: “Be as annoying as possible.”

“Oh, you know,” you waved your hand dismissively, “photoshopping is a hobby of mine. I really enjoy airbrushing my pictures to perfection!”

Gojo arched an eyebrow, his smile becoming more amused “photoshop, huh?” he leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming with curiosity, “and what else do you enjoy doing?”

You scrambled for something outrageous, but your mind drew a blank. “Um, I… uh…”

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you struggled to maintain your composure. This wasn't going according to plan at all. His presence alone was daunting enough, let alone his charismatic demeanor that seemed to effortlessly disarm any attempt at intimidation.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, trying to maintain the façade of nonchalance, realizing that you had to continue down this absurd path. “I have a passion for collecting toenail clippings. It's quite the hobby!” You continued with forced enthusiasm. 

Gojo's eyebrows shot up, clearly amused by your declaration, “Really now?” His tone was genuinely curious, as if he found your attempt at being outrageous rather endearing than off-putting, “that's... unique. Any reason behind that?”

You paused, caught off guard by his genuine interest. “Uh, well, you know... Helps me relax.” You inwardly cursed at how feeble your excuse sounded, regretting the lack of creativity in your attempt to scare him off.

“Interesting,” Gojo mused, leaning back slightly, his smile widening, “I guess everyone has their quirks.”

You shifted in your seat, feeling the weight of Gojo's gaze as you struggled to maintain the charade. Determined to make him rethink this date, you decided to take a different approach—being intentionally rude and demanding.

Clearing your throat, you glanced around the upscale restaurant as if unimpressed, “so.. What's good here?” 

You quickly turned your towards the menu, scanning it with a feigned expression of indifference, knowing full well this was your chance to act obnoxiously, “hmm, I'll take the lobster, but only if it's fresh. I can't stand anything less than perfect,” you declared, your tone dripping with entitlement. “And also, I want the most exquisite wine they offer.”

Gojo chuckled softly, a hint of amusement in his voice. “You certainly have high standards, miss Takahashi.” He mused, taking a small sip of his water.

You shrugged nonchalantly, internally cringing at your own behavior but committed to the role. “Of course! Why settle for less?” you replied curtly, flashing a brief, insincere smile. “Besides, Samantha and Rachel are quite demanding."

Gojo raised an eyebrow at the unexpected mention of names, clearly intrigued but trying to maintain his composure. “Samantha and Rachel?”

You nodded solemnly, leaning closer. “Yes, my prized possessions. I spent a million yen to fix them, you know.” Feigning a blend of nonchalance and pride as you gesture vaguely towards your chest.

Gojo's composed demeanor cracked slightly as he choked on his drink, caught off guard by your statement. He quickly recovered, coughing lightly into his napkin before giving you a puzzled yet amused look. “A million yen? That's quite an investment.”

You nodded again, forging ahead with your improvised story. “Oh, absolutely. They're like my babies now. Samantha needed a bit more work than Rachel, but they're both perfect now.”

Gojo watched you with mild amusement, his expression unreadable behind his glasses. “What was it you wanted? Lobster and wine?” he replied, smoothly changing the subject as he signaled the waiter to take your order.

As the evening progressed, you tried your best to fulfill Rin's request of being as off-putting as possible. You complained and made exaggerated demands about the food, talked about your love for expensive and luxurious materials, or how much you enjoy partying and drinking, and even attempted to steer the conversation into bizarre topics. Yet, each time, Gojo responded with genuine interest or amusement, his charismatic demeanor seemingly unaffected by your antics.

Frustration bubbled within you by each passing moment. This was not going according to plan at all. Instead of driving him away, your attempts seemed to intrigue him more. Gojo effortlessly turned your awkward topics into engaging conversation points, his wit and charm shining through effortlessly.

After finishing a particularly delightful dessert, you mustered up your courage. With a playful glint in your eye and a mischievous smile, you leaned in closer to Gojo.

“You know,” you began, your voice dropping to a seductive whisper, “why don't we continue this somewhere more private? I know a great hotel nearby.”

Gojo's eyebrows lifted in surprise, his playful demeanor momentarily faltering before he chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Oh, yeah? I didn't take you for someone so adventurous, miss Takahashi.”

Your heart raced with nerves and excitement as you motioned for the waiter to bring the bill. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises. So, what do you say?” you urged, already plotting your escape.

With that, Gojo settled the bill effortlessly, and you both exited the restaurant, anticipation and adrenaline coursing through you. The hotel wasn't far, and as you walked side by side through the bustling streets, you couldn't shake the nervous thrill of what you were about to do.

Upon reaching the hotel, Gojo led the way to the reception desk, exchanging brief words with the receptionist.

‘Just run. Run. NOW.’ You thought to yourself, slowly taking a step back.

“I... I forgot something back at the restaurant!” you blurted out, the words coming out in a rush. Without waiting for a response, you bolted towards the exit.

“Hey, wait!”

You heard his voice call out behind you, but you didn't stop. Panic washed over you as you dashed out of the hotel lobby and onto the busy street. Thoughts raced through your mind—how could this have gone so wrong? You were supposed to scare him off, not end up in a situation like this.

As you hurried down the sidewalk, you risked a glance over your shoulder. And there he stood, just outside the hotel entrance, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement. Despite your best efforts to avoid it, he had managed to turn the tables on you completely.

You spotted a taxi approaching. Relief washed over you as you hurriedly made your way towards it, hoping to make a quick escape from the awkward encounter. The taxi pulled up beside you, and you hastily climbed into the back seat, closing the door behind you.

As the taxi pulled away from the curb, you glanced out the window, half-expecting to see Gojo standing there, watching you go. Instead, the streets were busy with pedestrians and other vehicles, oblivious to the personal drama unfolding in your mind.

With a sigh, you pulled out your phone, your fingers tapping out a message to Rin. 

“Why didn’t you tell me that your date was Satoru Gojo?!”

Seconds passed like hours before Rin's reply finally came through: “HUH?! This is the first time I hear about this!!! :O”

Another second goes by before another message pops up. “THE Satoru Gojo?! My parents mentioned some rich guy, not someone THAT rich!!”

You rolled your eyes at her response, quickly typing another message: “Well, you probably still have a chance with him seeing how entertained he was with everything..”

“Trust me when I say this, as attractive as he may be, he's absolutely NOT my type!”

“Anywayyyy I owe you big time for this!!! seriously, thank youuu!<33 and I'm so sorry, but at least you got a memorable story out of it! ;)”

You managed a weak smile at Rin's attempt to lighten the mood. “Yeah, definitely a memorable one,” you muttered under your breath.

—

“Tell me everything! How did he react? Did you scare him away? How did it go?” Rin fired off questions in rapid succession.

Taking a deep breath, you recounted the evening's events as best as you could, from the moment you walked into the restaurant to your abrupt departure from the hotel. Rin listened intently, occasionally gasping or laughing at the unexpected twists and turns.

“And then I just couldn't take it anymore, so I ran out,” you concluded, feeling a mixture of relief and lingering embarrassment.

Rin burst into laughter, “oh my god, [name], you're a legend! I can't believe you actually did it. You must have really shaken him up!”

You chuckled weakly, still processing everything that had happened. “I don't know about that. He seemed more amused than anything.”

“Well, at least we can say you gave it your best shot, because I have not heard anything from him or my parents, which says something,” Rin said with a hint of pride in her voice. “Thanks for doing this for me, seriously. I owe you big time.”

“Yeah, well, let's just hope your parents don't decide to set you up again after this,” you replied wryly. 

You exchanged a few more laughs and reassurances, Rin suddenly paused, her voice turning serious. “Wait, [name], I have to take this. I'll be right back.”

A few moments later, Rin returned from the call, her tone and expression completely changed.

“[name],” she began hesitantly, “you're not going to believe this.”

Dread crept up your spine, “what is it?”

“Satoru Gojo... he just proposed.”

Your heart skipped a beat, jolting up from your seat. “Proposed?! Like, marriage?!”

“Yes! He said he couldn't stop thinking about me, even after I stormed out. He wants to marry me!” Rin exclaimed, her voice tinged with disbelief and panic.

Panic gripped you too. “But... but I thought I was supposed to scare him off!”

“I know, I know!” Rin exclaimed frantically. “I never expected this to happen. He's serious, [name]. And my parents— god, they’re telling me to say yes, [name], what do I do?!”

Your mind was in shambles, trying to comprehend the situation, “maybe... maybe you should talk to him?” you suggested tentatively, “it’s probably better to tell him the truth at this point.”

“I can't face him right now,” Rin replied in a rush, “you should go!”

“HUH?” You blinked, stunned by Rin's sudden suggestion, “me!? Why me?!”

Rin nodded rapidly, her eyes wide with urgency, “yes, you! You've already met him, and you're good at talking to people. Please, [name], just go pretend to be me again and tell him that I don’t want to marry him. Please!”

You hesitated, unsure how you ended up in this increasingly bizarre situation. “Rin, I don't think that’s a good idea. I mean, we literally work in the same place—”

But Rin cut you off, desperation evident in her voice. “Please, [name], I'm begging you. This is a mess, I know, but I don't know what to do. Just go and sort it out, please!”

You stared at Rin, a whirlwind of disbelief and uncertainty swirling in your mind. This was beyond unexpected—it was surreal. The Satoru Gojo, had just proposed to Rin after your disastrous attempt to scare him off. The very plan had backfired spectacularly, and now Rin was pleading with you to clean up the mess.

You sighed heavily, torn between the absurdity of the situation and your loyalty to your friend. “But... What if he doesn't believe me? What if he's really serious about this?”

Rin grabbed your hands, her grip surprisingly firm. “You have to try. Please. I can't handle this alone.”

Against your better judgment, you found yourself nodding slowly, “okay, okay. I'll... I'll go talk to him.”

Relief flooded Rin's expression as she quickly gave you a bone crushing hug. “Thank you, [name]. I really owe you for this.”

As Rin left your office, the feeling of unease and dread washed over you. How could such a simple favor for a friend spiral into something so bewilderingly complex?

With a groan you leaned back against your chair, your hands covering your face, “gosh, can this get any worse?”

[cumtastiics]

"oh... how beautiful you are," his voice slightly shaky as he whispered, the back of his hand caressing your cheek.

he admired you. the way you spoke so kindly, how your voice was so sweet compared to other people.

you were a gift from god.

"please stay still for me, my love.. i can't have you squirming around while i paint, now can i?" his voice was still soft, never daring to raise it even the slightest bit.

he never wanted to share you. was that bad? you could be his pretty little doll... whimpering and begging for him.

"f-uh-ck," he'd moaned desperately in your ear. you're so perfect for him, whimpering at each touch. "don't cum yet, y-you can hold it in.. right? be a good doll.."

he wasn't a loud person, he never was. yet, whenever he made out with you, it felt like he could never stop talking about you.

"s-so pretty," he shivered, watching you reach your climax. "good doll.."

he could never degrade you... you were too perfect for that.

he gently wiped your tears with his thumb, desperately trying to go as gentle as he could with his cock sliding in and out, but he really couldn't help it. "i'm sorry.. you're doing sososo good for me.."

after all, he was the painter and you were his muse.

tried to make it g/n.. i don't really write smut like stuff so idk if I did it well

[interstellarflare]

A Cinderella Story || Anthony Bridgerton

-PART FIVE-

Summary: Have courage, and be kind. Words that you tried to live by ever since the passing of your parents. Though your step-mother and step-sisters did everything in their power to hide you and your status away from the rest of the Ton, you never expected to catch the eye of Viscount Anthony Bridgerton himself.

Authors Note: This is my first Bridgerton series! I had an absolute ball writing this, and I hope you enjoy it! There is a tag list open if anyone wishes to be kept updated for future parts. Gif by @venusianbabie

|PART ONE| |PART TWO| |PART THREE| |PART FOUR|

With the house descending into silence, you allowed yourself a moment to collapse onto the lounge in the living room with a loud sigh. With tired eyes your gaze focused on the ceiling, staring at the crystal chandelier as it glittered brightly.

A small smile crossed your lips, grateful for the peace and quiet. Lady Worthington, Mary and Elizabeth had left for the ball mere minutes ago, all of them excited and nervous about their prospects for the night. You hoped that Elizabeth and Lord Burton would get a chance to speak tonight, she had been so beside herself before she entered the carriage to depart. They had travelled with the Cowper family, who had sneered at your person when you had helped the Worthington’s to the carriage.

The train attached to Lady Worthington’s dress was a nightmare to manage, all bundled up in your arms so as to not drop it in the mud at your feet. You were covered in it now, thanks to a harsh push from Cressida who sent you sprawling onto the ground. Luckily however, you managed to save the train though.

You felt the sting of tears prick your eyes, a sense of sadness overwhelming you. How had you become so unfortunate? To be stuck with a wicked witch for a stepmother, and two stepsisters that laughed at you upon your little trip in the dirt. Elizabeth hadn’t said anything, nor looked your way when Mary and Elizabeth started to cackle loudly. She merely turned away; her eyes downcast as she carried herself into the awaiting carriage.

You missed your father, you missed your mother. Their love and kindness was completely gone from this home, the home you had grown up in as a child. You cried into the cushions, sobbing loudly and desperately. You had never felt so alone, so vulnerable…so lost. You knew that they would want you to be brave, to stay strong, and to have hope that everything will work out in the end. Your mind flickered back to the book you were reading earlier that morning, of the fabled prince charming sweeping the princess off her feet, and living happily ever after.

Perhaps your prince charming was around the corner, perhaps he was waiting for you somewhere to take you away from this now horrid home, filled with heartache and distant memories-

There was a loud knock at the door, so loud that it echoed throughout the foyer and into the living room. You jumped with a small squeak, bolting upright in your position on the lounge. You wiped your eyes, drying your hands on your muddy dress and wiping your nose with your apron. It was unladylike surely, but you were not a Lady anymore. After trying and failing to make yourself look presentable, you hurried towards the door as the knocking sounded again. It sounded desperate, frantic even, your face contorting into a confused expression as you tried to think of who it could be.

It couldn’t be a visitor for Lady Worthington or her daughters, the rest of high society was at Lady Danbury’s ball, and it was way too late in the night for anyone to be here in the first place. So, who could it be? As you opened the door your breath caught in your throat, your heart skipping a beat as you recognised the man that stood before you.

Viscount Anthony Bridgerton smiled, staring down at you with kind and soft expression. His eyes never left yours as he spoke, seemingly examining every inch of your face as he bowed politely.

“Miss Y/n, I apologise for calling so late, would I perhaps be able to come in-“

“Why are you here!?” You found yourself exclaiming, your eyes wide in shock as you felt your heart began to beat wildly. Anthony Bridgerton, one of the most distinguished men on all of the ton was standing on your doorstep. Why?

Anthony chuckled, his charming smile widening as he shrugged his shoulders. “Why not?” he replied lightly, finding amusement in your expression as it changed from shock to pure bewilderment.

“If you are here to see Lady Worthington or her daughters, they are gone” You replied shortly, your gaze falling nervously to the floor as you suddenly became very aware of your current state. You were completely covered in slowly drying mud, bloodshot eyes from crying, you no doubt looked like a complete wreck…wonderful.

Anthony hummed “I’m not here to see then, thank god. They arrived at the ball shortly after I left-“

“Why did you leave? Surely someone will notice your absence, and what will the ton think if you are found here, alone…with me-“

“My brother is good at coming up with excuses, I’m sure he’ll spin some wide tale about my whereabouts”.

“And is that something you wish to deal with?”

“Benedict can be a bit excentric at times, but I trust him wholeheartedly…” Anthony finished, clasping his hands behind his back and standing tall, “..now Miss Y/n, may I come inside? Or are you to leave your visitor out in the cold?”.

It hadn’t occurred to you until now, but as Anthony stood before you, you couldn’t help but notice how tall he truly was. You hadn’t noticed it this morning, but he towered over you, the top of your head just barely reaching his chin. You stared up into his eyes, searching for any sign of jest, that this was all some sort of joke, and a complete figment of your imagination conjured up by your saddened state.

But he was real, and he was here.

You released a short breath, a soft smile crossing your lips as you stepped aside and gestured for him to enter.

Tag List:

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@f0x33 @123iloveyou456 @kaygilles @spilled-coffee-cup @maddielovesurmom321

[yesimwriting]

Understanding

A/n the reader in this is not the same reader as the one from my aemond fic, they just have a similar background for plot (and bc i love rhaenyra's child x alicent's child trope, it's so montagues and capulets)

Summary: After speaking to his mother and small council, Aegon begins to doubt the unspoken understanding between himself and Rhaenyra's intended heir, who agreed to be taken by the greens in exchange for her brother's life.

Warnings: there are some plot deviations (mainly the implication that aegon and helaena are not married), the whole ethical 'dating someone you're technically holding hostage' dilemma, and canon compliant incest

----

The groan of the floorboards takes its time floating through your apartments, the sound so soft you don't even stir.

Aegon sighs. You've been a ridiculously heavy sleeper since childhood. He can still recall the way you'd leave these very apartments for breakfast, hair unbrushed and eyes drowsy. He dismisses the thought as he takes another step forward. You're no longer a princess with the luxury of leisure. You're staying in what you consider 'enemy territory'. One would think you'd have the decency to struggle to find sleep. If nothing else, the decency to miss him.

He swallows. Thoughts of the corner of your mouth tugging itself into a smile you didn't mean to share, of your gentle whispers felt more than heard in the darkness, of the warmth of your fingertips dragging against his skin have plagued him since he left you this morning. Aegon has not been able to release you from his mind, and here you are, perfectly content without him in a room you are only allowed access to because of his favor.

If you continue to indulge her, she'll never feel like a prisoner. The echo of his mother's words feel sharper than they should, a needle piercing his chest. Aegon had originally dismissed the sentiment. Despite the complicated nature of your presence here, the two of you have found a sort of rhythm. An inconvenient understanding.

So what if he offers you privileges that none of his half-sister's children should be allotted? You dismiss your instincts in favor of being there for him in a way no one else is. You talk; and you listen; and you lay next to him in the dark, your fingers tracing patterns against his arm until you fall asleep.

Aegon had never felt affronted by the casualness of your unspoken arrangement until his mother brought him back to reality. As long as you allow her to exist in this in between without asking for anything in return, she will remain loyal to her mother. A mother who is desperate enough to marry her off to secure alliances.

The floor creeks as he takes another step forward, this time the sound less dismissible. You shift, body twisting as you move from your stomach onto your side.

A pinprick of something akin to guilt dulls the beginning of his spiral. You mumble a sound that feels like a question. Aegon studies your movements as you wipe at your eyes. You lift your head slightly, eyes squinting in the darkness.

"Aegon?" Your features seem to ease, a hint of a smile pulling at your lips as you lift your head. "I didn't think you had time for me tonight."

There's a gentleness to your voice that leaves his stomach in knots. He's lapped at your affection like a wounded dog finally stumbling onto water. Has it all been a ploy?

If his silence affects your disposition, you give no indication of it. Instead, you beam at him before allowing yourself to slump onto your back. You pull at the blankets in an attempt to create space for him.

Aegon keeps his back to you as he sits. He takes his time laying down, one of his arms resting in the space between the two of you. Still half asleep, you reach for him. The back of your palm brushes against his wrist. You turn your hand over, fingers beginning their familiar path up his arm.

His eyes remain open, his attention set on the ceiling. You've yet to finish outlining his forearm before Aegon's turning his arm. The shift is subtle, more of an implication than an actual attempt at dismissing you. The subtlety of the movement is not enough to prevent your reaction. Despite his jokes and teasing comments, Aegon knows better than to do anything that offers you an opportunity to overthink about your your time alone together. There's a moment of stillness, and then your hand leaves him.

You turn onto your side, the weight of your stare making it nearly impossible for Aegon to remain still. "Are you--are you alright?" The question is cautious, tinged by an uncertainty that makes you sound smaller than you ever have before.

Have you ever experienced any type of rejection before? You're Rhaenyra's first born, her intended heir. The beloved princess, doted on by your mother, cared for by your supposed father, spoiled by your grandsire. His father's illness was never enough to keep him from you, the only child he had the strength to get out of bed for. You don't know what it's like to long for anything.

"We had an arrangement--an agreement." Aegon pushes himself away from you as he sits. You prop your head up, staring at him. Aegon cannot bring himself to look into your eyes. "That I'd be honest with you, and you'd be honest with me."

You sit up. "What?" You bend your knees, the sheets slipping down your legs. Aegon presses his nails into the skin of his palm. "I've--I've been honest. I've never lied to you."

The defense comes out so quick and innocent it nearly strips the accusation of any weight. It's a response that'd better suit a child caught stealing extra sweets or rough housing with a younger sibling.

He finally turns his head. The room's lack of light is not enough to diminish your wide eyes. You're radiating such innocence Aegon could choke on it. He's reminded of why he kept you at arm's length throughout your childhood. The good, perfect daughter. The future heir.

"You said your mother had no intentions of marrying you off. That you were not betrothed--"

"I'm not."

Aegon lets out a breath. "Then why did I have to spend most of my evening listening to my small council discuss your mother's latest potential alliances and addressing rumors about your mother's plan to marry you to some lord as a way of securing their support?"

You're quiet for a moment, hands clasped tightly around your knees. "I cannot help rumors." Some odd feeling gnaws at Aegon's stomach. "And you know that I haven't been home in some time. I can't control my mother anymore than you can control yours."

What a politically appropriate answer. He scoffs. "I find it difficult to believe that your mother would ever use you as a bargaining chip without--at the very least--mentioning it to you first."

If there's one thing that doesn't come naturally to you, it's deception. You tilt your chin downwards, your attention falling onto anything that isn't him.

Aegon reaches for your hand. You let him untangle your fingers. He pulls your hand forward, his thumb dragging against your knuckles. His hold on you tightens as he brings the back of your palm to his lips. A part of him is repulsed by how much he means the gesture.

He doesn't let go of you as he brings his hand back to the mattress. Aegon allows himself a moment to embrace the stillness, and then he's shifting forward. His available hand finds your shoulder. His weight presses against you, forcing you back until you're pinned against the headboard.

He holds his breath, waiting for some kind of protest, some insult or attempt to push him away. All you do is watch him, the slightest crease between your eyebrows. "Aegon."

"Tell me." Aegon's fingers press into your shoulder. "Tell me it isn't true and I will believe you. I want to believe you."

Your lips part, but you do not speak. An uncomfortable heat burns its way up his neck. "I--I did not lie." You hold his gaze. "I am not betrothed, but before I was brought here, my mother did mention that she was beginning to consider it."

All of the time he's spent indulging in your presence, living out some ridiculous fantasy of having your attention, believing everything you've told him--he's been nothing more than a fool.

"I wanted to mention it when you asked, but I was..." Your voice wavers. "Honestly, I was afraid."

His gaze falls downwards, his eyes unintentionally landing on your lips. "Because you needed me."

"No." You shake your head slightly, the motion rigid. "Our understanding," you pause, lips briefly pressing together, "Our friendship, was so new and uncertain--and I was afraid of ruining it, of being alone here, of--of the potential engagement. All of it." Your eyes are shinier than they were a moment ago. "I wanted to pretend it didn't exist."

This is the first time you've ever given any indication of not naturally taking to your responsibilities. You agreed to be taken hostage in exchange for your brother's life with little complaint or theatrical martyrism, but the thought of marrying a stranger to aid your mother's war effort shakes you to your core.

Sympathy and petulant satisfaction blend together uneasily, a continuation in the cycle of wanting you while also desiring to take everything from you.

His thumb drags down your shoulder, the warmth of your skin nearly dizzying. "Would you do it if she asked?"

You swallow. "It wouldn't matter. I'm here." He continues to trace a pattern against your shoulder. You squeeze his hand. "You can't have a wedding without the bride."

