#i already feel so detached from my body i need art that looks like me to feel like i own my body

[weed666]

need to get away from the ‘trans ppl with skinny anime characters as their icons that use skinny anime characters in all their trans memes and only reblog skinny anime art’ section of tumblr and find more of the ‘trans ppl who appreciate body diversity and art of trans ppl that actually looks like the trans ppl i know irl and not like a conventionally attractive model’ section. where r y’all at. pls for the love of god help me get me out of here i’m fighting for my fucking life where is the fat hairy transgender art i can’t take this anymore

[godspeedviper]

How the therapists react to your "worst" symptoms - Headcanons

SFW || TW: mentions of self harm, mention of suicidal ideation, therapy sessions, very brief mention of (unlabeled) disordered eating, mention of psychosis & violent thoughts.

A/N: this was written by someone who has been in therapy for many years and has personal experience with these types of symptoms. this is not meant to romanticize any mental illness or symptoms of it. this is purely self indulgent fluff. just because your experience might be different doesn't make these experiences any less valid. if you don't like this simply do not read it, block if you must, and move on.

Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow)

He is the most objective and detached of the lot. Therefore he never seems to have much of a reaction no matter what you do or say to him. He really has seen it all before. This does help you feel less anxious as time goes on, knowing he won't ever judge you or ascribe any kind of morality to your actions.

"If it causes you distress or harm, then we should work towards eliminating it altogether." is his typical response to your concerns about your own coping mechanisms. "You do not owe anyone kindness, just remember to restrain yourself from causing harm whenever possible."

He is the only one to have no discernible reaction to your self harm scars/burns. One day, he noticed an especially fresh one and offered to disinfect and bandage the wound for you. He always gives you space to bring things up at your own pace, when you feel comfortable doing so.

"Not all of us have the capacity to be so gentle, and that's alright." he says about your outbursts. "I'm not known for being the warmest, but that doesn't make me any less skilled at my work, or any less worthy of respect. If you do not hold my lack of socially acceptable agreeableness against me, then you should not hold it against yourself."

Bonus: when you finally have the courage to mention the substance usage he remains as cool and detached as ever. "I am glad you were honest with me so we can monitor for any interactions with your medications. Know that I won't judge you for moderate usage, after all, do we not professionally refer to medications as drugs? It isn't ideal, but it is a way of self medicating. All I ask is that you be fully honest with me about your usage so I can better take care of you."

Hannibal Lecter (NBC)

He is surprisingly gentle and very soft spoken, although you were intimidated by him at first and the opulence of his office. He usually greets you with a warm smile and asks how your week went and if you've eaten yet today. He teaches you to enjoy food again, describing it as an art, and asking you to be mindful and present when enjoying a meal. Listen to your body, what it tells you about the ingredients, the quality of the meal, and the hands that made it.

He always asks you what you want to do, making sure to actively include you in your own treatment plan. He thoroughly explains treatment options, medications and their possible side effects, and has you weigh your options. This allows you to really analyze your own reactions and act accordingly when you are alone.

"Now, you do understand I am required to recommend inpatient treatment if you are feeling actively suicidal." he says, when you come in on an extra bad day. "However, I want to trust you and give you the option of what to do from here. If you think it will do you more harm than good, let me know, but you have to be honest."

One day you get the courage to ask why there is a first aid kit on his desk, though you already assume why. He simply looks at you and asks "Do you need it today?" before gently tending to your recent self harm wounds. He never calls you out for it, but he does periodically ask you upfront if you've been engaging in self injurious behaviors. If you respond yes, he asks to tend to your wounds, and if you say no, he celebrates with you. "Good. I'm proud of you for holding yourself back."

Bonus: when you land in the hospital, Hannibal makes sure to go visit you while your therapy slot is on hold. He never calls attention to the circumstances that lead you here, and focuses solely on your recovery and how he can't wait to have you back in the office soon.

Harleen Quinzel (Harley Quinn)

It doesn't take long for her to shed her professional demeanor. She makes you feel like you're talking to a close friend, yet manages to never fully lose the "doctor" in her. She offers you fidget toys as a way to ease the tension of talking about such vulnerable and heavy subjects.

She makes everything into a little game or a challenge to motivate you changing habits. Every time you manage to avoid indulging in negative coping mechanisms, she rewards you with a little heart shaped chocolate at the end of the session. On bad days, she simply encourages you to try again and she gifts you a cute bandaid at the end of the session to signify your healing from a bad day (sometimes, the bandaids come in handy for self harm wounds).

"Being childish can be a good thing!" she tells you. "Its important to have a little whimsy in your life. Just because you grew up doesn't mean you have to... ya know, grow up." She encourages you to try and add a little joy to your daily life. You start taking fuzzy tipped pens to work and keeping plushies at home for comfort. Surprisingly, it does help.

Every now and again she asks for your advice or assistance on minor things, such as which dress she should wear for a date, or what show to watch next. Sure, you are technically paying for her time, but this fact alone doesn't entirely relieve you of the feeling that you are burdensome. Whenever that feeling creeps back up, she reminds you of all the times you helped her make decisions until you admit your usefulness with a smile.

Bonus: "Hearing voices or other noises doesn't make you evil." is her reply when she learns of your psychotic symptoms. "Everyone is susceptible to experiencing psychosis. Hell, I've felt it when I was losing sleep in med school. It doesn't make you a bad person."

Hannibal Lecter (Silence of the Lambs)

You are intimidated by him at first, but his hypnotic voice grows on you. He always sounds so self assured, but never assertive. He has an almost paternal quality to him, making you feel simultaneously comfortable and protected.

He always listens to you intently, you never feel ignored by him. Hannibal is the only one that makes you feel seen and you tell him as much. "Oh everyone sees you my dear, you can be assured of that, but not everyone has the courage to acknowledge you. Keep this in mind for the next time you should feel the urge to do something drastic for attention."

You were worried you would eventually do something to turn him away, as you had to so many therapists before him. However, he simply scoffs at the idea that you could ever do anything that could possibly frighten him or upset him.

When you finally have the courage to tell him about the violent intrusive thoughts he remains as calm as ever. "In the past, we humans had to hunt to survive. We also had to protect ourselves and our kin. As time goes on, that propensity for violence remains, even if our survival is no longer dependent on it."

Bonus: You come clean to him about getting into a fight with someone, being entirely overtaken by rage and paranoia. You call yourself a monster and cry. "I have worked with serial killers, family annihilators, rapists the worst that the world has to offer. I know monsters. You are not one. You wanna know why?" You nod yes. "Because my dear, you have remorse and regret for your actions, they do not. Besides, you would not be sitting here with me if you did not want the anger to control you."

AO3 || Guidelines || Request || Ko-Fi

[court-jobi]

When Asking Feels Right

((banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's work/art))

Pairing: Midoriya x reader (fem!reader is an active pro-hero)

Words: 3.6K

Rating: T+

Warnings: canon-typical injuries, love confessions, mentions of intimacy, talk of marriage, BIG FEELINGS, light injury aftercare, language, because Katsuki Bakugou knows no other way

Summary:

You know Izuku loves you, and proudly tells anyone within earshot just how much he adores his darling pro-hero. But it's not until a close call that 'Kacchan' convinces you just how much the nerd means it. Making you pull yourself together for the sake of his best friend solidifies the fact that you are the love of Izuku Midoriya's life, and he's damn well sure gonna keep you alive to do something with that information. Bakugou might be barking at you gruff as always as he's trying to keep you conscious, but when he says it like he means it, you pay attention.

A/N: Ok yall's love for Let's Heal Each Other has really surprised me, thank you so much! Here's more of our favorite boy, feat Bakugou in full guard dog mode

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on AO3

“OI, WATCH YOUR TEN!”

Forced to the ground hard, you’re dazed– but not totally crushed. 

There’s a host of noise around you that grates on your senses: groans of steel supports, concrete and drywall crumbling in batches around you; it's now just a slow burn of collapsing chaos. But considering this portion of the building just fell apart not three feet from where you were once standing, you consider this a blessing. You’d deal with a sore hip than be dead. 

One thing you didn’t know was who did the saving of your ass, until you try to turn around and another support starts falling off in chunks–

“STAY DOWN, ALREADY–” a firm, hot hand cushions the back of your head from smacking the ground needlessly, but he’s not exactly gentle about it.

Dynamight?.. Bakugou– or ‘Kacchan’ as you hear him called at home– he’s– the one pulling a full body shield on you?

You cough from the debris and your ‘guardian angel’ makes sure to not press down on your back too much so you don’t feel smothered. With a gruff hand, he bats the air around your faces to will the dust away so you both can catch a breath. He hacks right along with you, he’s still human after all– but at least he does so from over your shoulder, a courtesy.

Soon enough, the shifting of earth and rock and damage settles, and Bakugou detaches himself from the kneel over you and lifts you up from under your arms to get you to a sitting position at the only remaining wall he deemed supportive enough.

You are equal parts amazed and confused watching the agency hothead acting like the most dashing hero you’ve ever seen, and you're lowkey shook that this attention is being put on you  when he presses you back and crouches back to your level with a guarded eye. 

"You ok?"

"Nngyeah?"

"You hurtin’?"

"Ouch. Nah, just my head a little-- OOF–”

Bakugou’s looking you over with a hard hand on your jaw, peeling aside your hair not too gracefully with tough, padded gloves, fussing over you with a concerned scowl.

 “-BAKugOU!"

The pieces click together a moment too late: you'd blurted at him right as you realize why he’s looking at you like this, so intently– you're bleeding from the head.

"A fucking head wound isn't a LITTLE PROBLEM, DUMBASS- /Oi, I need a med evac at the old Sorgan hospital! Look for the smoke on the southside, that’s where we fuckin’ are–/ FUCK, he's gonna KILL ME for this!!"

You bawk at the way he looks– nervous.

Your teammate's concerned as most coworkers at your agency would be, but for the chilliest of your pals, he’s looking uncharacteristically wild about it… like he seems inclined to punch you for it if you were only in better shape. Instead, Bakugou just picks you up and sets you on some slanted rubble to get you sitting higher. While your head bobs at a lag, you watch as he’s rummaging in his waistline's pockets for that dry cloth he's supposed to keep better accessible for first aid.

"YOU DAMN IDIOT,” Bakugou gripes not too angrily, “You’re NO BETTER than he is, jumpin’ into shit--HOLD THIS–"

You're starting to worry why he's so mad. It’s not like your quirk can directly correlate to the building falling via explosives; that’s his department. You followed your path to an opening of the building altogether as directed. In the mess of it all, you had to get creative with your exit strategy which did put you at a disadvantage, but it all had worked out even after facing off with the last batch of villains before the entire wing came tumbling down.

You honestly thought he was just being heroic and appreciated him literally keeping you from being crushed- only now as you want to thank him, you're sure it would fall on deaf ears. He must be angry that you were there in the first place for him to have to tend to now.

 "I-- that could have been really bad, I guess-"

"You 'GUESS'?" Bakugou's tone demands that you look him in the eye while he talks to you, right as he's staring you down incredulously, "Yeah, I saved your damn ass from getting CRUSHED, - and it's on MY HEAD if something happens to you while you're on my watch!!"

You feel sarcastic, "Well, thanks a lot, m’sorry for the inconvenience. Wassn’t my fault for the building though…”

He swishes a bit of remaining water on the cloth and jerks your head to the other way, ensuring the other scratches aren’t actively sporting fresh blood. “Tch, well running towards the sound was a pretty DUMBASS move!! Don’t know where you got that from!!”

“I can’think a few heroes who migh’...”

“Yeah, DEAD heroes!!”

Sheesh, nothing will please him when he gets like this. You tried for a last stretch of sympathy behind a pounding headache, “Well, m’sure Deku will appreciate you keepin’ me alive, so m’tryna say thanks."

"Yeah he damn well better, if he doesn’t wreck m- HEH??! SIT. THE HELL. DOWN!!"

At your try to stand up and join him in getting out of the alcove, you squatted back,

"What?!"

Bakugou pushes up his facemask more like a headband so you have no choice but to see him clearly. He smooshes your face in his palms- risky, given he's fully sweaty and the smell would be enough to turn you away-- but the way his hands are shaking forces you to stay still and pay attention.

"YOU are the love of his life, dumbass,” Bakugou threatens seriously. “You're the sparkle in his eye and you are damn good for him, so I'm sure as hell gonna make sure nothing happens to you if I can help it-- and you runnin' around with a concussion ain't making my job easier. So SIT. down."

You don’t blink or breathe.

"-I’m sat."

He fixes you a challenging look, then lets go of you to get a better view of the street to check on the ambulance.

He's protective. Because he's loyal to Izuku, he's loyal to you.

But you’re still stunned on what he said- like it was God’s honest truth and an immovable fact.

Pressing down on the tight space at the base of your sternum, you feel for something past your suit’s seam. "Did he say that?"

"Say what?" Bakugou shouts back tirelessly from the hole he’d opened for ventilation; you imagine he may not be hearing so well after this fight. Despite how cheesy it sounds coming out of you, you clarify with a hand to the gauze up against your head,

"-me being that? For him?"

Bakugou scoffs with a smirk, "Only reminds me every damn day I see him."

You can see it, after all. It happens with enough frequency that you know the two talk even before starting patrol with you. The routine of Midoriya meeting up with Bakugou like how you imagine they did in their school days: your adoring boyfriend sharing news of his curriculum workload in earnest, and retorting to his best friend’s loudmouth brand of bragging about his villain count for the week, followed by turning the tables back to Izuku and asking for the nerd’s professional opinion about his performance- and what he thinks he should be strengthening. 

It makes perfect sense that you should come up in conversations, but to know now that Izuku speaks of you in this way? Past the usual lovey-dovey pleasantries Bakugou usually gags at? It should have made you happy, but given the pulse in your throat and the general ache radiating from your -everywhere-, you sniffle– Your concern weighs you to your seat now that you probably have Izuku worried sick. If he’s glued to the news for televised coverage on missions that he knows you’re working on, he would have seen this whole ordeal in real time. 

And in the entire time you’ve dated Izuku, the whole relationship where you’ve stayed in sync with each other despite working in entirely different fields (namely you remaining in the clearly more dangerous one), Izuku never once discouraged you. 

-Never asked you to scale back or retire for the sake of his fears over you. 

-Never asked you to do anything other than ‘be as safe as you can, and do your best to come back to me’. 

He believes you were a hero- just as you believed he was, too. But God, if it didn’t kill you inside to think of breaking his heart over and over as he sat on his break room couch watching close calls. 

You know had he been here on duty instead of Dynamight, your sweet Deku would have been the one here trying to lift you up and perhaps put your worries at ease getting the chance to help you and see you through to safety. But Katsuki Bakugou is hardly that touchy-feely, so having to come up with a pep talk to yourself is hard.

"Oi-"

You toughen up to look back at him, but get a softer response than before.

"You're gonna be ok. I got your back, didn't I?"

You nod.

"I will, y'know. Have your back. Just don't make it difficult."

You nod again, about to cry.

Bakugou rolls his eyes, shaking it off and catching sight of the blue and red lights before he fully hears them. "You, with the waterworks too? Match made in heaven, I swear to GOD."

That night, you are hardly in any shape to drive yourself home and a bit too unsteady to even wrangle with public transit, so naturally you ask Izuku to come get you. With a faithful grin, he looks incredibly happy to see you in the agency lobby- if distracted momentarily by your expertly wrapped head and script bag in hand.

When you meet downstairs, you reign in your immediate reaction to seeing him like you normally would. It's busy tonight- teeming with interns, a changing out of a few vending machines, and a friendly spat between two other sidekicks is happening not far from the evelator you just stepped from. 

The building’s deceptively cheery security officer sees you coming, and shares to your boyfriend that he is going to put on a podcast, taking a moment to fiddle with putting his earbuds in and ‘conveniently’ switch over to his shades against the setting sun, which allowed you the sneaky propriety to fully hug Izuku, as quick and tight as you could before getting in the car. 

Talk in the car consisted of the usual after missions, which felt familiar and good. Obviously your darling didn’t hide his concern, but between your assurances were legitimate questions about how the villains were apprehended, what he’d watched, and the interest he gave in what the news didn’t cover- like asking more about your civilian recovery efforts and compliments about how many were saved today. This kind of cool down genuinely helped you leave work at work, and you appreciated that so much. It was a short drive, which you spent mostly holding Izuku’s hand in both of yours and receiving little kisses on that hand at stoplights. 

You walked arm in arm with him up to the second landing of your apartment, with him finally running through the more caring questions of ‘does it hurt to climb?’ ‘Throbbing or dull pain?’ ‘Are you hungry, or are the meds making you feel sick?’ 

You knew he’d be clingy and honestly needed that constancy after such an explosive afternoon. He was insistent on taking off your coat and getting your laces off with minimal effort from you, which you adored on any old regular day– but the waterworks came flooding back so hard while watching Izuku on his heels taking care of you that you stopped him altogether.

"-I remember the concussions Denki would have after going too hard with his quirk, too- ‘Chargebolt’, I think you’ve met. ‘Course, I think it affected his nervous system more than anything else-- w' h-honey? Are you crying?"

"Please just get up here~"

You hugged him tight the second he rose to full height,

"Oh sweetheart," Izuku petted your hair as you muted your cries, "Sweetheart it's ok, you're ok."

"I love y’so much..." you eeked out from a tight throat.

The eyes unseen over your shoulder stung at your words, but squeezed in just as tight there in the foyer.

"I love you too, honey. So, so much." Izuku kept you close and just rocked you in place to ground you, "Were you scared today?"

You nodded.

"I'm sure it was scary. Would have scared me too, being caught in the middle of all that," Izuku cooed over your shoulder. "Y'know it's okay to let it rattle you sometimes. That's why we're all here to support you. Help you bounce back."

//I have your back// Bakugou’s words hit you again in a wave. 

"It.. would have landed on me. I was right in the impact zone, when the southwest end came down," you sunk into Izuku’s neck at the memory, "...Bakugou got to me first. I wouldn'tve gotten out without him."

Izuku breathed out, touched beyond measure. “...he did?...”

"H'yelled at me for being stupid," you chuckled mirthlessly, "but he said some things. Really big things. And I'm just so sorry it happened at all! I don't wanna worry you when I’m out there!"

As you rushed through the emotions; not just of this fight, but filled to the brim and spilling over with other close calls like it. Izuku had a hard time understanding what was said that upset you, and just held you through it.

"C’mon, let's sit you down," Izuku picked you up like the koala you were and took you over to your couch, sitting with you perched in his arms. 

No longer surprised at the incredible strength he still carried -being able to pick you up like your dead weight was nothing- you sunk into his safety, solace found in his pressed shirt collar.

Your apologies turned into cries within a few minutes of settling in. 

The poor man's heart broke all over again, holding you tightly through your sobs, and hushing you through them. The crying was only going to make your headache worse. He knows this from experience, unfortunately… so even though he usually encouraged you to ‘feel your feelings to the fullest’, he did make an attempt to still you this time. Izuku pressed kisses to your warm forehead.

"Honey, easy, honey... what big things did Kacchan say?" 

//you're his spark//

//you're just like the damn nerd//

//match made in heaven//

//you're damn good for him//

"Tha-That I was... the love of- your life?"

Unseen, Izuku's sights widened. But had you been watching him and not hiding in his complete, cozying embrace, you would have seen the proudest look of love lifting those cheeks of his. How he smiled despite the concern he held for you in this moment, and took a grand look around the room - at the life you were tending to and nurturing together with fondness.

"You are the love of my life," Izuku assured you gently with the sweet coupling of your name, "Have I never told you that?"

Shown, certainly, but never told so beautifully. And to have come from Bakugou’s harsh lips of all people, the revelation was jarring in more ways than one.

You whispered 'no', but didn't let go for the life of you. Wouldn't ever let go of this darling man if he’d allow you to stay.

"-M'ere, look at me. Just for a minute, look here~"

You pressed back from his hold with unwilling muscles, only to be cradled in his hands. Green eyes full of tears looked back at you but with a full, strong smile forcing bravery forward.

"You -my sweetest girl- are the love of my life. I love who you are now, and who you're going to be forty, fifty, sixty years from now,” he pet your hair back and away with a little shaky nod, “and yeah- I might lose my lunch every now and then watching you out there…”

You sniffled again, baffled at how telling you all this could possibly be making him chuckle through his words–

“--but I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve watched the same tv screen and been so insanely proud of you! To watch you go out there and win, and shine, and– I can stomach all that fear. I can do that. Because I know you and I believe in you! And I am so thankful that I happen to know the heroes you do this hard work with can help take care of you and have your back. That’s what it’s all about- doing it together.”

You hang on Izuku’s every word of affirmation. It’s the language he’s best in, no matter the subject. Thankfully, right now, he's set on putting you back on solid heartground- assuring you of everything you doubt about yourself. Your power, your inspiration, all of it.

“You’re saving people- helping those who can't do it themselves, and you do it so well, love. These scary things happen… but honestly? It only makes me love you more for facing it like you do. And getting up the next day, and watching you come at it again.”

You keen under his full attention. The praise and love he’s washing you with is so earnest and filled with pride, it kills you to ever have obligations elsewhere in the world outside of his company.

Surely you can just stay supple in his arms for eternity and no one would miss you. 

“So you don’t need to be out there worried about what I’m thinking of you,” Izuku worked on wiping your blurry tears, “because I’m going to double down on replacing those worries in your head. I’m going to remind you every day of it. You’re never going to not have me in your corner, because you are the love of my life.”

Soothed and emotional in an entirely different vein, you nod you head back with a firm, brave smile of you own, before gingerly pulling him close for a little forehead touch, a well-earned kiss, and another hug latched around his shoulders. 

Izuku tended to you after your hero work in a number of ways, depending on what you've weathered that day: from taking off your shoes, cooking you a meal, holding you soft and sweet against his body on the sofa like this, or even helping you burn off any excess steam on the particular amorous nights where you just feel too alive to not show him exactly what your primary reason for fighting is. 

To protect him. To protect everyone you love and care for. Making your family proud both here and heavenward, and proving to yourself that you can do the hard things. Having a partner to support you in this work is an invaluable bolster in your life, and you feel it in every swipe of his hands up and down your back in this exact moment. 

