#its too... idk if stiff is the right word but like

[ja3yun]

Stretch it Out | P.SH

instructor!sunghoon x ballerina!reader warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, cream pie, fingering, mirror sex, pet names (sweatheart, good girl), bad ballet references bc idk what i'm talking about, slight mention of self doubt, not proof read, anything else lmk! wc: 7.4k REQ: ballet intructor!sunghoon helping ballerina!reader stretch and you know where the rest leads to 😼 a/n: hi! i took this request and shuffled it around to make it this! hope this is okay anonnie and i am also so sorry for the late posting of it! i've been working on so much lately and with my little break i didn't do much writing. as always, comments, reblogs, and likes are all welcome!

Applause echoes through the spacious studio as one of your fellow dancers finishes receiving her critique from Mrs. Yang. Her routine was strong, though it seems she needs to work on her turnout - something you hadn't noticed. Perhaps it’s because your nerves are clouding your perception; after all, it will be your turn once she's finished.

The Annual Exhibition is less than two months away, and this will be your first time presenting your completed routine for approval in front of an audience - especially Mrs. Yang, who is more than just an instructor to you; she’s your role model, the person you’ve looked up to throughout your entire ballet journey.

Throughout your high school years, you dedicated your evenings and weekends to ballet school, working tirelessly just for the chance to apply to the National University of Arts and audition in front of Mrs. Yang. For months leading up to this moment, you poured everything into perfecting your pliés and pirouettes. Blisters marred your feet, and exhaustion settled deep in your bones, but none of that mattered. All that mattered was proving yourself worthy.

“Y/N, you’re up,” Mrs. Yang’s voice echoes through the studio like a haunting ghost. 

Following her words, you get up and shake off any nerves you have, all too aware of the impact performing badly will have; she could cut you from the exhibition or tell you to scrap the routine entirely, and both of those are not an option for you.

Now, as you step forward to take your place at the centre of the studio, the weight of the moment presses down on you. Every muscle is tense with anticipation, and your heart races as you prepare to dance.

The music begins, and you launch into your routine. At first, the nerves are overwhelming - each movement feels too stiff, too calculated. But as you glide into an arabesque and sweep through a series of pirouettes, something shifts. The familiar rhythm of the dance takes over, and your body begins to move almost on its own, flowing through each step with a grace you didn't know you possessed.

You’re hyper-aware of Mrs. Yang’s presence, of her eyes following your every move, but instead of faltering, you find yourself sinking deeper into the performance. Each développé stretches to its fullest extent, each sauté feels lighter than air. Your breathing steadies and the tension in your muscles transforms into power and control.

As you close the final sequence with a grand jeté, landing with a precise yet delicate touch, you can feel the room holding its breath. You finish in a graceful reverence, chest heaving but mind calm. In this moment, all the hours of hard work, the pain, and the sacrifices feel worth it. You've given everything you have.

But as you glance at Mrs. Yang, it doesn’t look like she’s as satisfied with your performance as you are. Her face is stoic, unreadable, but you’ve been in her class long enough to decipher even the subtlest of her expressions. The slight raise of her right eyebrow sends a wave of dread crashing through you. That’s never a good sign. Her eyes cling to you with the intensity of an unwanted gaze, leaving an uncomfortable knot twisting in your stomach.

She remains quiet for a few minutes, the silence stretching unbearably as though she’s gathering her words. When she finally speaks, her tone is clipped, measured. “It’s good, modern, and meets the criteria.”

You brace yourself, knowing that a ‘but’ is coming.

“But,” she continues, and you wince slightly, “you are not sharp enough. I mean seriously, Y/N, how many times do I need to pull you up for this? Do you not want to improve?”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You don’t want to disappoint her. You gave everything you had in that performance, even though it was just a run-through. But it’s clear that it wasn’t enough.

You bow your head, fighting to keep your voice steady. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Yang’s irritation sharpens. “Then for the love of God, can you listen to me this time?” She stands up, her movements precise and deliberate as she walks over to you. Her voice is firm, tinged with exasperation. “This exhibition is crucial to your future career. It’s what sets you apart from the others, and yet you seem to lack such basic skills. Even the first years are forming lines better than you.”

Her words slice through you, each one a reminder of the standards you’ve failed to meet. The sting of her tone is almost unbearable, but you know deep down that it comes from a place of faith. She nitpicks because she sees potential in you, potential she wants to help you realise. Each six-month review she’s had with you, she’s made it clear that she believes you can make it far in this world.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Yang,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“Apologise to yourself, not to me.”

A chorus of snickers drifts from the edge of the room. You glance over to see a group of girls, giggling and holding in laughter, their eyes full of condescension. The sound pierces through your already fragile self-belief, making you shrink into yourself, every snicker chipping away at whatever confidence you had left. Doubt begins to creep in, gnawing at the edges of your resolve. You start questioning whether you’re truly cut out for this, whether all the sacrifices you’ve made have been for nothing.

Before you can spiral too deeply into your own thoughts, Mrs. Yang’s fingers press firmly against your cheek, gently but insistently turning your face to meet hers. “You can’t do this on your own, so I’m assigning you a coach.”

“But you are my coach,” you reply, your voice tinged with confusion.

“Yes, but I don’t have time to give you hours of one-on-one training,” she says, rolling her eyes as if that statement should be obvious. She strides back to her seat, preparing to evaluate the next girl in line. “I have someone in mind. They’re very fluid and pointed in their gestures. They should whip you into shape. I’ll book you an out-of-hours studio for the foreseeable.”

The words hit you like a ton of bricks. You stand there, rooted to the spot, unable to fully process what she’s just said. Sure, she’ll still be your instructor during scheduled lessons, but this means that on top of your gruelling 12-hour days, your endless rehearsals, and the constant pressure to perfect every move, you’ll now have to spend extra time with a new coach.

It’s overwhelming. The thought of adding yet another layer of intensity to your already packed schedule makes your head spin. Your body, already pushed to its limits, protests at the idea of even more hours in the studio. Your heart sinks as the reality of the situation sets in. How will you manage it all? How will you balance the expectations of not one but two demanding mentors?

You want to succeed, to rise to the challenge, but a part of you is terrified that you’ll crumble under the weight of it all. The path ahead, already steep and treacherous, has just become even more daunting.

As Mrs. Yang calls out the name of the next dancer, you force yourself to step aside, the familiar sting of exhaustion settling into your bones. 

You can only hope that this new coach makes it worth your while.

_____

The long day of classes has left you drained, every muscle aching with the residue of endless rehearsals and critiques. The last thing you want to do is spend more time in the studio, yet here you are, trudging down the empty hallways of the performance centre with your gym bag slung over your shoulder. The familiar scent of rosin and sweat lingers in the air, and you can't help but feel a pang of dread at the thought of more practice. Your mind buzzes with the memory of Mrs. Yang’s words earlier this week, her disappointment, and the pressure of living up to expectations weighing heavily on your shoulders.

As you push open the door to the studio, your eyes fall on an unfamiliar figure - a boy standing with his back to you. He’s tall, strikingly so, with broad shoulders that taper down into a lean, athletic frame. His dark hair is tousled, falling just above the nape of his neck, and he’s dressed in loose joggers and a fitted white tank top that highlights the sinewy lines of his muscles.

You hesitate in the doorway, momentarily taken aback by his presence. The studio had been booked for you, and the last thing you want is a confrontation with a stranger. You clear your throat softly, hoping to catch his attention. “Um, hello?” you say timidly, your voice barely above a whisper. You hope that a gentle approach will encourage him to leave without any fuss.

The boy whips around at the sound of your voice, and your breath catches in your throat. His face is nothing short of breathtaking; sharp, elegant features softened by a small, almost shy smile. His eyes, a deep, captivating brown, seem to sparkle with quiet intensity as he takes in your appearance. For a moment, you’re struck by how impossibly beautiful he is, like a sculptor’s masterpiece brought to life. He seems too perfect, too unreal, and you feel a strange flutter in your chest as you meet his gaze.

“Hi,” he says, his voice smooth and warm, like a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. He’s still studying you, and you can’t help but take the opportunity to do the same, noting every detail of his flawless face - the way his lips curve slightly upwards, the sharpness of his jawline, the softness of his eyes.

You blink, trying to regain your composure. “I don’t mean to be rude,” you start, hoping to keep your tone polite, “but my teacher booked me this room for a few hours.”

He raises an eyebrow, his small smile never fading. “Four hours to be exact, yeah. She also booked you…me.” The confusion must be evident on your face because he adds, “I’m your coach, Sunghoon.”

“You?” The word slips out before you can stop it, and you instantly regret how incredulous you sound. The last thing you want is to offend him, but the shock of the situation has thrown you off balance.

“Yeah, me. Why?” His tone is still light, but there’s a hint of defensiveness in his voice, and that sends you into a mild panic. You quickly shake your head, trying to salvage the situation.

“No, no, I’m not trying to say anything negative,” you stammer, holding up your hands as if to ward off any misunderstanding. “It’s just… I’ve never seen you around the performance centre, let alone the ballet corridor.”

He nods, seeming to understand your confusion. “That’s because you’ll find me in the sports centre.”

You take a moment to size him up, your mind racing as you try to figure out what sport he could possibly play. He’s too lean to be a rugby player, his legs too slender to be a footballer, but he’s tall enough to be a basketball player. You consider the possibility of him being a rower or maybe a gymnast, but nothing quite fits. He’s a mystery, one that piques your curiosity.

As if reading your thoughts, he interrupts your internal questioning. “I’m a figure skater.”

The revelation surprises you, and you can’t help but blurt out, “Oh.” You pause, trying to piece together why a figure skater would be chosen to coach you in ballet. Placing your bag to the side of the room, you turn to him again. “So why are you coaching me?”

“Why can’t I?” he counters, his tone holding a subtle challenge that makes you feel slightly defensive. “Mrs. Yang said you’re having trouble looking elegant and punctuated in your movements. Skaters have the same problem.”

You nod slowly, but a part of you is still sceptical. “But you guys have ice and skates. I have a wooden floor and ballet pumps.”

A laugh escapes his lips before he quickly covers his mouth, a look of apology flashing across his face. “Sorry, it’s just…what does that have to do with anything?”

You frown, still not entirely convinced. “You guys have blades to move you. I have to coordinate my legs to move me. You guys can think about fluidity and movement.”

He crosses his arms, his expression becoming more serious as he regards you with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. “Do you know how ridiculous you sound? We have to balance on a tiny blade and have every chance to slip or crash from a jump.”

His words hang in the air, and you suddenly feel a bit foolish for your assumptions. Of course, figure skating requires immense skill and precision - maybe even more so than ballet, given the added challenge of balancing on ice. 

“Okay, fair point,” you admit, feeling a bit sheepish. You also hate it when people underestimate the skill and energy it takes to perform ballet, and yet here you are doing it to him about his own sport. 

He steps closer, his eyes never leaving yours, and you find yourself holding your breath under his gaze. “I know you were expecting some ballet genius to help you but our arts are similar. It’s about control, balance, and grace,” he explains. “On the ice, every movement needs to be both powerful and delicate. The same applies to ballet. You need to find that balance between strength and elegance. That’s where I come in.”

You nod slowly, beginning to understand his perspective. The way he speaks, the passion in his voice, makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, this might actually work. “And you think you can teach me that?”

“I know I can,” he says confidently, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “If you’re willing to put in the effort, that is.”

There’s a challenge in his words, one that you can’t resist rising to. You’ve always prided yourself on your work ethic, and you’re not about to let anyone doubt your dedication.

“I am,” you reply firmly, meeting his gaze with determination.

Sunghoon starts the session by having you go through your routine. His eyes are sharp, missing nothing as he watches you move across the floor. You’re acutely aware of his presence, the way his gaze seems to weigh on your every step, every turn, every jump. It’s unnerving at first, but you push through the discomfort, focusing on executing each movement with precision.

When you finish, he steps forward, nodding thoughtfully. “You’re good,” he says, and the praise sends a warm flush of satisfaction through you and a blush to your cheeks. “But you’re too tense. You’re overthinking every move, and it shows. Ballet is as much about feeling as it is about technique. You need to let go a little.”

You frown slightly, not entirely sure how to do that. “Let go?”

“Yeah,” he says, moving to stand beside you. “Your muscles are too tight, your movements too calculated. It’s like you’re afraid of making a mistake, so you’re holding back.”

You look down at the floor, his words hitting a little too close to home. You’ve always been afraid of making mistakes, always felt the pressure to be perfect. It’s something that’s been drilled into you since you first started dancing, and it’s hard to shake.

He must sense your hesitation because he steps closer, his voice softening. “Hey,” he says gently, and you look up to find his eyes full of understanding. “I get it. But if you keep holding back, you’re never going to reach your full potential.”

There’s something in his voice that makes you want to trust him, something that makes you feel like maybe he understands you in a way that others don’t. You nod slowly, taking a deep breath as you try to let go of the tension in your body.

“Good,” he says, a small smile playing on his lips. “Now, let’s try something different.”

_____

For two hours straight, you push your body to its limits, executing each movement with precision and determination. Sunghoon’s voice fills the studio, giving you sharp, pointed instructions that you follow without question. But as the minutes tick by, the atmosphere begins to shift. The calm, encouraging demeanour he started with fades, replaced with a growing tension that seems to coil around the two of you, tightening with each correction he makes.

“Extend more,” he snaps as you move through a series of arabesques. His tone is snappier now, the softness from before replaced with something harsher. “You’re still too stiff.”

You grit your teeth, focusing on stretching every muscle to its fullest, making sure each line is as precise as possible. But no matter how much you try, his dissatisfaction only seems to grow.

“Again,” he commands, his voice laced with frustration. You try to push your discontent down, channelling it into your movements, but the more you try, the more his critiques seem to cut through you.

“You’re losing focus. How are you going to perform on stage if you can’t even manage this in practice?”

The sting of his criticism hits you deep, and you can feel your confidence waver. Are you really that bad? You’re hitting the moves correctly, focusing intently on your lines - the very aspect of the performance Mrs. Yang had criticised you for. You’re doing everything he’s asking, so why is he still so frustrated? Shouldn’t he be pleased that his coaching is starting to take effect?

You execute a pirouette, landing with precision, but the instant your foot touches the ground, Sunghoon’s voice cuts through the air. “No,” he says sharply, shaking his head. “You’re not following through. Where’s the energy? The intention?”

“I’m trying!” The words slip out before you can stop them, frustration bubbling over. Your chest heaves with exertion, and you meet his eyes, desperate for some sign that he understands how hard you’re working, how much you’re giving.

But his expression remains hard, unreadable, and that only fuels the growing tension between you. “Trying isn’t enough,” he snaps back, stepping closer, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You need to do more than just hit the moves. You have to feel them. Right now, you’re just going through the motions. There’s no passion, no fire.”

His words cut deep, and you feel a flare of anger mixed with hurt. “I’m doing exactly what you asked,” you retort, unable to keep the edge out of your voice. “I’m focusing on the lines, on the form. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yes,” he says, his frustration palpable, “but you’re missing the point. It’s not just about form; it’s about bringing the movements to life. Right now, you’re nothing more than a marionette, moving because you’re being told to, not because you’re actually feeling the dance.”

The comparison stings and you can feel yourself reaching boiling point. You’ve been working so hard, pushing yourself beyond what you thought you were capable of, and yet here you are, being told that it’s still not enough. A part of you wants to shout at him, to tell him that he doesn’t understand how hard this is, how much pressure you’re under. But instead, you swallow the words, letting the irritation simmer beneath the surface.

Sunghoon’s gaze softens, just a fraction, but it’s enough to make you feel the weight of his expectations even more acutely. “I know you can do better. Mrs. Yang told me you’re one of her best students,” he says, his voice gentler now with the content, though no less intense. “That’s why I’m pushing you. I need you to push yourself. You’ve got so much potential, but something’s holding you back. What is it?”