You're holding onto him with an intensity that's easing. "And if you weren't?"

As silence falls over the two of you, Aegon studies your expression. You're giving him very little to work with. "I wouldn't have a choice." Anything you've had with him has been out of the sake of convenience. It doesn't matter to you. "Aegon, you--you understand that." His lips part, but he has no response worth giving. "You have to understand that."

Aegon's hold on your hand tightens, fingers digging into into the skin of your palm. "Why?" The desperation in the question turns his stomach. He shifts his weight away from you, his hand trailing down your arm. "Do you care for me?"

Your straighten, back pulling away from the headboard. Aegon cannot will himself to read your features. "Do I care for you?" There's a barely there lilt to your voice that only makes it impossible for him to just sit there.

He forces himself to focus on the crumpled sheets in front of him. Something warm finds its way to his cheek--your hand. Your thumb drags itself across the side of his face. Aegon allows his eyes to fall shut. Gently, you guide his head forward.

"Aegon." He opens his eyes. "How many times have I been alone with you, have I--have I slept in the same bed as you?" You stumble, eyes briefly leaving his. Aegon can't help his slight smile. While you've always known about the impropriety of sleeping next to him, he doubts you know why it's viewed that way. You let out a breath in an attempt to recover. "I have risked my reputation, risked betraying my own mother--and you have to ask."

Aegon's vision blurs. He presses his lips together, forcing himself to not look away. "Of course I care for you."

He places a hand over the one you placed on his cheek. There's a lot of responses that Aegon should offer you, some declaration, some assurance of his fondness for you, but he's never been particularly talented at expressing the sentimental.

His fingers bend around your own, carefully pulling your hand away from his cheek. He sets your hand down on the mattress gently. You blink at him curiously, but before you can overthink the action, Aegon's shifting forward.

He presses his lips against yours. You're rigid, body still until he pulls your bottom lip between both of his. Aegon moves closer, one hand finding the back of your head. You lean forward, arms wrapping around his neck. You move your weight onto your knees, Aegon's available hand coming to your waist to keep you stable.

Aegon's head tilts back, creating space that you're more than ready to fill. His teeth tug at your bottom lip. You hands slide away from his neck, down his shoulders, settling on his chest. Aegon's hand moves away from your hip, coming to rest on your thigh.

The need for air brings him back to reality. Aegon breaks the kiss slowly, pulling away without letting you go. For a moment, all he can do is grin at you as you both catch your breath. "If I had known you had it in you, Princess..."

The use of your title seems to make you realize that you're still practically on his lap. You move back, making a point of sitting up straight. You roll your eyes, but between your ragged breaths and inability to lift your gaze, the look falls flat.

You keep your legs between the two of you, a barrier that bends at your knees. Aegon's smile broadens. He's not sure he's ever seen you so unsure of yourself. "I--that wasn't..."

"You can relax." You finally look up again, eyebrows drawn together in what he assumes is a display of skepticism. "I won't tell anyone." His hand find your lower leg, fingers tracing a delicate pattern against your skin. "And if anyone accuses you of anything, I'll have their tongue."

He sets his hand against your knee, his touch growing in security. You stare at your leg incredulously. "Aegon."

"What?" His thumb trails across your skin. "Would you prefer their head?"

You tilt your head, expression unamused. Aegon smiles, leaning forward to place a quick kiss against your knee before moving towards his original spot. You turn your head, watching him carefully.

Aegon lets out a sigh as he sinks into a pillow. "I'm tired."

You lay down next to him. "I didn't realize I wore you out."

The grin in your voice is audible. Aegon uses his forearm for support as he lifts himself to lean over you. "Do not start something you can't finish."

The corner of your mouth pulls itself upwards, the look similar but not quite the same as the accidental smiles Aegon has grown accustomed to. He smiles as he lies down, his head resting against your upper stomach.

You're quick to accept the proximity, your hand moving to smooth through his hair. Aegon's arm settles against your waist. This newfound closeness is nearly overwhelming in the relief it offers him. The feeling grabs at him, forcing out words he is not ready to say, "We could always get married." He tries to swallow, but the dryness of his mouth makes it impossible. "Then your mother wouldn't be able to marry you off to anyone."

Your fingers stall against his scalp. "Aegon--"

"I'd be a good husband to you."

At your silence, his fingers press into your side as if you might slip away if given the chance. After a beat, your nails begin to brush through his hair again. "You are thinking of the war, of your claim, of--of your small cou--"

"I am thinking of you."

You let out a sigh Aegon feels more than hears. "We need to be realistic. Would my mother's retaliation not concern you?"

He forces himself to focus on your tangibility. "The only thing concerning me is figuring out how to keep you here as long as possible." He drags his knuckles against your hip. "You once told me that you'd never get married, and that instead you'd spend your life riding dragons and eating cake."

You let out a soft laugh. "I can't believe you remember that."

"You sounded very serious." Aegon releases your side in favor of finding your hand. His fingers trace patterns against your palm. "We could get married and spend our days riding dragons and eating cake."

Your drag your hand away from his head, palm settling against his back. You begin to smooth circles against the fabric of his shirt. "Now you be serious."

Aegon intertwines your fingers, squeezing your palm to his. "I know better than to jest about cake."

You're so quiet he'd assume you fell asleep if it wasn't for the patterns still being traced against his spine. "Can we just...can we give it some time?"

He's not sure what you expect to get from time. The realm will still be divided, his half-sister will only grow more desperate and willing to marry you off for support, and his mother will continue to question why he's keeping you in this limbo. But the request is far from a rejection.

You've always been practical, the kind of person to think through prospects instead of trusting your instinct. Aegon is your best option, the closest thing you have to a lifeline. The way you feel about him has already encouraged you to cross lines you would have never considered approaching. Perhaps time and his attention will be what it takes to put it all into perspective for you.

Aegon lifts your hand to his mouth, his lips brushing against your knuckles. "We can give it all the time you need, Princess."

You mumble something he can't quite make out. Before Aegon can ask about it, your hand stills against him. Without looking up, he knows that you've fallen asleep.

----

A/n i had to throw in a little alicent and rhaenyra parallel <3 i could see myself writing a part 2 to this so if you like that idea lmk!! or if u want more hotd in general :)

[nvuy]

hands on — sunday

summary. sunday feels eyes on him from everywhere, yet he still seeks your gaze despite how much he loses himself in your eyes.

notes. wrowwww confit part 2 is here i DID post it on ao3 like 5 mins ago but i think ao3 died in my country for the 74th time this year soooorrrrr hello tumblr!!!!!!

i'd strongly suggest you read confiteor here (or on ao3) before reading this one, otherwise this entire fic just sounds like an acid trip.

warnings. mdni, 18+, gn reader but you have fem anatomy, long ass 12k post, mild degradation, little bit of horror themes if you squint?, alternative summary: sunday receives head and has an existential crisis, sunday literally loses his mind (in a sexy way), religious guilt, religious themes & symbolism, sunday needs therapy, you're a weirdo (in a sexy way), y'all get it on in a church.

The church had always been beautiful. A place of worship, fairness, mutual happiness. It’s partly the reason Sunday was always so enamoured with its pieces on the walls; Robin used to trace her hands over the paintings, and he was sure he could spot her fingerprints from when the paint was still drying.

Sunday had never felt so disgusted with himself.

The murals watched him, one thousand unblinking eyes following him as he walked down the aisle, with muted clicks from his shoes against the red carpet with gold trimming. 

He was so angry. 

He’d trudged home the night prior seething, and Robin had rested a hand on his shoulder and whispered to him until he gathered himself. He hated to present himself in such a way to her, and although she begged for him to shed a light on his problems, she was met with silence. 

He was so angry at his traitorous hands when they wandered below the waistband of his pants. He’d been trying to sleep, tossing and turning for hours, desperate for some sort of distraction. He’d retrieved a glass of water, he’d stayed up to read, and nothing was helping. Nothing soothed the ache between his thighs; the thought in the back of his mind that you were in that same rut. 

He felt awful feeling himself up again, this time alone, and he was so ashamed when he muffled his cries and came into his hand. 

Vile. 

There’s a statue in the church. One erected from only the most exquisite sculptors of the era, crafted meticulously over gruelling hours to perfect the shape of THEM. Xipe stands behind the pulpit, larger than anything in the church, and silent. THEIR arms remain still, outstretched and gestured towards the empty pews. THEIR eyes are not open, but there is a gentle smile carved onto a perfectly whimsical face. 

It is a beautiful statue, sure, but Sunday would have preferred another God to watch over instead.

Perhaps it was for the best. 

In the preparation of the morning service, Sunday was unusually quiet. Staff piled in silently, bidding their greetings, and even Robin—and, bless her gentle heart—was reticent, her lips pulled together into a thin line. The choir practised, and it was the only sounds he heard that morning. 

The wine the church offered was of pure grapes. The chalice the sacramental wine rested in was golden with a thin stem and a wide base. A single golden spoon laid within the red. 

It’s supposed to be blood. It feels dastardly eerie to offer a piece of THEM to those undeserving of such. 

Instinctively, when his gaze met the statue’s, his gloved hand raised and clasped the golden charm at his chest tightly. 

Sunday felt a tap on his shoulder. 

“The congregation is prepared,” Robin said to him. She tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. “As per usual.” 

He hadn’t taken his eyes off of the statue. “Good.” 

“And there are people coming in now,” she continued, nodding towards the door that led out to the lectern. “It’s almost eight.” 

“Thank you.”

She stopped, eyeing him warily. 

“There’s something bothering you,” she commented quietly. “You’ve been on edge since last night. Did something happen?” 

Sunday finally turned to look her in the eye. His face remained expressionless, though his tone held a hint of warning. “I’m fine, Robin. Please. Don’t worry about me.”  

“Brother–” 

“Robin.” He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, though that smile he always pulled onto his lips when he was trying to deter her mind from him. His heart was pounding in his chest. “Please. Enough.” 

Defeatedly, her shoulders sagged. She wanted to tell him, as she had so many times before—so many times—that she was there for him. She’s always been there for him. 

Robin’s lips twitched into a soft, but crushed smile. “Okay.” She stared down at her shoes. They were slightly scuffed at the sides. “Okay, I… I’ll get the choir started.” 

Sunday had turned back towards the statue with an approving, idle hum. His shoulders had stiffened as he watched THEM closely, fingers interlocked in front of his stomach. It was a nervous habit Robin recognised all too well.

His hand was bleeding around the golden charm now. 

She said nothing. 

ೃ༄

When Sunday sang prayers into the microphone with a bandaged hand beneath his gloves, he wondered if he was ever truly a good person. Was he… ever fit to see the Heavens once he passed? It was all down to the judgement of one final being; unbiased, unjudged, honest. 

He always valued honesty. 

“Grace be to thee, and to your kinship.” The sunlight was burning into the back of his halo. “And, weary sinners, hold your heads, as THEY will shine light down upon you, and forgive all of your transgressions.” 

The chalice filled with wine sat idly on the table. There was an embroidered white table runner draped over the top to cover the chipped and old wood. 

The pattern was eerily similar to the stockings you wore that night. 

He dreamed of you. 

How could he? To betray himself, The Family, his own flesh and blood. He felt repulsive, like swallowing strong liquor. His saliva was thick in his throat as he spoke, hands pulled tight around the edge of the pulpit, mere inches away from shedding the program that rested in the centre. The wood creaked beneath the pressure. 

He remembered your voice as if you were truly whispering in your ear at that moment. 

You’re haunting him. He hears your heels in the hallway at home; he can smell your perfume when he passes down the aisle every morning. The script in his hands has tears from how firm he’s been gripping the paper. 

He had to remind himself he is good. He is good, and loved, and obedient, and his God is so benevolent and thoughtful to watch over someone as pathetically weak as he is. THEY will forgive him. 

He knows, he told himself. He knows what he did all those nights ago. 

Sunday felt unworthy to hold the golden chalice in his hands. The other staff had positioned themselves ready for the wine service. One had stopped to look strangely at the man. Sunday’s hands were trembling around the handles. 

“Reverend Sunday?” one of the priests asked gently. “Are you alright?” 

Briskly, he nodded his head once and pulled as much of a reassuring smile on his lips as he could. Then, he turned, careful not to spill the wine in the chalice and moved forward. 

There was already a line forming down the aisle. 

He is loved. 

“Go…” He hoped his voice was steady. It should be, for he’s said these exact words everyday for almost a year now. “Eat your food with gladness.” 

He is good.

The spoon shook in his hands as he offered it to one of the churchgoers. 

The next person stepped up. The priest on the right grasped their chin gently with the red cloth. Sunday offered another spoonful of wine. 

They were replaced with the next person. 

He is loyal.

“…And drink your wine with a joyful heart.” 

The next. And the next. And the next. 

Routine. Stagnant, maddening, routine. 

He glanced down to dip the spoon back into the wine again. The chalice was half full now, and the line was beginning to dwindle. He could see the end of it now. 

He is faithful. 

“…For THEY have already–” 

His heart faltered when he looked up again. 

The wine spilled from the spoon. He almost dropped the gold onto the floor. 

The breath that escaped his lips was shaky. 

It seemed that everyone in the church was transfixed with the smile you directed at the Head Reverend. Even the priests to his left and right had stopped. 

The choir had paused. A quick glance to the right would reveal Robin with her lips slightly parted. The organ player had pressed the wrong key and had halted the singing. 

When you shifted, he was reminded that you were not a perfect statue carved from the Gods hands. Not like the statue of Xipe that stood behind him. Your eyes flitted downwards, and he noticed your fists clenched at your sides. Discomfort pulled across your face like ink bleeding onto a canvas. 

Perhaps it was the distasteful attire you’d chosen for the ceremony that had garnered the staring. 

Maybe it was the unearthly beauty that sculpted your face, as if you were a being that had been picked from an inch of the Gods skin and blood, and brought to life on land, so full of love and saccharine bittersweetness. 

He could taste it on his tongue. 

Sunday quickly dipped the spoon back in the wine when one of the priests moved to hold the red cloth beneath your chin. 

He swallowed. “–Have already approved of what you do.” 

The spoon slipped between your parted lips. 

The other priest wiped your mouth with the cloth. It was like velvet on your lips. 

Hesitantly, out of time with the conductor, the church organ continued where the player had paused.

You pulled away from the cloth before the priest could remove his hand himself, and you offered one more warm smile—and sharp canines poked over your bottom lip—before you moved to let the next person replace you.

As you left, Sunday promptly ignored your hand that traced the leather of his belt beneath his coat. 

His heart was racing beneath his chest, like a bird hitting its wings against the confines of its cage. 

Heat clammered and sweltered up his neck. He ignored that, too. 

ೃ༄

He can’t. 

When Sunday stepped out of the confessional booth and locked the door with the key, he leaned against the door and shut his eyes tight. 

He felt too big for his clothes. His skin doesn’t feel like it’s his. It’s hot. It’s just so hot and his skin felt as though it had been rubbed raw with sandpaper. His breathing was shaky and uneven. 

He cannot bear to look at the images and murals plastered over the walls. If they had a choice, the unstaring eyes would, too, look away in shame. The statue is still. 

Sometimes, he was convinced it moved when no one was looking. 

Maybe that’s just paranoia. It all is, isn’t it? He’s always been scared of little things. Things with eyes, like dolls, and portraits, and people, and Gods. Not THEM. Never THEM—deep down, he did fear THEM. But he knows he is loved. Otherwise, he would have been abandoned. 

The murals are watching him. 

The walls are warping the longer he stares. The halos behind the figures’ heads are fading. He feels his own doing the same. He is unworthy of it. It is more like a weight of lead, than a ring of light. 

He’s still thinking of you. 

It’s horrible. It’s wrong. His eyes sting, though he’s not sure if it is exhaustion, or if he will cry again. But he can’t cry. He had wept silently in his bed the night prior because he couldn’t sleep. And it’s hard to sleep when the house is silent, but there’s a distant clicking of your heels down the hallway outside of his room.

It does not stop, nor does it draw closer or further away. It is a rhythmic click click click, and it is suffocating. It’s even worse when he feels you breathe into his ear and urge his hand between his legs. He feels your hands trace over his shoulders to his chest from behind—and of course you’re behind, because if he were to turn around, he’d see something ugly. 

He’d see nothing. 

It’s all in his head. 

But it feels real. How hot your breath is against his neck, how your lips follow the throbbing veins in his throat, how your fingers wrap around his wrist and guide his hand between his legs. 

The feeling weighs on his chest like gold. 

He draws close to pulling off his clothes when he is in bed. He fights his will, because it is you in his ear whispering that he is most beautiful in his rawest form. And he believes you, but the idea of ruining himself any further makes him feel sick. 

And one night, with what he feels are your teeth buried in his throat, he sings that he loves you, and he grows cold. 

He cannot sleep, and when he can sleep he dreams of you. And even as he lays wide awake in his bed, his hands wander, and he can feel your skin on his. 

He can’t love you. 

It’s not love. Love is warm, unfamiliar, and new, and he hears tales of how comfortable it is. 

It’s wrong to feel this way. 

He removed himself from the confessional. His legs felt weak when a hesitant breath left his lips.

“It’s like a weight… isn’t it?” 

Sunday froze. He’d never felt so cold before. His spine snapped straight like it’s was crafted of metal, and something horrible hooked within his stomach, hard and aching, like he’d swallowed lead. 

He heard you swallow. 

He didn’t dare turn around, fingers trapped on the pages of printed hymns he was about to put away. 

“It’s persistent.” He heard the telltale sign of your clothes moving. “You feel it, too.” 

He was afraid of what he would see when he turned around. 

He does. “I don’t know what you speak of.” He then turned, eyes glaring and face alight with anger. “If you know well, you will turn and leave. Don’t come back here.” 

His shaky inhale gives himself away. 

He isn’t sure if you’re real. For his sake, he hoped you weren’t. 

Sunday held the key tight in his bandaged hand. 

“You should feel guilty.” 

His heart stopped. The teeth of the key were digging into the hole in his palm. The bandages strain against his flesh, and he bites his tongue before he can let out a bark of disdain at you. 

Ungrateful. 

He won’t voice it. He will say nothing. This is not his fault; it can’t be his fault. 

And he still feels it is his fault. But this all happened because of you. And he’s been trapped inside his head for all these nights because of you. It’s all you. 

“Should I?” he asked quietly. He watched your face twist. “Or should you?” 

“Is it not your job to help people like me?” you tried. You felt blood rise up your neck and settle in your face. You weren’t sure whether it was because he was still the most beautiful man you’d ever seen, or if your frustration was climbing further and further towards your heart. “I thought you could help me.”

You had promised to fix him as well.

If anything, he felt even more broken than he had ever been. 

Sunday breathed out shakily. 

The bandages around his hand were beginning to dye a dark red like the wine he had fed you. 

He swallowed hard. You saw his throat move. 

“Fix this, Reverend. Fix me.” 

His voice faltered when he whispered, “I cannot fix what is beyond repair. I cannot give you anything more than I already have.” 

“Then take me.” 

There was silence.

He felt his heart drop into his stomach. 

Sunday glanced towards the door of the church and tried to control his breathing. “I can’t.” He shook his head slowly. He can’t bring himself to look into your eyes. “We can’t do this again. It will fix nothing. It will make everything worse.” 

Your legs trembled. You felt your heart stop in your chest, and it hurt. 

And you were so angry. 

So, so angry. You wanted to spit in his face, or maybe you wanted to fall to your knees and kiss his shoes and beg for forgiveness. 

Whatever you felt for this man, love, attachment, some sort of long winded delusion that he could be yours if you tried hard enough, surged inside of your head. 

You wanted to touch him. You wanted to feel his skin on your hands, and you wanted to hear him again. 

You swallowed your pride, and then you uttered, “please, sir.” 

Sunday exhaled sharply through gritted teeth. 

“Not only are your hands sullied with filth, but you are also disobedient.” He still cannot bring himself to look at you. He didn’t want to. He was afraid he’d succumb to your whims if he did. His hands were trembling, fingers weak and almost as if they would snap off from the knuckles. “I told you to never come back here.” 

You almost looked offended. 

“I don’t come here willingly–” 

“I know what you are.” 

Sunday’s fists clenched by his sides. The wings beneath his ears had stiffened, feathers bristling like cacti. 

“I know what you do.” 

You said nothing. If anything, your eyes were transfixed on the statue behind him. 

“You find reverent men, and you ruin them.” He turned, then, but his eyes didn't meet yours. “Tell me: are you proud of yourself?” 

“Never proud, sire,” you admitted. Then, you bowed your head. “Though I will say, I do hope you enjoyed yourself last night.” 

He inhaled sharply, and the corners of his lips twitched upwards. 

There, you dared to reach forward and trace your thumb along the bandages of his wounded hand. 

And he let you. 

He did not flinch away, nor did he tell you to leave again. 

He simply stared down at your fingers as they smoothed along the expanse of the scratchy material along his palm. Your fingers slotted between his. 

Sunday sighed, defeated. 

Your hand was so warm. And despite the disgust and the swamp he felt bubbling in his guts, he felt as if he’d known you his entire life. 

There was something so foreign in your skin, and yet he wanted nothing more than to melt into you like a burning flame upon a candlestick. 

Sunday, at that moment, felt no shame in what he had done to himself that same night. 

If anything, it pleased you, and that lit his skin on fire. A nice warmth buried itself in his stomach. 

“How dare you come back here.” The whisper was without malice, though he wished it did hold some sort of bite. Instead, he sounded pathetic, and lost, and he felt only you could help him. 

You don’t seem the slightest bit apologetic. 

Instead, your lips stretch into a small smile. 

“I blame you,” you said to him. Your lashes fluttered against his cheek. You didn't dare let your hand wander. Cautiously, you squeezed his fingers around yours, and silently prayed that he could let you indulge one last time. 

He blamed himself, too. 

His heart raced in his chest when your lips pressed to his. The poor muscle bashed helplessly against his ribs, like a small defenceless bird trying to free itself of its enclosure. Perhaps his heart knew better and attempted to leap from his throat.

You were gentle. So gentle he was convinced you were a different person; a different being to what he initially presumed you were. And it hurt. His chest hurt, like one thousand feathers weighed down upon his bones. Your lips were soft, and his own trembled against yours. 

Sunday’s other hand was still curled by his side, shaking with the urge to touch the expanse of your skin, and to also remain glued to his thighs at the same time. 

One of the wings beneath his ear tickled your jaw. The feathers trembled against your skin. You pressed deeper into hus mouth, so much so he almost startled back when your chest pressed against his. 

Sunday could feel your heart clammer against his own, and he felt as though you couldn’t have been any closer to him. 

A tick in time, a short moment of weakness, and one he’ll regret when he goes home and struggles to sleep again, but his hand abandons your grip. He tries his hardest to resist. He shouldn’t have ever let this happen again.  

Your arms daringly swung around his neck, one hand holding his cheek gently to keep his lips on yours. You could feel his hesitation, but something wrong urged you forward; urged you to ruin him even further. 

His hands rested on your hips. They did not move. They did not wander. They were frozen on your skin like ice. 

You tasted of the wine he’d given you.

It was strange, sweet, and it made his face flush the same colour as the blood on his hand. 

“Blessed Reverend,” you whispered against his lips. “How will you sleep tonight?” 

Your nose brushed against his. His feathers rustled when your breath and the scent of wine curled around his cheek. 

“I won’t,” he admitted. It’s quiet. You barely heard it. “I will toss and turn.” 

You fluttered your lashes at his answer. He felt your lips stretch into a smile. 

His heart frantically raced in his chest when your lips touched his again, and he stiffened when he stepped backwards with you and his back pressed against the pulpit. 

The hand on his cheek traced down the throbbing veins of his neck, and he had half a mind to pull away from you. His own hands held firmer against your hips.

He was growing dizzy. 

