#not that i know what to do about it! feels like i always fall short somewhere btwn describing a problem & understanding a natural solution

[mysteria157]

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: Light Profanity, Light Alcohol Consumption, Explicit Sexual Content, Missionary, Fingering, Mentions of Cunnilingus, Public Sex (Sort of), Office Sex

WC: ~9.8k

Summary: 

Nanami may be disconnected from social media trends, but he’s not oblivious. He’s overheard the crass innuendos and seen the tasteless memes on Yuji's phone. He knows the vulgar things some men say—about how excited they get when the summer begins. 

It always seemed so stupid and dramatic to Nanami, who has never had a straying eye to actually see if the rumors were true. But now that you’ve come into his life…he gets it.

Oh, he gets it. 

Sundress season.

Notes: Hello! Had a random thought this morning and decided to roll with it and practice writing Nanami some more. Anywho, I hope you all enjoy this one-shot.

This is a prime example of me writing smut when I feel like it. Please do not ask me for more related to this story and please do not ask me to write smut, the answer is no lol. This is just a one-shot of a random idea, please enjoy it for what it is lol. Thank you all for understanding!

Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated! Happy reading!

Dividers: @cafekitsune @arminsumi | Header: made by myself

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©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

The city summers are a different kind of hell. The humid heat clings to Nanami, making his skin feel instantly tacky as if he hasn’t showered in days. It wreaks havoc on his usual crisp suit and tie, causing the fabric to stubbornly adhere in unflattering ways. He thinks back wistfully to his bachelor days when he could simply escape such misery by holing up inside with the AC blasting, and then wait until the evening for a walk or to run errands. But that was before you came into his life like a vivacious sunbeam, all warmth and carefree laughter.

Now, he wouldn’t dream of depriving you of simple joys like strolling hand-in-hand through the park, watching you bask in nature’s dazzling seasonal shifts. The fragrant flowers blooming, the fireflies flickering to life as dusk settles, the earthy pre-rain smell you adore—he lives for the ease of these tranquil moments.

Throughout your relationship, Nanami has cataloged your ever-changing looks to match the passing seasons. The oversized chunky sweaters and leggings you’d cuddle up in during fall’s crisp breezes. The sleek peacoats and woolen scarves wound around your neck when winter blanketed the city in soft stillness.

But summertime is when your vibrant spirit and personal style shines. And it’s Nanami’s first summer with you when everything changes.

Nanami may be disconnected from social media trends, but he’s not oblivious. He’s overheard the crass innuendos and seen the tasteless memes on Yuji's phone. He knows the vulgar things some men say—about how excited they get when the summer begins. 

It always seemed so stupid and dramatic to Nanami, who has never had a straying eye to actually see if the rumors were true. But now that you’ve come into his life…he gets it.

Oh, he gets it. 

Sundress season.

And it’s a season that has awoken something primal within him. Something in his gut stirs, something in his mind shifts and the more he notices, the more he feels like a lecherous old man instead of the well-mannered one in his late twenties. While his clothes stick uncomfortably to his sweat-slicked skin you get to slip into breezy summer dresses that let every inch of your beautiful body breathe. 

As an event planner constantly on the move, you seem to live in the wispy, colorful outfits at all hours of the day. Like the buttercup yellow and candy pink number currently floating around you as you stroll together to the bakery during your shared lunch hour. It’s modest—cotton fabric that doesn’t stick to you, with ruffle short sleeves and a V-neckline that highlights your collarbones and the delicate diamond necklace resting between.

Nanami risks a sidelong glance, instantly regretting it when his gaze gets trapped by the way the bright floral pattern sways and twists with each step you take. The hem brushes the brown skin of your knees and while he can’t see much, Nanami knows the soft curves hidden underneath the airy fabric intimately.

While the caveman part of him can understand the underlying meaning of sundress season, it’s everything else that flares his want for you. It’s the wild curls that brush your cheeks and neck, the diamond earrings that reflect in the sun, the curl of your long lashes that kiss your lower lids when you blink. And yes—the gorgeous dress that you have on enhances everything about you—but in the most basic sense, you are beautiful.

“You’re staring.” It’s a playful accusation that you direct at him even though your eyes are admiring the tulips that you both walk past.

He quickly averts his eyes, sharp cheeks blazing a fiery red. “My apologies I…” Nanami clears his throat, struggling to regain his usual unruffled demeanor. “That dress looks lovely on you.”

You hum in acknowledgment, pausing so he can open the bakery door for you. “You think so? I just picked it up last week. Perfect for this heat, isn’t it?”

Nanami swallows hard at the teasing tilt to your tone, the innocent question feeling anything but. From the very first day he met you—that very first day you knocked back a glass of expensive whiskey and smiled at him as if it was nothing—he’s come to accept that you have no reservations of flustering him. You thrive on it, and for as stiff as Nanami is, you are a breath of fresh air that he never imagined would slide into his lungs. 

Umber eyes watch you walk ahead of him and into the welcoming AC of the bakery, tantalizing calves flexing with each step.

“Very much…” is all he can manage, hastily ripping his eyes away again as his equilibrium dangerously shifts.

You laugh lightly at his sudden silence, the warm, rich sound simultaneously soothing his thundering heart and making it trip up all over again. “You act like you’ve never seen me in a dress before.”

“You know that’s not true,” he mutters, switching his gaze to the menu to avoid your entirely too-innocent smile. “I simply…appreciate fine things.”

The rich ring of your answering chuckle sends molten desire licking traitorously down his spine. “Is that so? Then I’ll have to acquire more of these stunning ‘fine things’ for you to appreciate this summer…”

He should have known better than to egg you on. Had he kept his eyes to himself and brushed off your knowing glances, he could have enjoyed you without your playful watch. But for as smart as Nanami is, for as observant and vigilant in his work as he is in his life outside of it, he can never wrap his head around how devious you truly are.

One day, the weather calms down enough for lunch at the park. It’s the perfect day to eat outside. The sun is high in the sky but the canopy of trees gives you both the protection you need from harsh rays.

“Need any help setting up?” You call out, shrugging off the ice denim jacket from your shoulders to reveal this summer’s newest addition—an angelic white sundress adorned with delicate lace trim.

Nanami’s throat tightens and he shakes his head, unfurling a blue blanket onto the thick grass below you both. “I can do it, love. Please just relax.” 

He carefully arranges the picnic blanket, spreading the wrinkles free before you plop down on one side. As you dig into the large lunchbox, he admires the crisp white cotton that seems to skim over your frame, covering you but still unable to touch. Thin straps leave your shoulders bare, your skin glowing in the sun from your shimmery sunscreen. No necklace this time, so the square neckline dips just enough to offer a subtle hint of cleavage. The stretchy ribbed material hugs and accentuates every lush curve before gently flaring into an effortless, free-flowing skirt.

You purse your lips and furrow your brow in concentration, leaning more over the lunchbox, your back straightening to steady yourself before he watches free of shame as you arch just so.

When you turn to flash him that achingly fond smile, your curls falling over one shoulder, all traces of decency flee from Nanami’s mind. In that moment, he’s transported back to those dizzying early days of your relationship—entirely captivated, yet utterly terrified of somehow shattering this dazzling, undeserved connection between you.

“Thirsty?” You hold out one of the banana milk boxes that he’s grown to love since your presence, an impish quirk of your brow, clearly aware of his slow descent into hell.

Nanami nods jerkily and takes the milk box, unable to find his voice for a beat. As you settle down gracefully beside him, the skirt drifts up in a gentle billow, shaping to and showcasing skin. He has to tear his eyes away from the wicked flashes of toned thigh with extreme willpower.

Like the devil you are, you toss him a coy smirk, shiny lip gloss clear even though he knows it tastes like strawberry. “We gonna eat or are you just gonna gawk at me like a weirdo?”

He can’t help the scoff that leaves him as he pulls out sandwiches for you both. “I thought you liked when I gawk at you.”

“Not when I’m hungry.” 

He shakes his head, smirking softly as he removes the cling wrap before handing you your half, your fingers brushing against his. Warm pleasure blooms in his chest at the radiant sight you make contrasted against the swaying greenery. It’s as if you don’t belong but he couldn’t imagine you anywhere else. You take a generous bite of your sandwich, a smear of mustard in the crease of your lips as you offer him a gentle smile.

As the scorching summer rages, Nanami can’t help but chastise himself. A mundane and childish social meme has become the representation of the hardest test he’s ever taken. Maybe he should have asked for tips from Yuji on how to better prepare himself. 

He’s always prided himself on admiring from afar, on controlling his emotions in public and savoring them later in private. He knows your beauty and the unintentional way you drain the air around him. But he’s always been able to offer that soft smile, place a hand on your shoulder or your waist and offer a compliment to whatever you’ve chosen to wear for the day. But recently, in the face of your summertime wardrobe choices, Nanami finds that steely discipline faltering at an alarming rate.

Sinking deeper into the plush living room sofa, Nanami exhales a deep sigh and allows the tension thrumming through his shoulders to bleed away. Here, surrounded by the apartment’s climate-controlled sanctuary, he can savor these increasingly rare moments of solitary peace sprawled out with a good book. It’s a well-deserved shared day off for you both—free of schedules, obligations, or anything more strenuous than lounging around with each other. And more importantly, at home, you’re nothing but comfortable clothes and soft pajamas. 

He’s safe.

A wry smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he imagines the look of feigned innocence you always sport whenever he gets too overt about appreciating your seasonal attire. As if you don’t know the absolutely devastating effect even the simplest hair toss or twirl has on what’s left of his challenging self-restraint these days.

It’s going to be a great day. He’s almost done with this book, just three more chapters and then he can start another in his pile that he wants to tackle this summer. That’s right, Nanami Kento is going to—

The soft pad of your bare feet against the hardwood floors has Nanami glancing up instinctively from behind the novel’s pages. And just like that, the world around him completely whites out as if he’s been hit over the head with a brick.

You’ve emerged from the hallway in a yellow sundress so vibrantly captivating, so deliciously clingy and effortlessly suggestive that he nearly swallows his tongue in surprise. The rich gold hue kisses the deep tone of your skin, as if you’re a sunflower blooming under the artificial lighting of the apartment. The dress accentuates your shape in the most brazenly tantalizing way—the thin ruffle straps on your shoulders, the sweetheart neckline hinting at full cleavage, the dress’ light hem hitting indecently high on your thighs in playful flirty wisps.

But it’s the stretchy knit fabric’s complete inability to disguise any curve or meaty swell that really has Nanami sitting up straighter on the cushions. It’s not layered well enough—almost transparent—and the snug material leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, from the outline of bright panties that cover the soft spread of your hips to the pert dusky points outlined beneath the bodice. 

Absolutely devastating and on full, confident display and this isn’t fair because he has three chapters left.

He barely registers the “What are you reading?” you offer him over one shoulder as you stroll towards the kitchen area in that swaying, uninhibited saunter that never fails to ignite his senses. Nanami simply sits there transfixed—one hand gripping the spine of his book while the other claws restlessly against his own inner thigh. Each roll of your hips has that thin dress swishing and lifting in tiny torturous glimpses that have his imagination veering wildly into unrestrained territory. But he’s at home, that’s okay right?

That’s when you shift your weight onto the tips of your toes, your back turned to him, stretching up towards the top cabinets with one hand braced against the counter…and the entire world seems to judder to a halt all over again. Because from this new vantage point, Nanami can’t tear his eyes away from the call of your legs, the dimples on the backs of your thighs, up, up to the hem and—

A guttural sound wrenches free from low in his diaphragm, a mix of a groan and a growled curse. He looks back down to his book, searching aimlessly for where he left off, flickering back over to you just as quick.

He should look away, tear his eyes off of the gloriously indecent picture you’ve unwittingly created simply by existing. And yet…Nanami finds his stare burning an increasingly blazing trail down the bewitching ‘V’ between your shoulder blades, past the delicious dip of your arched lower back to the toned flare of your thighs and calves below.

At one point, you bend even deeper at the waist, hips tilting up as you struggle to reach a particularly elusive item on the high shelf. The filmy yellow skirt jumps and flirts up with the motion, granting Nanami a shameless eyeful of toned thighs and the flash of his favorite pair of panties—lilac with lace along the edges that squeeze the skin of your ass in the most inviting way. He very nearly drops the book from his suddenly slack fingers at the sight, hissing out a low curse between his teeth.

You huff out an adorable sound of frustration as you fail to reach whatever item you’re going for, and he knows he should step in to assist like the gentleman he is. But his stare remains rooted to spot, ogling and committing it all to memory so he can think about it later—alone.

“Let me get that,” he finally manages to scrape out, voice gone low and gritty with naked yearning despite his best efforts at nonchalance. 

You shoot him one of those bright, beaming smiles over your shoulder in response—blissfully unaware of the effect your glowing, ethereal beauty has on him even without your intentional teasing. “Just grabbing the flour for dinner,” you explain sheepishly, leaning into his broad form as he comes up behind you and grabs the ingredient on the top shelf. “I always have trouble reaching.”

And isn’t that just symbolic as all hell? His curvy, tempting beloved constantly hovering just beyond his reach these past few weeks—unattainable without discarding every last vestige of control he has. It isn’t like you both don’t have sex. You do…often. There’s just always been a build up, never anything explosive.

Even in the privacy of your home, he’s never thrown caution to the wind. Nanami has always been one to savor every calculated build of pleasure in its precious sequence. You’ve expressed your satisfaction readily enough, reciprocating his passion with that same rapturous abandon you bring to all aspects of life. But in all the years of his tiring, overworked life, you are the first to show him what it feels like to never walk a predetermined line.

“This is…I’ve never seen you wear it inside,” Nanami manages, his throat feeling increasingly dry as his eyes trace the line of fabric on your shoulders.

You take the flour from him, shooting him a sly, knowing look from beneath your lashes as you turn to face him fully. “It’s a little stuffy in here, don’t you think?”

He can’t stop the reflexive glance that rakes over every inch of you. “It’s sixty-eight degrees.”

You lean in a fractional amount—just enough for the swell of your breasts to brush against his shirt as you crane up towards his face. “Well, I run hot,” you murmur, voice dropping into the pits of hell, a throaty register that bypasses Nanami’s higher cognitive functions entirely. 

He’s beyond undone. Frozen in place with desperate, rapturous hunger raging through his very marrow. This close, he can make out the small raised moles on your exposed shoulders, the genetic blemishes that are common for your skin tone. He gets a better view of the rigid peaks of your nipples straining against the thin fabric, practically begging for the heated and dripping touch of his mouth that he’s always more than happy to bestow upon you. 

His fingertips clench and relax at his sides, held back only by tremendous reserves of willpower from reaching out to map and relearn every soft, silken plane of feminine heat and temptation currently being dangled in front of him like a prize he still can’t win.

You take in the undisguised wanting and torment written large across his features with a look of utter satisfaction. Then, before he can formulate some slurred plea for relief, you spin on one heel and saunter out of his reach—hips undulating hypnotically beneath that flimsy gauze of material in an alluring farewell.

Only once you finally disappear around the corner does Nanami manage to sag forwards—palms braced on the counter as he attempts to draw steady lungfuls of air back into his oxygen-starved body.

By the time he plops back on the sofa, and opens the spine of his book, the desire to read is gone.

You take pity on him for a few weeks after that searing afternoon in the kitchen. Your outside adventures are marked by breathable athletic leggings paired with loose tank tops that drape and show you off…but in a far tamer, less flagrantly teasing way than before.

Even at home, the soft cotton shorts and tees you lounge around in provide Nanami some solace—the casual fabrics leaving just enough to the imagination rather than putting every mouth-watering curve on display.

Your usual playful flirtations also seem to be dialed back during this oasis period. As if you’re allowing the poor man a chance to realign his senses and regain some semblance of control. It allows him time to resettle back into some of his usual regimented routines. Without you on a mission at the periphery of his awareness constantly, stoking those primal fires, he finds himself able to slip back into the role of polished, tired professional and attentive partner with relative ease.

Perhaps a bit too easily, if he’s being honest with himself. Because before he can even register the transition, that fleeting grace period seems to dissolve back into the heady summer ether as quickly as it had begun.

The warm evening air smells of charcoal and citronella as Nanami moves through the crowd, trying yet failing to focus on anything but you. All around him, friends and coworkers intermingle while indulging in ice-cold drinks and delicious food fresh off the smoker. He loves food, especially Yuki's cooking when she hosts a barbecue.

But none of it registers tonight.

