#ill slowly be posting some pieces from it ^^

[shkika]

listened to music box covers from games for this piece and i'm quite happy with it

[aeyumicore]

misty invasion - omnipotent perception

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: rafayel x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with some plot, porn with feelings, angst with comfort

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 6.5k (who’s surprised)

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, slight spoilers and alterations to ‘omnipotent perception (rafayel’s misty invasion card), slightly toxic relationship, m!receiving handjob, bathtub sex, pulling out, cummies in hair/face, lots of making out, hickeys, HEAVY references to rafayel’s lore (sea god and some abysswalker), references to rafayel’s 4* memory fragrant dream, so much angst (with comfort), soooo much feelings, sensory deprivation, sensory play, blindfolding, switch!raf, desperate rafayel, kinda withholding rafayel, clothes on in tub, p in v seggs, use of y/n, use of pet names

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: video | ao3 | xav's version | sylus's version | zayne's version

━ ✧.˖ A/N: RAF IS HERE! sooooo this one is a long one. each one of my misty invasions got longer and longer, i am a menace to myself. but this one made sense, i felt as if raf’s misty invasion had the most lore subtly stitched into it and you guys know i always try and explore some angst/lore <3 i am very happy and excited to finally close out the misty invasion series. 

i’m going to be taking a much needed break after this. i’ll likely still be writing, but slowly and in my own time. I had a brief period of motivation, after the clarity of sharing my story, but now i am back to being anxious and exhausted.

that being said, please do not send anyone hate in my name or in my defense. I have never and will never ask for that. it’s enough that i have your support, i don’t need more than that. 

special thank you to my friend @myusuchaa for helping me SO much with the rafayel lore. definitely the biggest fish forker i know <3

as always, if i missed any warnings or used too specific physical descriptors, let me know and i can do better! thank you guys for your support. i love you!

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

“Do you feel lonely in this world that is totally different from yours?”

—

It’d been a beautiful summer day, riding bicycles along the Italian coast of Verona. Rafayel had just finished his piece for an art exhibition in the capital of the picturesque city, and you’d had time to soak in the summer breeze with each other. The air was wonderfully salty, just enough to remind you of the sea itself. Of Rafayel. 

It hadn’t truly surprised you when you’d found out Rafayel had lived here before, especially now knowing his Lemurian roots. Something about the way he walked through the Veronian brick paved roads, the rustic wind tousling his beachy waves, the cloudy sun shining on his effervescent skin. Like he’d belonged here, once upon a time. 

It was the perfect day.

Even when you’d teased him about the Lemurian who’d dissipated into sea foam for a mere human, and Rafayel’s expression misted over with a melancholic nostalgia. When his eyes glazed over with a torrent of inexplicable emotions, he could tell you wanted to prod him about it. But you didn’t, and for that he was incredibly grateful. There was a part of him that longed for you to know, to remember, the truth of that story. But he couldn’t trust you with that part of him again. Not yet. 

Even then, it was a perfect day. The two of you in Verona, the city of Romeo and Juliet. 

Two ill-fated lovers. 

It was perfect, he was perfect. 

Until you asked him that question. 

“Do you feel lonely in this world that is totally different from yours?”

Suddenly, Rafayel couldn’t look you in the eyes. Even when the rain droplets had started to patter onto your sun kissed skin, Rafayel holding you close under his favorite cardigan to shelter you from the onslaught of crystalline water. He couldn’t look at you. He refused to look at you.

If he did, you might’ve seen the tumultuous storm flickering in his eyes. The violets in his irises bright with unshed tears, the blues dark with a bitter loneliness. 

He didn’t speak to you the entire way back to your hotel, heading straight to the bathroom. At first you think that perhaps he’s upset with you, but he only draws you a warm bath in the luxurious clawfoot tub overlooking the Italian night lights. 

When he finally does speak to you, peeling off his layers of soaked clothing, you can tell he’s masking his true emotions under a facade of classic Rafayel sarcasm. Joking about whether he should write a Lemurian handbook for you or just read you 1,001 Lemurian stories. But he surprises you when his voice cracks with a raw genuineness, one that’s masked under layers and layers of hesitancy and loneliness. You can’t quite understand it.

“You can be my caretaker. And I can tell you 1,001 stories,” he mutters, eyes trained on the ground once more, voice soft and vulnerable. 

“I’m okay with every choice you provide,” he continues as he peels your wet jacket off your shoulders innocently. When his hand reaches the inside of your coat, grazing against your exposed waist, he pulls his hand back. His face is a storm of conflicted torment.

“...But you should take a warm bath first. Or else you’ll catch a cold.”

As he turns to leave, the sight of his lean and muscled back making you blush, you muster all your courage and call out to him, “You can’t leave. You still haven’t answered my question.”

You catch his wrist, using all your force to pull him back. Rafayel stiffens, unable to catch himself before he tumbles backwards into the filled tub. 

He’s able to protect his head from hitting the edge of the tub, the water sloshing around and splashing onto the tiled bathroom floor. Rafayel sits in the tub, not a semblance of annoyance on his face. Instead he looks flustered, the warm water clinging to his defined muscles.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Rafayel’s hair is disheveled, the water making clumps of his damp hair stick to his wet skin. His eyes watch you with inscrutable emotions, waiting for you to speak. 

You don’t answer his question, instead asking one of your own.

“You can spare me the details, but there’s something important you should tell me…” you hum, walking to his side by the tub, leaning over him, “How do Lemurians express love?”

Rafayel looks startled by your question for a second before composing himself, “Do you really want to know?” The fragrant candles in the bathroom flicker, the steam of the bath dancing against the soft flames. His words seem less like a genuine question…and more like a vague warning. 

Before you can respond, Rafayel’s fingers are closed around your wrist, tugging you into the tub on top of him. You squeal as Rafayel guides your body onto his, the violent crashing of water loud against the soft sound of the rain against the large glass windows.

Rafayel looks smug, his hand holding yours against his chest. You’re messily sprawled across his half naked body when he shifts you off of him so that he can sit next to you, his strong arm wrapping around your body. The warm water is uncomfortable against your still half-clothed body, but you can only focus on the way Rafayel holds your fingers up to his mouth, pressing a kiss into the back of your hand like you were royalty. 

“When Lemurians fall in love with someone…” Rafayel mutters, his warm breath fanning against your hand, “All our senses are committed to perceive them without question.” His eyes are intense as he speaks to you, hoping to convey even an ounce of the love he speaks so honestly of. 

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Your senses? Like…this?” You untangle your hand from his, bringing your index finger up to his lips. You barely graze his pouty bottom lip before he’s panting, struggling to speak. 

“...Your way of triggering my “senses” has only touched the surface,” he mutters sulkily, yet he has to look away from you, cheeks rosy at your mere touch. He grabs your hand, eyes locked back onto yours giving you a silent warning. 

But you only proceed further, your fingers grasping his chin, your eyes peering up at him with a faux innocence. It’s not long before your fingers wander south, pressing into his heaving chest, flitting around his sharp collarbones. Rafayel’s reaction only fuels you with mischief and confidence, the way his breath matches his heartbeat: fast, erratic, and demanding. 

He looks at you with almost…disbelief. Disbelief at your actions, but more so disbelief at the way your simplest touches can have his body reacting so viscerally. It was a testament of just how much the dark-mauve haired Lemurian loved you, his every sense reacting to you so readily.

“...Are all humans idiots?” Rafayel grits, refusing to look at you again. But his body betrays his words when your hand ventures further down. You’re barely able to register the shocked expression on his flushed face before your back is pressed into the edge of the tub, the water splashing wilding as Rafayel hovers atop you.

He’s careful not to press his body into you, knowing he’d be an absolute goner once he felt your core against his. His thick muscles twitch angrily as he holds you down against the back of the tub, your hand clutching his shoulder for support against his erratic actions. 

“Someone’s intentions are as clear as day,” he accuses you. Though his words hold not even an ounce of ill-intention, he narrows his eyes at you. Just then, the rain outside turns into lightning, briefly illuminating Rafayel’s ethereal features. The flash of light accentuates the tempest that’s brewing in suspicious eyes. 

As you watch the turmoil flicker in them, you suddenly think maybe you pushed too far, “Do you not like it?” Your voice comes out more insecure than you’d wanted it to, suddenly aware of how forward you were being.

Rafayel sighs, pausing before his voice comes out pained, “If I said I didn’t, would you stop?” 

At the hint of anguish in his voice, you move to pull your hand away. But Rafayel’s hand abandons its grip on the tub to clasp against your hand, holding it tighter against his neck, refusing to let you go.

You gasp, as his movements cause the warm water to swash around. With his forceful hand over yours, your flushed skin prickles against his alarmingly chilly skin. 

“Rafayel, your body is so cold!” you whisper worriedly, fearing he might be catching a cold. For a second you forget that he’s Lemurian, accustomed to the frigid depths of the ocean. As your eyes search his anxiously, hand still gripping his cold shoulder, Rafayel’s own eyes watch yours meticulously. 

The swirls of blue and pink in his eyes have always been breathtaking, like the perfect mix of the most expensive paints. But now, as he watches you with the depth of the whole Lemurian oceans in his eyes, you’re completely speechless to the flickering of rampant passion behind them. 

That is until he grabs your chin roughly. Rafayel was no stranger to taking what he wanted, but this was different. The way he grabbed you screamed of…insecurity. Demanding, but unsure all the same. His cheeks are tinged the prettiest of coral pinks, his bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly as he closes the distances between your faces. Quickly, so he can’t change his mind. 

His soft lips slot over yours in a bruising embrace of passion, need, and unwavering longing. There’s something mind numbing about how gently his lips take yours, yet the pads of his fingers hold your chin so forcibly, as if afraid you’d slip into the depths of the water and disappear from his arms forever. 

The thunder rumbles deafeningly but all you can hear is Rafayel. He pants into you, his mouth claiming every inch of your lips, of your tongue. He kisses you like he knows nothing else, like he feels nothing else. 

He doesn’t let you go, although you’d never want him to. You only want him to hold you tighter, pull you closer, take you harder. You want to protest when he finally pulls away, gasping as a thin rope of saliva connects your parted and bruised lips.

Flashes of light illuminate his face, making him look as ethereal as the sirens warned about in ancient tales and myths. He hesitates to speak, trying to find the words to convey the emotions he’s been trying to control since the memories of Verona had begun to overwhelm him. The memories of his past. His past with you.

“And you’re warm,” he pants, still trying to catch his breath. His heart was pounding painfully, his body always so willing to react to you. All his senses, always so hyper aware of you, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. His thumb strokes your glistening bottom lip, fingers still holding your chin captive. His eyes watch you with an unbearable longing, the previously intense crinkle in them softened to a tender vulnerability. 

“So perfect for me.”

Butterflies wriggle in your tummy, and you reach your wet hands reach up to cup his cheeks. 

“Rafayel, you seem different…” you mumble, stroking the cold and smooth expanse of his cheek. He looks down, avoiding your gaze, clearly grappling with a turmoil of intrusive emotions and memories. Despite that all, his face softens under your touch, even unbeknownst to him. 

Before you can ask him what’s on his mind, he’s rubbing his cheeks into your palms. The warmth of your affectionate embrace makes it difficult for Rafayel to think clearly, and he can’t stop himself from whispering, “Will you still love me no matter who I become?”

You’re speechless at the blatant insecurity in his voice, in his eyes. Rafayel was always confident, years as a world-famous artist had made him self-assured in more ways than one. But now, as his shadowed and down-cast eyes searched yours desperately for an answer, you could see just how unsure he was. You could see the cracks forming in his polished shield, the fissure spider webbing uncontrollably, on the precipice of shattering completely. 

His eyes pierce yours, fully intending to get an answer from you. You don’t even think he notices how pouty he’s become, his bottom lip protruding in an tragically adorable show of just how badly he needs you to understand him. To love him. 

To remember him. 

Unable to withstand his paralyzing gaze any longer, you yank him down to you by the chain that hangs around his neck. The silver necklace matched the shimmering bracelet he’d gifted you, that currently sits on your own wrist. 

Rafayel grunts as you pull him closer, clearly taken aback. His gaze doesn’t lighten, only becoming more intense and heated as your breath grows more bated against his own parted lips. 

“You…” he grumbles, trailing off, eyes flickering down to the beautiful sheen across your lips, before they dart away, looking to where his fingers grip the edge of the porcelain white tub. The rosy blush that dusts his cheeks gives away just how much he yearns for more, more of you. 

You find him to be so irresistibly tortured that you can’t help but hook your arm around his neck, pulling him further down until your lips collide with his collar. If you can take even an ounce of his tumultuous pain away, you’d do it.

The thunder roars violently as you kiss him, the water in the tub splashing over and hitting the bathroom tile. Rafayel is quick to relent all control, letting you take every inch of him. His fingers thread into your hair as you kiss his sensitive chest, teeth nipping at the cold skin on his collar. His whimpering gasps are audible, fingers tugging at your damp hair, as you suckle torturously at his chest, no doubt leaving a reddened bruise. 

When he finally pulls away, there’s a clear look of reluctance on his beautiful features. You try and pull him back, and he briefly lets you before pulling back, the look of hesitation returning to his thunderous eyes. 

You give up, instead moving your finger to brush against the reddened hickey forming on his collar. Rafayel looks at you, pained and begging for mercy, as your fingernails graze over the sensitive skin. 

“When humans fall in love…” you hum, admiring the beautiful bruise, “We try to leave a unique mark on them.” 

At that precise moment, the moment you mention you’re in love with him, you can visibly see the fractured remnants of Rafayel’s walls come crashing down. He pants, eyes fixed on the way your hand presses over the right side of his chest, so dangerously close to where his heart was. To where his bond with you was etched into his very soul. 

In that very moment, a flip switches in Rafayel. His eyes burn, not with anguish or uncertainty, but with a dangerous desire.

“If you say so…” he rasps, leaning in until your breaths mingle into one. As his eyes flicker closed, lips ghosting along yours, he whispers, just before his lips claim yours. 

“Join me, then.” His lips press into yours, holding back as to not take you completely.

“Let’s drown in the ocean.” He inhales your torrid gasps, his words deceitfully simple. 

“Together.”

Rafayel kisses you, instantaneously consuming you. He pants into you, unable to soften the way his body reacts to you, the way his senses consume you until there’s nothing left of him. To him, loving you, losing you, and repeating the cycle…felt exactly like that.

Like drowning. 

He throws all that emotion into the way he kisses you. The embrace is so intense that it makes tears form in your eyes, emotions welling in your chest so tightly you fear you might burst. 

When he pulls away to breathe, you look up at him, “You never answered my question from earlier.”

Rafayel’s eyes widened, knowing exactly which question you were referring to. What he didn’t expect was for you to be so direct. His eyes dart around, but you hold his face in your palms before he can physically turn away. He opens his mouth to speak, before pursing his lips again in hesitation. 

You gently prod him, fingers stroking his locked jaw, “Raf?” 

“It…” he starts, eyes crackling with emotions. Rafayel struggles to find the words. He knows exactly what he wants to tell you, but can’t find the words to express it to you. 

It’s not that he wanted to be withholding, least of all with you. He would give you anything. He had given you everything, time and time again. To the point where it destroyed him. 

But the fear of having it all taken away, again, had made him so reluctant to lean back into the wind, like he’d done so many times in the past. Too scared of how much of himself he’d lose again in the never-ending cycle of falling irrevocably in love with you. 

And yet, as much as it took from him, it didn’t matter. Because you were everything to him.

“In this human world…it’s not difficult for a Lemurian to become lonely,” he laments wistfully, eyes misted with a faraway look. 

He continues. “But in all the lives I’ve lived, I almost never felt lonely,” Rafayel gently smiles at you, a smile filled with a wistful sorrow. 

“Really? Why?” you ask genuinely, still soothing his hardened jaw. His features had softened considerably as he peered down at your wet form, the tension between his legs growing visibly.

Rafayel chuckles. His answer was simple. 

Because, there was always you. 

But that was a tale for another time. 

“Are you trying to trick a foolish Lemurian into giving up all his secrets again, my little human?” he whispers huskily, leaning down to kiss at the skin under your ear. 

You’re about to ask him what he means by again, but the words die on your tongue when Rafayel sinks his teeth into your neck. His fingers find the buttons of your drenched top, unbuttoning it feverishly, desperately shedding your layers of clothing off of you.

Before you know it, you’re naked in Rafayel’s arms, his own bare manhood pressed insistently into your inner thighs, dangerously close to your core. Though the rest of his body is chilly from the rainwater, his throbbing erection burns against your skin. Even submerged in water, you can feel his pre cum oozing onto your leg, hot and thick.

His lips trail down your shivering body, kissing the grooves of your collar, teeth grazing the swell of your breasts. He’s nearly heaving, gasping for air like he can’t breathe. And truthfully, he couldn’t.

The dam of his emotional barriers absolutely decimated, the flood of his unabated passion overwhelming his senses. There is only you. The smell, the sound, the feeling, the sight, the taste of you. 

A Lemurian in love. Utterly, brokenly, and wholeheartedly. 

You try to match his intensity, pulling at his soft and wavy hair, drawing him closer to your naked body. You thrust your chest towards him, wanting him to claim you like he’d done so many times before. 

Rafayel chuckles at your obvious desires, but more than willing to oblige. His Queen. 

His lips close over your breast, his lips cold but his tongue wet and hot against your nipple. The warm water splashes messily against your clashing bodies. The lightning outside flashes, the shadows of your lewd acts dancing against the bathroom walls.

“Nnghnh, R-Raf!” you wail, his skilled mouth devouring you whole. Your spine arches into his demanding mouth, the wet splashes of the bath and the ravenous slurps filling the acoustics of the hotel bathroom. 

The pleasure of his tongue is so intense that your body can’t help but squirm backwards. Rafayel chuckles almost cynically, as he captures the back of your neck with his long and slender fingers. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re trying to run away from me,” he pouts, leveling with your drooping eyes, body already delirious from the pleasure Rafayel knows how to bring you. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, bringing your chin up so that your eyes meet, “Don’t make me wait anymore, please.” 

You can’t help but smile at his adorable pout, his eyebrows furrowed in a sulky plea. You wrap your hands around the back of his neck, twirling his wavy hair into your fingers, bringing him closer until your foreheads are pressed together. 

“I don’t want to wait either,” you whisper breathlessly against him, his face so close you can feel the length of his eyelashes against your cheek.

Rafayel gulps, his neck bobbing with the pressure of how forcefully he has to restrain his senses, restrain himself. It’s so clear how vulnerable he is to your every whim, so you take the opportunity to push him below you. His glimmering eyes shine with confusion, but he lets you climb atop him, hissing when your slick cunt presses down on his cock.

“What are you doing, Miss?”

You don’t answer, leaning over the tub to grab Rafayel’s damp cardigan, bringing it up to his face. He raises an eyebrow in question at you, his palms resting in the fat of your hips as your bare pussy drags against his pelvis. 

“Do you trust me?” you grin playfully at him, spreading the cardigan out and preparing to use it as a makeshift blindfold. Rafayel seems to know exactly what you’re planning. He looks up at you, inexplicable emotions reflected in his glassy eyes. 

“I do,” he whispers finally. His worlds are simple, yet something about them rips through your consciousness, filling you with a torrent of bittersweet fractures of a lost memory. 

A memory of another time Rafayel told you those same words.

I do.

Rafayel can read the confusion in your eyes, and squeezes your hips reassuringly. You’re shaken from the confusion of your mind-bending memories. Trying to focus on the moment at hand, you clear your throat and carefully tie the soft and expensive cardigan around Rafayel’s head, effectively cutting off his vision.

You lean down to whisper against his ears, lobes pink with excitement and anticipation.

“Let me show you what else humans do when we’re in love.”

Rafaye’s entire body quakes, his chest rising rapidly at your unabashed words. His fingers dig into your hips as he does his best to limit his embarrassingly visceral reactions to your body. With his vision limited, all his other senses are heightened to your will. 

With your lips at this ear, your neck is exposed to him. The smell of your pheromones mixed with your perfume clouds his thoughts, the urge to drive his teeth into your pulse so unbelievably overwhelming. But your palm on his chest pushes him down, your lips trailing down his ear, down his neck, and to his chest. 

With his eyes covered, his skin is all the more sensitive to your touch, 

“Please,” Rafayel rasps, nails digging into your thighs, “Please. I can’t wait anymore.”

You giggle at how adorably needy he’s become. You can tell just how much the blindfold affects him, his body more readily reactive to your lips, your fingers, your words.

Even with his eyes covered, Rafayel can’t help but pout. The inability to see you, his beautiful Queen, made him all the more desperate.

You decide to indulge him, fist closing around his cock under the water. Rafayel’s hips jolt violently, his lower half lifting to chase the friction of your soft hand. While he cries out in pleasure, you kiss down to where the water meets his defined chest.

“O-oh fuuck,” Rafayel hisses, his head thrown back on the edge of the tub, neck straining into the cool ceramic. His hips buck up into your fist wildly, your hand moving far too languidly for his taste. You continue to tease him slowly, his cock and your hand completely submerged under the surface of the water. He whimpers, teeth digging into his bottom lip, continuously thrusting up into your hand.

You take his desperation as an opportunity to torture him more, moving as gently as you can so that you can move up to his ear without him noticing. With your hand still pumping his oozing cock under the water, you whisper into his ear, letting your tongue graze his earlobe.

“When humans love someone…we want to make them feel good,” you whisper seductively into his ear, purposely letting your words come out in hot breaths. Rafayel jolts and squirms in response, fingers gripping the edge of the tub until his knuckles are pale white. 

“Sh-shiit,” he hisses breathlessly as your hand pumps up and down faster, the movements causing the water to ripple. His muscles flex under your touch, shining with a wet sheen against the flashing glow of lightning. 

“So? Does it feel good, Raf?” you murmur into his neck, pressing a chaste kiss to where his throat bobs with the heavy beat of his pulse. 

He thrusts himself into your hand violently, voice coming out in a gravelly groan, “Yes. You always feel so fucking good. S-so soft.”

Surprising him again, you take his lips into yours, insistently pushing your tongue into his mouth, all the while your fist continues to jerk him off. You catch every one of his unabashed moans with your own mouth, the muffled sounds of his pleasure mixing with the thundering storm outside.

It’s a furious clashing of saliva, teeth, and pure unfiltered passion. His fingers digging into your waist, your fingers squeezing his cock so tightly it threatens to have him spilling all over you and the filled tub. 