When he fluttered his eyes open, sick from the taste of wine on his lips, he saw one thousand eyes staring down at him. 

On the walls, on the ceiling, from the stained glass windows. His heart hurt in his chest, the thudding so loud he could barely hear anything else as it echoed in his ears. The swarm of guilt, still, was not enough to tear him off of you. 

The statue behind him, however, burned holes in the back of his head. He knew the sculpture was carved with its eyes shut, but he felt it he turned around, he’d notice the crack of a pupil beneath the stone eyelids. 

Your hand was on his stomach now, thumb following the central curve of his belly down beneath his navel. 

When your thumb hooked beneath his belt, his fingers wrapped around your wrist before you could dip any lower towards his thighs. 

“Not here,” he pleaded softly against your lips. 

He swallowed hard. 

“Where do you suggest we go?” you asked. He almost didn’t hear you. There was implication in your voice. 

He hated how warm he grew in his chest, but he knew it was wrong. So wrong, and it’s horrible. 

“You will not clamber into my bed tonight,” he whispered to you. That he knew for sure. 

You shook your head slowly. “I want you to take me here.” 

His stomach churned. It was as if he’d swallowed unjust liquor in one giant gulp. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think as he did. His mouth tried to form words, some type of rejection, or some form of a nicely worded insult, but nothing came out. 

Instead, he stupidly gaped at you. 

His eyes flitted up to the statue of Xipe. THEIR eyes remained closed, all six of them, and the expressions held still. 

Sometimes, he was convinced the statue was alive. 

Perhaps that was just paranoia. 

He found it fitting to pull you towards the hall and down a flight of steps. He held onto you tight by your arms, afraid you’d disappear, as he once again, grew uncomfortable in his own skin and clothes.

Fitting to be furthest away from the sunlight. 

As his fingers fumbled with the keys to the cellar, your hands wandered around his waist. and your warm lips pressed to the back of his wings. The feathers twitched and flinched. 

Sunday’s breathing grew heavy as the door unlocked and creaked open. 

The cellar was… just that. A cellar. There were an abundance of barrels laid down beneath the benches on either side of the room. They were most likely full of wine for the services. There wasn’t much out on display. 

Fittingly so, it was dark, and there were no windows. 

Your shoes clicked against the tiled floor. 

It’s dark. So dark you can barely see him, but he keeps a firm grasp on your wrist as you step into the room. It’s not too cold, surprisingly. It does not smell of mould or abandonment; perhaps they take good care of this place. 

You almost knocked into a table in the centre of the room. The glass sitting on top clattered and shook as you startled back into him. 

“It is safer here,” Sunday whispered in your ear. You knew he locked the door. His hands squeezed your shoulders. 

“I believe you,” you told him. 

Sunday hummed at your words, and his lips brushed against the side of your neck. His breathing remained unsteady. 

You turned around to feel blindly for his waist. It was probably best that it was dark down here. It was appropriate for the both of you, and so far away from the sky, and the leering eyes of the murals painted onto the walls. 

His body is warm against yours. 

He finds it in himself, wherever he hides himself away, to kiss you then. Maybe because it’s dark. You can just make out the outline of him, and whatever light creeps through the bottom of the door is enough. 

“I came for you, sire,” you said. “Use me as you wish.” 

Sunday’s lips bumped against your neck. “You cannot whisper depravity into my ears.” 

“You brought me down here for a reason,” you answered him. Your fingers slid down his throat and you thumbed over the top button of his shirt. “I say what I want.” 

“You are filthy.” And he kissed you again. Fury flared in his stomach like fire. 

You freed the first two buttons of his shirt, and while you were busied following the smooth skin of his neck, he pushed off your coat. 

You managed to pull the white blazer off of his shoulders, and though he couldn’t see it, he heard the heavy fabric crumple to the floor by his feet. He internally cringed; the wrinkles he would have to iron out would be too telling. 

You hummed pleasantly as you drew him back against your lips. 

The wings around his waist were a nice surprise. You hadn’t expected them to be any larger than your arm with the way he tucked them beneath his coat, but although the feathers were flattened from the material, they stretched out wide in relief. 

He knew the blackened feathers were ugly and uneven and clipped to the very edge, but you didn’t seem to mind. In fact, your fingers flitted over the base gently, a soft caress of your hand that made the feathers bristle. 

Your lips were so soft. Despite wandering hands, you were so gentle. It made his stomach churn, but his heart stammered in his chest. 

The feathers rustled. You heard them. They reminded you of a pigeon shaking out its wings. 

The table was just next to your hip. 

You moved away from his lips for just a moment. 

And then, you reached forward blindly and swiped the glass off of the table. Jars and glasses and bottles of wine smashed onto the tiles, and Sunday’s grip tightens on your hips. 

“What are you doing?!” He asked with horror strewn about his face, though you couldn’t directly see it. It was very well and obvious in his voice. “Why would you–”

You silenced him with your fingers pressed to the cupid’s bow of his lips. “Lay on the table, Reverend.” 

“Are you–” 

“Lay down.” You guided his hips softly, cautious of the poor and frantically beating heart in his chest, until the bones bumped into the edge of the wood. 

Sunday’s breathing shook with disdain. The table pressed against his back, and he could feel your hands sliding up his chest to push him backwards. The exposed skin of his chest met the slight chill of the air. Your thumb moved along the line of buttons before it raised again to push at his jugular until he was forced back onto the table. 

Sunday trembled for a moment. 

It almost hurt how quickly the guilt in his stomach vanished when you crawled up on the table next to him. His vision, although useless in the lowlights of the cellar, fogged over with heat and the thick air that filled his lungs. 

His skin prickled when your lips grazed his neck.

This is wrong. So wrong, and–

His fists clenched by his sides when your lips drag down his chest, following the buttons on his shirt. The plastic was cool, and it collided with your teeth as you travelled lower and lower. 

All the while, anxiety stirred in his stomach like some roaring beast. This was wrong, to be beneath you like this, where he’s not taking what he wants, where he’s not in control. This is wrong, wrong, wrong– 

Where his shirt pulled untucked from his pants exposed a lining of skin and his stomach, and he felt teeth set into his flesh. The skin below his navel stirred a bright red, and his veins were set ablaze. 

He stiffened, and his hand instinctively came forward to pull his skin free from your teeth. 

He felt his eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness. So, so slowly. 

Sunday inhaled, and his voice trembled, so he kept his lips shut. 

You spoke, “don’t resist. Enjoy it.” 

He felt the telltale tug of his belt, and the jingle of the buckle as it finally loosened. He sighed in relief from the feeling. Still, his hands curled even tighter by his sides. “How can I–” 

Your fingers ventured beneath his unbuckled belt. You then firmly rubbed your thumb up and down and up down his side of his cock twitching in his pants and Sunday had half a mind to squirm on the table. 

“Do I make you anxious?” He heard you giggle close to his ear, and your lips smoothed over the base of one of his wings. 

He wanted to say you did, and you made him shake, and you made him dream about you, and you made him touch himself when he couldn’t sleep, and– 

Nothing but a moan pulled from his lips when your hand finally freed his cock from his pants. 

His chest heaved in disgust and pleasure and everything for that was your sullied and dirtied skin touching him. That was you, and those terrible shameful words that spilled from your tongue that made him shudder and caused his heart to quicken. 

His face grew impossibly hotter than before. 

You hooked your legs around his thigh, pressing your knee between his legs firm enough to still him. The dryness of your hand tugging the warmish pulled skin of his cock sent his mind into a haze. 

The horrible rhythm of your hand against his was so good, and he wished he could just disappear right then and there. 

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he was so relieved there were no eyes watching him here. He was so relieved the cellar only had one door locked now. He made sure of it. 

If you commanded him to take, then he would ensure you wouldn’t leave this very room until you’d given him everything you had to offer. 

Heat sweltered between his legs, surging like flames licking up his skin. 

He wanted to speak. He wanted to order; he wanted to bend you over the table and take what was his. 

His ankles weakened when your fingers slipped over the head of his cock. Just at the thought of ruining you, a drop of cum squeezed from his slit, and your thumb smeared it all over him as best it could. 

His stomach heaved, basically convulsed, as you stroked him firmer and firmer until his limbs grew weak and burned from squirming and wriggling beneath you. He gave up barely minutes after you’d started, and now he only found it in himself to moan and moan over and over again beneath your hand like some dog. 

Wrong. 

He felt your lips trail down his neck. 

Oh. His hand rested behind your head and he tilted his head so your lips could drag against his flesh. It was awful. So, so awful his jaw clenched and his fingers twisted into your hair. 

Your teeth pulled at the taught skin below his jaw. 

“Don’t leave marks,” he breathed. He swallowed, and you followed the shape of his jugular with a graze of your teeth. 

This is awful,

His stomach churned. He feared he’d throw up with shame. 

Sunday was panting now, nails digging into your scalp. His teeth gritted and grinded behind his lips. He can’t do this. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t– 

Sunday managed to sit up shakily. 

“Put–” Another moan escaped his lips, followed by a trail of laughter at how ridiculous this was. “Put your mouth on me.” 

“Is that what the High Priest wishes?” Your lips followed along the soft skin above his collarbone. “He wants his dick sucked by a ‘whore’ on the streets? Will that satisfy you, Reverend?” 

Anger flared in his chest. His hand moved from behind your scalp to grasp your chin firmly. “You will do well to remember you are here to please me.”

And you would.

A dreamy sigh escaped your lips as he gripped your face hard enough to almost hurt. His nails dug into your cheek. “Of course, Reverend. Thank you.” 

 He let go of you. 

As obscene as it was, his hand twisted into your hair again and pushed your face towards his lap. 

This was only slightly better. How he could pull and tug you where he wanted. He was here to take; isn’t that what you said? 

Still, it was obscene. Grotesque. Disgusting and muddied and it’s so, so hot down here. For a moment, he feared Hell, for maybe the world below the soil had risen to take him and you into the earth. 

It would be what you both deserved. 

He felt your tongue first. Awful thing, your tongue. If he’d had it his way, it would have been torn from your mouth the second you stepped into his church this morning. 

It didn’t feel as awful as he knew it was when the wet muscle dragged along the head of his cock. The tip of your tongue nestled upon his slit, and it was so hot, and he almost lost his mind trying to remove what was left of his clothes on his person. 

He did not. 

Though it was dark, and he could see the outline of you clearly, he refused to let him feel more of your skin on his. 

Your lips pressed a dainty kiss to the tip of his cock before they then wrapped around the head. 

Hot. That’s what it was. Sweltering, sweaty, sickening humidity crawling up his neck, like one thousand bugs twitching and writhing upon his skin. 

His stomach stuttered, and he felt your palms rest on his hips as you positioned yourself more comfortably to the side of him. You draped your stomach over his soft thigh to splay your hands over his torso. 

Sunday raised his fingers to bite down on the side of his hand to silence himself. There was no coming back from this. Exiting the confessional yesterday with filthy hands already destroyed him, and now something sour was pooling at the back of his throat at the idea of unlocking the cellar door and leaving. 

He couldn’t imagine how dishevelled and improper he looked. 

His wings fluttered when your mouth lowered further on him, and one of your hands abandoned his stuttering hips to thumb along the sensitive skin beneath his cock. 

You were consistent, licking up and down with your tongue in wet passes. It drove him mad. He preferred it that way, floating out of his mind, as your warm tongue covered the skin of his cock in your saliva. 

You tasted salt as his slit dripped pathetically, but you kept your lips zipped at teasing him any further. You could hear him above you, a panting mess, breathing all slow and heavy, of whatever he was an hour ago with a tight and twitch grip in your hair, so much so his nails had embedded themselves into your scalp. 

His hips stuttered forward when you pushed your mouth further down his cock.

You drooled around the skin, slicking his thighs with spit and his own cum, as you willed your breathing through your nose. Surprisingly, instead of what any vile man would do and move his hips forward and fuck the back of your throat without a care in the world of your ability to breathe, Sunday waited. 

He waited patiently. Perhaps he was searching for signs of discomfort, or maybe he was adjusting to the heat of your mouth and your tongue stretching past your lips to run along the swollen veins of his cock, but either way he waited. 

He was more or less hesitating. 

He felt so disgusting and hot, but your mouth was so warm and his breathing shook more and more and the air felt trapped inside of his lungs. 

It’s so hot. 

Your tongue dragged up a swollen vein alongside his cock again and Sunday hissed, holding your hair tight as a warning. Watch yourself. He was afraid of how difficult it was to allow your mouth to do its own thing; how desperately he wanted to feel the back of your throat. 

You would let him. You had promised him you’d let him take and take and take until there was nothing left of you. 

The hand in your hair served more as a gentle encouragement than a forcing manoeuvre. He was swollen. He could feel himself bursting at the seams. 

Instead, he searched for a distraction. “Come–” His breathing stuttered. “Come here.” 

You pulled off of his cock. 

You hummed curiously. 

One of his hands was following the gentle curve of your spine, dipping lower and lower towards the back of your thighs. Instinctively, you moved closer towards him. 

But still, you managed, “you don’t have to touch me, sire.” 

“I want to hear you,” he whispered. 

His hand snaked around your front and steadily undid the button at your waistband. The zipper followed next before his gloved fingers disappeared beneath your underwear and delved between your thighs. 

He wouldn’t take the gloves off. He couldn’t. 

The feeling of the scratchy cotton against your clit sends you into overdrive. 

You part your thighs to allow his fingers to tease up and down your slit as you trace the underside of his cock with your tongue. 

His hips remained still. 

You felt he wanted to. How he desperately wanted to grab your face through how his hips tremored and twitched around your mouth. How he wanted so badly to bury his cock in your throat and feel you choke and splutter around him. 

You moaned around him, and Sunday hissed again, this time lower, and it almost served as a warning. Your pleasure, for this moment, would come after his. 

Still, you grinded down on his fingers as he rubbed your clit in quick and light circles. Your breathing stuttered, and he dared to guide your head just an inch lower around his cock. 

His thighs began twitching. 

“Oh…” It’s breathy and light and warm, what spilled from his mouth. His fingers pushed back what strands of hair had fallen in your face. “You–” Words didn’t escape his lips properly, and all that tore from his throat was a dreary and miserable whine. 

You keened over his fingers. The cotton was good, though now his palm was soaked. 

You whined stupidly when his hand abandoned your clit, before your muffled disappointment was replaced by a pleased hum when he pushed a finger inside of you. The glove slid in with embarrassing ease, and Sunday flushed at the feeling. 

You squeezed around his finger, drawing him in further. 

Your lips were growing desperate around his cock, tongue flitting out again and again to taste the cum that streamed from his slit. 

“I–” Oh, God. The room was spinning. “I can’t–” His stomach heaved when your tongue grazed along the swollen vein before you drew backwards and licked harshly along his dripping slit. “I can’t–” 

He dragged his cock forward into your mouth again and again. Not enough to touch the back of your throat with the tip, but enough to knock the air from your lungs with every push. 

You learned quickly that Sunday preferred your mouth and tongue remain relatively still and open for him. 

He preferred to control how he fucked into your throat, holding onto the back of your head as gently as he could—you dutifully ignored how his nails stabbed into your scalp. 

It was easier for him now to take what he wanted. 

You’re so wet. He could hear it, even if he hadn’t even bothered to strip you of your pants. It’s obscene, and his cock hardened even more at the sound. 

His rhythm remained the same. He’s quick, much unused to the wet heat soaking around his cock, and more so worried about how the head rubs along your tongue. 

But you’re so obedient like this. So pliant and warm with his hand between your legs teasing that gaping and soaking hole. And it’s so warm and hot and yes, yes, yes, come on–

“This is–” 

Your eyes fluttered open to acknowledge him. 

His thighs twitched around your head. 

He let out a shaky gasp. 

His hand loosened around your skull. You drew back only just and mused a simple, “take what you need.” 

He needed you. 

He smelt wine from how you’d smashed the bottles onto the floor. Sacred, important wine that you’d tossed aside like you’d thrown his blazer to the floor and the golden medallion on his breast. 

It filled his senses, blurred what little he could see, and he slid his cock on the curved line of your tongue again and again and again and again and again. 

Two fingers, soaked in your slick, abandoned in teasing your hole to ghost over your clit again. 

You’re so good. So good to him. So hot and heavy. So pretty. And you sound beautiful. Your muffled groans were like music. Like the music he’d listen to in the privacy of his home. 

He felt bliss. Heavenly bliss. 

His stomach lurched at the debauchery. How awful you were, how you made him feel alive in his own skin. 

And nobody had ever made him feel this way. And he loved it. Every second, even if his flesh warped and his organs twisted in loathing. For himself, for you, and those pretty lips wrapped around his cock. 

His hand carded over your hair with care. 

His fingers teased at your clit in horrible horrible circles that made your hips twitch towards his hand. You were grinding over his palm now in steady back and forth lines. 

So good. 

He couldn’t even think. Nothing but stupid moans pushed past his lips, and he was almost deep enough to reach the back of your throat. So, so close now. 

Your tongue was so hot it almost hurt. The noises, and the dripping of your saliva down to his thighs, made his hips squirm beneath your hands. Filthy. It’s all dirty here. 

He felt after this he’d have to scrub himself until his skin withered and only bone was left. 

You hummed. You pulled off of him again. When he mumbled a string of disappointed gibberish with his eyes squeezed shut in frustration, you whispered, “are you close, Reverend?” 

Heat crept up his thighs and down from his stomach. 

You thumbed the swollen veins and cooed at his slicking cock. “Are you?” 

“Finish this,” he whispered harshly. “Finish me.” He tugged on your hair gently, guiding you down toward his cock once more. 

Excitement bubbled in your stomach. 

Your tongue flattened against the head of his cock. Your spit slid down his skin as you buried him deep in your mouth. Maybe you pushed too far, because you gagged around the skin close to the base. 

Your nose just barely grazed the supple flesh of his lower belly. Your hand wrapped firmly around what skin you couldn’t reach. 

He’s delicious. He was so heavy in your mouth and warm and his cum smeared thickly over your throat. 

Sunday’s hips rocked forward as deep as he could possibly bury himself. You take him in and suck. The wet slurps of your tongue make his skin burn hotter. He feared he’d faint, or melt, soon. Like a candle. Like the votive candles upstairs in the–

His mind kept trapping himself of the main hall upstairs, and the thousands of eyes peering down at him. 

Drool and cum dyed your lips with a shimmer. You were growing more and more desperate and there was a concerning and lonely ache between your legs somewhere deep inside of you. Your lips sucked a tighter seal around his cock while you kept your tongue flat for him to slide his cock over it. 

Sunday’s fingers tightened in your hair. 

“You–!” He tried to tell you you were awful. This was wrong. This was disgusting, and vile, and you were just a wretched streetwalker tempting him for a thrill. 

He said nothing. He couldn’t. 

He stiffened up again, and his thighs locked around your head. 

And then, his cock jerked in your throat, and he came. 

A long and broken sob echoed in your ears. 

You held his hips still as he squirmed and wriggled beneath you, salt coating your throat in streams as his chest and stomach heaved with his heavy quickened breaths. 

His head was swamped with a haze, like a thick foggy mist clouding over his senses. 

His skin almost melted off of the muscle in his body. He felt like the countless votive candles still burning on the floor above, with the statue of Xipe, and the hundreds of eyes painted on the walls– again. His mind reeled back again. 

 Sweat dripped from his flesh like wax. 

Sunday held a vice grip on your hair. His other hand between your legs had stilled for the moment, though he could feel you still grinding onto the soaked material of his glove. 

“Good,” he mumbled. He was petting your hair. He swallowed hard to ignore the ache between his legs. “So good.” His words were slurred, and amidst the darkness, what he could see swirled into a muddied watercolour piece. 

He was drawing in sharp inhales that whistled through his teeth while you cleaned him up. Your tongue traced the angry red flushes and patches along the sensitive skin, following every drop of cum that had fallen past your lips. 

Sunday let go of your hair in favour of feeling his racing heart beneath his chest. It ached and thumped with need. 

He was sensitive. He’d been wriggling the entire time, but now his hips couldn’t keep still, and he couldn’t stop himself from following your tongue with his cock. 

His breathing stuttered loudly as he dragged the skin over your tongue. He wasn’t sure if he wanted you to open your mouth again, but at the same time, he was afraid he’d grow tremendously addicted, and you’d both remain there a lot longer than he would’ve wished. 

So, he pulled away, as difficult as it was. 

Guilt steamed in his stomach like a hot iron sliding over his belly and scorching his flesh. 

He felt you swing over between his thighs as your mouth, sticky with cum and spit, abandoned his cock and trailed kisses up his torso. 

Sunday’s free hand grabbed your chin when your lips bumped up against his jugular, pulling your mouth towards his. 

He tasted himself on your tongue, but he avoided it as best he could. His hand between your legs pressed firmly against your clit, and your body twisted and grinded and squirmed on his gloved palm. 

He almost felt bad. 

Almost.

A string of bubbled gasps and whispers of worship escaped your lips, but they fell on his deaf ears. The smell of wine was stronger here with your heart pressed to his. His thumb teased your clit as best it could with how you moved against him, and his glove was soaked in your slick. 

He was furious with himself, and yet he also found himself not caring as he did. Maybe it was you; maybe you were muddying his senses. Maybe he’d go home tonight and stab a blade through his chest and ruin the awful guilt-stricken beating muscle beneath his ribs. 

For now, as you had wished him to, he’d indulge. 

He’d take. 

Your fingers tightened their grip when they flew to his shoulders. The linen of his loosened shirt crumpled and wrinkled beneath your hands. There was a strain behind his arms as you pulled harder on him, pleading beneath your breath. 

“Was that enough for you, Reverend?” you whispered to him. Your lips were pressed against his. That same squelching sound between your legs, and Sunday could feel his cock hardening as it did the night prior. 

He said nothing. The air was thick with the scent of his skin, and yours. 

You felt the flutter of feathers brush along your cheek. 

“I’m–” 

Sunday swallowed when he felt your stomach jolt against him. “I know.” 

“I want your devotion, Reverend,” you admitted. How debauched to whisper things like that against his lips. He knew you wrong, and yet his heart raced at the thought. At the idea of disobedience. “I need you.” 

It was very well possible down here. No prying eyes, no other members of the church. 

Just you, and him, in the mellow darkness, rocking against each other. 

His fingers quickened and you almost cried. 

He feared then, and now, that you did receive devotion. 

Instead, to hide the burning shame in his stomach, which only grew between his legs, he rested his forehead against yours and sighed shakily. For a moment, there was the faint glow of his halo, and the distant sound of a bell toll. You just saw the outline of his hair. 

Your fingers brushed past his wings blindly.

They passed through the ring of light behind his head. You felt nothing but warmth on the pads of your fingers. 

“Go on,” he breathed. “Let go.” 

And you did. 

Your stomach pressed to his in a harsh arch and your nails raked upon and wrinkled the back of his dark shirt even further as you came. 

Bliss and sugar clouded your head like fog. 

His wings fluttered behind him in a panic when one of your hands hooked around the base of the clipped wing of the pair. You whispered his name like a prayer, and it hurt when he kissed you. It burned on his lips like flames, and he loved it. 

Too much. 

And yet not enough. 

Sunday felt you weakly try to crawl on top of him, but he pushed on your shoulders gently until you rocked backwards. He held you up as best he could on shaky legs as you both rose from the table. 

The wood was covered in sweat and condensation and heat, and Sunday couldn’t bring himself to tear his mouth off of you. Wine. Wine on your tongue like blood, and he couldn’t stop himself. 

Heat burned in his chest, and his stomach, and it steamed to his head and rushed up his neck in bubbled waves. 

He grabbed you by the collar of your crumpled shirt and pushed you against the table. He felt weak, his bones rattling beneath his skin and his blood boiling, and there was anger there, but also something else and it scared him. 

Perhaps you picked up on it. 