Because every sensory nerve-ending in his body is completely captivated and overwhelmed by the vision you make in that deep red sundress.

The rich crimson chiffon swirls and caresses over your body in sinuous waves of delicious color. You’re bathed in red, as if rose petals have unfurled and stitched themselves together to form the beautiful dress on your body. It’s a maxi dress that sweeps down to your ankles and kisses the straps of your block heels. Scorching flashes of full thighs are visible through the flowing slits on each side. The deep v-neck dips in a daring drop that leaves your sternum and the inner sides of your breasts achingly exposed. 

Each step you take has the delicate material clinging and drifting in the most hypnotic dance around your heavenly form. Nanami tracks the rhythmic sway of your hips with a burning stare, his control splintering a little more with every toss of your head that allows the deep brown of your skin to wink at him from the column of your neck.

Yuki is already three wine coolers in—not a lot for most, but more than enough for her to throw decorum to the wind. From across the backyard, Choso watches with an indulgent smile as his partner bobs off-beat to the soft music flowing from the speakers.

Choso's expression of pure adoration mirrors the way Nanami looks at you when he thinks no one else is watching. They share that unspoken understanding, that bone-deep contentment of being completely enraptured by the women they love.

At one point, the music shifts, more alcohol disappears, and Yuki is hauling you to the makeshift dance floor of the backyard. Nanami tries, he really, really does. But everything about you makes him stand at attention. Breathing, walking, laughing, smiling at nothing, and now—with just one rock of your hips to the music—his eyes are locked in.

You’ve never been a good dancer. But you’ve also never cared of the expectation to be a good one either. And Yuki is an extroverted pull that makes you sway more, that makes your shoulders roll and laughter to bubble from your lips as you watch your friend make a fool of herself. 

Nanami runs a hand through his thick blonde locks, disrupting the careful part he made before you both left the apartment earlier in the evening. The other hand clutches a glass of scotch a little tighter, the condensation sliding against his fingers before he takes a generous swig, his eyes not once leaving you. 

You can feel him before you even look over, and when you do lock with Nanami’s deep brown gaze from across the yard, you throw him a soft look from beneath your lashes as you slowly roll your hips. It’s the same motion of your hips that he got to feel last night with you straddling him, panting against his lips in the middle of the night.

Outwardly sensual in only a way he can recognize amongst everyone around him. But it’s your rapturous, carefree expression of pure bliss that simultaneously enchants and undoes the last tattered remains of his composure. With every movement, you embody the very essence of feminine energy—raw, joyful, and utterly free. You are a vision of untamed beauty, a wild goddess of the summer night come to life in a swirling dreamscape of rich ruby chiffon. 

The erotic, carnal urge to chase after your swaying, taunting form and haul you away to some shadowed corner where he can divest you of that sinful dress is overwhelming. Swallowing hard, Nanami averts his burning stare for fear of literally combusting on the spot.

“You alright there, buddy?” Yu's familiar voice cuts through the lusty fog, tinged with the warm charm of a couple beers down. “You look like you’re about to swallow your tongue or something.”

“I…excuse me,” is all Nanami can grate out, the remark feeling like fragments of glass as he speaks. He doesn’t wait for a response, simply stalking off through the open patio door and into the thankfully dim and cool interior of Yuki and Choso's home. Anything to escape your enticing presence for even a single moment.

The music and laughter from outside feels muffled as he sinks down onto the living room sofa in the shadows—rubbing distractedly at his thundering chest. But it does nothing to get rid of the vision of you dancing so wantonly and on unrestrained display in that gorgeous ruby sundress. 

Where are you even getting them? Online? Or is there a store that he doesn’t know about? He hasn’t seen other women in the city wearing dresses like you do. But then again…Nanami doesn’t really pay attention unless it’s you. 

His fingers grip the plush armrest of the sofa until the knuckles strain white, breath sawing harsh and ragged from his heaving lungs. Nanami squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to visualize anything other than the way that lightweight crimson had drifted and kissed over your thighs that peeked between side slits, the growing sheen of sweat between the generous canvas of your chest, the exposed slope of your neck free of curls—a spot of concealer on the side to hide the mark he gave you last night.

A harsh exhale escapes him as he forces his eyes open, only to instantly regret it. The muted sounds of the party filter in from outside—sweet laughter, the low thrum of bass, the periodic high-pitched squeal of your voice crying out at Yuki to get a hold of herself.

Nanami’s stomach clenches raggedly at that sound, arousal stroking down his spine in sweltering waves. Through the clear glass of the patio door, he can see the way your face lights up in pure rapturous joy as you give in to yourself. The subtle shifts and gyrations of your body in time with the beat, each swivel of your hips like a siren’s call. 

Against his volition, imagination melds into memory, replaying the countless times he’s buried his face between your thighs and simply drank in the celestial sounds of your pleasure until his name was a breathless gasp on your lips. That shrieking cry at Yuki almost the same towards him when he licks at your sensitive nerves one too many times. He forces his gaze away, leans his head back against the sofa and stares up at the ceiling.

The music fluctuates once more, that instantly recognizable intro to the next funky summer hit you adore cuing up. Despite the walls between you, Nanami can still acutely pick up the subtle cadence of your movements in time with that danceable rhythm. He knows the exact choreography of hips and legs that song inspires in you…and his slacks suddenly feel far too confining.

That’s when your voice cuts through the relative quiet like a bolt of lightning, somehow even closer now as you call out—half-playful chiding, half siren’s promise.

“Oh Kentooo…” The singsong inflection has his eyes squeezing shut even as his cock shamefully twitches against it’s restrictive fabric prison. “Where has my favorite salaryman gone off to hide? You know I can’t dance without my partner watching me.”

Gritting his teeth against the dark, full-bodied groan that tries to escape, Nanami hunches forward until his elbows are digging into his thighs. There you stand framed in the patio door, backlit in a devastating silhouette by the lantern lights emanating through the loud yard behind you.

You walk closer in that torturous dress, the double layers trailing languidly behind in currents of fabric that have his throat struggling to swallow. Your stunning frame is practically dripping in sensual confidence and self-assured power. He knows the power you have over him and would sooner swallow his favorite tie than give that up.

The rich carmine floats around you in sinuous waves as you sashay closer to where Nanami sits transfixed on the sofa. And with each step, all manners and decorum that have been taught to him fizzle away with the increasing ache in his jeans.

“Like what you see?” you murmur huskily once you’ve prowled to stand between his legs, allowing Nanami an unfettered view of your neckline, the long gold necklace between your breasts winking at him with each shallow intake of breath. You lift one leg to press a knee onto his powerful thigh—close enough for your perfume to slide down his nostrils and cloud his mind. The slit over your bent knee flutters open in an obscene gap, granting his hooded gaze a glimpse of skin his teeth ache to bite into.

“I asked,” you breathe out in a seductive timbre, near enough for Nanami to actually taste the addictive warmth of your presence on his tongue. “If you like what you see…”

The inhale that rattles through his powerful frame is involuntary. So is the compulsive way his fingertips suddenly flex against the cushion with the overwhelming urge to finally reacquaint himself with the soft temptation of your skin. Others be damned, mannerisms of being a respectful guest falling to the wayside.

Somewhere through the rapidly thickening haze of pure liquid arousal, Nanami manages a jerky nod—unable to summon even the most basic of syllables in response. He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing convulsively as you arch one delicious eyebrow in a silent challenge. With your beautiful curls pulled up into a high ponytail, he can see the slope of your ears that are adorned with the gold hoops he bought you last month.

Then, before he can gather enough of his scattered wits to chastise you for your behavior, you’re boldly reaching out and capturing one of his clenching fists in a firm grip. A soft grunt rattles up from deep in Nanami’s chest at the heated feel of your palm finally making purchase on his overheated skin.

But his breath hitches in a harsh inhale as you purposefully guide his splayed fingers towards your exposed leg—sliding his hand up excruciatingly slow to caress along the landscape of textures and planes laid out in offering. He expects the generous hem of panties he’s seen time and time again. He knows what they look like in his mind when he teases the edges before slipping inside to graze his fingers along your aching clit. But the calloused pads of his fingertips brush the thin string of a thong instead. And it’s just a single touch that has him wide-eyed, reeling—the edges of his vision dizzying into a hazy fog of aching, inexplicable need. 

You should have come with a manual. Surely there’s a guide to get through the summer months with you? Some sort of text to explain the steps he needs to take to keep himself in control in public?

The rapturous throb of your saphenous vein leaps against his fingertips as you allow him to slant just a hairsbreadth further—close enough to feel the heat of the place he’s been countless times before—close enough to slide a thick finger along fabric he knows is wet.

Only for you to tear your hand away and drop your knee as the sound of Yuki's voice pierces the heavy sensual tension hanging between your bodies.

“There you are!” She calls out cheerfully from the sliding glass door. “My song is on, come dance with me!”

There’s a gentle tuft of laughter from you then—one tinged with dark satisfaction as you drink in the wrecked, wanton expression flaming across Nanami’s features. As if thoroughly enjoying reducing him to this strung-out state of desperation. You could rule the world if given the right resources.

“Yuki, let’s get you some water. You’ve had a little too much to drink…” your voice trails off as you disappear in a rustle of vermilion and sashaying hips with one last loaded look over your bare shoulder. 

He manages a shuddering breath that feels more like sandpaper sliding down his abused lungs. The delicious scent of your perfume still clings to the charged air around him, the phantom-like caress of your dress along his knuckles, the sound of your throaty laugh disappearing back to the party outside. Each ragged exhale has his body subtly canting forward, giving silent chase to your retreating form as if by muscle memory alone. 

This game…this deliciously maddening game you delight in playing has Nanami’s entire being teetering on the razor-thin edge of unraveling completely. Each new summer ensemble seems specifically designed to further tempt and destroy the decades of discipline he’s meticulously cultivated since he was a teenager.

Nanami would think after a relationship or two, he would have steeled himself against falling victim to seduction. And yet, not a single woman from his past could have prepared Nanami for the devastating combination of your radiant beauty and barely-restrained hedonism.

Your laughter calls out to him again, his eyes snapping up to see you smiling as Yuki chugs the glass of water Choso has pressed to her lips. Completely innocent and free of devilish qualities, the fact that Nanami knows that dark side of you makes him fold his arms across his chest, sagging against the sofa and glaring at your form as he wills his erection to go down.

It’s two days before summer’s end when Nanami feels the steadily fraying threads of his self-control finally unravel into oblivion. He’s tried every possible tactic these last few months to stave off the relentless fire of desire you’ve been stoking within him—going for runs, ice cold showers, avoiding you when possible. He’s even resorted to having you model your newest sundress purchases at home in a desperate attempt at desensitizing himself. It all seems incredibly dramatic, but Nanami has no idea what else to do. Nothing has worked against the intoxicating mix of your lively beauty and increasingly bold choices designed to torment him until he’s six feet under.

He had known from the moment he accidentally stumbled upon that fateful periwinkle dress sitting in your laptop’s shopping cart that it would be his undoing. He can still picture with perfect clarity the way the model seemed to shimmer and dance on the screen as he clicked through the product imagery—he pictured it with heart throbbing clarity how it would look on you.

And he still has so many more years left of his life to enjoy.

Without conscious thought, Nanami had swiftly removed the item from the cart—an invasion of privacy that left him nauseous, but a necessary decision if only to spare himself. 

He was stupid to think it would actually work.

So it comes as little surprise to see you boldly flaunting that silken number tonight at the rooftop gala marking his company’s most prosperous quarter yet. The twinkling strings of lantern bulbs and hot summer breezes swirling all around you only heighten the flagging warning that this night won’t end the way he wants. 

As you glide about the rooftop, the pale periwinkle seems to float effortlessly around your body. Like every dress before, this one is no exception, complimenting the deepness of your skin. The whisper-weight fabric lays against your hips and waist, simultaneously shaping and gracefully draping in all the right places.

The thin straps crisscross behind your neck, framing your graceful shoulders and collarbones. As you turn, the silk lifts and drifts around you in a mesmerizing swirl of decadence. It’s another plunging V-neckline, but this dress sits on your body and decolletage with an air of romantic grace. It’s not scandalous like that night at Yuki and Choso's. 

But it’s the back—oh it’s the back that makes his gaze heavy, that makes the organ in his chest beat out of rhythm with every inch he uncovers. Try as he might, it’s absolutely impossible for him to look away from the delicate contours and valleys of your body put on full and enthralling display by this backless dress. From the elegant lines of your throat and shoulders left teasingly bare to the soft inward curve of your arched lower back—the dress is a cruel temptation showcasing every salivating inch of you that he’s spent countless nights worshiping.

It’s beautiful on you, truly and unimaginably beautiful, and it’s a terrible twist of fate that such a simple observation is destroying Nanami from the inside. All that discipline—the cold showers, the extra miles added to his runs, the attempts of desensitization—it’s useless. No matter how hard he tries, he will always notice something new each time he looks at you. And it will always wreck him and throw him off axis whether he likes it or not.

Because amidst all the warmth and sociability of this rooftop celebration, all Nanami’s rapidly sharpening focus can zero in on is the subtle glisten of perspiration trailing down the slope of your spine. Every imperceptible turn and cock of your hip amplified tenfold by the silk that gets to touch you while he watches. As if personally daring him to finally surrender every last shred of patience and simply take what he wants.

A soft chuckle escapes your full lips as Nanami’s boss leans in closer, undoubtedly regaling you with some far from amusing anecdote from the office. The charming sound has every thread of Nanami’s control taut like a bowstring. Because that sound means a lot for him nowadays—laughing at his dry humor, the movies you both watch together, the giggling stuttering into whimpers and moans of ecstasy when your back arches from his tongue.

Suddenly, the light summer breeze kicks up in and swirls around you, waving the hem of your dress and the two-day old twistout on your head. Instinctively, you reach up to tuck a lock of those dark silken twists behind one ear.

Time itself seems to slow as he watches those inky tendrils ghost across your bare shoulders and the exposed skin of your upper back. Nanami watches with visceral hunger as those wild strands make playful, meandering paths across the smoothly toned expanse of brown skin. His entire body instantaneously flushes with hot need and arousal at the simple, harmless image. The soft rise of your breasts shake as you offer a fake laugh to whatever drivel your boss has just said. And in that split second—the culmination of tonight, this dress, the entire summer of taunting and coy smiles— Nanami’s restraint finally shatters into so many useless slivers at his feet.

Before conscious thought can override anything else, he’s stalking across the rooftop with rigid, predatory intensity—adjusting the unique glasses on his nose, his mouth set in a grim line of single-minded focus. The gaggle of chattering coworkers and small-talk banter all fade away into muted static and white noise. All that exists in this heated vortex of Nanami’s rapidly narrowing universe is the coiling pull of you.

“Ah, Nanami!” His boss greets heartily, clearly surprised yet pleased to see the company’s best worker at last. “Your partner and I were just discussing a better way to spruce up the quarterly party for next year. Care to weigh in, my friend?”

The question lands on deaf ears. Because at the exact same instant his professional mentor is extending that olive branch of attempted small talk…your eyes are on his, a knowing, small smile pressed to the hem of your champagne glass as you take a sip. The sight of your jewelry, the fabric against your skin, the way you look at him…the desire that rips through his body is staggering.

“I apologize for interrupting, but I need to speak with you,” he grates out in a tone heavy with gravel and masculine focus. His palm finds the smoldering heat of your lower back without conscious thought, marking delirious patterns of desire against your naked skin. Your eyebrows furrow with a silent question at the rough timbre of his command…even though you see that undisguised storm of hunger and frustrated desire raging behind his tinted glasses.

“Of course,” you finally murmur and turn to his coworkers to wish them goodbye, setting down your glass on the table beside you.

He’s burning, raging with a fever that doesn’t even exist and each shallow inhale draws more of your achingly familiar perfume into his senses—only making things worse.

He guides you through the crowded rooftop party and towards the elevators with a molten intensity bordering on feral. Nanami’s palm maps possessive into the searing expanse of your back. Every step jostles his arm flush against the silk on your frame.

“Where exactly are we going in such a hurry?”

The rich, seductive rasp of your voice is designed to torture him further, but Nanami doesn’t rise to it, simply presses fingers more firm to your back, his other punches the elevator button with purpose.

“I said I need to speak with you,” he finally bites out. “That should be more than enough.”

You lean further into his touch and look up at him, your tongue darts out to toy with your plush bottom lip in a show of faux innocence.

“Is that so?” The melodic lilt coupled with the ghost of your warm breath fanning across Nanami’s jaw would have been enough to make a lesser man’s knees buckle entirely. Instead, it simply ratchets the tension coiling through his powerful frame into a downright maddening degree.