When you pull away, the spit dribbles down Rafayel’s chin and onto his damp chest. He looks adorably flustered, the cardigan still covering his eyes. With his sight gone, the feeling of your tongue against his, your fingers wrapped around his cock, your plush thighs against his twitching muscles is all the more intense. His body, all the more pliant for you. 

“Hah – if you keep going, I’m g-gonna–”

He doesn’t even have time to finish his words when his cock lurches in your greedy hands, thick and burning rivulets of cum shooting into the lukewarm bathwater. It’s strangely beautiful, like a ribbon of iridescent pearls. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Rafayel gasps, nearly choking over his own rapid breath, his fingers gripping the edges of the tub.

His body convulses with his orgasm, a broken mantra of swears and lewd groans the only thing audible even in the roar of the storm outside. 

“Nnnghnh – b-baby,” Rafayel whines as you pump him through a mind-numbing overstimulation, desperate to see you. But you don’t stop, only giggling as you watch even more cum spurt from his angry pink tip. 

In a sudden flash of splashing water and strong fingers gripping your thighs, you find yourself under Rafayel again, his hand holding the back of your neck protectively as he slams you into the edge of the tub. His cardigan no longer covers his eyes, likely discarded somewhere on the wet floor.

Your eyes are wide from the whiplash of his sudden movements, “Rafayel?”

His sunset eyes blaze wildly as he watches you, the sight of you so utterly indulgent and overwhelming after having his vision returned to him. 

“Will you let me worship you?” 

His question is vulnerable, desperate. He looks at you so damn hopefully that it’d be impossible to say no even if some insane part of you wanted to. 

You reach up to clasp his cheek in your hands, pulling him closer until your noses brush against each other, “Yes, always.”

With the breathy desperate utterance of consent leaving your lips, fanning across his open mouth, he loses it.

He forces your thighs wider, gripping you by the fat of your hips and dragging you towards him until your bare cunt brushes right against once-again hard erection. You were used to Rafayel’s virtually non-existent refractory period, his cock upright and commanding attention so quickly after his orgasm.

The lukewarm bath water makes every touch feel much more fluid, all the more intimate and sensitive. Your grip the edges of the tub for support, Rafayel’s movements erratic and unpredictable. He leans down towards you, your bodies as close as the confines of the tub will allow. 

“My Queen,” he mutters under his breath like a vow, shifting to line himself up with your entrance. Without another warning, he pushes himself into you. 

You squeal at the stretch, your arousal making it easy for him to push into you completely. Rafayel groans as he enters you, his head thrown back in ecstasy, his large hands wrapped around your thighs. 

Rafayel is absolutely not shy with his cries of pleasure. His body shudders even though he hasn’t moved since seating himself fully inside of your warm and impossibly tight walls. 

When he doesn’t move, you screw your eyes open in confusion, doing your best to speak through the wonderful stretch of his cock inside your quivering walls, “R-Raf? Are you okay?”

Rafayel doesn’t speak, but the glow of the storm outside illuminates the way his throat bobs, every fiber of his body overstimulated with the pleasure of your body gripping his, refusing to let go.

You move to shift towards him, worried about the way he’s locked up, but that only causes your body to involuntarily squeeze around him. Rafayel hisses, pushing you back down gently, his fingers caressing your cheek.

“I-I just need a second.”

“A-are you okay?” you ask worriedly.

“You’re so tight, so warm,” Rafayel chokes out, his fingers tightening around your cheek and thigh. You can vaguely feel his cock growing inside you, and it’s then you realize he’s paralyzed, not by hesitation or pain, but pleasure.

You can’t stop yourself from teasing him, clenching down on his manhood snug inside you. Rafayel moans, his hands coming down to grip your thighs in a silent warning.

“No more teasing me,” he cautions with a pout, one hand shifting to rest on your naval. At your mischievous grin, Rafayel presses down. 

You cry out, eyes rolling back as he forces the walls of your pussy to rub against his cock. Rafayel wants to smirk at your helpless writhing, but the sensation is also overwhelming for him. His body heaves, nearly collapsing on top of you, only catching himself by gripping the sides of the tub.

Your fingers wrap around his trembling biceps, eyes urging him to take you.

Rafayel swears, obliging at the fucked-out look in your eyes. He unsheathes himself fully from your addicting gummy walls, barely even leaving his tip in, before shoving himself back into you.

The newfound vigor of his thrusts makes the water in the tub slosh wildly, splashing all over your face and hair. But you could care less, because the feeling of his excitement bruising its way in and out of your throbbing cunt is literally all you can think about. Pathetic moans of pleasure, the only sound you can make.

Rafayel fares no better, strings of beautiful grunts leaving his own lips. His pelvis slams into your soft inner thighs, the sound of the water against your colliding skin sinfully mixing with your combined moans. 

“You’re so – nghnh – perfect for me, Y/N,” Rafayel groans as he drives into you, the tip of his cockhead brushing into your cervix and g-spot all at once, at every thrust. 

His hands clutching the tub on either side of your head cage you in, making it so the only thing you can focus on is him. And the only thing that his senses can perceive is you.

The only thing he can see is you, your tears mixing with the soapy water, the reddened love bites blossoming on your skin.

The smell of you heightened even against the fragrant scent of the bath soap, your pheromones driving him to the edge of insanity. 

Your wanton cries for him, fueling him to fuck you harder, the sounds of your sweet pleasure making his own noises come out unabashedly. 

The taste of you lingering on his tongue every time he bends down to capture your lips in his, saliva running down both your chins. 

But mostly…the feeling of your perfect walls constricting him, pulling him in, refusing to let go. The feeling of your hands, pressed deep into his twitching muscles. Your soft thighs locking him against your sopping cunt. 

God, he was so in love with you it was nearly pitiful. 

“You’ll always be my Queen,” Rafayel babbles, thrusts becoming erratic as he becomes overwhelmed by the bittersweet memories that’d resurfaced in Verona, “My entire heart.”

You nod vigorously at his words. “Always Raf,” you gasp, holding onto him as he pounds into you even harder, your spine thudding into the tub, the water cushioning the blows.

“You better never leave me,” he broods, putting every ounce of emotion into the way his cock claims every inch of your poor cunt. The word ‘again’ dies on his lips, the writhing artist above you opting to save that for another time.

“W-would – nnghnh – never leave you.”

His wild eyes focus on your words. He says simply, the subtleist hint of insecurity and doubt playing in his shaky voice, “I’m gonna – hah – hold you to that.”

You bob your head, wanting him to see how serious you are, see just how much he meant to you.

Your fingers venture to your clit, desperately pent up from all the sexual and emotional tension that’d built up from today. Rafayel doesn’t see you immediately, his head thrown back in a drawn out groan, his body glistening with sweat and bath water, chiseled muscles twitching with his impending release.

When he finally glances back down, he sees your fingers furiously pawing at your clit and he nearly growls at the sight beneath him.

His voice comes out broken and husky, uncharacteristically so for the normally charismatic and smooth-talking painter. He gently pushes your fingers away, his own lengthy and skilled fingers replacing yours.

“Let me,” he begs, hips stuttering as he nears his second release, “I’ll take care of you Y/N.”

His sweet words make you shiver, your body convulsing around him. Rafayel shudders as you grow tighter around him. It felt like you were nearly cutting off his circulation, in the best way. 

Rafayel’s fingers on your quivering bundle of nerves have you seeing lightning even with your eyes screwed tightly shut. He truly had the hands of a god, fingers slender and deft, the pads of his digits hardened from years of skilfully maneuvering expensive paint brushes. Your body was his canvas, and he’d spend hours creating art with you. 

“R-Rafayel, I’m soo – nngh – c-cloose,” you slur, your body arching into him, head thrown back until all you see is the ceiling above. 

Rafayel heaves at the sensation of you coming undone around him, his fingers still rubbing furiously. There’s a bright desperation in his glowing eyes, the need to see you cum on him as strong as the need to fill you up with his endless seed. 

As his body trembles above you, his fingers grip the tub so harshly his knuckles have turned taut and deathly white. 

“I-I’m close too, baby,” he groans, “Please, can I cum?”

You nod vigorously, wanting nothing more than to feel him release with you But Rafayel wants to hear you. 

“Say it, Y/N. Tell me,” he pleads, “I need to hear you.” His voice is so brokenly desperate it drives you closer to your release, the sound of his lewd pleas so utterly erotic. 

“Ra-Rafayel, n-need it s’bad. Shiiit – please!” you all but scream, his insistent fingers pushing you into your orgasm. 

Rafayel chews on his bottom lip as he watches how beautifully you explode on him, so unbelievably close to finishing himself. He desperately wanted to cum inside you, but he knew if he did that he would be at the point of no return. You’d very well spend the rest of your trip in Verona locked in your hotel room, his cock nestled inside you until you literally begged for mercy. And maybe not even then. 

So with every ounce of will he had left, he pulled out of you as he came, standing on his knees so he could wrap his fist firmly around his cock as he came. The force of his cum so strong it shot all over your damp breasts and even your face, your expression still contorted in the ecstasy of your climax. 

You watch in awe, your cunt convulsing around nothing, your orgasm tapering off, as Rafayel trembles through his own pleasure. His cum is hot as it splashes onto your wet body, some of it shooting into your hair. Honestly the sight of how powerfully his cock erupted makes your stomach lurch in arousal.

Rafayel whimpers through his endless orgasm, his fist pumping up and down as he finishes on you. You’re left quivering beneath his imposing body, mesmerized by the white ropes of cum that shoot from his angry red tip. 

When he finally finishes, his glassy eyes watch you, absolutely awestruck. He bends down, his forearms trembling as one grips the side of the tub, the other stroking your cheek. He catches a rivulet of his milky seed with his finger, grinning cheekily at your reddened face.

“I’ve never seen anything so damn beautiful.” 

If it’s even possible, your cheeks burn even more furiously. You swat his fingers away.

“Shut up,” you whine, looking around at your bodies, joined in the filled tub. You inwardly cringe when you notice there’s more pools of milky white fluid than there are bubbles at this point. The amount of cum he gave you every time was nothing short of a phenomenon. 

“It’s everywhere!” you shriek dramatically, hitting his chest above you, “We need to get cleaned up!”

Rafayel’s grin widens, and before you can ask him what he’s scheming, he uses the finger still on your cheek to smear his cum around.

“Rafayel!” you yelp, trying your best to inch away from his filthy fingers, coated in both your arousals, struggling due to the limited space of the tub.

“But you look so exquisite like this,” Rafayel murmurs, fingers capturing your chin, pulling you up to look at him, his eyes hazy and sated, “My beautiful Queen…”

He dips down to press a lingering kiss to parted lips, mouth hitched open in excitement. When he pulls away he grins playfully at you.

“Besides, it’s good for your skin. Lemurians have a lot of uses, you know.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Is that why your skin always looks so flawless?”

Rafayel’s cheeks flare, his eyes averting from yours, “Okay! Let’s get cleaned up shall we?”

You smile widely, unable to contain your fit of giggles. Your body shakes with your laughter, making the water ripple, “You’ve tried it haven’t you?”

Rafayel’s sheepish expression answers your question, “No! Shut up!”

“I knew it!”

© aeyumicore 2024.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

[kings-wifey]

One Piece men taking care of you while you're sick ❤️

(I have a sore throat right now so I desperately need someone to take care of me-)

Zoro, Sanji, Ace and Law.

word count: 677

Zoro

"I told you that this would happen!" He growled, incredibly irritated with you for having gone against his words as he idly played with your hair, his signature stone-cold resting face had practically pierced the air, making things rather silent.

He was sat next to your bedside, having had to give up training today as Chopper was out foraging for medical supplies and ingredients due to Luffy having eaten a whole container of flavoured vitamins because "they tasted good", of course he didn't actually mind taking care of you it was just that your stubbornness really pissed him off at times.

"I swear, once your ass is better I'm going to break you."

"Hm... in what way?" You teased him, a cocky smirk on your red sickly face, earning you a groan and a rough poke.

"You cocky little..."

Sanji

"Open wide my darling," He spoke softly, spoon feeding you soup like an infant, his voice was a tad bit raw due to him crying since he felt like the worst boyfriend in the world for allowing his baby to get sick. His guilt stemmed from his mother's passing as a child, the gnawing feeling that he could've done something if he was stronger or actually knew how to care for someone at the time having scarred him, which of course wasn't his fault whatsoever but he'd never accept that nor forgive himself for not being able to take away his mother's pain.

He did not care what so ever that you could get him sick, you were his baby and you needed care! He watched with a soft smile as he saw you slowly eating the soup by each spoonful, admiring the way your soft lips wrapped around the spoon.

"What? Wish this was your dick?" You teased, mumbling slightly as you ate. You chuckled at the way he gasped and blushed as his hand attempted to hide the growing evidence of his arousal.

"Baby!"

Ace

"Babe you sound like Dadan-" Ace wheezes as he teases you, causing him to receive a slap from Marco who was monitoring your temperature. "Shut it. She needs to rest." He scolds your boyfriend sternly before stepping outside to dig through the ship's storage for more herbs, Ace takes the opportunity to climb into the infirmary bed with you and wrap his arms around you like a toddler cuddling their favourite toy.

The truth was, although he did try to hide it, he was horrified of you suddenly becoming seriously ill. He loved you a lot, it was just that he loved your pout and you whines of annoyance almost as much, which was why he'd always tease and poke fun at you affectionately because that alongside touch was love language.

"Don't you dare get sick again... shorty."

"Alright that's it, no more sex for you for a week after this."

"What?! No I was kidding pleaseee!"

Law

Beep beep beep! The thermometer beeped to signal that it was ready to display your temperature.

"Hm. Thirty-eight point five. You're running a slight fever." Law stated bluntly as he examined the thermometer carefully before he set it aside and got up, he walked over to his medicine cabinet and dug through it for a few moments before he examined a packet and took it.

He closed the cabinet before he made his way over to you, handing you the packet of antibiotics with his endearingly cold hands.

"Take two twice every morning and night, it should help to resolve it as well as soothe the irritation somewhat." He spoke with a stern tone, despite the fact that it was incredibly obvious that he was a tad bit worried about your sickness developing into something harder to manage and cure, but he shoved those thoughts away and focused on being the confident doctor that you needed right now and not some sappy worried man.

"Do I take them with water or...?" You teased as you gave him a suggestive smirk, earning a heavy sigh in response.

"... Yes water you horny brat."

Thank you for reading! I know this isn't much for my first post and I do feel very lazy and like this isn't good enough, but I hope you enjoyed it!

[naffeclipse]

Charm Brought It Back

Reader x Witches!Sun, Moon, & Eclipse

Commission Info

I am so excited to present this Hocus Pocus inspired AU requested by the lovely @jackofallrabbits! The boys star as the witchy brothers who return once a fated reader lights the starry candle. They simply must show their gratitude! And what better day to post such a spooky and fun fic than on Friday the 13th?!

Content Warning: Suggestive themes, heavy kissing, and heavy touching.

———

You turn the key and cut the engine of your car. With a flick, you turn off the headlights. The beginning of a sunset swoops down onto your ill-adjusted vision. The horizon is drenched in purples and oranges as shadows begin to crawl off of trees and their yellowed leaves. It will take a minute or two for your sight to adapt, but you have tilted and revolved the structure waiting just at the edge of the forest within your mind’s eyes for days now. It’s beyond the dirt road you’ve pulled onto the shoulder of.

Blinking slowly, you find the house’s dark silhouette through the boughs of clustered trees, and you sigh at the beauty of its preserved history.

The building is an artifact dating back roughly to the 1630s. A post-medieval English-style home, it contains two stories with an overhanging jetty and stunning clapboard siding that has survived a little under four centuries of existence. Your eyes catch on the windows and your heart sings at the sight. Diamond-paned casement. And there, decorative pendants of celestial bodies, including iron-casted suns, moons, and overlapping symbols of the two. The steeply pitched roof is common for the era and is more renowned in its descendant the saltbox form, but this style boosts its spooky aura.

The Puritan colonists were the ones responsible for importing the style to America as they landed here on the eastern coast. 

It’s no stretch of the imagination to think of witches and execution trials while gazing over the beautiful home. You’re particularly intrigued by the history of the Salem witch trials, and as a historian, you couldn’t deny yourself the chance to enter the building and feed the gnawing need to stand within a piece of history.

Stepping out of your car, a gust of wind carrying the bitter edge of autumn cuts through your brown sweater. You shiver and shut the door as quietly as you can manage. This is hallowed ground. This will supply your ever inquisitive mind which is always looking to the past with a curiosity most insatiable.

You face the home. A footpath lightly serpentines between the trees. Hooligans with destructive tendencies and teenagers on dares will venture here for a spooky, fun time, but are usually caught by the police because the building sits on private property. You asked for permission from the owner of the hundreds of acres of forest land that includes the so-called “Witch House” if you might enter the premises. Given your credentials, you were certain the owner would trust you with exploring the home.

Much to your relief, the owner agreed. 

You look up, arms clutching your knitted sleeves to fight the chill of an October breeze, in awe and reverence. 

From your pocket, you slip out a wrought-iron key with the symbol of the moon overlapping the sun to form a black eclipse and marvel again at the intricacy of ancient beauty. Your fingertips grow chilled in the late hour. The sun shifts from orange to dark, bleeding red like blood from a heart spilled across the horizon. You walk towards the home. 

Perhaps you should have arrived sooner. You were caught in another historical journal depicting the specific timeframe of when this home would have been occupied by its original inhabitants. 

The rumors even now speak of curses and cursed artifacts within the building. Some of it is true—you have confirmed with your own scholarly sources. The original owners were a trio of brothers. They were accused of witchcraft and hanged for the crimes. That much is historically documented and verified. 

What is fantasy is the tale of the brothers casting a curse with their dying breaths, declaring they would one day return if a virgin lit a starry candle on the anniversary of their executions.

Superstition. Most likely, the fear of the townspeople transcended to their children, and their children, down and down until it became a tale to spin on Halloween night around these parts. 

The door is black as you approach it. A stray branch catches on your sweater, pulling on a thread, and you yank yourself free and silently mourn the roughen fabric before returning your attention to what really matters. You must be careful. This entire place is iconic and in need of preservation. 

You slip the key into the lock hole and turn it with a thick, heavy click before the black wood door groans and slides inwards as if inviting you into its sphere. You take a breath. Your boots cross the threshold and you enter the home. 

As is typical of some homes built in the early seventeenth century, an open hall greets you. In the far back is the fireplace with a cauldron still sitting upon an ashy bed. An original wood-carve table and chairs are set to one side as a staircase climbs up into the darkness of the second level. What little red light leaks inside is narrowed and cut up into diamonds by the panes. To one wall, shelves contain dusty and forgotten cooking utensils, once glimmery copper pots, and dinner dishes with designs considered much too gawky in the Puritan era but it causes you to softly gasp.

Your hand covers your mouth as you gaze around you, overwhelmed with the beautiful intricacies of metallic chandeliers holding half-burned tallow candles, and to the other wall lies a bookshelf covered in cobwebs as if the spiders refuse to let anyone examine such precious reads. Your fingers already itch to gently pry out one manuscript and gaze at the original script of whoever wrote it.

But the light—it’s far too dark now. The red has given way to blue and pale indigo. You squint. You reach into your other pocket for a lighter and flick it on. The tiny flame spouts a delicate light. Never would you dare admit this out loud to a living soul, but you so desperately wish to see the home in its authentic state, lit only by the technology the brothers had at the time: fire.

There are thick, yellowed candles lying on the table and clustered together on the narrow window sills. You have no hope of reaching the metal chandeliers but you do spy a candelabra positioned near the bookshelf on a small end table. You light it first with a careful touch of your lighter flame. The wick catches, even after all of these years. You smile softly, your heart warm within your chest as you bask in the essence of this beautiful place.

A few more candles should suffice. 

You slip to the table to light the thick and tall candles. The flames bloom and warm the space in rich light, casting thick shadows from support beams. You almost set your lighter away when you spy one last candle set upon a golden candle holder. The fashioned metal twists and twines with elaborate engravings of shooting stars and slices of sun rays were placed in the corner of the room almost out of sight. The curiosity within you urges you to take a step, then another, and another. You stand in front of the almost forgotten candle.

The tallow is black as midnight. Strange. How did they color this? Embedded within the darkness are speckles of white, splattering the candle like an array of stars. Your eyes stray in search of constellations before shaking your head.

It’s true. There is a starry candle. Perhaps the brothers did dabble in the occult, playing with cards and fortune telling, and being punished with death for their interest in unholy magic. 

The wick is dark and untouched as if it were never lit before. You bring the lighter flame closer. Superstition might worry another, but you concern yourself with logic and reason—explanations of humanity rather than inexplicable forces beyond comprehension. 

Something stirs from a nearby corner shelf. Two long ears twitch. You catch a glimpse of a rabbit with creamy white fur just before it leaps off of the shelf and directly onto your arm. You yelp. Nearly dropping the lighter, you scramble back as the rabbit hits the floor, collects itself, and sits on its haunches.

Green eyes glare up at you. The rabbit, small and bunny-like, stays firmly between you and the starry candle.

You stand with your chest heaving and your lungs scraping out air, almost burning your thumb on the lighter flame before turning around yourself. Where did the woodland creature come from? Did it crawl its way inside like a rat and become trapped within the colonial home? The shot of adrenaline still flowing through your veins leaves your hands shaking.

The rabbit is still watching you with uncanny eyes. Prey animals so rarely stare back at bigger, larger threats. Perhaps it’s a pet. A runaway pet that somehow ended up here, of all places.

You slowly offer out your hand, keeping the lighter away in your other, as you take a step towards it.

It thumps a foot once, as if in warning, then bounds away. You watch it disappear into the house, still reeling from the fright it gave you. 

If Michael was here, he would have laughed and told you to leave with him, now. He never wanted you to go here, especially alone, but you shake such ominous warnings away. He said curiosity killed the cat. You disagreed. This house is a part of history, not a curse. Witches are mere stories, conjured out of historical unrest and the longing to blame bad luck and tragedies upon an individual or three. 

There’s always an explanation for fear superstition or mistrust. It’s far more sad than it is spooky.

You shake your head, smooth out the creases in your sweater, and face the starry candle again. The lighter flame flickers softly as you draw near it.

It is the anniversary of the brothers’ executions. You remember now as the shadows from other candles drape over you like a veil. You are also a virgin.