He heard you laugh, even as he forced your stomach further into the edge of the table. 

“Blessed Reverend, did you fall in love?” 

His blood ran cold. 

He couldn’t possibly call it that. He knew it wasn’t true for you, either. The way you looked at him threatened more than love. 

It can’t be love. He’s not allowed to love. 

His heart frantically raced in his chest. His fingers trailed from the back of your collar to the small of your back, and he pushed and pushed until he had easily bent you over the expanse of the table. 

He was panting. You could hear him somewhat close to your ear. 

“No,” he answered, but he sounded unsure. “But you did, didn’t you?” 

Another breathless laugh. You heard the jingle of his belt, and his gloved hands slid up the back of your thighs. He’d managed to wedge one of his legs between yours, but it didn’t nothing to quell your squirming. 

His touch was soft. Too soft to the point it tickled your skin with feather-light strokes against your legs. 

One of his hands wrapped around your front to feel blindly along your cheek. He grabbed your face tight, and he felt your heart thrum in your throat. 

You felt him roughly tug off your pants and they fell to a pathetic heap on the floor. You kicked them away, and they fell into the pile close to his discard clothes.  

“Spread your legs.” 

You were panting, laughing, as he squeezed your spit covered chin in his gloved hand. The soft and soaked cotton was rough, pinching against your flesh. His breath was so hot down your neck.

You let out a droning whine. 

He clicked his tongue, and the firm hand pushing you into the table pinched the back of your thigh. You cried out, and your leg twitched instinctively. 

“I will not ask twice,” he whispered into your ear, lips hot on your skin. 

Weak in the knees, and your stomach pressed hard and flat into the edge of the table, you shakily did as he said, hesitant with the warm hand that remained on the back of your thigh less he reel back and bruise it. 

He did not. 

He seemed pleased, though he did not voice it.

A gloved thumb exposed the sensitive skin between your legs, and you outwardly flinched forward on the table when his finger grazed over your sensitive hole. 

Cold. It’s so cold, and he’s slowly drawing circles around your entrance. 

You could feel yourself clenching, trying to entice him inside again. 

His thumb pushed into your cunt, and you let out a hum. You almost squealed when the tip of his finger brushed against your walls. 

“Is this not what you came here for?” Sunday asked. “To ruin yourself?” 

“I’ve already ruined myself,” you said meekly. His thumb pushed deeper to his knuckle, and you mewled. “Thank you, Reverend.” 

Ever the gracious Bronze Melodia, and despite your willingness to be pliant for him, he still asked for your wellbeing. To seek in your pleasure, because he knew no better. 

“And have you found the relief you’ve sought?” 

You didn’t want him to care, but there was a burning in your heart, because he did. 

You let out a throaty hum. “Almost.” 

You heard his teeth grind behind his lips, and his thumb abandoned your hole, smearing slick along your cunt. The soaked cotton caught on your clit and you moaned. “Filthy.” 

He’s so angry. Heat flared in his chest. 

You felt him burning, his thighs slick and trembling on the back of your legs. 

Impatiently, you canted your hips back into him, and he gasped out of shock and a shameful delight when your slickened cunt dragged against his cock. 

Your hips rocked against his again, skin sticking with sweat to his hip bones and he throbbed. His teeth gritted hard enough to almost crack his teeth. 

His hand moved from your chin to press flat on your stomach. 

It’s so hot. He could feel your skin radiating off of him. And it was overwhelming, like he’d been thrown into a sauna with no water for relief.

He wanted to fill you with cum. 

It hurt to think. He shouldn’t think. All he should do is fuck you until there’s no other man out there for you but him. 

And you can never have him. 

So he can keep you here and watch you pine and chase after him, and he’ll deny you every time. And make you ache and suffer for what you’ve done to him. 

But for now, the aching and twitching in his cock made his head spin every time he slid himself upon your slit. Back and forth and back and forth and–

It’s so hot. 

He felt his mind twisting and melting beneath his skull. 

Desperately, Sunday gripped the base of his cock and shakily guided the tip to your aching hole. His other hand abandoned the warmth of your stomach trapped against the table. 

You mewled when he stretched your hole as wide as he could with splayed fingers. A dribble of slick escaped you, and he could feel you clenching already. 

Your toes curled in your heels. One of your shoes comes off, and he feels the slide of the embroidered stockings against his leg. 

Those same stockings with that pattern he saw in every single embroidered table runner in the church, and at home, and it made his skin crawl. 

“You’ll let me enjoy myself, Reverend?” you whispered behind you. 

Sunday pressed you further into the table and rocked his hips against yours. “You’ll lay here and take me.” His tip kissed the entrance of cunt. And then, with one hard exhale, he slowly canted his hips forward towards your thighs. “That’s what you wanted.” 

You hummed and slackened against the table. 

Hot. He’s so hot inside of you as his twitching, creaming cock splits your hole wider. The veins run along the stretchy walls and slip further inside of you. 

He throbbed when you felt his hips press against your ass. 

Sunday was already panting, holding your hips in a tight grip that loosened as he bottomed out. You felt him bend over you, his stomach jolting against your back as he tried to hold you still. 

He was squirming, wriggling like a fish caught on a hook. You were so warm, and you dripped and squeezed around him, and he couldn’t possibly pull himself any closer to you. He wanted your skin to fuse with his in a tangled mess of grotesquery. He wanted you to assimilate and merge beneath his skin. 

This cannot be love. 

Possession flared inside of his stomach. 

He was trembling. His cock twitched with need inside of you, and you let out a moan.

“I’m–” He shakily exhaled against the nape of your neck. His face was burning with shame. 

You could feel it on your skin. “I’m right here.” 

He pressed inside of you deeper. Deeper, deeper, deeper. He wanted to press all the way to your womb and leave a permanent imprint of his cock that left you with an empty ache for as long as you lived. “This is wrong.” 

You hummed in acknowledgement. “But you love it.” 

And he does. 

Sunday slowly pulled his hips away from your ass. So slowly, and he felt one of his traitorous awful hands reach blindly for yours to hold it. You squeezed his hand in response. He held on tight. 

Then, he slammed back into you. 

He grew breathless almost immediately, and the air was knocked from your lungs. Your hips smashed into the edge of the table. 

The ache was good. 

You murmured praise, and his cock grew impossibly harder as he reeled his hips back and filled you again. 

He’ll take good care of you here. He knows as much. Your skin is so, so hot, and his cock is so warm and snug inside of you, and he felt his mind growing muddy all over again. 

Sunday rocked his hips quicker, his knee almost knocking against the table by your hips. 

So good. 

His bottom lip quivered. One of his hands dragged up from your hip and slid up beneath your ruined shirt. He pressed you down against the table as flat as he could. 

So wrong. 

He’s wrong. You’re wrong. You’re both sick, and ungodly, and corrupt. And you both belong to each other. He belongs to you. As depraved as you are, he feels he is worse. He wants to drag you to his bed and satisfy himself again and again, but he knows he can’t. 

So he takes you here, again and again and again. 

His cock buried itself impossibly deeper with every imprint he left inside of you. His tip kissed as far against your walls as it could, and his hips tremored with every grind of his hips against your ass.

He felt like a dog. Like some pathetic mutt mounting its mate. 

But that’s what he felt he was in that moment: pathetic, weak, and some mindless man with his brain in his cock. 

The bones of your hips were aching, snapping back and forth into the edge of the table, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care for the fire surging in your veins. 

Your body felt numb, like you’d been burned one thousand times over, and then had ice poured over you. 

It’s awful, and yet you felt so alive. 

Your hand was shaking in his when you murmured, “let go. Let me touch myself, sir.” 

His cock squeezed against a particular spot inside of you, and you couldn’t see straight. 

Your ears were ringing a tune you couldn’t place your finger on, and your clit throbbed with every brush of his cock against your walls.

In response, he held that hand he held still against your back. He silently allowed you the reprieve of his touch when your fingers curled around his thumb, and he did not pull away. 

The scratch of his shirt against what parts of your spine peaked through your pulled shirt. 

You shivered, even more so when his lips delicately lingered beneath your ear, and his hot breath fanned over your cheek. 

This is wrong. It’s wrong how good he feels. 

It’s wrong how you clenched around him, sucking him in impossibly deeper to the curl of your warmth around his cock. 

He fucked into you again. 

His tip was burning with need, and his stomach twisted and turned at the thought of it. Wrong, and filthy, and–

You let out another plea. “Le’ me touch myself, Reverend.” To hammer the nail in the coffin, you then murmured, “oh God.” 

It’s the need that made him crack. It’s the idea of just how tight you could be if you were to cum all over him. How he could watch that gorgeous spine unfurl in front of him, how a melody would spill from your lips only for him to hear. 

The sounds are disgusting, but somehow so invigorating. Wet and loud and so grotesque. 

Sunday breathed out, and he sounded excited. 

“You sought relief in me, you wretch.” he breathed into the nape of your neck. Sweat dyed his lips with salt. “Do it, then.” 

When he removed his hand from your wrist, he felt your knees buckle. He pushed your hips further upwards into the table, for if you both fell any closer to the floor, away from the sky, he was sure he’d never wake from this horrible dream ever again. 

Your hand slipped down your front towards your swollen clit. 

His cock fucked into you harder, chasing the feeling of your cunt squeezing around the sensitive flesh, struggling to pull tighter. So filling. It’s so good. It’s so good it’s shameful, and he understood in that moment why sinners confess to him in the booth, go home and use their wives, and then repeat this endless cycle of debauchery. 

As guilty as he felt, he sank his teeth into the exposed skin of your shoulder where your shirt fell. 

You’re so beautiful like this. 

Moaning and begging for more of him and covered in sweat. 

His halo was glowing. 

He swallowed the saliva building in his mouth when he pulled his teeth away from your skin. “You’re disgusting.” It’s weak, it’s pathetic, it doesn’t even sound like he believes it. 

Because you’re not. You’re like an angel, laid flat on the table, offering your very being to him. 

All you were missing was a halo—distantly, he knows you’d never receive one. 

You let out a squeak of laughter, breathless. Your hand stirs between your legs. You manage to crane your neck and make eye contact with him. His halo lit up his pretty, flushed face in a shimmer of gold. “Are you close?” 

His feathers fluttered at the question. His face grew brighter. 

Your cunt squeezed around him again, and he let out a gasp at the tightness. “Very.” He was embarrassingly close, and all you’d done was squish him tight inside of you. 

Your cunt squelched around his skin, and Sunday whimpered. 

You squelched against his cock as he drove in further, desperately chasing that heat the coiled tighter and tighter in his guts. 

He was afraid he would grow addicted to this. He was already growing addicted. He squeezed his eyes shut, and he gripped your hips tighter. 

Sweat stained his neck, and heat trapped beneath his ruined shirt. He’d have to burn his clothes. Plead for a new uniform entirely, and perhaps for salvation. 

If anyone found out about this. 

His stomach turned. 

His cock slipped out of you and he grunted. Sunday fumbled with himself trying to slot back into your twitching hole. “Stop wriggling.” 

Your cunt trembled as he stretched past your walls again. Your fingers tremored over your sensitive clit. “Haha. Of course, sir.” Breathless, slurred, beautiful. 

He could listen to you moan in his ear all day. 

His skin stuck to yours like glue, sweat and slick soaking his thighs as he pushed into your guts as deep as he could. 

As dangerous as the thought was, he wanted to fill your womb with his cum. His cock throbbed and throbbed and as he drew closer and closer to the edge, he fucked you harder and harder. 

He felt the heel of your shoe slide up against his thigh soaked in sweat. It was exciting how you treated him like a prince, and also like the dirt you stepped in with these expensive shoes. 

Sunday shivered behind you, his hands trailing over the curve of your ass up to the base of your spine. Pretty, pretty skin. So soft and dainty, and so warm and supple beneath his fingers. 

He didn’t deserve to feel like this.

He buried his lips into the nape of your neck again, gently brushing kisses along your sweaty skin. His tongue pushed past his lips, and he tasted salt and the lingering scent of your perfume. 

Sunday slammed his hips against your skin again. And again– and he felt he was losing his mind. His hands gripped your hips so tight you were excited to see the bruises he left on you in the morning. 

You were moaning and moaning against the table. 

One of your hands had balled into a fist and viciously smashed against the table. “Harder, priest. Make me yours.” 

“You are mine,” he reminded you coldly in your ear. Still, his hips made a resounding smack against your ass. 

Sunday moaned when he felt your walls twitch around him, so tight he felt as though his blood circulation was being cut. It made his head swim. He pawed at your back desperately. 

So close. 

You purred praises again as his cock head kissed that sweet spot inside of you, and your fingers drew sloppily around your clit. “Just like that, Reverend.” 

Sunday’s halo almost blinded you with how bright it was glowing. 

He wanted to mumble that he loved you. He wasn’t sure if it was the true, or if he was stumbling over his tongue with these disgusting falsities and delusions.

Like the delusions that played in his head of waking up next to you, crawling between your legs and tonguing at your cunt, pleading for relief while his cock stirred in his pants. 

“Let me fill you,” he pleaded quietly. “Please.” His tongue was watering, and he wiped drool off of his lips with his shoulder. 

He heard you sigh dreamily, cut off suddenly with another harsh thrust of his cock inside of you. 

He was twitching. 

So fucking close. 

Come on. 

Shame. Shame poured from every pore in his skin like pus. 

“Of course, sire. I’m yours.” 

In your final confession, Sunday’s chest heaved. His gloved fingers gripped your hips enough to still them entirely, staining the unmarred skin with dark bruises and blood. 

His cock twitched deep inside you, his mind twisted, and he came. 

He filled your womb, just like he wanted to, and he moaned so pathetically against your neck you cried out for him. His breath fanned over your sweaty skin as he trembled above you, hips smacking weakly against your ass as he emptied himself. 

“God.” It spilled from his lips. 

Blasphemous. Awful. He’ll never see the light of day the same again, 

He clawed at your hips, pressing you down into the table. 

His heart lurched when you squeezed around his sensitive, aching cock still buried deep into your cunt, drooling around the skin as you came again. 

He felt slick dribble past the rim of your hole, sticking to the soft supple skin of his thighs as he kept himself snug inside of you. 

Warm. 

He exhaled shakily. 

The praise you had whispered had gotten to his head. Heat swelled in his face, and Sunday swallowed thickly. 

After a moment, you sighed, just as wobbly as he was, and raised a hand to pull his chin down just enough for you to crane your neck to the side and kiss his cheek. 

You could feel his heart bashing against your back as his chest rested on your spine. Truthfully, you could’ve stayed this way with his slowly softening cock deep inside of you. 

He pulled out slowly, almost unwillingly, and he heard you hiss lowly. His cock slipped from your cunt, and his slit was still aching as the remaining cum bubbled and dribbled down the side. 

Sunday did nothing. 

He removed his hands from your hips and you finally pushed yourself up from the table. He heard the creaking of your bones and a sigh of relief as you stretched your skin. 

His heart was still racing. He felt nauseous. 

His gloves were sticky and tacky, but he still refused to touch your properly. 

He heard you shift, sitting up on the table and gliding a gentle, but firm hand up and down the stretch of his spine. His wings fluttered at the attention. 

His halo was still glowing, just enough for you to see that he was masking his guilt and staring far too long at the wall of the cellar. After what seemed like hours, he fumbled to pull his pants back on at the very least and attempted to straighten his rumpled shirt. 

In that time, he’d heard the clicking of your heels as you’d fussed to dress yourself as best you could without moving from the table. 

Devotion. 

Your hand was now soothingly rubbing his shoulder. 

His knees buckled. 

As he slowly lowered himself to the floor, he turned to face you and slotted himself in between your legs. This was devotion, right? His gloved hands slid up your thighs as you watched him curiously. His knees hit the floor first, and his lips trembled when he leaned forward, pried your thighs further apart, and kissed your clothed cunt until your hips twitched and you giggled. 

You playfully shoved his head away with a push to his forehead. 

Sunday rested his head against one of your thighs and continued to tremble. His face was still

coated in sweat. 

When your hand gently reached down to pet his hair, he shakily smiled. 

He’d find later after he finally pulled himself from the cellar and locked it, and trekked back up the stairs to the main hall, that the murals were not looking at him. The statue was still, just as silent as it had always been, with six eyes shut to the world with their unhearing ears and unspeaking mouths. 

All that would watch silently was a bird. A small, deep purple nightingale that watched from afar. 

For now he walked down the aisle after you silently, holding onto his coat and his white overthrow. The golden badge that usually rested on his breast weighed heavy in his hands like led. 

He did not dare to gaze at the walls. He held onto the key for the front door as if it would disappear from his grasp. 

It was cold outside, and the wind blew steadily as he shut the door behind him before securely locking it tight. 

He heard your heels stop. 

“Reverend?”

Sunday wanted to bark at you. What more could you possibly want from him? You’d taken everything, and now he knew he would go home like a ghost trekking a lonely path, fall into bed, and tremble all night as his fingers felt blindly for the waistband of his pants. 

Instead, he only hummed. He kept his hand firm around the giant brass knobs of the church. 

“Don’t fear Hell.” 

The words did not assure him, but for that moment amidst the wind, Sunday listened. 

He felt a hand rest on his shoulder, squeezing the sore muscles tight. 

He stiffened at how warm your skin was. How he desperately, desperately wanted to feel your lips on his again. 

He refrained. 

Sunday barely turned his head to look at you. 

“I will be there with you.” And that, you could promise. 

Daringly, you pressed a chaste kiss to his hair before you let go of his shoulder, and left. 

He only glanced away for a moment, but when he peered back down the street, you had disappeared, along with the faint clicking of your heels. 

Sunday’s shoulder remained warm long after you had let go. 

And that warmth remained present for every day that you did not return to him. 

But, distantly, with every service that he swears he sees your face, or the pattern of your stockings in the embroidery, he knows the fleeting feeling of your warmth is enough.

[4unnyr0se]

Could we get an nsfw with hinata shoyo (28) 😙

❥ que linda | shoyo hinata

warnings: timeskip! hinata, brazil! hinata, fem! reader, unprotected sex, ts! hinata has a massive dick bc i said so, male masturbation, couch sex, pining, he whimpers so much you guys, hinata speaks portuguese because i said so, cunnilingus, virgin! hinata, virginity loss, he lowkey rich asf, not proofread

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 4.3k

a/n: this work was loosely inspired by pin-k-ink's "mania". any plot relations are coincidental. please read her writing, it's good!

happy 28th birthday hinata!! short king

Shoyo Hinata was homesick, incredibly so. Being on a very popular Brazilian volleyball team was worth it: the beach, the sand, the fame, the paycheck. Hinata had fun; there was absolutely no doubt about it. He loved his teammates and hanging out with Oikawa on the beach but longed for Miyagi. He longed for the serene countryside. He longed for his friends who had gone on to other prospects. Sure, some of them stuck around, like Daichi and Sugawara, and he missed them too. But there was one person he missed that Hinata practically craved.

You and Hinata grew close during high school, especially during the third year. You and Yachi were co-managers of the volleyball team, and things went incredibly smoothly. Karasuno went to nationals each year until Hinata and the rest of the third year graduated. Because you were a manager, you worked with Kageyama and Hinata on their quick attacks. In contrast, Yachi worked with Tsukishima and Yamaguchi (Yachi was the only one who could handle Tsukishima’s attitude; she grew up when Kiyoko left.) Hinata loved that you were his manager because he had a little crush on you. You were one of the few people who didn’t underestimate him because of his height, nor made fun of him for not being the sharpest knife in the drawer. He would often stare at you for extended periods as you gave the beginning-of-practice briefing, admiring every aspect of your face. The color of your eyes, the way you styled your hair. To Hinata, you were perfection. He only wished he asked you out during high school before he was scouted by the Black Jackals; that was one of his few regrets from his school days. 

Soon enough, once the volleyball season in Brazil ended, he had much spare time. Sure, there was practice and things to do for publicity and media, but he could do that whenever he wanted. Hinata decided to book a flight back to Miyagi the first chance he got, arranging to stay at a hotel just outside the central part of the city. It was a two-week trip with a round ticket back to Brazil, which was just enough time to ensure he would see you at least once. He would visit his other friends, obviously. It would be cruel of him not to. But Hinata did have a favorite, and it was you. Pretty, perfect, beautiful you. He couldn’t wait to get off the plane and tell you he was in town. He just couldn’t.

Hinata flopped onto his hotel bed, breathing in the fresh linen scent. He missed the smell of Miyagi, how it almost always smelled like freshly cut grass. The windows were wide open, and the summertime crickets and cicadas filled an otherwise silent room. He adorned a massive smile, taking off his shirt to let his body breathe. He didn’t have your number; no one on Karasuno’s previous register had it, not since the Nishinoya incident. Yachi had it, but she was no doubt asleep. Well, there was always Instagram direct message. He had a lot of followers (mostly crazy fan girls), and his messages were constantly flooded. He opted to use his secret personal account, which boasted a very proud 23 followers. Hinata searched for your name, found your profile, and hit the message button.

He bit down on his lip, his calloused thumbs hovering over the keypad. How should he type this? He didn’t want to come off as too desperate, even though he wanted to see you again so badly he felt like a heroin addict. The little profile circle taunted him, proudly displaying your happy, smiling face and achingly perfect lips. 

The opposite hitter shrugged his shoulders and hastily typed out a message, adding cute little smiley face emojis. Hinata groaned as he sent the message, shutting off his phone. What if you thought it was weird that he wanted to meet up so soon? Or even worse, what if you had a boyfriend? Not that he wanted to try anything, right? That would be stupid. It’s not like he wants you under him, moans escaping your pretty mouth as he thrusts in and out of your perfect pussy, claiming you as his all night long…right? He wasn’t a pervert, no way. He just wanted you to be his and only his, his hickeys decorating your neck…fuck. Hinata gazed down at his pants, rolling his eyes in annoyance as he saw the newly-formed tent in his grew sweats. 

“Eh, it’ll go away in a bit,” he mumbled, rolling over to check his phone. His heart stopped in his chest once he saw your name appear on his screen. Holy shit.

Your reply was short and sweet, telling him to come for lunch tomorrow. You told him your address and even added a cute little heart emoji. Were you trying to fucking kill him? Hinata shut off his phone again and breathed out, the tent in his sweats growing painfully harder by the second. He wishes he could show you how you made him feel, what you did to him, and his virgin cock.

Yeah, he was a virgin. He just didn’t have time to fool around that much. Volleyball took up much of his time and obligatory social events like media conferences and charity work. He got close once. But she stopped when he told her that he was a virgin. Maybe you would be more forgiving. You were always so kind.

Hinata pulled down his sweats along with his boxers, his cock eagerly springing out and slapping against this bare chest. He shivered as his hand wrapped around the base of his shaft, slowly pumping up and down. His hazelnut brown eyes were squeezed shut as he imagined his hand was yours, all tiny and dainty, pumping up and down on his shaft. How your thumb would rub the tip of his cock, that tongue of yours giving him the tiniest little kitten licks before returning to fucking your fist. Fuck, would his cock even be able to fit in that cute palm of yours?

A deep moan left his chapped lips as he found himself propped up against the wooden headboard, desperately fisting his cock. Precum oozed out of the tip and coated his shaft, the lubrication making it all the more sweet. His mind was clouded with the thought of your pussy slamming down on his length over and over again, the greedy cunt taking his fat cock so well. He wondered if you would flutter around him, how deep you would let him fuck you.

“Fuck, just like that baby,” Hinata moaned, his cock thrusting into his hand impossibly fast. His orgasm would hit any second now. “Fucking this pussy ‘cus it’s mine, yeah? My fuckin’ pussy, my girl,” he bit down on his bottom lip. “Did ya think that since I’ma virgin, I can’t fuck you good? Y’thought wrong, pretty baby-oh fuck.” Hinata’s breath caught in his throat as his cum covered his hand and shaft, glistening in the light of the hotel.  “Shit.”