The soft chime of the arriving elevator makes you both turn in tandem, the mirror of the elevator doors casting your reflections—allowing Nanami to drink in the smoldering fire already blazing behind your heavy-lidded stare. There’s profound hunger glimmering there that matches his own. An unadulterated wildness reined in by the thinnest veneer of coy indifference. You’ve always been slick—but not tonight.

The mirrored doors slide open with a hushed mechanical shush, you both step inside, and the doors slide closed. 

Nanami offers a silent apology for the violation of manners his parents instilled in him before he backs you into the far wall—the breath punching out of your lungs as your back makes shocking contact with the mirrored paneling. Now it’s you breathless, struggling to compose yourself as the masculine power of Nanami consumes you.

A subtle shudder ripples through Nanami’s abdomen as you wantonly tilt your head back, arching your throat in wordless invitation just as your fingertips rise to trail heated lines over his heaving chest. The lapels are black as midnight, the undershirt a crisp white, and he’s the handsome man that’s all yours even as he fights between what’s right and what he wants. One of his palms is cupping the slope of your jawline as the other maps out the silk of your dress. He bends slowly until the heat of his mouth is tracing the full curve of your parted lips—a heavy brush of sculpted male confidence against your teasing softness. 

“You’ve pressed against my boundaries to a criminal degree, love,” Nanami warns in a dark rasp scorched with the first cinders of the firestorm yet to come. His palm slides up the bare inward curve of your back until his fingers are tunneling through the wild riot of your twistout at the nape of your neck. Tinted eyes slit in satisfaction as your head tips back farther on a shaky inhale—granting him access to the deliciously vulnerable length of your throat.

“Nothing to say?” he husks out in the open, admiring the flutter of your lashes as his voice hits you. Nanami’s mouth brands a hot trail from the sensitive juncture of your jaw up towards the shell of your ear. You whimper softly at the slow, torturous build—the same sound of rapture he has memorized and pulled from you countless times between the sheets. It’s enough to strip away any lingering reservations entirely. 

With the strength he’s never ashamed to show you, hands slide under your thighs and he yanks you up. Your legs wrap around him on instinct, your arms winding around his neck, your head tilting back again to smack on the mirrored glass. 

His tongue glides along the buttery curve of your throat, tasting the familiar tang of salt and vanilla on the tip and the smell of him, of pure Nanami clouds your mind enough to finally look down at him, your noses a hairsbreadth from each other. It’s a silent standoff, your eyes as teasing as they are filled with arousal, his eyes dark with something that makes you shiver against him. 

And then he’s kissing you, deep and hungry, his hands roaming the bare expanse of your back, dipping lower, pulling you closer. You melt into Nanami’s kiss, your initial surprise giving way to a matching hunger. Your hands slip under his suit jacket, feeling the heat of his skin through his shirt. He groans against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, igniting your nerves, thrumming in your veins.

You don’t even hear the elevator doors open but you feel him walking, lips hot and demanding groaning into you as you slide your fingers into his golden locks and pull. Nanami knows these floors like the back of his hand, and he’s familiar with the abandoned break room on the thirtieth floor, his hand yanking the door open and shutting it hard, lips never leaving yours. 

You gasp into his mouth when your ass lands on the old buttons of a copier, the machine groaning under your weight, the plastic buttons beeping in protest. As Nanami presses you against the copier, he can’t help but marvel at the feel of you beneath his hands. The dress, this damn dress, is like water under his fingers, smooth and cool and entirely too thin. He can feel every curve, every contour, every shuddering breath you take. 

He punctuates his actions with a roll of his hips, pressing his hardness that strains against his slacks against your core. You moan, your head falling back, and he takes advantage of your exposed neck, his lips and teeth worrying the sensitive skin, his tongue licking the marks he leaves.

“How many more dresses do you have?” he growls against your throat, his voice rough with need. “How many more ways are you going to torture me?”

You gasp as his teeth graze your pulse point, your fingers threading into his hair. “T-that depends,” you manage, your voice breathy. Nanami’s chuckle is dark, dangerous, his hands trailing higher, dipping into the seam of your panties, his fingers brushing over your clit. He savors the way your jerk against him, a whimper leaving your throat as you pant into the dusty air.

“Is this what you wanted? To reduce me to this? A man so desperate for you he’d take you in a public place?”

“Yes,” you hiss, arching into his touch, your breasts pressing against the thin silk that covers them. “Yesyesyes...”

Nanami’s groan is part frustration, part desire. “You have no idea what you do to me.” There’s a hint of wonder in his voice, a note of awe at the depth of his own need. His fingers press more insistently, circling, gathering your slick to make each stroke more messy and impactful, driving you towards the edge. The buttons of the copier dig into your skin, the machine whirring and beeping beneath you, adding to the crescendo of sensation. He can hear the mechanical shuffle of papers being chucked out from one end, slapping onto the floor.

“Do you like this?” Nanami pants, his breath hot against your ear. “Do you like teasing me, driving me crazy?”

“Yes,” you admit, free of shame, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Please, Kento.”

He slides two fingers into your wet heat, savoring your wanton gasp, increases the pressure, the speed of his fingers, pushing you closer to the precipice. “Have you done this before?” he asks, his voice raw with emotion. “Teased other men like this, made them want you so badly they’d forget themselves?”

“No,” you moan desperately, your head thrashing from side to side, deep locks brushing your cheeks. “Never. It’s only ever been you, Kento. Only you.”

“Say it again,” he demands, his teeth grazing your earlobe.

“Only you,” you pant. “I’m yours, Kento. Completely.”

It doesn’t take long—countless strokes inside of you, a curl of his fingers, a twist of his wrist, and you shatter. Your cry of pleasure mixes with the beeps and groans of the copier, your body shaking, your fingers digging harder into Nanami’s shoulders that he’s sure you’ve broken the barrier. 

He holds you through it, his lips on your skin, his murmured praises in your ear, soft litanies of words that has made you fall deeper in love with him each passing day. You don’t get a chance to come down fully because he’s on you again, pressing closer, pushing your panties to the side and digging his fingers into the meat of your hips. But the angle is wrong, you’re too high and the copier digs into his thighs and impedes him from getting to you the way he wants.

With a grunt of frustration, Nanami lifts you off the machine. Your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you to the conference table. He sweeps aside the accumulated debris with one arm, sending sugar and tea packets scattering to the floor. Your back hits the table, the hard surface unyielding beneath you. Plastic cups crunches and snaps under your weight, sugar and coffee creamer powder puffing into the air, settling on your heated skin.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmurs, soaking in the radiance you beam up at him, “how many times I’ve imagined this? Pulling you away from everyone, getting my hands on you…not being able to do it because I’m better than that.”

You moan as he nips at your collarbone, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. “And yet here you are,” you tease, breathless with twinkling eyes that shine right through him.

He captures your lips again, the kiss deep and demanding. You arch into him, your hands throwing off his glasses—they smack against a wall—your fingers deftly undoing his tie, working on the buttons of his shirt. You need to feel his skin against yours, need to be closer, and he shudders at the feel of your warm hands breaching the open buttons, sliding up his bare chest.

As if reading your mind, Nanami reaches for the zipper of your dress, slowly pulling it down. The fabric parts, baring more of your skin to his heated gaze. He takes a moment to admire you, his eyes roaming your body like a physical caress.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself. Then his hands are on you, tracing your curves, fingers brushing your nipples before he gives them a pinch. A whimper shakes from you, your fingers pressing into his bare chest.

Dimly, he’s aware that he should stop this, that he’s in a public place, at a work event. But the heat of your body, the insistence of your touch, the mounting pleasure coursing through his veins—it all conspires to drown out reason.

Your hands fumble with his belt, your fingers shaking with need. He helps you, impatiently pushing his pants and boxers down just enough. And then he’s touching you, his fingers digging into your hips, sliding you closer to him until the tip of him presses to the sopping wet heat of your center, wet from your orgasm and still ready.

“Please,” you whimper, hardly recognizing your own voice. “Please, Kento…”pushing your dress further up your hips, trailing over your ribs, cupping your breasts until the skin spills between the gaps. His eyes widen at the sight, the base of his spine heating up. So many times he’s seen you like this in the privacy of your home, and now it’s in an old break room at his workplace, the consequence of you finally taking things too far.

He’s free of any feral energy as he kisses you, sliding into your welcoming heat slowly to acquaint himself again. Your fingers dig into his skin, your chest pressing into him as you adjust, the table creaking under your joined weight as you wrap your legs around his waist and dig your silver heels into his back. Soon he’s moving above you, within you, each thrust pushing you higher, each thrust fanning the fire within himself.

“Please,” you whisper against his lips, begging again for the unspoken demand of more. And even though the roles are reversed right now—you the one being teased—he gives you whatever you ask.

He sets a pace that’s just shy of punishing, each snap of his hips brushing his zipper against the inside of your thighs. The room fills with the sounds of sex—the slap of skin on skin, your gasps and moans, his grunts into the air. He cannot believe he’s in this moment, doing something so scandalous.

“You reduce me to this,” he pants against your lips. “It’s not fair.”

“I know,” you gasp, your hands pulling at open lapels of his shirt, squeezing around the buttons, the fabric groaning. “I’m sorry.”

But you’re not, he can tell. There’s a hint of satisfaction in your voice, a touch of pride. And why shouldn’t there be? You’ve brought him, the ever-controlled Nanami Kento, to his knees. He loves you too much to ever want anything different.

“I’m a good man,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, curving his next thrust that he knows will brush against that spot you like.

“You’re an amazing man, Ken,” you moan in surprise, your hips lifting to meet his to seek more. “The best. Only the best for me. Only you, Kento.”

The praise makes him shake, the fire in his body raging like an inferno, burning his skin, breaking him into a sweat. He presses a knee into the table, throws one of your legs over his shoulders and savors the ragged way your name leaves his lips as he gives you everything.

“You feel so good,” he pants, his tongue licking the skin of your neck. He tastes the saltiness of your sweat, the sanitizing taste of perfume, the powdered creamer and sugar that sticks to your skin from the table. “So perfect.”

“Come on, Kento” you keen, your nails raking down the suit on his back. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. Couldn’t, even if he wanted to. He’s lost in you, in the feel of you, in the knowledge that he’s the only one who gets to see you like this. Wanton, needy, completely undone.

Nothing else matters—not the party going on just floors above, not the risk of discovery, not the propriety you’re both abandoning. In this moment, there’s only you and him and the heat that’s consumed you both all summer, finally finding release.

Nanami’s thrusts become erratic, his rhythm faltering as the base of his spine tightens in a delicious way to let him know that he’s close. His hand slips between your bodies, past the silk of your rumpled periwinkle dress, gliding over your clit in well-practiced strokes and the leg over his shoulder tenses up, your head digging into the table, neck arching for him to see the flecks of sugar sticking to your neck. 

“Ohhh right there Kento. Right there. Please, please I’m gonna cum—I’m—“ you smack a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself, eyes shutting tight.

“Absolutely not.” Nanami hasn’t suffered for months just to be deprived of anything during this encounter. He yanks the hand from your mouth, pressing it hard into the table, and the shock on your face as you look up at him, the staccato of your breaths, the undeniable seriousness in his gaze even as he pistons into you, admiring the way your dress pools at your waist as he gives you more, harder, deeper until—

“Ohhhh fuck!” you cum with a long dragged out cry, your body clenching around him, walls locking around his cock to the point his orgasm is yanked from him as he falls over the edge with you, pulsing deep inside with a groan muffled against your neck.

He sags against you, both of your chests heaving against each other. He slips a hand behind you, trailing lightly up and down your glistening back as you lie beneath him, spent and satisfied.

As he slowly comes down, he presses a lingering kiss to your sweat-dampened hairline, the roots of your twistout beginning to frizz. There’s a hint of coconut from your leave-in as his nose brushes down to your cheek. So familiar, yet still so intoxicating after almost a year of smelling it. As if he could ever grow numb to the potent lure of your presence.

A ragged chuckle escapes him at that thought, the mirthful rumble making you pull up your head to look at him. Nanami drinks in the utterly debauched vision you make—beautiful brown sweaty skin, hair messy, lips swollen and smirking as per usual.

His arm tightens reflexively around the sensual curves of your waist, pulling you closer in a subconscious gesture of possession and longing. Because for all the delicious torture you’ve inflicted over the past few months with your endless parade of tempting summer dresses…he wouldn’t trade this hard-won moment for anything.

Nanami is many things—disciplined, regimented, a hardworking—albeit tired— professional. But he is also only human at his core. And you, his beautiful free-spirit of a partner, has a simply breathtaking talent for awaking the primal, unrestrained parts of him he usually keeps so rigorously leashed.

“You know,” you murmur in that velvety voice he loves so much. “The minute I realized the dress vanished from my cart was the minute I knew it would be the one.”

A sleepy chuckle breaks free from his lips at your words, the sound causing you to join in as well—a vibrant melody that coats his soul in pure contentment. Nosing closer, he peppers a line of feather light kisses along the line of your jaw. “You’ll never go easy on me, will you?”

“And rob myself of bringing down Nanami Kento piece by piece?” You snort, shooting him a look of pure, playful sin from beneath your lashes. “I might have to make sundress season a year-round thing.”

His answering groan is part growl, part disbelieving laughter as the palm behind your back glides along the elegant curve of your spine down to the bend of your hip. Ever the devilish temptress without even trying, even in the aftermath.

“You’ll be the death of me.”

“That’s a good way to go,” you tease, pulling him down for another kiss, sweet and sticky and full of promise.

His hands slide along the canvas of your body, fingers dipping into the ridges of the open zipper of your dress. He’ll make sure it’s dry cleaned so you can wear it next year. And hopefully he’ll be better prepared.

When you giggle against his lips and dig your heels into his back, he realizes that there will be no amount of preparation when it comes to you.

Thanks for reading!

[twistedmir]

KISS KISS FALL IN LOVE !

⇀ summary : your partner talks too much, and what better way to make them shut up by kissing them?. (Malleus, Ace, Riddle, Vil.)

⇀ write's note : i have a favorite and its showing.

MALLEUS DRACONIA !

This man, it has already been two hours since he started talking about gargoyles. On any other day, you wouldn't have minded his rambling. But today you were particularly exhausted from babysitting the ADeuce duo, so you could only bear so much.

“ they were originally created as a means of disposing of water, but with time..—” there he goes again, this cute little dragon fae ranting about some random fact about gargoyles. Your head was starting to hurt, you just wanted to cuddle him and let this awful day pass. Despite the growing headache, you didn't have the heart to cut him off.

However, a bulb light up in your head.

You grabbed the fae from his necktie earning a surprise noise from him. You brought him down to your level and kissed his lips. It was a light peck, but you lingered a little bit too long. “ can we go inside now? I want to cuddle? ” Malleus was frozen in place, his lips could still feel yours. He didn't know what to do so he simply nodded, letting you guide him toward the house, your hand in his. Humans were rather bold.

ACE TRAPPOLA !

It was during lunch, your boyfriend's neck was decorated with his housewarden's magic. Ace was complaining—yet again— about how ridiculous the rules are. (something about not eating leftovers that had a green sticker on top of the containers, he swears he didn't know it was someone's else.) His lips were pouting, arms crossed over his chest he looked so cute. Until he opened his mouth to complain this time about Deuce. You sighed, this man always finds something to complain about.

And there he goes again, talking his head off about sevens knows what. This man would not for the sake of it be quiet. You wished to eat in peace, maybe talk with your boyfriend. But he kept going on and on, it was starting to get on your nerve. You love the guy, but he talks too much. Finally, as if the sevens heard your pleas, Ace quieted down. A sigh of relief left you. At last, you could eat—

“ and then Deuce just—” And there we go again. A bulb light up, it'll be funny to see him match with the collar on his neck. Moving closer to Ace, the boy not noticing your approaching figure still going on about how much of an idiot the blueberry boy is (his words.) your hands cupped his cheeks, ceasing his chatter. You lightly pecked the soft lips, pulling away after a short time. The boy was stuck speechless, his mouth closing and opening like a fish, face as red as the Heartslabyul's warden. A chuckle slipped past you, how cute.

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS !

In your defense, Ace payed you. He knew how soft the warden goes on you whenever a rule is broken by you. Which is why, the first year though it was better for you to paint the flowers in his place. Riddle was unaware it was Ace's turn—for the first time— so, imagine his surprise when he saw how wrongly you painted the roses. It wasn't such a deal, but it bothered him how dangerously close you were to falling from the ladder. Riddle walked up to you, keen on lecturing you all about safety. Until you wondered if his face can match his hair.