His touch assures you just as much as it comforts him. Tells you how much you're appreciated and welcomed when you reach the end of the day like it soothes him to have you safely off the streets. You also know that any tear-filled nights on his end come from a place of complete affection and commitment and you don't really care how much Bakugou or any of your other workmates might tease you for being soft right along with ‘the damn nerd’. 

He's your damn nerd. The one you come home to and plan to spend the rest of the evening tending to your headache and scratchy throat and whatever other hurts have trickled out from your tough shell. 

From about your fifth date on, you'd felt in your gut that ‘Midoriya’ was likely going to be the name you'd be filling out as your emergency contact for life, so you started doing so on your contract renewals. That probably proved he was the love of your life, too, even if you didn't say so outright. 

Content to hold you forever, Izuku still asked of you gently, 

“Poor thing, you gotta be exhausted. I know you showered, but would you like a bath to let the steam help?” He kissed your nearby shoulder within reach, “It'll help the drainage go away.”

That sounded amazing and all but guaranteed he'd like to stay as close to you as possible. You hummed in the affirmative, close to bursting. 

“Good. We’ll get that started, whenever you're ready. Anything my brave girl wants.”

There's truly only one thought on your mind- the insistent proof of it lies hidden beneath your sweater neckline, slid onto a long silver necklace:

A ring sized for Izuku is something you've worn every patrol for a couple months now, and is practically burning as you adjust your seat on his lap to find his face. 

You're fishing past your collar uncomfortably, looking for the damn thing tangled with your agency lanyard, but dead set that you can't go on without him wearing it.

“Hm? I'm here, hon’, what do you need?-- what's-… Baby. Oh baby, what's that...?”

You hold the ring still looped on the chain, lifted for him to see between fingers that don't shake anymore. Firm and steady. Because he's loved you so well and so thoroughly tonight and every night, it's the easiest thing to ask the stunned, gorgeous man beneath you,

“Marry me.”

[charlottecutepie]

୨୧ nsfw alphabet (william afton x fem!reader)

author notes: i felt too shy to post something here but I really want to share my writing with you, so I’ll be very glad if you like it <3 ty

cw: p in v, oral (m and f receiving), fear play, knife kink, daddy kink, choking, older man/younger woman, degrading, praising.

minors dni

art by melokoii and imsanlee

A — Aftercare

William is quite rough during sex, but he gets softer after. He can quickly kiss you on forehead or gently stroke your hair, telling you what a good and obedient girl you were for him.

He can feel detached if he's in a bad mood and doesnt have strength to hide it. In this case, he doesn't show much emotion or interest. Doesn't bother to make sure you're okay.

B — Body part

William pays a lot of attention to your neck, sometimes leaving little hickeys on it. Sometimes passionate kisses. Sometimes worse things, like marks from his hands that squeeze your neck hard enough that you turn blue.

William likes your eyes because they speak much louder than your words.

William likes the fear he sees in them. It's like a drug to him, fueling his desire even more. He gets turned on by the fact that you're afraid and can't push him away. He likes the way you involuntarily flinch when he's too close, the way you catch your breath. It's just another reminder that he has control over you.

This isn't just an expression of fear or despair. It's a reflection of your true feelings for him. You're scared, but at the same time you feel a sick attraction to him.

A delightful mixture of emotions that he considers beautiful — fear.

He likes the way you try to hide your true feelings behind the mask of a brave girl. He knows that deep down you belong to him, your body and soul. And he'll make you really sure of that.

Your eyes are a reflection of your soul, revealing your sick and perverted thoughts and desires. A scared look serves as a reminder of how much power he has over you and how much you need him.

So yes, William loves your eyes. Not because they are beautiful and captivating, but because they show him how much you depend on him. And what are your real feelings.

Neither breasts, nor butt, nor any other part of the body that is considered attractive in a woman. William isn't kind of man who cums in his pants at the sight of bare breasts and nipples.

C — Cum

He prefers to cum inside, first of all, to show his superiority over you. Although you can imagine fairy tales that it's because he wants a baby, that's not really true. Afton already has three offsprings, and he doesn't seem to be taking good care of them.

One day, man leaned closer and whispered in your ear: "Will you let me cum inside, bunny?"

You turned your head to him, but he just grinned when he saw how cock drunk you were, pussy clenching on his shaft. You looked so dumb and all what came out of your parted lips were moans of his name as he thrusted inside of you. But for one second, he saw the fear in your eyes when you realized his his question. The fear of getting pregnant. The fear that he's holding you tight and you won't break free even if you want to. He shuddered. A second later, you felt his seed pouring inside. You immediately gasped in shock.

"Oh, baby," a hoarse whisper behind you, William catching his breath. "Damn, did I cum inside? Sorry, I must have gotten too carried away."

D — Dirty secret

William himself is a big fucking secret that no one would want to solve. No one has a simple idea of what is on this person's mind. Because sane people just can't think of such things.

You were aware that William has strange scars. But it was a big surprise to find out that they covered his entire body, every part: neck, arms, legs, pelvis, back, torso. They seemed painful, born a lot of questions, but they were wildly intriguing. The scars were perfectly symmetrical and fresh.

At some point, you found yourself going crazy, thinking they were attractive. But William turned out to be even more insane when he asked you to stick your nails in them.

William's completely naked body against yours was a surprise. He always left clothes on during sex, whether it was a shirt or trousers, but now hes not wearing anything. He was on top, his silvery eyes boring into yours. You didn't dare turn away, intrigued by what would happen next. William gritted his teeth, how charmed you were by him. This undoubtedly reinforced his narcissistic ego.

William's finger runs over your lower lip, pressing on it to open your mouth a little. William behaves differently, very differently. In any other case, this man would have already ruined you, fucked you hard and rough. But right now there's no hint of it.

"You like them," William says quietly, and grins when he meets your questioning gaze. "my scars."

"They are perfectly symmetrical..." your eyes run over his body.

He doesn't answer, instead he presses his nose against your neck and you feel his smile on your skin. You're confused, you don't know how to react to his touches and actions. How to behave in such a situation. Everything that is happening is new. William doesn't usually behave like that.

"Touch them." Afton suddenly says, looking up at you again.

You don't understand where the situation is heading, but you obey. The pads of your fingers lightly, almost weightlessly touch his scars on his shoulders. William nods for you to continue, and you run your fingers down his back, sensing his scars. William sighs, closing his eyes, his body tense, the veins on his forehead and arms popping out.

"Harder, y/n, harder." William's breathing harder. You can hear his heartbeat quicken. "fuck, do it with your nails, damn it." you shake your head, already scared of what this is all going to lead to.

"William, no, I won't do that!" you reject, but William doesn't care. In his eyes, you're acting like a brat, well, okay. His hands grab you by wrists and he literally forces you to follow his command. Against your will, your nails dig into his scars.

"That's it, that's it, y/n, yes."

"William..." you dive deeper into William's scars, peeling off the barely healed skin. Blood begins to flow down his arm. William's eyes are closed, and the only thing that can be heard is his loud breathing along with hoarse moans.

It's crazy, you don't know if it's a dream or not. It's wrong to hurt a person. Even if himself asked for it. But you can't stop, you keep tearing at his scars with your nails.

William leans closer to you, placing his palm on your cheek. You're afraid to even look at his face, but you don't have a choice. Although William's eyes are looking somewhere through you, his gaze is empty, mentally he's not here. A small wound on his dry lips bursts with a wide smile.

This is crazy, you think. I'm crazy, you tell yourself, because it turns me on. And William's voice, with sighs and groans, sounds more beautiful than ever.

A disgusting metallic smell filled your nostrils. The sheets under you are soaked in William's blood, you continue to roughly pick at his scars, also staining yourself with a dark red liquid. William's body is shaking. Open scars begin to burn. This pain is everywhere, and William feels it far from on a physical level, no. At some higher one.

And the next moment, Afton covers your lips with his own, pressing his already bloody body against you. He groans into your mouth and pushes his tongue inside, running it over your teeth. He kisses you roughly, continuing to rub his body against yours, which causes pleasant stimulation for both of you. You grab his brown hair, pulling his head back. You can taste awful taste of William's blood mixed with your saliva.

The kiss is sloppy, dirty, disgusting and aggressive. Just like William himself.

William is a disgusting and perverted man whose moral principles are far from normal. A very dark thought is wandering in his sick brain, which has been visiting him too often lately, even in his sleep. To share you with his business partner, Henry, fucking Emily. The sight of you trying to take two cocks at once stuck in William's head for a long time.

E — Experience

He has three children, so yes. Even before he got married, he had... one-night stands, but rarely. He usually studied hard, sometimes staying at the university until late at night.

Although you asked him to tell you more about his past relationship, before he met Clara, William refused, with a shadow of a smile. You're walking on very thin ice. It's a secret you shouldn't know yet.

F — Favorite position

His favorite poses involve dominance and control. He likes it when he can fuck you deeply without breaking eye contact. This is usually a classic old missionary.

He also likes it when you wrap your legs around him if he fucks you against wall. This allows him to enter you rougher and much deeper.

As a punishment, its usually poses where you can't see his face. William knows your weak spot, he noticed not so long ago how you always try to keep your eyes on him, peering and studying.

Also doesn't mind bending you over his desk in his own office. And the cherry on top is an unlocked door, so that sex turns into real torture while you try to restrain your moans. Either it's Henry, who can show up, as always, without knocking, or the staff, who can hear the sounds of bodies slapping and your moans, he doesn't care.

G — Goofy

William isnt a piece of ice that always walks around with a stone face. He has a sense of humor, even if you don't understand it. His humor is witty, dry, sometimes even rude, sarcastic, gloomy, caustic. He can make fun of your behavior in bed, of your inexperience, of things you don't know.

H — Hair

William is well-groomed, he shaves, not everything, but keeps clean. Being a perfectionist isnt easy, but he takes care of himself down there too. He expects the same from you.

I — Intimacy

William may be quite romantic in the early stages of a relationship. Gifts, romantic dates and compliments. All of this to create a feeling of affection.

But he's head and shoulders above such simple and tedious things, in his eyes it's all pretty boring.

William can be gentle and caring if necessary. And here, as in many other things, he hides his true self, his sick and animal sadistic nature.

William is a man with three children. Being a single father isn't easy, but he managed to learn how to wake up before sunrise and cook lunch boxes for them to school. William paid more attention to Elizabeth. All the drawings of his daughter were pasted on the walls of the Afton house. There were always about ten packages of ice cream of different flavors in the fridge, and girl's closet was bursting with a lot of dresses.

William paid a lot of attention to you, too. Whenever children were visiting Henry, William invited you to a romantic dinner at home. His culinary skills were amazing, all his dishes were delicious in appearance and taste.

The way his long fingers squeeze a lemon, the juice of which covers the phalanges, and then drips onto the meat. Your cheeks turn pink, you can't contain the association this sight causes. But it's just William, who does the usual household chores. Such thoughts shouldn't enter your head.

"Do you like the way I cook? I guess i pay a lot of attention to details, don't you think?"

The way his hands are covered in animal blood up to the wrist when he cuts up meat. You shouldn't fucking find it sexy. It's just fucking William, who's just cooking. You need to cool down.

His hand holding a butcher knife evokes another wave of memories. How he held a knife to your neck while ruining your pussy. You... you shouldn't like these kind of things…

It's first signs that you're drowning in this shit, first alarm bells that you're going crazy. And William is more than happy to see what he's turning you into.

He has one of his favorite things in his house — a vinyl record player from the UK, a family treasure inherited from his dead grandfather. It often plays old songs from the 40s and 50s. William is beckoning you with his finger. You feel pretty awkward not knowing anything about the hits of these years and dances thanks to big age difference with William. And when he asks you to dance a little to these songs, you act a little awkward, stepping on his oxfords.

William chuckles, watching your clumsy movements. He puts his arm around your waist, guiding your steps to the beat of the music. His fingers intertwine with yours, and you slowly spin around the room. His hand slides down your back, pressing against your curves.

William always prefers the old-fashioned style of clothing, he always wore white socks with black shoes, brown or black trousers, shirts, vests, sometimes suspenders. He looked damn handsome, perfectly matching the old hits that were sounding on the old record player.

J — Jack off

Only if he really needs to and you're not around. William rarely masturbates, he doesn't have time for this, always busy with paperwork, repairing animatronics and settling conflicts at work. But if you aren't there to calm his arousal, then his hand reaches for the zipper of his pants. Then William takes polaroid photos of you out of his desk. Or maybe of someone else

K — Kink

Dirty talk + humiliation: William has a sharp tongue and it plays a terrible role in sex. He doesn't mind praising you, knowing that you melt when he call you a good girl, but he loves to humiliate you. In all ways. Makes you rub on his expensive oxfords, covering them with your slick. He looks down at you, literally spitting out "Dirty whore."

Or when he pushes inside of you, takes you by the hair and whispers into your lips: "Is that how you like to be fucked, like little stupid whore? I didn't even prepare you but your cunt sucking my cock in so deep. A pathetic little fuck toy. Do you know what i think about when I fuck you? No? About how i slit your throat and break your little bones. Oh, what was that? Are you fucking moaning? Whore, you're even worse than me." There's a distinct mix of disgust in his voice.

Asphyxia/choking: The thought that you are literally in his hands and he can strangle you excites him. He completely controls your life, right up to your very last breath. You think it's just such a fetish, because he likes rough sex. But William looks at it from a different angle. When his hands squeeze you so hard, far from sexually, but like a predator, like a killer, not giving you a breath of air, and your eyes are already rolling back as connection with the world is lost, when his face becomes blurred. That's what William thinks is sexy — the fact that he controls your fate, whether you die or not, depends on him.

Bloodplay: William likes the look of blood, that red disgusting liquid. He hates mess, but whenever the floor of a pizzeria gets dirty with someone's blood, the remains of a brain or even some organs, he is overjoyed. It's probably the only mess he doesn't hate to clean up.

Whenever his hands are covered in blood, Afton without doubt will touch you. He will share this blood with you, leaving it on your clothes or body. William can be so disgusting that he uses a blood liquid as a lube. It's usually your blood, rarely his.

Knife play: William's murder weapon was and always will be a knife. No matter how good others are, the knife will always be special to him. After all, it allows him to approach the victim physically, to see their face distorted by pain. To look into their pitiful eyes, to peer into that very last look when life leaves their body.

Afton loves using a knife when he takes not only someone's life, but also your clothes, especially underwear. He quickly cuts your bra and panties if he needs quick access to your body. Before you can even blink, he's already running the blade over your ribs, stomach, down to your pubic. At this point, fear already appears. William is full of surprises and you will never be able to predict his next move. This creates a sense of power and control. The way a knife can cut through your flesh or clothes, the way a knife creates a sense of vulnerability in you, allowing William to maintain superiority.

If you've been good, he'll put the knife away, beside your underwear or what's left of it.

But if you've been a bad girl, William will definitely hurt you, not deadly, but a cut or scar will remain, on the inside of your thigh or under your breasts, wherever he pleases. This is your punishment, one of his favorites.

If he's in a bad mood or fucking you roughly, he can press the blade against your neck, right against the carotid artery. "Don't squirm or my hand will shake and I might accidentally kill you. You don't want that to happen, right?"

Daddy kink: William never thought about it. He discovered this kink some time ago, when you were so blissful from his cock that you accidentally moaned "daddy!", which immediately turned your cheeks and even your ears red. You immediately shut your mouth, looking ashamed, and hid your face on his shoulder. The level of embarrassment was too great.

"What was that?" William stopped thrusting, which made you almost whine. He pulled back a little to get a good look at your flushed face. "What did you call me? Repeat." because of your shyness, you were speechless. How could you blurt that out? He must have gotten angry. "I won't continue until i hear that word from you again, dear." His fingers lift your chin, forcing you to look at him.

Daddy kink suggests that he takes the role of a dominant and caring figure during sex. It includes William calling you "babygirl" or "princess" and saying how proud he is of you. He likes to control the situation and also show care, even if it is fake.

L — Location

Wherever he wants.

William's sex drive is far from low, he's already fucked you enough in the bedroom, living room and shower, so he's moved on to the next level.

His office, the basement (did it always smell so horrible here?), his car, the park (it was supposed to be just a cute date). And his most favourite is Henry's desk.

M — Motivation

When William plays psychologist with you. When he listens to you pouring out your soul to him and telling him about your problems. Whether it's the little things or something worse: problems with parents or self-esteem.

William enjoys seeing your shoulders droop, your voice tremble and your eyes turn red from crying. At such moments, William opens his arms to you, pressing your face swollen from crying to his chest. His hands are running through strands of your hair as he soothingly rocks you from side to side, sweetly whispering: "My girl, cry, cry as loudly as you can. I'm here." You weaken in his arms, immediately turning into a small child who needs only support and words of comfort.

William knows this and he has no problem being a shoulder to cry on. In his eyes, you are vulnerable, weak and fragile, practically begging him to destroy you, not only physically. Break your psyche, destroy your idea of what a healthy relationship is, make you fall in love with him completely. And he's damn good at it.

N — No

William doesn't like the idea of you dominating him. It just doesn't excite him. Most likely, he will let you try, but only for the first ten minutes, then he'll push you away and pin you against wall or bed. "You done? Now it's time for daddy to show you where you belong."

O — Oral

William is a selfish man, but that doesn't mean he won't please you. Not only his cock, but also his tongue make you arch and moan. Afton knows how to touch a woman, and he is very well versed in female anatomy. He slowly circles your clit with his tongue, while his two fingers are already inside your pussy, moving at a smooth pace.

Then he pulls away, his chin wet with your juices. His fingers are still thrusting. You lift your hips, clutching the sheets.

"Naughty girl, did you think i'd let you cum?"

And while you are trying your best not to reach orgasm, William first gently kisses your clit, and then begins to suck on it, making your toes curl.

William likes it when you give him a blowjob, there's something special about the way you look at him, trying to take all his length in your mouth, but he doesn't always show it. He can be quite restrained and detached, focusing on his own pleasure rather than on your condition.

Sometimes he loses control if you stimulate him not only with your tongue, but also with your hands, caressing his heavy balls. He catches his breath as you push his cock deeper into your throat, his fingers grabbing your hair, pulling you roughly to guide you. His hips involuntarily jerk forward, setting a fast rhythm.

P — Pace

Depends on his mood.

William knows perfectly how to move in a way that will bring you to ecstasy, make you moan and cum in seconds. However, he doesn't always keep the perfect pace. Sometimes he behaves like an asshole, roughly fucking you, moving jerkily, no stimulating you and no allowing you to cum after. And it really hurts, it feels like you've been stabbed right in the most sensitive part of your body. William usually uses this pace in punishments.

In general, his pace is rough and assertive, which reflects his aggressive nature not only in sex.

But there is another side of fucking with him, when your whole body is pierced with an electric current, adding colors to pleasure. The combination of this creates a beautiful picture of agony and dizzying orgasm.

William rarely moves slowly and gently, only at the beginning of your relationship, when he still didn't want to reveal his true side.

Q — Quickie

He's not really a fan of quickies. William likes to do everything slowly, enjoying the moment. To slowly chew the pieces. But there are some circumstances and situations that just force him to fuck you right here and now.

High on adrenaline, sweat broke out on his forehead as his pupils dilated. William throws the bloody knife on the floor, right next to the dead body. The impulses of the sick arousal send signals directly to his twisted brain. William lifts Spring Bonnie's head, revealing his face, a wry insane smile on his lips.

A dead child can wait. William's hands wrap around your throat, forcibly pinning you against the wall. You don't even have a chance to take your last breath, all you can do is grab his wrist, face is distorted with fear. William is more dangerous than ever now. He's already taller than you and now he's wearing an animatronic costume, which has only made him even taller, bigger, scarier. The blood on his hands and the remains of human organs on Spring Bonnie's fur. You're terrified.

"No, I'm not going to kill you. Something much-much worse." he says, as his hands begin to explore your body.

It also happens when William is sitting in his office, busy with work and you're on his lap. You can do what you want, but the clear rule is not to disturb him. And you're trying, really trying to be good girl, but you're fucking sitting on his lap. It turns you on. And you start moving, slowly and carefully fidgeting so Afton wouldn't notice. But you're getting awfully wet and you're not good at hiding your sighs.

"What are you doing, y/n?" he notices your movements. "What a fucking pervert, can't even sit still for ten fucking minutes?"

"I'm sorry," you sob, making a guilty face. "i'm sorry, I just…"

"Just a whore who can't sit still for a minute without my cock inside?" he throws the pen away and then grabs your hips, pushing you onto the table, right on top of his blueprints. "look at you, all soaking just from sitting on my lap." he hisses as his hands work on his belt.

And you're not sure how he's going to use that belt: tie your hands or spank you.

R — Risk

Having sex in his office with the door open is already a damn risk for you. But not for William Afton.

"Stupid lamb," he thinks, seeing how scared you are every time Henry's voice is heard outside the door.

William will put you in more frightening and risky situations than this. It's a dust compared to what he has planned for you.

Afton is always open to trying new things, especially in sex. Usually the offers come from him, not from you. Your brain just doesn't work in that way, yet. William often encourages you to experiment, enjoying your nervousness and inexperience.

This person prefers to risk your health by not using condoms, instead putting you on oral contraceptives.

S — Stamina

He has a lot of stamina, which was useful not only in chasing that boy who tried in vain to escape, but also in sex. Usually William lasts about 20 minutes.

There will be as many rounds as William wants. And, of course you, being his obedient girl, will accept them.

T — Toys

William doesn't use them very often, but he does have some.

Blindfold, handcuffs and vibrator. These three things can be used on you simultaneously or separately. It all depends on what kind of mood he is in.

If he blindfolds you, then he comments his every move. He runs his hands over your breasts, at first just gently touching, squeezing a little, making your nipples harden. And then he pulls them, causing pain, watching your skin turn red.

If he handcuffs you, it's either because you asked him to try or because it's your punishment. Anyway, eventually your hands are handcuffed tightly and painfully behind your back while you kneel in front of him with his cock in your mouth. The view is amazing, William thinks, moving his hips and going deeper, making you wanna vomit. And the thing is, you can't even tap on his leg to tell him to slow down. But that's the point of these handcuffs, that they immobilize you.