He grabbed a tissue from the nightstand and cleaned himself off, tossing the spent tissue in the waste basket nearby. “I gotta work on lasting longer…” he mumbled, growing sleepy as nirvana slowly overtook him. He laid his head on the fluffy pillow, setting his alarm for the next morning. He slept with his mostly unpacked bags, eager for what tomorrow would hold. 

That alarm was the prettiest thing Hinata would ever hear because it meant that today was the day he could finally go to your house and see you. He practically jumped out of bed, plastering a huge smile on his freckled face. He wore a simple outfit, mainly because that was all he could hastily back on such an in-the-heat-of-the-moment decision. A black compression shirt with jeans was simple. He grew fond of the compression style when Boktuo showed it during his time on the Black Jackals. Hinata had to admit: he looked damn good in black. Especially since the shirt showed off the abs he worked so hard on building. He donned designer sunglasses and took the elevator downstairs, whistling a happy tune like in some old 1950s bubbly cartoon.

He enjoyed the stroll from the hotel to the town where you lived, waving to those who recognized him from his time spent on the Black Jackals. A few tweens asked for a picture, which he happily agreed to. Hinata loved meeting and interacting with his fans when they weren’t desperate fangirls just trying to get into his pants. They flattered him, but he couldn’t sleep with his fans. That was Oikawa’s business. 

The sun beamed down on his broad shoulders as he finally entered your neighborhood, practically skipping along the burning hot pavement. In retrospect, he should have worn something other than cheap flip-flops. He didn’t care. He was too damn happy to see you again. He would walk across a desert barefoot if it meant he could hang out with you, even if only for five minutes. After a bit, Hinata turned the corner to where your townhouse was. It was quaint and tiny, with a well-kept lawn and a little garden with various colorful flowers under the window. The marigolds caught his eye in particular, mainly because they weren’t native to Japan. He wondered if they were expensive or if someone bought them for you. Hinata tched at the sight of the yellow flowers, growing strangely annoyed at them. He could spoil you more than any man ever could.

Walking up the steps, he felt the nervous sensation of butterflies filling his stomach. He knew you would be so welcoming and open to him—you always have been. It was one of the several things he liked, no, loved about you. His calloused and tanned hand knocked on the beautifully painted wooden door, his foot tapping nervously on the concrete steps that led up to it. 

All his worries vanished instantly once he saw your gorgeous face poke out from behind the door, offering him a bright and welcoming smile. “Oh my god, Shoyo! It’s been so long, come on in!” you laughed, wrapping him in a tight embrace. Hinata’s hands found the small of your back, gently caressing the thin fabric of your baby tee. “I missed you,” you softly spoke, squeezing his muscular torso with all your might.

After a bit, Hinata pulled away from the hug, finding the sun blaring on his back a welcome but annoying presence. You led him inside and ushered him to sit on your couch, ensuring everything was right. “Oh, did you want something to drink? I know you walked here. I’m sorry. I should have just called a cab…” you rubbed your temple, mumbling swear words under your breath as you waltzed into your kitchen. “Shoyo, honey, do you want lemonade or ginger ale? I also have diet sodas!”

Hinata choked on nothing as you called him honey, covering it up with a cough. “U-uh, lemonade is fine! Thanks!” he massaged his throat, the tips of his ears turning faintly pink. Shit, if you were gonna keep calling him sweet words all day, it would only be a matter of time until he was pinning your hands above your head and making you see stars. At least, that’s what he hoped to achieve. He didn’t want just anyone to be his first. He wanted it to be you.

He thanked you for the lemonade, admiring the taste, and brought the cup to his lips. “Oh wow, this is really good. What brand is it?”

“Oh, I made it myself,” you smiled crookedly.

“Even better,” Hinata winked, unaware of what he was doing. “It’s been so long since I’ve had good lemonade, you know? Don’t get me wrong, their drinks in Brazil are amazing, but nothing can ever really beat lemonade.”

“What’s Brazil like?” you innocently asked, scooting further down the couch closer to Hinata. “I haven’t left the country.”

Hinata set the glass of lemonade on the coffee table. “Oh, it’s beautiful. It’s so tropical and lovely, and the locals love me. But that’s just because I play for their team,” he chuckled. “The language was tough to learn at first, but I eventually got the hang of it.”

“I’ll bet. Portuguese sounds like a hard language to learn,” you cross your arms over your chest, inadvertently pushing your breasts together. The baby tee you wore was cut just right to show off a bit of your cleavage, which drove Hinata wild. He would have pounced on you if he had been more immature and ripped that shirt clean. He could always buy you a new one. 

“It’s actually kind of pretty,” he smiled, tapping his fingers against the couch.

“Can you say something in Portuguese?” your eyes sparkle with curiosity, leaning towards Hinata. “Pretty please? I wanna know what it sounds like.”

Fuck. You looked so damn pretty like that, so eager for him. Hinata paused for a moment, opening his mouth. “Eu acho você incrivelmente linda. Você me deixa louco.” Hinata smirked to himself. It was the perfect plan. He could say whatever he wanted, and you would have no idea what it meant.

“What does that mean?” you tilted your head to the side, your hair falling out of its braid. 

Hinata reached for your braid and pushed the loose strands behind your ear. “Uh, it means I like your shirt.” he nodded in mock assurance. 

“Oh wow, that’s a pretty long sentence for just a compliment,” you took a sip of your lemonade, leaving lipgloss on the glass brim. “I guess it’s just a different language. Can you say something else?”

Hinata nodded and subtly wrapped his arm around your shoulder. “Uh, this is a traditional Brazilian custom for when you’re seeing someone for the first time in a while.” he glanced down at your eyes, wanting to swim in them.

“Eu preciso te foder,” he mumbled in a low tone. “Tenho desejado que você seja meu primeiro desde nosso terceiro ano.” his thumb brushed across your lower lip.

“Shoyo…?” you questioned, looking up at him with confused eyes. “You’re acting different…did something happen in Brazil?”

Hinata shook his head. “Nothing bad happened to me,” he pulled his thumb away. “I just matured, I guess.”

“And you got taller,” you squeaked, paying extra attention to how his compression shirt showed off his toned and muscular body. “A-and, uh, more buff. Your girlfriend must be lucky.” your voice trailed off, your eyes deciding to focus on the lemonade glasses. 

Hinata shook his head. “I don’t have a girlfriend. I didn’t want one when I played during the season. My coach says it would be a bad idea.” his eyes never left your blushing face. “So, I guess we’re both single.”

“I guess so,”

He thought for a moment. “Do you want to know what I just said in Portuguese?” he heard you mumble in agreement. “I said,” he bent down to reach your ear level. “I need to fuck you. I’ve wanted you to be my first since our third year.”

Your pupils blew out as his words reverberated in your ears, your thighs squeezing together. Was this the same Shoyo Hinata that you went to high school with? “Shoyo,” you breathed, gasping slightly as he quickly pulled you into his lap.

“Please,” he whispered, lazily trailing kissed down your cheek and onto your neck. “You don’t know how badly I missed you, pretty girl.” he stopped his wet kisses, squeezing your hips. “Didn’t stop thinking about you for a second. You’re always on my mind.”

“Fuck, Shoyo,” you wrapped your arms around his neck, pushing your chest against his own. “Have you really been thinking about me like that?”

“You have no fucking idea,” he moaned into your neck, nipping at your flesh. “I fucked my fist to the thought of you so many times. I can’t even get off unless I imagine it’s you.” he groaned as you ground down onto his lap. His lips brushed against yours, aching to taste that gloss. “Please, be my first. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

You shuddered. “Okay,” 

Hinata’s eyes roared with a passionate fire as he claimed your lips instantly, the kiss being wild and untamed. You gasped, parting your lips, allowing Hinata’s tongue to delve inside your mouth, happily exploring every inch shamelessly. His hands wandered down to your ass. Any restraint he had melted away as he took a nice handful of your ass, squeezing it roughly. Your hands found purchase in his unkempt red hair, tugging on any curl you could manage.

He groaned into your mouth, slapping your ass shamelessly. “Fuck, keep doing that,” he commanded, biting down mercilessly on those perfectly plump lips. You whined in agreement, tugging harshly on one strand near the crown of his head. He trailed sloppy, wet kisses down your neck until he found the spot that made you squeal so nicely. His teeth sank onto the skin, sucking it like a starving vampire until an ugly purple bruise began to bloom. 

His hands picked you off of his lap and threw you to the other side of the wide couch, his muscular body quickly crowding around you as his lips crashed against yours once more in a scorching, desperate onslaught. “Please,” he whimpered against your lips. “Please let me fuck you, baby. I gotta know how it feels.” his hands slipped past the hem of your leggings, massaging your clothed core. “D’ya want me to do something down here, hm? Tell me what y’want, please. Lemme make you feel good.”

“Shoyo,” you kissed his cheek, bucking your hips onto his palm. “Can y’finger me, please? Wan’ feel your tongue.”

Holy fuck, Hinata could cum just from your words. He eagerly nodded and pulled his hand from your core, the slightest hint of slick on his fingertips. “Take that shit off right now,” he demanded, his cock painfully hard underneath his jeans. 

You scrambled off of the couch, tossing your leggings and panties aside. Fuck, you were wearing pretty orange ones today, too. Did you plan that? He wondered if your bra was orange as well. “And take that top off. Lemme see those tits.” 

His hands reached up and ripped your shirt off, exposing your pretty orange bra for him. Hell yes, he was right. “Shit,” Hinata groaned, biting down on his lower lip. “Now, the bra, please. I wanna see my pretty girl's tits.”

You giggled in response, unclasping your bra from behind. It dropped to the floor, revealing you in all of your naked glory. You sat back on the couch and spread your legs, propping yourself up with your elbows. The sight of your glistening heat drove Hinata mad, he just had to get a taste.

“I wanna see you too,” you begged, your eyes sparkling. “I wanna see what all that time in Brazil turned you into.”

He happily obliged, taking a moment to remove his compression shirt and jeans. They were tossed aside on the coffee table, making a mess. Hinata proudly displayed himself for you, tan lines, and everything. He was sculpted like a Greek god, and the freckles across his body added to his beauty. “D’ya like what you see?” he flexed his bicep.

“So fucking much,” you felt yourself get wetter at the sight. “Please, Shoyo, c’mere and make me feel good with your tongue. I-I can teach you if you want.”

“Fucking please,” Hinata groaned, kneeling between your legs while using his strong arms to hold them apart. “You’re fucking dripping for me, y’know that? Did you want this as badly as I did, pretty girl?” he kissed your inner thigh.

You nodded. “Yeah, so fucking much. D’ya know how to eat pussy?”

“I did once,” Hinata spoke against your other thigh, kissing it. “I was really good at it for a virgin.”

“Shoyo,” you whimpered. “Stop talking now and eat my pussy.”

“Yes, ma’am, whatever you want,” his cock twitched in his boxers. Did he like being told what to do? He buried his face in between your legs, eagerly lapping at your folds. He flattened his tongue so expertly that it was apparent he had done this more than once. His tongue made rapid zig-zagging motions across your fold, stopping to happily suck at your clit. Your hands again flung to his hair, the orange curls nestling between your fingers.

“Shoyo, fuck!” you cried, arching your back into the couch.

“Fuck baby, if you say my name like that, I’m gonna cum in my boxers,” he mumbled into your pussy, snickering as you let out another pornographic moan. Hinata became frenzied, lapping and sucking and licking at anything he could. He began spelling his name with the tip of his tongue, which he knew you liked because you came on his tongue moments after he finished spelling ‘S-H-O-Y-O.’

“Fuck,” his mouth glistened with your release. He tugged his boxers down to his ankles, letting his throbbing cock smack against his hard abs. “Do you have a condom?”

“N-no,” you shook, still coming down from your high.

“Can I fuck you without one? I’ll buy you the morning-after pill,” he was so desperate he was shaking. Holy fuck, it was finally happening. He was about to lose his virginity to you. 

“Fuck, Shoyo!” you whined in annoyance. “Just fuck me already, we can talk about this after!”

Hell, he didn’t need to be told that twice. His hands caged you into his body, your legs being pushed up against your chest. The throbbing tip of his cock prodded at your entrance, precum leaking from the tip. Hinata hissed as he pushed himself in, relishing in how your pussy tried so hard to take his massive girth. “Holy shit, you’re so fucking tight. M-maybe I, fuck, maybe I should have fingered you or something.”

“You’re so fucking huge,” you whimpered, your hands scratching at his toned back as you struggled to take his size. “Holy fuck, you’ve been concealing that monster for how long?”

“For a while, baby,” he sighed as he finally bottomed out, his cockhead brushing against your cervix. “Fuck, I can’t hold back. I’m sorry, pretty girl,” Hinata hooked your legs under his arms and pulled his cock almost out before slamming it back inside you again, earning a delicious shriek of pleasure from your lips. 

“So. Fucking. Tight.” he punctuated his words with a thrust, his balls slapping against the cleft of your ass as he drilled his length into you. The front of his thighs met the back of yours over and over again, creating a beautiful melody. “‘Been wanting this f’so fucking long, oh my God.” his head was tossed back, nostrils flaring each time your gummy walls sucked him deeper inside. 

Your entire body was trembling as Hinata used you like a human fleshlight, ruining your cunt for anyone else for a while. Was he really a virgin, or did he fuck like this because he had too much energy? Your hair created the perfect messy halo above your head, your mouth slightly agape with the constant wanton moans being ripped from your chest. 

His blazing brown eyes landed at the sight of your bouncing tits, his hand roughly grabbing one. His thumb ran over the pert nipple, squeezing it. “There are my fuckin’ tits, m’gonna mark them later.”

Hinata choked back a whimper as he was on the ledge of his climax, his hips moving like they had a mind of their own. His breathing was erratic, chest falling up and down as his cock twitched deep inside your cunt. “Shit, m’gonna fucking cum inside of you. Take it all, fucking take it.” he let out a strangled gasp as he painted your walls white with his seed, gasping sharply. 

“Oh fuck,” his head was thrown back, his hips slowly fucking the rest of his orgasm into you. “Oh my god,” Hinata’s face was so incredibly flushed, the baby hairs sticking to his forehead. 

The opposite hitter let go of your legs and collapsed on top of you, nuzzling his face into your neck. “Y’okay?” he grumbled, squeezing your breast. 

“I’m fine, Shoyo,” you breathed out, still recovering. “That was fucking incredible. Were you lying to me about being a virgin?” you raised an eyebrow in suspicion. 

“Nuh-uh,” he kissed your neck. “I was a virgin until five seconds ago. Sorry for not lasting as long as you wanted me to.”

“I actually liked it,” you rubbed his bicep. “Some guys keep going for so long that eventually it becomes painful. It only really hurt when you shoved yourself into me.”

“Sorry about that,” Hinata reached up to kiss your lips. “I was just really excited, that’s all. You know I flew here just for you, right?”

Your heart softened. “Aw, really? You missed me that much?”

He nodded. “Of course I did. I missed you ever since our last day of high school.”

“You’re such a sweetheart,” you kissed his cheek. “Hey…d’ya wanna stay with me while you’re in town instead of that crappy hotel?”

“Could I really?” his pupils were blown out. 

“Yeah, don’t be silly.” 

“I’ll go back there and get my things!” Hinata practically jumped off the couch, scrambling to get his clothes on. “Oh, uh, I’ll also get you the morning-after pill.” he chuckled, stumbling as he put his flip-flop on. 

“You’re such a dork,” you grabbed a random throw blanket and bundled yourself up, resting on a throw pillow. “But you’re cute, so it’s okay.”

“I’m your dork now,” he flashed you a smile. “I’ll be back soon, okay? Don’t miss me too much!” he walked out the door, smiling. 

Suddenly, Hinata didn’t seem so homesick anymore.

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

࣪ ˖✧ The Jackpot

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Summary: You join Arthur and the boys for a job on the Grand Korrigan riverboat where you act as Arthur’s lap girl. The man in question is more than excited about this decision. ✦ Warnings: Guns, mention of shooting, swearing, SMUT, oral (reader receiving), unprotected p in v ✦ Words: 3,8k ✦ a/n: A big heartwarming thank you to @zae-heeyyy!! Who took the time to correct my dumb spelling and give me her thoughts on this before publishing it! Please go check her work, I swear it won't disappoint! Also: pictures are not mine! I usually try to use a pic for Arthur from my own playthrough but I'm fcking stuck on Guarma rn. Found them on Pinterest.

Dim lights are flickering all around you, making the golden ornaments of the luxurious place you're in shine like a thousand stars. You couldn't believe this gigantic reception room, gratified by a bar, a grand piano, and of course, three elegant poker tables, was actually floating on water right now, as you were on the Grand Korrigan boat, the jewel of its kind, den of the richest gentlemen in St. Denis, in search for some amusement and of course, even more money.

Trelawny and Herr Strauss had plotted a well-crafted deal that could earn a lot of money for the gang. Along with Javier disguised as one of the guards, Arthur would act as a new wealthy businessman who had just made a fortune in oil. Strauss would give him signals during his poker game, which guaranteed him to win considering Trelawny had made a friend out of the dealer.

You? You'd play his mistress, sitting on his lap during the game to make the scene look more convincing. On top of that, you had been able to hide a little gun in a hidden pocket in the underside of your dress, guaranteeing some extra protection, which wasn't a bad idea considering the Grand Korrigan was heavily armed and neither Arthur, Trelawny nor Strauss had one.

So here you were, thriving in your role, comfortably sitting on Arthur's lap, hands wrapped around his neck, both legs hanging on his left side. His arms were enveloping you, hands resting on the edge of the table as he was focusing on his cards.

Well, more like trying to focus, actually.

Maybe it was because you two had started a quite passionate relationship a few weeks ago, sneaking in each other's tent, simple kisses and whispers in the night quickly turning into something more, the both of you having cravings to fulfill.

Maybe it was because Trelawny, the damned man, had chosen a particularly suggestive dress for you to wear, comforting your play considering wives weren't allowed at the poker tables, only work girls and such, your cleavage on full display for his immoral eyes.

Maybe it was the way he could feel the round and warm flesh of your ass even through the fabric of your clothes, right where he wanted to, making his brain impossible to function properly, desperately trying to keep the hardness between his legs to stay in line.

Either way, Arthur had to make enormous efforts to focus on the job and was frankly relieved Strauss was telling him what to do; despite being a pretty good poker player, he would never have been able to win the easiest of games in this state.

Strauss told him to go all-in. He did. You smiled, you would have lied saying you weren't enjoying yourself right now. You had known far worse jobs than playing Arthur's lover. Much to your surprise, he had played a really convincing character through the night too, his usual mumbling far gone, replaced by a bright and confident speech and a cheeky grin that was making you want to kiss it even more. In fact, you wanted to take care of him just to see this cocky smirk flatter under your touch, replaced by a pleasured expression on his handsome face.

It was easy to say both of you were acting pretty good, but inside felt like two teenagers in love.

Arthur had won another hand, men were starting to leave the table, angry. It was only you both and the target now, an opulent man known as Desmond Blythe, loaded with money thanks to his hosiery business.

You pulled a cigarette out of Arthur's pocket along with a match, and you felt his breath hitch for an instant when you slipped your hand in it. Rubbing the match against the wood of the table, you lighted the cigarette casually, little flame illuminating a thin grin on your lips. You took a small drag on it to make sure the tobacco had plainly burnt, then you placed the cigarette in front of Arthur's lips, holding it for him between your index and middle finger, so that he could smoke on it while keeping both his hands on his cards.

It was downright one of the hottest things anybody had done to him and he was starting to lose it. Wrapping his lips around your offering and smoking a long drag, he allowed himself to avert his gaze from his opponent for a few seconds, planting his turquoise pupils into yours.

His eyes were half-lidded, long lashes accentuating the languorous gaze he was giving you. Your heart started racing. The power this man had on you was insane, but if only you knew what you were doing to him in return. You had a glimpse of it though, right there in the depths of his two blue diamonds, this so distinctive dark glow of him, direct window on the sinful pit of his urges.

You were sure your own eyes were mirroring it. And it got worse when, after exhaling some smoke, he quickly kissed the palm of your hand, indicating he had smoked enough, the warm sensation of his chapped lips on your skin giving you goosebumps. His eyes went back to Blythe, and you exhaled as if you had been holding your breath during the whole time you had locked eyes.

You retrieved your hand, taking a drag yourself on the cigarette after him, loving the idea of sharing it with him, of putting your lips right where he did a few seconds before, your biased brain telling you you could taste sweet remnants of him there.

Another all-in, another hand won by Arthur who couldn't stop himself from smiling this sly cocky smirk, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Shit, shit!" Blythe shouted, hitting on the table with his fists furiously.

"I guess ma luck held... Is that you done?" Arthur asked him, his tone triumphant while bending over the table to gather his not-so-well-deserved chips. "Or, do you got somethin' else to play with?" He added more lowly, his baritone voice almost making you shiver just hearing it.

"Meaning?" Desmond questioned back, visibly frustrated. Looked like frustration was a popular feeling around this poker table tonight, about the game or other things...

Arthur had gotten up from his chair and you too, now standing by his side, partially glued to his body as he had snaked an arm around your waist while finishing to put in order his chips. He answered using the same taunting, arrogant tone as before.

"Well, I heard there was some big boys on this boat, maybe that's not you, no offense-"

"Sit your and your whore's hillbilly asses down." The rich men cut him off, voice dark and serious.

You felt Arthur's hand grip tighter on your waist. For a faint moment, you thought that his cover would collapse, considering how tense he had gotten hearing him calling you a whore. But the way he was still smiling was almost even more scary, it was a false, threatening one. The kind of smile that hides a cold anger, boiling silently inside.

"Why?" Arthur simply answered, tone brilliantly contained considering the way his muscles were flexing on their own under his fancy suit.

"I got a watch... An expensive one, swiss... a Reutlinger no less. It's in the safe, upstairs. It's worth more than you."

You forced yourself not to cross eyes with Arthur. Your target. He had just confirmed what you were all here for. Perfect, just a bit more of this whole play and Arthur would be able to access the strongbox.

"Okay, I trust ya." Arthur consented while sitting back on his chair, placing you with his two big hands back at your place, on his lap. You were definitely loving this job. You'd have to thank Trelawny for it, someday.

The rest of the game passed just like before, your outlaw ultimately winning once more thanks to your colleague's little trick. Desmond was furious, and you obtained your goal.

Arthur happily got up once again, gently helping you stand, one of his hands naturally resting on your shoulder. Before following the gentleman who was supposed to bring him to the safe, he bent over to you, head brushing against yours, his stubble and hairs tickling your cheeks. He whispered in your ear, voice deep and hoarse, this one voice that was always making your head turn.

"When we're finished here, I'm gonna take care of ya, darlin'."

You sighed, cracking up a sly smirk, your cheeks turning a bit red. These simple words were enough to make the heat between your thighs make itself known; crying out for attention. Being so close like this was allowing you to breathe in his scent, its combination on top of his breath on your ear was a dangerous mix for your sanity. You took the opportunity of having his skin so close to your lips to place a small kiss on his neck, right below his own ear.

Arthur smiled at you, his bright blue eyes sparkling as he took a last look at you before walking off. You sighed softly again, already missing his presence. The wait for some time alone was only making your own needs grow.

You were only hoping the job would end up smoothly.

Of course, it didn't. 

Desmond, sore loser, had accused Arthur of cheating. That and the fact that the guard Javier had knocked off to steal his clothes had appeared out of nowhere yelling to shoot him had set things on fire on the Grand Korrigan, the boat now witness to a heated shooting the Van Der Linde Gang was known for.