“ How many time have I told you to be careful? You know this ladder is not in the best shape, I wouldn't want you to match it's state. ” The housewarden was scolding you for being careless. While your eyes were focused on his, your mind was wandering somewhere else. Thinking back on Ace's words, you were curious just how far was Riddle lenient on you. A smirk formed in your face.

The Housewarden wasn't aware of the Adeuce level of mischief stirring up in your mind. Closing the distance between you, relishing in the small stutters in his words, you placed your lips on his owns.

It was quiet. Maybe he did let you go with anything—

“ OFF WITH YOUR HEA—”. nevermind.

VIL SCHOENHEIT !

Vil was lecturing some first year about the proper use of skin care. The poor first years were so frightened by his harsh scold and cold voice that when they saw you they pleaded you with their eyes to help them escape from this hell. You took pity on them, Vil, even after his overbolt, still couldn't get rid of some of his habits. Mainly his harsh scolds, but he made progress. The first years looks frightened yet still listen to him. Before, some even cried while others were crushed by his words. So you saw this as a progress of some kind.

Walking up to them, you taped the beauty on his shoulder, making him cease his talk and turn to look at you. He quirked an eyebrow at you, his hands unconsciously finding yours. He was waiting for you to speak, you always taped him when you wanted to talk.

Your heart swell at his small yet meaningful gesture. Despite his busy schedule, he always found time for you. Even when he was scolding his juniors, you clearly saw how his eyes soften at the sight of you. (you made a mental note to pamper him later today in his room).

You signalled him to lean down, which he did despite the obvious confusion. Hands finding their place on his cheeks, cradling Vil's face. You laid your lips on top of his, eyes widening at you actions. The first years took this as a sign and quickly left.

After the initial shock, Vil grumpily returned your kiss. His clean hands pinching your cheeks. “ Honestly, just what am I going to do with you... ”. Even though he was complaining, you didn't miss the pinkish colour at the tip of his ears.

©— twistedmir. 2024 / DO NOT REPOST OR PLAGIARISE MY CONTENT IN ANY WAY.

[onsomenewsht]

from the vault:

won't ask you to stay / but let me ask you one thing

》 Out of Love, Alessia Cara

》 Leah Williamson x Reader

》 fall out of love [idiom]: to no longer feel romantic love for someone

When Leah comes into your life, you don’t even notice at first. Her steps are light and her presence is comforting, never out of place or out of time.

It ends like it starts.

It starts with a jacket forgotten one late night, the summer air and your joined hands shielding her from the cold enough to leave it in your living room. You notice the piece of clothing the next morning, claiming it as your own.

It continues with vinyl records piling up in your library, some brought from her own apartment and others added just for you to listen to as you live around each other. You notice it after months, getting rid of some neglected plants to make more room for the growing collection.

It ends with her toothbrush next to yours, left behind after weeks of her not even coming to sleep at home anymore. You noticed it this morning, starting to gather her things for her to pick up.

It ends just like it starts, with light steps and a comforting absence.

“I think it’s all”

Leah emerges from the bedroom with a box full of what you assume are the last of her clothes.

Not even caring about what the blonde is putting in there, you leave her doing whatever she is here to do.

You already hid her jacket and she already has your heart, it’s not like she can take much more from you.

The truth is you wish to be anywhere else, not really in the right state of mind to watch the love of your life make disappear any sign this was once a shared heaven.

Your apartment turned into a crime scene and she’s getting rid of the evidence.

“Did you get the boots from outside?”

“Oh”, the English girl almost drops the box to turn as fast as she can.

You make no move to help her, so she has to open the door window without her hands.

She reappears after a minute, out of breath, “So, I–”

“The book on your bedside table?”

Leah looks embarrassed to have to go back into the bedroom, debating whether she should pretend to have already taken it.

The walk of shame is short and bittersweet, the box still secured in her arms.

You wish she’d hold you instead, her embrace always able to grant you and make you feel like a person can actually be the safest place on earth. The longing to ask her for a hug is too much to bear, you rise from the sofa to hide in the kitchen.

Busing yourself with the excuse of a coffee, you realise you’re crying when a couple of big tears mark the sleeve of your shirt – too used to a silent plea.

The athlete makes her way around you on tiptoes, like approaching a wounded and scared animal. The distance between the two of you is palpable, the box makes it physically evident too. It’s getting ridiculous.

“Can you put that shit down?”

“I– I’m not sure where”

Looking at Leah for the first time in weeks makes you immediately remember why you’ve been adamant about not finding yourself in her proximity.

She doesn’t seem as sleep deprived as you sure are, or drained of life as you feel. She’s hurt, you know.

You have not spent a stupid amount of time admiring her features to not know how she shows her feelings or tracing each new crease to not know what which ones mean. You know she’s hurt, but you know she’s hurt for you.

“Can I ask you one thing?”, you finally ask.

“I don’t think–”

“I’m not gonna ask you to stay”

She almost exhales in relief and you almost die right there.

“When did you fall out of love with me?”

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

Pls More general sfw headcanons of cooper and reader? Ghoul or pre war whichever you prefer honestly.

General SFW Prewar!Cooper Howard Headcanons 2

(I'll do some Ghoul SFW in a follow-up; this got away from me a little.)

Clearly he enjoys film and theatre, but he has a fairly secret soft spot for musicals. Pretty much any musical will pique his interest, and you'll spend a fair few date nights out seeing shows. You find it very endearing that he wants to share his interests with you. He's got an especially soft spot for some of the older, cheesier musicals though; hope you're ready to see "Brigadoon" like a half dozen times! He's got that one on tape.

"Old Yeller" is banned media in the Howard household (as are most things about dogs who die), as well as books like "The Velveteen Rabbit", which he read to Janey when she was four and never truly recovered from. Coop cries like a baby every time and gets so embarrassed. You once asked Janey if she'd ever seen it, and she tells you, rather conspiratorially, that she once watched it at a friend's house.

The old man actually cries quite easily when he's moved by something. He'll try to hide it away, but every once in a while he fully loses it (tbh it's the 'child death' type stuff that really upsets him; to this day, he's still a little mad at Barb for showing him "Bridge to Terabithia" on family movie night and thinking he would like it). You think it's the sweetest thing and you always reassure him that it's nothing to be ashamed of.

I imagine that, like a good, engaged father, he takes a particular interest in Janey's likes and hobbies; if you ask him what she likes, he can give you an entire list of things you can engage with her on, every single one of them accurate and up-to-date. If Janey really likes a book series, he'll read it (or maybe listen to it if he's short on time). If she really likes a band, y'all have fun at the concert! Every group comes through LA so you may be going to several concerts a year eventually. He even knows who her favorite member is! He only falls in love with you more when you do the same with her.

He's a true romantic at heart; despite being really torn up about the divorce and thinking he'll never fall in love again, he does, and hard. It's not long before he (unbelievably, to him especially) finds himself wanting to propose. He waits a while, though, wanting to feel out the dynamic between you and Janey, worrying about how Barb will feel when she ultimately finds out. He doesn't want to be married to her anymore, but he still cares for her, and he doesn't want to hurt her.

I'd like to think that he and Barb had a pretty nice, large wedding (as I've said before, likely at an older age than many of their peers, even if, canonically, it seems they were already dating during Cooper's military service; they both strike me as the type to want to wait until they were better established to actually marry). Not anything too crazy, but since Cooper's career was really starting to take off, she did want to use the wedding as an opportunity to rub elbows, so there were quite a few people in attendance that he flat-out didn't know. It didn't bother him much at the time; Barb always loved an opportunity to network and Coop could never deny her anything. But, given a chance to do it over, I think he'd do things differently.

With you, he'd wanna go to the courthouse. He'd be happy to have a nice, private ceremony eventually, maybe a little vow renewal for your one-year down on the beach in Mexico or something. But when you get legally married it'll be at the courthouse, just the two of you and Janey. You wouldn't have it any other way.

You try your best to keep it under wraps, but, well...marriage licenses are a matter of public record, and there are people whose whole job is to unearth things like that. The fallout (ha) from it may be stronger than you anticipated, but, at the end of the day, you have one another, and you're happy with that.

[sugar-omi]

Thought about accidentally sending a nude to Cove (or anyone of your choice) 👀

Like MC was trying to send him a picture of something else but accidentally tapped on a nude they took the night before and WHOOPS! Now Cove is going back and forth with himself between typing up a reply and deleting what he wrote and just screaming into his pillow because he just saw his best friend/crush naked and it’s still on his phone screen and he has to see them tomorrow because they always do but he doesn’t know if it’ll be better to see each other tomorrow or wait a bit until things are “less awkward” and he is BURSTING at the seams

Bonus if he feels guilty because he saves the photo anyways for………….. research purposes 👀

MY EYES ARE WIDE OPEN. I DIDNT EXPECT IT TO GO THAT WAY....

that's such a good thought, though... especially if while he's fumbling, you're freaking out, but also way too curious to know what he'll say so you don't delete it...

and in a moment of bravery, text him before he can say anything to your apology or about the image.. "although.. you can keep it if you like"

his eyes FALL out his head. what do you mean he can keep the image?!?;!^!

he probably doesn't even respond. and if he does, it's just a "it's okay" because he's too shaken to say anything else. doesn't know what to say. "you look pretty", "you're so sexy", "thanks for the nude"????

which.. is probably worse than any of those options if you're already nervous n floundering over te accident.

if you want a bit more satisfaction, are genuinely worried you made him uncomfortable, or just reassurance for what you already know... go ahead and ask if he's uncomfortable, or mad at you, or whatever.

it takes a minute but eventually you get a "...no, im not upset.. or uncomfortable..."

please move on after that because if you linger on the topic anymore, he'll be on life support 🙏

and he does hold onto that image... can't bring himself to download it, that's too much for his poor heart. and even though it'd only be proper to delete the message.. he doesn’t. he tries, his finger hovering over the button.

even though you said he could... keep it. he shouldn't, right? no matter how long he sits in turmoil, his respect for you and his teenage hormones raging against each other...

eventually one wins, because he's been so restless all day. his stomach twisting with something foreign. his eyes wandered to your body when he saw you at the beach that day, and he remembered the picture, trying to ignore how his sex throbbed and the subsequent tightening of his shorts...

really, he has more control than this usually. his voice of reason, more like selfconsciousness, too strong.

but his fingers flicker across his phone, and they find the way back to that image, that damn image that's been haunting him. his brain begging him to remember every curve and dip, freckle, and scar on your body.

he knows what your body looks like, you grew up together. he knows where most of your beauty marks are, your freckles, your scars, knows if your skin is seamless, and he's sleepily traced any acne scars on your biceps.

he knows the shape of you, the leanness and the cords of muscle in your arms and thighs. recognizes you just by looking at your back.

so it's not hard for him to imagine your nude body after that, especially since he couldn't tear his eyes away from the screen fast enough when you sent it.

and even now, he's finding any of those hidden treasures right now as his eyes rake over your body, his hand wrapping around his cock as he shamefully imagines you with him. touching him. touching you.

imagines his lips on your hip bones, kissing your body like it's a prayer.

your voice is always so clear in his ears, he can't help but imagine the way you'd call his name... thinks back to all the times you've laughed happily or groaned tiredly, or moaned in pain...

his mind twists the knowledge of you, your lovely voice, and your heavenly touch. imagines you calling his name, gasping at his touch...

finally spills his cum all over his hand, his head collapsing on his pillow, covers his face, sparks of pleasure still running through him...

realizes post nut clarity is fucking real, and he doesn't know how he's gonna be able to look at you tomorrow...

[mustainegf]

Could you do something with Kirk pre-dental work where he's feeling insecure about his teeth but girlfriend!reader (or wife!reader, or fiancee!reader) reassures him that she thinks he's hot af exactly how he his, and that his teeth are adorable and add character to his face? Fluff, smut, or both, idc.

This is one of my favourite scenarios to wrote about, same idea with James and his acne

This is so cute and I love Kirk and his funky teeth ☹️

It’s a bit short… so sorry!!

I raised the Polaroid, framing Kirk in the viewfinder. His dark curls fell around his face, the eyes shining with the same mischief that had gotten to me from the start.

"Smile for me," I said, voice light and teasing. Kirk flashed a grin, but I noticed something odd. His smile, usually so broad and genuine, seemed strained.

He was very intentionally keeping his lips together, and he wasn't exposing his teeth.

I clicked the picture anyway, and the sound on the camera let me know that the device was recording the moment. The Polaroid developed in my hand, and the small image became more visible.

I couldn't resist but chuckle softly. "You look funny," I said, showing him the picture. "Why are you smiling like that?"

Kirk shuffled his feet, avoiding my gaze with his. "I don't know," he murmured, suddenly acting awkward compared to the self-confident guy he always was.

He took the photo from my hand, scrutinizing it with his forehead creased. I leaned nearer, charmed by curiosity. "Come on, Kirk. What's up, baby?" I crooned, touching his arm slightly.

He hesitated, and I could see the internal struggle playing out on his face. Finally, he sighed a heavy sound that I hadn't expected. "My teeth," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

I blinked, taken aback. "Your teeth?" I repeated, not entirely understanding. Kirk had always seemed so confident, so unapologetic. This vulnerability was something new.

He nodded, his eyes still avoiding mine. "They're. ugly and Crooked. I've never liked them."

There was a moment of silence where I just had to process what he had said. But then, without really thinking, I climbed into his lap, wrapping my arms around him. "Oh, baby." I cooed, laying my forehead against his temple.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Kirk's arms came around me instinctively, holding me close. "I didn't want you to think I was… I don't know, weird or something." I pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, my hands cupping his face.

"Kirk, listen to me. I think you're attractive. No, scratch that; I think you're incredibly hot. And your teeth? They're adorable. They were one of the first things I noticed about you." He laughed a bit at my wording. His eyes held mine, scanning for any sign of insincerity.

I shared a smile and let all my love for him show in my eyes. "I love your teeth, Kirk. They were the first thing that made me fall for you." He swallowed hard, his eyes glazed with emotion. "You mean that? "

"Of course I do," I said firmly. "You're perfect to me, just the way you are. Your teeth, your smile, everything." Kirk's mood seemed to lift away. "I- I don’t really know what to say," he confessed, and his voice was choked with emotions.

"You don't have to say anything," I whispered, leaning in close to press a soft kiss to his lips. "Just know that I love you, every single part of you."

He kissed me back, his lips moving against mine with a love that made my heart ache. When we finally pulled apart, I rested my head on his shoulder, happy to be in his arms.

[madi-writes-things]

Nobody Pt. 9

(C.Sturniolo X Reader)

Summary:

Chris and Y/N never seemed to get along, but sometimes help comes from the most unexpected places

Word Count: 1.8 K

TW: Cursing, SH (not in detail, but it is talked about), cyber-bullying/mean comments, SMUTSMUTSMUT (P in V, Fem receiving oral/fingering, hickeys, heavy making out, pet names, protection used!!!), you can not convince me that Chris isn’t a whimperer, self doubt, Not Edited

A/N: I’m sososososo sorry it took so long, I wanted it to be as good as possible. If anything doesn’t make sense, just chalk it up to my virginal status lol.

-Madi <3

“”“”“”“”“”

Y/N’s POV

After patching things up with Matt, me and Chris decided to hard launch our relationship. It’s been two months since we went public, and the fans just seem to get more upset about it every day. Yesterday was our ten month anniversary, and the comments on our posts were horrific.

@ sturniolo.police

Do y’all think he just stays so she doesn’t kill herself?

@ Chris-Sturn-girlie

@ Sturniolo.police Probably, she treats her body like a kitchen counter… I would be scared too. I bet that’s the only reason why he even asked her out lol.

It was like watching a car accident, I couldn’t stop scrolling. I knew that it was stupid for me to think that dress was a good idea, but Chris picked it out specifically. The dress was a tight long sleeved crème dress. The issue was that it was fairly short, showing a large portion of my upper thighs. It was the first time since eighth grade that I felt comfortable wearing anything shorter than knee length, and less than 24 hours later I was severely regretting my decision.

“”“”“”“”“”

Now I stand in front of our mirror wondering if I should even go out with them tonight. The boys have a really important colab dinner, and I would hate for it to be ruined by people who don’t know how to be kind on the internet.