"Why all those tears?" he smirks. "didn't you ask for it yourself?"

If William uses a vibrator on you, he holds your hips, pressing the vibrating toy directly against your clit. You're crying not only from pleasure, but also from the growing pain of overstimulation, since you have already cum twice.

U — Unfair

William is an unfair man, in everything. And when it comes to sex, he's doubly unfair. He doesn't know which he likes more: to mock morally or physically, so he chooses both.

He spends eternity with you, stretching you to take his cock, making you so wet that three of his fingers easily enter you. And at the end... a sudden call to work. And the worst part is, he leaves a ghostly kiss on your lips with a whisper: "don't play with yourself while I'm gone, honey. You don't want to be punished, do you?"

William brings you to the meetings that his old friend Henry holds at the end of the work week to see how many dollars they earned. Henry likes to bring his favorite beer, snacks, and he's usually the only one who talks a lot.

You are sitting at the table, discussing something and eating, when suddenly you feel William's hand creeping under your skirt.

And then he pushes your panties to the side, his long fingers touching your clit, what makes you flinch slightly.

"Y/n, is everything okay?" Henry asks.

Meanwhile, you feel William's damn fingers spreading your wet folds, and he inserts one finger. You're choking on your food.

"Yes," Henry needs to be distracted urgently. "c-can you open the window? It's so stuffy in here."

Henry narrows eyes, but gets up from the table and walks over to the window. William starts to run his finger faster over your clit, and you make a moan, which you quickly hide with a cough.

V–Volume

Loud moans from him are rare. William takes deep breaths that ends in growls. Sometimes he makes little moans, murmuring how tight your cunt feels.

If he degrades you, he will mock you by imitating your whines and moans.

William's voice is attractive, and the british accent makes it even better.

The way he pronounces the letter "r" and stretches words, goosebumps run down your spine. When he whispers praises as "my good girl" or "my little rabbit." Or when he growls while fucking you, its both scary and exciting. His voice is enveloping.

His british accent is like velvet, soft and sophisticated. When he speaks, it seems that every word is covered with honey, slowly dripping from his tongue. It's like he's casting a spell on you, and you're succumbing to his charm.

W — Wildcard

Chica wasnt working properly. William needed to see what was wrong with her beak, but he needed someone to hold tools and napkins for him. This job won't take long, he promised you. But you've been here for hours. Turns out that something was wrong with the robot's voice box, Chica couldn't pronounce her lines correctly.

He explained something to you about robotics and how all these mechanics work, but every word he said passed you by. You couldn't concentrate. Although his request was quite simple, it was a real torture for you. The air in the room became heavier and thicker, you felt the warmth spreading throughout your body, passing through all organs and sinking to the bottom of your belly. You didn't know why. Or didn't want to know.

William was half-naked. His white shirt and purple vest were hanging on a chair. You're used to seeing a man like this, he often took off his outer clothes so as not to stain them. After all, work with animatronics has always been very very dirty.

You saw the proves of these words on William's fingers. It's always those damn fingers, you think. William's are long, thin and insanely beautiful. They're calloused, with small wounds. And now they were even more beautiful, stained with animatronic oil.

You tried to focus on something else, but William wiped his hand on his pants, leaving a dark oil stain on them. It only made everything worse. You urgently needed a fresh breath of air, not only because of this sight, but also because of the terrible smell that quickly spread as William began to pick at Chica's beak with a screwdriver.

"What is that smell?" you asked, wrinkling your nose.

"Chica has leftover pizza in her mouth and beak, probably expired. The smell is terrible, i agree." William muttered back. How did pizza ended up there...?

The smell was almost unbearable and your nostrils burned from irritation.

Expired pizza doesn't smell like that.

You turned your head to the yellow animatronic and leaned a little closer, getting under William's arm. Chica looked a little scary without a beak, her mouth turned into a dark hole with a lot of wires sticking out of it. The smell intensified, and you winced again, trying not to breathe through your nose. How could William even breathe so normally? You began to look closely at Chica's face, her design and a cute bib covered with a few drops of blood. Wait, what?

"Why is there blood on it?" you asked again, not taking your eyes off the animatronic.

"One boy got hurt. You know, it happens, the movements of animatronics are not always smooth. He must have tried to hit her." there's a slight pause, and he grins. "Children can be cruel."

You narrowed your eyes as you considered Afton's words. Before you reached the logical conclusion in your mind, William's voice sounded right in your ear, which made you flinch.

"Hand me the soldering iron." he asked, and you nodded, handing him the instrument. When his dirty fingers touched yours, you tensed up.

"This smell... " you couldn't ignore the strange topic. "it doesn't smell like an expired pizza at all."

"Did you know that curiosity killed the cat?" it sounded rather threatening. William stopped picking at robot's beak, making a serious face. You instantly froze, regretting the question you asked. "Haha, what happened?" he laughed. "That's just a warning for the future."

You didn't know what to say. You bit the inside of your cheek in worry, sighing. Although the smell was all over the place.

"Now my turn to ask." he put Chica's beak on the floor along with the tools, his hands reached for a napkin, wiping away the dirt. You were waiting for a question, worried. William was dangerously close to you, the terrible stench from Chica mixed with the smell of his cigarettes. Disgusting, but intriguing. "Do you like me?"

"No." you answer categorically. He looks at you in fake surprise, knowing full well that you're lying. "I mean, yes, a little bit, but-"

He rubbed between his eyebrows, smearing oil there as well. "Actually, i asked to listen to your stupid excuses once again." he paused before grinning. Your flushed face looked ridiculous, but it was pretty cute. "do you really think I don't notice the way you look at me? You think i dont know you're checking me out?"

Your stomach just did a somersault. Your throat got dry. But the last question fucked everything up.

"Do you think I don't know that you touched yourself in the toilet of my pizzeria?" William asked tartly, speaking the question emphatically loudly. You felt sick.

"How did you...?" you stammered, not even denying his words, you were so shocked.

"Cameras, Y/n. You're lucky I saw and not Henry." William continued to mock, slowly crawling up to you. His hand was on your leg. You couldn't take your eyes off his hands, now the oil has stained your clothes too. A chill ran down your spine, you lost all thoughts in a second. Even the disgusting smell seemed to have disappeared.

You automatically moved back and immediately squeaked softly in pain when you hit the back of your head against the wall. William's lips parted in a crooked grin.

"Stop acting like that." he commanded as if to a dog. William moved closer, getting between your legs. He was crawling towards you like a predator to a frightened prey, ready to attack and sink his fangs into its throat.

The dirty oil from his fingers burned your skin. His gaze stared into you, and the oil on his fingers left a stain on your shirt. You couldn't fight it anymore, your body succumbed to his touch, his hands slid over your hips.

"Come on, honey, take the initiative. Kiss me. You wanted this so badly, why don't you take the chance if I'm right in front of you?" you remained motionless, your body tensed. It was unclear if this was another mockery.

His words hung in the air, remaining as a tempting offer. You couldn't hold back the blush that spread across your cheeks, your pulse quickened and your heart seemed to jump out of your chest.

Your lips touched his in a feather-light kiss. William let out a malicious laugh into your mouth, his palms cupped your face, forcibly pulling you closer, now staining your cheeks with oil. His tongue ran teasingly over your lips before sliding inside, brazenly exploring every corner of your mouth. You gave yourself to him completely, wrapping your arms around his neck. William pulled away, your eyes met as you both needed to catch breath.

Before you could say anything, his hands began to unbutton your shirt, exposing your bra underneath. William's fingers traced the contours of your nipples through the fabric, making them harden. William smiled slyly, leaning in for another kiss before whispering, "good girl." He grinned when he heard you moan.

His hands quickly got to your pants and he pulled them down to your knees.

William fucked your mouth with aggressive kisses, not allowing you to pull away.

"Little pervert. Fucked herself with her fingers in the toilet of a children's fucking diner." William growled. "You couldn't even cum. Your little fingers aren't enough to satisfy your cunt, are they?"

You closed your eyes, nodding obediently. Again... again these mocking that make you want to howl plaintively.

You were humiliated by agreeing with every word he said. It was arousing as hell, your needy eyes screamed: "fuck me, right now and right here." Everything in your body burned and ached, begging him for more.

"Buddy, are you done with Chica?" Henry's voice rang out in the hallway of the pizzeria. William pulled back, his lips curling. Your face is pale from the fear of being caught. You immediately began buttoning your shirt with shaking hands.

"We'll continue this a little later, honey." William cooed, looking at your neck contentedly.

X – X-ray

18-19 cm.

Y — Yearning

You turned out to be his little stress reliever. And stress is a very common in William's life, being a single father and a workaholic, he's always busy at work, projecting future animatronics, designing and much more.

But is that all he's doing?

William is often tired at work, under intense stress because of the eternally screaming children and their moms. Also, Henry is always running around the place, either Charlotte is lost or something else. A lot of paperwork is also tiring. In this case, stressed William is more gentle and tender with you, allowing you to sit on his lap while you whimper and rub against him, trying to achieve orgasm. "Good girl. Helping daddy relieve stress after a hard day, that's right. I'm too tired to fuck you properly." he kisses you on the neck and then on the cheek. “Can you cum without my cock? Do it, show daddy that you're a big girl.”

Z — Zzz...

William is a light sleeper, he can wake up from any movement or rustle. If the sex took place in the bedroom, he will only be happy to rest after. Sometimes all William craves is just silence. And you're indeed silent, lying next to him, trying to catch your breat, because you're too tired to talk, even move. After all, sex with him is usually intense and exhausting.

Sometimes William gets so tired after spending the whole day fixing animatronics that he falls asleep first. It gives you an amazing opportunity to glance at him better, to look at his features without his always mocks and teasings about it.

[justghoulythingz]

i want you in all the ways you’ll let me have you…

a drabble for anonymous taken from this prompt list.

pairing : ghoul/lucy maclean

word count : 846

warnings : some good old fashioned self-loathing, rope to restrain, mentions of sex. 18+, mdni

divider credit

It’s been centuries since Cooper Howard has gotten this involved with anyone.

He’s a bit like a stunted foal: clumsy yet reluctant to admit it; so used to being somewhere dark and grisly and detached that when the sun hitched to Lucy MacLean shines, it burns his irreversibly damaged skin. Gives it a kind of glow that he has to kill every time it threatens to bloom.

Self-inflicted wounds are easier to nurse. What’s the point of watering the dead garden his innards are overgrown with?

He winces when she touches him. That’s why her wrists need to be kept bound when he explores her. So she can’t feel how much she affects him. So she doesn’t get the wrong idea.

This ain’t love. Not that she has much experience with the romantic variety. He’s got plenty to keep close to the chest.

He gave himself to his Barb and she trampled him so far into the dirt that he might has well have been buried that fateful day.

The consequential marks don’t seem to bother Lucy. She’s a curious sort. One of the things Cooper admires about her. In the same breath, however, he doesn’t mind if for once she’d give it a proper fucking rest.

She moves too fast for him. He’s not entirely certain he wanted to budge in the first place.

Here she is with his face entombed in her neck, kissing and licking and nibbling as she opens herself to him. Thinking about how he would drag his nose along the slopes and valleys that comprise her if he could. How she deserves a man who’s whole and not whatever husk was violently spat out.

He can plainly see she yearns to reciprocate. Restless energy makes her grit her teeth and clench her thighs, squirming about as he gets to roam free. A low, long-winded hiss manages to escape between the soft, swollen lips he’s already branded.

“Tell me what y’want, angel wings. Use your big girl words. Y’had no trouble up t’this point.” He smiles against her throat, keeping her body caged. His voice cuts through like a saw hacking down a tree. Chop chop chop. Devastation as it crashes to the ground.

She sighs heavily and attempts to fix her posture. He’s very skilled at distracting. It’s not lost on her that he does so on purpose.

“Can you look at me first, Cooper?” she asks, chest heaving. He wonders how their hearts would feel galloping together. He doesn’t take his clothes off for her.

Some days, he wants to.

“Alright,” he begins, angling himself backward and resting one palm on the wall above her head. He can humor her. “I’m lookin’.”

And boy does he look. How can one not, with those doe eyes, large and all-encompassing like a lush forest of green and brown and gold?

His expression takes on that of a predator’s honing in on its prey. Except she’s taken hold of his hide and shredded it until it’s all mangled and indistinguishable. He feigns he has the upper hand. He feigns many things.

Lucy utilizes a few more moments to compose herself. Logic has been replaced with emotion. That requires a different type of effort to navigate.

Normally he would hurry her along, he don’t got all day. But really, he does. Why not spend it admiring a work of unabashed art that spawned from, according to him, the depths of hell?

“As much as I enjoy you getting your excess of me, I feel…” She exhales, shaky. “I feel like that excess has snatched away my enjoyment of you. I, I feel incomplete. It’s not as satisfactory as I know it could be.”

The old, tattered cowboy doesn’t answer. It’s difficult to swallow. She is expectant, but she’s also learned to lower said expectations when it comes to him. So she carries on of her own accord.

“What I want, Cooper, is you. All of you. I’m not satisfied with this half-baked sex we’ve been having. I want to pleasure you. Have you gasping for air and unable to think clearly.”

If she only knew.

“I want you to orgasm in my vagina and mouth and hand and, and wherever else, I don’t care! Except that’s really not true. I do care. I want you in all the ways you’ll let me have you. And I want you in all the ways you haven’t let me have you. That’s what I want.”

She’s so technical sometimes that it usually makes him roll his eyes or laugh. Now, he doesn’t do either.

Instead, he grasps her chin and tilts it upward. He shoots her one last isolated once-over and seals their fate with a fervent kiss. The hand once above her travels below and deftly releases her from her binds. The rope falls to the dusty floor with a resounding thud.

“Best get t’work then,” Cooper murmurs against her cushioned mouth. Like a warm, forgiving blanket waiting to surround him, even after being away from home for months, years.

“‘Fore I change my mind.”

[allenkross]

I can't keep my feelings to myself, so I'll write about them here. I’ve already told my bf as much as I can, but I’m already scared to say anything more.

The Allen/Lavi couple is one of my favorites. When I say "couple" I mean any kind of relationship, these two will make it work

I'll start with the manga panels. Unfortunately, Allen and Lavi don't have much time together( Crowley's arc, the beginning of the arc about the search for Cross and travel to Japan, then the ark arc and the "destruction" of the Black Order), but where they do, they create perfect synergy

the following are arts from Hoshino-sensei's insta. I don’t have much to say here, I’m just glad they’re together :D

The sweetest thing! The official art where Lavi NEEDS to be in body contact with Allen 🥺

And two of my favorites👇

knowing what a brutal childhood Allen and knowing the cruel rule of the Bookman it's very sad, but nevertheless pleasant to look at these kids together. As if there is nothing bad in their world

And here only Lavi looks at Allen and, again, touches him

In the end I want to note a few points from the plot.

The first is a reaction to Allen's death and his playing card. When he and Lenalee came to the place of Allen's "death", the redhead was extremely calm, as if he didn't want to believe it. He picked up Allen's card and didn't tell anyone about it, keeping it as a memory. At the moment when Lenalee angered him with her detachment, he finally showed that he was also in pain, but he was holding on. 🚩This is purely my view of the situation🚩 I see Allen as Lavi's first true friend; yes, there is Kanda, but he is too angry to express anything other than insults; yes, there is Lenalee, but she is more like a fragile younger sister who needs to be protected with all your might; but with Allen he can joke and play (as can be seen in one of the official art, but I didn’t add it here), they have the same fear of the supernatural, pretense in behavior with others. This leads to different reactions to the “death” of Allen and the “death” (read loss) of Lenalee when she fell into the sea. In the situation with Allen, he understands that he couldn't do anything, but Lenalee could be saved. Plus, it’s possible that he really wants to atone for Allen’s “death” by saving Lenalee

very powerful moment when Allen calms down Chaoji. Allen, who has already come a long and difficult way, is now in another terrible situation, but a calm smile and eyes burning with faith in a calm tomorrow calm Chaoji. And the light of Allen's soul amazes and frightens Lavi at the same time. The fire of your ambition can burn you

in general, I really love these two. I've been in the DGM fandom for 9 years now and I'm waiting for Lavi's return. Every New Year I ask Santa to give me a manga page where Allen hugs Lavi after separation 🥲

Love and peace 🧡🩶✌️

P.s. English is not my native language so there are definitely mistakes here. Forgive me, and if you want, point them out to me, I will be grateful🙇‍♀️

[ewanmitchellconnoisseur]

Can you write an Ettore x Reader where Reader is the one who forces him/herself on Ettore?

Iɴ Tʜᴇ Dᴀʀᴋ

A/N: Heyyyy!!! Thank you sm! You are my first ever nonnie! 🥰❤️ Welcome Welcome! Hopefully, I did your beautiful idea justice! Also sorry this took me a while to complete. Also sorry this is so long I couldn't stop typing. Also again, sorry, if this isn't exactly what you imagined, i kinda just let my fingers do the work.

And im so sorry this took me so long so hopefully your still here!

TW: unprotected sex, p in v, degradation, name-calling, slight somnophilia, dubcon, hints to SA, hints to drug addiction, hints to child neglect

Word Count: 4.1k

No one was shocked when your sentence was read. Not even your mother was fazed when she heard the fate that lay before her only child, her baby girl.

Everyone expected it. For a crime as cruel as yours the death penalty was warranted, what people didn't expect was to be delivered news that you would be sent on some sort of space mission instead.

Your mother thought that a worse fate was being sent off to space to die. Not having a body to bury, a grave to clean and to pretend that you had died of anything else. She'd tell her friends it was a car crash, a robbery, cancer. Anything to hide her guilt.

Cause this was all her fault. Had she been the mother you needed and stopped bringing those men into her home....you would never have suffered the way you did. She never forgave herself the first time it happened, you had come downstairs waiting for a snack despite her telling you to stay upstairs no matter what.

You did not know who he was, a man who came often in a black car. All you knew was after he left your mom laid on the couch for hours wasting away. A white powder under her nose. Money was tight, and the offer of 10 minutes in exchange for a free fix was all too tempting to her.

And thats only when it started. It had happened many times after that despite your fight and protest.

And there was only a series of unfortunate events after that. A doctor confirmed your chances of having children were 0, you'd have to settle for alternative options. Kids at school picked and teased you for your dirty closed and matted hair. You weren't the brightest and struggled in every subject except art.

You loved art and enjoyed painting and the freedom that came with it to create whatever you were feeling.

When high school years rolled around you were detached from everyone and everything. You clung to your brushes with stained hands. The teasing never stopped, even the teachers looked at you with a look of disgust.

All but one...Mr Moore...the art teacher. He encouraged your artistic talents. You thought he was sincere, thought his encouragement came from a real and valid place. But it was all for his personal gain...his sick fantasies and tortured mind.

You barely remember when it happened, everything went by so quick. Afterwards, you were so angry you couldn't help yourself. He was the first blood you spilt and painted your canvas with.

You fled and ran off to another town, leaving your mother behind. It was there you realized that maybe you could make a difference, maybe you could get justice not just for yourself but every woman who had gone through the same thing.

It wasn't hard finding men in the area who had gone to jail for assault or worse. And when you did track them down you enjoyed every moment. Blood was a great liquid. And the paintings you'd leave on the wall were masterpieces.

When it was all said and done you had killed 24 men all convicted of assault. Many rallied for you to be released, that you were a hero, not a murderer. But with the killing of 3 officers, the government wouldn't let you go unpunished.

Your first week on the ship was a headache.

Dibs already didn't like you, unknown to you it was due to your inability to conceive. You hated her, she too was a criminal but yet felt as though her crimes meant less than everyone else's.

You cared for no one else. Spent most of your downtime in the activity room where luckily there were only a few art supplies. Colouring utensils and children's paint set.

You sat on the couch your designated sketchbook in hand as you drew, only ever using the red utensils. You missed how smooth blood was, how bright it shone and how dark it dried.

You heard a soft "hm" from behind but when you looked no one was there. Brushing it off you continued your art session until it was time to sleep.

It wasn't until a month on the ship you noticed him. He was quiet but dangerous. You could not lie and say he didn't bring an odd feeling to your stomach, one you had not felt before.

It wasn't hard to get Dibs to give you information on him, specifically on why he was here. And what you found out had you licking your lips in anticipation.

He was one of them. The men that prey on young vulnerable girls like you once were. The ones that attack them in the dark and give them no chance of fighting back.

And so started the plotting, the watching and the fantasizing. You could tell he felt a need to be in control. He rarely spoke but when he did it was to bark orders at whoever was doing chores with him. He visited the box often, he must miss the touch of a woman...

A plan formed beautifully in your mind. One that had no chance of failure.

You wiped down the walls despite it looking clean glancing at him every few seconds. He wore no shirt while cleaning the floor and his eyes too found their way to you.

You moved gracefully every inch was calculated. You gave enough of a view to have him wanting to see more. When you finished cleaning the walls you moved to helping him with the floors, close enough so he could smell you and feel the heat radiating from you.

You saw as his head moved closer and all that could go through your mind was a green light. Standing up you walked away giving him a look over your shoulder before turning the corner. You could hear the sounds of his footsteps following after you.

When Ettore turned the corner he saw no one and was visibly confused. He noticed a door ajar the room inside pitch black. Stepping in he closed the door behind him. He could hear your breathing and knew you were inside. Blood rushed within him as he realized he was finally gonna get to feel a woman again after all this time.

But his hopes were crushed as he felt something prick his neck. he reached back grabbing you his hands wrapping around your neck but it was far too late as he felt his limbs weaken and was pulled off to sleep.

Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z ZZZ

When Ettore was slowly pulled out of his slumber he was still weak. His limbs felt heavy, and his eyelids felt taped shut. But there was one distinct feeling, one he knew well and loved.

He could feel someone's hands on his chest, their legs sitting on both sides of his torso, a repeated movement as the person lifted and lowered themselves on him.

He could hear their airy breaths, the panting and soft moans.

When he could finally open his eyes everything was blurry, the person above him a one big fuzz of colour. His eyes were glazed over and despite him feeling no pain anywhere they were filling with tears. Turning this woman above him into a beautiful painting of watercolours.