You had instantly pulled out your hidden gun and helped Arthur clean up the place thanks to Javier who had thrown him a rifle. The night had ended with your incongruous team jumping straight in the water, swimming back to the shore, a quite odd and armed to the teeth fish shoal. At least, everyone was alive, and you even had obtained a pretty decent amount of money, not even mentioning the watch Strauss had authenticated as a real Reutlinger. Arthur had quickly taken back the precious object from his greedy hands, "well give it back then", which made you laugh to yourself.

True to himself, your cowboy had instructed everyone to separate and get out of the shore, as always after a job. You were all quite a sight, soaked to the bones. As you were greeting everyone a good night, Arthur silently walked to you and grabbed your hand. Even with the water you both had leaking from your clothes to your skin, you could feel how warm his hand was, contrasting yours which was completely freezing cold from having swam in the icy waters. You wondered if this man was even human.

"But you, Miss, are comin' with me." He playfully informed you, not leaving you any choice.

It was not as if you wanted to go anywhere else anyway.

"Really now? What d'ya have in mind, cowboy?" You asked him with an equally mischievous tone on your own, your eye glued to the way his hair looked completely soaked, subtle rivulets sliding all the way from it to his neck.

"Maybe we could pay ourselves a well-deserved night in town..." He proposed, voice turning more and more into a low growl as he was letting his desires take the lead on his reason.

"I would love that." You simply agreed, before getting closer to him, tilting your head up to bring your lips to his. He gladly let you, one hand still holding yours, the other gently landing on the side of your face.

The walk to the La Bastille Saloon was supposed to be a short one, but you both looked like you couldn't wait to be there before teasing each other. You would sometimes stop walking to just attack his neck, lips merciless as you sucked and kissed him there. Your taunting acts were often met with his equally heated answer, one of his palms ending on your ass, or your thighs, your wet clothes transparent and glued to your curves not helping him to keep his touch away from these places of your body. Arthur's breath sharpened as he called you his lil minx, and no, darlin’, we can't just do it on the streets.

Finally, after having shocked the barman by arriving at such late hours in completely soaked clothes, which honestly just made the both of you laugh mischievously, you reached your love nest for the night.

And what a nest! Silk sheets, canopy bed, sumptuous decor glistening with the dim lights of the chandeliers. Even the floor looked comfortable, carpeted with some fancy patterns, matching the couch and bed's color. Red, just like passion, just like lust. Red, like the color of your cheeks right now as Arthur had closed the door and was already on his knees, placing you on the edge of the mattress. Red, just like what Arthur was seeing right now, hungry hands pulling your dress up, positioning himself between your thighs.

You looked down at him, his darkened eyes looking at you. You noticed he had ripped off his fancy tie, needing to breathe properly, the heat between you both already making him suffocate. In those moments, his beautiful pupils were always shining with a more murky color, his usual sky blue turning into a more cobalt one. They were staring intensely into yours, expression questioning. A silent demand. You nodded positively, quietly answering. Dooming yourself.

The moment you did, he buried his head between your legs, left hand resting on your hip, holding you gently. His lips started kissing softly on the fabric of your undergarments. His other hand quickly came, helping him in his task by pulling it to the side, granting him access.

The moment his lips met your folds, you let out a moan, unable to resist the feeling he was giving you. He was loving it, his ears getting redder as he was more and more aroused himself. He was so big between your thighs, his shoulders were spreading them almost completely open.

He licked in a long, slow movement all the way to the top of your pussy, making you sigh in pleasure already, hips jerking against his head, begging for more.

"Easy, girl... I've got ya." He soothed you hoarsely, left hand holding you more firmly to prevent you from crushing him totally. Nevertheless, he took your eagerness into account; he couldn't deny you anything. Not when it came to sex. Not when you were so beautiful in this ostentatious dress. Not when he had grown more and more found of you, even if he was refusing to admit it to himself completely for now.

He brought his lips on the top of your core, tongue gently circling around this so special knot of nerves, his stubble scratching pleasantly against your skin, bringing you even more sensations.

It was already so good, Arthur's mouth showing you no pity, licking, sucking, kissing, as if you were becoming the only food he could ever feast on, the only oxygen he could breathe with. The sight of his broken nose buried beneath your skin, as if he was searching to go even deeper within you was almost too much for you to handle. Your hands that were gripping the sheets had now found the top of his head, spurring him to continue, please please please, Arthur, more, or you could have died right here on the fancy bed of the La Bastille Saloon.

Arthur's tongue answered your begging call, lapping your sensitive spot faster, harder. How the Hell was that man so good at pleasuring a woman? That, sinful, dirty man, just like the sounds you were letting out right now.

Your vision started to blur, the back of your head sinking onto the mattress, your back arching deliciously, and you were going to let him know just how close you were until he stopped all of a sudden.

"A-Arthur!" You protested, head snapping back at him, eyes pleading, tone both offended and needy as his name had sounded more like a whine when it had felt from your mouth.

He smiled cockily at you from where he was, his mouth looking wet with your arousal. He loved it, he loved being responsible for it.

"I'm here, girl... I jus' need ya too much right now. Lemme just..."

His voice was now a low rumble, coming from the depth of his chest. You watched as he quickly ripped off his clothes with little care for them. Trelawny would have shouted at how he was treating one of the most expensive suits he had ever brought.

But he didn't care about the suit. And neither do you, as your eyes were devouring every inch of his flesh that was appearing under them. The sight of a completely naked Arthur always had the same effect on you, no matter how many times you already had seen it.

His muscular body looked like it had been carved by Angels. No, more likely by an angry, dark God, who would have sculpted him from a hard and brutal material, his many scars and blurs a remnant of it. You could almost picture his tools molding your lover's broad chest and shoulders with sharp, furious hammer blows. His powerful arms and legs had received the same treatment, as if the deity wanted to pass on all of his brutal force into his creation. And his cock was definitely no exception to it.

And yet, this brutal force of nature was blushing under your gaze. He couldn't have resisted the hurtful sensation of emptiness around his shaft, one of his hands now giving himself a few strokes to try and relieve some of it. His eyes closed in a frown for a few seconds, your pussy burned at this unholy scenery he was offering you.

You were in such a state of need it was almost depraved. You quickly got rid of your own clothes, tossing them somewhere on the floor of the room, needing to share this intimacy with him, to feel his skin against yours.

"Oh, please... Arthur, jus' take me..." You asked yourself before he could probe your adequation. You knew him well now, you already knew the next words he was going to speak would be another demand to make sure you truly wanted this.

He seemed to enjoy how you had forecasted it, his eyes opening again to look at you, his cock hardening even more, precum slowly leaking from its top, wasting all the efforts he had done to relieve it a bit.

"If that's what you want darlin'... I'm your man." He answered in a growl, climbing next to you on the bed.

You weren't sure why but his last words had made your heart swell in your chest. You were sure, deep down inside of you, that he meant it in another way. He really had become yours, and you, his. Lost in your thoughts, you let him handle you gently, placing you on your belly against the silk sheets, lying himself on top of you, legs between yours.

You slightly moved your rear up against his erection, earning a grunt of pleasure from him. Saying he had loved it was an understatement; he had been thinking about doing this with you since you had sat on him on the riverboat.

Using his right hand, he placed his cock against your entrance, and finally started pushing, your pussy already ready for him thanks to his ministrations, your mouth mewling at the sensation. Your perfect, hot walls were finally enveloping him, and he tried his best not to come just from that intense feeling alone.

He was so big and tall behind you, his head could reach yours and he buried it onto the crook of your neck, his hair still wet offering you a cold feel, contrasting with his whole hot chest pressed on your back, making you feel as if a literal inferno was burning it. He slowly started to pull back, only to shove himself in you again, starting a slow but intense back and forth.

"God, damn it... 'Feel so good girl..." He mumbled against your skin, his arms encircling you from both sides, caging you under his tall figure.

You sighed at his praise, wanting to answer something to compliment him back, but he snapped his hips just at the same time, making you shut your eyes close, and moan louder than before. Your voice was starting to crack under the amount of pleasure he was bringing to you, hard shaft brushing this deep spot within your core every time his hips moved, hitting just right where you needed him to.

He had noticed, and it was only making him lose his mind even more, unable to keep his pace slow, letting his body unleashed. He had waited this whole night to bury himself in you, listened to this moron calling you names without having the right to punch his goddamn idiotic face. He couldn't hold anything back anymore.

He started thrusting more frantically, pistoning his cock in and out of you so fast and hard he was now fucking you onto the bed. His right hand grabbed a fistful of your ass, the feeling of it colliding with his pelvis with every thrust making him insane, the other one next to your left shoulder, preventing him from crushing you completely.

You could feel it, the familiar feeling, the divine relief, building more and more thanks to him, the pace increasing your pleasure. Feeling how impossibly hard his sex had gotten in your cunt, you knew he was close too. This simple fact was the last push to your deliverance.

"A-Arthur! God, yes!" You screamed, unable to form any coherent thoughts, existing simply for this, for this moment with him, naked on the bed of this saloon. Just you and him.

"Oh, darlin’, shit!" Your orgasm had made your walls clench even more around his dick, exploding his limit. He quickly removed himself from you, and finished at the last second on your back, his burning release painting your skin in flaming spurts. His very own sinful art piece.

The room felt silent again. The air stifling from your lovemaking, the only sounds being heard were your sharp, quickened breaths. Arthur took a few seconds to collect himself, feeling better and so satisfied, almost euphoric. Turning your head to the side, you took a glimpse of your lover's gorgeous state. Hair messy, cheeks and ears crimson, sweat dripping everywhere on his skin, chest rising and falling in big, profound exhales.

He then grabbed a piece of fabric from one of the wardrobes to gently wipe off his seed from you, and tossed it away, wanting nothing more but to rest against you now. A perfect contrast, from an agitated, stormy sea to a quiet, secret cove. As if you were the only one who could see him like this, vulnerable, loving even.

You watched him lay by your side on his back, your head still feeling dizzy, slowly coming back from a world of fantasies. You snuggled against him, resting your head on his chest, and he wrapped his arms around you, feeling spent but so, so happy. And you felt the same.

Tonight had been quite something, and despite having won a few thousand dollars, it was definitely not money that was making Arthur feel like he had hit the jackpot.

[cheriiyaya]

I BLOW OUT THE CANDLES, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME ༊࿐๋࣭⛧

FEATURING: D.OSAMU + FEM!READER

you get a call from dazai in the middle of the day, and now you're worried sick

CW: dazai's a lil shit, fluff, fake illness, kissing, no actual warnings

A/N: IM FREE FROM SCHOOL FINALLY im so sad i couldnt get this out on time but happy bday to my baby boy <3 (idk how i feel abt this-)

you were called out of work out of the blue when dazai called, complaining about something you couldn't quite understand because he sounded so desperate. usually you'd brush it off, telling him he had to stay at work only for him to respond with a string of complaints in that whiney voice dazai uses when he's trying to get you to do something before hanging up on him.

but this time, it felt different; there was something wrong. he wasn't acting normal that morning, dazai hates going to work but even this time there was something up that now thinking back on it, worried you.

you pulled up outside of the agency, worry gnawing at your heart only to feel it drop when you watched as dazai slowly trudged out of cafe uzumaki, looking confused and delirious and you quickly tried to remember if he had any missions that day he could've potentially gotten hurt on and oh god, did he look terrible. dazai slid into the passenger seat of your car, face pale and his dark circles even more prominent as he settled into the cushioned seat, thick lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he closed his eyes.'

"osamu? are you okay?" you swallowed thickly, reaching out to gently nudge his shoulder. dazai simply let out a low whine, curling up against the seat in a way that was reminiscent of a pitiful animal left out in the rain too long.

"wanna go home..." dazai mumbled and it made your heart ache to see him that way as you slowly started up the car and began to drive back home.

the pity didn't last long.

you practically carried dazai up the stairs to your apartment, arms around his lanky frame as you tried to stabilize him until you got to your door. when you opened it, dazai quickly picked himself up, tearing away from you and casually strolling into the apartment, humming a tune like he wasn't dying a few moments ago.

you blinked, eyes widening in confusion. "w-what?! osamu...?!" you sputtered, gaping at him and when he turned around and threw you a cheeky smile oh, you knew instantly what he did.

"dazai...what the hell?!" you scoffed at him, letting out a strangled noise as he rushed towards you and picked you up in his arms, spinning you around gleefully as you screeched at him.

"whaaaaat? don't say you're not happy to see me bella'!!" dazai giggled, pressing kiss after kiss across your face as he settled you down on a couch. you batted him away, ignoring the pout on his face and the way his brown eyes widened up at you.

you shoved him lightly, scoffing. "I can't believe you!! you had me worried sick!" dazai only whined, kneeling in front of you and planting his chin on your knee as his fluttered his eyes at you pitifully.

"but didn't you miss meeee? i was practically doing you a favour!!" he huffed and pouted childishly and you groaned loudly. "besides, do you know what day it is?" you blinked at him, nose crinkled in confusion.

"what? no I don't, it's just some random day of the week-"

"it's my birthday!" he screeched, jumping up at you and wrapping his arms around you before you could react. "how cruel! you don't even know your own lover's birthday!"

he tightened his grip around you and you could only let out a strangled noise of confusion, pulling away to look at his face. "i didn't know, i'm sorry, okay? but you-" you huffed, poking the tip of his nose, "-you never tell me these things!"

dazai rolled his eyes. "well, it's called 'lover's intuition', darling."

"that's not a real thing"

"is too!! search it up it's reaaaallllllll!!!" dazai whined when you pulled away from him, letting out a dramatic ''nooooo!" as you wrangled out of his grasp.

"i dont think it's real, I highly doubt it is. but..." you hummed as you cupped his face in your hands. you slowly traced his features under your thumb, watching as those big eyes of his blew out in adoration, a gentle hum escaping his lips as he nuzzled against your touch.

you leaned down and tilted his face up, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"happy birthday, osamu."

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED !!

©Cheriiyaya 2024

[atzaurora]

스트레스-𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

s𝗍rᥱss rᥱᥣᥱᥲsᥱ

𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓: ot8

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: fem!idol!reader x ot8!idol!ateez

𝒕𝒚𝒑𝒆: imagine (smut/suggestive)

𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑: dating !!poly!relationship!!

.ᐟ.ᐟ𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔.ᐟ.ᐟ: 18+/smut/suggestive content, MDNI!!! poly!relationship, gang bang, small mommy kink

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Y/n is a little stressed with all the comeback schedules so her boyfriends make sure she can 'relax' for a little while.

𝒘/𝒄: 1.730

𝒂/𝒏: because the last ot8 fic was very well received here's another one! please leave feedback or requests!!

here's my 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕!

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Ateez's new album was out and being promoted like crazy. Performance here, content there, a lot to do at this time. You were quite stressed and came home late every day, having to work a lot at the company. Your boyfriends started to notice how you were exhausted and on low energy the whole time.

"자기 (baby), are you home already?" San's voice echoed through the house when you closed the door behind you. "Yes! I'm here!" you replied instantly, setting down your bag and putting your shoes away.

San came to the front door, hugging you tightly, nuzzling his face in your neck. "How are you, love?" he mumbles, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

"I'm good, I didn't have as much to do today as the past few days." you smile, walking into the kitchen, behind the counter to make yourself some dinner. "did you guys eat already?" San nods his head, leaning on the opposite side of the counter, watching you. "Woo made some food, wasn't as good as yours, but eatable." San laughs.

You chuckle "good. my babies need to eat a lot with all of the work for the comeback." San gets up, walking around the counter on your side. For a few minutes he just stands behind you, watching you making some food for yourself. Then you feel two big, strong arms wrap around your waist, soft lips caressing your neck softly. You let out a small gasp as soon as you feel his body against your own. "you know..." San begins, mumbling the words into your neck "We could help you release a little of the stress"

You feel a smirk creep onto your face, knowing exactly what he was referring to. You nod "Oh, I'm sure you have your ways." He chuckles, spinning you around by your waist. Once you're facing him, he presses your body against the kitchen counter. He grabs your thighs, easily picking you up, your legs immediately wrapping around his waist. He walks over to his bedroom, stopping shortly next to the living room and letting a "guys, we gotta help our girl out a little" echo through the room.

He softly lays you down on the bed, not backing away an inch, staying right above you, peppering your face with kisses. It doesn't take long till everyone is gathered in San's room, sitting down beside the two of you. "Aw, our little kitten needs us, I see.." Seonghwa whispers teasingly, stroking over your stomach down to your thighs. You close your eyes, a desperate look covering your face, desire filling you up already at his touch. Yunho laughs a little when he sees the look already on your face, tho they haven't even started yet.

"San, do us the favour." Jongho cocks his head at San, motioning him to undress you. San understands him immediately, taking off your pants quite fast. You knew he wanted this as much as you did right now. "Sweetheart, relax. We'll make you feel good, alright?" Yeosang whispered into your ear, pressing a few kisses to your cheek, his fingers gazing over your hand reassuringly.

You lay sprawled on the bed, your body trembling with excitement, as the eight handsome faces surround you like a living, breathing bouquet of desire. They all look so eager, so hungry for you, and your heart swells with love and lust as they each claim a piece of your soul with their eyes.

San starts by peeling off your shirt, revealing the lacy black bra that's been hidden beneath your work clothes all day. The others watch intently, licking their lips as they wait for their turn. "Mommy, you're so beautiful," Jongho murmurs, his voice a warm caress against your skin as he leans in to kiss your collarbone. The pet name sends a jolt of electricity down your spine, making your nipples pebble under the fabric. He wasn't the most noticeable during a group 'session' but the nicknames he spat out once in a while, always had you weak.

Seonghwa wastes no time in unclipping your bra, the fabric falling away to expose your breasts to their eager eyes. He cups one gently, his thumb flicking over the sensitive peak. "Look at these pretty things," he whispers, his voice hoarse with desire. "They're all ours tonight." His words are met with a chorus of approving murmurs, and your body responds eagerly, arching into his touch. You wanted him, so badly, him, everyone, inside you, deep.

Yeosang slides down the bed, planting soft kisses along your stomach, his hands skimming over your thighs. "You're so responsive," he praises, his eyes shining with admiration. His mouth reaches your panties, and with a gentle tug, he exposes your wetness to the cool air. The scent of your arousal fills the room, and the tension ratchets up another notch. You can feel a strong sigh leave his mouth, the air hitting your wet folds, making your eyes roll back once more. You squeeze Seonghwa's arm, you were still holding onto somehow.

Wooyoung sidles up next to you, his hand sneaking around to grip your hip. "Let us love you, mommy, make you feel just right," he says, his voice a seductive purr. He leans in to claim your mouth in a deep, passionate kiss, his tongue dancing with yours as you moan into his mouth. His teeth graze your bottom lip, a brand of possession that makes you squirm with pleasure. He moves his lips away from your mouth, onto your neck, sucking, biting, licking. Your head starts to fill with fog, your mind going completely blank as his lips are on your skin. Your hands reach behind his head, tugging on his hair, your nails leaving a few marks on his back as well. "gorgeous." he breathes out, catching his breath again after he was satisfied with the red and purple mark he had left on you.

Yeosang's mouth descends on your clit, bringing you back to reality, only now making you realize his face was stuffed between your thighs already, your body bucks upwards, and you can't help but let out a loud moan. The vibrations of your voice seem to resonate through the room, spurring the others into action. Mingi takes your left nipple into his mouth, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, while Hongjoong kisses his way down your right arm, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses along the way. "Oh~ captain—" you groan, his kisses on your skin made you feel some type of way only he could. "You like this princess?" he asks sloppy, his open-mouthed kisses making a trail of salvia hang out of his mouth. He looked incredibly good, almost too good to handle, especially with the others pleasing you at the same time. All you could do was nod in response. "Good girl" he grins, getting back to his kisses.

The bed shifts as the others move into place, eager to worship your body. Yunho slides two of his long and slim fingers inside you, curling it just right to make your eyes roll back. "So wet for us," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. You whimper, your legs spreading wider to accommodate him. He pumps his fingers in and out. Yeosang's tongue never leaving your cunt, working its magic as well. The pleasure of Yunho's amazing fingers all stuffed in you and Yeosang's tip of his tongue flicking over your folds was enough to make you cum already after a few minutes. "Well done, love" Mingi praises you, kissing your forehead, while Yunho's fingers slip outside of your hole, leaving an empty feeling and Yeosang licking you clean.

The empty feeling doesn't last long tho. As you look around you see all of your boyfriends were already halfway undressed, except for Seonghwa. His erection was already clearly standing up straight to his stomach. He lifts your body a little, shifting under you, to slide in from there. The sensation of fullness starts to build as Seonghwa presses into you from behind, his thick cock filling you up as Jongho decides to massage your breasts once more. Meanwhile, Mingi watches with a hungry gaze, stroking himself in time with Seonghwa's thrusts. You can feel the weight of his stare, adding to the intensity of the moment. "fuck, you're so beautiful." He groans next to you, his hands moving faster up and down his cock, chasing his own high while he watches you get fucked by Seonghwa.

Hongjoong kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of hickeys next to the ones Wooyoung already made as he goes, while Jongho and Wooyoung play with your breasts, their hands teasing and pinching until you're panting with need. You don't even know what to focus on at this point. Exposed chest here, dick there, and not to forget their pretty faces and loving gazes all over you. Now, San, not to be outdone, kisses along your inner thigh, his tongue tracing patterns that make your skin tingle. You let out a loud whimper, your body feels like it's on fire, the sensations overwhelming in the best possible way. You're not sure how much more you can take, but somehow, you know they'll never let you break. They're with you, inside you, all of them, in a symphony of love and lust that resonates through every fiber of your being.

They praise you, whisper sweet nothings, and call you their queen, their goddess, their mommy. You don't last long anymore with Seonghwa deeply buried inside of you, the others sucking on your skin, pleasing you, pleasing themselves. You sense a big wave of pleasure wash over you, emptying yourself onto his dick. Not long after feeling his load shoot inside you as well. He is panting heavily underneath you. Your breathing matches his and your bodies rise and fall at the same time, your fingers grasping the sheets tightly.

"you were amazing, kitty." he pants, slowly slipping out of you, making you whimper. You turn your head towards Mingi when you hear a loud groan escaping his mouth. The cause being his own hands, which helped him reach his climax all while watching you. Jongho releases his mouth from your breast, leaving a few soft kisses along your face. "feeling better now?" he asks. "Definitely" you respond, still a little out of breath.

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[coff33andb00ks]

lando + 13. that’s it. thx <3

I received the same request twice omg so this is for both of you <3 13: linking hands together during sex (warning: smut)

driver + number = drabble/short fic <3

Having sex with Lando is a wild card. You never know what, exactly, to expect, though you did have indicators. If it's morning after waking up it'll be slow and sweet. If you're at a race weekend with him and he grabs your hand to pull you into his driver's room it's going to be hard and fast, a desperate quickie that you always pray no one will overhear. Hotel rooms usually signify a wild marathon with breaks for snacks and naps, because gods forbid he go without trying to get a noise complaint.

At home, though, it's always a mix of all of them. Sweet and slow, wild and hard, a marathon or a sprint. Either or, you love them all.

Tonight, though, is different. He'd taken you out to dinner, had flowers delivered, had ordered a ride instead of just driving himself, had spent way too much money on champagne at the restaurant. He doesn't go all out often, but when he does, it's for you.

For a horrific moment you think he's going down on his knee to propose, and wonder why you aren't relieved that he doesn't, holding onto his shoulder while he unfastens the strap of your high heel and slides it off your foot. He removes your other shoe, hands sliding up your legs as he gives you the look that had made you say yes the first time he asked you out.

"Are we celebrating something?" you ask, worried you've forgotten. Contrary to what you would have thought, Lando remembers the dates of random firsts in your relationship. First meeting, first date, first sex, first fight, first trip together, first meal cooked together, first night you stayed over. It's cute and endearing and also a little scary because you can only remember the major firsts.