I look at myself and see someone I hate. The black short sleeve dress accentuates the jagged scars running across my wrists. I always tried to avoid spots that were hard to hide, but in that moment of desperation I couldn’t seem to stop myself. I’m so caught up in my thoughts, that I don’t even hear the door open.

“Is everything okay?” I look up to see Chris behind me, with his arms wrapped around my waist.

“I um… I don’t think I’m feeling up to going tonight… sorry.” He rests his head on my shoulder gently as he gives me a questioning glance. “I don’t want to ruin dinner, and everyone is already saying stuff about the scars on my legs… and if people find out I tried t-” I cut myself off before I could say the truth.

Chris turns me around quickly, looking deep into my eyes. “I don't give a shit what anyone else has to say, you are perfect for me… just as you are.” I try to protest, but he stops me before I can even get one word out. “But… if you don’t feel like going out tonight, that’s okay. I can tell my brothers to just go without us.”

I can feel my eyes burning, not from sadness or guilt, but from the realization that the man in front of me doesn’t care about anything but me. “You don’t have to miss it because of me, don’t feel like you have to stay home.”

In less than three seconds he’s putting his phone into his pocket. “Don’t be silly, I already texted the guys.” I hear the guys yell a quick goodbye and feel better from downstairs before the door closes and the car drives off. “Now… do you need any help getting out of that dress?” He gives me a quick kiss before turning me around so he can reach my zipper.

As soon as the zipper stops, my dress falls to a puddle on the floor. When I turn around I notice Chris’s eyes fall to the matching green butterfly set I have on.

When Chris finally meets my eyes again, his cheeks are a shade of red that I’ve never seen on him. “Like what you see, pretty boy?” Chris is a sputtering mess, trying to respond. I cut him off by quickly connecting my lips with his. His hands quickly find their way into my hair as he lifts me up by the backs of my legs, carrying me to our shared bed.

This wasn’t the first time me and Chris had ever made out, but something was different about this time. There was a hunger in each of us, that kissing couldn’t satiate.

Chris tossed me gently onto the bed before positioning himself above me and continuing our make out session. His lips slowly traveled down my neck, stopping for short moments, then continuing their assault until they landed on my collar bone. A moan left my mouth, much louder than I meant to, as my back arched off the bed.

“You like that baby?” Chris groaned into my ear.

“mhm…” My brain went blank as he made his way down to the valley of my breasts. “Please…”

“please what, ma?” He looks up to me with a mischievous grin.

“Touch me… please.” I practically whine out, upset that he stopped kissing me. Chris quickly taps my side, signaling me to lift up as he unclasps my bra in one swift movement. My bra is replaced with Chris’s hands before I even register that he removed it. He continues to leave wine colored marks across my breasts, while his hands squeeze in the most beautiful ways.

After what feels like an eternity, i feel Chris's hot breath moving down towards my waistline. He glances up at me quickly before turning his head toward my inner thigh. I feel him lift my leg up, over his shoulder, before he resumes his mission. "Did you know that your legs are my favorite part of your body?"

“no they aren’t.” I accuse with a small giggle. I never realized how ticklish my legs are. He quickly sucks on a spot, that will surely be a dark shade of red tomorrow morning, causing my brain to malfunction.

When he stops, I look down to see him looking at me with his big, blue, puppy dog eyes. He toys with my waistline, before finally opening his mouth. “Is this okay?”

I've never responded quicker, nodding my head aggressively while mumbling out a quick please and thank you. It takes him no time to get my panties off, and onto the floor. “You’re sure? I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything.”

“yes… just please touch me!” I’m practically begging when he decides to indulge me.

I wasn’t sure what to expect, seeing as I’ve never even ‘helped myself’. Whatever I expected, this was much better. The second he latched his lips onto my clit, I was seeing stars. My whole body felt warm and tingly, and I think I’m close. I quickly intertwine my fingers into Chris’s hair, pulling with the rhythm of his tongue. All of the sudden I feel a long thin finger entering, and I can’t stop the sudden sensation that was building inside me. I couldn’t even get out a full sentence without a loud, almost pornographic moan interrupting me. The second I feel a second finger, I loose all control over my body. My back arches off the bed, as my legs slam shut around Chris’s head. Once I manage to calm myself down, Chris slowly removes his fingers from inside of me.

“Having fun?” I see him wiping his hand against his pant leg, his lips still glistening with me. I don’t think I have the strength to speak, so I simply nod. “Was it… was that okay?” I can see the yearning for approval in his eyes. “… Like, was it good for you?”

I don’t really know how to respond to that question, my brain is stiff fuzzy from my orgasm. “It was amazing baby…” I don’t want this moment to end. “I want to… can we do more… If that’s okay?”

I swear Chris has the condom out in less than three seconds. “Are you sure?” He’s looking at me like he truly doesn’t care what’s in it for him. “We can stop… or do other things, you don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

I do my best to find his eyes in my dazed state. “I’m sure… if it’s anything like what you just did, I’m not sure I ever want you to stop.” He nods quickly before getting up and stripping.

The second his waistband hits mid thigh, his member is hitting his stomach. It looks painful, so red and hard. I don’t know how it’s going to fit, but I trust him. He slides the condom on, quickly climbing back on top of me.

“Are you sure the at you want this?” This again. “We can stop whenever you want to… and you really don’t have to do any-”

I cut him off quickly by grabbing ahold of him and making sure that he knows that my motives are purely selfish at this point in time. He finally gets the hint and lines himself up.

“fu-ck…” Chris practically whimpers as he pushes into me. I unintentionally clench around him, who knew that a man whimpering was so sexy?

“Babe… you gotta stop squeezing me like that, I won’t last.” I mutter a quick apology, before giving him the go ahead to start moving.

It’s an interesting feeling. It’s not necessarily painful or uncomfortable, just different. It doesn’t take long for the feeling to melt into pleasure though.

The house is filled with sounds of whimpering and moaning, as we reach our highs. Chris reaches down and starts rubbing heavenly circles against my already overstimulated clit, causing my orgasm to crash into me without warning. I swear my vision goes out for a minute while Chris chases his own high.

Chris slowly pulls out, making me cry out in pleasure. “I’m sorry, but I have to get you cleaned up. I’ll be right back.”

The second he leaves it hits me all at once. What if it wasn’t good for him? What if he realizes that he only wanted me for sex, and decides the rest isn’t worth it? What if he-

“Are you okay?” He pulls me from my doom spiral, as he starts cleaning me up. He crawls into the bed next to me, looking deep into my eyes.

“Sorry… my brain is just trying to convince me that you’re going to leave.” I see his eyes soften, as he realizes what I’m saying. “It’s not necessarily like I believe it, I just worry sometime that all of my flaws outweigh the things keeping you here… like what if you leave, or you only stay because you feel like I’ll kill myself if you don’t?” Chris stares at me, looking like he doesn’t fully grasp the concept. “Does that make sense? I feel like I’m going crazy sometimes.”

“Do you really think that I would do that?” The way he asks it makes my heart break.

It’s not like I really think that he would do something like that, but my brain just refuses to let me be happy. “No baby… I just find it so hard to trust anyone who says they care.”

Chris just pulls me into his arms, promising me that he loves me more than words could describe. After a few minutes in his arms we decide to put some clothes on and order some food. After dinner, I drift slowly into a peaceful sleep in his arms.

“”“”“”“”“”

@unbruisable @bernardsbendystraws @sturniolo-fann @jnkvivi @stasiesturn

@h3arts4harry @slutforsturniolos

[farleighlover]

— “death of you.”

| farleigh x fem!reader

disclaimers: mentions of alcohol, rival!farleigh, fluff(?), no smut (whoops sorry), really bad fic, literally no disclaimers lowk …

w.c.: 1.1k

— a/n: sorry for changing the name of the fic .. super shitty , not my best work at all .. sorry for how long it took & how short it is , i haven’t wrote in FORVER (not exaggerating) , i might turn this into a series if y’all are kind enough .. anyhoo , PLEASE send fic / bot scenarios !!

parties weren’t really your thing. what was though, is alcohol.

every story ends the same, you go to a party, try to be and behave sober, fail miserably, drink too much, then do whatever comes to mind because there’s nothing stopping you.

it was a sob story. every time you tried to tell yourself no, it failed. and it brought you to now.

you sat along the stairs outside the party. the wind blew around you as you felt ruined. the effects were coming to play, and it probably could show. a broken heel, makeup blurred on your face, and the aroma of alcohol floated around you. the good effects of alcohol was for a little, before things just became too uncomfortable. the room felt too crowded, the music got too loud, the dress suddenly too tight… you just had to take a break.

as you sat and thought, a low chuckle could be heard behind you. farleigh start. you and him didn’t have an “amazing” relationship, in fact everybody knows you two as “the rivals” over how you two fight over everything and anything. grades, who was the teachers’ favorite… you two couldn’t stand each other.

you groaned and rolled your eyes when farleigh becomes in view and takes in your appearance, eyeing you up and down. you suddenly felt highly insecure when farleigh let out a laugh.

“you, look like a mess.” farleigh says when he finally looks at your face. you glare at him and huff under your breath, although you feel your cheeks flare up. you hope that farleigh doesn’t notice.

“that’s so sweet of you.” you say flatly. “you know i have awareness of myself, right?” he takes another glimpse of yourself before answering. “..are you sure?” you roll your eyes as he smirks.

there is a favor you needed to ask farleigh, and it was for a ride or at least be able to help you walk back to your dorm. it was a horrible thing already to ask him, but all your friends ditched you and you weren’t popular enough to know people on that level to ask. the only one you had, was farleigh.

“i need a favor..” you slightly slurred over your words, already regretting asking. he let out a chuckle as he raised a brow.

you looked down to avoid eye contact, fidgeting with the skirt you wore. you mumble out, “i need a ride..” as soon as you say that, he laughs. an immediate wave of embarrassment went through you, regretting everything that has came to this moment. asking the farleigh start for a ride and actually expecting one? you might as well buy a lottery ticket. once he calms down, he looks at you, always with that stupid fucking smug grin on his face.

“you… a ride? from me?” he points to himself. he loved to piss you off. you glared. “no, the guy behind you— yes a ride from you!” you blurt out, irritated. “just forget it—“ you try to stand up, totally forgetting about your broken heel, and fall.

thankfully, farleigh catches you. he snickered, “maybe you do need a ride..” as he holds onto your hips to steady you. before you get to say something, you feel yourself get lifted up and farleigh carrying you. “farleigh, what the fuck?!” you exclaimed, immediately wrapping your arms around farleigh’s neck as your mind stirred a little from the sudden movement. “what? you needed to go back to your dorm, right?” he smirked as he started to walk. he was going to be the death of you.

“keys.” farleigh says. you looked over and saw your dorm. you let out a laugh. “you remembered my dorm?” he rolled his eyes, “again, your keys.” you let your head fall back, smirking a little. you had something to tease him with.

“purse.” you answered. he hummed and soon later, he placed you on your bed gently, which is surprising. you learned that farleigh’s capable of being a bit sweet. he sighed. “listen, i’m going to go get you some water. don’t.. don’t move.” you nod with the remaining strength, but as soon as he leaves, you pass out.

god knows for how long you fell asleep like that, but when you woke up, you feel a small sinking in your bed. you turn and see farleigh, passed out right next to you. your head buzzes with confusion, mixing with your hangover. he looks at peace, somehow blissful. the only time his expression isn’t turned in some cocky grin. you couldn’t help but keep your eyes on him, analyzing and searching every inch of his face.

eventually, you slip out of bed as quietly as you can to not disturb him. when you arrive to the bathroom, there were only traces of your makeup on your face, but tons of small wipes of makeup and makeup remover. you laugh quietly, thinking how sweet the thought was. right then, you hear your front door open and quickly close.

“farleigh?” you call out, but only silence answered.

later in classes, you can tell farleigh is trying to avoid you. after classes, he immediately leaves rather than teasing and picking on you on everything and anything, he makes eye contact once when you enter the library and he decides it’s time to leave, you don’t understand how one small piece of affection he’s done for you makes him run wild.

after 2 weeks of him acting like an imbecile in your presence, you go up to him in the hall.“farleigh, what’s your problem?”

he looks shocked but quickly tries to cover it, acting coolly as he replies, “i have no idea what you’re talking about.” classic farleigh. you roll your eyes, “you know exactly what i’m talking about. you run around and away when i’m around. why?” you cross your arms, trying to look more intimidating, but with farleigh being 6’5, it obviously doesn’t have the same effect.

“still have no idea what you’re talking about..” he singsonged. he was starting to piss you off. “the way you immediately leave when i’m in any room with you? the way you haven’t picked or teased on me?”he raised a brow. “did you want me to?” he teased, a small smirk appearing. you groaned. “no! i’m not—“ “because it sounds like that.” he grinned. you were going to snap his neck off. “oh my gosh, just forget it.” you grumbled. he smiled. “okaayy..” he singsonged. “see you later.” he placed a kiss on your head before walking away.

he was going to be the death of you.

.. taglist: @fuckshitslover @themoonchildwhofell @khxna @flipsconhelado

[cerise-on-top]

Ghost with a Transmasc!S/O

I've been wanting to write this since last week! I'm not exactly happy with how it turned out, but maybe someone else can enjoy it as well!

When you’d approach him, all nervous and fumbling around, he’d just stay quiet. Sure, he’ll tell you that, no matter what, you can tell him anything and he won’t judge you, but he won’t pressure you into telling him what’s wrong either, even if he is pretty curious. If you need an hour until you can tell him, then he’ll wait that hour, reassuring you that it’s alright. Once you tell him that you’re a man, he would only be half surprised. He’s seen how you eye other men. While he may have thought that could have been attraction at first, once you come out to him, all the pieces fall into place. You weren’t in love with them, you were admiring them. However, he won’t judge you in the slightest, but will talk to you about what’s okay for you and what isn’t. Are you alright with him bringing up the past? Are you alright with him referring to certain body parts? If not, then he’ll keep that in mind. He’s never really been dysphoric before, so he doesn’t really know what you’re going through, but he tries his darndest to be supportive of you.

In fact, you coming out to him as a trans man makes him think about his own masculinity. What does it mean to him? How would he define it? What makes him feel masculine? Those are things he never really questioned before since he’s never seen himself as anything but a man, he always took it for granted. Although he may not say it, or even realize it at first, I think he might grow more comfortable in his own masculinity as a result.

But that aside, the first thing he does would be taking you to a clothes store to buy you some new clothes. He doesn’t really have an eye for aesthetics, and menswear being usually rather dark in color doesn’t help that much either, but he’ll pick out some shirts and pants for you that would fit you and that you might like. He’d also pick out some boxer shorts for you, the same brand that he uses since those are of a higher quality and will last a bit longer. If you’re extremely nervous about it, then he’ll even go to the cashier and pay for you. You don’t even need to pay him back. As long as he can help you out somehow, he’ll pay any price. Will also buy you some men’s body wash and deodorant. Probably the same he uses since he’s familiar with it.

If you’re alright with it, then he’ll break anyone’s nose who dares to misgender you. Especially on the days where you’re feeling a bit more dysphoric. Naturally, he won’t out you to people when there’s danger involved or when you tell him not to, but he’s not above getting into a fight for you. Especially when some transphobe decides they need to be mean to you for no reason. He’s a scary man, he can intimidate most people with his resting face alone, which he uses to his advantage.

If you can get the approval for your surgeries and testosterone the regular way, then he’ll congratulate you and celebrate with you even. However, if you were denied such, then he has acquaintances who can get you the permits. Nikolai is a good lad, he can get you just about anything. Ghost will fight for your clinical reports.

Once you start going on T, he’ll actually be overjoyed with you. As silly as it may sound, he wants to record you saying something, anything at all, so he can compare your voice now to how it develops later on. He’s pretty good with faces, he probably has a few pictures of you on his phone, even if they aren’t plenty, so he’s confident he’ll be able to tell you how you’re slowly growing into a body that is yours. If you let him, he’ll even administer your shots or rub the gel onto your shoulders. It actually makes him incredibly happy when you do, it’s a sign of trust to him. He gets to watch you be giddy, he gets to spend time with you, he gets to make you feel good. If it was up to him, then he’d hug you every time afterwards.

If you don’t know already, then he’ll teach you how to fight. He’ll teach you how to beat someone bloody and how to get up with a broken nose. Although he may go easy on you at first, he won’t forever. He’s a top notch soldier, so there’s a good chance you won’t ever be able to beat him properly, but you’ll learn. You’ll be able to defend yourself and you’ll have a pretty nice outlet for your anger as well. If you’re okay with it, then he’ll involve Soap in your fighting sessions as well. It’s absolutely animalistic when he joins, so you really don’t need to worry about any sort of etiquette when he’s around. It’s just beating each other into submission and then patching each other up.