His question hangs in the air, heavy and probing. For a moment, you’re at a loss for words. Why are you holding back? Is it the fear of failing? Fear that you’ll never be good enough? Or maybe, deep down, you just don’t believe in yourself.

The silence between you stretches, thick with hostility. Sunghoon steps closer, his presence almost overwhelming, the heat radiating off him nearly suffocating. You can feel the intensity of his gaze, a challenge flickering in his eyes, daring you to shatter whatever invisible barrier is restraining you.

He’s so close now that you can see the tight set of his jaw, the way his eyes blaze with a fire that sends a shiver down your spine. The frustration is palpable, a tangible force crackling in the air, making it feel electric, charged with something both exhilarating and frightening.

With a firm but gentle touch, Sunghoon places his hands on your shoulders, turning you to face the mirror. He steps in behind you, closing the space between your bodies. “Look at yourself,” he says, his voice low and resonant. “See how tense you are?” His large hands slide down from your shoulders, tracing the line of your body. “Every muscle is knotted up. You can’t perform at your best unless you loosen up. Stop overthinking. Just…let go.”

Your eyes meet his in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, and in that instant, the world seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you, close enough to feel each other’s breath. Then, almost instinctively, his fingers press into your sides, firm and commanding, gliding up your waist and torso with deliberate slowness. The sensation sends a wave of heat through your body, and your breath catches as he lifts your arms, stretching your upper half with a fluid motion that leaves you feeling vulnerable and exposed.

“Feel this,” he murmurs, his breath warm against the nape of your neck, sending another quake over your body. He holds your wrists above your head with one hand, the other pressing into your lower back, making you hyper-aware of the heat emanating from him. “See how good that feels?”

Using his knuckles, he circles the bottom of your spine, dissolving any knots and doubts from it. You resist the urge to moan but your eyes roll to the back of your head as you push your hips into him, aching for more of his magical touch. Out of all the massages you have ever had, this tiny glimmer of one beats them all.

His breath spreads over your skin, and his fingers tighten slightly around your wrists as he holds you in place. Once you bring your eyes forward, he locks in with yours in the mirror. His piercing stare is intense and your heart quickens, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. 

“You like that?” Sunghoon asks, the smirk plastered on his face as he feels you grinding onto his growing boner. He can see you wanting to let go in the reflection of your eyes as well as the neediness in your breaths, giving him all the consent he needs to take this further.

As he releases your wrists, his hand trails down your shoulders and back to meet the other. The heat of his touch seeps through the fabric of your top, firm yet tender. His fingers glide along your spine, coaxing your body to arch into the movement, a soft sigh escaping your lips. His touch is skilled, knowing exactly where to press and where to ease, melting away the tension in your muscles, leaving you pliant under his hands.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he whispers, the edge in his voice betraying his awareness of the effect he’s having on you. The connection is almost too intense to bear. But you can’t look away, drawn to the magnetic pull between you. He slides his hands over your sides and across your lower abdomen, fingers digging slightly into your muscles, the pressure both soothing and intoxicating as he massages your belly and hips.

You instinctively begin to lower your arms, the proximity making it difficult to concentrate on anything else. But his grip tightens around your waist in warning. “No, keep your arms up, sweetheart,” he says, his tone demanding, the instructor in him resurfacing.

Resting his hand flatly on your stomach, his fingers spread as he pulls you flush against him, your back meeting the solid expanse of his chest. The contact makes you acutely aware of every point where your bodies touch, your heart hammering in your chest as your breath catches. His hands linger at the waistband of your leggings, before slowly, his hands dip down, fingers brushing against your skin, exploring with deliberate, teasing slowness. The sensation sends a jolt of electricity through you, your skin tingling under his touch.

His hands move lower, the anticipation building with every inch he covers. You can feel your muscles trembling, your arms still stretched above your head as he asked, but the effort to maintain the position becomes increasingly difficult with every passing second.

His fingers find your folds, slipping between them with an agonising slowness that leaves you gasping. The sensation is overwhelming, your body instinctively moving with his fingers, but he’s quick to remind you of his control. “Keep your arms up, be a good girl and listen,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a quiet authority that leaves no room for disobedience.

The smirk on his face is unmistakable as he watches you struggle to comply, the tension between following his instructions and giving in to the intoxicating pull of his touch almost unbearable. His fingers continue their slow exploration, teasing and tormenting you with a skill that leaves you trembling, your resolve weakening with every passing moment.

Impulse begs you to let your arms fall, to collapse into his embrace, but his gaze holds you in place, that smirk still playing on his lips as he watches you battle with your own desires. The contrast between his command and the sheer pleasure he’s coaxing from your body is dizzying, leaving you on the edge of surrender.

Yet, despite the intense need coursing through you, you force yourself to keep your arms raised, stretching above your head, the effort only adding to the thrill coursing through your veins. His fingers move with deliberate intent now, pressing deeper, his touch sending waves of pleasure through your body that make it almost impossible to think, to breathe.

Sunghoon’s fingers expertly play with your pussy, two of them circling your sensitive nub with a maddening precision that leaves you dizzy. “Do you feel how exhausted your arms are?” he asks, his voice tinged with a hint of smugness, as though expecting an answer despite your obvious distraction.

Nodding, you squeeze your eyes shut so tightly that white spots dance behind your lids, a kaleidoscope of fleeting lights against the darkness. The burn in your arms is a sharp contrast to the way your hips instinctively move, undulating in perfect sync with his skilled fingers. It's a delicious torment—the strain in your muscles somehow amplifies the pleasure coiling low in your belly, turning every sensation sharper, more intense.

Suddenly, his lips are on your neck, a gentle press of heat that sends a shiver cascading down your spine, threatening to unravel you completely. The warmth of his mouth on your skin is your undoing, and before you can stop yourself, your arms give way. You collapse forward, hands scrambling to find purchase, seeking him instinctively as if he's the only thing keeping you grounded. Your fingers dig into his arms, nails biting into his skin as you cling to him, desperate for stability in the storm he's unleashed within you.

"See how loose you feel?" His voice is a murmur against your neck, each word a hot, teasing caress. "How your body wants to move on its own, to give in? That’s how your performance should be."

As if to punctuate his point, his fingers slide inside you, the sudden, intimate invasion tearing a sharp gasp from your lips. Your hips buck against his hand, craving more, driven by the need he’s ignited in you. His other arm tightens around your waist, holding you close, anchoring you to him as his fingers continue their relentless rhythm, each stroke designed to push you further, closer to the edge.

The atmosphere around you thickens, every breath heavy with the electric tension between you. The heat radiating from his body seeps into yours, an overwhelming presence that consumes you, making it impossible to think of anything but the here and now. The scent of him - musky, intoxicating - fills your senses, making you feel lightheaded, dizzy with desire. You can feel the hardness of his arousal pressing insistently against your lower back, a solid reminder of his own need, adding fuel to the fire already burning within you.

His pace quickens, fingers plunging deeper, more urgently, more demanding. "Even your pussy is so tight," he murmurs, his tone more observation than criticism. "Do I need to open this up too?"

Your laboured breathing is your only response, mingling with the slick, rhythmic sounds of his hand moving inside you. The coil of pleasure in your core tightens with every thrust, winding tighter and tighter, the pressure building until you feel like you might shatter from the intensity of it.

Your hands clutch at his arm, desperate, seeking something solid to hold onto as your legs threaten to buckle beneath you. His fingers curl inside you, finding that perfect spot that sends your vision spinning, a raw, needy moan escaping your lips. The feeling of his hard length pressing against you, coupled with the masterful way his fingers work you, has your entire body humming with sensation, alive with the need to surrender to the pleasure he’s offering.

Sunghoon’s mouth returns to your neck, lips brushing over your sensitive skin, his teeth grazing lightly as he sucks, sending another jolt of arousal through you. "That’s it," he murmurs against your skin, his voice a low, rough command that vibrates through you. "Let go. Feel it. This is how you should be."

His words wrap around you like a spell, breaking down the last of your restraint. Your body moves with his, falling into the rhythm he’s set, lost in the heat and desire pulsing between you. Every stroke, every touch, draws you deeper into the abyss of pleasure, until all you can do is let go and let him guide you.

“Fuck, Sunghoon,” you manage to mewl, your voice trembling, breathless, as you throw your head back, letting it rest against his chest.

A low, rumbling chuckle escapes him, the sound reverberating through you, adding to the fire already blazing in your veins. His lips trail up to your ear, his tongue flicking against your earlobe, a playful, teasing nip that sends another shiver racing down your spine. “That’s it,” he whispers, his voice thick with a mix of amusement and desire. His fingers curl inside you again, hitting that spot that makes your entire body jerk in his hold, another gasp torn from your throat. “You like this, don’t you? You’re such a perfect student, so eager to please.”

All you can do is nod, biting down on your lip to stifle the moans threatening to spill over. He hums appreciatively, his hot breath brushing against your ear, the sensation sending another ripple of pleasure through you. “Good,” he purrs, his voice low and commanding, like the instructor he is. “You’re a quick learner when you want to be. You respond so well to guidance.”

Without warning, his hand shifts, thumb finding your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your hips jerk involuntarily. Your vision blurs, stars dancing before your eyes as the pleasure crashes over you in waves, each one pulling you deeper into the sensation. His fingers move with expert precision, relentless in their pursuit of your release, pushing you closer and closer to the brink.

In the mirror before you, Sunghoon’s eyes lock onto you, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he relishes in watching the pleasure contort your face. "You’re moving perfectly, not overthinking, just feeling how you should," he murmurs, almost to himself, pride evident in his voice. 

Just as you feel yourself teetering on the brink, he slows his movements, dragging out your pleasure, keeping you suspended on the edge. You whimper with need, the desperation in your voice only making him grin wider. His lips brush against your ear, his voice a dark, seductive whisper that sends your brain into orbit. "You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you? Be a good dancer and let go, show me how well you can perform."

It’s not a question; it’s a command. And with one final, skilled stroke, he pushes you over the edge, sending you spiralling into a climax that tears through you, leaving every atom in your body shaking with intensity and your muscles instantly tensing, just to relax once again.

As the tremors subside, you feel his hands shift, fingers hooking into the waistband of your leggings. “We’re just getting started,” he murmurs, a hint of something dark and promising in his voice. Slowly, he pulls them down, the fabric dragging against your skin, heightening your sensitivity. “You’re still tight,” he observes, voice low, almost thoughtful. “We need to work on that.”

He positions himself behind you, the heat of his body a stark contrast to the cool air against your bare skin. Pushing his joggers and boxers down to his thighs, he lets his hard cock spring free, your body shielding it from the mirror in front of you, but as he drags it along your folds, you get a sense of the thick, long shaft he is about to impale you with.

His hand moves to your hips, guiding you, adjusting your stance, and your hands find home on the mirror in front of you, fingers splaying across the cool glass. “Arch your back,” he instructs, voice firm yet gentle, as if this were just another rehearsal. “Relax into it…let me in.”

With a measured, almost calculated precision, he enters you, the sensation of him filling you completely making you gasp. In the mirror, your reflection catches your eye, your mouth falling open as you watch him disappear inside you. “Oh god,” you moan, the image of your bodies coming together, the way he stretches you, only intensifying the sensation. “Sunghoon…”

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet, wrapping around you, pulling you deeper into the moment. “Look at yourself,” he commands softly, his breath hot against your ear. “See how your body opens up when you let go? When you stop fighting and just let the movement happen? That’s how you get perfect lines.”

His pace is slow at first, methodical, every thrust a deliberate stroke meant to coax your body into submission. Your eyes lock onto your reflection, the sight of his hips moving against yours, the way your skin flushes with arousal, captivating. “Fuck, your pussy is sensational,” he breathes, a hint of strain in his voice as he pulls back slightly, only to push deeper. “Almost as good as your allegro.”

You let out a broken moan, your gaze flicking between his intense expression in the mirror and the way his muscles are contracting in his arms as he firms his grip on your waist, focusing on pounding into you with fervour. “Sunghoon… more… please…”

Each movement of his hips is like a masterclass, each squeeze from his hands and twitch of his cock only making your body ache for more. “Don’t hold back,” he whispers, his grip on your hips tightening, pulling you closer. “Let your body respond to mine.”

Your eyes widen as he leans forward slightly, the angle allowing you to see more of him in the mirror, his jaw tightening with every thrust. “Feels so good,” you manage to gasp out, your voice breathy, desperate as you push back against him, trying to take him deeper. “Please, don’t stop…”

The mirror reflects the sheen of sweat forming on your skin, the way your body arches into his touch, how every line of your form matches the rhythm he’s set. Your body moves with his, every thrust pushing you closer to that edge again, every word sinking deeper into your mind. His hand slides down your stomach, fingers finding your clit once more, adding that extra layer of stimulation that has your legs shaking. “That’s it,” he coaxes, voice rich with approval. “Give in to it. Let your body move the way it wants to…the way it needs to.”

“Sunghoon… oh, god… I’m gonna-” Your words cut off in a whimper as his pace quickens, the pace he sets becoming more intense, more demanding, each thrust designed to unravel you, to push you past your limits.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs into your neck, his gaze flickering up to meet yours in the mirror, watching how your breath fogs up the glass in front of you and your fingers claw down the flat surface in an attempt to grip onto something tangible. The sight of you coming undone in the reflection only seems to spur him on, his hips snapping against yours with renewed vigour.

“Sunghoon, I-” you try to speak, but the words dissolve into a moan as he thrusts deeper, hitting a spot that makes your vision blur and stars dance before your eyes, the bell of his cock kissing the sensitive spot inside your walls.

“Show me,” he commands, his voice like a conductor’s baton, directing the crescendo. “Show me how beautifully you can fall apart.” 

Sunghoon’s arm wraps securely around your waist, pulling your trembling body back against his chest. The new angle allows him to thrust even deeper, the motion sending shockwaves of pleasure through you, each stroke of his cock searing itself into your memory. You feel completely filled by him, the sensation overwhelming as your reflection quakes, your body obeying every demand he silently makes. Your muscles clench around him, and as your head falls back against his shoulder, you cry out his name.

The mirror captures every detail - the flush of your skin, the arch of your back, the way your mouth opens in a silent scream as another intense climax rips through you. This one is even more powerful than the last, leaving you utterly undone, your body shaking in his arms as he holds you steady.

As the waves of pleasure begin to ebb, your eyes lock onto the mirror once more. You see yourself as Sunghoon sees you raw, vulnerable, but also strong, capable of surrendering and finding beauty in letting go. For a moment, all you can see is the perfect dancer he’s crafted, the one who’s learned to trust the rhythm and fall apart beautifully.

Chasing his own release, he begins to buck his hips in a fast, sharp manner, aware that two orgasms on your end could make you extra sensitive. Your pussy milks his cock as he cums deep inside of you, his nails scratching your hips and down your ass, as he moans out your name, chanting it like a hymn during confession. 

His chest heaves against your back and he kisses anywhere he can on your neck and shoulders to ground himself in the present, bringing himself down from his high.

As he slowly slides out of you, his arms never leave your body, keeping you close. He gently lowers you to the ground, sitting you down and holding you against him. Your body feels like jelly, completely spent, but his embrace is comforting. He presses soft kisses to the back of your head, his breath warm against your damp skin.

"You did so well, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice tender, full of pride.

You tilt your head back slightly, looking up at him with a small, exhausted smile. "I don’t think I’m supposed to be this relaxed when I perform at the exhibition," you manage to say, a breathless giggle escaping your lips.

Sunghoon chuckles along with you, the sound vibrating through your body where you're pressed against him. He shakes his head, brushing a few strands of hair away from your sweaty face. "No, you should have some feeling in your bones," he agrees, wiping the moisture from your brow with the back of his hand. "But do you see how, when you let yourself do what your body wanted, you felt a million times better?"