You laugh to yourself, covering your mouth as you do so. Look at you! You’re getting so worked up because a rabbit jumped at you.

It’s only hocus-pocus.

You tilt the lighter until it engulfs the wick. The flame catches, and you at last snap the lighter shut and return it to your pocket. Your eyes squint slightly at the candle. The wick snaps and bursts into sparks. The flame is not yellow or orange or even blue—it’s pure white like a comet streaking across the sky.

A crack of thunder splits the night sky with a bellow so monstrous, you feel like a child again, fearing a storm. You drop low to the ground, shielding your head as if the very world was going to fall upon you. A spark cracks in the fireplace, conjured out of ash underneath the cauldron before it burns hot and bright. The cauldron immediately begins roiling and bubbling with water. Laughter, great and terrible, and filled with the most jester-like joy sweeps over the room.

The pulse in your ears drowns at any sense but the need to hide. You scramble into the corner, tucking yourself behind the stand of the starry candle and hunker down. Holding your breath, you grab a fistful of your sweater while clutching your chest, and watch the door to the almost 400-year-old house fly open.

Three figures stride inside, looking about the place with wide eyes and disk-like heads framed in jutting adornments not unlike sun rays or shrouded in a heavy, dark blue hood.

“Brothers! We’re home!” The first one, tall and dark with deep red hues to his form, accent in sharp orange sun rays and an eclipse upon his face, turns to face his brother with bright, cat-like yellow eyes. “Isn’t it glorious?”

Another figure steps forward, yellow and off-white. Pale eyes beam. His head is crowned in bright sun rays as well. His spindly fingers twindle together in exuberant energy while he glances about the room eagerly. “Oh, yes, yes! More than anything! It’s as if we weren’t gone for more than a day—though the dust and cobwebs beg to differ.”

He draws a claw—you suck in a sharp breath—along the table’s edge and rubs his taloned fingertips together in disappointment. 

“We must get to cleaning at once.”

“No,” the last figure fixes his hood with silvery digits. Golden jewels hang down the back of his unusual skull, the last and most prominent adornment a thick, golden star pendant. His eyes cast around the room, scarlet, and searching. “We must thank the little mouse who lit the candle.”

He flashes sharp teeth within his wide mouth, shaping it into a hungry grin. You gulp.

“Where are our manners?” The red and dark one twists back to the room with a flourish of his arms. His yellow gaze sweeps over the shelves and floors with a blade-like glint. “Of course, we must thank one so lovely.”

A dark cape drapes about his person. Underneath, a white flowing shirt hangs loosely to his lithe and slender figure, causing you to balk upon staring at such an exposed chest. The other two are no different, wearing similar shirts and dark trousers, but the hooded one bears a thick, longer cape while the sunny figure shares a cape similar to the first.

The yellow one lifts his wrists and frowns at the red ribbons tied around them. Golden bells jingle softly in an ominous chord. 

“How terrible a reminder of our current impermanence,” he growls low in his throat, all cheerfulness lost and causing you to squeeze your ribs in fear.

“Patience, Sun,” the red one speaks, though he too casts a narrowed glance to the black ribbons and golden bells adorning his wrists. “We will affix ourselves back to this world in due time.”

“Eclipse, what a delicious creature I smell.” The hooded figure steps deeper into the home. Blue claws scratch at equally blue ribbons knotted to his hand bones but his attention is terrifyingly fixed on the candle stand just above your hiding spot. 

You shrink further into the corner.

“Yes, Moon? And how lovely?” Eclipse, you assume, asks. His yellow eyes flash.

“As lovely as the stars,” Moon answers.

You watch claws curl around the wooden side of the candle stand, scratching deeply into the wood before a half-moon face emerges from behind, teeth set like a predator’s upon the sight of a wounded animal. Your heart flutters like a bird with a broken wing.

“Hello, little mouse. Won’t you come and play with us?” 

You scream as he leaps behind the candle stand, takes you by the arms, and pulls you to your feet. You struggle to free yourself, crying out as he grabs hold of your wrists and fixes you firmly in place. 

“My, how sweet,” he purrs in a dangerously low voice that rolls in the back of his throat. “You are the darling virgin who lit the candle, no?”

“Let me go!” You thrash but Moon grins in delight, as if you’re simply too precious. 

“You deserve proper thanks,” He lowers one hand, forcing you to submit with slightly bent knees. “Here is my gratitude, little mouse.”

You freeze as he brings your hand towards his mouth, and a hundred, horrifying visions of him biting your fingers off or sinking his teeth in your palm send your blood into a frozen sludge of fear.

The witch, however, presses a kiss to the center of your palm. The softness catches the gears in your mind and jerks them to a halt.

“Thank you for allowing us to return once more,” he rasps. His scarlet eyes find yours between the space of your thumb and forefinger, and a strange stirring takes hold of your middle.

“This isn’t real,” you breathe. Dizziness begins to take hold.

This must be a dream, a thought gone wild, or inhaled bacteria triggering hallucinations.

Moon’s grin widens. He lowers your hand, loosening his hold for one precious moment. You rip your hands free of his grasp. A low growl escapes him but you’ve already slipped away, your eyes upon the door and spilling with the need to rush out into the night, away from the impossibilities standing before you—

Arms snatch your waist and lift your feet from the ground. You gasp. 

Held in the air, you squirm before a hot breath dusts the shoulder of your sweater. You fall still, your throat bobbing as a mouth presses into the corner of your neck and lays a kiss on the sensitive spot. Gooseflesh prickles up and down your body.

“I assure you, I’m very real, little mouse,” Moon purrs. His hands squeeze your hips once. “And as nice as this… attire is, I would dress you in blues and silvers. You would look proper and powerful, like my brothers and I.”

A squeak escapes you. You shrink against him, caught in his embrace.

“Brothers?” The word rattles out of your throat. 

“This is our home,” Moon whispers. “And you are our most honored guest.”

You manage to pry off his hands from your waist. With a sinister chuckle, the blue and silver hands release you. Without looking back, you run, ignoring the twinge in your stomach that whispers it was too easy to get away.

You hardly get a few steps before the sunny one—Sun—steps into your path. He catches you in his arms and spins you in a waltz at breakneck speed, your feet never touching the ground, before stopping without warning as he dips you low. He looms above you, his smile filled with sharp teeth.

“Let me get an eyeful. Oh, yes, you look good enough to eat,” he simpers. His hand splays along the small of your back and you gawk up at him, still trying to regain your balance after the sickness-inducing whirl. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you.”

“I just want to leave,” you whimper. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you? Sunshine,” he laughs, and it echoes with all of his heart—do once-hanged witches have a heart? There is no historical journey to give context to this very moment, you fear.

He lowers his sultry gaze to you. “I wish to only thank you. And I intend to.”

He pulls you back to your feet. You’re still clasped in his embrace like lovers on a ballroom floor. His hand hooks tight to your hip, and his other catches the side of your face. Heat spreads through the marrow of your bones.

On the tabletop beside you, something white moves across the plane of its surface, hunkering behind the thick stack of candles still burning.

His head lowers to your neck. You stiffen as he tilts your head away, opening you to his parting teeth. A tongue, dark and sinuous, flicks out of his maw. A gasp slips from your lips at the wet lick up the column of your throat. Eyelids fluttering, you start to sag as weakness fills your knees. He drags his tongue higher to taste your jawline and finishes at your cheek with a swipe for good measure. 

Your hands find him and clutch tightly to his slender arms. He presses his lips to your ear and with a misty warmth, whispers.

“Thank you for—Gah!”

The white rabbit leaps up from the table, squirming directly between you and his chest, breaking you apart. Instinctively, you jump away just as Sun snarls. The heart-wrenching sound shakes your entire frame as he snatches the rabbit by the scruff before it can scramble back from his wretched claws.

“I’ll boil you alive!” he thunders. He steps towards the cauldron, back where Moon leans against the wall, watching the spectacle with an amusing twitch of his grinning maw. Behind you, Eclipse stands at the door like a sentinel, his eyes still hungry and even furious as he follows his brother’s movement to the cauldron. 

Sun dangles the rabbit, now struggling and kicking but unable to find purchase against the witch’s hold, above the boiling water of the caldron.

“No!” you cry.

Sun’s eyes widen. He turns back to you just as you close the distance and scoop the rabbit in your arms. His claws, pale-boned and wickedly curved, clench around emptiness. Without thought, you turn and run again though there is little hope as you come to the door. Your boots stamp against the wooden floorboards.

The rabbit in your embrace turns its face up to you and mutters in a woman’s voice, “You have no idea what you’ve just done.”

You gawk, stunned before hands catch you by the shoulders. You’re brought to a dead halt. The rabbit leaps from your arms, drops to the floor, and races away into a shadowy corner of the room with only one glimpse of its fluffy tail before you’re left alone.

You twist and face the eldest witch’s attention. Eclipse. His yellow eyes go up and down your body, and you watch in muted shock as two additional arms emerge from the shadows of his cap. He forces you backward, one step after the other until your back is pinned against a dusty wall.

You stare into his eyes, chest rising and falling rapidly. Your pulse pounds in your eardrums.

“I don’t believe this is happening,” you utter.

The witch tilts his head with a wicked grin.

“We’ll make you a believer yet.” He promises, and his deep cords vibrate through your form. “My dear, we simply must thank you for all that you’ve done for us.”

His claws slip over your collarbones. Your breath quickens, a stirring you cannot name unfolding deep within your middle. His extra set of hands fall to your hips and begin caressing the bones. Daintily, carefully, his warm fingertips slip just underneath the hem of your sweater, touching your bare flesh. A shiver runs down your entire body, leaving you to squirm.

“Be a good little comet,” he says softly, “Let me pour my gratitude all over you.”

“I didn’t—I didn’t know it was true,” you stare into his face, marked with a red crescent over a dark shadow, and his eyes pierce into the very nature of your being. “You’re back.”

“Because of you,” he rumbles softly in his chest. His grin pulls higher at the corners.

His claws slip over the nap of your neck and card gently into the small, sensitive hairs at the bottom of your skull. You breathe in. His eyes brighten in pleasure before he slips his sharp but controlled talons over the shells of your ears and follows the arch of your cheekbone. His gaze drops to your lips. Your heart thumps and thumps against your sternum so powerfully, you fear he may hear it.

His lips pull over his razor-sharp teeth and you stop breathing.

His other set of hands begins working up the sides of your torso. He rubs slowly and gently, but you squirm despite this. He touches you far too intimately when you have never experienced such affections before. A mewl escapes your lips. You wriggle as he refuses to relent. 

In answer, his upper hands lower and capture your hands together in one, and pin them above your head to hold you in place. He coos, chastising. A great roil starts in your stomach and expands upwards until your face becomes pink and flushed.

“Hold still, little comet,” he chuckles, and you whimper. “I’m not finished with showering you in all my adoration.”

“Eclipse,” your breath is harsh and hot.

“It is good to hear my name upon such lovely lips,” his voice lowers, husky and scorching. “I knew a virgin would light the candle. I swore it to my brothers as they set us on the gallows and draped nooses around our necks. You are our light, our savior. How could I ever thank you?”

In his words, his burning stare that singes with sincerity, it clicks into place. All at once, you believe what you are seeing with your own two eyes. 

It’s true. He’s back. He and his brothers have returned with magic.

“I have questions,” you say hesitantly in your demureness, “I want answers.”

“Of course,” Eclipse agrees easily. “But first…”

A dark claw brushes your hair back from your face. The flutter in your heart can’t seem to hold still. Eclipse’s grin widens and his eyes soften.

“You have freckles like constellations,” he murmurs in the manner of one gazing at the night sky or one studying an ornate painting.  

Before you can shape words to reply, to say anything that might free you from his grasp, his mouth is upon yours. A sound softly catches in the back of your throat. You fall still under his caressing hands still moving below your sweater. He traces the row of your ribs. You have just enough mind to wonder if he feels your skin prickle in your sensitivity. His other hand clasps your wrists tighter. You gasp against his teeth. 

He pulls gently, hungrily, taking you as if a bite of honeycomb. You become melted honey, easily malleable between his teeth and then molded by his mouth. His tongue invades you. You moan softly at the claim he lays upon you until you become weak in the knees and almost fall. His kiss seals your fate.

He releases you from his maw. You sink slightly, and his arms fall out from under your sweater to properly catch you. He lowers your wrists, returns your hands, and brushes your hair once more from your face.

A chuckle emits from his lips, and you burn.

“You’ll stay with us, won’t you?” he asks, but he waits for no answer as he scoops you into his arms. Feet dangling, you have no choice but to cling to his shoulders and endure his brothers’ attention as he twists around and faces them.

The rabbit’s right. You are in trouble. Michael warned you. He said curiosity killed the cat.

But charm brought it back.

[rynwritesreid]

Kiss it away| Spencer Reid

A/N:This is my first time writing a sub Spencer, so it may not be as good as my other smut pieces. But I still hope you enjoy. This is also partially requested as someone wanted a sub!Spencer. Please tell me if you want more sub! Spencer. I’ve also started writing the first chapter of Mind Games, and honestly I’m really looking forward to posting it on here.

Summary: Spencer is suffering with a migraine, you find a natural way to help relieve his pain, with some natural analgesics.

Content: Smut and fluff. Fem!reader. Dom!reader. Sub!Spencer. established relationship/dynamic Praise kink. Handjob (M!receiving). Oral(M!receiving). Vaginal penetration (P in V). Cream-pie. No mentions of contraception. Pet names (Good boy. Sweet boy). Migraines/pain. A tiny mention of Spencers addiction(literally in passing/referencing why he wouldn’t want medication). Vulnerability. Caring reader. Use of Y/N. Suggestive ending. 18*

Masterlist| requests are open| Navigation

Spencer, the man known for talking people’s heads off and giving everyone unwanted statistics, was being unusually quiet. In fact he didn’t really seem to be all there. He kept rubbing his head and couldn’t seem to be in bright rooms for prolonged periods of time.

 

Even when you two were at home together, he wouldn’t talk much to you. Instead, he would shut himself in the spare room with the lights turned off and the curtains drawn. You didn’t know what to do, or how to help. You knew he wouldn’t want any medication, so all you could do was try and offer a helping hand.

 

Before going to work one morning, you decided to ask him if he was okay to go to work. You were sure that everyone would understand him wanting to stay home if was feeling this ill.

 

“Hey, Spencer. Are you okay? You’ve being acting off lately. Are you sure you want to go into work today? We’ve not been called out into the field or anything.”

 

Spencer looked up from his coffee, his eyes bloodshot and distant. He gave a weak smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.

 

"I appreciate your concern," he murmured, his voice barely rising above a whisper. "But I can't stay home. I need to keep my mind occupied, even if it feels like it's tearing me apart."

 

You watched him closely, the worry etching deeper lines upon your face. Spencer had always been a man of routine, finding solace in the structure and predictability of his work. But now, there was something far more sinister lurking beneath the surface.

 

"Spencer, please," you pleaded softly, taking a step closer to him. "You don't have to suffer alone. We can figure this out together. Maybe it's time to seek some help."

 

“I’ve already being to the doctors; they couldn’t see anything wrong. So, please let me go into work.” Though his voice barely crept above a whisper, you could sense the anger.

 

You sighed, feeling the weight of his frustration and desperation. You knew how much he valued his work, how it gave him purpose and stability. But seeing him like this, so lost and distant, it tore at your heart.

 

“I’m going to call in sick, handsome. Please join me in staying home today, let me take care of you.”

 

Spencer's eyes flickered with uncertainty, a mixture of gratitude and resistance fighting within him. He seemed torn between his desire to protect you from the darkness that plagued him and his fear of burdening you with his own struggles.

 

"I don't want to hold you back," he whispered, his voice trembling with vulnerability. "You deserve someone who can give you the happiness you deserve."

 

Your heart ached at his selfless words, for they only made you love him more. You reached out and gently cupped his face, your touch tender and full of reassurance.

 

"Spencer," you murmured, your voice laced with determination. "Happiness is not something I seek outside of us. It is in being with you, in trying to help shoulder your burden. Let me be here for you."

 

His eyes searched yours, tears shimmering in their depths. Slowly, he nodded, relinquishing the weight he had been carrying alone for far too long.

 

“Okay.” He whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of relief and vulnerability. "Okay, maybe staying home with you today wouldn't be such a bad idea."

You called Hotch, who was very understanding, and told him that you were both taking the day off work.

 

You closed all the curtains and kept only a little lamp on and told him to make himself as comfortable as possible. His sat down on the sofa, with his cup of coffee in hand. You decided to do some research, to see what possible ways you could help ease his pain.

 

Through your research, you saw that orgasms can help, as they act as a natural analgesic. You didn’t know if that was something Spencer would be willing to try, but you knew it was worth a shot.

 

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of nervousness and determination as you approached Spencer. Sitting down beside him on the sofa, you gently placed a hand on his thigh.

 

"Spencer," you began softly, trying to find the right words amidst the heaviness in the room. "I've been doing some research, and I came across something that might help... It's a bit unconventional, but... orgasms can actually act as a natural analgesic. They release endorphins that can alleviate pain and promote relaxation."

 

Spencer blinked, surprise flickering in his eyes as he processed your words. You could see the wariness and scepticism etched across his face, but there was also a glimmer of hope.

 

“Would you like to try it; you don’t need to do anything. I’m going to do all the work.” Spencer's gaze met yours, his apprehension slowly fading as a small spark of curiosity ignited within him. He knew the pain that haunted him was not physical, but if there was a chance that this unconventional method could provide even a momentary respite from the torment in his mind, he was willing to give it a try.

 

"I trust you," he whispered, his voice laced with vulnerability and gratitude. "If there's a chance it might help, then let's give it a shot."

 

“Now that’s my good boy. I’m going to make you feel better, okay?” Your voice was light, soft and caring.

 

You led him into the bedroom, making sure that he would be comfortable. You slowly took of his clothes, making sure to be delicate.  You could feel the tension and anticipation building between you as each article of clothing was removed. Spencer stood before you, his naked body exposed and vulnerable. You took a moment to appreciate the sight before you, the way his gaze met yours with a mix of trust and longing.

 

With gentle hands, you guided him to lie down on the bed, his body sinking into the soft sheets. The dim light cast a warm glow across the room, creating an intimate atmosphere that felt like a sanctuary from the outside world.

 

You positioned yourself beside him, your fingers trailing delicately along his skin. Every touch was deliberate, filled with tenderness and a desire to ease his pain. Slowly, you let your hand travel lower, caressing the sensitive skin just below his belly button.

 

Spencer's breath hitched, his chest rising and falling with measured anticipation. His eyes never left yours, as if seeking reassurance that this act of intimacy was meant to heal rather than exploit.

 

“I love you, my sweet boy. I would do anything to help you. Do you understand?”

 

Spencer nodded, his voice barely a whisper. "I love you too," he replied, his words filled with gratitude and vulnerability. He trusted you implicitly, knowing that your intentions were pure and genuine.

 

As you continued your gentle caresses, your fingers slowly descended further, tracing the outline of his growing arousal. The weight of his pain seemed to lift slightly as pleasure began to replace it, inch by inch. Your touch was delicate and purposeful, seeking to provide comfort and relief rather than raw desire.

 

Spencer's breath hitched again, a soft gasp escaping his lips as your fingertips brushed over the sensitive head of his penis. His eyes fluttered closed momentarily, his body relaxing into your touch as you continued to stroke him with soothing care.

 

With each stroke, the tension in his body seemed to dissipate further. His muscles softened beneath your touch, the knots of anguish gradually unravelling as pleasure washed over him in waves. In this moment of intimacy and vulnerability, he allowed himself to let go of the weight he had been carrying. The pain that had consumed him for so long began to fade into the background, replaced by a newfound sense of relief and release.

 

You watched the transformation unfold, your heart swelling with both love and pride. This was more than just physical pleasure; it was a catharsis, a moment of respite amidst the storm that raged within Spencer's mind.

 

As you continued to stroke him, your movements became more purposeful, more focused on unlocking the pleasure hidden beneath the layers of his pain. You could feel his body responding to your touch, his breath quickening and his muscles tensing with anticipation.

 

"Let go, Spencer," you whispered, your voice laced with both tenderness and command. "Surrender to the pleasure, let it wash over you and carry away the darkness."

 

His eyes snapped open, meeting yours with a mix of vulnerability and trust. He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly as he allowed himself to fully surrender to the pleasure that enveloped him. The heaviness in his mind melted away, replaced by a blissful ecstasy that radiated through his body.

 

You continued to stroke him, your movements steady and sure, attuned to his every response. The room was filled with the sounds of his gasps and moans, mingling with the soft rhythm of your touch. With each stroke, the tension in his body unravelled further, making room for a profound sense of release and relief.

 

Spencer's muscles twitched beneath your fingertips, his body trembling on the precipice of something powerful. His breath hitched as he teetered on the edge of climax, teetered on the edge of being released from the chains of his pain. And then, with a shuddering groan, he let go.

 

His whole body convulsed as an intense wave of pleasure coursed through him, washing away the thoughts that tormented him.

 

“Oh, my sweet handsome boy, look at the mess you’ve made. I guess I better clean it up, huh? Would you like that?”

 

Spencer didn’t answer for a while, he was still coming down. As he caught his breath, he let out a “yes”. You lowered your head, making sure to give him a trail of kisses.

 

You lowered your head, pressing soft kisses along his abdomen as you made your way down to his spent cock. The taste of him was familiar and comforting, a reminder of the intimate connection you shared. With each gentle lick and suck, you cleaned him up, taking care to savour every drop.

 

Spencer's body relaxed further against the bed, his muscles loosening as a blissful satisfaction settled over him. His chest rose and fell with deep breaths, the weight of his pain replaced by a gentle calmness that washed over him.

 

“You don’t we’ve finished yet though. Do you?”

 

Spencer's eyes fluttered open, his gaze meeting yours as a flicker of anticipation danced in his eyes. The words hung heavy in the air, a promise of continued pleasure and release. He shook his head slightly, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

 

"No, I don't think we're finished," he replied, his voice filled with a newfound sense of confidence and desire. "I want to keep going."

 

You smiled back at him, a mix of adoration and mischief dancing in your eyes. Your hand gently cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing over his bottom lip.

 

"Good boy," you murmured, your voice dripping with satisfaction. "Let's see just how far we can take this."