If you don’t already know, then he’ll teach you how to ride a motorcycle. For some reason, motorcycles are very masculine to him, so he thinks it would make you feel good as well. One day, you’ll be riding one together, with him being the one to hold onto you. He’s looking forward to that day.

On the days where the dysphoria hits harder than usual, he’ll remind you that you’re a man. You’re the most perfect man in his life, and he wouldn’t want to have it any other way. Holds you close and reminds you that you will become your most ideal self, it just takes time. Either way, he won’t leave you, he won’t think of you as less than a man just because you had to put in the work to get to where you are right now. You’re his most ideal man, and he would go through all the torture he’s gone through once more just to be with you. He’ll support you through your highs and your lows. You’re a man. A darn good one at that, because not anyone can go through what you’re going through and still be standing. He admires you greatly for your strength and will remind you of that fact as well.

[cheynovak]

Something fragile - Part 2  

Soldier Boy x F/Reader Y/N         

Warnings:  18+, Sex, age difference ( not explicit), daddy issues, family trauma, child abuse.

Side note: English isn’t my first language  

Words:  4730

*Does not follow the boys storyline * 

I got a request for writing a part 2 (18+) from @rainyeggvoidpurse. So here it is :) Have fun!

--   

Soldier boy just got out of Russia thanks to the boys. But his journey back to reality has been fucked up. After the explosion he ran to recover his blackout, meeting y/n a young woman on her way home from volunteering at the veteran shelter. Seeing how he looked confused, offering him help.   

Now after weeks of being away he seeks her help again, but will Ben be able to hold himself to his promise of seeing her as just a friend, a helping hand when he is allowed to stay with her for a while. 

-- 

Y/N could still remember the cold, hard feel of the kitchen tiles beneath her bare feet. She was only eight years old, her small hands struggling to manage the soapy, slippery plates that seemed too large for her grip while standing on her toes to reach the sink.  

Her father, a looming figure in her young life, had just returned from another tour. The house always felt different when he was home, the air thicker, filled with an unspoken tension. She loved her dad she really did, but on some nights, she wished he’d never come home. 

That night, she was trying her best to help her mother with the dishes, a simple task that felt monumental to her. She was determined to show her father she could be useful, to make him proud. But as she carefully placed a plate onto the drying rack, it slipped.  

The shattering sound of ceramic hitting the floor seemed to echo endlessly, the fragments scattering like her fleeting hopes of approval. Her father was in the living room, but he heard the crash. The heavy thud of his boots on the floorboards grew louder as he approached.  

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, fear gripping her tiny frame. She didn't dare look up as he entered the kitchen, his presence casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the light, which made her eyes already teary.  

"Can't you do anything right?" his voice boomed, the anger barely contained. "I'm sorry, Daddy," she whispered, her voice trembling. She knew what was coming next. She had made a mistake, and mistakes had consequences. He didn't say anything else.  

Instead, he reached for his belt, the sound of the leather sliding through the loops sending a chill down her spine. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to brace herself for the pain she knew was inevitable.  

The first strike landed on her back, a searing line of fire. She bit her lip to keep from crying out to her mother, knowing it would only make it worse. Another strike, and another, each one a reminder of her failure. In those moments, Y/N felt a mix of emotions that she couldn't fully comprehend.  

There was the physical pain, sharp and all-consuming, but also a deep, aching sadness. She wanted so desperately to make her father happy, to see even a flicker of pride in his eyes. But all she felt was shame and confusion. Why was it so hard to be perfect? Why did her efforts always seem to fall short?  

When it was over, her father left the kitchen, the anger still radiating off him like heat from a fire. Y/N remained on the floor, tears silently streaming down her cheeks. Her mom sat in the living room, too afraid to check on her little girl, while she could hear her soft sobs.  

-- 

The creak of the door opening pulled her back to the present. She looked up, her hands still in the soapy water, to see a man standing in the doorway. He had a rugged, weathered look about him, with eyes that spoke of countless battles fought and enemies vanquished.  

There was an air of authority and danger around him that set her on edge. "Miss Y/N?" he asked, his voice carrying a thick British accent. "Yes, that's me," she replied cautiously, her hands slowly slipping out of the water as she turned to face him fully.  

"How can I help you?" The men looked her up and down before he introduced himself. “The name's Butcher," he said, stepping closer. "I'm lookin' for someone. A bloke named Ben. Looks a bit like this."  

He pulled out an old photo of Ben, of soldier boy, the man she had met just a few weeks ago. The sight of his face made her heart race, but she forced herself to remain calm. She shook her head, feigning ignorance.  

"I'm sorry, but soldier boy died, you know that right?" she lied, hoping her voice sounded convincing. "Why are you looking for him?" Butcher's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her, as if trying to read the truth behind her words. "He's dangerous, love. If you know where he is, you'd do well to tell me. Safer for everyone that way."  

Y/N met his gaze steadily, her expression unwavering. “I haven't seen him," she said. A smirk tugged at the corner of Butcher's mouth, a grudging respect evident in his eyes. "Fair enough. But if you do see 'im, you let 'im know there's people lookin' for 'im. And not all of 'em are as friendly as me."  

“I’ll sure do, mister... Butcher, was it?” He turned with a smirk and walked out, leaving Y/N with a sinking feeling in her chest. She had protected Ben for now, but she knew it was only a matter of time before others came looking. 

-- 

Weeks had passed since Butcher's visit, and Y/N had been searching for Ben without success. Her concern for him grew with each day that he remained 'missing’, and the pressure of keeping his secret weighed heavily on her heart.  

She had scoured the places he might hide, asked discreet questions, but it was as if he had vanished into thin air. One Friday evening, Y/N was finishing up at the veteran help centre. The news played quietly on the small TV in the corner, a familiar backdrop to her routine.  

She was barely paying attention when a breaking news segment caught her eye: "Crimson Countess Found Dead." Her heart sank. The report went on to describe the violent and mysterious circumstances of her death, and Y/N had a gnawing feeling that Ben was somehow involved.  

The connections were too strong to ignore, and the pit in her stomach only grew deeper with each detail. She was in the office, sorting through paperwork, when she heard the front door creak open.  

It was unusual for anyone to come in this late, and her initial reaction was one of wariness. She stepped out from behind the desk, reaching for the gun in the drawer and walked towards the entrance.  

There, standing in the dim light of the foyer, was a man in a casual jersey. He looked neat, freshly shaven, with a clean haircut. For a moment, Y/N didn't recognize him. But then their eyes met, and she saw the familiar intensity behind them.  

"Ben?" she whispered, disbelief and relief mingling in her voice. "Yeah, it's me," he replied, his voice steady but tired. She approached him cautiously, her mind racing with questions. "I thought... I didn't know what happened to you. And then the news about Crimson Countess..."  

Ben's expression darkened slightly, a shadow passing over his features. She nodded, understanding the weight of his actions without needing further explanation. "Why did you come here?"  

"You're the only person I trust right now," he said simply, his gaze unwavering. "I need your help." Y/N took a deep breath, the gravity of the situation settling in. "What do you need?" She asked tugging the gun away. She could see the smirk on Ben’s face. She could almost hear his thoughts. 

But instead of giving a sneery answer about the gun he said, "Just a place to stay for a while. Somewhere I can lay low and figure things out." She nodded again, thinking about that for a second.  

"You can stay here. We have a back room that's rarely used. It’s not much, but it’s free." Ben gave her a weary look, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. Y/N's mind raced as she led Ben through the quiet halls of the centre. She couldn't help but feel the weight of the news broadcast still lingering in her thoughts.  

When they reached the back room, she stopped and turned to face him. "You can't stay here," she said softly. "This place isn't safe for long. Too many people come and go. One guy even asked about you."  

Ben looked around, his eyes wary. "Who?" Y/N though for a second, “Eh some man, Butcher?” Ben turned away, “If he knows this place then I can’t stay here.” She hesitated for a moment before making a decision. "You can stay at my place. It's a small cabin, but it's safe, and no one will look for you there.”  

Ben's eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and gratitude evident in his expression. "Are you sure?" - "I'm sure," Y/N said firmly. "But I need you to be honest with me, Ben." She paused, gathering her courage.  

"Did you kill Crimson Countess?" For a moment, Ben's face was unreadable. Then he sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. "Yes" he admitted, his voice heavy with the weight of the truth.  

"She was involved in ... you know.” Y/N's heart ached at his words. She could see the pain and anger in his eyes, the same emotions that had driven him to such desperate measures. "I understand," She quickly gathered her things, and they left under the cover of darkness. The streets were quiet, and they moved swiftly, avoiding any potential prying eyes.  

When they reached her place, Y/N led Ben inside and closed the door behind them, locking it securely. "Make yourself at home," she said, gesturing to the modest living space. "It's not much, but it's safe. You eh, you’ll have to take the couch." Ben looked around, a small smile tugging at his lips. 

“Are you hungry?” she asks a little unsure how to act. “I could eat.” he answered. Y/N busied herself in the small kitchen, gathering ingredients for a simple meal. She felt Ben's eyes on her as she moved, a tangible presence that made her heartbeat just a little faster.  

She tried to focus on the task at hand, but the intensity of his gaze was impossible to ignore. As she chopped vegetables and stirred a pot on the stove, he found his thoughts drifting to places he knew he shouldn’t go.  

The dirty things he wanted to do to her, the way he wanted to touch her, filled his mind like it did every time they had a session in the past, only now, while being in the cosiness of her home it was difficult to resist.  

Everything okay?" Y/N asked, glancing over her shoulder and catching his intense stare. "Yeah," Ben replied, his voice a bit huskier than he intended. "Just... thinking." She nodded, sensing there was more he wasn't saying but choosing not to press him.  

"Dinner will be ready soon. It’s nothing fancy, just something to fill us up." 

“Sounds perfect," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. Ben's mind went somewhere else entirely when she said that.  

He imagined pulling her close, feeling her warmth against him, and whispering all the dirty things he wanted to do to her. The thought of filling her up right then and there on the kitchen counter consumed him for a moment, making it hard to focus on anything else. 

When the meal was ready, she set the plates on the table and sat across from him. They ate in relative silence, the quiet only broken by the clink of silverware. After dinner Y/N washed the dishes, her mind raced with the events of the evening. She could feel Ben's presence behind her, a solid and unyielding force.  

She focused on scrubbing the last plate, trying to calm her racing heart, but the tension in the room was impossible to ignore. Suddenly, she felt his hands on her waist, strong and insistent.  

His touch sent a shiver down her spine, a mix of desire and apprehension. Ben moved closer, his body pressing against hers, making his intentions unmistakably clear. His hands roamed over her hips and up her sides, sending waves of heat through her.  

"Ben..." she began, her voice trembling. He leaned in, his breath hot against her neck. "I want you so bad." he murmured, his hands continuing their exploration. "Right here, right now." Her heart pounded in her chest, torn between the longing she felt and the boundaries she knew they needed to maintain.  

She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the intensity of his desire, but she knew she had to stand firm, for crying out loud, he just killed his ex-girlfriend. She turned off the faucet and slowly turned to face him, placing her hands gently on his chest to create some space between them.  

"Ben, no," she said firmly, meeting his gaze with determination. "You can't expect this if you want to stay with me." He hummed and walked away without another word, heading back to the couch and turning on the TV to watch sports. Y/N watched him go, a mixture of relief and disappointment settling in her chest.  

She finished cleaning up the kitchen, her mind swirling with thoughts of their interaction. Finally, she decided to go to bed, hoping sleep would help clear her mind. Hours later, Y/N found herself tossing and turning, unable to shake the feeling of Ben's hands on her body. 

The memory of his touch lingered, making her skin tingle and her heart race. Frustrated, she got up, deciding a glass of water might help calm her nerves. She slipped out of bed, wearing only her silk panties and a tank top, not expecting Ben to be awake at this hour.

As she walked down the hallway, she was surprised to see the flicker of the TV still illuminating the living room. Ben was sitting on the couch, his attention fixed on the screen, but she could feel his eyes shift to her as she passed by.  

Y/N hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of his gaze on her. She got into the kitchen, trying to maintain her composure. She could sense him standing in the door, his eyes roaming over her. "Couldn't sleep?" Ben's voice broke the silence, low and rough.  

She turned to face him, leaning against the counter with her glass of water in hand. "No," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just... thinking." Ben nodded, his eyes dark and unreadable in the dim light.  

"Yeah, me too." She took a sip of water, feeling the cool liquid soothe her parched throat. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. "You're scared of me." He said.

She looked up at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. "We both have a lot going on," she said softly. "But if we're going to get through this, we need to trust each other. I need to know you won't... you know."  

Ben nodded, his gaze never leaving hers. "You can," he said, his voice steady. For a moment, they stood there in the kitchen, the air between them charged with a different kind of tension, one of understanding and mutual respect.  

Y/N felt a sense of calm settle over her, "Goodnight, Ben," she said finally, giving him a small smile. "Goodnight" he replied, watching her as she walked back to her bedroom. Later that night, Ben lay on the couch, trying to get some rest.  

The events of the evening still played in his mind, the image of Y/N in her silk panties and tank top, the way she moved, the scent of her lingering in the air, the soft shape of her nipples contouring in her shirt.

He tried to push those thoughts aside, knowing he needed to respect her boundaries, but it was easier said than done.  

Just as he was about to drift off, he heard a faint sound coming from Y/N’s bedroom. He strained his ears, trying to identify it. It was a soft, rhythmic buzzing, accompanied by the occasional, barely audible moan.

Ben's heart began to race as he realized what it was...  

His body reacted instantly, a rush of arousal flooding through him. He could hear her soft moans, each one sending a jolt of electricity straight to his core. The image of her, alone in her bed, pleasuring herself, filled his mind.  

He could almost see her, her body arching with each wave of pleasure, her hands guiding the toy over her most sensitive spots. Unable to resist, Ben slipped his hand under the waistband of his pants, grasping his already hard length.  

He stroked himself slowly, his mind consumed with the thought of Y/N. Each soft moan from her room only heightened his arousal, spurring him on. He imagined being with her, touching her, making her moan his name instead of the quiet whimpers he heard now.  

The thought of her writhing beneath him, of her body responding to his touch, pushed him closer to the edge. He pumped his hand faster, matching the rhythm of her soft sounds, lost in the fantasy of their bodies entwined.  

As Ben listened to the sound of Y/N's soft moans and the rhythm of her toy, he could sense her growing frustration. He could hear the abrupt stopping of the buzzing sound and an irritated sigh.  

He could feel the tension in the air, the desire and longing mingling with an irritation of not getting the release she needed. Unable to ignore the intensity of her need, he finally made a decision. With a sense of determination, Ben got up from the couch and approached Y/N's bedroom door.  

He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should intrude on her privacy. He knocked gently, the sound echoing in the quiet apartment. It took a while before Y/N opened the door, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.  

She looked surprised to see him standing there, but there was a spark of something else in her eyes, a raw need that mirrored his own. They stood there for a moment, their gazes locked. After a second of silence, "Need a hand?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.  

Y/N's initial shyness melted away in the face of his offer, a mix of relief and desire evident in her expression. The air was thick with anticipation as they stood facing each other, the unspoken tension crackling between them.  

Then, with a shared urgent need, Y/N closed the distance between them. As she reached out, her fingers moving through his hair, to pull him closer by the back of his head, Ben's desire surged, and he lifted her effortlessly, the need evident in his movements.  

He laid her down on the bed, a bit rough, the passion driving him to act without restraint. With a swift motion, he yanked her panties off, discarding them onto the floor. Y/N gasped at the suddenness of his actions, the anticipation sending a thrill through her body.  

She watched as Ben hovered over her, his gaze filled with a hunger that matched her own. Without hesitation, he pushed two fingers through her wet folds, his touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through her.  

She moaned softly, her hand grabbing his bicep, her body arching instinctively towards him, seeking more of his touch. The sensation of his fingers inside her, exploring her depths, ignited a fire within her, driving her wild. “You like that, baby?" he murmured, his breath hot against her skin.  

"You like the way my fingers feel inside you, better than that toy?" Y/N's response was a breathless moan, her body writhing beneath his touch as she surrendered to the pleasure he was giving her.  

"Why didn’t you call for me?" he continued, his tone dripping with desire. "You're so stubborn, aren't you? Rather be irritated than accepting me. Are you ready now? Ready to take everything I have to give you." 