You nod, the memory of the intensity still fresh in your mind. "Yeah…I did. It felt different…freer."

"Exactly," he says, his eyes softening as he gazes at you. "That’s how ballet is supposed to be. You can’t bring emotions to an audience if you’re too busy concentrating on getting the next move right."

"But Mrs. Yang always talks about perfection," you counter, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "She says, ‘You need to be perfect to achieve perfection.’ She repeats it all the time."

Sunghoon sighs, a look of understanding crossing his features. "It’s the same for us," he admits, his tone tinged with a mix of disdain and resignation. "Every skate has to be better than the last, or else you’re a failure." His voice carries the weight of someone who’s heard those words too many times, who’s internalised them and yet knows there’s more to the story.

"But perfection isn’t something you learn from a textbook. It’s not something you can force." He pauses, looking down at you, his expression thoughtful. "You need to find your own colour, your own style. That’s where true perfection lies - when it comes from within, not from trying to meet someone else’s standards."

You hold his gaze, the truth in his words sinking in. For years you have tried to live up to Mrs. Yang’s expectation that you lost your real love for the art. Or maybe, not lost the love, but rather buried it under the weight of being perfect. 

"But…what if I never find it? My colour."

Sunghoon’s lips curve into a small smile, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing over your flushed skin. "To be honest, you’re better than most. You’ve got the skill, the technique, but you’re holding yourself back because you’re so focused on being perfect." His eyes bore into yours, sincere and encouraging. "You need to let your posture breathe, stop worrying about being flawless, and just…dance. That’s what’s holding you back - then you’ll find it."

His words resonate deeply within you, stirring something that’s been buried under layers of self-doubt and external expectations. "So I just need to let go?"

"Exactly," he says, his voice firm but gentle. "Let go, trust yourself, and let your body move the way it’s meant to. Just like we did there."

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight on your shoulders lift just a bit. "I’ll try," you whisper, the words carrying more determination than you thought possible.

Sunghoon smiles, a warmth in his eyes that makes your heart flutter. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, a gesture so tender it nearly makes you melt. "That’s all anyone can ask for," he murmurs, his voice reassuring.

You nod, feeling a newfound resolve build within you. As you sink deeper into his embrace, the world around you seems to blur, leaving behind the certainty that you’re ready to let go, to embrace the dancer you’ve always been meant to be.

After a moment of quiet, Sunghoon pulls back slightly, his hands still resting on your hips, grounding you. "How about we get you cleaned up, and then we run through it again?" he suggests, his tone light yet purposeful.

You smile, the idea of starting fresh with this new perspective sparking a sense of excitement in you. "Yeah," you agree, your voice steady. As Sunghoon helps you to your feet and fixes your outfit for you, you feel your heart burst with determination and adoration, both for ballet and the man in front of you.  

You’re going to have to thank Mrs. Yang for this by giving the most passionate performance at the exhibition.

Maybe Sunghoon can keep coaching you until then. You do need to work on your flexibility after all…

---

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[crushmeeren]

UH UH UH UH UH

COULD YOU LIKE MAKE A ONESHOT OF HINATA AND A PREGNANT!READER? LIKE HINATA WATCHES US FEED OUR BABY AND HES LIKE "ooooo I wanna taste" AND UHM YEAH? IDK- IM SORRY IM NEW TO YOUR BLOG PLEASE IGNORE IF ITS OUT OF YOUR BOUNDARIES-

I absolutely CAN write this for you friend. It’s on the shorter side and I sort of rushed writing it, but nonetheless I hope you enjoy! 𖦆

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Master List Link ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

All characters aged up/18+.

⋆ FEM READER ⋆

It’s on a Saturday night when Shouyou finds himself unable to stop staring at you. To be fair, he always gawks at you, but tonight he would insist it’s different.

It’s been at least three months since you’d given birth to your baby boy and in the spirit of complete honesty, neither of you had wanted to touch sex with a ten foot pole since you were given the green light.

Being new parents is, for lack of a better word, exhausting. It’s bone achingly tiring and at this point you can’t even remember what it means to be turned on.

As the two of you relax side by side in your bed this evening, you’re preoccupied with nursing your son, Reno. You’ve lifted your shirt up to dangle around your neck and out of the way, freeing your breasts and making your nipples turn to pebbles due to the chilly air circulating the room.

Shouyou had been resting his head on the headboard, craning his neck to watch you with tender adoration as you nourish Reno.

He leers at the way your tits bounce gently against your chest as you get situated, shorts becoming a bit too snug the more you move around. The fullness of your squishy breasts and the soft tone of your voice when you speak to Reno suddenly has an all too familiar warmth rushing through his belly. The same lust that caused you to end up with Reno in the first place.

Shouyou shifts in place, cock jumping when he starts to get the powerful impulse to get his own taste of your tits. It’s as if the previous three months have built up an insurmountable tension inside of him, itching to be released and his veins start to pulse with arousal.

The breast that’s not currently being ravaged by a little monster begins to leak a few drops of ivory milk, and Shouyou has to bite his fingers and squeeze his toes together to keep from moaning as it trails down the swell of your tit.

“Sho?” You wave a hand in front of his face.

A flush burrows into his cheeks and his eyes flit up to meet yours, his expression somehow sheepish and coy simultaneously.

“Sorry baby, you just look stupid hot right now. I can’t stop thinking about taking a taste myself. I want to lick it off.” He pouts playfully. “Why does Reno get to have you all to himself?” Shouyou whines. Your head tilts back briefly in laughter as you maneuver your son up to burp him.

“Well he’s a baby for one.”

Reno babbles happily over your shoulder and Shouyou can’t help but grin widely and rub the little one’s back in soothing circular motions.

“Well yeah, but I don’t hear you saying no to it being my turn next,” he teases, reaching up a sneaky hand to grip a handful of your breast and squeeze. You bat his hand away and rise from the bed, letting your shirt fall back down into place.

“I’m putting Reno down in his room and then I’m gonna ride you, sound good Sho?” You speak as casually as if you’re talking about the weather and Shouyou vibrates in place, elbows getting caught in his shirt in his rush to strip naked.

Upon return you raise an eyebrow when you spot your husband stretched out lazily on the bed. He beams at you, one arm folded behind his head and his already stiff cock resting on his lower belly. He circles his shaft and teasingly tugs on his cock a few times.

The sight makes your pussy clench around nothing and you waste no time discarding your own clothes on the way to the bed. Once you crawl onto the bed and up to your other half, it’s like remembering how to ride a bike. A muscle reflex that’s come back to life.

Sinking down slowly onto Shouyou’s cock and bouncing in his lap reminds you of the first time you ever slept with him. The pleasure blisters through your limbs, heat rushing down your spine and you’re convinced you could cum from the stretch of his cock alone.

When he leans up and sucks your nipple into his mouth, you wail his name. You dig your nails into the back of his skull and throw your head back as milk flows freely across his tongue.

Your husband moans against you, swallowing a mouthful yet never letting go as he grips your waist, digs his heels into the mattress and snaps his hips upwards in frantic movements. You stay suspended in air over his lap and let him work you over in a way he only knows how.

In what must be less than five minutes, he’s dragging you over the edge. Your mouth drops open in a silent scream and your pussy sucks in his cock like it never wants to let go. Shouyou thrusts a handful of times and then yanks you down into his lap, grinding up against your ass. He releases your nipple with a pop and his cock jerks while he fills you to the brim with a throaty moan of your name.

It takes a couple of moments of quiet panting, your forehead resting on his before you half heartedly punch him in the shoulder.

“Ow! What was that for??” Shouyou rubs his shoulder dramatically and leans back to pout at you.

“That’s for not pulling out! I swear Shouyou, if we just made another baby I’m never having sex with you again!”

Shouyou’s eyes crinkle and he laughs. Then, he laughs even harder when you smush his face with your palm and push until he falls flat on his back. Your expression pinches as you stand, the sticky cum trailing down your inner thighs grossing you out.

Your husband snickers, wiggling his eyebrows at you and you flip him off, muttering under your breath as you make your way to the bathroom to get clean.

Reno chooses then to live up to his nickname of little demon and lets out an ear piercing scream. Shouyou calls out that he’s got it and jerkily tugs on his previously discarded pair of shorts before speed walking to Reno’s room.

As much as he wishes for you to get pregnant again, he knows now is not the time. One baby is complete chaos and he’s reminded of that even more when he strides into his son’s room where he’s currently wailing loudly enough to burst an eardrum.

Oh well, he can always try again.

[lilspacewolfie]

I Will Hold You For The Minute

I have a lot of feelings about this movie, too many to express, so please take this even though I'm sure it is not at all coherent <3

Content: 1.1k words, Copia x gn!reader, soft and angsty, idk i have too many feelings right now, ghovie related, Copia stresses a lot, lots of kisses, sweetness, that new fit oh my fucking satan its so hot, no beta.

It is so late that the Ministry halls are deathly silent, with only the rodents out of their hunts. It’ll probably be morning soon, you haven’t looked at a clock for hours, but the world outside remains cool and black. 

Today has been… a lot. That is the only way you can think of describing it. Overwhelming, emotional—like a tornado has ripped through the halls… and yet everything is the same, untouched. 

The man you love, standing before the mirror in his room and studying his reflection, is still here. He’s still Copia. 

Alive and breathing. 

You watch him from the doorway of his bathroom, having just slipped the last of his paint pots into the cabinets, stored away, wondering if they’ll ever be used again. Probably, most likely not. Melancholy has been a familiar friend for you today, and you cannot even begin to imagine how Copia is feeling. 

Copia, now Frater Imperator. 

It is surreal. 

Copia’s got an appraising face on. You watch his gloved hands touch the black glittering clerical collar, smoothing down the front of his new, stunning jacket. It is beautiful, tailor-made and spun from the finest wool with twisted, peak lapels made of the softest, shiniest satin. Attached to the lapels and edged with black gemstones, two precious rubies are pinned with a chain connecting in the centre from which a black grucifix swings. It sparkles under the lamplight, like stars against a black sky at the bottom of which, a ruby red tear-drop gem dangles. It’s ridiculous, maybe even a little bit impractical, but it's certainly Copia. And he looks damn good.

He fiddles with the collar and adjusts his cuffs for the hundredth time that night, and you watch his shoulders visibly slump when he meets your eyes in the mirror. You can't help but smile. How can you not? You love him, adore him with everything you are. 

“Hey,” you whisper, stepping into the room, “the bath is ready…”

Copia nods, his eyes back on his reflection. You pad up to him, barefoot and wrapped in his robe that hangs off your body, sliding an arm through his elbow. You lean against his shoulder, squeezing his bicep. The material creases under your touch, cool and crisp.

“Are you ready to get all this off?” You say again, softly, stroking up his arm tenderly. 

The stiffness that grips him is telling enough. When you find his gaze again, his unblinking and wide eyes are glassy, a little of his paint starting to smear down his cheek with a single tear. You can’t help when your own eyes start to burn. The emotions of the day are finally coming to a head. You’ve both been as strong as you can, an unspoken rule that matters not behind closed doors.

“You did so well,” you whisper, sliding a hand down to his tense one. When you lace your fingers through his, his grip is vice.

“Amore…” The way his voice falters on the term is too much for you.

“I’m so proud of you,” you sniffle, your own tears falling. You grip him tighter, leaning into him, watching your pictures in the mirror. “I’m so fucking proud of you, Copia. My Copia…”

When his face crumbles, you pull each other in a tight, suffocating embrace. Copia buries his head in your shoulder and finally, finally, a sob breaks from him. His grip on you is tense, gloved fingers grasping at you desperately, like he’s afraid if he loosens his hold for a moment you’ll slip through his fingers like smoke. He wets your neck with tears, trembling as you stroke a hand through his soft hair and nuzzle into him. 

You kiss the soft, secret space of skin just under his ear, forever marked by your mouth as you hush him. You whisper words of affection and love, pouring everything you have into him, filling his cup with your light while you replace yours with his dark in the hopes he can find some relief. 

“I’m so proud of you,” you tell him again, softly, half-choked. “Everyone will be… so proud of you.” 

“I—I hope I did good for them. I hope I—I was good enough,” he whimpers on a shaky breath.

“Oh, you did so well,” you cradle the back of his neck and press your cheek to his before you nudge him back. The paint around his eyes is a messy smear down his cheeks, his top lip mashed and smeared into his bottom.

You cradle his handsome face, stroking bare thumbs over his cheeks, catching tears and smears of black paint. His eyes are bloodshot, the white iris starker in the centre of its red rim. The wrinkles of his face are deeper somehow with the stress, with all the loss and heartache, but it doesn’t detract from his beauty—from your Copia.

Leaning up on your tip-toes, you press your forehead to his and close your eyes. His hands stay around you, keeping you close. He’s still tense, but softening as the emotions are finally allowed out of the floodgates. 

“You did so well, my baby. My beautiful, sweet man,” you reaffirm again, smiling bittersweet, pulling back to kiss his cheek. Copia closes his eyes and sniffles again. 

“You will always be Copia. Nothing will ever change that.” You kiss his opposite cheek, speaking between sweet pecks. Copia starts to sway with you, slow, ample movements as you speak. “No matter your title,” another kiss, “no matter your appearance or your dress.” You kiss his forehead. “Papa Emeritus. Frater Imperator Copia.” You kiss his wet lids and the tip of his nose. “You will always be loved and treasured, forever. By your fans, by me, by everyone, my sweet boy. I know we are all so proud of you even if it all feels shit right now.” Your smile is bittersweet when he cracks his eyes open. They’re less watery than before. And you chuckle, quietly, nuzzling your nose to his. He lets out a heavy sigh.

Finally, after a few more bittersweet tears, you kiss him on the mouth. You melt into each other, gripping his lapels, his hand on the back of your neck, everything so soft, solid and shaky all at once. It’s strange, to finally watch the balloon that's been inflating beneath his ribs finally pop. 

“Ti amo,” Copia crokes roughly. “I don’t know what I would ever do without you, amore.”

You bring your hands up once more, caressing his temples and stroking through his soft, mousy hair and greys. He purrs, mismatched eyes fluttering. He pulls you in for another deep kiss, humming into our mouth when you part your lips.

It will take time to accept the changes, you know, neither of you will ever get used to such a huge shift… You’ve both always been afraid of the future and talked about your fears and anxieties in the late morning hours when neither of you could sleep. But you’ve done it before, and you will do it again, together as one.

You know that with him, the future doesn’t look so foreign.

<3

masterlist ⛧ Ao3

[poppy-metal]

okay idk if this is tmi or not but i like LOVE just like grinding but like naked and like the teasing, like imagine like dom!reader taking pathetic!art’s dick and like rubbing it up and down her pussy, just like teasing him and stimulating her clit with his tip while he’s begging and crying for her to let him cum and put it in like UGHHH ITS SO HOT

yeah <333 can make yourself cum from the friction of rubbing his weepy pink tip back and forth over your clit, really - sending little bolts of pleasure through your body everytime his slit catches against the stiff peak of your nub. "oh please - please, baby - " he begs so pretty. his voice gets whiney when he pleads with you. flushed pink and watching where you rub him against you.

"what?" you ask, knowing full well what he wants - what you're doing to him. you're soaking wet. slick leaking from your cunt and you know if you slid backward he could slip inside you so easy, too.

"put me inside you. you're so wet - fuck," he tilts his head back and you see the pale column of his throat bared to you - his adams apple bobbing as he swallows his own spit, gasps his pink lips apart as you pass his head once again over your throbbing clit. "I can make you feel good. let me make you cum, baby, please -"

you clench around nothing at the sound of his voice. circling his cock against you - bobbing your hips up and down gently so his sticky head bumps and glides your button. "m'already making myself feel good. your pretty cock feels - amazing, baby." you tap tap tap him against you - your thighs trembling - "ohhhh yes - that's gonna make me cum."

he could cry. he wants to feel you cum.