Is this what all those women he hurt felt like? Did they go through the same motions?

He tried to lift his arms only managing to twitch his fingers.

Did they feel this weak? This powerless?

He heard her laugh, a sinister laugh almost. As if mocking him for even trying to move or fight back.

"You know you like it." She whispered in his ears. the words making him gag. He had to say them himself. He would count how many times he had said that on his hands, but then again he only had two hands.

He managed to move his arms again. They slowly came up to her trying to push her off, to get shove her away. He liked being in control, he didn't enjoy this moment of fragility.

"Just give in. Don't fight it." He could feel the pleasure bubbling in his stomach, he hated it, hated how good it felt, hated how much joy he was getting from this sick act.

...Sick act? Is that what it was now that it was happening to him? A sick act?

He could hear how close you were, he could feel it too. His hips craved to buck up wanting to feel more, to be deeper. He managed to get his hands to move as they lazily rested on your waist. And once again you laughed at him taunting him about how much he was enjoying this. The way you clenched around him. And when you finally did cum he loved the sensations, his own release close after.

But he felt you get off of him. Watched as you moved to the side, a gentle hand touched his cheek.

"Please." It was barely a whisper, all he could muster to say.

"Don't worry. I have to paint a mural first." He wasn't sure why the words invoked fear in him but his body went into panic as he desperately willed himself to move, to scream.

You brought a blade to his stomach and you cut deep enough to gather blood into a bowl. The floor next to him is your canvas as you start your masterpiece.

He tried to crane his head to look but you shifted him back with a giggle.

"No peeking!"

He's not sure how much time was going by or if he was still bleeding. Eventually, he heard you stop moving as you muttered perfect. The door opens and closes, he's alone for a while before you finally come back and lean down next to him.

"What shall we do with you now....to kill you would mean risking getting myself in trouble...to leave you alive and well would mean risking you retaliating...choices choices."

You ran your fingers through his hair before a light bulb went off in your head.

The next hour was the most pain Ettore had ever gone through, and the most devastating moment of his life.

When he was finally found hours by Monte he couldn't help but throw up his lunch.

Ettore is on the floor naked, wings painted on both sides of him, below them the look of feathers falling, his body contoured with his own blood and the words above his head

"He flew too close to the sun."

And lastly...in his hands, he held his own penis.

He would end up telling Dibs he did it to himself, the embarrassment on his face evident. He couldn't admit to what happened to him. Couldnt bear to face the music. He wished for death some days, not being able to feel pleasure anymore had him seething.

But he did nothing, when he looked at you he was oddly terrified.

And every time he met your eyes and saw the smirk on your lips he knew what you were thinking about what happened

In the dark

A/N: YAY I FINISHED ANOTHER ONE!! So I'm not sure why my brain went in this direction but I actually liked it. Again sorry to the anon if this isn't what you wanted...I humbly apologize.

General Taglist (the only one 🤣🥲) @thought--bubble

[fishnapple]

OMG, I love reading your detailed reaponses to the Tarot Ask Game! Lots of good and thought-provoking stuff. 🤩 If it's not done already or uncomfortable, can you give is your take on any of these? 👀 Thank you so much! 🥰 ✒️🦋 🌕🦉🍄🫧

Hi, how are you? Hope you're well 💓

Thank you for the questions and messages. 🥰

✒️ What’s a quote that sums up your philosophy?

“It’s a small world. It keeps recrossing itself. He who would do battle with the many-headed hydra of human nature must pay a world of pain & his family must pay it along with him! & only as you gasp your dying breath shall you understand, your life amounted to no more than one drop in a limitless ocean!” Yet what is any ocean but a multitude of drops? Cloud atlas - David Mitchell

There's a quote that talks about how the world, our lives, will repeat itself over and over again through many lifetimes in the same novel but it mentions su*cide so I will just quote a part of it here: "We do not stay dead long,[omitted], my birth, next time around, will be upon me in a heartbeat." It reflects my philosophy about the continuity of life and past lives.

Many things worked out as I planned them to, but that did not always prove of benefit to me. But almost everything developed naturally and by destiny. Memories, dreams, reflections - C.G Jung

This closely reflects the observation I have about life in general.

🦋 What advice would you give to someone just starting to learn tarot?

The short advice is to take it easy 😗

Learn the fundamentals and try to listen to your own intuition at the same time.

It will be different for each one of us, but in my case, books, fancy accessories, and numerous decks in your possession only served to distract me from really diving into Tarot. I find learning through direct experiences of reading, especially for other people, the most effective way. Also, watching how other readers do readings is also very educational.

Thinking about all the interpretations of each card can be intimidating, but if you group them by themes, I think it will be easier. The fool's journey, the meaning of each suit, the general meaning of each number, try to find the undercurrent similarities.

Like everything else, if you do it often enough, you will get used to it and get better at it.🕸

🌕 How do you connect with the energy of a querent before a reading?

I usually ask for their name (not initials) and their favourite colours, a scene they find beautiful so that I can build a mental image of them in my head. I'm a visual thinker so I can't think about something if I can't see it in my head. Then I will pick an object, usually a crystal to represent the querent and look at that object throughout the reading, imagine myself sitting across the querent. That's how I connect with a querent.

I have to admit that I don't feel sensations in my body like how some readers when they channel the energy of a querent and the reading. If I would describe my reading process in details, it would sound very mechanical, detached and lack the mystical or fantastical elements usually associated with divination 😅

🫧 How do you cleanse or recharge your tarot decks, if at all?

I sometimes put a Selenite crystal bar on top of the deck in good faith that the deck will be cleansed. But a part of me is quite sceptical about it. I keep my decks in separated pouches in my drawer to keep them out of light and heat and occasionally spread them on my bed to let them breathe some air.

I don't usually feel the need to cleanse my decks. Unless it was touched by someone else, then I would let it sit in a dark, open space, alone, just like how I myself would like to be when I need to recharge. An open space, cool air and darkness are good energy cleansing agents for me.

🦉Do you believe some people are gifted, and is that necessary to read tarot?

I think Tarot is like the art field or any other fields, some people will have an easier time grasping the system, do it faster, more distinctively. Some people are naturally more sensitive to energies, understand images intuitively, have the ability to articulate words in a way that flows. But that doesn't mean other people who don't have that natural disposition cannot do the same or better.

It boiled down to the mindset and how much interest you have for the subject. A curious and open mindset will make an accepting attitude towards many things, which will free the mind and the heart and let things flow more naturally, outward expression of this can be considered as natural talent. Giftedness may give you an initial boost but interest will give you fuel in the long run.

So no, I don't think you need to be gifted to read Tarot. You just need to be open to the idea of Tarot.

🍄 Do you use any tool, substance or technique to enhance the accuracy of your readings?

My tools and techniques are good sleep, well rested body, neutral state of mind and heart, good lighting and drinking lots of water.

My favourite motto when doing a reading: "first thought, best thought"

🪷

Get to know your Tarot reader - ask game

[hqcult]

EYELINER ## suna rintarou

trying to apply his eyeliner would've been easy if only rintarou can keep his hands to himself.

. tw smut, dom suna, established relationship, fingering, oral f receiving, edging, dirty talk, slight exhibitionism, mind break, unprotected sex, pwp . wc 4k

"ugh, he's gonna do it again." you mutter, eyeing suna's hand as it skims around your vanity desk for his favorite brand of eyeliner. for some reason everybody naturally finds themself drawn to suna rintarou, even if he was always so stoic and detached. 

you hate how girls would flock around him in parties as they stare at his kohl-lined eyes or at the painted black nail polish whenever you disappear to get a drink, knowing full well what kind of thoughts are running in their heads because you, for sure, thought of him the same way. alright. we get it. your boyfriend can be a hot mofo if he wants to be and his idgaf attitude just adds to the whole appeal.

we get it.

because you love him more than the stars in the galaxy combined, sometimes you can't help but feel jealous when people get too close to him. you really didn't want to be that type of girlfriend but sometimes you just like the assurance that he's all yours and nothing's wrong about that, right? plus, suna seems to exceptionally love when he gets you jealous and feral. he may always pretend otherwise but he loves staking his claim on you just as much as you liked being claimed by him. 

"are you done yet?" you say, staring at him from your bedroom door frame. 

atsumu was throwing a party tonight and you were all dressed up and ready to go, just patiently waiting for your boyfriend. 

suna replies a beat later, not bothering to meet your eyes. "just a minute."

you just want his attention all on you. you don't even want to go to this stupid party and see all these people shamelessly flirting with him even if you were right there by his side. you just want to have some alone time with suna rintarou. 

and you may or may not have just come up with an idea to make that happen.

"where's the eyeliner? the one i always use?"

"it's not there? i know i left it there. wait, let me look." 

you straighten up, walking towards him in your red leather mini skirt that can make any man's eyes sliver down to your ass. 

suna is sitting on your swivel chair, leaning back in a man spread as he clicks his tongue impatiently. he looks good even in a plain shirt and a pair of ripped jeans, his athletic and tall build enough to make any outfit look good.

"are you sure it's not in the drawers?"

"yes, i already checked."

you pout, making a show of muttering "i swore i threw it in here," under your breath as you maneuver around his spread legs to stand in between them, bending forward as you rummage around where he's already looked twice. 

you know he's staring at your ass. suna was never lowkey with how much he loves you in this leather mini-skirt. it's a miracle he hasn't landed a rough spank yet after getting a face full view of your ass. 

"wait a minute, maybe it rolled under my vanity."

so you get down on your knees, making sure your butt grazes the front of his jeans and just like you predicted, suna was half-hard already. 

it was truly such a stroke to your ego but you focus on the task at hand. 

you arched your ass up as you bend down to look for the little tube of eyeliner, slightly shaking it side to side as you "struggle" to get the eyeliner out from underneath the table. 

when your hands feel the cylindrical plastic, you retreat, sitting up straight again and proudly showing your boyfriend the eyeliner in your hands. 

you made sure your eyes were as huge and innocent as they look, kneeling in between his legs, shins tucked in and hands in your lap like a good girl. 

"i found it!"

you could've sworn you've seen his left eye twitch as he stared you down. you've been with him long enough to notice that look in his eyes. what are you playing at, huh?

you wait for him to speak but you can see all the gears turning in his head as he continues to stare at you. 

you wait anxiously for what he's going to do next. maybe he'll make you suck him off, or he'll throw you on the bed, or spank your ass because you were clearly teasing him—

"why don't you put my eyeliner on for me?"

you stand up, opening the tube in as he shuts his eyes. you try not to let your disappointment show too much. fine. maybe you can just have a quickie later while drunk in one of the rooms in the frat house. 

"why are you standing? come sit on my lap while you're doing it."

you were too busy removing the excess product off the brush to notice his eyes had taken a dark turn, contradicting the gentleness of his warm hands as it snakes around the back of your bare thighs pulling you closer. 

"no, i'll mess this—"

"i said sit."

delicious shivers create goosebumps on your skin. 

you know that tone. he only uses it when he's horny and he wants to bend you over. so maybe your game plan did work after all, yet you're staring at him dumbfounded with the eyeliner brush in midair. 

"come sit. i won't repeat myself." he leans back against the chair, manspreading as he waits for you. 

you scramble to straddle his strong thighs, muscles a manifestation of his hard work and dedication to volleyball. it was great to see him in action on the court but you'd rather he flexed those muscles when you ride his thighs. 

you cup his face, getting all up in his personal space to apply the eyeliner. 

you've long grown out of the honeymoon phase but why is your heart beating so damn fast right now?

your hands were shaking, perspiration was building up in your forehead, and you were holding your breath.

"are you nervous?"

"shut up, rin. 'm not."

when the brush first touches the lid of his eyes, a nimble finger traces the expanse of your whole slit over your panties. 

you pull the brush away, hissing in surprise. 

"rintarou—!"

"what?"

his sharp tone isn't what shut you up, it was the hand cupping your sex. the heel of his wrist slowly grazing against your sensitive clit. you drew a sharp breath. he smirks. 

"go on. continue, doll."

you want to hate the teasing lilt in his voice but you know deep down you love it.

you held your breath, diving in once again to the task at hand whilst trying to ready yourself from his ministrations. 

your hand slightly shakes as you start in the middle of his waterline, slowly tracing the bottom part of his eyes before making a small wing at the end. 

you've seen him apply his own eyeliner so much you have this down to an art form. everything would've been easy if only he kept his hands to himself. you try to ignore the digit still feathering over your slit or the hand wrapping around you to bunch your skirt up around the waist. 

for someone whose eyes are closed he's doing a damn good job navigating. but maybe that's how he shows you're his. he knows your body like the back of his hand, he knows what makes you tick, what makes you pant, what makes you moan in ecstasy. 

"i can never resist when you dress up all pretty for me. you know that, right, doll?"

applying the eyeliner to his waterline had been fairly easy. the lash line, on the other hand, proved difficult. especially when suna's upgraded from tracing your pussy lips to dangerously toying with the elastics of your panties, slipping his finger under before stretching it to slap your skin. 

as you try to connect the upper part of the eyeliner to the small wing you made from his waterline, you hissed. 

"why don’t you pull them down?"

he chuckles at your impatience and you slightly pull the brush away as he finally shoves the fabric down. you gasp when the cold hits your wet cunt. the scent of your essence unmistakable and you know suna's holding back from teasing. 

"as you wish, baby."

as suna grows bolder, the more your hands shook as you worked on his other eye. 

just as the tip of the brush touched his left eye's waterline, he pushed two fingers inside of you, dragging them against your walls in a lazy manner that was so distinctly him. he curls his fingers when he fucks it in before dragging them against your walls when he pulls it out, slightly scissoring you. he uses his other hand to draw figure 8’s against your clit. 

you swallow, trying your best to keep your hand still as a surgeon but you see the jagged little curves where your jolts of pleasure were too strong. 

you never should've provoked him to shove your underthings down, at least then you wouldn't have to suffer through his fingers. they were just so long, so thick, and so experienced when it comes to pleasuring you that you can never touch yourself anymore without craving suna's own fingers instead. 

you bit your lip, the hand that was cupping his jaw tightening as you try to fix the little mistakes here and there, hoping suna won't see them when he inspects your work in the mirror. it doesn't matter that he purposely set you up to fail. there'll be consequences if he isn't satisfied with what you did. may god have mercy on your horny little soul if rintarou thinks you were a bad girl. 

"you just hate losing, don't you?" you hiss, jolting when you feel him slap your cunt. your knees nearly buckled and you almost fell off the chair if not for his sturdy hand on the small of your back. 

"what are you talking about? i'm just fingering my girl like a winner."

just as you started outlining his left lash line, suna shoves a 3rd finger into your sopping cunt. loud squelching noises fill the room as your walls pulsate around his thick digits. the metal rings he wore brushing against your pussy lips as he fucks you knuckle-deep with three fingers. involuntarily, your own hips started moving to match his pace, shamelessly thrusting up everytime he shoves his fingers in.

he knows you so well. he doesn't even need to look at your face, he can feel you out by the noises you make. so good. so good. his fingers feel so good. fuck. fuck. fuck.

until he pulls them out of your sopping pussy. 

"rin," you whine, folding into his shoulder as you struggle to balance your kneeling self on the chair. you blindly reach down for his hand, urging him to put his fingers back in. "rin, please don't stop. please please please—”

"i told you to put my eyeliner, not fuck yourself on my fingers," he leans back on the chair, eyes still shut close while licking his digits clean. 

your lips press into a thin line, eyes dilated as a whine starts to threaten to pass your lips. you're sick of whatever game this is, you just want him to fuck you silly already! but as if sensing your thoughts, suna clicks his tongue and speaks. "hurry it up. we have a party to get to."

without his fingers to plug your cunny, your slick runs down the insides of your thighs. it's slow descent against your skin making goosebumps run up your arms, shivering as the cold hits your bare cunt. 

suna must've known your anguish, he could feel his jeans getting soaked but he didn't care and you wish to punch that smug smirk off his pretty face. 

your fingers stilled when you cupped his cheeks and leaned in to start applying a thin stroke of eyeliner to his water line. with a simple flick of the wrist you ended it with a little wing, just like how your boyfriend likes it. now, you just have to do his lash line and—

you let out an audible gasp when his fingers started feeling around your thighs, having an inkling idea of what he's tryna look for. true to what you expected, he traces the line of your dripping slick up your inner thighs until his fingers graze your nether lips, successfully collecting your essence. 

you stare entranced when suna brings them up to his lips, eyebrows furrowed and almost moaning aloud because of your taste. the fact that his eyes are closed made you want him even more. his fingers pop out of his mouth, but you get the feeling it wasn't enough. he wants more. suna wants you under his mercy. he wants to taste and ruin you until you're fucked out and lying in a pretty mess on the bed sheets. 

"so fucking sweet, my baby. you're this desperate for me? for my fingers?"

you snapped. you threw the makeup elsewhere in the room (though not before screwing it shut) before diving down to kiss him on the lips. all lust-filled and rough as you both channel the desires you have for each other. maybe suna was at his tipping point too, noting that he doesn't even bother to push you away. 

with his strong arms he picks you up and you wrap your legs around his torso, never breaking the kiss before literally throwing you down on the bed, knocking the air out your lungs. 

"rin!"

"whoops."

he's kneeling before the bed, the sheets ruffling when he pulls you to the edge by your calves, hot breath against your sex making you squirm. 

"my pretty thing," the kitten lick against your pussy drove you crazy, desperately bucking your hips up and suna chuckles condescendingly. "but such a bad fuckin' girl, aren't ya?"

you yelp when he slaps the side of your thigh. 

"who said you could kiss me?"

he pinches your clit hard as he enters your line of sight. suna has never seen you this pretty and desperate for him before. sweat making your skin glow, lips raw from your biting, eyes conveying your every lust-filled thought about him. the sight of you so riled up makes his dick ache and he wants so badly to fuck you already but bad girls don't get what they want just yet. you have to earn it. 

"i asked you a question. who the fuck told you that you could fucking kiss me?" the acid in his voice contrasts the gentle way he caresses the spot on your thigh where he had hit you. 

"no one."

you sob in pleasure when his hot tongue licks a stripe up your pussy before suckling on your clit. once. twice. sucking particularly hard on the third. before running his tongue swiftly over the bundle of nerves and kitten licking his way down your pussy lips. your thighs were shaking so hard he had to pin them down. he knows it's a sign that you're close, not that he's surprised, he's been stimulating your body for minutes now it was amazing you haven't cummed yet. 

but then he stops.

a thread of your slick dribbling down his chin as those cat eyes of his stare you down. he watches, enchanted by how your chest rises and falls. another sweet release he snatched away from you.

"i thought so. what does that make you?"

amazing how he manages to sound so normal, conversational even while he's literally edging you like there's no tomorrow. what do you expect? it's his favorite punishment. he gets to see you sob and beg for him like there's nothing in your mind but his cock and he loves it so much. loves seeing you bend and break for him to please. 

you sniffle, arm coming up to hide the frustrated tears in your eyes. "been… been a bad girl."

a hand slaps your thighs, brutal. eyes on rintarou when answering his questions. your eyes shoot up. 

"and who's bad girl have you been?"

"yours."

this time he reaches forward to tweak your pebbled nipples. the sudden cold of the pads of his fingers making you gasp and spasm. your boyfriend straddles you and you shiver at the head of his glistening cock leaving trails on top of your thighs. but he doesn't make another move. when you sneakily try wiggling your hips for your sex to graze his dick, he slapped your thigh without holding back. you doubt it won't start leaving a handprint. you wait with bated breath when he grabs hold of his cock, the head angry and dripping, the only proof of his also growing desire for you. 

when he directs the head for it to graze your nether lips, you almost cried another fresh batch of tears. his hand quickly brushes up to wipe it away, though not before feeling his dick twitch. you know how much he loves seeing you cry from the overwhelming pleasure he can give you. 

"last time i checked, my name isn't yours. didn't i tell you to answer in full sentences when i'm fucki—"

"suna! suna rintarou! i've been sun-suna rintarou's bad girl!"

suna ducks to mark your neck and torso. he feels the goosebumps forming on your body. the heat enveloping the two of you as you both quickly shed any remaining pieces of clothing. he kisses you. sloppy. nothing but teeth clashing and tongues fighting for dominance as he cradles your face with his big hands, feeling the mushroom head of his cock grazing your thighs.

usually he'd appreciate you not cutting him off mid-sentence but he too has reached his own limits and right now all he can think about is drilling you to the mattress. "rin, please!" you sob, arms wrapping around his neck as you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck.

"shh. yes, doll. i hear ya." 

you were dripping wet enough that all it took is one deep thrust for him to bottom-out. usually you're quite hesitant when rintarou's rawing you but at this point right now, you doubt fucking with a condom would've felt this good. no thin plastic whatsoever that's separating you from him. when he starts to move, you both moan in ecstasy. the bed creaking under the weight of you both as he pistons his dick inside. "you feel so good, doll. so fucking wet and tight. look how wet you are. dripping for my cock, huh? this all for me? answer me!"

you hardly register his voice, the pleasure you've been craving since minutes ago now being crashed down upon you. it's overwhelming and you don't want it any other way. 

"yes," you pant. the tears still leaking from your eyes as you claw at his biceps. "yes. all-all for you, r-rin! just for you!"

he stubbornly keeps hitting the spot that'll make you keen and whine, suna forcing your hips down and sitting up with his palms at the sides of your head. he wants to see you come undone, he'd love to grab his phone and make this memory permanent but he doubts his camera can capture the real deal. your moans and pleas reaching his ears, spurring him on, the beautiful way your back arches of the mattress, the way you physically shook in pleasure and you screamed and worshipped his name.

"rin! oh my god, rin! fuck. 'm close," your voice breaks, hiccuping from the onslaught of tears you can't hold back as blinding pleasure grips you in a tight vice.

suna comes down to snake his arms around you, pulling you infinitely closer as one of his hands supports your lower back, manually moving your hips to match his frantic thrusts. "why you crying? bad girls should be tough, right? aren't—shit—aren't you a bad girl? hmm? bad girls like you shouldn't be crying."

you shake your head, looking pretty and desperate as you meet his eyes. "no, i'm not a bad—"

"yes. you are," you groan, his thrusts particularly hard to shut you up and make a point. "you're a very, very bad girl. you don't listen to me at all. bad girls don't even deserve to cum."