With a mischievous glimmer in your eyes, you leaned down and captured Spencer's lips in a searing kiss. Your hands roamed over his bare skin, tracing every dip and curve, as desire coursed through your veins.

 

Spencer's body responded eagerly to your touch, his hands gripping the sheets as he arched into your caress. His kisses grew hungrier, more desperate, as if he sought solace not only from his pain but from the world itself. There was an unspoken understanding between you, an unquenchable hunger that demanded to be sated.

 

You slowly lowered yourself back to his cock. As you worked your mouth up and down his length, your hand stroked his thigh, adding to the sensations coursing through him. Spencer's moans grew louder and more desperate with each passing moment, his body arching off the bed as he surrendered to the ecstasy that washed over him.

 

You could feel the tension building in him once again, his breath quickening, his muscles tightening. With a final stroke of your tongue, you brought him to the edge once more, guiding him over it with expert precision.

 

His release was explosive, his body convulsing in waves of pleasure. You swallowed every drop, savouring the taste as if it were a decadent treat.

 

“Do you think you can give me another?” He slowly nodded your head, as he found himself unable to speak.

 

You moved off the bed so you could undress yourself. Spencer’s eyes scanning your body, he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. With each piece of clothing that fell to the floor, Spencer's anticipation grew. He watched you undress, soaking in the sight of your bare skin, the contours of your body that held a promise of pleasure. The desire in his eyes mirrored your own, a hunger that demanded to be satisfied.

 

As you climbed back onto the bed, naked and eager, Spencer's hands reached out instinctively to touch you. Each caress was filled with longing and need, his fingertips tracing the lines of your body as if memorizing every curve.

 

Your skin tingled under his touch, and you couldn't help but gasp at the electricity that coursed through your veins. It was as if every nerve ending in your body had awakened, craving the pleasure that only Spencer could provide.

 

With a gentle push, you urged Spencer to lie back on the bed, his body surrendering to your desires. Your lips sought out his with an urgency born from months of pent-up longing and anticipation. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mixture of desire and need.

 

“You haven’t been able to cum yet. Please let me help you out?” His voice was cracking, his eyes pleading for you to let him do anything.

 

“My sweet boy, I told you I was going to be doing all the work. Just relax.”

 

Spencer nodded, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and desire. He allowed himself to sink into the mattress, surrendering control over his pleasure to you completely. You straddled him, positioning yourself just above his aching need, teasing him with the anticipation of what was to come.

 

You began to slowly grind against him, the friction between your bodies sending waves of pleasure coursing through both of you. Each movement was deliberate, calculated to build the tension and desire that simmered just beneath the surface. Spencer's hands grasped at your hips, pulling you closer, desperate for more contact.

 

But you kept your pace torturously slow, denying him the release he yearned for. Each time he tried to thrust upwards, seeking more contact, you gently but firmly held him down, reminding him who was in control.

 

"You're doing so well," you whispered as you leaned down to capture his lips in a searing kiss. "Just a little longer. I promise it'll be worth the wait."

 

Spencer's body trembled beneath you, his fingers digging into your skin as he fought against the overwhelming need for release. His eyes were glazed with desire, his lips parted in a silent plea for more. The intensity of his desire mirrored your own, and you reveled in the power you held over him.

 

With each tantalizing movement of your hips, you could feel yourself growing wet and swollen, your own need begging to be satisfied. But this moment was about Spencer, about giving him the pleasure, he so desperately craved. You would have your turn soon enough.

 

His moans grew louder, more desperate, filling the room with their raw intensity. With each passing second, Spencer edged closer to the brink of ecstasy. But you were not ready to let him go just yet. Your movements quickened, but only slightly, teasing him with the promise of release while denying him its full realization.

 

"Please," he begged, his voice thick with desperation. "I need to cum, please."

 

You smiled down at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of affection and dominance. You knew he was on the edge, his body trembling with need. But you wanted to push him even further, to take him to a place of ecstasy he had never experienced before.

 

"Patience, my love," you whispered, your voice silkily smooth. "I want to make you feel so good."

 

With those words, you increased the tempo of your movements, grinding against him with a relentless rhythm. The pleasure intensified, threatening to break through the dam of control that Spencer had managed to maintain. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his body writhing beneath yours as he fought against the mounting pleasure.

 

You leaned forward, capturing his lips in a searing kiss that swallowed his moans and pleas for release. Your tongue danced with his, an erotic ballet that mirrored the movements of your bodies. The taste of him mingled with your own desire, intoxicating and addictive.

 

With a final thrust, you felt Spencer's body tense beneath you, his release imminent. The grip of his fingers on your hips grew tighter as he surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure that washed over him. His moans filled the room, a symphony of ecstasy that reverberated in your ears.

 

As he climaxed, you continued to move against him, prolonging his pleasure until he couldn't take any more. Wave after wave of intense sensation coursed through his body, leaving him gasping for breath, his limbs limp and sated.

 

You slowly eased yourself off him, a satisfied smile playing at the corners of your lips. The sight of Spencer lying there, spent, and thoroughly pleasured, made your heart swell with pride and delight. You had taken him to new heights of pleasure, pushed boundaries and explored desires you had only dared to whisper about.

 

“When you’re feeling better, I think you should reward me for taking such good care of you. Don’t you?”

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[bahablastplz]

Undeniably His: Vampire Jeongin x Reader

Inspired by this post from @cbini, I started thinking about what sex would be like with your boyfriend I.N. the first time after he turns into a vampire with his new overly heightened senses. Content: Smut, Angst Warnings: Mentions of death, established relationship, kissing, blood-drinking, marking, hair-pulling, oral f! receiving, oral m! receiving, unprotected sex (but it doesn’t matter bc vampires can’t get humans pregnant), p in v sex, overstimulation   WC: 2600 

You had been dating Jeongin for a little over two years when the accident happened. A freak incident had sent your boyfriend over a bridge in a car accident that killed five people; he was the only survivor, pulled from the water in some freak miracle. Not a scratch on him. Physically, he was fine, but that was when he started experiencing other symptoms. Violent impulses. Weird cravings.  Heightened senses.  When he started getting sick you were beside yourself with worry. You had almost lost him once, you could not do it again. You had stuck by his side throughout the entire accident, through his grief, and of course, through the sickness. Your questions were answered when he was approached by the creature that turned him, telling him the truth of that night. That Jeongin needs to feed or he will die. That he was a vampire. 

Jeongin was overstruck with guilt and grief. He wouldn’t feed, he decided, he couldn’t kill another human being. This was much to your dismay, as this would mean that you would both lose your boyfriend and bestfriend. His mother would lose a son. The community would have to suffer through yet another loss after the accident. 

Jeongin fed against his own will. His behavior and attitude had changed over the course of his illness, and he had gotten into a petty fight. He didn’t even know the guy's name, but when Jeongin was pushed, weak and frail, something snapped. His fangs embedded into the man’s skin and he bled him dry. He didn’t even tell you after; you had read in the local news of a man that was exsanguinated, mysteriously in the night and you knew what your boyfriend had done. Immediately the mystery sickness went away but he could no longer bring himself to face you or his family, despite your protests and pleas to let you help him.

It was a long and grueling journey, convincing Jeongin to get back together with you. He wouldn’t even let you be ‘just friends,’ or even in your presence until he could learn to control his bloodlust. After several months he started going back to school again, despite the university putting him on academic probation; they gave him time to process his supposed PTSD from the accident. It was soon after he finally started answering your texts. 

Slowly, your boyfriend let you back into his life. He was the same man as he was before the accident, but he was different, in some ways. He had alarming self-control, for one. He was more sure of himself. The way he carried himself was strong and powerful, not to be messed with. He had built up a wall, one you had intended to help him tear down piece by piece. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t love you on your break, he had told you. It was the fact that he had loved you, and with his heightened senses he was scared that he wouldn’t be able to control himself around you. Just your smell, it drove him insane, he confessed. He explained to you that you were like a drug, and every way he wanted and needed you before he transformed, grew tenfold and consumed him. With his time away he grew satiated and more confident that he could control himself, never going as far to kill another human when he fed. 

Tonight was the night you finally convinced him to stay over in your dorm. 

It was refreshing. It was familiar. It was a little strange that your boyfriend’s familiar warmth was gone, but you were happy to be in his presence again. Because in those few months that he took to try to navigate his new identity, you never stopped loving him. It took him some convincing, but you let him know that you would love both the old Jeongin and the new Jeongin. Tonight, as you watch a comfort movie in his arms you’re encapsulated in the embrace of his non-beating heart. One that, according to him, loves you deeper and more intensely than the old one had capacity for. 

You kiss him. It’s hesitant, it’s soft, it contains so many emotions. He’s wiping away a tear that you didn’t know had slipped as he kisses you deeper. Your hands tug through his hair just the way he likes, and he’s out of breath so suddenly, He’s breathing hard, his chest evident of the laborious task that kissing you is. When your tongue dips into his mouth he moans into you. You feel a soft prick against your lips and then Jeongin is across the room, apart from you as if your skin had set him ablaze. His eyes are wide and he looks frantic, a hand on his chest as if to stop his heart from beating so fast though you both know that’s not the case. When your hand reaches your mouth to investigate, you see exactly what your boyfriend was so afraid of. Your blood. In the midst of your makeout session, he had accidentally pricked your lip with his fang, drawing blood. Not a lot, but enough to freak him out, evidently. 

“I–I’m so sorry,” he whispers. His voice trembles. 

You cross the room and meet your boyfriend. You reach your hand out to touch his face but he draws away. 

“I can’t… I’m going to hurt you,” he says. 

“You’re not going to hurt me, Innie. I know you. This is the same body you’ve touched a million times before, you know my body better than I do. I trust you… to be intimate with me, again. So, please,” you say, reaching your blood-soaked finger up to his lips. 

“Y/N… I’m afraid that I won’t be able to control myself,” he says, closing his eyes as if practicing restraint. 

“Then don’t.” You’re pushed against the bed at superhuman speed, his hips pressing into you hard. The offered finger is in his mouth and he’s unabashedly sucking the blood from it, letting out a filthy, guttural moan. Before you can question the man his lips are against yours again, sucking them into his mouth, drinking up the blood from the small wound he had given you. His tongue is all over yours and you can taste your copper substance on his mouth though it's not unpleasant. He breathes into you as if you are his lifeforce, his oxygen. Meanwhile, he ruts his hips against you over and over again, a bruising yet welcomed grip on your waist. 

“Feels good?” You ask, pulling away to look in his eyes. He’s panting, letting out little whimpers and looking absolutely wrecked. 

“S’good. You don’t even know. I can smell you, how wet you are for me from here. I can hear how fast your heart is beating just for me… And every time you touch me my skin feels like it’s on fire. I’m so sensitive… so hard,” he emphasizes with a harsh thrust against your clothed skin, “You’re literally heavenly. Intoxicating. The best thing I’ve ever felt. I need you. I’ve never needed anything more.” He looks scared that you might deny him, though you couldn’t in a million years imagine denying him, especially not now.

You spread your legs for him, allowing him the opportunity to slot between them. He pulls himself into you and moans as you spread wet open-mouthed kisses against his neck. You lick a stripe upwards from his collarbone to his jaw and he clutches you tight, hips stuttering. 

His hands are in your hair, embedded into your scalp and he pulls tight, baring your neck for him. Your moan is breathy and light as he presses his lips to your skin, not sinking his teeth into you like you had thought. He sucks harsh bruises into your neck and the offending area then softens each spot with his tongue. When he moves back to admire his handiwork, he smiles. You’re covered with large purple splotches all over. You’re his, undeniably so. 

He pulls off your shorts and underwear in one swift motion, maneuvering your hips and holding you upwards so that he has full access to your glistening core. He really was right about you being wet for him, and you don’t have time to be embarrassed by the statement he made of being able to smell it before he’s diving in, his face directly at your entrance. He wastes no time before licking, sucking, and swirling his tongue around you. 

“Too much, Innie, too fast!” You whine out, trying to push his head away. He doesn’t budge nor indicate that he felt your actions; you couldn’t move away from him. He was in control, and you, forced to take every ounce of pleasure he delegates. 

“Mm, baby… I’ve been away from this pussy for too long… God you taste so, so good.” A loud slurping sound comes from his mouth and you’re in the right mind to be embarrassed from such a filthy sound. You cover your face but your hand is by your side just as fast, his bruising grip around your wrist holding you in place. “Don’t,” he warns. “Want to see your face as I ruin you. Want to hear every moan, wanna hear your heart beat this fast just for me, baby.” He was adamant about getting you to fall apart for him on his tongue, and so you do; you cum on with a loud moan and he laps up your release and holds your trembling thighs in place with ease. 

As you look at him he wipes away the wetness on his face, eyes gazing into you. He freezes in place as you drop onto your knees in front of him and grab onto his waistband. 

“Are you sure?” He stammers, already affected by your small lingering touch. 

“We’ve been away for too long,” you say, repeating his words from earlier. “Need to taste your cock again.” You pull down his pants and reveal his length, hard and throbbing and begging to be touched. It’s already releasing precum from when he was grinding into you earlier, and you lap it up eagerly. His hand places a bruising grip in your hair, close to its roots, which encourages you to continue with your ministrations.  

“Shit,” he curses as you wrap your lips around him, flicking your tongue against his tip. “Baby your mouth feels so fucking good, so wet. God I could bust right now,” he says. He uses his hands to hold the sides of your head, guiding your mouth up and down his length, essentially letting him use your face like a toy for his pleasure. Your lips wrap around him and you let spit run down your face, coating your chin. You blink up at him through teary eyes and you know that you look probably just as wrecked as he does, the epitome of a perfect disaster created just for him. 

He bucks his hips into your face for a few seconds and then pulls away quickly. You drop to the floor, breathing heavily, looking up at the man. He pants and holds himself up against the bed with one arm, trying to ground himself. 

“Shit baby, I’ve never felt anything that good in my life…” He breathes. “Only you… But it feels better now, you feel so good… Let me fuck your pretty pussy, baby. Please.” He begs even though he doesn’t have to. He doesn’t have to ask you twice before you’re laying on the bed, legs spread open wide for him. Still sensitive from your previous orgasm, you whine as he pushes into you slowly. He’s long, just like you remember him, but he’s so hard and you can already feel him pulsing inside of you. As he bottoms out and his hips grind against your clit, you feel yourself contracting against his length. You two remain unmoving but the room already sounds so dirty just from your pathetic moans and heavy breathing. Your heart beats wildly in your chest and it makes you smile knowing he can hear it, that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. 

He starts moving, slow but deep. Within four hard strokes he’s already releasing deep inside you, and you both gasp. In all the time you had been with him, he had never cum inside before–but now that he’s turned it doesn’t matter. As he fills you up you’re overflowing and he’s crying when you look at him. He moans vehemently but his hips aren’t slowing down; if anything, they speed up as he continues to fuck his release into you, sloppy and hard. He whines at the overstimulation he’s caused himself and looks like his pleasure is mixed with pain. His hips snap into you harder than anything you’ve ever felt before, the head of his cock pushing right against your g-spot every time. 

He reaches his fingers down and swipes up the release from where the two of you connect, gathering it on his fingers and bringing it to your mouth. It’s reminiscent of the scene just minutes ago, you think as you suck his release off of his fingers. His eyes are boring into yours and drinking up every reaction, every scrunch of your face and twitch of pleasure, and it drives you insane with both pleasure and desire to be so seen by someone you’re so in love with. 

You notice his hands gripping the edge of the bed, his knuckles ghost-white. 

“Bite me,” you say, suddenly. His hips stutter at your words, all confidence immediately gone. 

“What? I can’t–” 

“Jeongin, love, I trust you more than any other living soul on this planet,” you say through uneven breaths. “God, this body was yours before and it’s yours now. Stop holding back and make me yours again. Please,” You say. 

His teeth sink into your neck and you let out a sharp cry; you feel shock moreso than pain, and as he drinks languidly from your neck, taking just what he needs, you cum around his cock. His fingernails dig into your skin and his hips snap into yours brutally, ripping your orgasm out of you in the most intense spasm of pain and pleasure you’ve ever felt in your life. Adrenaline courses through your veins and your ears are ringing, blinded by the intensity of it all, because Jeongin isn’t holding back, because you’ve broken down his walls, you think as he cums into you for the second time that night. 

He laps up the remaining blood that has dribbled down your neck as his hips still into you and you still pulse around him from the aftershocks. When you look at him you're wiping his tears away, and he wipes away yours. 

“Thank you,” he says, holding you as close to his body as can possibly be. “You make me feel like I’m still human.” 

“That’s because you are,” you whisper into his hair. “Your humanity is something you never lost.” 

He hums in approval and you fall asleep in his arms that night, closer in mind and body than ever before.  ***  “I see you and I.N. got back together!” Your best friend laughs as the two of you walk to class together the next day. You haven’t told her anything, how would she know? She sees your shocked expression. “Look at your neck, geez, what is he, a vampire? God damn,” she emphasizes her words by pointing at the large bruises you did a poor job of covering up. You laugh at her words a little too hard, knowing that she will never know that she wasn’t that far off from the truth. That was a secret for you and Jeongin to share. *** Masterlist Recs

[wonbin-truther]

･:*:｡･:*:･ﾟ ready player two ･:*:｡･:*:･ﾟ ╰┈➤ level 21! stream?

"woah the comments are moving so fast," your mouth was open in a gasp as you watched the comments fly by and the view count go up. sohee laughed a little, "hold on cutie ill slow it down so we can read some." with the mention of the pet name the comments somehow starting coming in faster and faster. "this better?" sohee had slowed down the chat so now it was possible to pick out commenters. "where are we?" you mumbled reading the comment. "sohee's room!" your face lit up as you answered it. the excitement on your face mirroring on sohee's as you interacted with his chat. "people are saying they can fight sohee," you laughed. "well they're on the screen and im here so ha!" he crossed his arms over his chest making you laugh more. "aww are you jealous," you leaned in to pinch his cheek and give him a kiss where you pinched. his face turned bright red. "h-hey im not jealous. why would i be jealous." "you're soo red," you gave him another kiss on the cheek, forgetting about the steam or the chat.

by the time you turned your attention away from him and back to the computer the stream count had already doubled. "well introducing our guest for today," sohee cleared his voice, pink still visible on his cheeks. "hi everyone! i'm yn," you waved at the camera. "no games this stream. just some conversation," sohee squinted at the computer to see someones question about what game the two of you planned on playing.

it had already been an hour of you and sohee interacting with each other and the chat. "stop trying to make me blush. you're ruining my online persona," sohee whined as he leaned out of the frame. "sohee they're calling you a loser in chat," you pulled at his arm to get him back into frame. when he moved back to sitting up you shifted closer to him, setting your head on his shoulder. "all ready to end it?" sohee asked. "hmmm maybe. this was only supposed to be like 30 min," you hummed. "alright guys. say goodbye to yn!" sohee clapped his hands. you lazily waved at the camera, "bye everyone. see you next time."

sohee ended the stream and closed down his computer, "have fun?" you sat up, yawning, "it seemed like everyone had fun. i had fun." sohee tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and left a quick kiss on your lips, "tired?" "kiss me again please," you completely ignored his question. he let out a laugh and leaned in for another kiss.

... previous • menu • next level ...

synopsis! sohee was a well known streamer, having grown his fanbase over covid with the game minecraft and slowly branched into other games along with sponsorships and modeling offers. he was also well known for being your number one twitter fanboy, never missing one of your posts even if fashion wasn't his greatest interest. what happens when a modeling gig brings him face to face with you?

players (closed)! @ihrtantn @secretiny @nujeskz @indiweb @be0mlvr @llearlert @astro-doll-the-star @saranghoeforanton @lakoya @yang2k @onlyhyunjin @sseastar-main @brachioswrld @niinaspeaks @renjuneoo @kaelysian @mystarsohee @100203shong @calumsfringe @hisrkive @endtostartbreathin @gyehyeonist @hyukarina @ridinhyuck @aloverga @p-d1ddy @potatosoulp1h @i03jae @ricecakeslove @winwintea @parkwonbinie @soheendo @fae-renjun @melobin @haowonbins @flaminghotyourmom @sunnystarred @saranghoeforanton

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

You have heard it before: if you feel like your life sucks and you’ll never be truly happy - take a shower. Have a snack. Drink a glass of water. Stretch gently. Take a nap. 

Basically, take care of your very basic physical needs and you may find that your emotional and mental well-being improves as well. 

This definitely falls under the category of advice that sounds ridiculously oversimplified, especially when you are right in the middle of a bad mood - and of course it needs to come with the caveat that this won’t cure depression. But even if your low mood is a symptom of depression (or another mental illness), taking care of your physical needs will help stabilize your mood and is a good foundation for further treatment. 

But in this letter, I don’t actually want to discuss that. There are already plenty great tumblr posts doing so. I just want to remind you of another basic need after water, food, sleep, movement and hygiene: Enrichment. 

Enrichment means stimulation of the brain, and you may know this term in the context of people working with animals. Dog owners, zookeepers etc. try to stimulate the animal’s brain by offering them physical or mental exercise. For example, a dog may be encouraged to search for hidden treats! 

You are not a dog, but your brain also needs stimulation. Being understimulated easily leads to feeing unfulfilled and unhappy! 

A really easy way to provide enrichment for yourself is to just change something small about your daily environment or schedule, or try a new activity! Some simple ideas: 

You don’t necessarily need to buy new furniture or even new decorations to change your environment. You could just switch around some pieces you already own! 

You could take a different route home from school/work, go to a different grocery store or even just sit in a different place in your own home than you usually do 

You could try a new recipe, prepare a favorite food in a different way or buy a snack you haven’t tried before 

You could try to move in new ways. That could mean trying a new workout routine but also just doing a silly little dance to your favorite song in your own room! 

These things sound too exhausting? That’s fully possible - being understimulated can, ironically, drastically lower your motivation! If that’s the case, remember that tiny baby steps still help! You don’t need to start with anything too exhausting. It can be something quick like:

change the lockscreen of your phone if yours has been the same for a long time

challenge yourself to read a random article on Wikipedia 

listen to a song, but pick one from outside of “your” genres 

Slowly working your way up to bigger changes can make it easier. 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad

[jaysswlvrr]

Academic Rivals: An Unlocked Drawer| p.sh rival!reader x rival!sunghoon

request>> its a bit long but tysm(!) to the anon who sent it, i was planning on smth for hoon but tysm for the idea<3

authors note>> ik i haven't posted in a while but somehow we gained another 100 followers overnight?! guys tysmmmm<3

minors do NOT read or interact (please)

"your grades have dropped drastically, I thought you were better than that", your teacher scolded. "I really want to help you so" you looked curious as your teacher stopped talking. "I got you a tutor, I think you know him". She walks toward the door revealing the presence of one and only,

Park Sunghoon.