"wanna feel you," he tries again. appeals, "just a little - don't you wanna be stretched out? let me in - let me fill you, baby, please. wanna spread you open -"

god, he's good. fuck.

you whine. glare weakly down at him for being shady - you should have gagged him, but then you wouldn't hear his whines.

your cunt pulses at his words - and you're close - you could cum this way - but he's reminding you how good he feels inside - when you're all worked up and wet and he just - glides right in -

your hips move on their own, sliding his cock through your wet slit until he's catching at your opening - fat crown breaching you immediately with how slick you are and you both moan - your hand leaves his base to balance yourself on his shoulders as you let yourself sink down down down -

"ohhhhhh goooood -" you whine and you start coming. eyes rolling back - "oh fuck, art - oh fuck you're so big -"

your walls spasm around him, drawing him in as you twitch and pulse and cum. his hands grip your ass, taking your moment of weakness to slam you the rest of the way down, grunting at how you clench rhythmically around him as you cum. "that's it - yes, fuck yes - cum on me - use me to cum -" he helps bounce you up and down. ride it out. "you're so beautiful."

he loves you.

[abitterboy]

Our Secret

Summary: Jisung has a crush on his best friend's girlfriend.

Pairing: Han Jisung x Minho’s Girlfriend

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 3.3K

Warning: cheating, drinking, flirting, biting, teasing, begging, no protection, oral (f receiving) , fingering, hair pulling, idk if i missed any

He knew it was wrong but oh did it feel so right. The way he fit inside of you, as if you were made for him, washed away any feelings of guilt Jisung may have had. Yes, you were Minhos, but right now you were his. Your fingers gripped the bedsheets and your mouth let out calls of his name. Jisung could never get enough of you, kissing your skin as he fucked you, making sure he didn’t leave any marks on you. He so badly wanted to but Jisung knew if he did he would risk not only hurting you, but his best friend.

~

“I like them a lot Jisung, I think I’m gonna ask them out.”

Jisung didn’t expect Minho to say that at all. He knew his friend could hide his feelings pretty well behind teasing remarks and feined annoyance but not like this. He never thought Minho could also like you and now that Minho said something first he knew he couldn’t act on his crush.

“Go for it, Hyung. I’m sure she’ll say yes.”

That was his first mistake.

His second mistake was hanging out with the three of you at a party after you two started dating. Seeing you in your small black dress that didn’t leave much for the imagination and your short hair tied up leaving your neck on display for him. He drank his mind away and then approached the two of you for the first time of the night even though you all came together. It was obvious all three of you were drunk and Minho was so lost in the music he barely realized Jisungs presence there. You grabbed Jisungs hand and started dancing with him, moving in a way that could enchant anyone.

“I’m gonna get another drink and say hi to Hyunjin, ok?”

You nodded at your boyfriend and he was off. Jisung was unfortunately sober enough to feel slightly awkward being with you hand in hand on the dance floor. His movements stiff, causing you to stop for a second before looking at him with a tilted head and a smile.

“Have you never danced with anyone before, or are you just super fucking stiff when drunk?”

He nervously laughed and looked away before you grabbed his face to look at you.

“I see its the first option.”

Your body came unbearably close to his as you started dancing on him, a smile planted on your face. The eye contact you made caused Jisung to breathe a little heavy as you swayed against him. To make matters worse you slid you arms up your body into the air, and then landed them around his neck, bringing the two of you closer than you had ever been.

“You’re fucking breathtaking.”

His mouth moved before he could even think and before he could even panic you giggled.

“As are you, Sungie. It’s a wonder you’re still single, huh? When’s the last time you even got laid?”

His eyes widened at the question, not used to discussing his sex life with anyone but Minho.

“I’m not sure actually, it’s been a while I guess.”

Your face moved closer to his causing his lips to part in anticipation and nervousness.

“That won’t do.”

Your lips were obscenely close to his and he could feel your breath on his lips as you looked up at him with glazed over eyes. You smiled and looked away, seeing Minho returning from his conversation. You released your arms from Jisungs neck and placed them on his chest, smirking at him as you spoke to Minho.

“Hey babe did you get me a drink too?”

Jisung stood there frozen, watching you step towards Minho and kiss him deeply before looking back at him. You grabbed the drink out of Minhos hand before taking a sip.

“Mmm my favorite. Here Sungie, have some.”

You grabbed his face and brought the cup to his mouth forcing him to drink. A bit of the drink fell from the side of his mouth and you were quick to wipe it off with your thumb.

“Bad boy, don’t waste it.”

Jisung looked over to Minho and sawthat he wasn’t even looking, too invested in his own drink and the music blaring over the speakers. You smiled again with half lidded eyes before returning to Minhos side to dance with him. All Jisung could think was what the actual fuck was that??

~

His next mistake was going shopping with the both of you. Once spotting you two at the malls entrance, Jisung was in a slight panic seeing what you wore. You drove in two different cars, Jisung in his own and Minho in his with you. When you arrived, you were wrapped around Minho’s arm in a crop top, a mini skirt, and platform converse. The whole outfit hugged your body in all the right places and the shoes were the ones Jisung got you for your birthday earlier this year. Seeing him eye you up and down you asked him a question.

“Don’t I look pretty?”

Jisung responded with a light nod, refusing to open his mouth for fear he would say something that would clue Minho in on his racing thoughts. You looked at him with a pout that Minho realized so he pat your head and kissed your forehead.

“Don’t mind him, he has awful taste. You look so pretty baby.”

Hanging out at the mall was fun and the three of you enjoyed the time you spent together. After a while you went to use the bathroom and Minho pulled Jisung to the side.

“I wanna get them a really pretty necklace they liked last time we came here on a date as a surprise. Can you keep them occupied?”

Jisung nodded and reassured that he would be able to, then Minho was off. You exited the bathroom to only see Jisung and he explained Minho went to go get something from the car, which was a good excuse for him to be gone for a whilem seeing as the car was all the way in the lot next to the other side of the mall.

“Oh okay let’s continue shopping then for now and meet up with him later. I wanted to get some more clothes anyway.”

You led him to a store and he followed. Rushing to the womans section, you almost left him behind in excitement. After picking some dresses and skirts, you wanted to go to the dressing rooms to try them on and make sure they fit how you wanted them too. Jisung offered to wait at the cash register but you insisted he came with you and waited to judge the outfits.

The first outfit you tried on was a pink dress, it was super pretty and complemented your skin tone. He clapped and you spun before doing a curtsey and going back in to try on more clothes. You came out in a couple skirts and shirts and he complimented every one of them. After trying on another dress you asked him a question.

“Why didn’t you compliment me earlier but are so willing to now? Did Minho make you nervous?”

“What? No, I just uh like these better so I’m more vocal about it, that’s all.”

You made a hm sound and went back in the dressing room. When trying to take off the dress, you realized the zipper was stuck. You smiled at yourself in the mirror, and feigned an innocent voice.

“Um Sungie? Can you help me I’m stuck in this dress.”

He froze in place and tried to talk to you from outside the door.

“Uh you sure you’re stuck? You can’t get out at all?”

“Yeah I’m really stuck please help me out of this. I don’t wanna break it, it was the last one they had!”

You opened the door slightly, allowing Jisung to push the door open the rest of the way to see you looking sadly at him before turning around and parting your hair while putting you neck down to allow him more access to the zipper.

“Lock the door, I don’t want anyone to see us in here and get the wrong idea.”

He locked it and turned to you who was waiting for his help. HIs hands worked carefully to fix the zipper, budging it until it zipped down slightly.

“I got it, you can unzip it now.”

He backed up as if he was going to leave but you grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“Please Sungie, do it for me! I don’t wanna rip the dress or mess the zipper up because I can’t see it.”

Hesitantly, he put his hand back on the zipper and slowly started unzipping it. The sleeves fell and you let them, revealing a bit of your bra in the large mirror of the dressing room. You held your hands by your chest to hold it up and not reveal your bra in full. His eyes reverted from the mirror to you back as fast as they could. Revealing your back now, he could see your bra strap and the curve of your back right under his fingertips. The dresses zipper went all the way down further than your panty line and Jisung froze a bit when the lacy garment revealed itself to him. Thankfully it only showed a bit of it and he was finally able to take his hand off the zipper. His mind raced and guilt built up in him as he thought about Minho. His thoughts were cut short when you turned to Jisung and embraced him while thanking him. Your innocent smile didn’t match the way your body pressed up against his in this situation. Breasts almost popping out of your bra and pressed up against his chest, the dress opening more due to your quick movement, allowing more of you to be exposed in the mirror behind the two of you. Jisung stuttered out a “you’re welcome” and separated himself from you before unlocking the door and leaving.

Once you paid for your clothes at the register and left the store, you both spotted Minho at a bench in front of the store. He spotted you too and lifted his phone, showing his location app that the three of you shared. Running up to him, you raised your hands to show him the bags of stuff you got. He smiled at you.

“That’s lovely baby. I got you something too.”

Minho revealed the necklace to you and you put your hands over your mouth in shock.

“Is this what you were covering for?”

You looked over at Jisung and he smiled nervously while scratching the side of his head.

“Oh my God Minho it’s gorgeous! Thank you so much!”

“I’m so glad you like it.”

Minho put the necklace on your neck and you turned around to grab his face and kiss him.

“I have bad news though. Hyunjin called and said he needs a ride to work since his car broke down again.”

Jisung giggled at that before scoffing.

“He really needs to get that piece of shit to a dump and get a new car. I know he can afford one.”

“Eh I guess it has sentimental value since it was his first car so he’s not ready to let go of it. Anyway, since Hyunjin lives on an opposite side of town than you I was wondering if you’d be okay if Jisung took you home since he only lives like ten minutes away from you.”

“Yeah I’m okay with that. How about you Jisung, can I drive with you?”

“Uh yeah of course.”

You kissed Minho before getting in Jisungs car. Jisung disconnected his bluetooth and allowed you to take over his radio like he did everytime you were in the car and you excitedly put on your music. The car ride was a little quiet on Jisungs side but you happily spoke to him. Once you arrived to your house you gave him a kiss on the cheek to thank him for driving you. It wasn’t uncommon for you to do that but it caused his whole body to tense from earlier.

“Hey Jisung can you help me bring my bags in?”

“Oh yeah of course.”

That was his third mistake.

The bags were all in the house and you were climbing on top of a breathless Jisung who you had thrown on your bed. He looked up at you with nervous eyes.

“What about Minho?”

He had already asked this when you first kissed him after you’d closed your room door and you only responded by pressing your lips deeper into his, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth. Now on the bed, you gave him a verbal response.

“Can you keep a secret?”

He nervously shook his head yes.

“Good, so let’s make this our little secret.”

You bent down, kissing him again and moaning into his mouth. Jisung was drunk on your taste and his dominance overpowered his anxiety. He flipped the two of you over on the bed, leaving him on top of you. You gasped in excitement and grabbed him by his shirt to kiss him again. Jisung was finally able to taste you, to take you as his, and he wasn’t going to waste this moment on anxiety. He unlatched his lips from yours to kiss and bite your neck.

“You can’t keep a secret if Minho can see it! Be careful!”

Jisung became a bit more gentle but still continued to lick up your neck and kiss down to your collarbones. He lifted your shirt and bra all at once, revealing your breasts to him. Jisung latched onto your left tit as quickly as he could. He massaged and pinched the right one and switched between them both at will, sometimes latching a little hard and causing you to grab his hair. He had always wondered how sensitive your tits were and now that he knew they were this sensitive, he never wanted to unlatch himself from them.

“Sungie touch me more please.”

You whined out at him and he forced himself to let go of your chest and made his way down to your thighs. He kissed them and squeezed the flesh between his fingers before finally removing your skirt. The panties he had seen earlier were now on full display for him and he couldn’t help but dive down to lick the wet spot that had already formed. You gasped at his touch and he smiled, knowing he was able to make you squirm with such a simple touch. Jisung removed them and quickly put his tongue to good use, causing your back to arch and your hands to find his hair and pull. He lapped at your clit with swift motions and moaned into you, loving the way you tasted on his desperate tongue. Jisungs finger made it way to your opening and nudged at it before entering fully. Another finger entered and the combination of his fingers and his eager tongue gave you that familiar knot in your stomach.

“Fuck Sungie just like that! Ah you feel so good.”

Words almost wimpers, you twitched under him and he internally smiled. His pace kept up and you pulled his hair more as your torso lifted and you felt your orgasm about to rush over you.

“Ah I’m cumming! Fuck!”

Your orgasm erupted on his face and he kept going to help you ride out your orgasm. Jisung honestly didn’t ever want to stop but your next words were enough to make him.

“Fuck me, please fuck me Jisung-ah!”

He lifted his head and fully undressed. You ripped off your previously lifted shirt and sat up to kiss him deeply. The taste of you on your lips made you want him even more, knowing how good he just made you feel.

“Do you have a condom?”

“I don’t but I’m on birth control and don’t mind if you wanna-”

“Raw?”

“Mhm, if you want.”

Jisung crashed his lips on yours once again, so fucking excited to be able to fully be inside of you. He pushed you down and aligned his cock with your entrance, rubbing it slowly along you.

“Please don’t tease Sungie, please just fu-”

He thrusted into you in on quick move, causing you to arch your back and grab the bedsheets. His thrusts started slowly but his movements steadily picked up. Within minutes he had you a moaning mess. You brought him down and wrapped your arms around him, scratching his back with your fingernails, He moaned at the pain of his back and fucked you faster, causing you to dig deeper into his skin. Jisung pushed you away and flipped you over, bringing your hips up and entering you roughly. Your face was buried into the pillows and muffled you but Jisung didn’t like that. He lifted your head by your hair and you moaned louder than you had before. His movements were so rough you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuck you feel so good wrapped around my cock. Do you like it baby?”

Your moans were an obvious sign you liked it but he wanted to hear you say it.

“Tell me you like it, no tell me you fucking love it.”

“I fucking love it! Ah I love it!”

With that he pulled your hair harder and you came all over him, tightening around his cock. He felt his orgasm approaching and thrusted a few more times before releasing, pulling out and cumming mostly on your back. He stayed on his knees and lifted his head, eyes closed and mouth open panting. You fell over and smiled, dizzy and drunk on Jisung. He opened his eyes to see you on the bed naked covered in his cum and smiled. His smile was shortlived when he saw your phone light up, showing your wallpaper with Minho and a text from him. You grabbed the phone and casually responded to him before putting the phone back down.

“What’d he say?”

Jisung was nervous Minho somehow knew what you two had just done but you just shrugged.

“He asked if I wanted him to bring me food for dinner and I said yes.”

JIsung panicked, knowing Minho would be coming over soon.

“But I’m here!”

“Yeah, and? We hang out all the time. As long as we arent still in bed naked I don’t think he’ll suspect a thing. Oh, and as long as you don’t tell him, remember this is a secret after all.”

You got up and kissed Jisung before walking to the bathroom with your phone. He quickly got dressed and cleaned up your bed a bit since it was now pretty messy. You retured after peeing and cleaning yourself up and put on your clothes.

“I told him I invited you to eat dinner with us too and he said okay.”

“You want me to stay for dinner?”

You didnt even look up from your phone and Jisung wondered how you could be so casual after all of that.

“Duh, come on Jisung you have dinner with us all the time. Don’t freak out over nothing.”

To Jisung this wasn’t nothing, this was his seeing his best friend after having sex with his girlfriend. This was him lying to his friend, something he has never done. But this time he knew he had to lie, to protect both you and Minho. This had to stay a secret, and he was gonna make sure it did.