"no! no! rin, please!" you say, a blubbering mess as you bury your forehead into his neck, licking and suckling at his skin to get in his good side. "i'll be good. i promise! please, let me cum. rin! please, i'll be good. i'll be good! only your good—ah."

"you fucking bet you're my good girl," he hissed, biting your shoulder before moaning, pitched and wanton as it threatens to snap the stretched cord inside of you. but not yet. you can't. not unless he says so. "it's me that's making you feel this good. this is my pussy. my plaything. repeat what i said—doll! repeat what i said."

you cried, screaming in frustration as his cock stills inside of you and you know he won't move until you oblige. "this is…" you hiccup. "rin-rintarou's pu-pussy. i'm rintarou's play-plaything."

"what was that?" he asks, hips starting to rut against you again in full force. the headboard violently hitting the walls. when your hands scramble to cling onto something, you accidentally shove something off the bed but you couldn't care less. "louder, doll. i want the whole fucking neighborhood to hear you."

"this is rintarou's pussy. i'm rintarou's plaything." you say in your normal speaking voice, albeit shaky and almost incomprehensible as he holds you firm against him, his cock embedding it's shape and size into your sopping walls.

"louder!"

he hoists you up into a sitting position, his hips fucking up towards you and you only realize he did it when you see the window situated meters behind you two. curtains-drawn, open for the night breeze to billow in. he wasn't kidding. suna rintarou wants the neighbors to hear how good you're getting rawed. he wasn't kidding. he was not kidding.

"go on," he whispers, breathy and teasing. "you'll do it. you're a good girl for me arentcha?"

fuck. "this is rintarou's pussy! i'm rintarou's plaything!"

he licks a stripe up your neck, hands coming around your neck as he whispers into your ear the words you've been dying to hear. "cum, baby."

and your orgasm surges through your whole body in violent jolts, thick ropes of cum squirting out your pussy as you distantly hear him groaning, your walls tightening and sucking him in with every aggressive thrust. rintarou quickly finishes after you, teeth embedding themselves into your shoulder as he groans. you knew bruises will form and you're going to be sore as a bitch but you don't fucking care.

"rin, i love you." you say, grabbing a hold of his face as you stare deep into his eyes. and you don't understand why there's doubt clouding in your head when he takes a beat later to answer, when really, he just can't help the sudden wave of emotions festering in his stomach as he meets the gravity of your gaze. the love and devotion in your eyes as he can only hope that he could translate his emotions through his eyes, too.

he smiles, leaning in to give you a kiss. it's sweet and gentle, completely unlike the one he gave you a few minutes ago when in the throes of pleasure. no. you feel every bit of his love for you in this one kiss and you don't know why you ever doubted yourself, doubted him. you've been together for so long and you're it for him. 

"i love you, too."

but leave it to your darling rintarou to ruin the moment.

"but you'll never apply my eyeliner ever again."

. a/n » this was so self-indulgent im sorry lmao

[pinkczennie]

Somnophila | Jeno (m)

1.3k words; 18+ only; mature language, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex

You were currently having a wet dream. You were well aware that you were just dreaming because your vision is hazy and black, like an incomplete painting with only the essential pieces drawn.

Currently, you are laying on your bed while your boyfriend, Jeno, is completely naked, hovering over your naked body with a dark gaze. He gives his hard cock a few pumps before he presses the tip to your entrance and easily slides into your wet core. You watch as his dick slowly disappears inside you and you feel his girth stretch your walls open until he completely sheathes inside of you.

“Jeno,” You mewl, your mind dizzy with lust.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Jeno hisses.

Jeno was absolutely blessed with a monster cock that when you first had sex with him, he would always say how tight you were, but in reality, he’s just massive. You weren’t even sure how he was able to fit, but he said he’ll make it fit. 

The Jeno in your dreams doesn’t wait for you to adjust and pulls back before shoving his length deep inside of you, causing you to throw your head back as he relentlessly starts to fuck you.

You moan shamelessly, considering you were just dreaming so you wouldn’t be disturbing anybody with your dirty noises. 

The pleasure was so overwhelming that your actual body is slowly reacting to the sensation and you feel yourself slowly start to gain consciousness, slowly slipping away from the wet dream.

As you slowly feel yourself starting to awaken, you’re panting a bit and your heart was beating rapidly as you can can feel soft lips sucking on the soft skin of your neck, strong fingers tweaking at your nipples, your legs spread wide open, and your throbbing, wet entrance stuffed full with a girthy cock. 

You peel your eyes open to see a blurry image of the same man you were just dreaming about, looming over your sleeping figure.

“J-jeno?” you mutter while your eyes continue to adjust from the drowsiness. 

Said man detaches his mouth from your neck when he sees you have awoken from your slumber and leans towards your face and pants a wet kiss on your cheek. “Are you awake, babe?”

You rub the sleep out of your eyes and look down to see your lower half stripped of your panties and your loose t-shirt pulled up to expose your breasts, your buds perky and wet from Jeno sucking and playing with them. Jeno did not have any pants on either, which were tossed mindlessly somewhere on the ground, along with your underwear.

You don’t even need to see it but you can feel his dick throb inside of you, which startles you when the gears in your brain start turning and you realize what is going on.

“Jeno, why is your- ah!” you squeak and grip the bed sheets when you feel Jeno grind against you. He was still extremely hard inside of you and wanted to continue with his act, considering he didn’t get to finish yet.

“Sorry, baby,” he groans with a chuckle. “I woke up this morning and couldn’t help myself when I heard you moaning my name in your sleep.”

You and Jeno have both consented to let the other use each other’s bodies even if the other is asleep beforehand. 

You’re surprised, but at the same time shouldn’t be surprised, by Jeno’s stamina considering you both did do it last night before bed and now the first thing you both do the next morning is fuck again.  

Your grip on the bed sheets move to Jeno’s shoulders when he begins sucking on your nipple again with his tongue roaming around your abused bud and his hands wrap around your hips into a death grip as he starts pounding you into the mattress, not afraid to be rough with you since you’re awake now.

The room is filled with the sounds of pleasured moans, kept at minimal volume considering you were now awake and didn’t want it to be known to the neighbors that you two were currently having sex this early in the morning, skin slapping against skin, and the bed creaking with each thrust. 

“Tell me, what was I doing in your dream, hm?” Jeno asks curiously. “Was I fucking you good just like this?”

“Yes. S-so good,” you pant out.

He lets out a laugh, “You’re so cute.” 

Suddenly, his demeanor changes and he’s smirking down at you with intimidating eyes. He lightly bites down on your shoulder, causing you to yelp when you feel teeth against your skin.

“My cute little slut,” Jeno growls. “Having dirty thoughts about me and my dick inside of you even in your sleep. So fucking needy as if I don’t fuck that pretty pussy of yours every day.”

You cower against Jeno’s words but it’s honestly turning you on more that your brain is delirious with desire, only thinking about chasing your orgasm. 

Because you had a wet dream prior to this but never got to finish yet, your release was already fast approaching. Your walls clench around Jeno’s cock and Jeno shudders at the feeling. 

“I-I’m close,” you state while your fingernails dig deeper into Jeno’s skin, surely leaving scratch marks. “Oh god. Feels so good!”

That was Jeno’s cue to wrap his arms around your naked body and hold you close against his body as he speeds his hips up, hitting the deepest parts of you. Because of his size, he was able to hit your g-spot dead on with no problem, causing you to see stars.

“Me too,” Jeno pants. “Can I come inside of you, babe?”

You nod, “Come inside of me. Fill me up with your cum, Jeno.” 

“Shit,” Jeno curses, eager to do as you request. Even though Jeno knows you were on the pill, Jeno makes sure to ask first just in case but you know he absolutely loves coming inside of you and watching it drip out of your pussy.

Your eyes practically roll to the back of your head and your toes curl when the feeling in your lower stomach snaps and you cum with a silent scream as your back arching against the bed. 

After Jeno feels you orgasm against his length, Jeno spurts his warm seeds inside of you with a groan, filling you to the brim with his thick load that mixes with your juices.

Jeno rides your orgasms out together before staying still for a moment, sticky bodies connected together with sweat as you both catch your breaths. 

A moment later, Jeno pulls out of you and watches as his cum slowly seeps out of your hole. Fuck, that’s hot. 

“I feel gross,” you whine. 

Jeno chuckles, “Sorry, babe. Also, good morning.”

“Good morning,” you lazily smile. 

“Do you want to take a shower together?” Jeno asks.

“Fine, but no funny business,” you squint your eyes at him, remembering how most of the times showering together meant round two in the bathroom for Jeno.

“No promises,” Jeno innocently smiles. 

You get up from the bed and start making your way towards the bathroom with the feeling of cum sliding down your legs while Jeno trails behind you like a puppy. 

When you open the bathroom door, the first thing you see in front of the mirror is your neck and chest covered in purple love bruises that Jeno left all over you while he was fucking you in your sleep.

You gasp, then shout, “Jeno! Are you kidding me? You left so many hickies all over my skin!” 

Your boyfriend giggles and wraps his arms around your waist and happily sways both your naked bodies as he stares in the mirror at the work of art he made on your skin. Honestly, he would have left more than that if he could. 

“They look good on you,” he happily says and plants a kiss behind your ear.

You sigh in defeat. Knowing Jeno absolutely loves to mark you and let it be known that you’re his, there will never be a day he leaves your skin untouched.

[seriouslysnape]

Incompetence

Cedric Diggory x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Language.

Word Count: 1,231

A/N: Just a disclaimer-I’m well aware that Cedric was already...Deadric when Umbridge came along.

“Did something happen today?”

Cedric had been trying (without success) for the last 15 minutes to stop the pitiful cries bellowing from your trembling frame. He couldn’t get a word out of you other than the couple of times you had whimpered his name to display your very obvious upset. He kept his hands underneath your thighs to keep you wrapped around his waist as he carried you through the castle to his dorm, offering reassuring nods to those he passed in the halls to let them know you were okay.

At least, Cedric was pretty sure you were okay since you had yet to tell him what was wrong.

He kept pressing kisses to your temple and the crown on your head to remind you that he was there when you were ready to speak, but he had a feeling you wouldn’t be saying a word until you were settled in the privacy of his room.

“Almost there, sweet girl. Then we can talk, yeah?” He suggested as he finally made it within a few feet from his prefect door.

You only blubbered an affirming noise that you had heard him, keeping your head buried in the crook of his neck and your arms around his neck to assure that the Hufflepuff boy wasn’t going anywhere. He was able to maneuver the door open with his foot and push it open with his hip. He swiftly entered inside the room, approaching his bed and letting you sink into the mattress once he detached you from his body.

He was surprised when you slipped your shoes off and crawled under his covers, balling yourself inside until you weren’t even visible anymore. This was VERY unusual behavior for you, considering that you almost always waited until he was snuggled up next to you before you got comfortable. Cedric slipped out of his black and yellow robes, draping them across the chair of his desk. 

Your crying hadn’t stopped, and his heart broke further and further with every sniffle and hiccup that came out of you. You whimpered when you felt the mattress dip, letting you know that Cedric was next to your curled up body. He rested a hand on your sniffling body that was lost within his sheets.

“[Y/N], you’re breaking my heart,” He said with a tone full of worry, wishing that you’d just tell him what was wrong; “Did something happen today?”

You only let out a noise of confirmation, followed by another hiccup. 

“Okay...did you have a hard time with your Potions exam?” He questioned, realizing he’d have to guess what it was.

You shook your head, and even though he couldn’t see it, he could tell that wasn’t it.

“Did you have a bad time in Transfiguration?” He queried, rubbing your arm through the thickness of the duvet.

You shook your head again, causing Cedric to really think about it. If it wasn’t Potions or Transfiguration causing you all this grief, then it had to be Defense Against the Dark Arts since he had Charms with you and nothing odd had happened today.

“Did something happen during Defense?” He asked lightly.

Your silence was a giveaway, along with the new round of sobs that began exploding from your chest. He couldn’t stand to hear you cry anymore, ripping the sheets off of you and pulling you in.

“Baby, baby.” He mewled with concern, rocking you back and forth gently to soothe you; “What happened?”

You sucked in a shaky breath, wiping your tears on the shoulder of Cedric’s soft shirt. 

“It was horrible, Ced,” You wept; “It was Umbridge.”

He brought you back to face him at the sound of your voice, his thumbs wiping away your tears that were steadily falling down your usually happy face. Cedric felt a sense of dread in his gut. Umbridge had been making everyone’s life a living hell all year. She was possibly the meanest soul to ever walk the planet.

“Oh no...what did she do, princess?” Cedric prompted.

A little bit of anger was beginning to wash over him. Not at you of course, but he had heard and seen what Umbridge had done to students, and he wasn’t sure what’d he do if she had physically hurt you.

“Umbridge yelled at me.” You confessed, falling into hysterical crying once more.

Cedric paused for a moment, and couldn’t stop the amused smile and soft chuckle that bubbled out of his chest. You sat up quickly from his hold, absolutely offended that he was reacting like this.

“Are you laughing at me?” You asked in a way that was supposed to be angry, but came out more hurt.

His smile faded into more of a softer one, and he cupped your face with a quick kiss to your lips. You were always a hit with professors. You were intelligent, witty, and very kind. There probably hadn’t been a day in your life where a professor had even remotely raised their voice at you. So, he wasn’t surprised that Umbridge had you falling apart like this.

“No, no, pretty girl. I promise I’m not,” He said, holding down a snicker. He knew you were genuinely upset over this, but he was just relieved that nothing else had happened; “Why did she yell at you?”

“I didn’t know the counter curse for some stupid dark charm or something,” You retold him; “She called me incompetent.”

That wiped the smile right off of Cedric’s face. That was one thing that he never, ever wanted you to think about yourself. You were unbelievably talented and bright, and he didn’t want you to ever think otherwise.

“You are not incompetent. You’re a wonderful, talented witch.” He told you, moving your hair that had gotten stuck to your wet cheeks.

“But she said-”

“Nope. I won’t hear another word of this,” He cut you off; “Umbridge is a horrible professor and even worse of a person. She has no idea what she’s talking about.”

You still looked discouraged, but at least your tears had stopped now. He was afraid he’d start crying if you hadn’t stopped soon. You rose to your knees, wrapping your arms around his neck for a more comfortable hug that you surely needed. His arms snaked around you as he left a kiss to your collarbone that he was eye level with.

“Thanks, Ceddy,” You murmured, scratching at his scalp; “Can I have one of your Quidditch sweaters?”

“Of course, baby.” He granted, letting you slip away to change clothes.

He couldn’t miss the slump of your shoulders and the dejection in your walk. Umbridge had really gotten in your head. You changed into his sweater, reveling in the way the material felt on your skin. He watched as you padded back to his bed, curling up against his pillows. He layered you with kisses, showering you with love and reminding you how amazing you were.

“You’re my pretty girl, you know that? My wonderful, talented, lovely girl.” He praised, leaving a kiss just above your brow bone.

He linked his legs with yours, running his fingertips along the exposed skin of your leg.

“Yeah,” You smiled; “I know.”

“Good, because I don’t want you to ever forget it.” He remarked.

“With you around, I don’t think I could forget.” You joked with a giggle.

He hummed, kissing you once more.

“Even better.”

[gothhisoka]

𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖕 (𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖔 𝖝 𝕱𝖊𝖒𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗)

Title: Worship

Pairing: Chrollo x Femreader

Warnings: Smut, minors DNI, 18+, explicit content

Word Count: 3116 (I promise it is worth it. Oh god is it worth it)

Note: This is from my cross-published fanfic called Hunter University! It is available if you click here on Wattpad and AO3. My fanfic is x OC, but I upload x Reader versions of some chapters here on Tumblr. In short, it is a dark academia college AU with Chrollo as the main love interest.

Background: You are an artist in college and Chrollo is your fellow classmate. You just returned from a night out at a ball, drunk. Chrollo appeared at the door to your dorm room as he promised he would after you danced with one another at the ball.

Chrollo was surprised you looked so intact. He was sure you would come waddling to the door in pajamas as you did the last time he visited your room. Although it had been an hour since the ball ended, your makeup hadn't smudged a bit. Sure, it was faded, and your hair was significantly messier, but overall you looked as remarkable as you did at the start of the ball.

Your tired eyes widened with surprise at the sight of him. He was just as unimpaired as you were. Though now he was missing his suit jacket. His hair had become slightly disheveled, losing its styled waves. He still had on those signature silver rings and little cross earrings.

You attempt to soak in his sight with your intoxicated brain. He looked even more captivating in this particular state.

“Hi…” was all you could utter.

“Can I come in?”

You realized he was waiting for your permission. He didn’t need it.

You stepped aside to let him in and shut the door. Your room was the same as the last time he saw it, with your drawings hung on the walls and lights strung above the desk. Their small bulbs reflected against the night-stained window.

Upon shutting the door, the tension noticeably rose. It was dark in the small space and you were alone. Chrollo took his black dress shoes off near the door, placing them neatly side by side.

So he plans on staying. You tried to hide a smile. The hour of his visit was surely suspicious. There could be only one thing on his mind.

"So what're you doing here?" you spoke nonchalantly, acting like you didn't just fantasize about what could happen in the next few minutes.

Chrollo opened and shut his mouth, his response escaping him. He turned back to you and used his eyes to convey a craving far deeper than any words could admit.

"I said I would come to find you, didn't I?" He said lowly.

He had begun to walk around the room, absentmindedly stopping at a piece of art from time to time. You were too tired to care. The collection included nature scenes, portraits of people he didn't recognize, anatomy studies, and...

He paused, noticing a drawing on the wall behind the place where the door would otherwise be covering.

It was a full-body anatomy study of yourself. To be specific, it would fit further in the category of a glorified nude. It was on a miniature piece of parchment sketched in charcoal. It was obviously you: the woman had your (hair color) hair and distinct mouth and nose. The paper was hardly noticeable amongst the scatter of papers. You wouldn't see it unless you had a careful eye such as that of Chrollo.

You hardly noticed when he reached the particular spot on your wall. Your tiredness had waned significantly with Chrollo's entrance, but it still fogged your mind.

Additionally, you had long forgotten about your secret behind-the-door location for your drawings that were not meant to be seen by a single soul.

Chrollo attempted to hide a mysterious smile. He turned to you, “You draw wonderfully.”

“Thanks?” you reply, with more question in your tone than you hoped to show.

The heat in the room shot through the roof. You were sure if you checked the temperature it would be well above its normal chilly state. Perhaps it was the heat in your cheeks that was causing such a change.

“So…” he began.

“So,” you replied, trying to avoid eye contact. Please, just let it happen already.

You thought you had a good idea of why he had come to your room at one o'clock in the morning after a night of drinking and questionably close dancing. You couldn't be certain, though, because that was just how he was: unpredictable and exceedingly complicated.

You didn’t think him so complicated as to not be able to admit why he was at your room, though.

You waited as he thought about what to say next. This is taking too damn long.

Luckily, you prepared an excuse. You never failed to come ready for something you could expect. And this, the direction in which your encounter is headed, is inevitable. You had been rehearsing the line in your head for the duration of their conversation like reviewing terms for a test.

This was the only way to test if your assumptions are correct.

Blame it on the champagne if I am wrong. But I really hope I'm right.

You look directly at him. Time to be daring.

You took a breath and did your best to look directly at him, "Well, I actually do need some help. You see, this dress is quite difficult to take off by myself..."

Walking towards him, you place a hand at the hem of your dress. Your delicate fingers wrap around its lacy fabric.

Chrollo looked amused. He sizes you up, looking from your hand holding the hem of your dress to your unfazed expression. Unfazed, yet your cheeks were slowly turning a shade of scarlet. Nice try, Chrollo thought.

He gestured, "Turn around."

You obeyed. You desired something far more than the unzipping of your dress, but you were not presumptuous enough to say it. The expression on Chrollo's face told you that he was hoping for the same thing. He hid many emotions well, but being turned on wasn't one of them.

Chrollo brushed your hair away from the zipper, delicately placing it over your shoulder. His fingers purposefully grazed your back as he did this, causing your breath to hitch slightly.

His hands moved to the zipper, carefully pulling it down. It went past the clasp of your bra to your lower back. There was complete silence. Both of you were still. Are we still hesitating?

Chrollo was the first to move. He pulled you close to him so that your back was touching him. His left arm wrapped across your chest possessively, holding you in a tight embrace. With his other hand, he brushed your hair back from your ear. He smelt of sweet alcohol. Clearly, he was slightly drunk as well, for the next words he said couldn't be uttered by a sober man.

His whispered breath tickled your neck, husky with the threat of sleep, "I want you so bad right now."

You tensed with a sudden surge of desire. Your impression had been right. He let his strong arm remain around you, patiently waiting for a response.

You choked out your reply, "The feelings' mutual."

Under his touch, your streak of audacity from earlier dissolved into compliance. You suddenly wanted nothing more than to submit to his words.

With complete control, Chrollo took your shoulder and turned you around. Your dress was now loose on your shoulders. He placed his hands around your hips firmly. He looked at you under his thick eyelashes and slowly leaned in. The pressure was growing to an unbearable level, but he still wouldn't go all the way.

Then his lips crashed against yours with the force of weeks of pent-up desire. This kiss didn't speak of courtesy, of patience. This was raw passion. It was furious and messy. you preferred this to sensitive steps around the intensity they both craved.

"You must still be drunk," you said playfully as you both pulled away to catch your breath. You held your hand to Chrollo's chest. His heart was beating surprisingly fast.

"If I'm drunk, then what are you?" Chrollo said with a lazy smirk.

"I'm drunk as well."

Chrollo threaded his hands through your hair, pulling the long strands through his fingers. He pulled you in close again with his hand at the back of your head.

You opened your mouth to allow for Chrollo's tongue to slip in. He lessened the intensity and slowly moved his tongue against your own tongue and lips. You couldn't help but let out soft moans that made Chrollo weak at the knees.

He pushed you against the wall to deepen your kiss. Drawings fluttered down, becoming detached with the sudden movement. Including that drawing.