He had a big smirk, entering the room and facing you. Your teacher thins her lips in a reassuring smile,"Ill leave you two to it then", she spoke, gathering her books and leaving before you could stop her. You look up at him, a pout of hatred and anger plastered on your face. You lightly roll your eyes as he bends to your height. Telling him your address with a quick 'dont be late', before turning on your heel to leave.

And thats how you got here now, bored and revising things that you never even knew existed. He stops talking, causing you to look up at him as if you knew he was going to say something off-topic. "Got any snacks?" he asks, smiling as you reluctantly stand up, letting out an annoyed sigh. You walk out of the room, unintentionally swaying your hips.

Sunghoon's gaze moves from your back to your ass. Your small shorts barely cover any of your flesh. He bites his lip, forcing his eyes away from the sight. You on the other hand are struggling to get the snacks for the top shelf (lmao) 'how did they even get there?' you think. You can't find anything decent to give him, so you make popcorn instead.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon looked around your room. It was filled with small pictures of yourself on beaches and small revision notes. His eyes were slowly drawn to small drawers, the middle draw with a black silk bow on the handle. It had a lock, but when he realised it was slightly opened, it made him more curious as to what was inside. Maybe it was some weird cringy 'dear diary' or childish photos.

In fact, it was the opposite. It was full of different sex toys, ones he never expected you would own, or even know of.

Instead of being disgusted, he bit his lip, never knowing that you were this filthy and dirty. He loved this, so many lewd thoughts ran through his mind. Imagining how you would twitch around the toy, letting out small moans and whines, oh he wanted you so bad.

He grabbed a small vibrator turning it on and seeing the small bud move made him smirk. There was also a small matching remote, a setting to speed and slow down the vibrations. He grabbed it and put it in his pocket, waiting for you to return.

You finally enter the room, your shirt exposing your waist as you were reaching for the top cupboard earlier. You place the popcorn in front of him and sit down. "There were no snacks so I had to make popcorn"

"Try it for me, please?" you watch as he takes one in his hand. His eyes never leave yours ashe puts the piece in his mouth. You gulp down the horniness building up in you, ignoring the wet patch forming between your legs. "Its alright" he answers, breaking your thoughts.

You turn back to your book but his deep voice stops you. "I think you forgot to lock something" he starts as your eyes connect to his, not understanding him. He pushes the chair back on its wheels, pulling the draw with him.

Your eyes widen as he reveals what you had thoughtg you locked before. You start to stutter an explanation but before you could protest, he pulls you towards him. "youre just as filthy as i thought you were" his breath blows on your face and he lets out a breathy laugh as you dont respond. "Couldve just asked me to fuck you" he taunts in your ear, his breath tickling down your neck.

"You want a cock don't you?" He mocks you, pouting as you slightly nod. "Get up for me then" you immediately get up like an eager puppy, ready to do anything for him. You watch as he pulls down his jeans, revealing his revealing his pink, leaking cock.

And look at you know, all on top of him and trembling as the small vibrator sped up again. "C'mon then, next question," he smiles as you still try your best to focus. You have sweat running down your neck, back, forehead, everywhere possible. "I-is is 52?"

He chuckles softly, "wrong baby" he coos. You start to sob again. "Sunghoon, t-too much!" he laughs as your body jolts to him adding the speed. "c'mon next one". This question was way more easier so you finally (estupido) got it right. "please let me cum sunghoon- please!" You can feel him thrusting up into you, it feels overwhelming but its just so good.

You can feel his dick hitting so high into those spongey spots no one has hit before. Even when you looked down, you could see the bulge in your belly which only made you moan more. "Hold it in a little longer baby" but you couldnt hear him anymore. Your eyes were at the back of your head at every thrust he did.

"Please sunghoon!" he sighs loudly, finally giving you a reassuring hum. As if you could hold it any longer, you feel your orgasm rain over you. Both yours and sunghoons liquid mix down your thighs.

♡

small aftercare~

Your in the bath with sunghoon bent over to your level and scrubbing your sore plush body. "Want to do this again?" your eyes grow bigger in plead but he just giggles lightly.

"Sure"

took me so long, i apologise

[angel-eyes05]

only until midnight

pairing: prince charming!opla!sanji x cinderella!afab!reader

summary: after reaching your limits with your life at home, your outlook on life changes after meeting a certain stranger in the woods. your paths are destined to meet again at the king's ball later this week, but he seems to be more than what meets the eye. lucky for him, you are too.

warnings/info: nsfw (thats later in the fic though, so i'll mark it off when to stop reading, and when you can continue if you still want to read. the smut isn't integral to the plot i was just feeling horny lmao), THIS IS AN AU!!! if you dont like that this fic isnt for you lol, cinderella au, slight angst, lots of fluff after the smut, smoking (pipe cause its like the 1700s), first time/virgin reader, unprotected piv (wrap it up guys), reader's been through shit, no use of y/n (it kinda works cause he's not supposed to use her name and shit lol)

word count: 6.3k words

notes: i got this idea cause im playing grace in rodgers and hammerstein's cinderella and i was like ykw this would be really cute with sanji. i picked live action sanji because of 1) im more attracted to him than animated sanji lol 2) the british accent feels right for a prince 3) i dont know enough about him post time skip to like feel good enough to write for him (im only on sabaody). also ik the obvious look here is just to make the kingdom germa kingdom but again i don't know enough about post time skip one piece to write about it in confidence so im doing just a random kingdom in an au. the kingdom isnt even the main focus of this so it doesnt matter!!! also i didn't proofread, i didnt have the energy i finished this at 1 am my bad chat. lol enjoy

dividers by: @cafekitsune

It seemed as if the dirt was superglued down to the floor. As a part of your daily chores, your stepmother had ordered you to scrub the entire house floor until it was spotless. This one speck of dirt had decided to be particularly devilish with you and your consistent scrubbing. You let up from the brush, leaned back, and wiped the sweat brewing on your forehead. Some days were harder than others. The past eight years had been more of the same ordeal. Your father had married particularly quick after your mother’s illness took her, always leaving a sour taste in your mouth when you would linger on the thought. The woman had an interesting demeanor to her. She was sweet yes, but always with a twinge of condescension. She brought with her two young daughters, about your age. They were less deceptive of their malice, teasing you whenever your parents weren't looking. It wasn’t picture perfect, but then nothing was now without your mother. This was just your new reality, and you accepted it with grace and humility.

Then it happened. News came back to your house about a carriage crash involving your father. The image of your stepmother crumbling to the floor as the news was delivered was burned into your mind. Your family had to adapt fast, the house was in a vulnerable position now without a patriarch. The house staff was fired due to lack of funds, materials downsized, and tensions were thick with your new family. Drowning in grief and head of house duties, your stepmother never found the time to clean, and your stepsisters? Well let’s say they weren’t involved in that conversation from the start. You found yourself naturally taking the duty up on yourself. First it was just cleaning the dishes. It slowly grew as time went on, you had gone from daughter to maid. When your stepsisters would make your job harder for you, you would attempt to reach out to your stepmother for a glimpse of hope. Her beginning response was just ignorance, but as your chores became larger and larger, she turned into gas to fuel her daughters’ fire. As if matters couldn’t get any worse, your name was soon taken, along with your dignity and freedom. Bored today, your stepsisters found themselves brewing a new nickname for you.

“I got it!” The short one shrieked from the cushioned chair. The other quickly turned face her in excitement. “Cinderella!” There was silence for a bit, as taller one looked at her confusedly. The short one groaned. “Because shes always covered in soot and cinder from the fireplace.” The tall one took a second to think about it. “That’s too confusing. Plus it doesn’t have anything to do with her name! It has no ring to it.” “Well I’d like to see you come up with something better!” The short one retorted. “You don’t think I can do it?!” The tall one stood up in anger. You tried to block them out as you mopped the floor of the room around them.

“Watch it! You’re going to get my shoes wet with your dirty mop water!” The short one shouted. Blocked them out too much now. “My mistake,” you said, dully. “Ugh, you would think she’s a zombie or something,” the tall one groaned. You could tell your day was about to get worse when you heard the click of your stepmother’s heels entering the lounge room. “What’s all this ruckus you girls are making?” She asked, annoyed. “Oh mother I’ve got it! I’ve got her nickname!” The short one bounded out of her seat. “Don’t listen mother, it’s dreadful there’s no melody to it!” The tall one intruded. They began throwing hands at each other and yanking on the other’s hair. This was almost a daily occurrence when they began arguing. The shrieks had dulled your ears. Almost on routine, your stepmother raised her hand to cease the show. “Continue my dear,” she gestured to the short one. “We should call her Cinderella! Because she’s always around the fireplace!” 

The fire brewing in your stomach grew to a burst. “Stepmother please, they’ll only stop if you tell them so!” You exploded. The stepsisters gave an almost comedic gasp at your rare outburst. All your stepmother needed to do to get you back to your work was give you once glance worth daggers. She cleared her throat after the ordeal. “Girls, please try to keep the bickering to a minimum if you can, I’m trying to work out arrangements to the ball later this week.” Your sisters immediately started cheesing and cheering after hearing the news. 

You had almost forgotten about the event. The king was growing old of age, and with all his daughters married off to other kingdoms, his last hope for an heir was his unmarried son. The prince, the youngest of the king’s children, and the only son: Prince Sanji Vinsmoke. This ball was open to all the women in the kingdom. A playground for him to pick his new bride. Everyone and anyone had the chance, so of course the entire kingdom had been gushing about it over the past month.

Why bother though, you were most likely just going to be stuck in the house again that night. Your stepmother always found new ways to keep you busy on ball nights. “If you two keep quiet for the rest of the day, I will ensure you have the most beautiful dresses among the crowd,” your stepmother promised her daughters. They cheered and jumped into their mother for a hug. You couldn’t help but turn away from the sight, an ache growing in your heart, longing for your own mother back. “As for you,” she turned to face you and look you straight in the eye. “I need you to go into the market immediately and pick up some silk and lace to give to the seamstress for your sisters.” You nodded compliantly. “Yes stepmother,” you managed to speak. “No. It’s ‘Yes Ma’am.’ We’ve discussed this. Is that understood?” You nodded again. “Yes ma’am.” The woman smirked. “Thank you, Cinderella.” She exited the room, her daughters snickering to themselves and following her out.

You dropped the broom by instinct, hands too shaky to keep it steady in them. You covered your mouth to conceal the incoming sobs. You moved swiftly through the house out to the back where the horses were rounded up. You ripped a basket off the shelf outside, flopped on top of the horse, and whisked off into the backyard woods. You couldn’t help but let out your sobs. It was too much for you to take. You were trapped and things were only getting worse. You pulled on the reins of the horse to slow down. Once it slowed to a halt, you dismounted and tied the reins to a nearby tree branch. You walked to the center of the woods, and let out an ear piercing scream. You screamed until your vocal cords began to itch. It was the only way to let out your anger. You couldn’t explode on your family. The results of that were already clear. You didn’t want to explode on yourself. So the woods had become your sanctuary. A place to let it all out. After the noise could no longer physically leave your mouth, you flopped down to the floor and pulled your knees into your chest. Sobs left your mouth as tears flooded your eyes and pooled down your face. You just wanted your old life back. Your parents. Your freedom and dignity. Your name. 

The rustling of leaves nearby woke you from your breakdown. You lifted your head from your knees to find a man approaching from about 30 feet away. You immediately shuffled to your feet and looked at him bewildered. You picked up a sharp rock from the floor in self defense. “Woah, woah, woah! I mean you no harm I swear! I was just passing through!” The man defended, putting his hands up by his chest. The two of you circled each other at a safe distance for a little bit. He didn’t seem to mean any harm, dressed as a simple farm boy. His golden hair was too long, his bangs covering his left eye. He was fairly tall and skinny too, just enough meat on his bones, especially near his toned legs. What stuck out to you the most was the kindness in his eyes. Well, the kindness mixed with current fear. You were so enwrapped with observing him, you forgot you were currently threatening his life. You dropped the rock to the floor, and walked over to sit on a fallen tree log. He watched you for a little bit before you signaled him over to sit next to you. 

He wandered along over and took a seat down next to you, still keeping a safe distance though. “I was out riding when I heard a scream, so I decided to follow it. It went on for a while, so it was easy to track. I thought someone was in trouble,” he explained. “I’m fine,” you shot out. “The red in your eyes and your horse throat suggests differently.” You sighed and cupped your face in your hands. It stayed silent for a bit. Eventually, the man went into his pocket and pulled out a box of matches and a pipe filled with tobacco. Your head lifted up from your hands to watch his process. He struck the match and lit the tobacco, waited for the smoke to form, and then sucked it out of the stem. His eyes closed as he blew out a beautiful puff of smoke. He then turned to look at you and held out the pipe. With some reluctance, you took the pipe from his hands, held the stem up to your lips, and sucked out the smoke. Of course holding it in for too long, you coughed the lingering smoke out.

The man smiled and scooted in closer to you to hold your back as you coughed and took the pipe away. Once your lungs calmed down, you turned to look at him as he was admiring you. “Better?” He kindly asked. You nodded softly. He smiled and took another inhale of smoke before putting the pipe away. “And what would such a beautiful maiden you be doing out in the woods all by herself?” He inquired. You smiled at how cheesy the compliment was. “I could ask the same thing about you.” You both chuckled. He was the first one to explain. “Well I was just out for an afternoon ride, when your shriek took me off my path. And now, here we are I guess.” You nodded slightly and turned to look at the floor. 

“You still haven’t told me why you were screaming,” he mentioned. You sighed. “Just that sort of day I guess.” He nodded. “It just…gets too much sometimes.” As you felt your eyes welling up again, you also felt his hand rest upon yours. You turned to look up at him, a soft smile resting on his face. Naturally, your head fell onto his shoulder, and his head onto yours. You two spent a while like this. “Well, a pretty girl like you shouldn’t be using all her voice up like that. Whoever it was that hurt you like this doesn’t deserve that much energy from you,” he consoled. You couldn’t help but blush a little bit. You had no idea who he was, yet you felt so comfortable with him. “You know, you still haven’t told me your name,” he said, lifting up his head. You lifted up yours as well to look at him. “Oh, um I-.”

You were cut off by the sound of trumpets coming increasingly closer. “Shit,” he said under his breath, scampering up off the log. You looked up at him confused. Was he in trouble with the palace law? Before you could ask any questions, he asked “Are you attending the King’s Ball?” Damn it. You would become a laughing stock to him, most likely being the only girl in the kingdom not attending. “Can’t we just see each other in the market tomorrow?” you suggested. “No, it has to be there,” he shot out. You thought to yourself for a second. Maybe with some extra chores, your stepmother would finally allow you. With hesitation, you finally answered. “Yes.” He smiled to himself. “I hope I shall see you there.” He seemed to move back towards you again, but halted as the trumpets began to blare again. “Have a good day madame!” he exclaimed, bolting off into the distant forest. You stood up as you watched the mystery man escape from your life. 

The woods seemed to disappear around you as your heart fluttered. The first person to show you kindness in eight years and you didn’t even catch his name. Stupid. You were snapped out of your daze when the sound of approaching horse hoofs stopped behind you. Three palace soldiers on horses stood behind you as you turned and curtseyed to greet them. “Good afternoon men,” you greeted. They bowed their heads in return as a sign of respect. The Captain of the Royal Guard was the one in very front. “Pardon the intrusion, but we’ve been in search of His Royal Highness. He seemed to slip away from his fencing lessons earlier this afternoon and the king has been worried sick. Villagers said they saw him passing by through the woods just a moment ago. Have you seen him?”

Oh my god. It occurred to you that you had been so cooped up in the house you had no idea what the prince looked like. That couldn’t possibly had been him back there though. He would have no business around some low life like you. “Do you possibly have a picture of His Highness?” You asked. One of the guards in the back searches through his satchel and pulled out a portrait of the Royal Family. You walked up and took it, examining the prince’s face. You would’ve thrown up right there and then if it weren't for the fact you were trying to help him escape. But those eyebrows in that photo were unmistakable. It was him alright. You just smoked off of the prince’s pipe. “No, I do apologize, but I don’t recognize him,” you said. The captain simply nodded. “Thank you ma’am. As you were.” He bowed his head as him and his men rode off. 

Shock pulled your heart from out of your chest and into your throat. You could hardly believe yourself. That must have been why he was so insistent on you attending the ball. But why? What could he possibly see in someone like you? 

There was only one way to figure out. You went over to your horse, untied him from the tree, and rode off into town, with a new goal. You had to attend that ball.

The week had practically zoomed by. You had the house to yourself most days, your stepmother and stepsisters always out at the market place trying on dresses for the ball. This time was mostly spent either practicing dancing, or sewing up your own dress. There wasn’t much material in the house, and god forbid you take one of the dresses from your sisters, so you took scraps of fabric from your mother’s dresses and pieces of fabric in drawers around the house to make your own. It took about the rest of the week to make, spending laborious hours towards its construction. The final product was a pink gown. It wasn’t nearly nice as your stepsisters’ gowns, but it would suffice for the evening. 

The night came and your stepmother and sisters could be heard shuffling downstairs preparing to get into the carriage. “Wait! I’m coming too!” you shouted down to them. They turned around and looked at you in shock. “Mother you can’t let her!” the tall stepsister shouted. “Yes it’s too humiliating to be seen with her! You can smell the soot from a mile away!” her sister rebounded. Their mother held their hand up, shushing them up immediately. “Now girls, if she would like to join us, that’s well up to her to decide. She’s a grown woman just like the two of you.” The girls looked at her in shock. Your eyes glimmered in hope. It was finally working, all your hard work had finally paid off. Your stepmother smiled at you. Something felt off though. Her eyes had that glint of malice in them. That glint whenever she was about to do something truly horrible. 

“Now Cinderella, where did you get this dress from?” she inquired. “Oh, I used materials from my mother’s dresses and some fabric around the house,” you hesitated to reply. “Hm.” She stared at you, circled you like a shark for a moment. “Darling, come here.” The short one stood next to her mother, looking up at you. “Isn’t her dress lovely?” the woman asked. Your stepsister rolled her eyes a bit. “Yes mother,” she groaned out. “You can really see the attention to detail.” She traced her finger along one of your chiffon sleeves. “Like these sleeves. This beautiful pink fabric. Darling, don’t you have a fabric like this in your closet?” Your heart dropped. You could see where this was going fast. Your sister took a moment to observe the sleeve. She gasped. “You little witch, I bought this fabric its mine!” She ripped both sleeves off your dress. All you could do was stand there, mouth agape and watching in horror. The tall one walked up next. “And these pearls were in my drawer!” She ripped them off your neck. 

Within the next 30 seconds, your sisters found some excuse to tear of each piece of fabric off your dress. You tried desperately to get them off you, but it was no use. Through the chaos, you could see your stepmother smirking by the door. Your eyes welled up with water as you could do nothing but watch. “Girls, girls!” your stepmother called out. “That’s quite enough!” The girls stopped, hair ratted, looking at what they had done to you. The tall one was smiling. The short one had the slightest bit of remorse in her eye. But it disappeared as soon as they collected themselves and walked out the door to the carriage. Their mother was about to follow them out the door. Before, she stopped. “Just as I said. Going to the ball is up to you. You’ll just have to decide if you want to go with a dress or not.” You couldn’t even say a word to her. “Goodnight, my dear.” She closed the door. 

The silence of the foyer was choking you. You mindlessly shuffled to the backyard. Disassociated beyond belief, you took a seat on a bench outside. The tears came out naturally, without you even making a sound. It was all gone. The chance at a normal life. Just go to outside and feel like a human being for the night. To see him again. He wasn’t even at the front of your mind for once. You just wanted to curl up and disappear.  

Out of the corner of your eye, a silver glimmer could be seen on the other side of the yard. You wiped your eyes and looked up to see a tall woman, in a beautiful white ballgown, a glowing wand in her hand, and..were those wings? You must be hallucinating, theres no way. Still being dissociated during the ordeal. The woman explained she was your Fairy Godmother, and that she could send you to the ball. She created a carriage out of one of the pumpkins in the garden, coachmen and horses out of the scuttering mice, and a magical light blue ballgown for you out of thin air. The finishing touch were a pair of shimmering glass slippers. You couldn’t believe your eyes. The woman explained the details of the spell. “While the spell lasts, no one at the ball will recognize you. This will give you anonymity.” That was a relief. You were worried over your step family. Prince Sanji probably wouldn’t either. You didn’t mind though. This was just an opportunity to get out there. “The spell will also wear off by midnight. That means all of this is gone by 12:01,” she continued. You accepted the terms, and next thing you know, you were off to the ball in your pumpkin.

As you stepped out of the carriage and onto the stairs for the castle, you felt like a little girl. Living out your dream as a princess. It was too good to be true. The other girls with their husbands walked gracefully up the stairs. You seemed to have gotten there a little late, everyone in the ballroom already. You gathered your courage, and your dress, and made your way up the stairs and into the castle. The beautiful golden accents and stone pillars were a marvel for the eye. The orchestra playing was more beautiful than you could ever imagine.

As you scouted the room, you could see the row of women lined up to greet His Highness. Sanji sat bored, more cleaned up from the last time you saw him and in a white coat with gold accents, and red dress pants. His hair still covered his eye, and you could see the king swatting at him to tuck it away. Embarrassingly, you caught yourself staring at him from up upon the balcony. Get a grip. It was stupid to spend your time fantasizing over a prince. He wouldn’t even remember who you were. But your heart couldn’t help but skip a beat when you made split second eye contact with him. Before you could see him go back for a second glance, you had already made your way to wander about the rest of the palace. 

Ironically, you found yourself too nervous to dance with the other guests. You instead spent your time admiring the architecture of the castle. The grand piano in the center of one of the lounge room caught your attention. Your mother had taught you how to play when you were young, and wanting to see how well you remembered, you pulled out one of the sheets of music and began to play. Music filled the room as you became so wrapped in the passion of playing. It seemed as if hours had gone by when it was only mere seconds.