[head-empty-just-ace]

So...I heard we're talking abt Seraphim Ace lately? I see, I see. I wanna join in! The context for this is that marineford is unfortunately canon and everyone is hurt by it. Now, we get hurt even more—

Seraphim!Ace x GN!Reader

CW: Angst w/o comfort (don't be fooled)

Word Count: Idk. Its 4am where I'm from

A fierce battle ensues between the remaining members of the Whitebeard Pirates and the Marines that have ambushed them. You're far too focused to survive each wave of marine that comes out to attack you. With each battle, you could feel the toll it took on you.

Both sides were losing blood just as badly as the other. All the violence, blood, and suffering—it reminded you of the Paramount War too much for your own liking. You had just finished beating another marine when your eyes meet a familiar pair. Perhaps because it was far too familiar that it gutted you the most.

Seraphim!Ace who looks at you dead in the eyes without a trace of recognition in them amidst the battlefield. You're frozen right where you stand— emotions crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

Seraphim!Ace who only dashes forward with the intent to kill you. The gentle warmth of his flames long gone as he continues to strike you. His flames overwhelmingly hot enough to burn you from its close proximity alone.

Seraphim!Ace who doesn't even flinch as burn marks begin to mar your skin. Something he'd never even dare to do in the past. And yet there they were.

Seraphim!Ace who won't stop no matter how much you yell at him. Not a flicker of hesitation in the eyes that once looked at you as if you alone were the most precious thing in all the seas.

Seraphim!Ace who doesn't even react to your voice. The warm smile on his face whenever you said his name was replaced with that cold look in his eyes.

Seraphim!Ace who barely flinches as you wince from the burning heat of his flames. You dodge again and again without striking— afraid to harm the man you loved dearly.

Seraphim!Ace who finally got you cornered with nowhere left to run or dodge. You continue to yell at him to come to his senses. Your voice is broken, and tears spill freely down your cheeks.

Seraphim!Ace who freezes when you yell out his name desperately. A fiery fist mid-air as it begins to tremble. You're a sobbing mess before him. Body shaking violently as the wounds he inflicted visible on your skin.

Seraphim!Ace who looks confused between you and his fist. He somehow can't make his own body move. As if something is holding him back from delivering the final blow to you. An error message dings in his mind.

Seraphim!Ace who clenches his jaw and forces himself to swing his fist again— only to be stopped by three simple words, "I love you" that tumble from your lips.

Seraphim!Ace whose entire body is now trembling with restraint. The conflict visible in his eyes as he looks down on you. With all the hope and despair within your eyes all at once. The error messages begin to rattle his ears.

Seraphim!Ace who senses an incoming attack in your direction and pulls you in his embrace. His wings wrapping around you in a protective cocoon. Your eyes widen in shock as you try to tilt your head up to meet his gaze.

Seraphim!Ace who lunges at the person who attacked you despite the fact that it was a marine. The others take note of this and start attacking the two of you.

Seraphim!Ace who looks far too feral and conflicted but all he could think of was to protect you. And all you could do was watch the scene unfold before you— far too exhausted from your battle with him.

Seraphim!Ace who bellows whenever an upper-ranking Marine orders him to stop and kill you. His ears ache and ring from both the commands as well as that damned error. It only made him target the one who dared to issue that order.

Seraphim!Ace who walks back to you covered in blood. The intent to kill still visible in his eyes as he meets your gaze. His movement stiff and even a touch hesitant.

Seraphim!Ace who freezes when you open your arms for him. "Come back to me, Ace." Is all you say— and he lunges towards you.

Seraphim!Ace who holds you tight against his chest that it hurts. You hold him just as tight. His body is shaking in your hold.

Seraphim!Ace who feels conflicted between the order to kill you and the need to protect you. His fingers dig into your skin harshly enough to bruise. The heat of them inconsistently fall and rise.

Seraphim!Ace who is confused by the teardrop that trickles down his cheek as he stays within your embrace like that. Your words continue to spill from your lips only bring him more confusion.

Seraphim!Ace who can no longer stand the constant errors in his mind cries out in pain as he stumbles away from you. He's hitting himself mercilessly as if it would stop the onslaught of errors and orders echoing in his ears.

Seraphim!Ace who swats your hand away as you reach out to him. Despite all the conflict and bloodlust in his eyes— there was a touch of tenderness to it. A glimpse of how he would look at you each time in the past.

Seraphim!Ace who begins to walk away from you. His wings spread out as he leaves you behind. His steps retreat away as Marco holds you back from chasing after him. Telling that it was time to pull away as well.

Seraphim!Ace who glances back at you one last time. The desire to simply rush back into your arms was overwhelming. Yet even then, he knew it would be a constant war between having to harm you and protect you.

Seraphim!Ace who had once vowed to never turn his back on you— now had to do it to protect you. And worse of all, protect you from himself.

~~~~~

That was longer than I expected...but, hey, if you need some fluff— here's my masterlist.

~~~~~

Taglist: @that-student-that-has-homework @ofoceansandtombsanew @captainportgasdace @lynndt-chocolate

I'm surprisingly sorry...

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

Hiii saw your requests open and i thought why not give it a shot. I love your stories, I'm more attached to your style of writing melancholy like on floret, counting coins, better left unsaid and always the angel never the god. So, just a random idea to throw out there you can do whatever with it:

Hiccup and yn were engaged early on. Yn is a bit older and fitter to follow around Stoick to learn how to defend and manage Berk. Yn feels sorry for Hiccup and tries to make him enjoy his youth and time with his friends more while she made him handle the rest. Leading to a misunderstanding that he didn't feel needed when in fact he did have a crush on her with how she doted on him and how cool she looked fighting dragons and ordering people around. While she liked him for his thoughtful caring side but still envied his freedom and creativity.

That's pretty much it idk lmao it was just a word puke. That's just the gist no need to be word for word, if it's too much i completely understand but truly want to praise your eloquence and how you caught me right in the feels augh. Thank you for your time! 🦀

Wildflower

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Fiance!Reader

Words: 2119

With the babbling mouth of a child now long grown and a hidden, lost soul, there is no one who could relate more to his current circumstance. There is one problem, though- how is a sort-of-wimpy ex-runt going to win your heart?

Tags: Mild age difference, requited-as-adults, fem!reader, heavy exposition, non-canon politics, original characters

Next>

His arms ached in a way that was heavy, stiff and hard even as they loosened and dipped under their burden as if the body of a sapling had been shot right through the bone.

He paid them no mind, eyes drawn to the wild world on the outside even as he grunted and struggled. 

With a jerk, dropping the sword, he with a strength he’d never really been able to spend on the all things that really mattered. There was a hefty clatter and a clang, the sound no less thick than the bang of a heavy bell or a gong, long metal body slamming and dancing against stone.

 His feet and legs stuttered as he stepped both forwards and back, palms roughly meeting the wood of the counter, bouncing eagerly as if he might begin to run or be startled into action.

There had been a shout- something indignant, deeper than normal, not so much a battle cry yet no less defiant and sure. He thought he might have known it- he had to look. 

The feel of smoothed, aged wood beneath his palms, both flatter and rounder than liquid, solid and uninterrupted- the sound of warring battle-cries from the world outside and the sweltering feel of heat from both the forge and the terrible reign of dragonfire and sharp teeth and clawed mouth- all of it came secondary to his searching, the bulk of him overshadowed by the hefty forge window

It was too early in the battle and the warriors of Berk had been too prepared for there to have been a line outside the door, and well- most of everyone had already left for the other side of the island, where the assault had been most violent.

He felt the burn on the side of his hand as he brought his hand back, grazing it against the side of the table- he’d accidentally pressed it against the face of the sander’s belt. It’d stung and buzzed with a thickness not unlike the feeling of folded cloth crusted in dragon spit or the hard skin on the bottom of an old foot, though the skin on his own palm, he knew, wasn’t so thick or stubborn.

Past raging orange flames and scorching yellows he saw you, lonesome, outlined like a shadow in the light across the clearing. 

Your shoulders were stiff and your stance full as you swung the hard, metal-rimmed bottom of a bucket against the head of a beast- a Gronkle, its thick, green-brown head giving way to a wide maw as it bellowed.

 It bled, its blood splattering across your face as if it were naught but a shock of light or darkness made liquid; as if, instead, it was you who had been violently cut and not it.

There was no vicious, beautiful Astrid here to ogle at- not now, as there had been in the before times and as there would be later- no, just you. 

You, who had been meant for him… At least, he thought so. 

He wasn’t completely confident in the fact- the whole thing went rather unspoken of. It wasn’t a taboo per se, more something that lay heavy, made clear through few words a long time ago then made obscure by the lengths of time and age.

Still, there came a suresty with it even if there wasn’t much of a bond between the two of you, something that, for him, acted as a heavy comfort. In times like these, he leaned into it, felt the lump in his chest beat against it like his bones were nothing but taut leather and wood.

Blazing red hair, nearly imperceptible against the raging fires as she swung an axe- it took you a while to find any of the others.

Before you was fiery Tove, a tallish Viking girl-woman from a house named ‘Alfson,’ not so influential as it was just there and nearly forgotten. In it, she was like a polished gem among a lot of plain, unassuming stones. She was also a member of your peer group, aged older by about nearly a winter. She’d been born in the warmer month, when the sun was at its hottest and the earth was at its greenest.

You settled by her with crossed arms, close enough to be recognized as part of the group and yet not close enough to hint towards any one specific alliance. 

It was the darkest of nights above yet the fires rendered it light as day. You tried your hardest not to inhale any of the soot as you watched the rest -the two of four, really- fooling, knocking into each other with rough shoulders as you worked where it really mattered.

Your peer group was a large one. The number of you here was only a smallish fraction of a whole, the rest drawn away in the moment by other troubles and politics.

They’d grown complacent in the chaos, used to the raging fires and battle as you all were, carelessly leaving the fires around to burn and eat away at everything. You kept yourself still and casual in spite of it, knowing that, here, words and tussles were just as dangerous as the rock-shattering jaws of any beast.

Brigading was a task born more to temper the fires of the eager younger men more than it was to assure the sanctity of the village, though no task was without its uses- more often than not, however, you all ended up taking up a weapon and battling to your own ends.

Still, you took it seriously. 

You’d not so much been invited into the brigade as you’d one day picked up a bucket and started helping along in silence, though you probably would have been asked along eventually. 

Approval from the others had been slow to garner and yet it was strong, anchoring- you’d no intention of trying to shake it, though you believed it would be hard to.

With the thick wooden handle lying clenched within one hand, you stopped above the smooth, round top of a viking helmet, resting your foot against it as if you were at the edge of a cliff with a sword.

You’d rather be, at least in the day, when the smoke would be blown out and the air fresh and clear.

“-Codswallop!” The one with the protestant words was Duckmaw, who belonged to a set of intimidating burly arms and short-cropped, burned blonde-ish hair typically hidden under a helmet that had made him look bald, soot darkened face scratched and laying posed under your fuzzy brown boot. 

He was unusually brawny and bold for his breed but was also just as soft- he was an Ingerman. Ingermans, though bustingly fierce as any other Viking, also tended to be the most tempered.

“You lot are all the same- tubby poets, you are!” Bjorner spoke back with sharper words. He was the second, and a Thorston, though his second name, Evenson, did not quite match his ties. He also didn’t quite stand on par with his blood, a bit thicker and more prone to jumping into battle than the rest of his clan, who preferred a good bit of taunting first. 

His family was a branch-off- one of many, as there tended to be with the Thorstons. “Gooey hearts and even weaker swords.”

“Your words are of poor taste, though I’d expect no less from a bastard!” Duckmaw shrugged aggressively forwards, jerking away, half turning before he thought to face Bjorner again, stepping closer this time. He looked quite silly with his rounder, younger face and slightly more plump body, standing nearly chest-to-chest with a man who was about two winners his senior.

Absent from your lot were a Hilde and an Arne, who was a plump and tall, honorable nearly-man with blonde hair who was suspiciously absent. Away in a fashion that remained unexplained or pondered was a Jorunn, Frode and Hjerson and a Njal.

“Agh, the lot of them,” Trove spoke appealingly, panting slightly, having brought herself to your side, nudging you in the shoulder. She was thicker than you by about a half and a great deal taller, so her elbow landed more against the top of it than along the side, “We womenfolk know better, yes?”

You gave her a skeptical, apathetic eye before turning your attention back to the conflict, standing still and firm- she hadn’t knocked you hard enough to unbalance you though she had given you quite the hard jab, albeit half of it must have been without intention, the other half with surety and mild competition.

Trove didn’t take so much offense, probably more used to your silence and your stoic behavior now than before, when she also used to grace you with a gruff, judging eye.

“I’m no bastard!” Bjorner barked deeply, squaring his shoulders and stepping forwards again. You couldn’t make out all of it, the sound of splintering wood and the white noise of cooking everything raging for but a moment. “But at least my mother’s no manky whore!”

Gritting his teeth, Duckmaw didn’t back down, even as the thin brown furs still attached to Bjorner’s leather overcoat brushed up against his jaw. His arm- the one facing you- twitched up and down as if he’d wanted to lift it, meaty fists clenching uproariously. “Don’t speak of her that way, you-! You-!”

Your even face did nothing to hide your apathy, even as your eyes stayed trained on them.

Their argument went beyond petty bonds and snippish words- it was, in truth, not their argument at all- more an argument of their house, monoliths of Vikings to which they were of little consequence. It was some tiff over land and the excuse was woodstock. The conflict had grown itself into a mighty feud. 

“Tis the hobby of fools, to spend all their time arguing about their mamies,” Tove said, her freed red hair still doing wonders to blend her in with the fires, some sticking to skin and face, red, pale and slick with sweat like fish’s skin.

You nearly rolled your eyes. As you did, you caught something from the corner of your eye.

“How’ve you lot been doing?” You heard, nearly lost under the crackling of fires and crumbling of houses, the sound of battle-cry off in the distance. He had a plaintive, respectable voice, still somehow smoothe even under the assault of smoke and ash, all male and deep. 

…Ah. Here came the cavalry with a bucket of his own.

You graced swept blonde hair with a nod, what should have been wheat made russet by soot and fire, bursting from the back of Arne’s head where the front was covered by a metal mask- a hazard, as it was, metal being prone to heat and melt under the vicious might of dragon fire. 

You suspected, in a few years, he might have one mighty burn scar running down the side of his face- if he made it out of the whole ordeal alive, as it was. 

His clothes were torn and he sported a bloody gash on one arm- he’d gotten caught up in some battle, then. He was the only one of them who’d already been accepted by the warriors as one of their own, who’d taken up a sword with quiet determination as the rest of them stayed managing buckets.

You occasionally joined him- you hadn’t received any fuss either, and yet… Well, the others needed managing… Watching, more than anything.

He nodded back at you as you levied up your bucket, grasping it by the bottom.

You huffed a breath of hair, blowing away a heavy tuft of soot as it threatened to hit you in the face, unusually large yet very thin, almost enough to be called a burnt wood scrap.

“-That’s what I thought,” Bjorner said maliciously, distantly- he’d jerked forward, and during the time you’d been distracted, Duckmaw, younger and more naive, had faltered. 

You stilled. It didn’t matter so much who was what in this minor, petty battle of wills. It wouldn’t change the outcome. 

It was only by an odd fluke of politics that you’d ended up here, a fisher’s girl from nowhere island, and so while not at all illicit in origin, you were no better than a bastard. 

Here, in this world of blood and fire there was no room for the girl in the woods. You knew that with a quiet, simmering surety, painfully aware of the small square booklet in your back pocket, padding against your thigh as you moved, fresh leather delicately held shut with a clasp, pressing deeply the dulling, colored faces of soft, pressed flowers. 