Chrollo pulled away, much to your shock. You were left panting with reddened cheeks. Please don't let this end now.

He displayed a shit-eating grin. Even with his ego, in the current moment, his expression made you melt. His face was inches from yours, looking down into your (eye color) eyes.

He shifted his gaze down to the floor and said, "Nice drawing you have there."

You finally noticed what he had been so smug about. Shit. Your face flushed ten different shades of scarlet.

Chrollo leaned in as he did before and murmured in your ear, "I wish I could see the real thing."

You failed to not show your excitement. The way your eyes lit up exposed you. "I can arrange that."

At that, Chrollo leaned in again, this time moving to your neck. His lips fluttered down your throat to your collarbone. You leaned your head back and tried to control your uneven breath.

His lips reached the edge of the neckline on your dress. He raised his eyes to meet yours, asking for permission to go further.

You let out a breathy, "Yes. Please."

What you wanted to say was, Please, take me now.

It could be too soon for him. But based on how this was going, you expected it was leading to something more. Whatever that was, you wished you could know right now. The growing tension between your thighs began to ache.

Chrollo slipped his hand across your skin to the hemline of your dress, moving it completely off of your shoulder and down your arms. Your black see-through bra was now in full view. Your nipples grew hard at the sudden exposure.

At least I went with my fancy bra. You suddenly grew very shy. The last time you went even this far was years ago.

He evidently liked the lingerie for his hands immediately traveled to your breast to caress it as he continued to kiss you.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered against your neck. Your heart fluttered at his words.

Chrollo then moved his lips progressively further down as he slipped your dress off of your body. Soon your underwear came into view, then your feet. He helped your step out of the dress.

"Your turn," you said, unbuttoning his shirt. All the while he continued to distractingly leave lazy kisses upon your face, one on your forehead, your cheek, your lips.

After an agonizingly long time, you pulled off his shirt. Fuck.

You knew he would be defined. But him, this boy standing in front of you, resembled more of a greek statue than an actual human. It looked like his body had been sculpted by the finest stone on earth. He had a six-pack, defined pectoral muscles, and prominent collarbones. His biceps flexed as he leaned his hand against the wall, bracing himself. It was you who needed to brace yourself. Your breath hitched again at the sight of him.

You ran a hand up his firm body as you planted your lips upon his once again. This time Chrollo put his hands beneath your thighs, his fingers pressing into your soft skin. He picked you up easily.

You wrapped your legs around him as he brought you to the bed, kissing him all the while.

He dropped you down gently, releasing his grip off of your thighs. You took this time to look up at him and admire the beauty of his aroused state. He had a dangerous and wild look, with tousled hair and a constant smile playing at his lips. His heavy-lidded eyes were lazily focused upon you.

You continued to make out on the bed, its white silk sheets creating an angelic halo around you. Chrollo couldn't stand looking at you like this, underneath him. It was far too much power for one man to hold.

You reached to your back to undo the clasp of your bra. You threw it to the ground. Chrollo immediately began to touch your naked tits in a way that made you want to dissolve. He moved in circles around your nipples first, watching as they grew harder under his expert touch. Then he moved his mouth to the sensitive area, playing with you and biting slightly. You audibly moaned at the gesture. Damn the neighbors.

Chrollo sensed your desire to take it further. He looked up, grey eyes filled with lust, "Y/n...let me pleasure you."

It wasn't the suggestion you were expecting, but you were satisfied nonetheless. You didn't care about anything in the world besides what he could do to you at this moment, whatever it may be.

"If you say my name like that you can do anything you want to me," you said breathily. It was exactly what he needed to hear.

Chrollo smirked and moved to take off your soaking underwear. Under his pants, his dick grew visibly harder. He threw the underwear onto the floor.

Gently placing his finger at your throbbing core, he began to stroke. Upon receiving his touch your back arched involuntarily. You were beyond eager.

"Fuck... Chrollo..."

This served as encouragement for him to insert his finger deeper into you, curling it slightly. It hit your g-spot repeatedly, eliciting ungodly sounds from you.

As he was doing this, he slowly positioned himself on top of you, grabbing onto the bed frame with his spare hand. He just wanted to look at your face as you opened your mouth in delight.

He inserted one more finger which caused your arousal to heighten. God, he really knows how to do this.

Just as you felt the heat in your core escalating, he slid his finger out. You whimpered in protest.

Chrollo looked down at you with a wicked smile. "Beg for it."

Oh fuck.

You gladly would. It was more your instincts speaking than any coherent thought.

"Please... Chrollo..." you said between breaths.

You wanted to not only plead for him, you wanted to worship him.

"More."

This is what you had been missing out on all those weeks. And oh god, did you eat it up.

"FUCK please do that again," you exclaimed.

It was enough to convince him. Chrollo moved his face towards your slickened pussy.

Is he about to...

He pushed his hair back out of his face with his clean hand, his forehead tattoo revealed. For only a second, he raised his eyes to gaze into yours. You fell for him all over again at that simple glance.

Then he entered you. His tongue made you want to weep. He devoured your insides, soaking up the salty juices. You couldn't help but hold his head, pulling it closer to your body. You ran your hand through his soft black hair. There was so much heat between them that you were both perspiring.

You began to shudder." I'm going to... oh... fuck," you gasped.

You felt the sweet release of cum spread below you onto the sheets and Chrollo himself. You felt self-conscious for a moment. That is until Chrollo began to lick up your juices. He ran his tongue up your soft thighs.

"You taste so fucking good, darling."

Chrollo looked at you like he had fallen all over again as well. You grinned back at him. Your cheeks grew even redder, if possible. Your heart screamed to continue but you were too physically exhausted to move. Still, wouldn't Chrollo want his turn?

You laid there, naked and panting on the silk sheets. Chrollo flopped next to you, unaffected beside his flushed cheeks and a wide grin.

The lights were still low in the little room. Looking out the window, you saw that the sun had yet to rise. This was a positive fact because the only thing you needed to do now was to sleep. And preferably, cuddling with the boy next to you. You hoped he would stay. It was more than hope, really. Your body couldn't spend any more time away from him after that.

Damn. He was good. He was really, really fucking good.

He knew his way with words, to begin with. He said exactly what needed to be said to escalate your arousal. You wanted to worship those fingers, the way he so expertly felt around you like he had memorized a map. And his tongue was even more worthy of revere.

You flipped over to your elbows. Your breasts brushed against the bedding, noticeably making Chrollo gulp. You boldly reached to touch the front of his pants.

"You don't want a turn?" you smirked.

"This was more than enough for me."

He stared into your eyes as if he was calculating a complex math problem rather than looking at the person who just received the best head of their life.

You yawned, despite yourself. Your body ached with all the action of the night.

"Go to bed, sweetheart. I'll be here."

Those were the last words you heard before your eyes drifted shut. Exhaustion stilled your naked body. Chrollo reached over you to turn off the bedside lamp.

He wasn't nearly as tired. He could've gone for a couple more rounds, perhaps take it a step further if you so desired. But he knew you needed the sleep. Most of your makeup had rubbed off, displaying the dark circles under your eyes.

He slipped off his pants and threw them onto the floor with the rest of the clothes. He found the soft sheets and pulled them across you and himself. The bed was small but cozy. His strong chest was flush against your back.

Your (hair color) hair smelt of a summer day, like sunlight and wildflowers. He took this opportunity to feel up the rest of your glorious body. He ran his hand lightly from your shoulder to your hips, to your thighs. All of it was angelic to him.

He moved you closer with his arm, protectively wrapping it across your front. Somehow holding you like this felt far more intimate than any sexual activity. The way the moonlight graced your skin was majestic.

How had he fallen so hard, so fast? It was unlike him to act with such recklessness.

Through it all, he still had his mind. you had no way to tell the extent of his feelings. He made sure of this. His libido could act one way, that was clear from tonight. But he was an expert at controlling his outward emotions. You would never know. If you did, it would be over for him. All the planning will be for naught.

He closed his eyes before he could fall upon any more worries. He had already pondered the issue for many sleepless nights.

He fell into a dreamless slumber with you safe in his arms. You both slept soundly until the sun peeked through the window.

[todoscript]

Work of Art

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader genre: smut. word count: 3.6k+ warnings: 18+. shibari. bondage. submissive bakugou. dominant reader. begging. praising. bakugou being a little bit of a brat?

anonymous requested: okay but what abt.. submissive bakugo👉👈 him being all bratty and shuts up when you deny him—

author’s note: ohhh boyyyy... submissive bakugou really got me writing more than 3k’s worth of filth haha, but i hope you enjoy! shoutout to my gals, rosie ( @shoutogepi​ ) & val ( @shoutodoki​ ) for indulging with me during our talks about sub bnha boys

“Hmm, I don’t see why you’re so against this,” your voice sounds out, and Bakugou immediately perceives the saccharine dripping upon every word, a lilt of a smile dancing on your colored lips, painted in a vivid rosy red pigment that only enhances your seduction. Despite how sweet you sound, he knows that underneath that layer of sugar lies a venom waiting to intoxicate him—ensnare his reasoning and leave him utterly vulnerable to your mischief. As in this moment, you embody every characteristic akin to a vixen, enveloped in the lacy fabric of your black lingerie.

Bakugou sits before you bound to a chair with an intricate network of cordage twined across his naked skin. The patterns and shapes knotted together contrast stunningly against his expanse of hard muscle—reminiscent of paint on canvas. And you tonight are the artist.

“You look so pretty, like a beautiful piece of art…” you say languidly. Each syllable uttered is drawn out in alluring breaths that somehow makes him feel hazy. He grits his teeth at how much that extra flair in your voice affects him, eyebrows narrowing tightly as he fidgets in his seat. His arms and wrists ache from just a simple wriggle, your meticulous work granting him no chance to get free.

“Ah-ah, you’re not gonna get out of this one,” you tease. Right as he opens his mouth for a snappy retort, the words are swooped from under him when your hands begin to trace his naked skin—starting from his thigh, up to his abs, and then landing to his chest, where you make a point to taunt him by dancing your fingertips there before bending down to meet his eyes. Your ruby red lips curve impishly at what you reduced him to. “You can try as much as you like, but I’ve tied the ropes this way so you can’t get free~ Don’t want you to spoil the fun after all,” you sing. Fully aware of your boyfriend’s strength built upon many years of arduous hero training alongside that powerful quirk of his, you made sure Pro Hero Ground Zero would not turn the tables on you in his haste for pleasure tonight.

Thus, his usual brash exterior dwindles in the face of your ministrations when you play with the rope a bit more. When he notices your eyes descend to his angry red cock that stands firm amid the knotwork surrounding it, his impatience builds. Bakugou wets his lips, finally ushering some words out from his dry throat.

“Fuck… Stop stalling already…” he tells you, voice borderline on a plea, but his remaining pride pushes the inflection back in hopes it resembles even a lick of his regular gruff tone. Your hums in reply don’t entail much, other than the fact you’re still prolonging his needs.

“Stalling? Who said I was stalling?” You feign ignorance before deciding to take a seat on him, straddling his thighs. “I just want to admire my work of art a bit more… I did a pretty good job—” your hand suddenly comes to his cock, fingers coaxing its hardness that makes his breath hitch, “don’t you think?”

For once, Bakugou’s scrounging for words at the sudden contact. He’s not used to being so speechless when it comes to passion in the bedroom with you. If anything—moaning and yelling aside—he regards himself the more vocal one between the two of you, his dirty talk and crude language a routine he always enacted to get you hot, bothered, and oh so ready for him. However, the shibari ropes braided across his body press a button that spurs him to be so… submissive.

God, him and “submissive” do not belong in the same sentence.

He thinks this, and yet the aesthetic arrangement on his skin emphasizes his sensuality and vulnerability, and it somehow makes arousal wholly envelop his cock.

“Well?” You bring him back to the situation at hand by thumbing over the slit of his length, slick with his pre-cum. The touch causes a groan to slip past his lips. “I asked you a question, Katsuki.” You stroke his length up and down for every word, stopping right at the end and leaving his cock weeping for more of your touch, strained by the rope.

“Ah, f-fuck—” He internally curses himself for the stutter. Glancing at you, he heeds the smirk that still hangs proudly on your red lips.

Boy, does he itch to wipe it off your face with bruising kisses and have wanton moans singing from them when he pounds you into the bed. To his dismay, however, that itch remains unreachable thanks to your painstakingly elaborate composition. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, this shibari shit you performed on him was executed with great attention to detail for him to be left so aroused and unable to break free in this damn chair. But would he ever say this to you out loud? Hell no. So he settles for defiance instead.

Bakugou looks you straight in the eye with a smug expression plastered on his face. “Hah, is this supposed to impress me? Seems like a bunch of amateur work to me, babe,” he scoffs boldly, earning a raised brow from you at his attitude despite the position he’s in. Perhaps he needs a reminder that no matter how much he squirms, he isn’t getting a sliver of authority tonight.

“Is that so?” You jab, finger looping around the cordage tied across his collarbones to pull him forward in his chair. His face is so close to yours; he can feel your breath on his lips and smell the enticing fragrance of your perfume. It’s an off-beat mix of rose and jasmine that gets his blood pumping from just a whiff. “I don’t think you truly understand the position you’re in right now, Suki,” you muse sensually, lips tugging back into a smirk that has him second-guessing his actions, “I just need to remind you then.”

At that, your hand immediately falls to his cock, stout and weepy with pre-cum, capturing Bakugou’s attention. He groans wantonly while you stroke it. Dropping to your knees, you watch as your ministrations evoke bliss into his cock from below. You can tell without even glancing at him that he’s biting his tongue to suppress his obscene noises. However, the increasing volume in his voice betrays him.

“Agh, fucking goddd—” he drawls beneath his breath when you decide to pick up the pace with your hand, applying the right amount of pressure that had his walls slowly cracking in front of you. The strain on his body from the ropes heightens his lust. Bakugou tugs on the restraints in the fit of pleasure building inside him.

“Hm well look at that. You were so bold before, but now look at you—” Your other hand goes to fondle his balls, the extra sensation making him buck in his seat, “a hard, aching mess at my touch, isn’t that right?”

“Ugh, if you—fuck—think I’m going to give in— Haaahhh...” His words are a jumbled mess. Bakugou leans against his seat, tossing his head back while involuntarily rocking his hips into your hand.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you over your moaning and groaning,” you mock, watching his brows knit together at the lust consuming his being. His panting comes out ragged while he gasps for air, thighs flexing at the fire coursing through his body that teeters on a tightrope. However, before he can reach his high, the sensations are ripped away when you quickly remove your digits from him, recognizing his imminent release.

Bakugou shoots his eyes open. A sharp shift in his seat has the chair’s legs scraping against the floor. “What the hell?!” he growls, practically snarling the words out. There’s a wave of anger heard in his tone that you don’t take a liking to. You wag your finger.

“That’s no way to talk, Katsuki.”

“I don’t give a fuck! I was so damn close to cumming! Why the hell did you stop?!” Bakugou yells vehemently with a pierce in his red eyes. You run your hands on his thighs as you lean up to return the look.

“Y’know if you’re going to act like this—act like a brat—I might as well just leave you here and not let you cum at all tonight, hm?” you threaten, and the notion brings his temper to an immediate silence. The idea of you keeping him bound to this chair while his cock cries for release is enough to diminish his poise. He sinks in his seat submissively when you inch closer, eyeing the bright red of your painted lips that curls salaciously with each word you utter to him.

“But if you behave, sit here obediently, and continue looking all pretty for me, I might let you cum. How’s that sound?” you offer.

He bites his lip. It’s like he’s making a deal with a succubus right now, that damn voice of yours coaxing him.

“F-Fine…” he manages to answer. You smile at his compliance before placing a kiss on his cheek. You’re granted a glimpse of the faint, red imprint left on his skin thanks to your lipstick when you detach from him. Almost as if you’ve marked him as yours.

“Good boy.” The praise sends a shiver down his spine as you whisper it into his ear. He watches you descend onto your knees again, gazing at his cock like you’re about to pounce. And god, does he wish you would just do it already, but instead, you choose to prolong him some more and glance at him.

“Now… what do you want me to do to you?”

Really? Did you have to ask this? Bakugou furrows his brows at how you play cloy. “Argh, you already know—”

“I want to hear it from you though,” you interject, leaning forward and running a finger along a prominent vein on the side. His pretty cock twitches at your touch. “Use your words and tell me all the things you want me to do to you, ’Suki.”

Before he can bite his tongue, his mind is already one step ahead of him, blurting out his thoughts shamelessly. “God, I want to be in your mouth. I want you to suck my dick and let me cum in your throat. And then I want you to get up here, ride me to oblivion, and let me paint your pussy so fucking white. Please please please—” He adds in his pleas for good measure, the desire to climax overpowering his pride in the heat of the moment that feeds your ego.

The word “please” has never sounded so dulcet coming out of that usually vulgar mouth of his. Who knew Bakugou Katsuki was capable of begging so well? It’d be an absolute shame not to reward him for his good behavior.

You lick your lips. “There, that wasn’t too hard, was it?” Then you begin acting on his wishes, your tongue making contact with his hard cock, gradually running up the side until you reach the head. Swirling against the tip causes a growl to bellow from his throat, jerking forward when you wrap your lips around the entire head. He watches with lidded eyes as your lipstick begins smearing across his dick, sucking him in like that.

His moans sound frenzied the more his cock inches into your warm cavern. The sounds encourage you to eagerly bob your head up and down his length with your spit collecting in the back of your throat. You adore the way his cock feels in your mouth, so heavy and thick, and especially love the fact that your controlled pace has your man reeling with pleasure, finally letting his unabashed whimpers out. You savor every little sound like it’s your favorite song on repeat, which it might as well be from how slick gathers at your cunt listening to them.

“Shit! Baby, please don’t fucking stop!” he begs, head tossed behind him as you moan your response into his dick, picking up speed. Your hand pumps his shaft a few more times until you bring it down to your panties to move the material aside and rub your clit. The contact sends a tingle through your body that urges you to bottom his cock into your mouth. Feeling your wetness enveloping his cock gratifies every nerve in his body until it ultimately leaves him undone.

”Agh! Sh-Shit—!” he curses, his climax peaking as his white cum spurts inside your throat. You make sure to swallow every last drop, tasting his delicious cream on your tongue as you detach from him with a lewd pop.

Bakugou is still catching his breath by the time you happily wipe your mouth of your excess spit and any lingering drops of his delectable seed, his chest heaving in and out with the red rope flexing at his every movement. A haze clouds his vision from the intensity of his orgasm, but he’s at least able to see you standing before him—lipstick now messy but that mischief in your eyes persisting.

“Sukiiii~ You’re absolutely gorgeous like this—tied up, sweaty, and gasping for air just because of me,” you praise.

“B-Baby…” Bakugou’s tone somehow rings higher than usual. Your eyebrows perk up, the wetness at your core saturating through your panties hearing the shameless little whine.

“Kiss me… please…”

Well, since you asked so nicely…

You straddle his thighs and bring your lips to his own, letting him taste the bittersweetness of his cum from your tongues fervently melding against each other. Soon the makeout session comes to a halt with a quick peck on his lips. He peers into your glimmering expression with an insatiable need, struggling in his bonds as his cock hardens once more at your proximity—skin so warm against him. But your lingerie still obscures him from your real treasures. He wants to rip it off you already.

“Can I get out this damn thing yet?” he asks, quiet yet impatient. You shake your head.

“’Fraid not, Katsuki, I still need to ‘ride you to oblivion,’ remember?” you quote him.

Crap. He does. And surprisingly, there are no objections when you remind him. His silence amid your established authority doesn’t go unnoticed by you as you grin devilishly at how pliant he’s become throughout the night.

As if you’ve read his mind, your hand finds the clasp fastened on your back. “Since you’ve been such a good boy for me—” a simple flick of your wrist undoes the grip holding your bra together, “I’ll reward you for the rest of the night.” On cue, the skimpy garment glides down your shoulders.

Tossing the bra into the void of the bedroom, you can’t help the giggle that bubbles from your lips at Bakugou’s widened eyes aimed at your tits bared before him. He absentmindedly shifts in a vain attempt to lift his hands and grab your mounds, forgetting the rope bound on his arms behind his back prevents him from touching your soft, naked skin.

“Aw, you want to touch my tits?” you chide. Bakugou grunts in response, and you’re amused by the way he turns his head bashfully as if you miss the subtle blush dusting his cheeks. Such a cute little act.

Cupping your hand under his jaw brings his attention back to you. You nudge him so he faces you again, not allowing his eyes to gander anywhere else but on your own.

“I’ll let you do a little bit more than touch…” Your thumb lightly brushes his lower lip, pulling it down ever so slightly, and he realizes what you want him to do.

And boy, is he eager to abide by your desires.

Opening his mouth, he doesn’t hesitate to latch onto your right nipple immediately, tongue poking out around the bud. You hum in content at how passionately he licks and sucks, petting the back of his head and brushing your fingers through his soft blonde hair to encourage him along.

“Ooooh… That’s it Suki… You’re doing so well, sucking on my nipple like that,” you moan as Bakugou moves over to your left breast, giving its twin the same amount of attention. He groans between licks, flattening his tongue and drawing out the sound erotically against your skin. It spurs you to grind your clothed pussy on his erection, earning you his hisses between tugging your nub into his mouth.

In the meantime, your other hand, not caressing his locks, stumbles upon your wetness seeping past your intimates, practically soaking through onto his dick. A few strokes of your fingertips beneath your panties gathers your gossamer-like slick that interlaces your digits together in a web. You tear Bakugou off your bud to hover your glossy fingers in front of him. Right away, he begins diligently licking away at the slippery sheen, moans lewdly vibrating deep in his throat with each swipe of his tongue.

“How do I taste?”

“So fucking good. Shit, I want more,” he says. You grin, flattered by his enthusiasm to devour more of your essence. However, you’d have to put that on hold for another time.

“Hm, not tonight, I’m afraid. I need you inside me right this second.” Your words have pure anticipation sparking through his body. He stares attentively as you lift yourself over the head of his cock, aligning his length into your soaked hole, panties pushed to the side.