“No one’s played that old thing in years,” a familiar voice spoke. You could tell it was Sanji before even needing to turn around. You immediately ceased playing and jolted up from your seat. “Oh, I do apologize!” you shot out, frazzled.. “No, no, I’m sorry for startling you, my lady!” he interjected, walking closer to you and raising his hands up in defense. “I was just admiring the piano, Your Highness.” Remember you forgot to address him properly, you curtsey, your big dress laying on the floor, and lower you chin.

You hear his footsteps move towards you, then feel his finger as it rests underneath your chin and pull it up to face him. “Indeed.” You feel his hot breath on your face as your stomach swarms with butterflies. He’s closer to you than he intended to be. He looks at you with comforting eyes and a familiarity. That wasn’t possible though, the Fairy Godmother said the spell forbade anyone from recognizing you. You couldn’t help but wonder though what he was thinking right about now. All you could think about was how beautiful his lips looked right about now, spending moments to stare at them, as he did yours. Before anything can get too messy, Sanji clears his throat and steps away. “You played beautifully.” “Thank you, Your Highness.” “Please, call me Sanji, Your Highness is too formal.” You smiled at his suggestion.

“Do you know how to play it?” you asked him, trying to break the tension. “My father tried to get me lessons, but I had a hard time paying attention,” he said as he took a seat down on the piano bench. “I can try though.” He stretched his fingers and begun to play the melody on the sheet of paper. You took a few steps back and rested your head on the base of the piano, watching him hypnotically while he played. The was his fingers graced the keys was mesmerizing to the plain eye. Once he finished, he smiled and look up at you. “You’re blushing, my lady,” he teased. You immediately snapped out of your daze, lifted your head and cleared your throat. “Oh, my apologies.” “It’s quite alright.” Sanji looked out behind the door and noticed the music being played in the ballroom. He then bowed, reaching out his hand to you. “Would you give me the honor of joining me on the dance floor?” Your blush grew even hotter. “Oh, I’m afraid I’m not much of a dancer.” He lifted up, and took your hand in his. “Well then, I suppose we will just make the rest of the castle our ballroom.” You stared at him confused. “We can’t have anyone else see you fumbling on your feet, can we?” You both giggled childishly as he took your waist and you rested your hand on his shoulder. 

Sanji’s feet seemed to glide across the floor as he took you into a dance. You tried to match his movements, but your feet couldn’t help but stumble as you twirled along the floor. Your breath got slightly heavier as your embarrassment grew. “Are you alright, my dear?” Sanji asked with concern. “I’m sorry, I’m not very well versed with this dance,” you replied. Sanji smiled. “I guess I’ll just have to teach you.” He began to call out the movements you needed to make for the dance. “Left foot to the right, right foot forward…and twirl,” and so on and so forth. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see how hypnotically his eyes were watching you as you twirled, eyes low and tracing your figure. “See, now you’re getting it sweetheart,” he said, voice deep and low, putting butterflies in your stomach. The two of you continued to dance throughout the halls of the castle, eventually making your way to the balcony you had spotted him the first time.

It had taken a bit to remember, but it suddenly struck that you were dancing with the prince. This thought was brought back to you when you noticed every guest at the party staring at you and Sanji up on the balcony. “Sanji?” you whispered. He hummed low in response. “Everyone’s looking at you.” He chuckled under his breath. “Trust me my dear, I’m not the one they’re looking at.” You couldn’t help but blush. As you scanned the crowd, you spotted your stepmother and stepsisters. The look of jealousy in their eyes couldn’t help but make you smile. “We should go somewhere,” Sanji brought up. “Where?” you asked confused. “Away from here.” “But what about your guests?” Sanji smirked an evil look as he put his mouth just up to your ear. “I don’t think they’ll mind darling.” The butterflies were back. 

It felt as if the two of you had been dancing for hours. You had no idea what time it was, or even where in the castle you were. All you cared about was being here with him. Little girls always dream about finding their prince. They never expect it to happen when they grow up. But here you were. Swaying on the outside terrace of the castle in the moonlight. Your head rested up against his shoulder, him looking down at you, as if nothing else mattered. You and your prince. Without another word needing to be said, Sanji straightened up, took your hand, and led you into the the darkness of the yard. The two of you came across a lone gazebo in a field of tall oak trees, lit only by the moonlight and a single candle lamp. After leading you inside, Sanji shut the glass door and lit a second candle in the gazebo with a nearby match. You took a seat on the bench wrapped around the building, flattening out your massive dress as it poofed up. 

Sanji walked over next to you and took a seat, smoothing your face with his thumb. He gazed into your eyes as you smiled lovingly towards him. “My dear, may I ask you something.” You nodded softly, eyes slightly closed. “Where did you manage to get this beautiful gown.” Shit. You didn’t know what to tell him. He would never believe you if you told him the truth, you’d look like a fool. “One of the tailors at the marketplace,” you made up. He hummed and moved in closer to you. Your heart started pounding.

“I wasn’t aware your family could afford such fine fabrics. With the clothes you were wearing in the woods and such.” Your heart froze. “How did you know?” you stuttered out. It couldn’t be, there was no way. The Fairy said this was part of the spell, how could he possibly know? “I could never forget a face as beautiful as yours,” the words falling off of his tongue like honey. Before you had the time to comprehend what he said or how he could know it was you, his lips had interlocked with yours. They must have been laced with something, the way you simply seemed to melt into his touch.

His hand wrapped around your waist as he pulled you closer into him. Your hands found their way into his hair, entangling fingers between the locks. The kiss was long, sensual, as Sanji explored your mouth for the first time. All you could do was let him take the lead, your hands tracing down his neck, humming as his tongue slipped into your mouth. In a swift motion, overtaking your dress with him, he slides you on top of his lap, where his aching erection becomes noticeable incredibly quick. You could feel him throbbing, begging, beneath you. His hand fumbled down the poof of your tulle skirt, and up your bare legs as he went to feel your ass. 

As his hands went up, his mouth went down, leaving wet, sloppy kisses along your neck, sucking and marking as he went. You couldn’t help but make noise as he played with your ass like putty and sucked the essence out of your skin. “Oh could this really be happening to me,” you lowly moaned out. You could feel Sanji smiling against your neck, grabbing your ass harder in response. You could feel his cock growing bigger and his breath getting more frantic by the second. He suddenly moved his hands out of your dress, and separated his mouth from your neck, leaving a trail of saliva.

“May I?” he asked, desperation in his eyes. You froze up a little bit. “I’ve never done it before,” you warned. He paused for a moment, then nodded gently. “It’s okay, I’ll go easy.” You thought about it for a moment, then gave him a nod. With this, he effortlessly lifted you up in his arms and carried you to the gazebo floor. He laid you down gently on your back, then leaned back and unlatched his belt. He pulled his pants down ever so slightly, allowing just enough room for his cock to spring up in an almost comedic fashion. Sanji then pushed the fabric of your dress to the side as he searched for your underwear, getting closer to you. 

You see him come and lean over you, kissing the top of your slightly exposed breast as he guides his tip across your hole with his hand. He had barely inserted himself into you and you were already mewling like a wild animal. You only got louder as more of his shaft entered your dripping cunt. Your fingers dug into his back as he braced and let out a few groans of his own. “God you’re so tight…” he groaned. Once he was finally inside of you he began to slowly rock back and forth, sending waves from your cunt to your brain. 

His mouth moved back to yours as he absorbed all of your moans as his pace picked up. “So lucky I ran into the woods that day,” he gasped out between kisses and thrusts. “Your pussy’s so good. Molding perfectly to my cock.” You couldn’t even fully process what he was saying, so enwrapped in the experience at hand. You were sent into further delirium as he picked up the pace even more. Desperate for more of you, Sanji hiked up your leg onto his shoulder to get even deeper into your pussy. The bliss was overwhelming. “Go harder Sanji,” you managed to moan out. “I can take you.” Sanji couldn’t help but chuckle, but he still accepted your request, shoving more of himself into you as he slammed his tip into your g-spot. Your hand shot out to the side, grabbing at nothing but the concrete floor. Your back arched and hips buckled. This man had you at full disposal and you hadn’t even known him for a day. “Best pussy I’ve ever had,” he grunted. “Want to keep you with me forever.” As he picked his pace up again, you could feel something brewing in your lower stomach, no idea what this feeling was, but knowing it was coming fast. “S-Sanji, something’s happening,” you moaned out. He smiled and kissed your lips sloppily, like it was the last time he would. “I know my darling, just keep going for me.” 

The sounds of your ass cheeks hitting across the floor, your moans and his groans mixing into each other’s mouths, the dim lit gazebo, everything felt straight out of a porno. Your hips began to buck further as the heat continued to grow. You could tell the same thing was happening to Sanji too, his thrusts getting sloppier by the second. With the last final thrusts of his converging into your g-spot, the white heat finally rushed up the rest of your body as you experienced your first time of pure bliss and ecstasy. Your moans turned into mewls as your hand ripped at your dress for any sort of stability. As the orgasm died down, you felt Sanji’s aching cock slip out of you, as he turned away and finished on his own.

A sort of numbness scattered across your body. The experience left you exhausted, barely noticing Sanji crawling up and laying down next to you as he cleaned himself with a handkerchief and redid his pants. He planted soft, gentle kisses into your neck as he fixed you up and brought your dress back down to cover your legs. “Oh my darling you did so good,” he praised you. You looked at him, pure, unadulterated love in your eyes. “Thank you…for giving me this,” you choked out. His lips laced into yours as he hugged your hip. “I would give you all my love if you simply asked. This was just a treat.” You giggled like a little girl. He smiled back and continued to kiss you. 

In between kisses, you tried to talk to him again, but couldn’t keep from giggling as he shut you up before you could continue. “Sanji.” Kiss. “Sanji…” Kiss and giggle. “Sanji!” This time he slipped in a little bit of tongue. “Your father will be asking about you, we need to get back now.” Sanji let go and groaned like a little school boy. “Alright, fine. But only because I can give him an answer on who to marry now.” You turned to face him. “And who would that be Your Royal Highness.” The silence and the look in his eyes spoke for itself. You took a deep breath and begun to sit up, but not before Sanji could pull you back down into him for another makeout session. Your giggles interlocked with his kissing only made him fall deeper in love with you. “Alright. We can go. IF! You tell me your name finally,” he suggested. All you could do at him was laugh, his childish behavior hitting all your soft spots. “Alright,” you began “It’s-.” 

Before you could finish, you were cut off by the sound of the bell chimes from the grand bell tower at the front of the castle. How many times was that? Shit. “What’s wrong darling?” Sanji asked, sitting up. It was twelve times. You looked at him, frazzled and upset. “I’m so sorry,” was all you could manage to say as you ran out of the gazebo doors. Sanji’s face after you told him will be forever burned into your brain. 

You ran and ran and couldn’t seem to slow down. You couldn’t possibly, you had no idea how much time you had left. You made your way through the castle, Sanji close on your trails and sending guards to chase after you. You made your way down the entrance stairs and into your carriage, which you could see rotting away by the second. As you jumped in, you couldn’t help but turn around and watch the castle as you drove away. You could even see Sanji, staring longingly out for you.

This was only for one night though. You needed to get that into your head or you would run straight back to him. You had a life to live. And you needed to go back to fulfill your duty. But this one night. This one perfect night. This was one you hoped to never forget. 

a/n: you know how this story ends TRUST HE FINDS HER THROUGH THE SLIPPER AND EVERYTHING ENDS UP OKAY i just really didn't feel like writing all that lmao. hope you enjoyed (i sure did lol)

[kingofbodyrolls]

39,5°C (Fever) (m) | pjm

When you get sick you want three things; rest all day, eat your comfort food and have as many orgasms as you can.

→ Pairing: Jimin x reader (female, “Y/N”) → Genre/AU: Established relationship, non idol!au, pwp, smut, fluff if you squint → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 This is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact. → Word count: 6,2k → Warnings/tags: Explicit smut in the form of, masturbation (female), fingering, nipple sucking/play, unprotected penetration (they are in an established relationship, but please use protection irl), some cock warming, a lot of orgasms, fucking while sick, OC is so fucking needy and desperate and Jimin just wants to please her. → Author's note: Thank you to everybody who follows, either for my own fics or my recs - it's much appreciated and means so much to me 🥹 So, for my 100th follower milestone, I give you this; I hope you like it 💜

Main masterlist. Cross-posted to Ao3.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft hues as you slowly roused from sleep. 

Blinking away the remnants of dreams, you stretched languidly, only to realize that the warmth next to you, Jimin, was absent. 

Confusion furrowed your brow, a dull ache throbbing at your temples. It was as if your mind was wading through a fog, struggling to piece together the events leading up to this moment.

A damp sensation beneath you snapped your senses awake. 

Panic fluttered in your chest as you registered the wetness on the bed. 

Your skin prickled with discomfort, a blend of clammy sweat and shivers that chased each other up and down your spine. Hot and cold sensations mingled, creating a disorienting dance across your flesh. Your body trembled and you felt a surge of arousal run to your core, a telltale sign of a fever. 

A hand to your forehead confirmed your suspicions - heat radiated from your skin, the feverish touch undeniable. The realization sent a sinking feeling through you, an unwelcome interruption to your routine. 

You contemplated checking your temperature, not just to provide a concrete reason for your absence from work, but also to validate the intensity of what you were experiencing.

With a resigned sigh, you fumbled for the thermometer, its cool surface a stark contrast to your fevered skin. 

As you watched the numbers climb, anxiety held its breath alongside you. 39,5 degrees Celsius glared back, a glaring testament to your body’s turmoil. ‘Yikes’ barely covers the magnitude of this fever, the word echoing like an alarm in your mind.

Reluctantly, you reached for your phone, fingers dancing over the screen to dial your workplace. 

Explaining your condition to your boss felt like admitting defeat, you were rarely sick, a palpable sensation of vulnerability washing over you. The conversation passed in a blur, your voice sounding distant even in your own ears as you negotiated the details of your sick leave.

Once the call ended, you were left with the weight of the day ahead - or rather, the weight of what wouldn’t be. You really love your damn office job. Resignation settled in as you acknowledged that rest was your sole agenda. 

This was no mere inconvenience; it was a mandate from your own body, an uncompromising insistence on self-care.

Your thoughts drift through a dense fog, each one a weighty presence that seems to slow time itself. 

Amidst this mental haze, a singular desire emerges, commanding your attention like a beacon in the darkness; to get off.

When you get sick, you’re out of commission, but Jimin possesses remarkable resilience, bouncing back from ailments with an almost enviable speed. He might slow his pace a tad, yet he’s soon up and running again, his vigor only temporarily dimmed. 

However, your own journey through illness is an entirely different narrative. When illness casts its shadow upon you, it’s as if the world grinds to a halt - a relentless fog that blankets your thoughts and body. 

You only want three things really; rest all day, eat your comfort food and have as many orgasms as you can.

It’s a craving that rises like a tempest, demanding to be acknowledged. 

The desire for intimacy, for the warmth and connection that only your boyfriend can provide, becomes a beacon in the haze of your illness. It’s a need that fluctuates in intensity, an ebb and flow that mirrors the unpredictable nature of your symptoms. 

In a daze, you squeeze your thighs together while dirty fantasies run through your mind.

Determinedly, you set your sights on the first craving: a day of uninterrupted rest. 

As the world outside continues its bustling rhythm, you cocoon yourself in a cocoon of blankets, the soft embrace of your bed a sanctuary from the demands of the day. A season of your cherished TV show flickers on the screen before you, its familiar characters and storylines a comforting companion in this isolated respite. 

Yet, even the most captivating narrative can’t entirely distract from the persistent itch of restlessness. As episodes blur into one another, you find your mind wandering, the confinement of your surroundings reflecting the confines of your own body. 

The hours stretch, each minute an elastic band tugging at your patience.

The promise of comfort food beckons like a siren’s call, and soon, the aromatic allure of pizza fills the room. 

You indulge in its cheesy embrace, the combination of flavors a temporary reprieve from both your physical discomfort and the monotony of your confinement. The first bite is a symphony of sensations - crisp crust giving way to a burst of savory satisfaction, a moment of bliss that lingers on your taste buds. But even indulgence has its limits. 

As the pizza slices dwindle and the ice cream follows suit, the novelty wanes, leaving behind a subtle undertone of longing. You try navigating the vast expanse of social media, but it yields little in the way of fulfillment, each swipe a fleeting encounter with curated lives that only serve to amplify the quiet void within.

Your energy reserves are far too depleted to muster the focus required for anything more substantial.

In time, you discover yourself reclined upon the bed’s embrace, solitary in Jimin’s absence, your eyes are gently shut, a willing surrender to the world’s demands, while the low sensual R&B beats of your beloved ‘dirty hoe’ Spotify playlist weave a cocoon around your senses, cradling you in a symphony of horny melodies on an endless loop. 

You rub your thighs together and get lost in the bliss of the feeling. You’ve got nothing to do. Might as well do yourself.

Your fingers glaze the top of your panties, digging deeper until you reach the spot just over your clit. 

Rubbing circles on your clothed clit, you spread your legs and throw your head back into the bed, already feeling the beginning of an arousal. You can’t help the sweet noises that escape your mouth, as you roll your hips in search of more friction. 

You press harder on your clit, imagining it’s Jimin’s hands instead of yours, knowing that he would be able to make you climax in a matter of minutes. 

Pinching your clit, you let out a high pitched moan as you feel the knot in your stomach forming. 

Images of Jimin flash before your eyes, him kissing you deliciously, fucking you like it was the last time.

Beads of sweat gather along the precipice of your hairline, a glistening testament to the fevered symphony playing out within. 

Each breath you draw is a ragged melody, a reminder of the battle your body wages against the searing heat that courses through you. You set a fast pace, rubbing mindlessly, as you pant for air. 

Almost there, you can feel it coming. 

In frustration, you pinch your clit again and come undone with a scream of Jimin’s name. 

Your body thrashes around the bed, as you come down from your climax. 

Your thoughts wade through a dizzying haze, an intricate labyrinth where clarity is but a fleeting visitor. Meanwhile, your body becomes a canvas of discomfort, a sticky and clammy landscape painted by the relentless brushstrokes of sweat. 

You register an uncomfortable wetness between your legs, and discard your soaked panties to the floor.

Your body remains a furnace, its warmth radiating through every fiber as you continue to draw breath in ragged gasps. Seeking relief, you shift onto your stomach, a desperate attempt to find a position that might offer some respite. 

Your hand gropes beneath the pillow, finding the cool touch of your phone. Fingers trembling slightly, you navigate to Instagram in pursuit of distraction, a temporary escape from the confines of your condition.

Yet, the respite is fleeting, evaporating like mist in the face of a relentless sun. Your desires surge once more, a hunger that refuses to be quelled. The allure of the digital world fades in comparison to the voracious craving that commands your attention, rendering your attempts at diversion feeble and futile.

You surrender to the tempest within, rolling onto your back as your hands traverse the landscape of your fevered body, fingers tracing the contours of your clammy skin. 

They land on your already pebbled nipples, and you give them a hard tug, moaning and rolling your hips mindlessly. 

Jimin's cotton shirt adheres to your skin like a second layer, a tactile reminder of the stickiness that has become an unwelcome companion. 

With a sudden resolve, you sit up, a surge of urgency propelling you as you shed the shirt in a swift motion, the fabric slipping away like the bonds of discomfort being cast aside.

In a matter of seconds, your hands return to your breast, cupping them like Jimin usually does. 

Your fingers run over your nipples again, and you feel a tingle run down your spine. As you tug and pinch your nipples, you imagine it’s Jimin doing it. 

The way he would lick your perked buds, occasionally giving them a light bite has your walls clenching around nothing. 

You moan, thinking about the pleasure Jimin usually delivers to you with his plush and wet tongue. 

One of your hands leaves your breast to travel down to your throbbing naked pussy. 

Spreading your legs, you find your clit and give it a few rubs. 

Your fingers glide easily, as your clit is covered in your earlier orgasm. Your fingers travel down to your folds, opening yourself up more. 

Sticking one of your fingers into your warm cunt is easy with the insane amount of arousal pooled there. 

You groan in pleasure, as you stick another finger into your clenching hole. 

Rolling your hips, you begin to fuck yourself as your other hand is pinching and tugging a nipple. 

Once more, a hazy fog blankets your thoughts, veiling your mental landscape in a disorienting mist. 

In this moment, your deepest wish unfurls - a longing for Jimin’s presence, his soothing touch, the steady rhythm of his breath and the unfaltering warmth of his embrace to tether you amidst the turbulence of your body’s rebellion. 

The feeble attempt you make to alleviate your distress pales in comparison to the soothing magic that Jimin's touch possesses. It's a stark reminder of the chasm between your efforts and his unparalleled comfort. 

Nonetheless, in this interim of absence, your makeshift remedy will have to suffice, bridging the gap between your yearning for relief and the eventual embrace of his return.

You think about Jimin fucking you with his thick cock, stretching your pussy deliciously. 

Hitting your g-spot, and thrusting into you with fervor, while his balls hit your folds. The imagination, a force as potent as it is relentless, takes hold of you with unyielding fervor, reducing the barriers between reality and desire to mere dust. 

In its wake, you sense the foundations of your resolve begin to erode, like cliffs succumbing to the relentless assault of waves. 

Squelching sounds fill the room, as you finger yourself frantically, searching for another release. 

A palpable tension simmers, coiling like a slumbering tempest just beneath the fragile surface of your composure and when the image of Jimin fucking you gets too much, you moan loudly as another orgasm coats your walls. 

Your chest rises and falls in desperate rhythms, each breath a struggle as you labor to coax your body into a state of surrender.

A gnawing sense of insufficiency takes root, an undeniable truth that settles like an ache in the core of your being. 

Compelled to fill this void, you reach for your laptop, your fingers dancing across the keyboard to unearth a video - a cherished artifact of you and Jimin. 

As the footage unfolds before you, you stick your fingers into your already drenched pussy again. 

As the symphony of sounds spills forth, a captivating crescendo that weaves through the air, your gaze becomes ensnared by the screen's luminous embrace, you fuck yourself again, while you rub your clit with your other hand.

“Ah, Y/N, you’re so tight! You’re taking me so well.” Jimin's voice pours forth, a mellifluous cascade that saturates the room, its dulcet tones mingling with the very air you breathe, a sweet intoxication that leaves you hovering on the edge of delirium, rolling your eyes while you search for yet another release. 