[askinkiskarma]

ok so what about like an enemies with benefits type of thing with neteyam and they’re so mean to eachother but in the height of it all he’s holding her close and praising her. idk this probably don’t make sense

ok this took me a while, but I enjoyed doing this. hope you enjoy, too, anonnie x

Thoroughly recommend you play this for the full effect (thank you @karma-is-a-cat-purringinmylap for the flawless music taste and ability to match music to text, ily)

wc: 760 words

“If I have to use my radio to tell you off one more time, neither of you are allowed on a mission for a month, do I make myself clear?”

The voice of the Olo’eyktan pierced through the silence in his family’s tent, his angry snd stiff demeanour not one to be trifled with, even on the best day. Today wasn’t one of those days. Your last mission almost went to shit, and if you were being honest with yourself, it was all because of you.

Well. Because of you and likely the world’s most frustrating, annoying, stupid, antagonistic man the world has ever had the misfortune of hosting in its midst. You hated Neteyam. There were certain privileges that came with being the son of the chieftain, the Omatikaya prince, and he made sure to take advantage of just about every one of them. He was cocky and arrogant, and he loved to push your buttons. So many buttons, it was like one of those little machines residing behind the Toruk Makto that the Sky People used to make symbols appear on the screen, and he was proficient at pushing the right combination to make you want to commit violent acts or reckless actions that he knew would get you into trouble.

You were a warrior. Not just any warrior, you were a great warrior. So great, in fact, people were saying you were for sure the next Neytiri, bound to achieve great things, bound to be a key player in the upcoming war with the Sky People.

Neteyam was also a warrior. Not just any warrior, he was a great warrior. So great, in fact, people were already excited for the prospect of him being Olo’eyktan one day, praising his calm, collected demeanour, his incredible hunting skills that were only second to his own father, his outstanding bow work and leadership instincts.

You two have competed your whole lives. For the title of best warrior. For supremacy. For finally settling who was the better one between the two. No one else cared, no one else thought it was important who was on top, as it wasn't a competition to begin with. The more, the merrier, right? Well, that's not how it worked with you two. His pride was wounded every time you were better than him at anything, and your pride was wounded every time he acted like it was somehow unexpected that you were.

He was a better hunter, but you were a better rider. He was better at making beaded necklaces, but you were a better alchemist. He was better with a machine gun, you were better with a sniper. But perhaps the toughest call to make when it came to your competition was when you were fucking each other. You both took great pleasure in making each other come undone, and you took even greater pleasure in rubbing the other's nose in it.

"I made you come in like 20 seconds, that has to be some sort of record."

"You have got to be kidding. You forget that you could barely contain yourself when I was riding you the other day. I didn't realise you can make such pretty, girly sounds, Neteyam."

That was your life, and today, it was no different. Loud moans were slipping past your plush, reddened lips in a saccadic burst of sound that you couldn't help exhale, no matter how much you were trying to. In truth, the man was a god at fucking you. He knew you so well, he knew your body like he's spent his whole life learning it, his whole life studying it. Still, you wanted to spite him, wanted to be quiet, wanted to not seem weak to him, give him another reason to be cocky, another reason to tease and antagonise you at a drop of a hat. But as he rutted into you at a pace that made you see stars, rubbing your clit in the way that made you dizzy, kissing your neck in the way that almost made you forget you hated him, he knew you were putty under his touch, and you couldn't find it in you to care.

"Neteyam, I -"

"I know, baby. You're doing so well for me. Such a good girl on my cock. Come, pretty girl. Come for me, I want to feel you milk me dry."

You came on command at his words, at his praise, that you never thought you'd ever want, but now were wondering how you're going to live without.

[lincolndjarin]

this is a request!! i would loveeee to see desperate din and him begging. he’s always in the suit and never really around people so it would make so much sense for him to be touch starved and needy. like he meets reader for the first time and all his needs and feelings he ignored for years come to the front and he’s just down bad 😩

a/n : sorry this took forever to get around!! i haven't written drabbles before so i hope this is okay <3 thank you for the request !! (i read online that some people get annoyed when drabbles are over 100 words if that is true feel free to tell me to knock it off LMAO cause some people say its just a short fic so idk i'm lost and know nothing.)

anyways, i changed a little bit of your request to keep it short, hope that's okay!!

pairing : din djarin x afab!reader

word count : 0.6k

warning : 18+ mdni, smut, no plot this is just porn, sorta sub!din, begging, din's lowkey a boob man in this, nipple stuff idk the proper tag here sorry, praise, premature ejaculation lowkey (din gets a little over excited), handjobs

It was surprisingly easy to convince him to take the armor off. Almost like he was waiting for you to ask, from there he was putty in your hands, crawling into the sleeping cubby, panting before you've even touched him.

It's too dark to see him but you can feel how different this is from the quickies in the cockpit or the stress induced sex against the side of the ship from a mission gone wrong. His kisses are hot and feverish against you skin as he latches onto your nipple with a whimper. You've never felt his mouth on your flesh and suddenly it's your greatest regret. Denying yourself such a thing. Attentive is an understatement, his tongue lapping at the meat of your chest, wanting feel the weight of it in his mouth.

"Maker, Mando, slow down..." You laugh breathlessly, nothing could have prepared you for the whimper against your breast. You feel the line of spit as he pulls away briefly.

"Please?" His voice has never sounded like this, an unfamiliar breathy whine is stifled as his lips wrap themselves back around your nipple, lewd wet sounds filling the tiny space. His cock rests fully erect between your thighs, the warmth coming off of him is suffocating as he groans against your breasts, burying his head between them.

You feel the vibration on his lips as he moans against you.

"M-More, more, please." He drags his mouth from your chest to your throat, settling there now, it's like he's trying to find your pulse with his tongue.

After that it's like the words are being pulled out of you, you aren't sure where they come from, you've never talked like this before.

"More what, sweet boy?"

His hips snap forward seeming involuntarily, you can feel him starting to grind against your thigh, desperate for whatever he can get.

"More you." He mumbles, high pitched and demanding.

You let your hands touch everything.

The parts of him no ones seen, let alone touched, in decades.

It's like every single inch of his skin is sensitive. You scrape your nails down his back and sound you draw from him is downright pornographic.

He gives up on any attempt to keep his mouth on you, he's too busy writhing and begging when your hands travel southing, running your fingers through the dark thatch of curls that starts on the bottom of his stomach.

"Touch me- please touch me. I'll be good, I promise to be good just touch me." He's positively breathless by the time you wrap your hand around his stiff and aching cock.

You watched him kill three people today, with zero hesitation. The most ruthless killer you've ever known. And right now he's humping your leg and biting your shoulder to muffle the obscene sounds he's making.

You let one hand travel back up, pinching his nipples, trying to draw more of those delicious noises from him.

With that he's trembling. There's no more words as you start to stroke his length, alternating between his nipples with pinches and soothing rubs of your thumb over the pebbled buds.

You don't even have to move your other hand, you simply hold it still as he fucks it, his head resting beside yours, the only sounds you can hear are his gasps for air and soft airy moans.

It takes a minute at most.

It's the fastest he's ever finished with you.

Normally he finishes with a low groan but now the only sound filling the cubby is a drawn out, shaky whine.

You feel his release against your palm. Hot and sticky as he rides it out, rutting against you until he's finally satisfied, murmuring a slurred "Thank you, thank you, thank you." against your skin.

You turn your head to press a kiss into his temple.

"Good boy."

[truly-a-snitch]

Hi! Hi! I just discovered your blog and I have a request. So can I request Ranpo, Sigma and Dazai with a s/o who is like really calm and reserved in public but when they're alone together you can't separate them. Like a clingy, touchy, overprotective s/o who is reserved in public or at work. BUT if anyone hurts their partner they will go to war!! THEN afterwards come home and cuddle with them.

🍬 - Idk if you do the emoji things but I'm signing off with this one.

(You can just ignore this if you want, NO PRESSURE)

this is actually so cute. me and who

this sorta turned into just ways they show affection sorry i got carried away. jn my defense i love these three

warnings: none !! this is fluff but only sort of partially answers the prompt oopsies

---

Ranpo, Sigma, and Dazai with a reserved but affectionate S/O

Ranpo

ranpo is very affectionate no matter where you go so you two could not be more different in that regard

like. at home ? hes never not in your lap. shopping ? your arms Will be linked together (so he doesnt lose you, in his own words). at work ? he sidles up next to you and slings his legs over yours while he begrudgingly does his paperwork

he doesnt mind that youre more reserved when it comes to pda !! he knows how to tone it down when he gets to be too much

he just has a lot of love to give ok :-(

ranpo is 100% the type to just like. after a long day he will very dramatically splay himself across your lap and be like "ughhh im dying of boredom..... blehhhhh........."

his favorite activity is laying on top of you and demanding that you entertain him (any means possible) (especially reading to him)

he BITES !! leaves hickies on accident sometimes (he says hes sorry but like. is he really) and he encourages you to bite him right back fr. hes so silly i love him

admittedly he is a little upset he cant be as affectionate w you in public but he loves u enough that its ok and he makes up for it by not letting go of you from the moment you get home to the moment you go to bed

has fallen asleep in your lap before. also has fallen asleep on top of you on the couch before. haha good luck getting up you cant youd disturb him

congrats on the cat boyfriend btw

Sigma

silly... as somebody who runs a casino (yes he still runs the casino in my head. canon can get bent) he is very very busy, so he understands that there simply may not be time or energy to dedicate to him during working hours

affection shared between him is often that tired sort if only because after a full day the last thing he wants is something high energy

seeing as he spent a lot of time around fyodor, public physical contact of any kind is probably still a taboo hes deconstructing, so hes very much grateful that you arent really big on pda yourself (if only because he doesnt feel ready for all that at this point in time)

he likes to just lay against you, or hold your hand while he does his paperwork :3

big on forehead kisses. he loves them okay. the inherent tenderness of it makes him forget how to speak for a little bit he gets So flustered its actually the cutest thing ever

sigmas also a big big fan of massages (he runs on energy drinks, stress, and pure unfettered anxiety okay. i bet his muscles are Stiff)

and if you give him coffee...? doesnt matter if u made it or not. you are Getting Kissed

sleeping next to each other,, sleepy kissing,,, naps together,,,, top tier

sigma likes to just sit on the couch and watch tv with you. lay on him right now do it. diy weighted blanket

he treats you with fancy schmancy meals from the casino kitchens. you guys get to have date night where its just you watching tv and eating good food and drinking wine (hes a white wine guy you cant tell me otherwise)

Dazai

dazai isnt super affectionate in public, hes sorta similar to you in that regard, but he still has to be touching you almost all the time

HES SO ANNOYING ABOUT IT TOO his love language is annoying you so he will find the most inconvenient ways to Just Barely Touch You so that you have to talk to him and tell him to stop

getting home tho you get to literally watch the mask melt away. you sit down on the couch and he immediately just relaxes into you, he is ALL over u

(pspsps play with his hair. and like gently run ur nails over his scalp a lil bit. he gets so so sleepy when you do that)

dazai is so NEEDY w affection but he knows how to act like he doesnt want/need it in front of other ppl

if ur in private and ur not actively giving him attention. he will stare at u for a bit before practically tackling you. bro sprawls

hes not like AGAINST pda btw i forgot to touch on that its just that he prefers to be more private with his genuine romantic endeavors :3 like hell annoy you on purpose in public but behind closed doors hes a softie fr

dazai also bites as a love language like ranpo does but dazai is always careful not to accidentally bite too hard (ranpo may not give a fuck but dazai certainly does)

he rly likes laying on top of you. fair tbh laying on ur s/o is better than therapy

anyway overall hes very much like. purposely annoying or embarrassing in public but hes much more romantic behind closed doors

[kairiscorner]

imagine playing with the miggy doll you made in the previous part in front of miguel, like

a/n: gets a little suggestive in the end...? idk, just don't flag this shit please 😭

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

"isn't he just a grumpy one today?" you asked the miggy doll you made in a voice that imitated a parent cooing to an upset toddler. you waved him around a little and made him stomp on your desk in an agitated manner. 'grr, i hate everything that is fun, nice, and wonderful in the world!' you made him say as you manipulated him to kick up your papers and topple over a few pens on the desk as you groaned a little at the doll's outburst which was pretty much you mockingly impersonating miguel.

"but miggyyyyy..." you whined to the doll as you made it face you abruptly and shake still. 'what!' you exclaimed in a gruff, poor imitation of the real miguel. you gave the miggy doll the sweetest doe eyes you could ever muster–the kind that you've never shown anyone, not even the real miguel–and you bat your eyelashes at the doll, which gazed lifelessly back into your own gleaming eyes. "i thought we agreed you'd put a stop to the grumpiness when i'm around... i thought a good miggy never lies." you reasoned with the inanimate doll, which you manipulated to put in a thinking position, since you went the extra mile and gave him 360 moving joints to make him more expressive.

'i told you, i get grumpy around pretty people! they're my weakness! they're just too freaking pretty for my tight ass to handle! hmph!' you made him exclaim and crossed his arms over his chest in a stiff way, for even fine 3d printed dolls with 360 movable joints still looked less human than real ones. thank goodness, though, they're not made of cellulite.

you huffed at the miggy doll and turned its head around with your finger, and the doll's head followed suit. "would you still be mad at a pretty person who's actually in love with you?" you teased at the very nonliving doll, which you integrated a 'flustered' feature on. at the push of a button, the doll would change its expression into one of bashfulness. 'what, uh, um... maybe not!' you made him say, which made you giggle, dreaming this was the real miguel–flustered in front of you as you teased him relentlessly.

as you continued playing with the doll, you suddenly noticed a large shadow looming over your figure. before you could even get his name out, he did it for you. "that doll again, that... miggy doll again, was it?" asked a fluid, authoritative voice that made you shudder. you turned in your computer seat slowly, facing his chest and abdomen that met your line of vision from where you sat, while his real face gazed down at you.

"hi miggy." you said with a wide, awkward smile as he looked at you in your petrified state, and at the miggy doll that was inexplicably embarrassed and flustered in the face. "so, what have you been up to with the little version of me, hmm?" he questioned you as he moved forward, then crouching down to meet your gaze, so you two were face to face.

you felt a little hotter when he got closer, and you avoided looking into his eyes at the moment, darting your eyes from one side of the room to the other. "oh, psh, nothing..." you lied, which didn't convince miguel in the slightest, but he decided to indulge you in your little lie. he raised and eyebrow. "so, you telling the doll me that you loved me was not in any way influenced by what you feel for me in the real world, is that right?" he asked with a sort of sultry tone in his voice when he asked you that very last word.

you got a little flustered when he asked that, mimicking the image of the miggy doll you had right then and there. you chuckled nervously as you fidgeted with the miggy doll in your hand for a bit. "whaaaat? i love the miggy? no! no, i... i never said that! who would ever, hah, who would ever tell a doll they love it? it's a doll!" you tried to worm your way out of that when miguel placed his fingers underneath your chin and tilted your head slightly, in the way you did with your miggy doll, and made you face him. "but it looks like me, and dare i say, it's pretty damn accurate, scary accurate to what i look like. if you love that doll..." he trailed off as he inched his face closer to you, his breath hot on your face as he neared you, his nose gently brushing against yours. "...why not love me, hmm? i'm the real miggy, in the flesh. if you love him, why not me?" he asked, which made you gasp at how close he really was, how intense his gaze was–how gentle he held you, despite still keeping you in place with his dominating aura.