“Arghhh…” Bakugou hisses between gritted teeth when the first inch enters, fists clenched around nothing at how tightly you’re squeezing him. Your whimpers accompany him as you adjust to his well-endowed size, a pleasant burn seizing you. Heat sprouts in your abdomen the more you descend on Bakugou’s firm, aching cock, eventually bottoming out with a long sigh.

“Fucking hell, you’re so damn fucking tight—”

If your mouth feels good, then your pussy is practically heaven, inducing him in hot, tight bliss when you start bouncing up and down.

“Ah, Suki, your cock is so big… so hard…Mmph, I love how it fills me up!” you sing, arms wound around his neck, tits pressing against his chest. Having to sit back with nothing to leverage him amid your silky walls pressing around his cock, bursts of mini-explosions crackle in his palms. A musky scent of burnt caramel suddenly invades your senses, making your cunt clench tighter. Bakugou curses at how you hug his length.

“Fuck! Baby, I want you to ride my cock faster! Make me cum so damn hard that I feel it for weeks!”

Even when taking on a submissive role, Bakugou’s dirty talk never ceases to rile you up. You nod in reply, thighs flexed while your tempo on his cock increases to the point where it ensnares both of you in the throes of pleasure. Unable to do much except allow you to work yourself on and off him, he settles for leaning in and capturing your lips, which you respond to earnestly by parting your mouth to let your tongues dance again. A few particular hard drops later cause him to detach himself from you to groan out loudly.

The echo of your skins making firm contact against each other fogs his thoughts. His eyes are half-lidded when they gaze at you. You giggle at his expression—shrouded in pure bliss from his blanketed red eyes to his tongue peeking out of his lips. Caressing his jawline, you tilt his head up.

“Whose good boy are you?” you ask. It takes a second for him to answer.

“Y-Yours…”

You pry on, not letting up for even a second in your bouncing, “Who made you a pretty work of art tonight?”

“You! Fuck, you did!” he cries out, head tossed to the side that grants you access to the beautiful expanse of his neck. Your mouth finds his skin, kisses ascending until you reach the junction below his cut jawline as he continues reeling at the sensations building inside him.

“That’s right, Suki. So good, so obedient. I think it’s time I let you cum, yeah? Let you fill my little hole up with all your creamy white goodness…”

Your pace escalates quickly, not granting a relief of pause until you both begin arriving on the cusp of release.

“Fuckfuckfuck!! C-Cumming—!” Bakugou yells out, your grappling walls milking his twitching cock that surges into his climax. As promised, his cum coats your insides wholly white, stuffing you to the brim that has the heat inside you lurching. It’s right after the apex of his pleasure that your pussy spasms around him, body trembling, and toes curled as you peak into your high. He licks at your nipple arched in front of his face while your cries fill the space of the room.

By the time the two of you settle down in the aftermath of your euphorias, you’re both sweaty, panting messes. Bakugou more so as his head rests against your shoulder, allowing you to pet his hair between your fingers and comfort the tremors still racking through him.

“You did so so well, Katsuki. I’m very proud of you.” You lay a sweet kiss on his temple. Your praises manage to elicit a content hum from his lips while he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. Before you can get up and remove the tight ropes still lining his upper body, Bakugou suddenly lifts his head and meets your eyes, a tired yet devious expression painted on his face.

“Next time, we should tie you up in these things.”

[yoonpobs]

to the touch | pjm

pairing: park jimin x oc (ft. brother yoongi)

genre: mutual pining, fluff, cute crushes, brothers best friend

warnings: JIMIN that's it

words: 5, 216

summary: he's back

“You’re … you’re here?” You squeak and it’s not one of your best moments even if you were sure Yoongi would argue otherwise and that you rarely had average moments, to begin with. But there was something about spontaneity and surprise that threw you off in the worst way possible and made your brain short-circuit to the point where you’re unable to throw coherent thoughts together. And this was definitely a surprise, one that you’d never expected to happen because—

“I am,” Jimin says curtly, tossing you a firm nod of his head when he pushes you aside and steps into your apartment like he’s been year a thousand times. But in reality, it’s his first time standing at your doorstep, first time knocking on your door, and definitely the first step he’s ever had the chance to get a glimpse of how your living room looks like.

You’re still gaping at the entrance with the door open and you’re sure if any of your neighbors were to step out of their homes, they’d just see a lone girl outside that looked a little too unnerved to bother. When you snap out of it and turn your body to face your visitor, he’s already made himself comfortable on your couch and it’s hard to piece together the fact that Jimin was quite in fact in your living room, and lounging on your couch, staring at your television like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“W-What—how?” You croak because there are about ten million different thoughts running through your head but the most pressing one is how Jimin looked … different.

A good difference, for sure. He’s always been handsome and unreasonably so. Especially with the way that he’s dyed his hair back to black and the gentle fluff of how it lays atop his head. You note that he still kept his style despite him going MIA for three years and wore slacks that shaped his legs (and butt) beautifully with a casual shirt tucked into the waistband of his pants. It was unfair how effortlessly good-looking he was on a spontaneous occasion while you looked anything but, especially with your sweats and old tank top.

But Jimin had always been a little hard to read. Terrifying and brassy all at once but never obstructive—although you’d argue that his presence was the obstruction as it is of how distracted you feel whenever he was around you years ago. It’s like you never learned how to accommodate his presence because he happened to fill every space with just his body even if he wasn’t that tall.

“I thought I’d pay a visit. Your brother gave me your address.” He says, finally turning his head to face you, and its still blank like every expression you remember made towards you. You expected nothing more or nothing less than the way he stares you over and makes you feel like the outsider in your own home.

“Yoongi …” You grit, cursing your brother mentally and hoping he’d make use of that stupid sibling telepathy power he claims he has to receive your gripe.

You clear your throat as you awkwardly shuffle closer towards the couch and hover awkwardly by the arm of the sofa to keep your distance. It’s been years and it’s still a little unfamiliar to see Jimin right in front of you, and not someone you kept at the back of your mind.

“You could’ve called …” You say softly while fiddling with your thumbs. Jimin just raises an eyebrow at you and you feel stupid for saying that already.

Some things don’t change and it’s proven when your heart still beats the same when he’s around you. You cursed at yourself for being weak-willed because you thought time would help you get over your silly crush on Jimin but you also long acknowledged the fact that it wasn’t just a crush. It was more.

You hated falling for the cliches of crushing on your brother’s best friend, especially one that was just emotionally reserved and detached ninety percent of the time. The only conversations you remember having with Jimin were the ones that you were blushing at him when he looked at you a little longer than usual, or when he drove you to and from school when Yoongi left for university.

But then he disappeared, without saying goodbye and you only found out from his parents that he got into a dance program abroad and packed his things and left. Obviously, twenty-year-old you was devastated because you somehow convinced yourself that he enjoyed your presence even if he was huffing and puffing every five minutes when you’d fall into a ramble of your own.

He changed his number and he wasn’t a social media person so you had no idea what he was doing or how he was, besides the occasional mention of his name in conversations you had with your brother. It sucked. Majorly. Because you really liked him even if he was cold because you knew that Jimin was a good person. A cold and shitty person wouldn’t pat you on your head before your wisdom teeth extraction and mumble it’s okay if he wasn’t kind.

“The place is nice.” He ignores your statement and glances around your apartment and you feel smaller. You do feel a little relieved that he approved of the place, and you did spend hours browsing through catalogues and going through roommates until you decided that this was perfect. Granted, it was a little pricey but you valued comfort and a decent workplace to really get you motivated.

“Thank you.” You mumble, still shifting on the balls of your feet and Jimin just raises an eyebrow at your impersonal stance. You know he wouldn’t point it out because he wasn’t that kind of guy, but his face often spoke for him so you swallowed all the concerns you had and took a seat at the edge of the sofa, as far away from him as possible.

“Do you live alone?” He asks. You’re about to respond but he doesn’t let you.

“It’s dangerous if you do. Do you really just answer the door for anyone without checking who it is? You’ll get yourself into some serious trouble if you aren’t careful.” He chides you.

You want to scoff at him because you were an adult and you’ve learnt a few things along the road to adulthood. Jimin was always a little on edge most of the time and you knew he was just bad at expressing his emotions so you never faulted him for it. But now, you were a little older and not as naive—but unfortunately still very much into him.

“God Jimin, it’s fine—”

The door opens and both your heads immediately turn to the source, and Jimin is sharp with his movements and you try to not allow your heart to flutter when he tugs you closer to him and hides your body with his own as if he thought it was an intruder. But you knew better, so you knew it was—

“Tae. You’re back early.” You greet your roommate who only eyes the man on the couch who has you situated behind him like he was your personal shield. His bag is tugged over his shoulder and you see a few of his art supplies threatening to fall out so you hop off the couch to help him with his belongings, and Jimin’s gaze just burns harder onto the back of your skull.

When you’re close enough, Taehyung leans in and gives a brief glance over at Jimin who is still piercing him with a fierce gaze.

“Why is your booty call staring at me like I’ve murdered ten kittens?” Taehyung whisper yells and you glare at him, pinching his hip because just because he thought he was being quiet didn’t mean that he could easily get rid of his naturally loud voice.

“That is not my booty call!” You respond equally as agitated, “That’s … Jimin.”

Taehyung’s eyes bulge out of his socket when he looks over your shoulder once more to still see Jimin glaring at the two of you.

“Why is he so fucking scary? You said he was nice!” Taehyung hisses.

“He is nice!” You weakly defend, “He’s just … scary looking?”

You know it doesn’t convince Taehyung because he’s sighing and dropping his belongings to the floor, offering Jimin as sincere of a smile as he can muster even though you’re fully aware that he’s terrified of the man on your living room couch.

“Hi! I didn’t know _____ was having guests over. I’m Taehyung.” He smiles brightly at said guest but Jimin just blinks at his cordiality and then looks over to you.

“Is he your boyfriend?” The question throws you off guard and you can tell that Taehyung even more terrified when Jimin completely ignores his presence even though he was the tallest person in the room.

You splutter for a response even if the answer to that was obvious. But Jimin had a shitty way of interrogating people, even if it probably would work in legal settings because he was just terrifying enough for you to stumble over your words and make you look guiltier than you were.

“Unfortunately not.” Taehyung thinks he’s saving you when he lightly jokes with Jimin. And you want to facepalm because Jimin was aloof and impartial to everything, and had horrible skills of reading the room because you were sure that Jimin thought that Taehyung wanted to get in your pants.

“Tae, would you excuse us for a second?” You smile stiffly at Taehyung who is quick to oblige as he darts into his room.

Jimin now has his arms folded across his chest in a manner that makes him look more hostile, but you knew him well enough that you suppose he just had a lot of questions.

“Did you really have to be like that?” You ask irritably as Jimin scoffs at you.

“Please, do enlighten me. All I did was ask you a simple question, which you couldn’t even answer. What was that about?” Jimin responds equally as displeased but you had so many questions and you didn’t need to deal with his mini tantrum right now, especially between the walls of your own home.

“Don’t turn this on me! You turned up to my house unannounced after three years of no contact and you expect me to bend at your will? What do you take me for? A puppet?” You retaliate with petulancy and you can tell Jimin is slowly getting more annoyed by the second but won’t blow up just yet. Or probably because you had another person in the house.

“Am I not allowed to visit?” Jimin raises an eyebrow.

You scoff at his audacity because Jimin was seriously so bad at reading emotions. You weren’t even sure why you liked him but your heart never made reasonable decisions for you.

“We haven’t spoken in years, Jimin!” You throw your hands in the air, “I didn’t even know where you were or what you were doing because you disappeared like you were running away from a crime!”

“Did I need to update you on my whereabouts?” You know his question is genuine even though it was posed a little rough and you want to pull at your hair because obviously, you wanted to know! Jimin was the person you spent the most time with, outside of school, and one day he wasn’t anymore.

“Of course! I thought we were—I thought … why did you just disappear?” For some reason, it was hard to say that you and Jimin were friends either because the only reason why he’d ever tolerate you in the first place was that he was a good friend to Yoongi and you were just someone that came with it by association. He never outwardly said that he hated spending time with you but he never said he enjoyed it either.

Jimin raises an eyebrow and stands up, and you notice that he still towers over you. He walks towards you slowly, and you feel all the hotter under his intense scrutiny that you just want to retreat to your bedroom and forget this ever happened.

“You don’t need to know.” He says and you feel yourself deflate, “I wanted to visit because your brother’s worried about you.”

The confession just annoys you because you knew to a certain extent that Jimin wouldn’t be here from … wherever he was … if it was only for your brother. He had to give a shit somewhere deep down in him enough to make an effort to get your address from your brother, then turn up on your doorstep unannounced with his usual impassioned stare.

“Oh fuck off, will you? I’m not a little girl anymore. I can take care of myself.” You bite back.

Jimin shoots you an unimpressed stare at your snappishness and he won't lie and say that he was pleasantly surprised to see you after a long time. You were always pretty, in an unconventional way, he supposes. You never made an effort to look nice but just did with the way you approached life, even when you were younger. But now that you were standing in front of him with a bite that you didn't have when he left, he's intrigued.

"You weren't so rude before I left." He smirks at you.

His gaze also makes you burn and you avoid his eyes when it searches for yours. You hate that his tone makes you feel funny and that you wanted him to be a little mean.

"Yeah, well—that's what happens when you don't see someone after three years with no contact or notice. They change. They get a little annoyed because someone is just too emotionally constipated to ever make any effort to keep in touch." You narrow your eyes at him.

"Why are you throwing a hissy fit? Needed me to keep you company?" He prompts.

You flush but still glare at him.

"Whatever, Jimin. I just would've appreciated it if you called. Or at least have done something to let me know that you were alive." You mutter.

Somehow, he's managed to cage you in with his body against the back of the sofa, and your breath hitches when you feel his broad chest pressed on yours. You didn't realise it happened until he places his arms by your side, effectively leaving you with no room to leave. You gulp because this is the closest you've ever been to Jimin and you feel dizzy. He smells fresh like laundry and flowers. It's a huge juxtaposition to his demeanour, but he smells good and you want to nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck.

"Why would I? You're Yoongi's sister. Not my girlfriend." He smirks.

You huff and roll your eyes. The reminder stings a little and you know he's baiting you.

"So? Were we not at least friends?" You snap.

He wants to laugh because you're obviously annoyed at the casual way he referred to you as Yoongi's little sister. You're frowning but attempting to pretend that it didn't bother you.

Jimin would be lying if he said he was never interested. Because he was, undoubtedly so. But back then when you were still navigating your way at the beginning of adulthood with Yoongi constantly breathing down his neck, he would have never done anything to compromise his friendship with your brother; or lead you on. But now you were standing in front of him, soft and sweet with a little edge to you that draws him in.

"Do you usually have crushes on your friends?" He pushes.

Your eyes widen and snap up to look at his teasing expression. His smirk is apparent against the rest of his face and you feel absolutely mortified that he's so close to you when he called you out.

"W-What? A crush? I didn't have a crush on you!" You rebuff him with a stuttery voice and you weakly try to push him away.

But he locks you in position with his hands around your wrist as he leans down and crowds you further with his presence.

"You didn't?" He feigns hurt, then he pulls away abruptly and you're immediately chasing his warmth, "Shame. I would've liked that a lot."

You gape at him when he shuffles away, putting some distance between the two of you as he dusts his hands on his slacks, giving you a curt smile; one that never reached his eyes but that was still Jimin being friendly.

"Y-You what ...?" You squeak.

Jimin shrugs and walks towards your door and you're half-terrified and half-relieved at the prospect of him leaving. But you're more terrified because you don't know if you'll ever see him again and with your current interaction you don't think you'll ever get over him.

"Usually a cute girl crushing on me would be a huge ego boost ... but you didn't, so ..." He trails off.

You bite your lips as you play with your hands. You know he's teasing you and you didn't know when he's gotten so forward, or good at this game. But you suppose Jimin has always been charming too, even if he was bad at emotions. He was good at playing them. And the way he rakes his eyes over your body only to bite his lip makes you burn in want.

He's about to turn the knob of your door but you reach out to grab his wrist before your mind can tell you it's a bad idea.

"W-What if I ... what if I ..." You mumble, hands wrapped loosely around his wrist as he turns around, leaning against the door the way boys do that was super hot for no reason.

"Speak up, bunny."

The nickname only makes you blush harder because it reminded you of all the times he's ever called you that stupid childhood nickname that somehow followed you up until adulthood. But you had to admit the way that Jimin uses it makes you feel ...warm. Like you want him to call you bunny for whatever reason he does so.

"WhatifIdid ...?" You mutter quickly and softly that Jimin leans in to get a better listen, also prompting you to speak louder.

"Couldn't hear you." He sing-songs.

You grit your teeth and swallow your pride because even after three years, you were soft and pliant for Park Jimin even if he was hot to the touch. You just wanted to please him.

"What if I did?" You say a little louder, braver, with determined eyes, "What if I did have a crush on you?"

He grins at you in Jimin fashion that was still a little reserved but warm because you knew him. You knew that was what he wanted to hear. So, he rests his body against the door and gestures his finger in a come-hither motion to get you to step closer, which you oblige. It should've been offensive that he could summon you so easily, but Jimin was a lot of things but he would never take advantage of your passiveness.

"I don't know. What would you have done if I hadn't left? Play friends? Family maybe?" He teases.

You scrunch your nose at the prospect of playing family with him because you've heard that phrase way too many times. Your parents at one point kept on saying how you had two older brothers instead of one because Jimin was always there, but they were blissfully unaware of your crush and the way you'd frown at the suggestion.

"We would've hung out more ..." You mumble.

Jimin snorts but cocks his head for you to continue.

"What's the point of this?" You huff, shutting your eyes when you can feel his gaze on you.

"You tell me. You were the one with the crush."

You want to correct him and say am the one with the crush, but you bite your tongue.

"You're the one who wants to know." You respond with indignation.

He chuckles, low and deep before he tilts your chin upwards with his index finger.

"You're still a little girl, aren't you ______?" You think it's the first time Jimin has called your name the entire time he's been here and you almost whine with the sultry look he's giving you.

Jimin applauds his self-control because you were a sight to behold. Even if you were in sweats and a tank, with your glasses drooping slightly down your nose and tangled hair, you still were so appealing even if you didn't know. You looked comfortable, homey and it did make Jimin burn with an ugly monster to know that 'Tae' could see you like this daily.

"Am not." You growl, but he only thinks you look like an angry bunny.

"You are. You don't know how to ask for things, hm?" He hums, tracing a finger up your jaw to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I so do know how to ask for things that I want. I do it all the time." You retort petulantly like you had a point to prove but Jimin only chuckles darkly.

"Then what do you want right now?"

Jimin's question is expected but it also throws you off-guard.

"R-Right n-now?" You stutter.

He tuts as if he expected your bewildered and shocked expression.

"When else but now, bunny?" He whispers as his gaze has you locked in a trance when your eyes dart to his lips when he drags his tongue over it. You're entrapped in him because his mouth suddenly looked really inviting.

"I really wanna ..." You mumble, ears flushing a pretty shade of red and you lean into Jimin's hand when he cradles your cheek gently.

Jimin was capable of being gentle, even though he chose not to. But he never was, though there was something about you that made his territorial, made him want to fight. He didn't know when he started feeling this way but he supposed it was a flurry of emotions and the accumulation of the times he's spent with you throughout the years. Three years didn't do him justice and only made him think of you more. He knew he was hard to read, and frankly even harder to understand. Jimin also knew that you were fully aware of this fact. But that didn't deter you in trying to get to know him, to prick yourself against all his edges that were harder to accept.

You were sweet and naive, a type of person that Jimin would usually scoff at. But your one-dimensional and idealistic view of the world was fresh to him, even if that meant you were living in your head most of the time. It never took away from the fact that you were kind and understanding. The type of person that cracked all of Jimin's harshness made him want to try.

But it didn't mean he wasn't going to have his fun. He liked seeing you like this, gentle and warm, close to him as you look at him with a hazy expression.

"Wanna do what?" He prods, reaching his hand to the back of your hair to tug your face closer to his, but maintaining enough distance to prompt you to make the first move.

Jimin would do it. But he wanted to be sure that you wanted this, and not the idea of him. Sure, he was giving you hints and nudging you, but he also was aware of the fact that you'd never say or do anything that you didn't want. You were always clear-cut about this type of thing.

"You know ... that ... thing ..." You mumble, shifting on your feet as he glances down to your face.

You still looked unsure, but you leaned into his hold regardless, and Jimin took that as a good sign. You just need a little push.

"You know I'm not that bright. You need to tell me, bunny." He says gently.

You can't stop the small whimper in the back of your throat at the nickname and it's taking everything in Jimin's willpower to not take you against this wall. He would, but you deserved sweet things and he wanted to try be that for you.

"I ... I wanna ..." You whisper, "Wanna ... kiss you."

You clutch his t-shirt in his hands and when you glance up he's grinning widely as if he's won the lottery.

He nods his head ever so softly, and you take that as a cue to lean in.

When you do kiss him, you already feel your knees buckling because it's like everything you dreamed and more. Jimin was the right amount of assertive and gentle that makes you chase his mouth even if you were pressed up against him. He takes the lead eventually when his hand cups your jaw to angle your mouth deeper into his, and your body flush against his.

You feel like a teenager again having your first kiss, but it may as well be because you've always wondered what it was like to share your first kiss with Jimin back in high school.

"Is that all?" He whispers against your lips, but before you can respond—

"Oh fuck, I'm sorry!" You hear Taehyung squeak and that makes you pull away from Jimin, highly embarrassed to be caught making out with him against your door like a horny teenager.

You want to curse at Taehyung but he's already ducking into the kitchen before you can get any words out.

Jimin doesn't look affected, if anything, he looks pleased. The moment you shared a clear testament of who you belonged to and Jimin loved the fact of people knowing it was him.

When you look at Jimin, you're equally parts flushed from the kiss but giddy too. You give him a shy smile, and Jimin just chuckles lowly at your bashfulness.

"I'll see you around, ______," Jimin smirks at you when he reaches for the doorknob to leave. You follow him out, wanting a little more privacy even if it was in the hallway of your apartment complex.