You add another finger into your throbbing pussy as the screen shows Jimin fucking you from behind. 

A moan leaves your lips, mixing with squelching sounds from your pussy and the obscene sounds from the laptop.

“This pussy was made for me, ah.” video Jimin says followed with a slap to your ass. 

Your pussy clenches around your fingers. Your clit is throbbing with your fast rubbing on it and you insert another finger into your cunt, finally feeling a small stretch. 

You feel your orgasm approaching rapidly, with the images of your home made porn playing before your hooded eyes unraveling you.

“Fuck! I’m coming!” and then you’re orgasming to the sound and visual of Jimin releasing inside your warm and spent pussy. 

Your body throbs with a weary cadence, each pulse echoing the exhaustion that courses through you, leaving you feeling spent, both physically and emotionally. 

The discomfort intensifies, a relentless reminder of your sticky, sweat-slicked state that clings to you like an unwelcome second skin, refusing to relent. 

You draw in ragged breaths, your lungs yearning for air as you hastily halt the video's playback, the sudden cessation of sound echoing the turbulence within your chest.

Tired, you envelop yourself in the gentle glow of the screen, as you dive into another episode of your treasured TV series. You lay in your bed, naked, with only the covers draping your legs. 

The door’s soft creak heralds Jimin’s return, his presence a soothing balm to the quietude that has wrapped itself around you. 

As his eyes fall upon your prone form nestled within the sheets, his gaze deepens with understanding - silent communication that transcends words. 

Without a syllable spoken, he knows about your illness.

A gentle smile dances at the corners of his lips, a mixture of concern and affection that paints his features. His voice, warm and tender, breaks the silence, the words like a soft caress against your weary senses. 

“How many, baby?” 

The question hangs in the air, laden with a delicate balance of worry and steadfast promise that he’s here to shoulder the burden of your discomfort alongside you.

With the mere entrance of Jimin's presence, a subtle electric current courses down the length of your spine, a tingling sensation that dances between the realms of anticipation and recognition, as you rub your thighs together and bite your lip, “Three.”

A gentle chuckle escapes from his plush lips, a melodic sound that unfurls like a whisper of warmth, as he strides toward the bed and eases down beside you, his presence a soothing balm to your discomfort.

“You know it’s a vital part of my self-care ritual whenever fever pays me a visit,” you protest, your lips pursing in a playful pout that hints at a mixture of defiance and endearing vulnerability.

“Yeah, I know about your fever horniness,” his laughter erupts with a resonant force, a vibrant symphony that reverberates through his entire being, yet his approach is marked by a smirk that dances across his lips, an alluring blend of amusement and intention.

“What do you need, baby?” 

His finger traces a tantalizing path over the sensitive expanse of your ass and thighs, each touch akin to a lightning bolt of sensation that ignites a perilous shiver, sending a cascade of exhilaration down the length of your spine. In its wake, a fresh wave of desire surges, pooling on your pussy.

A gulp tightens your throat, a visible testament to the sudden intensity of the moment, while your breath catches in your chest, a gasp that hangs in the charged air like an unspoken invitation, “Your dick and your tongue.”

“Hmmm, I don’t know,” a playful smirk graces his lips, a mischievous expression that hints at a secret understanding, as his touch traces a tantalizing path along the contours of your waist as he feels his dick throb with want.

“You started without me,” he utters the words in a mock pout, his tone a blend of teasing and longing, as his fingers dip down to your pussy with deliberate intent, trailing a path that ignites a symphony of sensations. 

You raise your hips in search of more of his touch.

“I’m sorry. But I couldn’t wait…” A frustrated whimper escapes your lips, a raw sound that encapsulates the intensity of your desires and the ache for more. 

You just want to get off again.

“I know, baby. You probably did so good by yourself, huh?” 

His gaze drinks in the contours of your naked form, an appreciative hunger that's palpable, causing goosebumps to rise like a symphony across the landscape of your skin.

“Not as good as when you touch me. I need your touch, Jimin.” 

In a voice etched with ragged urgency, you plead, the words a raw testament to the overwhelming desire that courses through you, while your lustful eyes blink rapidly, revealing the depth of your need.

He seizes a generous handful of your ass, an electrifying touch that sends shockwaves of pleasure reverberating through your being. In response, you groan, your very essence melting under the mastery of his hands, reduced to pliable putty that he molds with deliberate expertise.

You open your legs invitingly, showing him your glistening pussy, “Won’t you come taste me?”

A teasing flick of his tongue moistens his lips, a gesture loaded with an unspoken promise, as he inches closer to you, his presence a tantalizing magnetism that sends anticipation crackling through the air. 

His form hovers over yours, a suspended moment pregnant with the weight of desire and the thrill of what's to come.

“Since you asked so nicely.” 

In a voice dipped in seductive tones, he murmurs the words, a sultry invitation that hangs in the charged space between you, as he positions himself on his knees. 

The fabric of his shirt yields to his skilled fingers, sliding off his form in a fluid motion that reveals the sculpted contours of his body, each movement a declaration of intent. His bare chest emerges into view, an arresting sight that captures your gaze and holds it captive, a canvas painted with the contours of his sculpted form. 

Your eyes trace the lines of his delicious abs, his ‘Nevermind’ tattoo, a visual feast that leaves you with an insatiable hunger, and your fingers, guided by a magnetic pull, begin to explore his torso with a reverent touch.

He leans in with a calculated grace, his intent clear in the intensity of his gaze, as both of his hands find the curves of your breasts, his palms cupping them with a touch that conveys possession and longing. 

A moan of pleasure escapes your lips, a raw sound that encapsulates the exquisite sensation that courses through you, as his hands remain a source of warmth on your fevered form, a stark contrast that heightens the sensory journey. 

An involuntary surge of sensation propels your body, causing your back to arch with a fervent response, an unspoken invitation for more of his touch, as he begins to roll your nipples. 

He leans his head down, giving a nipple a quick lick before he captures it in his warm mouth. He sucks lightly at first, while he pinches your other nipple.

The melodic cadence of your sounds forms an intoxicating symphony, an improvised composition that resonates in the charged air, while a surge of arousal courses through you, electrifying your senses and heightening the fervor of the moment.

One of Jimin's hands embarks on an exploratory journey down the landscape of your body, a purposeful exploration that leads to your pussy, where his touch transforms into an unyielding grasp, squeezing your clit with a deliberate force that ignites a symphony of pleasure-pain.

You release a crescendo of uninhibited sounds, each one a testament to the exquisite sensitivity that courses through you, a maelstrom of sensations amplified by the presence of your already three orgasms.

His fingers, a skillful symphony of touch, bestow a few tantalizing rubs to your clit, a prelude to the main act that follows. 

With deliberate intent, he slides a finger into the depths of your wet pussy, each movement a rapturous dance that sends shockwaves of pleasure through your every nerve ending.

“So wet,” a chuckle, laced with both amusement and desire, escapes his lips, the room now painted with an intimate soundscape as the squelching echoes through the air. 

His single finger, a masterful conductor of sensations, explores the depths of your being, each thrust a declaration of intent that creates a symphony of pleasure only the two of you share.

He returns to his skilled ministrations sucking on one of your nipples, a sensation that unfurls like a velvet caress, while his other hand continues its purposeful exploration, working to fuck you open with a deliberate determination that merges pleasure with a heady sense of anticipation.

A surge of urgency courses through you, compelling your hips to roll with a fervent rhythm, an instinctive dance that strives to align with his thrust, seeking a nexus where desire and connection intertwine in a symphony of shared pleasure.

He skillfully introduces a second finger into the equation, his touch an intricate dance that navigates the canvas of your pussy with purposeful intent. 

His quest becomes a search for the elusive spot that ignites a cascade of sensations, a treasure trove of pleasure concealed within the intricate pathways of your body.

Your breaths escape in ragged bursts, a symphony of urgency that fills the air, each inhalation a desperate attempt to quench the growing fire within. 

As your chest heaves, you huff for air, the oxygen a lifeline that barely keeps pace with the tumultuous pace of your desires, all while a knot of anticipation tightens in the pit of your stomach, a tangible reminder of the impending climax.

A third finger joins the symphony of sensation, a deliberate intrusion that causes your pussy to clench around him, an involuntary reaction that amplifies the intensity of the moment. 

The palpable tightness he encounters tells him that you're teetering on the precipice of release, a knowledge that fuels his own desire.

With the dexterity born of desire, his free hand embarks on an exploratory journey, seeking out your other breast with a determined touch. 

His fingers dance with a skilled grace, deftly rolling its nipple, each movement a calculated rhythm that weaves an intoxicating tapestry of sensations, a tactile duet that resonates through your being.

“It’s so good, Jimin!” a gasp, unfiltered and primal, escapes your lips, the sound a testament to the exquisite pleasure that courses through you, as you endeavor to arch your back, an instinctual response that seeks to press your body into the electrifying path of his touch.

A low, reverberating hum escapes his lips, a resonant vibration that sends ripples of pleasure through your breast, the intimate connection between his mouth and your body forging a sensory bridge that defies words. 

Meanwhile, his fingers continue their masterful dance, striking your elusive spot with a relentless rhythm that sets your senses ablaze with each deliberate touch.

You feel it coursing through your body like a surge of electric intensity, each nerve ending awakening in a symphony of sensation. 

Your toes curl involuntarily, a physical manifestation of the overwhelming pleasure that radiates from within. 

Your hands seize Jimin's hips with a fervent grip, an anchor in the tempest of ecstasy as you succumb to the cascade of release, a moan escaping your lips like a melody, a reverberating chord that sounds eerily like his name.

You pant, your breath a delirious cadence that echoes the crescendo of sensations that have washed over you. 

Your body basks in the radiant afterglow of a fourth orgasm, a testament to the heights of pleasure scaled throughout the day, each peak and valley etched into your memory like an intricate map of desire.

Jimin's gaze rests upon you, his eyes hooded with a potent blend of desire and satisfaction, a witness to the tableau of your body's unraveling beneath the skilled ministrations of his hands and mouth. 

In this intimate exchange, unspoken understanding flows between you, a language woven from shared pleasure and the unbreakable bond you share. 

The depth of his affection knows no bounds, a love that transcends the ordinary and propels him to the edges of devotion. For you, he's willing to traverse any distance, cross any threshold, and brave any challenge. 

His heart beats in harmony with yours, a melody of adoration that echoes through the moments you share, an unwavering testament to the lengths he'll go to ensure your happiness and well-being.

He rises onto his knees with an irresistible allure, shedding the confines of his pants and boxers in a fluid motion that unveils his already hardened dick. 

The air seems to crackle with anticipation, the atmosphere thickening as his form becomes a portrait of primal need and unabashed vulnerability.

Your tongue darts out, an instinctual gesture that moistens your lips in a silent anticipation that hangs in the charged space between you, a silent agreement forged by desire. 

“Gawd. It’s so beautiful.” 

You say, the words a sultry whisper that hangs in the air like a secret promise, a declaration of intent that sets the stage for what's to come. 

Your hand reaches out, fingers wrapping around his cock with a teasing touch, each stroke a deliberate dance that fuels the fire of desire between you.

Jimin's chuckle, a featherlight sound that dances through the charged atmosphere, becomes an auditory caress that sends shivers down your spine. 

His form hovers over you, a poised predator basking in the thrill of the chase, the air practically crackling with the intensity of his presence.

"What do you crave now, baby?" he murmurs in a voice saturated with a potent blend of desire and longing, a low timbre that wraps around the words like a silken caress, igniting a spark of anticipation in the air.

“I want to be ravished,” your hips engage in a rhythmic dance, a deliberate movement that aligns with the symphony of sensations cascading through you, while the telltale sensation of sweat prickling down your forehead adds a tactile layer to the sensory landscape, a physical manifestation of the fevered desire coursing through your veins.

“I want to cream your dick,” you breathe, the exhalation a fragile bridge between reality and reverie, as the haze of desire blankets your thoughts in a seductive shroud. 

In response, a hiss escapes Jimin's lips, a sound that teeters on the edge of restraint, a symphony of shared yearning that hangs heavy in the charged air.

“I want you to come in my pussy.” You tease, the words a playful invitation that resonates with the promise of shared pleasure, your voice a delicate melody that dances through the charged atmosphere. 

Your hands find purchase on his thighs, fingers squeezing with an artful pressure that ignites a symphony of sensation, a tactile duet that harmonizes with the unspoken desires that course between you.

Jimin's hiss echoes once more, a sound that reverberates like a whispered plea amidst the charged tension, as if his very being is ensnared within a cloud of desire and longing. 

His dick, a pulsating ache that demands attention, throbs with an insistent rhythm, a relentless reminder of the friction and release that his body craves, a symphony of need that courses through his veins.

With a firm resolve that belies the intensity of his desire, he seizes his dick in a purposeful grip, aligning it with your pussy. 

The air seems to hold its breath, a suspended moment pregnant with anticipation, the magnetic pull between your bodies poised to culminate in an explosion of shared ecstasy.

Before he gives in to the tempest of desire that surges between you, a primal force that demands satisfaction, he seizes a pillow with a thoughtfulness that speaks volumes. 

With a gentle nudge, he situates it beneath your head, a gesture that adds a layer of comfort to the impending intimacy, a reminder that amidst the flames of passion, he's attuned to your every need.

Then, in a languid dance that seems to stretch time itself, he eases into you with a deliberate slowness, his cock head parting your folds in a teasing, torturous symphony of sensation. The exquisite friction becomes a dance of pleasure and anticipation, a measured cadence that ignites every nerve ending along the way, as he navigates the delicate balance between fervor and restraint.

His dick glides into you effortlessly, aided by the slickness that envelops him, a liquid promise of pleasure that makes every inch of his entry a journey of shared ecstasy. 

As he becomes one with you, your walls embrace him with a tantalizing grip, a response that reflects the profound connection between your bodies, a fusion of desire and intimacy that transcends mere physicality.

“Ah, you’re still so tight,” 

He releases a breath he didn't even realize he was holding, a sound that escapes in a mixture of relief and surrender, as he reaches the depths of your being, a tangible joining that renders him fully immersed in the euphoria of the moment.

You savor the overwhelming fullness that finally envelops you, a sensation that satiates the craving that has persisted throughout the day. 

It's the culmination of a desire that's been building, being filled to the brim with the thickness of Jimin's dick, a union that ignites a shiver coursing down your spine, electrifying every nerve ending. As the moment unfolds, he initiates a slow retreat, a movement that draws you both through a symphony of sensations, a dance that echoes the intimacy of your connection.

He surges forward once more, a determined movement that drives him to the very hilt, his relentless desire mirrored in each of his swift thrusts. 

With a masterful touch, he discovers your hidden spot in mere moments, a revelation that sends shockwaves of pleasure through you, the intensity of the sensation causing your vision to blur as the world momentarily fades, overtaken by the overwhelming cascade of ecstasy.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he pants, the rhythm of his breath a synchrony with the fervent pace at which he fucks you, his grip on your hips an anchor that thethers you to the reality of the moment. 

His dick plunges into you with an unyielding force, a declaration of possession that melds raw passion with an unspoken promise of unity. 

He artfully guides one of your legs up, positioning it against his torso in a deliberate display of intimacy, your foot finding purchase against his neck in a sensual image. 

With this angle, he plunges into you with a newfound depth, each thrust a revelation of pleasure that leaves you breathless, the arrangement of your bodies a testament to the choreography of desire that unfolds between you.

“Ah! Jimin!” you release a breathless moan, a symphony of pleasure and vulnerability that dances on the edge of bliss, a melody woven from the rawest depths of your desire.

“I’m so fucking close,” you pant with each measured breath, caught in the intoxicating rhythm of his thrusts, a symphony of desire that leaves you gasping for air between each electrifying connection.

One of his hands embarks on a deliberate exploration, seeking out your swollen clit with an intent that radiates through his touch. The glide of his thumb becomes a source of intoxicating sensation, igniting a cascade of pleasure that courses through your body.

“Ah!” a breathless cry escapes your lips, the sound a mixture of surprise and ecstasy as the sensations wash over you, while your body responds with an instinctual arch, a graceful curve that seeks to amplify the pleasure within the constraints of the position. 

“Fuck!” the word bursts forth, nearly a scream but instead a fervent exclamation, a testament to the overwhelming pleasure that courses through you. 

Simultaneously, Jimin's fingers continue their skilled dance, maintaining a tantalizing rhythm on your clit, while his dick delivers deep and forceful thrusts that threaten to unravel your senses entirely. 

With a primal scream that carries his name on its wings, your release squirts forth in a torrent, an explosion of sensation that engulfs his dick and fingers. 

The world around you dissolves into a white-hot haze, your vision momentarily obliterated by the intensity of the moment, as you pant in a frantic rhythm, each breath a lifeline that stitches you back to the reality of the room. 

The culmination of pleasure leaves you suspended in a euphoric liminality, every nerve ending aflame with the afterglow of ecstasy.

“Fuck!” Jimin's hiss reverberates in the charged air, a testament to the exquisite sensation that courses through him as your walls clamp around him, an embrace so tight that it borders on suffocating intensity. 

As the waves of your orgasm surge through you, a tempest of sensation that engulfs your being, his thrusts mirror the tumultuous rhythm of your release. 

Each movement becomes a study in controlled chaos, his own desire reaching a crescendo as he hurtles towards his own climax. 

“Ah! I’m coming, babe!” he pants with a rhythm that mirrors the frenzy of his desire, each breath a tangible testament to the passion that courses through him. 

With a final, hard thrust, he stills within you, his essence flooding your depths in a torrent of warm cum that paints your walls with an intimate declaration of shared intimacy. 

He surges forward, a final thrust that extends the boundaries of pleasure, his movements a testament to his need to savor every last fragment of the climax he rides out. 

The rhythm becomes a reflection of his own ecstasy, each thrust a stroke of intimacy that weaves a tapestry of shared release between your bodies, a culmination that leaves you both suspended in the aftermath of pleasure.

Despite the sheen of sweat that adorns your skin and the fever that courses through your veins, an urgent need propels you to draw him close, your arms enveloping his form in an embrace that defies the constraints of physical discomfort. 

Your body radiates heat, a testament to the fever's grip, yet the desire to feel his heartbeat against your own is a force that eclipses all else. 

“It’s hardly fair,” you remark with a playful huff, a mixture of exasperation and laughter tingling your words, “that you’re not even breaking a sweat.” 

The words carry a lightness that dances amidst the weight of your fevered state, the exchange a testament to the shared intimacy that allows for such candid moments even in the midst of vulnerability.

“I guess I’ve got better stamina, sweetheart,” he chuckles, the sound a gentle ripple that lingers in the air, even as his dick goes soft within the warmth of your pussy. 

With a tenderness that belies the intensity that has passed between you, he seals the moment with a sweet kiss pressed to your lips, a lingering connection that speaks of the intimacy shared and the unbreakable bond that defines your connection.

A blend of his cum and your own arousal trickles from your heated core, a physical reminder of the fervent exchange that has unfolded between you. 

He withdraws from you completely, a deliberate movement that creates a sudden void, a palpable absence that contrasts with the intensity of moments prior. 

Slumping down beside you, his breaths come in ragged pants, each exhalation a testament to the exertion of shared pleasure. 

The space between your bodies becomes a canvas that captures the echoes of your intimate dance, an image of vulnerability and release that lingers in the air like a whisper.

A sense of emptiness washes over you, an aftermath of the profound connection that has left a void in its wake. Your lips form a subtle pout, a silent plea that rests in the curve of your expression, a wordless request for the closeness and intimacy that you yearn to preserve. 

“Oh, I know that look,” he chuckles softly, the sound a warm caress that mingles with the air, as his hand sweeps through his blond hair. 

The knowing amusement in his eyes speaks of an unspoken understanding between you, a connection forged through countless shared moments, a familiarity that transcends words.

Beside him, you shift restlessly, a subtle squirm that speaks volumes about the growing hunger within you. 

Your thighs press together with a desperate urgency, a physical manifestation of the insatiable desire that has rekindled within your core. 

The air seems to crackle with anticipation, the atmosphere electrified by the magnetic pull between your bodies, a force that threatens to engulf you both once again in the flames of shared longing.

“Just give me an hour or two, then we can go again,” he chuckles softly, the sound a tender reassurance that carries within it a promise of more to come. 

His lips nuzzle against the delicate curve of your neck, a gesture that's both affectionate and possessive, the fervor of his kisses an echo of the passion that simmers between you. The intensity of his touch leaves a mark, a phantom sensation that lingers even after his lips have moved away, a tangible reminder of the connection that binds you together.

→ Author’s note: I get incredibly horny when I have a fever, so this idea popped into my head 😇 My husband calls it “fever horny” 🤣 I’m so sorry, am I the only who’s like this? 🫢

[sashi-ya]

𝑩𝒀𝑨𝑲𝑼𝒀𝑨'𝑺 𝑹𝑬𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑺𝑯𝑰𝑷 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯 𝑺𝑬𝑿 & 𝑩𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑭 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑺 𝚂𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝙰𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜. [part 1]

some ideas I have written regarding Byaku and how I actually think of him when I write when it comes to sex. This analysis doesn't cover his kinks, as I believe that should be a separate post! So, if you wanna read about those tell me and I'll post it 💖. There are also two short stories, one of them will be posted veeeery soon 🙊

tw: MDNI. not strictly a smut piece, but it is about sex. there is a brief story about his teenage experience, it is not meant to be a "smut" story either. Do not read it in such way. Thanks.

Not a virgin, but pretty close. Raised with the idea of upholding the law no matter what I believe Byakuya had to be a pretty structured man, therefore I think he married Hisana before touching her. Also, he is a very romantic man (yes, he is. Imagine going against your whole family and ideals for love. Marrying someone that comes from an absolute different world just for love) so I do believe he must have wanted to wait for their first night as a married couple to make love to Hisana. Of course, the first time with your loved one it’s always wonderful and sweet, but also realistically clumsy (Which I find adorable, imagine a clumsy Byakuya blushing). So, unfortunately because of Hisana’s illness, I believe they haven’t had a lot of sex. Therefore, Byakuya is pretty unexperienced to me -at first-.  

𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 .Oral sex; what is this pleasure given by the gods?. -this is not a Hisana slander- Following the same train of thoughts as the first point, to me, Byakuya never experienced oral sex on himself (I do believe he has done it, though. Being the protective man he is, he surely tried giving it before receiving it). So, the very first time your lips surrounds his hardness he could swear tears pool in his eyes… “This is… absolutely… delightful”. His delicate fingers brushing against your hair, still too timid and in pure awe to be pulling from it. Byakuya only wants to caress the person that has kneel in front of him to pleasure him. .At first, he won’t ask for sex, nor he will do anything to start it… until he can’t take it no more. Because he is unexperienced (that doesn’t mean he is not a good lover, for the love of god), he is hesitant to try. Even when his mind would get lost in the deepest forest of insecurity, he will try to repress the need as much as he can (he is always fighting an internal fight to repress his own desires, sex is no different). Normally you could say pissing him off or disobeying him would be the key to make him fall, but I believe he is much more moved by the need to posses such beautiful creature, in a state of weakness and submission towards him. Be clumsy, cough, tell him you are feeling cold, let him protect you… the touch of your delicate skin against his own will spread like a wildfire inside of his soul. .It will take some time, but making love will become a daily activity before bed. Byakuya learns new skills through tough work and dedication; it is not different when it comes to sex. Even if he still tends to repress his needs and desires as a constant, he slowly but surely let go that “savage” side of his inner workings. Exactly as Ukitake and Shunsui mentioned, Byakuya is a very impulsive man deep down. (Back when he was still a teenager he used to have quite a short fuse, he was a brat, and a very naughty kid…) So, once he become confident with his “skills” he will try to improve even more. So, get ready… as a sacred ritual, Byakuya will devour your body night after night.

𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐝 𝟎 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 & 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐲 and 𝐒𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 & 𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐳𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐫𝐚

The Healing ponds of Squad 0… 「this will be posted as a separate story very soon」 Let me tell you a short brief while you wait; those healing waters and food from Squad 0 made him incredibly strong… but also absolutely, desperately horny. Truth is after everything had been said and done, Byakuya couldn’t help but feel the burning sensation of desire creeping through his stronger muscles… guess he was hungry for more than revenge and battle.

Self-pleasure , and the first time he met Senbonzakura. ⚠︎ Please, do not read this point like something sexual but more funny/analytic about his character. We are talking about a minor here ⚠︎

As said prior to this point, Senbonzakura, his zanpakuto spirit, is the manifestation of his inner world: a clumsy, heavily impulsive, bratty, and childish side of Byaku’s soul. So, when did he presented to this sweet Shinigami for the first time? When did Byakuya met the real spirit behind his shiny and beautiful sword? Yes, during one of those nights at the Kuchiki manor after a tough training session while being just a teenager. Way before he could met Hisana, Byakuya didn’t attend the Shinigami Academy, so he used to be a very lonely kid. That’s why our young Yoruichi used to visit him to train -and annoy him-. The young Kuchiki may seemed like he hated her, but truth is the “monster cat” represented fun, a challenge, companion and also a first approach to attraction. Knowing the nature of Yoruichi, we could say she never tried any perverse interaction to him, but there is not much you need to wake a teenager’s hormones anyway…

Yoruichi’s freedom and rebellious spirit in conjunction with her natural beauty, woke in our young Byakuya a bodily desire and the need to satisfy it. Then, drowned, almost choking by that divine dichotomy of what should be done and what shouldn’t, his hand did what any other kid would have done. It feel relieving, it tasted like guilty freedom to succumb to his real inner rebellious side…

“Master!” “Wha- WHAT?” “Master, should we pay a visit to the noble bath house? She is probably there…” “NO. WHY NOW? WHY DURING….” "I know, the image of those two pair of..." "NO STOP SHUT UP"

(let’s not mention how embarrassing it felt for the poor kid… yet Byakuya understood, so perfectly well, the true nature of Senbonzakura that same night)

[an-au-blog]

I wondered if I should post this for the longest time but...

The whole plot of One Piece but they're all in an asylum (with zosan and a bit frobin bc i love them)

(Disclaimer: consider all the CW that could come with a mental institution (e.g. self harm, mental illnesses, death, violence etc.))

Listen, listen I have it all planned out!

They call the wing they're in "East Blue" because it's the most east part of the facility and it's painted in blue. They keep the patients in small groups at first so that they don't act out or feel threatened. They call this group "the straw hats" after they let one of the patients propose it (the patients all agreed on it).

Luffy is taken in because he can't discern the difference between reality and fiction and thinks there's a pirate treasure he needs to find. It started after his second adopted brother's death - his brain refuses to believe it, so it creates an alternative reality in which his death was heroic and grand.

Both Nami and Sanji are taken in for self-harm and suicidal tendencies (they both failed to commit suicide, main difference was Nami did it during a depressive episode, while Sanji had tried multiple times but stopped himself every time until he almost succeed but was found by his boss- Zeff).

Zoro is highly delusional, has violent tendencies and has paranoia - he thinks anyone who looks strong is challenging him to a fight.

Brook has cotard delusion (also known as corpse syndrome), where he thinks that his body is dead/dying or doesn't exist.

Usopp is a pathological liar with severe depression. He admitted himself with the encouragement of his girlfriend, who had tried helping him after his mother's death.

Franky is a volunteer, who the patients absolutely love. He helps with renovations as well, since his day job is in construction.

Robin and Chopper are doctors. Robin started working at the institution because she used to struggle with suicidal thoughts and self worth and wishes to help those like her. Chopper is a man with dwarfism and has a nice short beard, so some of the patients with a rich imagination think he's a raccoon dog or baby rairdeer.

Jinbe is the owner of the establishment. Everyone loves him and he does his best to provide his patients with what they need. His favorite food is fish and he often orders or takes it from home to eat in his lunch break, so the other employees call him a fish man or First Son of the Sea. he thinks it's funny.

In group sessions, they all share their experiences and progress. It starts off with just Luffy telling stories of him fighting bad guys and monsters in the sea. His stories slowly started including the rest of the east wing. First it was Koby who was an intern nurse and then it was Zoro - he's selectively mute but nodded in agreement on a couple of the stories that he told.

Then he started including Nami, to which she objected at first but slowly stopped, it was nice to feel included. Usopp joined in with his own overexaggerated stories. Then it was Sanji, Luffy called him the cook of his crew, which was oddly fitting but still ironic. Yes, he was a cook before coming in but he also had a severe eating disorder. He didn't tell anyone about it. Until one day he told Luffy, Zoro, Usopp, and Nami. Luffy made it into a grand heroic story about him surviving starvation on a big rock. Sanji liked it more than having an eating disorder so he accepted it - even added his own spark to it, saying it was Zeff who helped him. (He knew it wasn't true, but he wanted to pretend that he knew Zeff long enough for him to have become the healthy father figure he was deprived of as a child.)

While on the subject of Sanji - he refused to eat. Most times he wouldn't even sit at the table. In the beginning it was so bad that the nurses had to hold him down and force feed him. Slowly he started obeying. It was mainly because they called in either Zeff or Reiju (though he got scared that she would tell the rest of the family where he was, she didn't). The doctors figured he needed a support system but he didn't trust anyone in a white coat and they couldn't ask other patients. Luffy had a thing for freedom and anyone choosing whether or not they did anything... do he was no help. Although on a couple of occasions they would see Zoro taking Sanji's plate and sitting in the corner with him. He would take two bites and feed Sanji one. He refused at first but Zoro told him that "If you don't eat, I won't either." which was one of the few times anyone had heard him talk. Though they had heard him laugh once with Luffy and he responded a few times when Usopp kept asking him questions.

Eventually, Robin came back from her honeymoon with Franky and started bonding with the patients. She became a part of Luffy's "crew" as well. Not long after Franky was welcomed as well.

When Brook came in, he was so skinny that he looked like a skeleton, so when he told Luffy he was, he believed him immediately. Brook is the only one who is allowed to use the musical instruments since he's the only one who can play. Musical therapy turns out to be quite effective, if not for anything else, for calming the patients.

There were a few "incidents" in the courtyard - first with Arlong a few other guards that got moved to another wing, then with some of the other patients. Luffy seemed aggressive on visitation day as well, not recognizing his parent after he went through top surgery, he just called him Crocodile and made up a story about Nami's visitor - her girlfriend Vivi. He would talk about how if she looked pretty like a princess, she must be one and how she was fighting for her country and he would help her.

One of the bigger fights was when he fought Enel - a patient who thought he was a god and had tried starting a cult.

Every once in a while, he'd start a fight and Zoro (and sometimes Sanji) joined in to help their friend. It happened a couple more times until one of the upper-ranked doctors (Dr Kuma) decided to separate them for a while to see if their attitude changed. It was only a few months but it seemed like they got worse. Luffy and Zoro would get all silent and non-responsive for hours sometimes days. Sanji would lose all the progress he made with his eating disorder and would try to find sharp objects to self-harm again. Nami and Usopp's emotional state would worsen as well, having full-blown panic attacks, Usopp developed paranoia and an eating disorder (but he started handling it little before getting released back with the rest of the east wing).

[zvdvdlvr]

Can I have Actor Aaron Warner x Actress/Singer Yn?!?

— Fry?

🎥 - synopsis. After filming a scene, Aaron suddenly gets a frog in his throat. After getting released from set, you and Aaron head to Burger King late at night. Talk of feelings ensue.

🎥 - warnings. Kissing. Sloppily put together plot. Aaron is a germaphobe. Pining. Friends to lovers. No lip kissing. SORRY FOR NOT POSTING SOONER!!! You walked into the room, clutching Aaron’s arm tightly. With owlish eyes, you took in the casino with a starstruck look. Aaron kept walking forward, keeping you close enough to him that you were enveloped with his scent- cologne, fresh mint toothpaste, the expensive gel in his hair, and like clean clothes.

“Eyes on the prize, darling girl,” Aaron murmured quietly, tucking a stray hair behind your ear before pulling pressing his lips to your forhead. You kept your cool, smiling smally at the handsome man in from of you. You nodded. The prize? Racks of gold and information in the basement.

Aaron sat down in the seat next to a fat Italian man and a muscular German. Without wasting a second, he pulled you into his lap and wrapped his non-dominant hand around your waist as he was dealt into the game.

“Nice to finally see you, sir,” a man greeted politely from across the table. “We’ve been discussing business…” he trailed off, eyes flickering to your face. “And have been awaiting your input… Should we expect your word before the next meeting?”

Aaron leaned back, tucking his cards into your soft hands, pulling your back flush against his chest. “No need to withhold details from my wife, Senator. I promise she wont say a word. In fact,” Aaron’s eyes glinted as he stared down the men at the table, “she can’t speak.”

You watched as eyebrows shot up at the use of the word ‘wife’.

“However, should you decide to take advantage of the fact that my darling girl can’t speak… I can happily promise you that I will tear you all apart: piece by piece, tendon by tendon, dollar by dollar. You will be nothing more than another worthless piece of flesh by the time I am done with you. Understood?”

The crowd nodded hastily, faces red and sweaty.

The game of poker was simply a diversion. When it ended, the amateur robbers you hired under a fake name and different face were to be ratted out. After that, the Japanese man you were playing with would be sent up to the police station to go over security measures for the vault in the basement. From there, everyone would be spoken to by numerous officers. The men, including Aaron, would give their stories, saying that they were just a group of buddies catching up over some poker.

You were to act ill and lightheaded, signing to Aaron how horrible you felt with the rush of excitement. Aaron would explain to the officer how you had a heart condition and produce fake papers from his suit pocket. The officer would nod slowly and excuse you to the bathroom where you would ‘collect yourself’.

The interviews would be fast- there were other civilians to interview as well. Aaron would excuse himself to go check on you.

Instead of going to the bathroom you went to the basement. Earlier in the month, you’d stored a security uniform in the third stall of the woman’s first floor bathroom. Aaron’s was in the vent near the ceiling in the men’s room.

Down you went, playing your role perfectly. Aaron was about three minutes and fourty-six seconds behind you. While he was in the elevator, you had disabled the camera covering the basement and looping a clip of two hours previous so it disn’t record you or Aaron.

Aaron exited the elevator, eyes searching for you in a matching black uniform. He saw you examining the red lazer maze and coughed.

You turned.

Aaron kept coughing and started pounding on his chest. You rushed over to him and pounded on his back.

“Breathe, Warner. You ruined the scene man, we’re totally dead now,” you teased.

The blond man finally stopped coughing and stood up. “Yeah. I’d be a horrible spy,” he mused.

You laughed.

The producers and directors behind the cameras all bustled around behind you, chattering and reviewing the scene.

“Well. Y/n, Aaron. Wonderful as always. Until the end, of course,” one of your produces said, shooting Aaron a smile. “You already know we’re ahead of schedule, so you guys both have the night. Get that frog out of your throat and be ready tomorrow!”

Your assistants ushered you both to the makeup room and got busy removing your makeup.

“Are you hungry, y/n?” Aaron asked, eyeing you.

You groaned. “I’m starving. Do you wanna go get something to eat?”

Aaron chuckled, replying with “I’ll pay.”

You squealed excitedly. “Even better!”

— 🎞️

A little over an hour later Aaron watched you run toward a Burger Kind with open arms in the rain. A small smile painted his lips as he entered and saw you ordering already.

The young cashier looked at you with a tilted head, his eyes narrowed like he recognized you. Aaron came up beside you and waited for you to finish before getting his food. He shoced his credit card into the other man’s hands and felt a small rush of adrenaline shoot through his veins when you wrapped your arms around his stomach and squeezed quickly before taking your drink cup and going to fill it up.

Aaron took his card back and barely made it back to your table before brandishing a bag of antibacterial wipes and bathing his credit card in it. You snickered at his actions.

“Why did you come here if you were gonna get all germaphobic?” You asked, taking a sip of your drink.

“You wanted to come here,” Aaron asked, a finality in his tone.

“But we didn’t have to if you-“

“Y/n have you seriously not noticed that I buy everything you touch when we go shopping? How I follow you and only you around on set and on vacation when you’re around? Have you not noticed how I only smile at you?” Aaron asked, genuinely confused how you didn’t notice.

Your face turned pale and you shrugged. “I didn’t want to convince myself you liked me and then break my own heart whem you find someone you truly do like.”

Aaron scoffed. “There is someone I truly like- love, even.”

You nodded, eyes avoiding Aaron’s.

“And I’m looking at her,” Aaron finished, voice soft.

Aaron’s last name was shouted out before you could open your mouth.

When the blond came back, he set the plastic tray of food down. “Eat. We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to, but you are the only one for me, y/n.”

You nod, picking up a fry and biting a big chunk off. “I’ll need time. You’re- I feel the same, Aaron. I just…” you trail off, happy to see that Aaron Warner is Smiling at you. You really were a fool not to see it before.

“Share a fry with me?” You ask, holding out the steaming salt-covered hunk of potato. Aaron picks it out of your fingers with his teeth and stays quiet, happy to be with you.

[tonight-i-may-see]

"Burn." Preview (Rossi!Unsub!Reader Chapter 1)

preview under the cut (word count: 750)

chapter cws: graphic descriptions of: murder, general physical harm other cws for: disturbing thoughts, grief, parental trauma, mental illness, unreliable narrator, canon divergent plot (in terms of Krystall Richards), reader is Krystall's son, male!reader

(Note: I will post a series cw list once the first chapter is done along with individual ones for each chapter. Also if you think I need to add any cws please feel free to comment and I'll get them added!)

moodboard

It got easier, the more he did it.

Whether it was his strength improving, or muscle memory, he wasn’t sure. But still here he is now, a year into this endeavour. The first time was an accident, he’d told himself, but deep down he knew it wasn’t. Deep down he’d craved for years to get revenge on the man who had ruined him- who had left him with no chance because he wasn’t the one he wanted. He shouldn’t have survived, so he was going to make his life hell in return. 

The grave he’d stood at was small, kept in a garden with other tiny plaques and memorial pebbles- anything that could fit a name and one date on it. 28 years. An older brother that he never met, and yet for all 25 of those 28 years he’d lived through, he’d been reminded that brother was everything he’d never be-

“Richards.” A voice ripped him from his thoughts, a bored and uninterested tone accompanying the tired look on his coworker’s face. He stares blankly, clearly there was a question he hadn’t heard, and was about to hear again. “I asked how your weekend was.” 

A shrug is the only answer she gets. Not that that was anything new, he wasn’t the talkative type, which was precisely why he worked on a tech team. Less people, less interaction, less annoyance. In the time it had taken him to raise and drop his shoulders, the woman across from him had started up her daily rant about her husband and how he refused to pull his weight around the house, how she hated him but not enough to leave him because of the kids. Richards scoffed slightly, earning a pause from the unhappy wife. Fathers were a constant thought in his mind, something he both despised and craved, like picking open the same wound over and over again till it scars so deep you’re changed forever. Not some pigmented reminder of the past, but a deep, ragged fissure that goes almost to bone. Something that can’t be hidden. That’s what his father had done to him, and he wasn’t even there. 

So was it better to lose a father who was useless when he was there? Or never have one and live knowing you aren’t wanted? Does it hurt less to look him in the eye when he chooses to take no responsibility? 

Well, he thought it was better to save those kids the trouble. It was better to watch the panic in their eyes, watch the pain and tears and hear their pleading, suddenly so ready to be a father now it was life or death. They’d thank him one day, he was sure of it, and one day he’d get to see that panic in the eyes of the man who made him this in the first place- who had written so many times of sons scorned by fathers that turned to pain and death to cope, not once thinking of the baby boy he’d abandoned before he even got the chance to live happily. This was his fault. Those men could’ve lived, those kids would have had a chance too, but he was selfish. How unfortunate, truly.

The rest of the work day drags disgustingly slowly until finally he’s in his car, scanning the lot to watch his coworker get into her shitty beat up minivan. The licence plate was scribbled on a note in his pocket, having taken it down this morning, all he’d have to do is send it to one of his…friends…and they’d get him her address with the right payment. Soon enough that worthless piece of shit she’d married would be gone. If she knew his plans, she’d thank him. That’s what he told himself. Every single time.

[katethewriter]

An Hourglass

Pairing: WandaNat x Reader

Summary: After 8 months on a mission, Wanda and Natasha come home to the worst news they could have imagined.

Words: 1k~

Warnings: terminal illness, cancer diagnosis, I may work in a Dr's office but that doesn’t mean I’m good at medical jargon, angst, just angst, no happy ending

A/N: Someone made a comment about me posting the fluff fic yesterday, so I thought I'd post some angst to even the score. 😂 hehehe, I hope you enjoy, may want to grab the tissues

Sitting in the window seat, you stare blankly out at the city. The sun is almost ready to set. The streets below are filling with night lights.

You see none of it however. Your eyes just gaze, as your mind moves faster than you can keep up. A million thoughts race through your mind, but you still think of nothing.

Numb.

That's what you are. It's how you've been for days now.

Numb and waiting for anyone to bring you back out of it.

As Natasha and Wanda enter your shared home, they notice that everything is near exactly the same as when they left. They weren't expecting a complete remodel, but 8 months could warrant a new piece of furniture or new wall decor.

They call out for you and walk further into the home, desperate to wrap their arms around you after so long apart.

Natasha quickly makes her way through the house, continuing her search upstairs.

Wanda was following closely behind, until they passed through the kitchen. She stops short at the kitchen island, where papers are spread about.

The letter head is what stands out the most. Thomas Hospital. Her anxiety picks up as she reads a doctor's name followed by "Oncology".

Dread fills her more as she scans over the papers, only certain words and phrases catch her eye.

"Patient Name: Y/n L/n-Maximoff-Romanoff"

"...Lung Cancer..."

"...Stage Four..." "...Metastatic..."

"...spread to lymph nodes, kidneys, stomach and liver..."

"Treatment: Palliative." "...Prognosis: 3-5 months."

The Sokovian's heart drops to her stomach.

No. This can't be happening. She can't lose anyone else.

She can't lose you.

Wanda grabs the papers and darts upstairs.

When Natasha strolls into the bedroom, she can't but smile at the sight of you.

"Lyubov," she calls to you, but you don't respond. She kneels in front of the window seat, looking up to you.

"Y/n," Natasha says lightly, placing a soft hand on your knee.

Still numb, you turn to her, but it's like you don't see her. Your eyes almost stare through her. Worry growing in the pit of her stomach.

Your wife's eyes shift to the pamphlet dangling from between your fingers. She can only read the title: "Living with a Terminal Illness".

Her hands shake as she gently takes it from you. She skims the front page for a few seconds, before looking back to you with a new fear in her eyes, "detka, what is this?"

For the first time since you woke up this morning, you're brought to the edge of awareness. Your eyes softly focus on Natasha; your expression still lost.

A movement in the doorway draws your attention, and you slowly look up. Wanda stands in the doorway holding a few papers, and you know. You know she knows.

The witch joins the widow in kneeling in front of you. She tries her best to hold back the tears in her eyes as she asks, "is it true, love?"

All you can manage is a nod.

Quickly, Natasha takes the pages from her other wife and reads as fast as she can.

"You could have called us," Wanda strokes your knee, "we would have come, detka."

You look around you, slowly coming back to awareness. "They... they said it was probably n-nothing. They just wanted to double check," you say in a daze, "...I didn't want to worry you over nothing."

Her heart breaks even further. Even going through what must have been a terrifying diagnosing process, you were still thinking of them first.

The widow looks up from the now tear stained pages, "when did you-?" She stops short, unable to finish the sentence.

"L-last week."

Guilt grip both of them. They've been away on a mission, and you've been left to go through this alone. You shouldn't have been alone.

They should have been here.

That's something they will have to wrestle with for the rest of their lives.

"We're here now," Wanda reassures, reaching up to stroke your cheek. "We're not going out again. You don't have to go through this alone anymore."

Natasha sniffles, setting the papers aside, "We'll be with you the whole time... and we don't even know what this means."

You look to her sadly.

"We don't," she raises her shoulders, "we'll take you to see Cho. She's the best doctor in the world. She can help us." She takes your face into her hands, "we could still have so much time together, so many years. Ok?" She smiles reassuringly, until you nod.

Your numbness finally falls away, and you're left with the overwhelming fear of the situation. Fat tears begin to roll down your face with no sign of stopping.

Your wives sit on either side of you and wrap their arms around you. They stay until you have cried out all of your fear. They let you take all the time you need.

Four months later, when the once happy home feels cold and empty, Natasha and Wanda will kick themselves for spending so much time away. Time they can never get back.

8 months they should have spent with you.

When it gets quiet, they mourn…

You and all of that time they let slip through their fingers like sand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: part 2?

Edit: it’d be more like a part 1.5, those last 4 months.