"so pretty, like a doll, you are... i still haven't gotten that doll version of you yet. to think of all the things i could play with them... oh, but i'll always save the best ones for you." he said as he moved his lips closer to your ear, softly kissing it a little as he began to whisper, "i'd always play the best games with you. we're each other's favorite playthings, no?"

a/n: HEHE ENDING IT HERE, ANYWAY I WANT A MIGGY DOLL NOW 😠😠😠💢💢💢

tags !! @thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara

[bump1nthen1ght]

Playtime (Male! Vampire / Male!Reader)

Pairing: Male!Vampire x Male!Reader

Warnings: Explicit Content Ahead (18+ ONLY), Blood kink, Non-Consensual ( Hypnosis/ Compulsion), Biting, Rough Sex

Word Count: 1610 Words

Based off this Request (by @harukisakisblog ): Vampire x male reader. Non con (but reader enjoy it) also rough. Breeding i guess (bonus point if reader did get pregnant) also just reader begging to stop but in the end got turned into a cockslut. Mm、let's see.... I guess reader holes got so full that the cum started to get out of it while reader is just looking at the vampire asking for a second round. Idk man i'm horny so go wild please

If you had to describe the feeling of being compelled, the most apt metaphor you could think of is lying down on the beach. The sand leaves little pinpricks of fuzz on the nape of your neck and the back of your arms, the ebbing tide rund between the crevices of your vertebrae and rushes into your ears. It’s a billion different sensations that feel so small, yet so all encompassing.

That’s what your brain feels right now, body limp in the arms of this monster. Your conscious thoughts seem to ebb at the edge of being actionable, but fade before you can grab on. Your skin feels tingly, the freezing touch of the vampire now sucking on your neck so jarring yet unreal.

“Well, don’t you taste delectable.” The vampire purrs, not even wiping the fresh blood off his lips before kissing you on the cheek. “Yes, I think I made a fine choice. Don’t you agree? ”

The words are like slurry in your head, the vampire not waiting for an answer as he runs a clawed hand under your shirt.

“N-no….stop.” You slur, hand grabbing his wrist in the imitation of force. The vampire laughs, pushing your chest down and forcing you on your back. He wastes no time in throwing your legs over his shoulders, lifting your hips and slipping off your pants. A long, painted claw draws circles in the meat of your thigh, pushing up the hem of your boxers.

“Goodness.” The vampire moans, pressing his mouth right up to the skin and taking a deep breath. “You smell so sweet, I simply must have more.”

The sting of fangs biting into your leg barely registers in your mind, but your hands still push and claw at the vampire's chest, even as he remains immovable. The suction of his mouth, draining the blood from your thigh, is damn near erotic.

The vampire licks at your wound, face smeared in your blood and a wicked smile. His wandering hands moves across the fabric of your underwear and squeezes your cock. Your lower half jolts, unintentionally bucking into his grip. As your cock grows hard the vampire kisses down your leg, eventually reaching your clothed crotch. In a move far too gentle for the situation, he kisses your shaft, dangerous sharp teeth glistening in the low light. The open cut on your leg begins to burn, though it only lingers in the back of your mind

“P-please.” You beg, globes of tears dripping from your eyes. “Please don’t do this.”

The vampire tchts, moving his hand to stroke your erection.

“Aww, sweetheart. I’m only doing what we both want. What we both need.” He laughs again, that taunting laugh that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. “Now, just relax for me, hmmm?”

Another wave of compulsion washes over you and your hands go limp against his chest. The vampire presses another kiss to your crotch before pulling down your underwear. Your hard cock bounces out, standing stiff against your stomach. The vampire licks his lips, flicking your boxers to the side of the room, off of your ankles.

The vampire sticks its two pointer fingers into its mouth, sucking languidly before releasing with a pop. You know immediately what he plans to do, especially when he smears more blood onto his fingertips. He presses against your tight entrance and you actually thank how the compulsion has relaxed your muscles, letting him sink into your asshole with little pain.

“That’s it. Open up for me, darling.”

A shiver runs down your spine. The pads of his fingers curl inside of you as the vampire reaches his knuckle. He sets a gentle pace of fucking you open, cooing petnames that glide right over you. The sensations shoot all the way to your toes, the vampire quickly finding your prostate and massaging it gently.

Your cock is left unattended, but not for long. The vampire spits into his free palm and begins jerking you off, matching the pace of his fingers and just teasing the heat in your belly. You bite your lip, your subconscious desperately telling you to fight this off. But instead your body whines when his ministrations stop, the burning in your crotch needing more when the vampire pulls his fingers out.

An animalistic keen leaves you, making the vampire laugh.

“So desperate. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

With the sound of an undone belt buckle and some shuffled fabric, the vampire throws your legs over his shoulders, bending your limp body into a mating press as something cold touches the bare skin of your ass. Your lazy eyes shoot upward, meeting the vampire's ravenous gaze as he strokes his cock in preparation. That desperate voice, trying to fight, is scared by his size. But the one in control, the unconcious running you right now, is excited by how it might feel.

“Now, I want you to scream for me, can you do that?” Another bout of compulsion, though much weaker than before. “I want to hear my name coming out of that pretty little mouth of yours.” A clawed finger runs across your bottom lip. “Say it for me, dear. Say Emil, please fuck me.”

“Emil, please fuck me.” The unconscious says and you wish it was the compulsion that pushed it to do so.

“Good boy.”

With that, he begins to push his cock inside of your asshole, spitting into his hand and stroking his cock as he does. The pressure is less intense than it could have been without the fingering, but Emil’s girth is still formidable, the compulsion only doing so much to the burn. It doesn’t help that he continues to make lewd comments, Emil groaning as he stretches you open on his dick.

When his hips hit your backside, he moans again.

“Look at that, it’s a perfect fit!” Emil spanks one of your ass cheeks, moaning again when you clench around his cock. “Now, for the fun to begin.”

A strong grip grabs your jaw and pulls you into a sloppy kiss, Emil hunched over your body when he begins pounding your asshole. He shoves his tongue in when you gasp from the pressure, already that tight knot stirring in your belly.

The sound of skin slapping skin is debaucherous, which Emil seems to revel in. He makes sure to elevate his moans and gasps, hands holding tight around your jaw and forcing you to look into his crimson eyes. He licks his lips as he presses and swirls his hips against yours, drinking in your reaction.

“I want you to be loud.” The hand around your throat tightens, just enough to be a threat. You feel your eyes rolling unto the back of your head, your breathless moans getting caught at the back. “Scream for me.” Emil squeezes your throat again, pushing your head onto the bed and sitting himself up as he increases his pace. The compulsion and the way he’s brutalizing your prostate send stars behind your eyelids, your crotch canting towards Emil’s thrusts.

“Fuck! Yes, please, more!” The pleasure is all you know in the moment, your balls feeling tight as Emil laughs. His thumb brushes against your cheek while his other hand spanks your ass again. The buzzing has shot down to your toes again, you cock aching from the lack of attention. You’re actively meeting Emil’s thrusts now, tightening your core and throwing up your backside against Emil’s hips, trying to search for more.

That dizzying feeling approaches again, only elevated when Emil wraps a hand around your cock and begins jerking you off. You gasp, trying to focus in on Emil’s face but everything feels blurry. You recognize his laugh, the way his grip tugs and fondles you, but the context of it all is lost.

“Aww, thats right dearie, come for me. Cum on your master’s cock.”

Even without the psychic powers you feel the tug at your brain and your core, cock twitching in Emil’s hands as fucks you. He’s laughing amidst his moans, his pace growing sloppy as he reaches his own orgasm. “Cum all over yourself, watch as I fill you up.” Emil punctuates his words with powerful thrusts and you know you can’t take much more.

“Shit! Fuck!” You cry out, lower half tightening as your orgasm exploded outward, cum splattering up to your chest. Emil’s moan is beastly as he cums inside of you, spurts of his semen filling you up.

The after glow is short, Emil pulling out with a filthy schlick, brushing his long black hair out of his face. He looks down at you, a self- satisfied smirk taunting you. You can barely lift up your head, limbs shaking from the exertion. Your mind feels like it’s sunk into jello, warped and fruitless to move.

Emil sits back on his haunches, patting your thigh as he just watches you tired body. His cum drips out of you, bite marks on your neck and thigh only confirming your place. You’re his, his play thing.

He moves to sit up, feeling gracious enough to get you a wet rag to wipe yourself off, but is stopped. Your ankle is still hooked around the back of his knee, although you couldn’t stop him completely, it's enough to get his attention. Emil looks down at your face.

Your voice, croaking and desperate, calls to him.

“More.” You pant, weak calves trying to pull him back closer to you. Emil sees your cock, half-hard again, as your pretty eyes practically beg for another round.

Emil smirks. Seems he won’t be needing the compulsion anymore.

[anteroom-of-death]

Pretty When You Cry

Synopsis: DCI Hegarty picks up a certain type of to-go order.

A/n: shout out to @queerconfusionthings , @malcolmtuckerapologist and my girlie from tiktok who don't have a tumblr. Uh this is a fairly dark fic. Noncon but still fun. Yay. Mix otc meds, please I dare you. (No I dotn.) Maybe I'll do a sequel. Idk. I heart dacryphillia.

The girl was walking through the empty streets, long after midnight. Her skirt, riding up over her ass, tights clearly torn. Her form was hunched over, her handbag slapping the side of her in a rapid pace that matched the wobbly, pained gait.

Her heels were obviously too high.

Drunk, possibly high. Perfect.

This could be fun.

He trailed the car behind her. He was in his unmarked police car; this would be easy. He briefly flickered on the roof lights. Let her know that she needed to stop.

She did, exactly like a deer in headlights. Good, she would do excellently. Compliant, warm looking. She was clutching a poor excuse for a jacket, the whites of her eyes tinged red. She pivoted as she shook. She cleaned some snot off her nose. Or perhaps some other substances.

One could never be sure with these tramps off the street.

He got out of the car and approached her, in clear benevolence.

“You’re out too late, aren’t you? No johns at this hour.” He leaned against the car.

She bit down on her torn, smudged bottom lip. Clearly guilty, clearly nervous, clear admissions.

She seemed unable to form words.

A look of confusion spread across her face. A feeling of warmth and stiffness spread across his lap.

“I’m sorry! Officer? What?” She rocked back and forth in her platform heels, uneasy.

“Solicitation is a hefty fine.” He toyed with his prey. “Seven years and all…”

He took a step forward towards her. She took a stumble back.

“What?” Her eyebrows rose to the top of her forehead. She backed herself into the wall of the sidewalk where she stood. Her heart rate was almost palpable and certainly delicious.

“A cheap whore like yourself ought to know better.” He played the role of stern, yet forgiving cop. “I’ll take you down to the office and book you on something lighter. Disorderly conduct. A minor crime. No need to worry. I’ll probably get you a lighter sentence. Be a good slut and crawl into my car…” He reasoned, popping the door of the side of car open.

“I swear! I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m just coming back from the clubs!” Her breath hitched and she showed a smudged stamp on the back of her right hand.

“Don’t resist arrest. That’s an additional sentence.” He lied through his teeth. It was only the vagueness of the law that he could extort. Only violence could up the charges.

“Don’t resist me…” He flashed her a smile as he whispered loudly.

He banked on her ignorance of the laws. Most civilians were oh so ignorant about it. It made his life easier. Especially slow nights like this. He rolled his neck and rested a heavy hand on her shoulder…

“Just get in.”

“I swear! I’m fine! Please let me go!” She begged, pathetically. Tears starting to rim her over-lined eyes. Smudging the thick clumps of her mascara. She started to rummage through her bag.

Oh, she was pretty crying. His cock was almost fully hard. It was all stars and big, sloppy grey-black tears staining her whorish face. A picture of innocence. His cock jumped up and pressed painfully against his boxers. He groaned a bit aloud. The little slut was resistant and kept playing up this false candor.

He got his gun out of its discreet holster and held it to her stomach as he pressed harder down on her shoulder.

“You’ve two seconds to get in. Don’t make me escalate this.” He slid his tone of voice from ordering to almost a mocking plea.

She inhaled and swallowed hard. She started sobbing harder as she easily lost her balance and tripped into the car.

He crawled in and shut the door behind her. It was so difficult to maneuver with his cock practically breaking through the layers of fabric.

“You’re so easy. Aren’t you? Hmm?” He purred as he stroked her face with the muzzle, the front sight grazing the hairs of her brow.

She was beautiful. Her little fists balled up and trying to resist the urge to assault him. At least she was clever enough to not push her luck and actually assault him. She was trembling.

“I’m just like one of your cheap clients. You give me you, and I’ll not kill you.” He bargained, showing her that he would be reasoned with.

“I’m sorry. I think you have the wrong person!” She shook herself. Clearly resistant on her part of their little bargain.

He grabbed a giant fistful of her hair and yanked her up and shoved her onto the console, twisting the cuffs he had onto her wrists through the middle of the head rests.

Hegarty put the gun down and unzipped his pants, pulling his already-leaking member out of the fly of his boxers. It was large and pulsing as if thinking on its own.

He pulled up her skirt and tore her tights further. The only barrier left were some depressingly unsexy black panties. Rather basic. Just a flickering of lace around the top and bottoms.

Out of annoyance and a surge of betrayal of this common tramp, he tore them off and balled them into the front of the car. He’d keep them for later.

He looked at her exposed cunt and chuckled to himself quietly. There seemed to be a thin layer of slick coating the lips.

“Good girl, already so soaked for me. I bet your cheap clients just love how desperate you are. You must take cock like it’s nothing!” He pick up the gun and traced it down her spine before resting it at the base of her neck.

He carefully cupped the round curve of her ass with his free hand. It was just right, and perfectly able to be parted cheek by cheek as he marveled at it. This little whore was perfect for him. Just designed to make a good man like him fall.

He would have spent more time marveling at it, but he was giving himself one hell of a case of blue balls.

She needed fucked.

He needed to fuck her.

He scooted himself up further and pressed himself inside her warm and tight hole.

She let herself yelp; it was a small, plaintive tone. Very delicious. His cock twitched inside of her. From her lips escaped a groan. She clearly got off on this. The big, bad man had her here, strung up. Not only were her cries so melodic to listen to, but he felt her pussy moisten around his cock.

“You’re so tight for a prostitute.” He purred. He felt her walls fluttered tighter around himself.

“Cry for me. You might prove your innocence if you do.” He guided her further with the gun moving from her neck to her skull as he lay down over her. He took his arm and flung it under her, arching her head deeper onto the tip of the gun. His hand went down her top and he grasped her breast. It was soft, easily bruised. He pinched down hard and scraped his nails against the tender flesh of her nipples.

A moan escaped her lips, despite herself.

“What a proper slut you are for me. So good.” He dished out the praised.

“Don’t worry, no one can hear you in here. Nor see you. Perform for me.” He said as he slammed his shaft further in and out of her.

She thrashed in her cuffs as she let out a hiccup and coughed hard through her choking tears.

He pulled the hammer once and moved it down to the cervical vertebrae.

“Don’t fight. You were doing so good. Be good. Right?” He pulled his head further and looked at her, he was fully in her now. Her eyes glistening like the shine of a far-off planet. Absolutely breathtaking. "I'd hate to blow your pretty little brains out all over my clean car..."

He gripped her throat and squeezed it hard as he sped up for a while. Her labored breath came out in such a delightful way. He played with the idea of snapping her neck. He could do it; it would be so easy to cover up her death.

Ultimately, he decided against it.

But he did choke her further, harder. His large hands and long fingers wrapped almost completely around her neck. Squeezing it was enough to get him harder yet. He could feel his thumb nail meet the corner of his pinky finger.

He lightly shook her neck as he rotated his dick in her hole…hips thrusting in multiple directions.

He continued to pound into her. She accepted her position once more. Her body relaxed more and more…

He felt her leak in spite of herself. Wet, slick and coming from her increasingly tight cunt. He also felt herself piss herself a tad. (Or was she a squirter? He leaned towards that theory.)

Soon enough, he felt his ball empty into her. He grunted and let himself stay inside her as he slumped over her. He removed the gun and stroked her hair and the raw skin if her neck. It could almost be mistaken for care.