"Just us," he promises, slowly rising to his feet.

You melt, because of course you do, wrapping your arms around him when he grabs your hips and pulls you to him. And you wish you could shout from the rooftops how much you love him, how he truly is the most romantic man when he doesn't need to be. He kisses you, champagne and chocolate, and before your love-fogged brain can catch up you're in bed, his head between your thighs, gripping the sheets while you call out his name.

It's still different, but the same. His little whining gasp and the pause after he enters you. The breathless whisper of your name just before his hips begin to roll. The fullness, the incandescent glow of loving and being loved in his eyes. You hold your breath, waiting for him to switch to the desperate fucking, but he doesn't. He stays slow, eyes locked with yours, hands everywhere from your ankles to your chest to your throat. He leans down for a kiss and you finally breathe.

You're clutching the sheets, the slow passion driving you crazier than any intense quickie ever will, body arching beneath his fingertips, gasping and crying out as his hands sweep up your sides. He whispers gentle words, talking you through it as only he has ever been able to do, his breath hot against your ear while his palms stroke down your arms. His fingers gently pry yours from the sheet and you gasp his name, hands tangling with his when he stretches them above your head.

"Let it out, baby, no one will hear," he whispers, squeezing your hands when you start to tremble. "It's just us…"

[cupidsworstcrime]

spencer reid being a silly bottom? fem!reader please

oh fuck !! lets go !!! - 911 words

----

You had been looking forward to tonight all week. After a particularly grueling case, you and Spencer had decided to take a well-deserved break, spending the evening together at your apartment. As you finished setting up the mood with dim lights and soft music, you heard the front door open.

“I’m home!” Spencer called out, his voice already bringing a smile to your face.

“In the bedroom!” you replied, anticipation clear in your tone.

Spencer entered the room, his eyes widening slightly at the sight before him. You were dressed in a silk robe, the soft fabric clinging to your curves in a way that made his breath catch. You could see the way his gaze darkened with desire, his usual composed demeanor slipping. Just a bit.

“Wow, you look... amazing,” he said, his voice soft.

You smirked, closing the distance between you and him. “Thank you, Spencer. Tonight, I’m in charge. Do you understand?”

A shiver ran through him as he nodded. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Good,” you purred, taking his hand and leading him to the bed. “Sit down.”

Spencer complied, sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. You stood in front of him, gently running your fingers through his hair, then tilting his head back to look up at you.

“Such a good boy,” you praised, watching as his eyes fluttered closed for a moment, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

You leaned in, your breath hot against his ear as you whispered, “Tonight, you do exactly as I say. No arguments. Understood?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he breathed, his voice trembling with anticipation.

You pulled back, satisfied with his response. “Good. Now, undress for me.”

Spencer’s hands moved to his shirt, unbuttoning it slowly, his fingers trembling slightly. You watched, enjoying the sight of him slowly revealing more of his skin. Once he was down to his boxers, you placed a hand on his chest, pushing him gently back onto the bed.

“Stay,” you commanded, your voice firm.

He lay back, looking up at you with a mix of submission and excitement in his eyes. You climbed onto the bed, straddling his hips, your robe parting slightly to reveal more of your skin. Spencer’s hands twitched, as if he wanted to touch you, but you gave him a stern look.

“Hands above your head,” you instructed.

He obeyed immediately, placing his hands above his head, gripping the headboard lightly. You leaned down, your lips ghosting over his, but not quite touching.

“Do you want me, Spencer?” you whispered.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”

“Good boy,” you praised again, before capturing his lips in a heated kiss. His response was immediate, his lips parting for you, a soft moan escaping as you deepened the kiss.

Your hands roamed over his chest, teasing and exploring, while Spencer remained obediently still, his hands gripping the headboard tighter as he tried to control himself. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding back, and it thrilled you.

Breaking the kiss, you moved your lips to his neck, nibbling and sucking on the sensitive skin there. Spencer’s breath hitched, and you could feel his growing cock pressing against you. You smirked against his skin, knowing just how much he was enjoying this.

“Remember, you’re not allowed to touch,” you reminded him, your voice firm but laced with teasing.

“Yes, ma'am,” he panted, his eyes half-closed in pleasure.

You continued to tease him, your hands and lips exploring his body, bringing him to the edge but never quite letting him fall over. Spencer’s breaths were coming faster, his body trembling with the effort to stay still and obedient.

Finally, you pulled back, looking down at him with a satisfied smile. “You’ve been such a good boy for me, Spencer. Do you want your reward?”

“Please, ma'am,” he begged, his voice desperate and needy.

“Alright,” you said, moving to finally give him what he craved. “You’ve earned it.”

Spencer always loved this more than anything, but you never complained. Your knees pressed into the mattress on either side of his head. "You can touch."

He didn't wait a second after hearing that, one hand gripped your hip, pulling you down harshly, the other gripped your ass. His tongue met your slit, a loud groan vibrating against your pussy.

He was always so messy when he ate you out. Desperate, needy, downright fucking filthy. He slurped at your stupidly drooly cunt. He moaned as he sucked your clit.

You just tasted so good. As he focused his mouth on your messy clit, he slipped a finger into your pussy, curling against your gummy walls.

You were panting now, moans and whines leaking from your mouth like an explicit radio. "Good boy," you whined, grinding against his eager mouth.

He moaned in response against your weeping cunt, two fingers now pumping in and out of you.

A familiar tight heat knotted itself at your core, "Oh God..." you thought you whispered it, but when you felt strange puffs of air against your cunt, you knew he was laughing at you.

Part you were tempted to stop it, punish him for laughing you. But his fingers curled just right, his tongue pressed against your clit. Your hands slammed against the wall as you buckled forward, a moan ripping from your throat.

He continued to lap at your stupid, overstimulated pussy until you lift off of him.

[ellaa-writes]

18+,creepy stalking König (part 1)

You and a few friends decided to spend a couple nights out camping in the Austrian wilderness. Just you, gods creatures and the mountains surrounding you, that's just what you needed after cramming for finals and hoping you passed. Something to take your mind off of the horrors of your world.

You decided to take the train in, boarding in your city with your friends. Only packing the essentials for the next few nights, anything else you might need you can buy in one of the many small villages on the way to your campsite. You sat in the passenger section of the train, your friend who's dad had more money than he can count, helped pay for a cabin for the three of you. Your other two friends decided to turn in for the night, which left you roaming around till you became too tired.

It was inching closer too night fall, the train had one last stop before going through the mountains, a full 5 hours until it reached the station you and your friends needed to get off to. The train came to a screeching stop and a few moments later the doors opened, letting some of the cold night air creep in towards you. You looked out the large tinted window, on the other side of the tracks was a beautiful open field and at the end was the beginning of a thick forest. The beep of the doors starting to close brought you out of your daydream and into reality, looking around to find most of the cabin empty. But one passenger stood out to you, he must have boarded while you were looking out the window.

He was big, taking up two full seats, his head and shoulders towering over the head rest. He had his thighs spread out, legs stretched across the walk way. He had a medical mask on the lower half of his face and black ball cap over his shaggy mousy brown hair. At his feet laid a dog, even his dog was big like him. Pure white, not a speck on him, well taken care of you thought. You gathered your belongings in a hurry, but realized you'd have to pass the man to get your cabin. His dog didn't move as yous stepped closer, but the man's head snapped up. His eyes narrowing at you as you approached, at the last second he pulled his feet back to let you cross. Having to turn your body to fit through the tight space, your ass facing towards him as you stepped by. Making sure you didn't step on him or his dog, you swore you heard him inhale deeply but you didnt stay around long to find out. Booking down the halls towards your cabin, shuffling in and locking it closed behind you. It didn't take you long to settle in for the night, only a few hours and you'd be up again.

Konig was on his way back home, having spent a few weeks traveling around with his presious boy Tidus. Nearly missing the last train of the night, he crammed himself on the passenger train before the door closed on him. Leading Tidus down the aisles before taking up position in the far back, right before the halls towards the private cabins.

He noticed the small thing in the middle, passing by her on his way to his seat. Getting Tidus to settle down for the night was easy, the Beast was well trained and loyal, you could say the same for him but he wasn't so well behaved. He had to stifle back a mocking laugh as she shyly walked passed him, he barely gave her enough room, resulting her to having to stick her ass out, almost in his face. She smelt like heaven, forbidden, like a poison apple he so desperately wanted to bite. He waited a minute before he followed the path she went down, Tidus stayed in his spot. Not evening moving an inch as his owner began stalking his prey.

He watched the poor thing enter a larger cabin towards the back of the train, waiting once again till he saw the lights turn out before he slowly walked up to the door. Pressing his ear to door of the cabin, he heard a few different breathing patterns. This will be fun, he thought. He returned to were he came from, allowing himself a small slice of rest before the train pulled into his hometown.

[ninibeingdelulu]

I would choose you ✧

Plot: An argument that lead to a confession…

A/N: my page is slowly becoming a kaiser fanpage.. anyway this was inspired by a tt I can’t remember which one . And i already wrote something similar but i like this one more >.<

This crazy career ate Michael alive in the best ways possible - pushing every fiber of his being towards perfecting the most elite striking prowess on the planet.

But it also slowly consumed his life in the most detrimental sense, steadily eclipsing every scrap of personal existence beyond the pitch.

Sure, he still adored you with every stuttering thrum of his barbaric heart - it was just...harder showing that more and more.

With each fresh trophy or medal weighing heavier on his record, Michael's obsessive drive only intensified tenfold.

You always insisted his lifelong quest for soccer immortality didn't bother you. Dismissed his latest nighttime disappearances or missed dinner reservations with soft smiles and reassurances of "I understand, baby...soccer's your whole world. Just don't stay out too late, okay?"

Michael's rare opportunities indulging your minimal demands only stoked deeper cravings for more scraps of his coveted time and devotion.

And as the months whittled on, those golden breadcrumbs grew achingly few and far between.

This morning marked just the latest in an endless spree of abrupt departures and cold, dismissive justifications before the dawn's rosy glow even peeked over the nightscape.

Another endless regiment of grueling practice circuits and tactical review sessions until the darkest hours, rinse, repeat.

Just once, maybe you wished he'd burst through that damn bedroom threshold with feverish grins and wandering caresses only you basked in anymore.

Not merely grunting about today's schedule before collapsing into dead slumber.

So when Michael's phone began buzzing with a reminder for yet another media engagement, the brimming resentment finally bubbled over in a desperate, pleading outburst.

You huddled forward on the mattress' edge, arms folded protectively as he paced about tossing various garments haphazardly over his glorious form.

"Michael?" you managed in a tiny whimper finally piercing his distant demeanor. "Don't you...don't you still love me anymore? At all?"

Those gunmetal depths whipped back in your direction, suddenly searing with stunned incredulity.

Like you'd just slapped the daylights out of him.

"What the fuck, y/n ?" he managed roughly past the tightness throttling his throat. "Where's all this coming from all of a su-"

But trailing off right there as Michael drank in the hurt streaking down your blotchy, flushed cheeks.

The wounded, exhausted droop of your slender shoulders that screamed out 'you did this.'

He'd stripped you raw of every defensive barrier until only bottomless vulnerability remained.

And for what? Some meaningless athletic trifle against his monumental purpose - which somehow, without realizing, had succeeded in reducing the purest light in his life to this?

A shuddering gasp punched through Michael's marbled defenses. And somehow, your normally towering, indominable warrior of a partner immediately crumpled forward - knees splintering against the hardwood at your feet.

"Oh, Schatz..." he rasped in that rich, chocolatey tenor laced thick with reverence.

Face tilting upwards to openly worship you before burying into your lap, that familiar musk and body heat engulfing you in its comforting inferno.

Michael's broad, calloused hands clutched your thighs in an iron vice - anchoring your delicate forms together like you'd float away at any second otherwise.

Only once fully burrowed into your shielding caress did the tumbling regret finally spill out of him, unleashing in a trembling sigh of his native German.

"Und ich würde dich wählen."His slurred murmur sent tingles shivering down your veins.

"in hundert leben..." Smoky azure embers scalded upwards into your watery gaze, lapping your contours in a fresh wave of ardor.

"in hundert welten..." His massive palms slid up and down those supple thighs in tremoring repetitions, reawakening old familiar sensations.

"in jeder Version der Realität..." Michael buried that sharp Germanic jawline into your lower abdomen, nipping with fervent passion melting your flesh like scorching lava.

"ich würde dich finden.” He hoisted your negligible weight up, coiling you closer into a delicious tangle of searing limbs and torrid heat.

By now, you understood each throaty sigh - fluently committing his fevered pledge to memory through the blurring film of fresh, joyful tears.

That declaration of cherishing you beyond mortal constraints of this lifetime, continually seeking each other through every conceivable iteration of this universe...

"Und ich würde dich wählen."

His voice finally cracked through a muffled, wounded whimper in between pressing eternal vows into your exposed flesh until you gasped.

Peering up in total subjugation through smoldering gunmetal orbs leaving your own ablaze.

No longer needing any translation of the vows searing divinely into your soul.

You cupped his cheeks, swooping down to rest your brows together in a consuming clash of molten breath and fevered affirmations.

"Never again, Michael..." you murmured into the smothering exchange of cloying oxygen and tears streaking both your cheeks. "Never shut me out like this ever again...just promise me th-"

But your quavering plea evaporated into his searing mouth before finishing. Michael clutched your yielding form tighter with each ravenous inhale, stealing your breath over and over until you teetered on the precipice of losing control entirely.

Nodding, panting, practically drowning in your divine essence - Michael sealed every facet of his being in your possession anew.

Eternally yours, mind, body, and spirit - until those final tremors consumed you both fully once more.

[princessbrunette]

au catalogue ♡

it has come to my attention that i write a lot on this blog, so sometimes the explanation of the lore behind one of my au’s gets a little lost. in this catalogue, i will detail the basic backstory behind each of my universes.

JOHN B ROUTLEDGE

♡ outlaw!john b:

the two of you met on your land when he’d snuck into your barn to rest after being on the run from the sheriff — being falsely accused of a crime. you allow him to stay, and in return he becomes a part time farmhand and full time boyfriend. overtime, you fall in love. the events of this au are told through my full length fic; hold me kiss me.

♡ dad!john b:

you accidentally fall pregnant with john b due to your shared breeding kink. you end up with one boy one girl!

♡ dbf!john b:

self explanatory. your dads best friend who’s a little younger than your dad — having met down at the local grill. your father trusts him a lot as he is known for his sweet and patient nature, but can’t help but notice you — the desperate and lustful daughter who can’t keep your paws off. he’s constantly scolding you for teasing him and shaking his head at you, but will still pay you a visit when he knows your dads not home.

♡ stepbro!john b

when your mother met big john routledge, she fell in love and decided to leave her world behind to pursue treasure hunting with her new partner in crime— thus dumping you on the chateau doorstep with nothing more than a few suitcases. feeling bad for you, john b tries to take on the big brother role — but a year and a half later the two of you are finding it hard to resist eachother. you are constantly throwing yourself at him, the two of you physically closer than one can imagine which people find odd. he resists you for a long time, but when jj tells john b that he’d be happy to step up and ‘look after you’, your step brother makes a move.

♡ apocalypse!john b

once a leader, always a leader — john b is in charge of patrols, heading outside the gates of your safe zone kitty hawk to find supplies and clear the area of the undead. after the tragic death of sarah cameron, john b is 10x more protective and serious, not allowing you to ever come with them on supply runs. he can always rely on the doting camp-nurse to fuss over him and make him feel better after a long gruelling day beyond the gates. the details to the apocalypse!au can be found here.

♡ toxicex!john b

after the two of you broke up due to you feeling neglected by the boy because of his love for treasure hunting with his friends, you can’t help but want to be around him. as detailed in this post, john b will always be there for you — even if he’s snarky and rude in the process.

♡ firefighter!john b

john b and his best friend jj maybank have joined the firefighting department. excited to save pretty women from buildings and claim their hero titles, they’re disgruntled to find they have been lumped with the ‘newbie’ jobs for a while — meaning they must drive around on patrol for potential fire hazards all day and save cats from trees. as they work their way slowly up the firefighter ladder, they find themselves short for money and looking for a roommate — who ends up being the sunshiney receptionist in their building who sees them as the heroes they are. after spending a lot of time together, john b and jj realise that they’re happy to share more than just their love for firefighting.

♡ jedi!john b

the jedi was seemingly of the purest heart. known for his defensive fighting style (much like obi wan kenobi) john b has always wanted to do the right thing and abide by jedi council rules. when the jedi was a young boy, his father the jedi master disappeared without a trace or even a goodbye. believing he had died in battle all these years, john b went about his life with only the tales of how great his father was. entering his early twenties, he feels in the force that his father is still alive out there — and sets off to find him. during his travels he meets you, damsel in distress in the shape of a naboo princess. more details to the star wars au can be found here.

JJ MAYBANK

♡ outlaw!jj

jj the outlaw is a regular at the saloon you work at, always having been a bit of a brute. he’s constantly on the run from the sheriffs and getting thrown into a cell after minor misconducts and bar fights. he’s always checking out your ass as you bring him his whiskey and will always make some kind of comment regarding whether or not you’d like to wear his hat and ride a cowboy. where this would make you turn your nose up at anyone else, you can’t help but feel special gaining his attention being such a well known outlaw from out of town. sometimes after your shifts you get cozy in a booth with him and he tells you wild, exaggerated tales of his crazy life.

♡ farmhand!jj

the slutty farmhand hired by your father to work on the barn, but spends a lot of his time working on you instead. the two of you are a total secret, loving the thrill of sneaking around — but the boy hopes to marry you one day.

♡ linecook!jj

the story told in this full length fic details how you met jj, the linecook at the restaurant you waitress for. this au is acclaimed to be one of the most husband-material jj’s — many discussions having followed regarding him knocking you up and making you food whenever you please. this au is also considered a classic on this blog as it were one of the first au’s i developed.

♡ campcounselor!jj

you’re the daughter of the campsite owners, the spoiled princess who gets everything she wants and everybody loves her. jj is the class-clown camp counselor hired for the summer because he struggled to find a job. overtime he realises how great he is with the kids, and you realise how badly you wanna fuck him. each night isn’t complete without you inviting the blonde back to your luxury cabin in the woods to sate your needs. he can’t believe his luck but doesn’t dare question it. overtime, the two of you realise you’re starting to fall for eachother.

♡ mascot!jj

in this au, jj heads to university. there he meets you, the pretty and shy cheerleader. taking the job as the school’s mascot, running around in a giant animal costume to hype up the crowd — he realises it’s his chance to get close to you. though all the girls on the team seemingly adore jj due to his smooth, funny and slick mouth — he fears he will always be seen as the sweaty, class clown mascot guy after every game. noticing the star football player rafe has taken an interest in you, he decides to step it up.

♡ bbf!jj

you can’t resist your older brothers best friend, jj maybank. he’s always at your house, playing on the playstation with your sibling downstairs, wandering the halls, or ‘accidentally’ walking into the bathroom whilst you’re showering. though you know it’s wrong, you can’t keep your hands off eachother.

♡ bsf!jj

jj maybank has been your best friend since you were young. the two of you knew everything about eachother, so it should feel like a sibling relationship right? wrong. the two of you have always been very hands on, flirty almost. whether you’re sitting on his lap at a party or curling up next to him in your bed — people can never quite tell if the two of you are a thing. the two of you struggle to distinguish this too, as your urges grow stronger you test the waters, beginning to perform ‘favours’ for eachother. what begins as jj massaging your sore tits late at night when you can’t sleep, becomes you ‘returning the favour’ and giving him head when he asks for it, which then becomes him fingering you in his lap when you’re needy. the lines are blurred, and you try to tell yourself you’re still best friends — scared of ruining things, but will rip away anyone of the opposite gender in a jealous rage.

♡ dealer!jj

jj is your favourite dealer in town. you’re always visiting him to buy your weed, and he always offers to smoke you out for a cheap price or even free. truthfully, he just enjoys the company in his little shack of a house, loving the way you get more touchy and needy the higher you get. the blonde ensures to feed you water to prevent cotton mouth, and even lets you lazily ride his thigh when you get inevitably horny!

♡ apocalypse!jj

never losing his sense of humour, jj is the master at making bombs from scratch and going out on patrols to ensure the safety of kitty hawk. his pretty nurse is always there to patch him up when he gets home. details to the apocalypse au can be found here.

♡ spiderman!jj

your best friend jj is the friendly neighbourhood spiderman… but you don’t know that. being his shy best friend studying to be a nurse, you’re open to your bestie about how much you lust towards the cities superhero, and jj tries his best to keep his mouth shut. inevitably, you figure things out — and then you become the nurse he visits in the middle of the night to get patched up after a particularly rough night. he constantly teases you about your crush on him and the tension only grows.

♡ piercer!jj

working along side tattooartist!pope, jj is the king of giving piercings. knowing him through mutual friends, your crush only grows when you visit him to get your nipples pierced and he totally talks you through it. after you start dating, you’re constantly hounding him about other girls getting their tits pierced by him so he’s gotta eat you out until you think reasonably.

♡ stepbro!jj

luke found the woman of his dreams and decided to finally get his shit together and try to be a better father. with luke’s new woman, comes you her daughter — the bunch of you living under one roof. luke spends a lot of his time in AA and working, and your mother works long shifts too — leaving the two of you alone. you’re as innocent as they come, but with that comes sexual curiosity — and who better to confide in about that than your big step bro? jj is happy to help, so long as you keep it hush.

♡ babydaddy!jj

after knocking you up, jj freaks out about becoming just like his father and leaves — before returning deep into your pregnancy to step it up and be there for you. it’s hard at first to put your pride aside, but you give him a chance after he begs you to let him back into your life. he keeps a respectful distance of course, but picks up extra shifts at work and is at your beck and call whenever you need him. once the baby is born, he’s spending even more time around you — showing up at your doorstep unannounced and finding excuses to come inside to spend time with his family. eventually, he weasels his way into your bed to look after you and help you unwind.

♡ toxic!jj

jj is your toxic boyfriend who lets his fears and insecurities get the best of him, resulting in him being a little mean and manipulative. talking to another guy at a party? he’s making a scene, beating the guy bloody before pulling you away to yell at you. not in the mood to be all over him? he’s accusing you of not wanting to be with him anymore, telling you that he ‘knows’ you’re going to dump him. despite the arguments, the night always ends in two ways — either him drunk, crying into your shoulder and begging you not to leave him — or having you pinned beneath him, fucking you dumb on his cock.

♡ toxicex!jj

the ex boyfriend that you’re still fucking and is obsessed with you. he’s constantly blowing up your phone everytime a guy likes your instagram, asking if you’re fucking him too, and scaring off any guy who dares make a move on you at a party by pulling out his pistol and threatening him.

♡ criminal!jj

jj maybank who got in with the wrong crowd and wound himself up in jail. you’re the sweet thing in little dresses that pouts in his visiting booth, asking when he’s getting out — and he promises you hundreds of dates when he’s released. upon finally getting out, the two of you can’t keep your hands off one another. he’s still shady, hanging out with the wrong kinds of people, and jail hardened him — but you love him all the same.

♡ shittysoundcloudrapper!jj

feeling inspired after one drunken freestyle night at the chateau, jj convinces himself he’s destined to become a rapper. writing, producing, and recording his own stuff — jj truly feels he has a knack for it. his stuff isn’t awful, just cheaply produced and vulgar. he likes to think his inspiration is partynextdoor — taking extra care in recruiting his pretty best friend to pose scantily clad for his single cover, or to moan on the backing track of his songs. he’s willing to do anything to get you on board.