When Jimin steps out and with you behind him, you swing on your feet as he observes your next actions. You clear your throat, even though you were confused and glad—because that was the closest thing you could get from Jimin that was affection so you'd take it.

"So ... what does this ..." You mumble, before shaking your head.

Jimin raises an eyebrow.

"What did I say about asking for what you want?" He berates you as if he was speaking to a child, but his tone is still curt and a little detached, but very like Jimin. You know that it's him and you like that anyways.

"Don't make me say it ... it's already embarrassing as it is ..." You whine, burying your head into his t-shirt.

Jimin welcomes the sudden closeness and pats you softly on the head. It's a little stiff because he still isn't used to physical affection that wasn't 'intimate', but he did say he would try for you.

"Again: I'm not that bright." He teases.

You roll your eyes, but then bite your lips when you see he's waiting for a response.

"... what does this mean for us?" You ask softly.

Jimin smiles at you and decides to grant you a gentle kiss to your forehead. A kiss that was so domestic and soft that you feel your heart soar.

"Check your phone." Is all he says when he waves you goodbye, as you stare at him dumbly, heart still fluttering and cheeks burning.

When you return back into your home, you lean against your door as you press a hand to your chest to feel the way your heart beats rapidly against it. You feel weak in the knees but so blissful that you let out a squeal into the palm of your hands.

Once you've calmed down, and offered Taehyung a look that said you'll explain later—you rush to check your phone, only to smile at what lies on the screen.

Unknown Number [17:21]: hi bunny

Unknown Number [17:21]: save my contact

Unknown Number [17:21]: make sure that when people see it they'll know you're mine

Unknown Number [17:22]: see you soon

Unknown Number [17:22]: if you're still a little slow ... it's jimin

Unknown Number [17:25]: ❤️

You notice the heart emoji was sent a few minutes after the rest of his texts, which showed you that he may have contemplated whether or not to send it. You feel your heart flutter, as you plop back onto your bed, a wide grin splaying on your face.

extra scene

"I'm sorry ... what?" Yoongi chokes on the piece of meat he just shoved into his mouth as he stares at his best friend in the face as if he'd grown another head. But as usual, he seemed to only attract people that were vastly similar to him, and Jimin's face is unreadable as ever. But Yoongi knows he's serious and not fucking around because he's looking intently at the older boy for a response.

"So?" Jimin says casually, leaning into his seat and Yoongi needs to chug down a glass of water to ensure that the food goes down all the way before he can say anything to the question Jimin just posed him with.

"You want my sister's address ... to ... I'm sorry, correct me if I'm wrong but I had a fall and I may have a concussion so I don't know if I'm hearing things right," Yoongi deadpans but Jimin just rolls his eyes at the older one's dramatics before nodding his head for him to continue.

"You want her address to ... confess to her?" Yoongi says hesitantly and Jimin nods his head as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

But it wasn't. Because as long as Yoongi's known Jimin, he's been all detached and broody, uninterested in everything and everyone. He's never shown the slightest interest in anyone and usually opted for casual hookups than actual relationships so clearly, Yoongi is a little skeptical.

"Are you okay?" Yoongi asks baffled.

Jimin nods, folding his arms across his chest.

"Yes. I went for a medical check-up that day and my doctor said he's never seen results as impeccable as mine." Jimin says blandly.

Yoongi scoffs.

"You're just not ... the dating type, you know? Much less ... with my sister?" It sounds weird to even Yoongi's ears. He grew out of his childish mindset and had no problem with Jimin dating you, but it was still weird to see his best friend showing interest in you.

"I like her. And I respect you. Which is why I came to you before I did anything."

Yoongi gapes at his best friend, who looks much softer than he usually does.

"Wow ... I just ..." Yoongi exhales, "Damn."

Jimin offers a small smile before gesturing to their food.

"At least we can really be brothers now." Yoongi jokes, sliding a piece of paper with your address on it to Jimin.

Jimin smiles fondly at the paper before tucking it into his shirt jacket.

The image of you in white, smiling and looking only at him drives him to see you the next day.

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning Into Stone

A/N  Another long drive, another Outlander fanfic idea that dropped into my brain out of nowhere, shoving aside the historical AU I have been wrestling with for months.  Here’s the pitch: Claire Beauchamp is a psychiatrist specializing in grief counselling.  Jamie Fraser is referred to her by his sister, who is worried for his well-being after a series of family tragedies.  You can probably guess the rest, but I’m going to write it anyway.   The title is taken from a song by the amazing Phantogram that was playing as the story idea came to me.

After losing my WIP virginity posting Ginger Snap, I’m going out on that limb again and posting this first chapter with only a rough outline mapped out in my head.  You people are a terrible influence!  Also, there will be some trigger warnings on future chapters, so please watch out for those.   And now, on with our show.

Claire Beauchamp glanced down at the leather-bound calendar open on her desk.  The ivory page for Thursday was packed to the margins, each hourly block filled with the name of a patient followed by a series of cuneiform symbols she used to remind herself of the last session, course of treatment, overall progress, all while maintaining strict confidentiality.  Not even Geillis Duncan, her office administrator and very good friend, knew how to decode the script.

Geillis liked to laugh at the old-fashioned day planner, reminding Claire that their practice utilized software that could perform the same function electronically, but she enjoyed the act of physically logging each session.  The solid heft of her Mont Blanc pen in her hand, a medical school graduation gift from her Uncle Lamb.  The scratch and grab of the nub as it bled black ink over virgin paper.  It was a tactile ceremony in a detached world.  Geillis would nod and then tell her she needed to get laid.

Speak of the devil, a sharp rap on her office door was followed by the appearance of her strawberry blonde head. blue eyes alight with mischief.

“Yer two o’clock is here.  Did ye need more time tae finish bolting down tha’ chaff ye call a salad, or can I show him in?”

“It’s kale,” she defended.  “It’s full of anti-oxidants.”

A disdainful scoff was the only response.

“Yes, Geil, please show Mister...” she glanced down at her planner, “...Fraser in, thank you.”

The tiny rectangle contained only a name, which meant this was their first appointment.  Geillis vetted all prospective patients, but Claire preferred to go into the first meeting blind, with no assumptions or pre-conceptions.  

She wondered what misfortune had caused Mr. Fraser to seek out her psychiatric services.  The death of a child, perhaps, or the end of an extra-marital affair.  People grieved for very different reasons and worked through or around that grief with a surprising variety of coping mechanisms.   Most called upon her practice in much the same way they would a breakdown truck when their car’s engine failed.  They simply wanted to get back on the road to happiness.

Despite the degrees and accreditations that decorated her office wall, Claire wasn’t certain such a thing was possible.  In her experience, grief was a phantom limb that never really went away.  The best one could hope for was to learn healthier ways of living with it.  

The sound of Geillis clearing her throat snapped her back to the present.

“Was there something else, Geil?”

“Och, no’ really.  Just, when yer considerin’ how tae thank me later on, remember tha’ my favourite stone is an emerald, that I prefer gold tae silver, but platinum is ne’er amiss.”

“What are you on about, Duncan?”  But her friend had already disappeared back into the reception area, leaving behind only the glow of her Cheshire smile.  Claire was shaking her head, bemused, when another knock rang out, this one considerably heavier than the first.

“Come in,” she called as she looked up.  And up.  And up some more.

The man who now practically filled her office door had to be at least six foot four, with powerful shoulders and a broad torso encased in a blue henley.  His nearly endless legs were likewise muscular, as testified by the stretch of his jeans across each thigh.  As if his physique wasn’t remarkable enough, he had a head of outrageously wavy red hair, worn long enough to graze the tops of his ears and the nape of his neck, but swept back from a high brow by a judicious use of product.  His face was angular in a pleasingly unique way, with a day or two’s growth of beard counter-balancing an almost youthful, earnest appearance.  But his most striking feature by far were his aquamarine eyes that shimmered like a tropical sea.  Eyes that were currently observing her with perplexity.

“Dr. Beauchamp?” a deep Scottish brogue inquired.  He pronounced it as though she were French.

“Yes,” she startled.  “That’s me.  And it’s pronounced Beecham.  Please, come in Mister Fraser.”  She shuffled a few items around her desk needlessly as she tried to compose herself.  Damn Geillis for not giving her a bit more warning that her newest client was some sort of fitness model.

“Thank ye,” he replied.  “An’ it’s pronounced Jamie, if ye please.”   She added wit to the growing list of the man’s attributes.

If anything, he grew even more impressive as he approached.  She could see he was nervous, although hiding it well.  His striking eyes darted about the room, trying to get a sense of his environment.  She indicated the well-upholstered armchair that sat to one side of her desk.

“Have a seat,” she invited.

With a surprising amount of grace for one so tall, he eased into the chair but didn’t lean back.  The fingers of his left hand tapped restlessly against his thigh.  She watched him quietly, waiting for him to speak.  This was a trick she had learned when she first started practicing psychiatry, but in this case it also allowed her to continue her appraisal.  He was, she concluded, the most attractive man she’d ever seen in the flesh.

“No couch,” he finally observed.

“No.  That’s a bit of a Hollywood trope, I’m afraid.  Lying prone in front of a stranger is hardly conducive to feeling at ease.”

He nodded his acceptance of her logic, but was otherwise silent.

“So,” she spoke at last, unable to wait him out, “what caused you to seek out counselling, Jamie?”  His name suited him, she thought as she spoke it for the first time.  Both boyish and imposing at once.

“I didna.  Twas my sister, Jenny, who insisted I see a doctor.”  His mobile mouth twisted into a grimace.  She could imagine the sibling discord that such a demand would have caused.  Whoever this Jenny was, she was made of strong stuff.  Unfortunately for her, a hostile patient would receive no benefit from merely visiting her office.  Counselling was a participatory process, and she could tell from the stubborn set of Jamie’s shoulders that he had no intention of participating.

“I see,” she said carefully.  “Well, it’s your time and your dime, Mr. Fraser.  This session lasts for forty-five minutes, and you’ve not been here for five.  There’s a carafe of hot water on the table over there, if you care for some tea.  Or you’re welcome to just enjoy that comfortable chair for another forty minutes.  I’ll be working on some administrative necessities.”

She turned her chair away from him, but from the corner of her eye she could see his gobsmacked expression.  He had clearly expected her to cajole and manipulate him into co-operating, but that simply wasn’t her style.

“I meant no offence, doctor.  I’m certain ye’re verra good at what ye do.  Tis only... well, Jenny is my older sister, ye ken.  She practically raised me.  And so ofttimes she treats me like a muckle-sized bairn, and no’ a man who’s capable of lookin’ after himself.”

As he spoke, Jamie leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees, expressive hands gesturing in front of his face.  Hostile to the notion of counselling he might be, but he clearly wanted her to understand it wasn’t a slight.  As a physician, she had been trained to never take a patient’s reactions personally, but it didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate the effort.

“No offence taken, Jamie.  If you don’t need my assistance, I’m happy for you.  That’s one less person hurting in the world.”

“I didna say I wasna hurting.  But I can handle it my own way.  I am handling it, that is,” he hurried to add.

Unable to sit still any longer, he rose and walked over to the small table where she kept an assortment of herbal teas and a tray of Geillis’ homemade biscuits.  Bending over, Jamie set about making himself some; chamomile by the smell of it.  The sound of spoon ringing off porcelain as he stirred in some honey made her smile, reminding her of Lamb and his obsession with the lost art of afternoon tea.

“Can I make ye a cup?”

The question was so unexpected, it took her a moment to process it.  The tea was there as a distraction for her patients, to give them something to do with their bodies as they worked through difficult emotions.  None of them had ever thought to offer her a reprieve as well.

“No, thank you.  I just finished lunch.”

He dipped a shortbread into the steaming tea, then ate it in a single bite.  Instead of sitting back down, he began to browse the framed certificates and photographs along the far wall as he sipped his tea.  With his back turned, her eyes dipped to admire his ass, which filled out his jeans perfectly.  When she caught herself, she gave her head a shake, appalled at her lack of professional detachment.  Maybe Geillis was right.  Maybe she really did need to get laid.

“How long have ye been a doctor?” Jamie asked without turning around.

“Ten years,” she replied.  “But I’ve only been a psychiatrist for the last two.”

It was a dangerous topic, and she blamed his ass for letting the words slip out.  Fortunately, his inquisitiveness took him in an entirely different direction.

“Were ye some kind of prodigy, then? Ye hardly seem old enough tae have yer own practice, let alone fer a decade.  If ye dinna mind me sayin’ so,” he added quickly, as though realizing what he’d just said.

“Not at all.  And you hardly seem young enough to be a, what was it? A muckle-sized bairn?”

As he turned to look her way, she understood the expression ‘shot-gun smile’ for the first time.  It spread across his face like a sunbeam, transforming what was already remarkable into a work of art.  If she hadn’t been sitting, she likely would have stumbled backward from the force of the blow.  Scrambling for something familiar to keep her from making a very grave fool of herself in front of this man, she clasped her clinical training with both hands.

“Are you and your sister close?” 

“Aye, when we’re no’ tryin’ not tae kill the other.  Our Mam died when I was only four, and with Da workin’ dawn til dark on the farm, Jenny was parent, teacher an’ playmate all rolled inta one.”

“You’re not from Edinburgh, then?”  Although what that had to do with his counselling, she hadn’t a clue. 

“Nah, I hail from a wee village in the Highlands ye’ve likely ne’er heard of called Broch Mordha.”  She shook her head to indicate she was indeed unfamiliar with it.  Jamie launched into a detailed description of the place, his hands sculpting the landscape out of thin air.  He obviously cared very deeply for his home, and she felt a twinge of jealousy, having never known that feeling of deep belonging  herself.

“And what brought you to Old Smoky?” she asked as he wound down, her interest piqued.  It was like slamming a lead door on his previously sunny disposition.

“Family obligations.” Said in such a way as to make it clear that no further words would be forthcoming on the topic.  She regretted her nosiness immediately, despite what it revealed about his emotional state.  Jamie was most certainly grieving something, but handling it he was not.

Before she could find a way back to the easy flow of conversation, a chime from her laptop indicated that the session was up.  She couldn’t bear to dismiss him without trying to set things right.

“Listen, Jamie, I understand that you only came here today to humour your sister, but I want you to consider something.  Whether we’re grieving or angry or jealous, or any destabilizing feeling, we’re often the worst surveyors of our own landscape.  Just like you can’t know your place on the sea without referencing the stars, it takes something external to ourselves to measure how far adrift we have become.  Your sister obviously loves you.  Ask yourself, what has she seen in you that prompted her to force you to seek help?”

They parted with cordial but muted goodbyes.  The door closed behind him, leaving Claire to stare at the blank rectangle in her planner that bore his name.  No coded symbols flowed from her pen.  When the door re-opened, it was Geillis, closing it firmly behind her.

“Weel, did I no’ tell ye?  Wee fox, tha’ one.  And he told me he liked my shortbread!”   Geillis said this as though it was some kind of sexual euphemism, which for all Claire knew, it was.

“Yes,” she replied distractedly.  “He’s very nice.”

“Nice!  Nice?  Tha’ man is tae nice what Wagyu is tae beef jerky.  Have ye completely lost yer senses, woman?”  

“Yes, well, he’s a patient, Geillis, as you well know.  And not one I’m likely to see again,” she added, acknowledging out loud what she already knew.

“Oh, no?” Geillis sing-songed.  “Thas’ strange, as he just made an appointment fer the same time next week.”

Claire’s eyes flew to where her friend looked on, smug as could be.

“Yer three o’clock called tae say she was runnin’ five minutes late.  I’ll leave ye tae think about yer... patient.”

Claire picked up her pen, trying to pull together something resembling a professional summary of her first appointment with Jamie.  Her mind replayed their interaction, but all she could remember was the way his eyes crinkled when he was listening attentively, the tidy half-moons of his fingernails, the seam of his jeans as it contoured his thigh, and the cymbal-crash in her chest that accompanied his smile.

Patient, she reminded herself.  Jamie Fraser is your patient. 

[borrovved]

Bambi

A/N: omgomgomg HELLO ISTG I AM NOT DEAD!!! Been thinking of writing for a while but ya girl is in college now, doing big girl tingz 💅🏻 here’s some hendery for you because he is my new muse atm, was def inspired by baekhyun’s new song bambi :)

warnings: unprotected sex (be careful and be protected at all times plz), oral female receiving, fwb, cumplay sorta, hendery x fem!reader, slight fluff????

word count: 1354

You’re so precious, I can’t take it

You are dreamy, Bambi, Bambi

Hendery resembled all those things. Preciousness, dreaminess, and tenderness. You absolutely couldn’t handle it. Gazing into his doe like eyes and hearing that laugh was a drug. Music to your ears, art to your eyes. You wouldn’t put anyone on a pedestal, but Hendery? He belongs on the throne of your heart.

There’s no definitive label on your “relationship.” It was more than friends and felt like lovers, but it wasn’t quite there. You don’t care if it doesn’t develop more. As long as you get to appreciate the time spent with him in the present is what matters most. A label feels trivial at this point.

You’re sure that it’s just lust with a side of camaraderie that fuels your need for him. It’s the time spent so often with each other that makes you want more, more, and more. It’s when you’re both on the couch of your home on your phones when he reaches over to your cunt, eyes glued on his phone still, with his hand grazing against your heat. Thumb rubbing your clit in circles, fingers pressed against the lips of your pussy.

You put your phone down on your thigh, look over to see the side of his face. He’s smiling softly at his phone.

“Hendery, what do you think you’re doing?”

He smiles a little wider, his hand still doing its ministrations on you. Still looking at that damn screen. You start getting needy, wanting all of his attention, all of him pressed up against you, and then some.

“Nothing much, really. Just felt like feeling you. Just because I can.” Hendery says. He stops his movement and looks at you right in the eyes, smile softening, eyes leveling down to your lips. He leans over, hand going inside your short pajama shorts and over your underwear, and runs slow circles. His head is resting on your shoulder, and he lets out a breath that he was holding in. He was contemplating on leaning over out of the blue and just feeling you. Just because, because why not?

You grab his hand gently and pull it away from your crotch. You bring one leg over his lap so that you’re straddling him. You bring his hands to grip at your ass, and you cup his face in your small hands. You graze your nose against his nose and close your eyes. You start grinding agonizingly slow against his bulge, and he stares at you intently with lidded eyes that haze over with a carnal lust. Then, you kiss him sweetly. He can taste the mango lip balm on you- so, so soft. Almost as soft as your velvety walls whenever he pushes his cock in you. The thought alone makes him moan breathily into the kiss, and you decide to take this opportunity to brush your tongue into his mouth when he parts his lips.

Each second passes by in slow motion. Being with Hendery like this feels like paradise on earth, and time seems to decrease in pace. You savor the feeling and lock it in the recess of your mind so you can remember the exact moment and feeling, and smile without realizing it when you do think of it.

Hendery regretfully pulls away just to say his sappy sentiments.

“Ever since I kissed your lips I couldn’t shut up about the feeling.” He says while gazing into your eyes with the utmost affection. You giggle.

“You want to fuck me so bad you look stupid.” You say softly, while smiling that devilish grin of yours. To this, he giggles too.

“You make me feel stupid. Like a stupid fool that wants to get between your legs.” He says as his warm and comforting lips press against your neck, and you tilt your head back and hum. It was more like a moan, but it felt so melodic to Hendery, he considered it as a hum.

For some reason, Hendery felt extremely cuddly and affectionate today. He lifted your shirt and attached his mouth to your nipple, sucking and tugging it with his teeth gently.

“Fuck, Hendery.” You whine. He switches to your other nipple, and the cold air hitting your now wet and free nipple makes it hard. He detaches his mouth from your nipple and kisses the valley between your breasts, looking up at you, maintaining eye contact. It felt like he was all yours and that he belonged to you in this very moment. You look down and kiss the crown of his head while he nuzzles himself in between your breasts.

“I’m more of an ass guy but your boobs are something else.” He praises. You tug at his hair so he looks you in the eye. Hendery always has something to say that would normally ruin a moment like this, but there’s no seriousness when you’re making out and feeling each other up like this. You guys are companions always, and companions always laugh together. You grin, and litter pecks all over his gorgeous face.

“Hendery?” You ask quietly.

“Yes love?” He responds.

“Make love to me.” You gently say. To that, Hendery whisks you away off the couch and you cling onto him like your life depends on it. Hendery holds you tight while your legs are wrapped around him, and walks through the small hallway to your bedroom.

When he laid you down on the bed, you felt so cared for. When he went down on you and ate you out like you were his last meal, you felt desired. More than desired- you felt loved. He discarded your clothing first and his second. He kissed you deeply while he entered his cock into you. You mewl at the feeling.

He’s thrusting and panting and all you can do is think about how cute he looks when he’s so concentrated on making you feel good. He’s getting sloppy with his thrusts but it always reaches your sweet spot. The lewd sound of skin against skin and the sloshy slick between you and his cum mixing just feels so naughty and dirty.

You felt like a little whore being ravaged like this, but it felt so good you didn’t care. You feel yourself unravel on his cock and all you can do is repeat his name over and over again, and whine loudly for him and only him. You feel him coat your walls with white warm ribbons. He pulls out slowly and you feel his cum and your essence oozing out of you. He swipes his fingers against your hole to gather the cum, and stuck his fingers in your mouth for you to suck on. You hollow out your cheeks and lick and suck. Hendery could just cum again at the sight but you already milked out what’s left of him.

There’s more dripping out of you and he has a taste for himself. He leans down and puts the flat of his tongue against your cunt to clean you up. You being sensitive from the overstimulation, shiver and mewl once again. Hendery can’t help but suck on your clit just to mess with you, because he can. He enters his tongue into your hole and you shake even harder.

“Baby stop please. I can’t take it anymore.” You pant.

He gives your clit one last slow and long lick. He has each elbow on either side of your head to hold his weight and dips down to deliver you a kiss. You can taste yourself, and you could almost drool at just how filthy the whole thing is. You wrap your legs around his torso and Hendery puts all of his weight on top of your body. You stroke his hair while he interlaces one of his hands with your free hand.

You close your eyes and savor the moment. The sun sets slowly and you feel your heart swell.

I don't want to wake up from this dream, keep this tempo

I hope the sun doesn’t rise while I keep my eyes closed.