Her moans grew louder, more desperate, as his words sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body. "I want to hear you scream my name, baby," he whispered, his fingers moving with purpose, driving her towards the edge of ecstasy.  

"I want to feel you come apart in my hands, to know that I'm the one bringing you to this pleasure." With each word that fell from his lips, Y/N felt herself growing closer and closer to the edge.  

Ben's touch, combined with his seductive words, were pushing her towards a climax unlike any she had ever experienced before. As Y/N's cries for more filled the air, Ben felt a surge of power coursing through him.  

He enjoyed the sound of her pleas, the way she begged for him, her desperation fuelling his own desire. With a smirk, he leaned down to whisper in her ear. "You want more, baby?" he murmured, his voice dripping with seduction.  

"You're going to have to beg for it." Y/N's eyes widened at his words, a mixture of anticipation and arousal dancing in their depths. Without hesitation, she began to plead with him, her voice thick with need.

"Please, Ben," she begged, her hands reaching out to pull him closer. "I need you. I need more." His lips curved into a satisfied grin as he watched her surrender to him completely.

He loved the sight of her, her body laid bare before him, her desire written across every inch of her skin. With a slow, deliberate pace, Ben began to explore her body with his lips and tongue, trailing kisses and caresses along every curve and contour.

The taste of her skin, the way she responded to his touch with gasps and moans of pleasure was better than he ever imagined.  

He teased her relentlessly, his movements calculated to drive her wild with desire. He lingered on her most sensitive spots, earning shudders of pleasure from her trembling body. 

When he finally pleasured her clit with his mouth, she cried out in ecstasy, her hands tangling in his hair as she surrendered herself completely to what he was giving her. In that moment, as he pleasured her with his lips and tongue, Ben knew that he had her completely under his spell.  

And as she writhed and moaned beneath him, he found joy in the knowledge that he alone had the power to bring her to such exquisite heights of pleasure. As Y/N's body trembled with the aftershocks of her mind-blowing orgasm, Ben felt a surge of desire course through him.  

He couldn't resist the primal urge to claim her completely, to take her in a way that left no doubt of his dominance. With a swift, fluid motion, he turned her around like a rag doll, positioning her exactly how he wanted her.  

He could feel the heat radiating from her core, the anticipation thick in the air as he positioned himself behind her. He pressed the pink tip of his hard cock against her entrance, relishing the tightness that greeted him.  

With a low growl, he pushed himself inside, savouring the feeling of her warm, velvety walls enveloping him. As he began to move, he couldn't help but ask, his voice rough with desire, "Do you like it slow or hard, baby?"  

Y/N's response was immediate and desperate. "Hard," she gasped, her voice filled with need. "Please, Ben, I need it hard." Ben grinned, his desire fuelled by her pleas.

With a primal instinct, he began to thrust into her with a fierce intensity, each movement driving them both closer to the edge of ecstasy.  

But he wanted more. He wanted to push her to her limits, to make her scream his name in ecstasy. With a swift motion, he brought his hand down hard on her exposed flesh, the sound of the impact echoing in the room.  

Y/N cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure, her body responding instinctively to the sensation. Ben continued to spank her, each strike sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body. He could feel her tightening around him, her cries growing louder with each blow.  

As Y/N cried out under the intensity of Ben's thrusts and spanks, he could sense her surrendering to the raw pleasure coursing through her body. He wanted to push her even further, to unlock the depths of her desire and take her to places she had never imagined. 

With each thrust, he whispered in her ear, his voice thick with desire. "I know you want to say it, baby," he murmured, his words a seductive melody in the heat of their passion. "It's ok, say it..." Y/N's breath hitched at his words, her mind clouded with need and desire.  

She knew what he meant, what he was pushing her towards, and a part of her craved it with a hunger that consumed her.  

"Oh daddy," she whispered, her voice filled with a mix of reverence and longing. Ben's own desire surged at the sound of her submission. He gripped her hips tightly, his thrusts becoming even more relentless as he claimed her completely.

"Again" he says her mind stopped working, unable to think she moans "Oh fuck me daddy." Ben's hand drops on her ass. "Again" "P-please daddy... harder.... harder daddy...Oh" Ben loved her pleas "That's it baby girl... just like that.” 

As they reached the peak of their pleasure together, Ben felt a sense of satisfaction wash over him. He had pushed Y/N to her limits and beyond, unlocking the depths of her desire and experiencing a connection that transcended the physical.  

As they lay together, spent and breathless, Ben gazed at Y/N with a mixture of admiration and affection. He watched as she slowly came back to earth, her chest rising and falling in rhythm with her breath, her features softened by the afterglow of their shared passion.  

He reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch gentle and reassuring. "Are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice filled with concern. Y/N nodded, a contented smile playing on her lips.  

"Yeah," she replied, her voice a whisper. "I'm more than okay." Ben chuckled softly, a playful glint in his eyes as he teased, "So I was right about your daddy kink..." Y/N's cheeks flushed with embarrassment at his playful remark, but she couldn't help but laugh along with him.  

"I guess you were," she admitted, her voice tinged with amusement. Ben grinned, enjoying the playful banter between them. "Well, I'm not complaining," he quipped, his tone light-hearted.  

"Seems like we both got what we wanted." Y/N rolled her eyes playfully, swatting at him with a pillow. "You're terrible," she teased, but there was a fondness in her voice that belied her words.  

Y/N's fingers traced lightly over Ben's trimmed beard, admiring the rugged masculinity it added to his features. "I like this look on you." she murmured, her voice soft with genuine appreciation.  

Ben's smile widened at her compliment, a shy warmth colouring his cheeks. Not used to this kind of intimacy. Ben chuckled softly, his eyes dancing with mischief as he teased, "I like this look on you as well."  

Y/N furrowed her brow in confusion, unsure of what he meant. "What look?" she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice. He leaned in closer, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "The afterglow look," he explained, his tone light-hearted. Y/N's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she realized what he meant, but she couldn't help but laugh at his playful remark.  

"Oh." she said blushing, swatting him playfully on the arm. Ben grinned, enjoying her reaction. "I guess that means I need to fuck you more often," he joked, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Y/N rolled her eyes in mock exasperation, but there was a warmth in her gaze that betrayed her amusement. "You're incorrigible," she teased.  

Ben looked at her, “so eh, does this mean I still have to sleep on the couch.” Y/N smiled soft. “No, you can stay in bed... just for tonight though.” Ben grinned “Of course. Just, for the night.”  

-- --

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Tag list:-> If you want to be added let me know what you like to read! If anyone feels like you're tagged too much, also let me know please. :)

@yvonneeeee

@suckitands33

@mostlymarvelgirl

@globetrotter28

@jackles010378

@hobby27

@call-me-mrs-winchester

[hellbubu]

If you don’t like what I post, filter tags and block me. I’m not gonna argue with anyone.

Can the others hear him or are they just roleplaying? Knowing the kids who go to this school, this conversation would fly over their heads rn.

The SebaCiels are always winning. As they should.

Did they all just stand there and watch them??? Like, por lo menos disimulen.

I just noticed that they all wear glasses (except Ciel). Is it like a requirement to enter the blue house?

Also, imagine if Bluewer just walked in while they're talking. Like hearing "Master Michaelis" call Ciel "young master" or Ciel acting in a way Bluewer wasn't used to him acting.

Damn, that mother fucker really is Undertaker. I can only imagine how much his head must hurt. Maybe it's just me, but if I needed to hide my hair in a top hat or smth, the bun would have to be tight as fuck and I have way less hair than Undertaker. Maybe he has thin hair and he doesn't need to make the bun all that tight.

No one knows the way to Ciel's heart like Sebastian

He's a tiny, little, cute baby

Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't the Blue House supposed to be the smart one?? What makes him think no one will notice it's a new uniform? How will he even explain this? Were there sugar daddies back in the Victorian Era? I think Sebastian might be the first sugar daddy in the world.

Did they make Ciel the cox so he wouldn't have to row? Did they think "this baby is the only reason we won, he probably doesn't have the strength to do much rn"

Why does one of the Charles have a hen?? Is this something from another season that I forgot about? Is this from the manga? Like, does this have an explanation in the manga but it wasn't in the anime? Is he just guarding the chicken that the Queen will eat tomorrow?

I hope they know how to swim. If I tried to stand on a boat I'd fall into the water.

I can't stop laughing 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 fucking idiots🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Are you serious??? In front of the fucking Queen????

One, Soma is so sweet. Two, like, I'm not a manga reader, but Ciel is a twin correct? And he has asthma while his twin doesn't, right? Like that might be wrong, but judging by the sad tiktok edits I've seen, O! Ciel was at the very least a sickly child. So, wouldn't him falling get him sick, therefore the Midfords thinking "hey, he didn't get sick this easily back before that day" or did Ciel/Madame Red tell them that because of the conditions of where he was kept, he is likelier to get sick a lot more easy? I don't think it's that, because even Sebastian wasn't aware of Ciel's asthma back in the Circus arc.

Violet, my beloved <3

Also, how come Bluewer's glasses didn't fall off when he fell?

One, didn't Lau and his girls get kicked out? Did he bribe his way in again or did he get them to wear long skirts/pants? Two, Ciel is being dragged around by all his friends <3 Three, get fucking Druitt out of my fucking screen

Do manga readers know what's up with the hen??? I need answers

Are they holding the tea party in a fucking cathedral?? Where's the tea? Where's the food? This is lame as fuck.

I'm on edge. The like vice headmaster or whatever hasn't fallen yet, This feels wrong.

I might be wrong, but I doubt it's a tradition to fall off your boat in front of the Queen.

Damn, Ciel learned the rules like he was about to take the bar exam.

Talk about Bluewer, Redmond, or Greenhill, but leave Violet alone. I support Violet's wrongs. He's allowed to do anything. I gave him permission.

Ciel really is a master manipulator. He is trying to get them to do what he wants because the families told him they are worried and that made him worry about these boys he doesn't know.

I love how the P4 are not even trying to act normal. What are they thinking? "No way they're here. I made sure they were extra extra dead!!"

Shouldn't he be wearing the purple tie? Like he got transferred to the purple house.

Also, kudos to Undertaker for managing to Improve his bizarre dolls in such a short time. I mean, this dude got killed before Easter, right? Like, the Queen tells Ciel she worries because he didn't come home for easter. That means he died before April 21st, 1889. That's like 44 days (if we start counting on April 21st) where the body was preserved so well it could be passes as still living. Very Impressive.

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Love is a killer that never dies (part 4)

Dracule Mihawk x reader. NSFW!! Discussion of dub-con.

Sex Pollen!AU for the short series that began with Built a haven for your love (until I let you fall apart). Can be read as a standalone.

This is part four of four.

Title taken by another song by Beast in Black -Born Again- since it's not part of the main continuity. Kuraigana Island is Mihawk's home in the manga/anime.

Shanks being in a relationship with his crew's doctor is an allusion to this headcanon list and then to this fic, even though they take place in a different continuity.

Mihawk having a sister is a reference to this headcanon list.

*****

The soft notes of a flute entered the room through the open window. Mihawk didn’t know who was playing, just like he didn’t know what time it was; the world out of his bedroom seemed to have disappeared, leaving only him, the woman he loved, and the bed he was lying supine on. 

(name) smiled as she sat on his lap once again; she bent to kiss him, letting her hands roam the naked expanse of his chest. “Sometimes I try to imagine you clean-shaved.” she mused “You didn’t have a beard when we met as kids, but I have never seen you without it as an adult.”

“I have had a beard since I was old enough to grow one.”

“Why? It does become you, of course.”

The real reason why Mihawk had always let his beard grow was to look as different as he could from his father, who used to shave every day; and after the old lord Dracule had died, by simple force of habit. He could explain it to (name), but he didn’t feel like talking about his father, at least now.

“I like my face the way it is.” he said in the end, and he felt her smile against his throat.

“I couldn’t agree more, darling.”

She kept kissing him, murmuring how good he looked and how happy he made her as she explored his chest with her mouth, gently sucking and biting his pale skin. “I want to kiss every inch of your body.” she declared.

Mihawk grinned. “No matter how meticulous I am regarding my personal hygiene, there are parts of my body it would be highly improper to kiss.” he pointed out.

“You heard me. Your feet, your elbows, your ears… any part of you is lovely and perfect; I want to show you how ardently I adore you.”

Mihawk stopped breathing when he felt (name)’s lips kiss the thin strip of hair that went from his navel to the waistband of his trousers; he lifted his head from the pillow to look at her, and the woman met his eyes with a smile, kneeling over him, her perky ass lifted in the air. He was starving for her, his throbbing erection begging for mercy, but (name) limited herself to observe the fabric-covered tent in front of her with an half-interested expression that was both arousing and infuriating.

“Hmmm, what do we have here…”

“For the Gods’ sake, woman!” Mihawk exclaimed, exasperated; he could have taken care of the matter himself, he wasn’t tied down or trapped in any way, but he wanted her to do it… to disrobe him, to feel her hands on him, to touch a part of his body he would have gladly allowed her to kiss “Will you take them off me or not?”

“I didn’t know you were so impatient.”

“(name), I’m not kidding…” Mihawk warned her before sighing, admitting privately he had no way, and intention even less, to threaten her. As if she had read his thoughts, (name) giggled; a moment later her fingers were resting to the hem of his trousers.

“May I?”

Mihawk didn’t answer; he simply lifted his hips, letting (name) free him from his clothes - all of them; no longer constricted under the fabric, his still painfully hard cock sprang up, rising as if it had felt the close proximity of the woman who would soon take care of it.

(name)’s eyebrow raised as she contemplated it. “Eager, are we?” she asked, but Mihawk could see she was impressed with the size of his erection, vainly trying to hide how her eyes lingered on the thickness of the column, and the veins that would feel so good inside her. 

“Am I not to your liking, my lady?” Mihawk inquired with a smile.

“You most certainly are, kind sir. Now, you remember what I said?”

Before Mihawk could answer, (name) had lowered her face to his cock, her lips brushing against the tip; the swordsman’s hips quivered. “Hello… it is nice to meet you, finally…” 

She kissed it; Mihawk moaned, a hand pressed to his mouth, and felt the woman’s tongue lick up and down his length, stimulating the member until its owner was literally babbling, unable to form a coherent sentence beyond “fuuuck…!!”

And then she swallowed. 

What followed were six minutes of complete bliss, that (name) spent worshipping and torturing Mihawk’s length to the best of her ability - an ability that the swordsman never imagined she possessed. His moans, heavy breaths and occasional swearing filled the room; Mihawk kept his dominant hand on the woman’s head, caressing her hair to demonstrate his appreciation, and used the other to grab the side of the mattress, to unconsciously try to keep himself anchored - to what, he couldn’t explain. To reality, perhaps; because she was driving him crazy, a folly Mihawk wasn’t sure he would ever want to come back from.

“Oh… oh, Gods… mmmh…! (name), don’t… don’t stop… oh… oh, yes, darling… oh-oh, fuck…!”

The last expletive left his lips as the woman did something particularly filthy with her tongue; she smiled at him, clearly happy and flattered at the way her lover -because this was what they were, Mihawk reflected; because of what they were doing, and so much more- was reacting to her ministrations. Then, unable to speak, she raised her eyebrows in a silent question.

Mihawk shook his head. “No, not like this.” he murmured; no matter how divine it would have been to come in her mouth, he had other plans for their first time, other places he wanted to feel her, and he wanted (name) to enjoy it as much as he did “Not now. Come here, my beauty.”

She kissed the tip of his cock one last time before crawling to him; Mihawk used his fingers to clean her mouth before kissing her, softly but intensely, and he felt the woman’s body mould itself against his.

“Let me make love to you.” Mihawk murmured; there was no real need to ask for permission, but he had to hear it - because he wanted (name) to be sure, and because he needed her to say she wanted him “Let me take you, let me make you feel good… I swear I’ll make you happy, it’s the only thing I want…”

(name) giggled; she circled his shoulders with her arms, close enough they could both feel the other’s heartbeat. 

“You still haven’t figured it out?” she asked, gentle disbelief in her eyes “Mihawk, I am already happy. How could I not be, when I’m with you?”

He had no answer for that - a new experience in his life. Mihawk turned carefully to depose (name) on the bed under him; she lifted her hips to allow him to take her panties off, but when she waited for him to do the same with her underskirt, the swordsman shook his head and simply lifted it to expose her pelvis.