♡ firefighter!jj

john b and his best friend jj maybank have joined the firefighting department. excited to save pretty women from buildings and claim their hero titles, they’re disgruntled to find they have been lumped with the ‘newbie’ jobs for a while — meaning they must drive around on patrol for potential fire hazards all day and save cats from trees. as they work their way slowly up the firefighter ladder, they find themselves short for money and looking for a roommate — who ends up being the sunshiney receptionist in their building who sees them as the heroes they are. after spending a lot of time together, john b and jj realise that they’re happy to share more than just their love for firefighting.

♡ streamer!jj

jj takes up streaming after combining his love for playing games and yapping. discovering he has a knack for it, he doesn’t expect to blow up the way he does. as much as he’s all about the games, he’s pretty oblivious to the fact his audience is mostly female, trying to gain his attention in the chat box or on his fan discord, or by making thirst trap edits of him to r&b tracks on tiktok, sexualising his body language or facial expressions on stream. he doesn’t pay it much mind though, happily in love with you — his supportive girlfriend who occasionally makes an appearance in his streams.

♡ onlyfans!jj

needing a bit of extra cash, jj starts to anonymously sell faceless videos of himself jerking off for money. not realising how successful he’d be, he continues to make videos pleasing himself on his account. after a couple of dates with jj, the two of you really clicking — he casually mentions that it’s something he does for a living, and you shyly suggest helping him out. at first it starts with helping him shoot, getting hot and flushed behind the camera as you pan down on him fisting at his cock — and eventually you decide to star in a few of his premium videos. depending on preference, streamer!jj can be the earlier version of onlyfans!jj if so desired.

♡ jedi!jj

more like anakin skywalker with his offensive fighting style — jj is the more reckless jedi of him and john b. when it’s discovered that bounty hunters are planning to take you, the princess of naboo — jj is hired as your knight to protect you. so nervous about the whole ordeal, you order him to sleep in your bed with you to make sure you’re safe through the night. with this, you can’t help but get physically closer to the jedi, pleading with him to break the council rules and be with you secretly. more details on the star wars au can be found here.

♡ bodyguard!jj

you’re the spoiled kook influencer who has recently gained some stalkers, and jj is the pogue bodyguard hired by your parents to protect you during this time as you continue to attend events to further your career. the lore behind the two of you can be found here.

RAFE CAMERON

♡ boxer!rafe

considered a classic on this blog, boxer!rafe is one of the most beloved au’s i created. a little bit into the future, rafe takes up boxing to work out his rage problems and finds it a great outlet, emotionally settling down and finally finding his own. he goes pro, and meets you — the daughter of the stadium owner at the venue he fights at. you’re sweet, always lingering round the gym or stadium watching him prepare for fights, hanging around the ropes to ask him questions and feed him water when he needs it. he’s obsessed with your soft nature, whisking you out of that place to provide for you, marry you, and fuck babies into you.

♡ bountyhunter!rafe

following the western au, your father winds himself up in some trouble with ward cameron — feared outlaw. for revenge, ward tasks his son, new to the job bounty hunter with kidnapping you to pay your father back for what he did. so rafe sets off, and with some struggle manages to take you away from everything you’ve ever known. he’s rough, mean and perverted — but somehow you find yourself developing stockholm syndrome and falling for him, not able to run away if you tried. think buffalo 66 vibes but western.

♡ prisoner!rafe

your boyfriend finally got locked up, so until he’s released — you do everything in your power to hold him down. dealing with his business outside the walls, you come to visit your man weekly, delivering sexy pictures of yourself to his post room to keep him satisfied and flashing him at the visiting booth. it’s getting harder and harder to be apart from him, especially when prison has physically done him so nicely.

♡ babydaddy!rafe

after breaking up with rafe because he’s too reckless and explosive, you discover that you’re pregnant with his baby. choosing to keep it, rafe decides he’s going to use this to get you to stay with him. he provides you with every penny needed to fund you and your babies life whilst on the side working to get his shit together and become the man he’s always wanted to be. once you’ve had your baby, he’s round for routine visits, occasionally fucking you and spending time with you when you’re tearful and lonely, needing him. convinced he can win you back with this, he’s constantly buying your love, and whisking you away to the bahamas to spend ‘quality family time’ and fuck you during the babies nap times.

♡ dealer!rafe

the grumpy kook is seemingly the life of the party due to his side hustle in dealing coke. working along side barry, rafe starts to pop up at every party you go to, holding lingering eye contact but keeping his distance because he probably shouldn’t bother the sweet innocent girl that stuck to two drinks a night. your friends are boisterous, walking all over you a little and send you to do their dirty work, being buying their coke for them. thinking you’re being a good friend, you seek out rafe and he fixes you up, all whilst telling you stop taking shit from your friends. he gives you discounts because you’re pretty, so your friends continue to send you back to him, where he sweeps you into his criminal lifestyle.

♡ stepbro!rafe

when ward cameron divorces rose and ends up with your mother, you move into tannyhill with your new stepsiblings. whilst you develop and great sister-like relationship with sarah and wheezie — rafe takes a different approach, his brain rotted by porn and makes it his mission to sleep with you. due to your innocent nature, you don’t realise what he’s doing half the time, and can’t deny how good it feels when he touches you. your secret sessions give you a rush, sat at the dinner table each night with no one knowing you just came on his dick upstairs.

♡ dbf!rafe

rafe becomes great friends with your father when they begin to work together, your father being rafe’s boss. he’s older, but still a little younger than your dad — and is careful with how much he pervs on you as he can’t afford to lose his job, being cut off by his own dad. you’re the spoiled kook ex cheerleader daughter who’s used to getting her way, and when you set your eyes on rafe you know you have to have him. constant teasing leads to rafe inevitably losing his temper and fucking you how you want under the condition you promise to keep it a secret.

♡ apocalypse!rafe

after ward cameron got killed in a shootout between them and the pogues to reclaim sarah, rafe is left to be the kingpin of his safe zone. he treats everyone there as his soldiers, ruthlessly commanding them to kill anyone who got in his way. on a hunt for revenge, rafe kidnaps you from kitty hawk camp where your safe zone is and forces you to be his apocalypse wife, telling you that the two of you will have to repopulate the world. more information on the apocalypse au can be found here.

♡ pervyneighbour!rafe

when you move in next door to tanny hill, ward cameron appoints rafe to be a good neighbour and show you around, being similar in age. he quickly discovers you’re rather innocent and decides he can take advantage of that, inviting you round to ‘get you acclimatised’ to the kook life — which means teaching you how to suck him off in his bedroom.

♡ fratboy!rafe

another fan favourite, fratboy rafe is the epitome of the american frat lord. parties, drugs, drinking, and skimming through his classes are what it’s all about. you’re in one of his lectures, quiet and shy at first — and he takes interest in you, getting his notes from the classes he missed from you as means to talk to you. he’s an odd one, rather rude and bully-like in nature, even towards you — but singles you out from everyone else to slide in compliments and check you out. you have a complicated relationship. you start to show up to parties, and he decides he’s gotta get his hands on you. fratboy!rafe is also gooner!rafe depending on preference.

♡ gooner!rafe

still a fratboy, however he spends more of his time in his dorm either watching porn or fucking yoi until you’re sore. stuffed in his closet are fleshlights and even sex torso dolls that he used before you came along to get himself off. when you come along, he treats you the same way he does his sex dolls — groping you constantly and demanding you to be at his beck and call, which you secretly don’t mind. he’s gross, willing to try out any position, fantasy or kink if he’s seen enough porn of it to convince him.

♡ pogue!rafe

a universe where rafe is a pogue, having left his family at a young age to be raised by the older fisherman pogues on the island. he’s 6ft5, mean, and hates everyone — slaving away day in day out at a building site or doing repairs for kooks much to his dismay. he still doesn’t get on with the core pogues, jj maybank in particular grinding his gears. you’re a kook, and rafe is hired by your parents to come and do the renovations on your house for a couple of weeks at a time — soon being trusted as their favourite handyman. he can’t stand kooks, but your parents pay well so he tolerates it. you’re not like the other kooks, sweet and humble — however you don’t know when to take a hint, constantly following him around begging him to hang out with you despite his constant dismissal. don’t get it twisted, he wants to fuck you until you cry — but is it worth getting involved with a kook? maybe you needed teaching a lesson or two in politeness.

♡ harryosbourne!rafe

a less popular au— rafe in the spiderman!jj universe, still rich and snobby, living in a high rise pent house with his father who happens to secretly be the green goblin.

♡ toxicex!rafe

incredibly self-explanatory, rafe your ex boyfriend who is toxic as all hell and won’t leave you alone. he stalks, shows up and beats up new guys you’re interested in, threatens people with guns just to prove to you he can protect you. you can’t help but go back to him and get your fix of dick from time to time.

♡ lord!rafe

this au is designed to be viewed in a creepy, a24 unsettling movie type of way. tannyhill becomes a haven for parties where all sorts of sexual, illegal, drug heavy activities go down. youre sweet and innocent, but get wrapped up into it — soon to be adopted by ‘rafes girls’, a group of women that parade around the home through the day wearing very little, pleasing rafe and his friends. he selects you to be his favourite like a little sacrifice and his women guide you through learning how to please him. more lore on this universe can be found here.

♡ sleepover!rafe

a less known au, but real ones remember this one! this au actually inspired lord!rafe, but it’s more casual and a lot more different. you and your friends often attend rafes parties, and after getting cozy with you — he ‘innocently’ invites you all to attend ‘sleepovers’ at his house. he spends the evening getting climbed all over by giggly girls, and wakes up in the morning to your friends touching all over him, easing you onto his lap and whispering for you to ask him to fuck you. your friends are weird voyeurs, but rafes even weirder.

♡ star wars au bountyhunter!rafe

in a galaxy far far away in the star wars universe, rafe cameron poses as a poster boy for ward cameron’s political party by day, and a bounty hunter by night. after stalking you around senate events, he woo’s the princess of naboo for a few evenings at a time — before later gearing up in his stolen mandalorian gear and kidnapping you for his father. will he keep you for himself? or cash in the bounty? more information on the star wars au can be found here.

♡ basketball!rafe

rich and famous basketball player rafe cameron spoiling his kook it-girl pinterest muse girlfriend and soon to be wife and mother of his children. the lore can be found here.

POPE HEYWARD

♡ kook!pope

probably the most beloved pope au on this blog! pope is a rich university student who is the smartest guy around. he’s invited to every party but still keeps his good morals and stays far away from rafe cameron if he can help it. when he meets you at a party, you stand out to him — and he decides he wants to take you in, tutor you and make you his.

♡ tattooartist!pope

working alongside piercer!jj, pope heyward is the best tattoo artist around. he has steady hands and a calm voice that could talk you through the pain (and other things). outside of work, he’s still kind of a nerd that rambles — just a nerd with sexy tats.

♡ drummer!pope

picture pope with a bandana tied round his head with the sleeves cut off his shirt, playing in a small town band with his friends. you have a little crush on him, and drag your friends to every single show to watch him until they force you to find him after a set and give him your number.

♡ dbf!pope

your dads slightly younger best friend who owns the grill now, still carrying that same soft spoken patience that makes him ever so trust worthy. so trustworthy that your father even convinces him to tutor his sweet college student daughter — unbeknownst to the fact she refuses to be tutored unless she’s sat on his lap, grinding on his dick.

♡ apocalypse!pope

pope works in the control room at kitty hawk, making sure everything is running smoothly, watching for intruders through the cameras he set up, and spending day in day out trying to contact other survivors through the radio channels. he’s been pretty quiet and stoic since the outbreak, struggling with the loss of people he loves and cares about — but you can always get through to him, convincing him to take breaks with you and fall in love with being alive again. the two of you like to smoke weed together in abandoned buildings and you let him pound out his frustrations by bending you over. in return he protects you with his life. more information on the apocalypse au can be found here.

♡ pizzadeliveryboy!pope

think your local pizza delivery boy, paired with a bratty, snooty kook— who is fucking pope after each of his shifts because your stupid cheating boyfriend can’t make you cum. for some reason, his uniform does it for you, and he wastes no time dropping his bike on your yard and running in straight after he clocks out with a pizza box in one hand and a condom in his pocket. he hates feeling used by you, he wants to respect himself more — but the sex is just too good to give up.

♡ drivinginstructor!pope

picking up a driving instructor gig to make some money after college whilst he decides what he wants to do. he doesn’t expect his first client to be you, the pretty kook girl with an insatiable need to fuck in the backseat.

♡ star wars au captain!pope

pope heyward is jj maybanks first in command, the soldier he relies on the most to help him navigate through the war against the separatists. after saving you, the damsel in distress princess of naboo, and spending time talking to him — he realises maybe there’s more to life than his identity as a soldier. more information on the star wars au can be found here.

THE READERS

♡ bunny!reader

the ditsy, girly girl kook who moved to the obx and instantly attached herself to rafes side. think haley dunphy but kinder, and the house bunny but a little younger. she is typically paired with rafe, but have been in other pairings before. she’s often seen in strictly pink and white, wearing bows, ribbons and skirts that ride up her ass. a lot of the time, she’ll be plugged with a fluffy bunny tail butt plug, put inside of her by her boyfriend to keep her docile. here’s the introductory post for bunny.

♡ kitty!reader

the opposite to bunny in the sense that she’s got tonnes of attitude and spunk, but just as much as a sex addict. she’s most commonly paired with jj, after meeting him in a grocery store and approaching him silently, wide eyed and curious. she’s super prissy, decked out most commonly in black and pink together, and if she’s not biting jj’s arm begging for dick she’s mouthing off, pushing to get put in her place.

♡ puppy!reader

pup is most commonly paired with john b, the sweetest, most hyperactive and slightly ditsy girl in town. she’s incredibly clumsy, mostly because she runs everywhere and you can never predict what she might do next. puppy!reader met john b after falling off her bike near the chateau, arriving on the brunettes doorstep in tears asking for a bandaid and if he knew how to fix bikes (the wheel was comically detached.)

♡ deer!reader

skittish, shy, curious and always following where her nose takes her like a deer. most commonly paired with pope but has been seen to join other popular pairings. she’s an all round good do-er, working at the library and volunteering in her free time — meaning the heywards absolutely adore her. it takes a while for her to warm up to people and be herself, but once she does she truly lets the weirdo out.

♡ mouse!reader

mousey is usually strictly paired in her trio relationship with kook!pope and regular jj. she’s originally a pogue, dating our two boys— pope paying her way through ballet school, and jj keeping her grounded in the pogue world. she’s known for her love of ballet, cheese, and shoplifting (which she always gets told off for by her boys! but never gets caught because she looks so innocent) here’s a drabble that details her more.

♡ lamb!reader

daughter of carla limbrey, lamb!reader is new in town. she’s been raised as strictly catholic her whole life and is learning what it’s like to be a modern girl living in the obx. with the help of the pogues, specifically jj — she navigates what it’s like to feel curious about wanting to fuck. although she’s ‘innocent’, she’s not afraid to lecture you and put you in your place, often sticking her nose in the air. aside from warming to jj, she’s got rafe on her case — always twirling her cross necklace round his finger, desperate to corrupt her ways, which only makes her angrier when her body reacts. if she’s not with the pogues in her little white outfits, she’s driving around in her ‘59 cadillac that was gifted to her on her 16th birthday. here’s a post detailing her more.

♡ spoiledkook!reader

the baddest baddie of them all. paired with any character you’d like — she’s like bunny if bunny was a bitch! popular pairings for her to be apart of — dbf!rafe, bsf!jj, pizzadeliveryboy!pope… the list goes on! this vid is totally her vibes.

♡ sheriffsdaughter!reader

often paired with jj, shoupes daughter pretty much lives at the station. she got a shitty little job there doing paperwork and signing people in and out, but the highlight of her shifts are when jj gets taken in (selfishly) because she gets to flirt with him. her father is oppressive and strict, and got her labelled with being a ‘narc’ for all of her teen years and never invited to parties — so she resents him, throwing herself at jj. think the song 18 by anabor meets please please please by sabrina carpenter. here’s a post inspired by that and an edit to help you see my vision.

THREEWAY SHIPS

♡ jj x reader x john b

the first ever threeway relationship i brought to this blog! a classic au to the real ones who have been here for aaaages! the two are usually paired with puppy!reader, all being friends until they realised their feelings for reader were stronger than it should be and they didn’t mind sharing! john b is the ‘daddy’, the stern but sweet calming presence that keeps everyone grounded, and jj is the fun playful one that teases you and riles you up.

♡ rafe x kook!reader x jj

another classic au! when jj takes the job mowing lawns for kook families, he spots the prettiest girl he’s even seen sunbathing outside in the tiniest bikini ever. deciding he has to have her, he swoops in and befriends her, using her innocence to take advantage of and take her under his wing. however, rafe cameron had been your neighbour for years. due to the two of you practically growing up together, your parents have always forced you two together — ward instructing rafe to always invite you to every event and gala as his date growing up. as you come into adulthood, the boy realises that he does infact want you, in every way, especially now he’s seen that jj has his eyes on you. the two boys battle it out over you.

♡ jj x mouse!reader x pope

see mouse!reader above!

♡ john b x reader x sarah

sarah and john b have always been chronically horny, and when they spot you working at the local library — they decide to befriend you with the purpose of corrupting you and joining you into their weird little horny relationship. at first you think it’s normal, they’re just a little affectionate — especially sarah, but soon the boundaries get pushed and you can’t help your body reacting to your two closest friends. occasionally jj joins in on the fun too! heres a post detailing their odd relationship.

♡ jj x reader x maggie

maggie is an oc created by me to play a masc-leaning lesbian mechanic in the obx, jj’s best friend at the garage they work at. she has a few face claims, but her most popular one is charlie watson from bumblebee, or kate bishop. the two are usually paired with puppy!reader, both caring for her in their own way — jj being a golden retriever hyper horn dog and maggie being a grumpy black cat.

♡ firefighter!johnb x receptionist!reader x firefighter!jj

see firefighter!johnb/jj above!

[animeredhead101]

Dad Hood DP x DC Crossover

Completed

The Devil Wore a T-Shirt by DisillusionedDanny :

After a one-night stand, Danny finds himself pregnant with Red Hood's kid. Now he finds himself as a dad to a small child with an important decision to make. Does he tell Red Hood he has a child? Or does Danny raise the kid by himself? Word Count: 24,778 Completed

Nothing But The Dead And Dying (back in my little town) by Umei_no_Mai :

Dan has just been rescued and is feeling a bit shorter than usual. Jason Todd has just been petitioned like he's a feudal warlord, which has never happened before but he could maybe get used to. They can probably make this work so long as Batman doesn't stick his nose in. Yeah, like that'll happen. Word Count: 123,925 Completed

my boy, my son by DisillusionedDanny :

In desperate need of a vacation, Danny has Clockwork turn him into a five year old so that he can have the childhood he never got. Soon, five year old Danny finds himself running wild in Gotham only to be kidnapped by some weird teenager in a costume who decides that Danny is going to be his son. What's Danny to do but accept this new weird guy as his new dad and become a super cool crime fighting vigilante with his new adopted family who have no clue he's a two thousand year old ghost king? Word Count: 18,210

Dad Hood by JaxinKH :

After a wish gone wrong, Danny has reverted to a child and sent to Gotham. Jason doesn't know how the kid ended up in his appartement, but he is now stuck looking after him. How hard could it be?

Word Count: 18,236

On-going

It's Not Sugar by ConspiracyCrows :

Ellie is destabilized and nearly killed by Vlad while trying to make another, "better", clone of Danny. In order to stabilize her she was de-aged to about 7, and now has chronic issues balancing her ecto the same way a type one diabetic has issues balancing blood sugars. In fact that's the cover story the pair use when Danny enrolls Ellie at Gotham Academy. The one favor he will allow Vlad to do for them. While Vlad seems to have finally come to his senses about Ellie, Danny won't let him anywhere near her ever again. Which is why they moved to Gotham in the first place, Vlad won't step foot there. It also helps that Lady Gotham is more than happy to have the Realms' Ambassador to the Living in her streets. They settle into Crime Alley, and Danny may or may not have forgotten to introduce himself to the Haunt owner, assuming Gotham would handle the niceties as he gets Ellie settled, and handles the pressing issues of the negotiations between the city, the realms, and those denizens of both who want or need one thing or other. Word Count: 23,052 On-going

Imprint by Hashtag_DriveBy :

He screwed his eyes shut, held his breath, desperately wished that he was back in his safehouse, alone and blissfully unaware. But the weight in his hands remained, and when he opened his eyes, it was to the bean-shaped 'fuck you' the Lazarus Pit had kindly bestowed upon him, arms and legs folded up against his front beneath off-white muslin while tiny lips smacked softly.

What the fuck.

What the hell was Jason supposed to do now?

Word Count: 119,791 On-going

If you find a vigilante in the dumpster by lunamugetsu :

The plan was simple, Jazz and her now de aged brother would go lay low in Gotham, act as a mother-son duo. Wait as Danny heals up by absorbing the ambient ectoplasm leaking from the city and Vlad gives the green light that he has a safe place they could stay. Plus with the blessing from the Ghost of Gotham and knowing that even the GIW wouldn't dare to encroach on Batman's territory, it was a pretty safe plan. That was until a certain vigilante just keeps on finding himself in their dumpster. / / It was a normal night of patrol for Jason. Beating up a bunch of criminals. Shooting them with bullets (they're rubber bullets Bruce! Calm down!) Get stabbed by them. Pass out from blood loss in the place he was taking refuge in Wake up in an apartment, his wounds bandaged and all. And to a black haired blue eyed kid staring at him. "I found you in the garbage!" Word Count: 120,002 On-going

Please Don't Take My Sunshine Away by FearlessHades :

After escaping from the GIW, Danny crash lands in Gotham. He's six years old, his entire life has burned behind him, and one of the Gotham vigilantes is running around with a stifled Core. What's a kid to do?

A Jason Adopts Danny fic featuring De-aged!Danny, family feels, and Jason's Grand Master Plan going completely off the rails.

Word Count: 53,233

The (Un)Living Weapon by Anonymous :

They had only planned on raiding the facility. They hadn't expected it to be barren. Apart from a kid, chained and muzzled. With eyes of Lazarus water. Jason didn't intend on getting a kid out of the whole ordeal, but unlike Bruce, he is ready to kill to keep him safe. Word Count: 47,483

Mending a Family by Katelover98 :

Sequel to Creating a Family.

I decided to write this after getting such a good response on that fic. However, I wrote this new fic here instead of updating it in case anyone liked the open ending and didn't want more to spoil the way I left it. There won't be an overarching plot but a bunch of one-shots that show how Jason went from no family to a family that would kill and die for him.

This fic won't have a set schedule so I'll update when inspiration hits. That means one week I might update daily and other times it might take a while. It'll depend

Fair warning, I don't know much about Roy Harper, but I've done a bit of research so when he shows up, hopefully, he'll be well-written.

Word Count: 45,852

Visitant Lights by Shynnohwen for Cielle_Noire, AcesAndSpades72, foldingfacets :

After a run in with Vlad that left the entire Fenton family turned into little children and a subsequential kidnapping by what they think are ninjas the Fenton family escape to Gotham to lay low and figure out how to reverse their ages as Sam and Tucker help where they can, growing sense of dread as months goes by and they are no closer to fixing this. Danny, frustrated at lack of progress and tiny body, runs into the Red Hood while stealing his wheel to replace the one he broke. This results in Jason and the Pit Madness co-parenting, Dick mistaken for a stripper, Tucker unknowingly becoming Oracle's archnemesis, Sam believing the local coffee addict is a serial killer, Damian taking on an apprentice, various members of the Rogue Gallery becoming self-appointed uncles and aunts, Amity Park becoming a hellhole full of supernaturally powerful people trying to survive, Damian trying to get a certain Fenton adopted into his family, and Joker developing severe and crippling phasmophobia. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Now has a TV Tropes! https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Fanfic/VisitantLights Word Count : 82,890