“You did that so beautifully. I can see why you’re doing this…” He cooed into her ear.

He un-cuffed her. Quickly pulling down her skirt and popping open the door from a button in the front.

He quickly put himself back in his pants and reached for his wallet, taking a massive wad of cash and chucked it at her.

He pulled himself into the driver’s seat, and pulled down the window.

“Keep yourself safe and law abiding.” He ruffed out. She was on the sidewalk and grasped herself and her belongings. Tears still leaked from that beautiful face of hers. The makeup was so artfully smeared, it looked like something a high-end label would do if it were grunge-ing out.

He smiled at her in a fair and threatened way.

He sped out away and towards the highway.

☆☆☆☆

Two weeks later- A very confused girl received a parcel in the mail. Kiki de Montparnasse. She didn’t recall ordering it.

A gift note fell out:

Skeptically, she opened it up. It was a halter bra and a thong with matching cut-outs. Mesh, black. There was also a black maxi dress with a mesh torso area…

Everything was exactly her size.

“I’ll be seeing you soon. Keep prepared, little tart. -dci.”

She shuddered and looked around. Unsure of what she felt, she felt herself cry.

She felt on display and exposed. How did he find her? And why?

She placed the box on her bed and stared at it...

What did that crooked cop mean? And why her?

[theplanetplu20]

Mary Jane (All night long)

pairing(s): larissa weems x reader

warning(s): nsfw, smut, praise kink maybe sorta

summary: smut inspired by the song mary jane (all night long) by mary j. blige

word count: 2.1k

A/N: honestly this is pretty vanilla but like really loving sex which is weird since i don’t usually read or write that but idk i just wanted it to be sweet and like just taking my time to appreciate this beautiful woman damn so idk how i feel about it but here’s the song if u wanna listen and pls lmk what u think :)

You sigh slightly annoyed. It's nearing 11pm and Larissa has still yet to come to bed. You know she often gets caught up in her work not paying attention to the time, but she needs to learn to stop overworking herself. Although I love how passionate she is about being the principal here, it's one of the many reasons I fell in love with her. What I need right now though is for her to be passionate about me, not silly paperwork. I swing my legs off the bed, shove my feet into my slippers and throw on my robe determined to get Larissa to leave the work till the morning. I shuffle out of the door of the attached living space and into her office seeing her exactly where I expected her to be. She doesn’t seem to notice I've entered the room so I make my way over to her desk and move to stand behind her.

“Rissa?” I say softly lifting my hands to rest on her arms then moving up to her shoulders to message them slowly. She groans clearly stiff from the stress of the hard day she’s had.

“Darling… I still have a lot of work I need to do.” she protests knowing what i’ve come for.

“Nothing i know you can’t do tomorrow” I say continuing to message the kinks out of her neck and upper back. She sinks into my touch a little before pulling away realizing she was getting distracted.

“No I have to get this done tonight I have a ton of meetings tomorrow” She says, rolling her shoulders back and attempting to get back to work. I quickly spin her chair around so she’s facing me

“Your first meeting isn’t until 12 pm because your 10am is canceled and you know I know this so don’t fight me honey” I say giving her a slightly pointed look so she knows i’m serious about not giving up.

ooh baby not tonight i don’t wanna fuss and fight i just wanna make it right

“common baby, you’ve had a hard day, don't you wanna come to bed with me” I say crawling into her lap trying my best to convince her. I feel her arms move around my waist and a smirk makes its way onto my face knowing I've won.

ooh, there’s work to do i wanna get real close to you i wanna get you in the mood

I grab her face lightly, pulling her face close to mine so that our lips are barely touching. I run my thumb over her cheek lovingly and I can tell she’s getting antsy from the anticipation. Her hands grip my waist harder and I pull her in for a crushing kiss not wanting to keep her waiting too long. She immediately opens her mouth for me to explore with my tongue. She moans loudly when I run my tongue along hers. Our lips fit together perfectly and every time we kiss I swear we kiss like it could be our last. I pulled back to suck on her bottom lip looking into her hooded eyes before letting it go. We sit there with me still in her lap breathing heavily for a minute while I admire my work of smearing her lipstick.

All the things you want to do

I bring my hands up to her hair slowly pulling out each bobby pin and messaging her scalp lightly as I go along letting her hair flow down her shoulders. She always looks so gorgeous with her hair down. I get up slowly off her lap and offer her hand. She immediately puts her hand in mine letting me pull her up into my waiting embrace. I run my hands under her button up to feel her skin on mine. I pull her down a little letting her know I want her to lean down and kiss me. This time our kiss is a lot slower. I take my time enjoying the way her lips feel on mine. I start pulling her towards the door to our living space, not breaking away from her. As soon as I get us through the door I start pulling away at her clothes, leaving her undergarments and throwing the rest across the room not caring where they end up. I back her up till she’s pressed up against our bedroom door and I finally break away to move down her neck trying my hardest to resist leaving marks where they are would be obviously visible. My leg finds its way between her thighs and she whimpers when the fabric of her underwear hits her clit just right. I feel her hands pulling face back up towards her so I let her guide my way back to her lips, her tongue immediately finding its way into my mouth as she grinds down on my thigh. She moans loudly into my mouth and I bring my hands to her hips to guide her movements to keep a consistent pace. When I feel her movement get more frantic and her breathing gets louder and more uneven I pull back not wanting her to cum just yet. She whimpers loudly at the loss of contact.

“shh, just relax and i’ll take care of you” I make sure i’m holding her tight and off of the door before opening it and making our way towards the bed. I push her lightly down onto it looking down into her eyes.

and anytime you want me

“back up honey” i say encouraging her to lay down on the bed to which she shuffled up so her head is near the headboard. I stay standing at the end of the bed admiring my beautiful goddess on our bed. I lean down to kiss her ankle and up her leg then back down to her other ankle to kiss back up her other leg before kissing right above her slit over her underwear making larissa breathe hitch. I make my way up her stomach towards her chest kissing as much open space as possible before sneaking my arms around her back to unclasp her bra, throwing it out of my way. I first cup her breast lightly running a thumb over her nipples before flicking them slightly causing her to jump a bit craving more. I lower my mouth onto her right nipple, taking it into my mouth, sucking and flicking it with my tongue, gaining beautiful moans in return. I move to the other one giving it equal attention. After I'm done fully appreciating her chest I kiss up her neck moving to look into her eyes.

i’m saying that i love you every day and i know that you love me, baby admit it

“i love you”

“i love you” we both whisper at the same time making us burst out giggling for a moment before we quiet down. It just feels like we’re the only two people on the earth right now. I crash my lips onto hers again, missing her mouth on mine.

I feel her hands tug on my shirt so I pull back to sit on her hips while I pull my shirt over head feeling her eyes on me the entire time. As soon as the fabric falls to the floor Larissa's hands move up my chest. I let her feel along my body as she pleases, content to entertain her for a moment before moving away to take off my pants and underwear. I look up and notice Larissa's annoyed expression at my absence switching to hunger at seeing my exposed body. I chuckle lightly.

“I'm back, don't worry love” I say crawling back on top of her to sit back on her hips again. She moans feeling some of the wetness from my cunt on her stomach and I roll my hips involuntarily trying to get some kind of friction. Her hands immediately made their way to my hips to aid my movements “So needy” I remarked, actually quite happy about this fact “before you were ready to ditch me for paperwork” I decided to tease her a bit about it. she whimpers and I know she’s soaking wet already. Her hands make their way up my thighs going to touch me but before they can make it I take her hands and push them back so that they’re trapped above her head. “how about you make it up to me and I'll make my angel cum so hard she sees white? hmm how does that sound?” she nods her head frantically, liking the idea. “words, honey. I wanna hear you”

“Yes, please” She says itching to touch me

“good girl” I say before grinding my hips down to meet my clit with the skin of her stomach. I let go of her arms and let her effortlessly flip us over so she’s now hovering over top of me. She leans in and kisses me sweetly before moving down down my body leaving soft red marks from her lipstick. She finally makes her way to where I need her most, leaving kisses along the insides of my thighs. I put my hands in her soft hair tugging lightly to move her closer to my core. “no teasing” I whine needing her fingers in me now. She moves so her lips are just ghosting over my clit when I suddenly feel her blow on my clit making me shiver and cry out desperately. Her lips suddenly wrap around my clit sucking lightly. I moan out loudly not being able to nor wanting to stifle the sound. My hips start involuntarily bucking up at her face. Her strong arms find their way to my thighs to force them down causing me to moan out louder. She brings a finger up to my entrance circling around it teasingly for a second before pushing two fingers deep in me. I grip her hair head causing Larissa to moan against my clit sending a shock wave through my body. My body can hardly take it anymore as my thighs shake and my eyes roll back into my head.

Give me all your love and don’t stop my love’s waiting when you reach the top

“Larissa! Fuck i’m gonna cum” Her fingers slow down their relentless thrusting as I ride out my orgasm eventually pulling out. I whine at the empty feeling. I open my eyes to look down at her just in time to see her pull her fingers into her mouth effectively cleaning them off. I watch her absolutely mesmerized before pulling her up by the neck to kiss me passionately. I taste myself on her tongue making me kiss her harder. We both pull away breathless. We both just stay there smiling at each other for a moment catching our breath enjoying each other's presence until I break the silence impatient to taste my wife. “Your turn” I grin widely at her “why don’t you sit on my face, pretty girl?” My hand comes up to rest on her hip rubbing the skin there before prompting her to climb up my body so that her pussy is resting just above my face.

Come into my bedroom, honey what i got will make you spend money (all night long)

I bring my hands up to her thighs pulling her closer to my face so that most of her weight is resting on me. I drag my tongue from her entrance to her clit flicking it lightly causing her to twitch on top of me. I flick at her clit a couple more times before sucking on it. I can hear Larissa's moans muffled by her thighs, spurring me on in my movements. I lick and suck at her clit while she grinds down on my tongue. I take one of the hands holding down Larissa's thighs and push two fingers deep into her cunt searching for that spot I know makes her scream. I curl my fingers expertly effectively drawing screams and moans out of Larissa's mouth. I felt her tighten around my fingers letting me know she was close to cumming. “Come for me angel” I say, having to pull away from her clit for a second before going right back to my movements. Larissa thighs tense around my head and I feel her cum start dripping down my hand so I pull away drinking every last drop she had to offer. She slumps down exhausted, my hands being the only thing holding her up. After a minute of regulating her breathing she moved down to cuddle into my side.

“Do you need anything, my love?” I ask her to softly brushing the hair out of her face.

“No, that's okay darling. I'm perfectly content right now, i just want cuddles” She replies, nuzzling her face into my skin.

“Well that i can do” I hug her tightly and pull the sheet over us. I press a kiss to her temple and cuddle in closer.

[sparkleswap]

can we have the music tastes of side staff/patients too please?? I love learning about characters...

okay yes... i can do this... like last time feel free to ignore ok this is all supplementary material baybee. ok

cyn - i think hed rlly like bowling for soup idk. maybe noah kahan ive heard ppl like him. oh hed love fox szn thats true and real 4ever. but most of all hed fuckin love johnny cash. integral characyer trait guys

mel - #1 la dispute fan... also enjoys of montreal & the magnetic fields. imo .

chip - i dunno smooth jazz maybe?? he can't handle stress right now give him something nice. bro cant even handle vocals in songs its too scary

orange - this is ur will wood fan people. i suppose. is miracle musical similar at all or do ppl just throw them together in the same playlists for fun. idk someone asked whod be a will wood fan and i guess ive decided the answer to that is orange. ur will wooder rep. or whateverrr

reesee - shuffled a random playlist and the song i got was by bo burnham so that's what im writing down ok. thats whats happening

party - i just know if i could sit him down with a daisy the great vinyl itd fix him. nayve foot ox too

cuddles - wait a minute who put ur name here stay back vile demon

rem - ummm. bad books. and... heart attack man. these are real ideas ive always had and NOT cruel jokes prommy

nya - LOVES hyperpop. or at least what i understand to be hyperpop dont take my word on it. ig whatever genre describes 100 gecs, vylet pony, AJ BLACK, and k1dzheart.

sunny - LOVES vocaloid. and utau. and all freaky little robot voices they eat it up. i dont actually know a lot of vocaloid artists i just know the songs but i think theyd love dance! vr dance! or mayb im judt rlly biased to the diary of underage observation series. siiighs

ik there are more side staff slash patients but um. i haven't thought abt them enough yet LOL. maybe 1 day ok thsi stiff takes time

[st-asya]

I think I've got too much time on my hands, and it shows. That's another endless post. I know I read too much into the plot (I've got another explanation of everything that's written there and it's WAY less complicated), but I could not stop writing it, and at some point it started to make sense, so...

s1ep3

Look, I guess Izzy is a controversial character, I don't really have a solid opinion on him yet, this post is not to be seen as hate towards him, I'm trying to understand the reason he behaves the way he does, I'm not terribly successful in doing that yet, but I've only just begun.

Izzy: Honestly, I really don't think this Bonnet is worth your time.

Blackbeard: So, he's a fancy man with a fancy ship, and he travels with a brigade of imbeciles. Do I have that right?

• First of all I don't recall hearing the word 'imbecile(s)' that often anywhere but this show, that's just a little linguistic(al?) observation. 'Travel' is a pretty interesting word to use in this scene, but it's very fitting.

• Love the way Blackbeard straight up ignores Izzy's line to get to the point.

Blackbeard: And he bested you at swordplay. (that gesture, as if words are not enough to make a point, he wants Izzy to pay extra attention)

Izzy immediately takes the bait (cause of course he does, that was the whole point of this trap)...

...and finishes it off with complete self-obliteration. I'm not even sure if he realises he's basically being ridiculed cause it's way more important for him to keep things professional (even in front of a person who's very well aware he doesn't need to cuz there's nothing to prove, there's a reason he became first mate, I think), to prove he messed up because of the 'imbeciles' (as if it's their fault). I'm not saying he's dumb (he's very far from being dumb), he just might be too caught up in being offended, he's pissed. He does understand (I guess) that this kind of response is immature (cause these are excuses), but it's hard to think rationally when your pride is hurt, the first thing he thinks about is to hurt the offender right back, it's automatic. You actually gotta have an impressive control over your irrational emotions to realise you're wrong and shut up when all you want to do is say something hurtful. The point is he's still messed up and he does not want to make peace with this fact, look at the way his body language changes immediately, the way his eyes shift, he can't even contain the emotion mentally, that's just too much to handle, but it's still controlled, barely noticeable, and his whole demeanor is already stiff as hell, it's sheer concentrated rage. To him that whole interaction was borderline offensive, even the memory makes him feel angry, still.

• Speaking of Blackbeard, it's such a masterful way of essentially reprimanding someone without outright showing it. I mean you could call it a friendly banter, but Izzy is having none of it then. Those were pretty casually delivered remarks, just his regular voice, as for the face, we can't even see it. The center of attention is mainly the way he's wording his mini speech.

• But I guess, Blackbeard is the only one who can get away with that kind of attitude towards Izzy, and not only because he's a captain, I suppose (idk where that assumption comes from if I'm honest).

• And then Izzy just suggests killing the crew even though a few minutes ago he stated Blackbeard should not even concern himself with following Bonnet in the first place. I don't think the crew can make decisions on its own, so if Blackbeard shouldn't give a damn, why should the crew?.. Was Izzy hoping to divert Blackbeard's attention from this epic fail? So if he killed the source of the damage to his pride, Blackbeard would be like you've restored my faith in you, you're excused (if it's true then why is it so important to him)? Cause Izzy can clearly see Blackbeard is not really satisfied with the outcome of the unprofessional ambush. Or he overthinks it. (no, the only one who's overthinking stuff is me). Or was he like I've had my ass kicked, yes, can we please change the topic already?