He looked at her; he had to force himself to swallow as (name) opened her legs, tempting, inviting, open and warm for him. He lay down over her, and when he slipped a hand between their bodies he could already feel how ready for him she was, but he wanted to take no risks, and so he started to gently caress her, relieved and proud to hear (name) approve vigorously, her soft body writhing against him, until he suddenly felt her whimper, and his fingers were no longer damp… they were soaking wet.

He met her gaze, disbelief and delight dancing in his eyes. “Darling, did you…?”

“Hmm-hmmm.”

“But I haven’t even…”

(name) blushed. “Well, clearly what you did was enough.” she admitted, and as she smiled Mihawk felt her hand, until now resting on the small of his back, descend to his buttocks to squeeze vigorously enough to elicit a gasp “But I want more than your fingers in me, Mihawk.”

He gave it to her. He felt her hold her breath as he penetrated her, his hips moving slowly, cautiously and deliberately as he explored the warmth of her body; he felt (name) tremble and hold her breath until he was immersed inside her to the hilt. Every inch of his being screamed at him to move, to drink from the cup that was now in his hands and that would finally satiate his thirst, but Mihawk didn’t; he searched her gaze, and in her smile, in the trust and adoration that filled her eyes, he saw she was alright, and then she was ready.

And then, reassured, Mihawk started to move, at first cautiously, and then, when she dug her nails in his back

“More.” (name) growled; the swordsman had never heard her talk like that, but given the shiver of pure lust that ran through his body, he immediately decided he liked that “Harder, Mihawk. Please…!”

faster, and faster, and after a moment of awkwardness his body and (name)’s learnt to move at the same rhythm, guiding and following each other, and soon they were one, a single, trembling and fiercely hot thing, the sensual music of their panting matching the sounds of the man’s hips pounding against the woman’s, his muscles tense, his self-control already hanging by a thread, because he had known already she would be soft and warm and tight, and she was, much than he expected, the realisation of all of his dreams and so much more, and while he wished that moment would never end, the delicious torment of their coupling lasting until they would both forget their names and just be able to feel each other, on the other he just wished to let go, to relinquish control like he had never allowed himself to do in his life, to allow himself to be weak, if only for a moment, confident she would not judge him or think less of him for it. He wanted to make her come, yes, he wanted to hear her scream her pleasure and realise no one else could give her what he could, but what he needed was to find his peak inside her; it’d be a miracle, a moment of perfection in an otherwise dirty and squalid world, and Mihawk demanded that moment, he’d let nothing and no one take it from him, because (name) was her own woman, she belonged to no one, not even to him and that was why he loved her, but his first orgasm inside her - Gods, that was his and he couldn’t wait to take it.

“Oh… Oh, Gods… M-Mihawk… yes, darling…” (name) murmured; she was so beautiful like this, her hands clawing at his back and shoulders, her chest bouncing with the strength of Mihawk’s pounding, her legs now crossed around his hips as she moved, searching desperately for any ounce of friction and contact to satiate the thirst they had both awoken in each other “Take me, take me… Mihawk, please… this is so good…!”

“Do you love me, (name)?” Mihawk asked; he knew already, but he needed to hear her say it, and as usual, his woman did not disappoint.

His woman. It felt exhilarating to think about her like that, and at the same time natural, as if she were made for that, for being his just like he was hers. Mihawk smiled as he bent to kiss her once more, and (name) drank from that kiss like a woman who found a cup of nectar after dying of thirst for days.

“I love you; I love you so much.” she murmured; for a moment she looked frustrated, as if realising that, no matter how articulated and well-spoken she could be, no declaration could do justice to the intensity and depth of her feelings “I have never… I’ve never felt like this before. You’re part of me, Mihawk, and it’s… it’s almost scary how much I… the thought that one day I could lose you…”

“You’ll never lose me; I promise. No sea, no God, not even death could ever keep us apart.” Mihawk murmured; he was a breath away from penetrating her, he could already feel her warmth on his tip, but he wanted her to know the truth - to know that he would kill mercilessly anyone who would put her in danger; even if that danger came from him “Whatever happens, even the end of the world, I’ll always come back to you.”  

“Oh, Gods, Mihawk…!”

A breath held; a slow but deliberate arching of the hips; and he finally bottomed inside her, the friction between their bodies so perfect in its sensuality that it elicited a moan from both of them. Mihawk moved cautiously, determined not to hurt her, but to his delight he found (name)’s body was already open for him, the expression of bliss on her lovely face proof enough she was more than alright with what he was doing.

“Harder… harder, darling, please…”

“Hmm, so eager.” he murmured as he caressed her hair “We have all the time…”

“I don’t care… please… oh, yes… Mihawk, please, I need more… I want to feel all of you, I have wanted you for so long…”

So open in her pleasure, her body singing for him and at the same time craving for more, she was the most inviting sight Mihawk could imagine; he grinned, determined to drive her crazy, to give her more pleasure than she thought her body could bear, so much that she would be indifferent to any other man. Not that he thought she could betray him; but it was good imagining other men could perceive his mark on her body.

Without warning, he suddenly slammed his hips into hers, almost slipping out to then bottom out again; (name) screamed. “Yes! Oh, fuck… like that, love, just like that…” 

“You want more?” he provoked her; holding it together was becoming harder by the moment, but he was determined to make her come, and scream his name, at least twice before succumbing “Are you sure you can take it?”

(name) looked at him, both frustrated and supplicant; Gods, she looked so good like this, begging for him, begging to be ravished “Of course I can take it. Give it to me, Mihawk, it feels so good…”

“What feels good, my beauty?”

“Your-your cock inside me… fuck me, Mihawk, please…”

He grinned as he arched his back. “As you command.” he murmured before devouring her mouth once more to suppress the screams that would soon follow “My lady.”

*

A group of men was labouring in the gardens, hauling and assembling wooden planks to build a pentagonal-based gazebo; it was the sound of their work, the hammering on the nails and the saw’s buzzing, that awoke Mihawk from the deep slumber he hadn’t realised he was falling into, as he listened to (name)’s slowly decreasing heartbeat, his cheek pressed against her chest and her fingers in his hair. 

He woke with a start, instinctively looking all around for whatever danger might have penetrated the room, and relaxed a moment later, realising that he was safe - and indeed, in a place from where no opponent and no threat could push him away from.

“I’m sorry, I should have closed the window.” (name) apologised; she was lying next to him, her lovely body bathed in the early afternoon’s light. She smiled, and obediently offered him her mouth to kiss as Mihawk took her in his arms.

“I’m the one who should apologise.” the swordsman admitted “I fell asleep while we were together.”

“Well, I did tire you out. And I guess the last twelve hours weren’t the most relaxing of your life either. If you need to rest some more it’s alright, we can…”

“I’m fine.” Mihawk reassured her; he wasn’t lying, since all the pain and fatigue, all the agony he had experienced due to the flower’s pollen, had magically disappeared as soon as he had been able to release his impulses in (name)’s arms - for the time being, at least. The conversation with Shanks had to have reassured the woman his feelings for her were genuine, irrespective of any mortal danger celibacy could pose, but he planned of showing her himself how much he loved and desired her; they had already made love twice, and he planned on not leaving the bed before the next morning at least “Really. Which obviously doesn’t mean I plan on letting you go any time soon.”

(name) smiled. “I’m glad to hear that, because I didn’t intend to leave either.”

Mihawk smiled softly as (name) snuggled against his side, and circled her shoulders with his arm; for a while neither spoke, the two lovers content with simply enjoying that newly found intimacy. Mihawk had now skipped a whole day of meals, and he didn’t care - for the time being, at least; the warmth of his woman’s body pressed against his, and the quiet joy he knew both felt as they lazily caressed each other were enough.

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you I had a sister once.” Mihawk murmured after a while.

If (name) felt it was a weird topic to touch in their circumstances, she didn’t show it.

“No, I had no idea.” she whispered as she rested her cheek on his shoulder “What was her name?”

“Yoru. Lady Dracule Yoru.”

Neither felt the need to mention the large sword placed against the wall just a few steps from them, where its owner could grab and wield it at a moment’s notice. 

“Oh, Mihawk, that is so sweet…” 

“It sounded appropriate. This way I feel like she is here with me, wherever I go.” the swordsman explained; discussing his emotions was not something he was used to, but (name) was special, and that at least he had known long before he had fallen in love with her “She… she was all the family I had. Our mother died in childbirth, our father cared more about his gambling and business than about us, and gave us the boot when I was seven. Yoru took care of me, she made sure I was educated, she made great sacrifices to ensure I was safe, with a roof above my head and food in my stomach; I really don’t know what would have become of me if she hadn’t been there.”

“She must have been a truly exceptional person.”

“She was; she really was, I’m not saying it just because I was her brother. She… she died long ago; the same night I became the world’s strongest swordsman.”

(name) frowned for a moment; she perceived that was more than a simple coincidence, but she didn’t want to force Mihawk to share the truth with her, given the pain and regret she could see in his eyes.

“I am so sorry.” she murmured; words like those often felt empty and she knew Mihawk shared her opinion, but she couldn’t help it “I truly am.”

“Thank you. I… I really wish you could have met her.”

“I would have been happy to. Do you think she would have liked me?”

Mihawk seriously considered the question. Yoru, shy and reserved, with so much love to give and who felt most at ease alone or with the people closest to her, and (name), outspoken and self-assured, who could happily hold her own against both a Marines’ vice-admiral and the worst scum the world of crime had to offer, were probably as different as two women could be, but they were both clever and kind people, resilient in times of need. They would have probably respected each other seeing how much both of them cared for him, but Mihawk didn’t doubt the two women could have become great friends.

“She would have loved you. Really.” the swordsman added, seeing the joy in the eyes of the woman next to him “And I would have loved introducing the two of you. I know this is not the sort of thing one should discuss while in bed…”

(name) kissed his shoulder. “Mihawk, I thought it was clear that whatever you want, or need, to talk about, I will listen.”

“I know. I just… well, it is still hard to talk about her, but I wanted you to know about Yoru. She passed years before we met as adults, and after I lost her for a long time I thought I’d never… care for anyone else again in my life.”

“Mihawk…”

“I know. I am not saying you remind me of my sister or anything of the sort, but…”

Thank you. Thank you for reminding me what it means to love someone. He didn’t say it, but (name) understood it all the same, and a moment later it was her who had taken him in her arms, Mihawk gently kissing the softness of her breast -”It tickles!”- as his hand moved up and down her side. There was more than pleasure and affection in her, the swordsman realised, there was empathy and understanding and trust; he didn’t particularly need them, but it felt good to know he could find them in her.

Yoru would have been pleased.

“I am not done with you, you know.” (name) murmured after a while, circling Mihawk’s hip with her leg to lightly press her pelvis against him; the swordsman groaned, whatever tiredness he felt quickly disappearing from his body. He was half-hard already, but he lingered for a moment, looking into her eyes as if he could read his future in them; and that was exactly what he wished to do “I think I will never be.”

Mihawk smiled. “Now you’re flattering me.”

“Not at all. Which poses a question we should address, sooner or later.”

He saw his lover’s expression had turned serious, which made it easy for him to realise the meaning of her words. 

“You’re talking about the future. Our future.”

“I am.”

 “Hmmm…”

(name) turned on her belly, her arms crossed in front of her; Mihawk saw her stare into the void for a minute before sighing. “I have duties here.” she murmured, her tone not apologetic but factual as she described a truth she couldn’t and had no intention of challenging “In… many many years, I hope, but I am destined to become the lady of this island. This is my home, and I intend to take care of it to the best of my abilities, even if it means renouncing the life I have built for myself outside of it. Nor I plan on becoming a housewife, taking care of my home and then of my man when he returns.”

“I know. I would never ask you to change who you are, (name); not to mention I am not interested in a woman of that kind.”

“I know you wouldn’t, and I love you for it. Mihawk, this… thing we have, I want it to last; I want us to last. I won’t ask you to change who you are either, but there will be a time where I won’t be able to meet you on some island in a far-off corner of the sea for a weekend together, or to simply have dinner and spend the night in an inn after we met at the Marines’ HQ. I’d like that, and I can do it now, just… not forever.”

“I understand.” 

Mihawk was silent for a while; the noise made by the men working to erect the gazebo was unpleasant, but he didn’t want to interrupt the conversation, even if getting up to close the window would take him no more than a few seconds. “You want to… I mean, do you intend to get married?” he asked in the end “As far as I know political marriages are common among noble families.”

(name) smiled faintly. “Does it interest you?”

“Answer me, please.”

“Well, not necessarily. Here on the island marriage has long been deemed unnecessary for two people to live together and raise a family; many decide to do it nonetheless, but it’s a personal choice. I’ll have to decide what to do regarding the succession, since I cannot bear an heir, but no one can force me to marry… unless I want to, that is.”

“And you want to?” Mihawk asked again; (name) sighed as she took his face in her hands.

“What I want is you; lover, partner, husband, I don’t care. I just need to know wherever you are, whatever you are doing, you’ll be thinking of me, because I sure as hell will be thinking of you.” she murmured “And yes, I’d really like it if between trips, when you’re not busy with your Warlord duties or otherwise occupied, you’ll come back here, to me, not out of habit or because you have no other place to call home but because you want to - because you miss me.”

“I don’t think I’d be a good consort for the lady of this island.”

“I beg to differ; and I wouldn’t ask you to do anything you’re not interested in, or to stop being a pirate. I just want my home to be yours as well; I want to be your home.”

She already was, Mihawk thought, even though she didn’t know; that made things easier on one side, and immensely more complicated on the other. “Let me think about it for a while.” he said, and (name) smiled, suddenly getting up on her knees to straddle him; she sat on his lap, looking immediately pleased with what she could feel under her buttocks.

“Of course; the offer will stand as long as you need it to. Fortunately I shouldn’t have to take my mother’s place for a few years at least, barring accidents, so you have time before having to decide; I just thought…”

“... I ought to know what it entailed being with you in the long run. I understand.”

“I’m glad you do. Now…” the woman’s smile widened as she started rolling her hips “Do you need to rest, or to eat, or may I fuck you the way I have dreamt of doing for months?”

Mihawk grinned as he gripped her hips; he could feel she was wet again, or still, and while he usually disliked taking a submissive role he couldn’t say the current situation displeased him…

He felt the softest part of (name)’s body brush against his cock as the woman started to move. “Lift.” he ordered, gently pushing her hips upward, and the woman pouted.

“I thought I was in charge right now.”

“I’m more than willing to let you be so, but you need to give me some space to slip it in.”

“Hmm, in that case I might decide to obey…”

A moment later, just as (name)’s gentle but firm fingers guided Mihawk’s erection inside her and soon after the labourers in the gardens had interrupted their work, both lovers became aware of a noise coming from the fortress’s west wing: shouts, an heated conversations, a man screaming in pain…

“That… that is my mother’s voice.” (name) realised, her gaze turning instinctively towards the room’s door; she had frowned, momentarily distracted just as she prepared to impale herself on Mihawk. The swordsman sighed, but he understood why she was concerned: while he couldn’t discern her words, the lady Veressa sounded completely beside herself, either with rage… or fear.

“Do you think she’s in danger?”

“I don’t know; I thought she had gone out, and the fortress is well-guarded, but…”

She bent to kiss him, quickly but fiercely. “Forgive me. I’ll be back soon, I…”  

“I’m coming with you.”

“... you sure?”

“Of course. Not that I don’t think you can protect your mother.”

That last statement earned him another kiss. “Gods, I love you so much.”

They separated, and quickly got dressed; Mihawk retrieved his pants, and put on the shirt he had worn the previous day, while (name) slipped on the dressing-gown the swordsman had found in the room at his arrival at the fortress. Both bare-footed, they quickly walked out of the room.

“Where is the lady Veressa?” (name) asked the first servant they met “Call the guards, someone might have assaulted her…”

“She is in the main corridor of the west wing, my lady; and she is not in danger. She… well, you should see for yourself.”

Mihawk followed his lover, only partially reassured, to the corridor. The lady Veressa, he later learnt, had left that morning to visit a friend whose birthday fell on that day, soon before (name) decided to check why her guest was suddenly avoiding her; having returned to the fortress after lunch, she was informed (name) had ordered to have Theon locked in his room.

And then she discovered why.

The shouting, the two lovers found out, came from that very room, whose door the lady of the fortress had ordered to open before marching in and giving her nephew a piece of her mind. 

“I should have you put in the stocks in the courtyard!” she cried, under the impassive gaze of two servants standing at the door; Mihawk didn’t know whether she had ever used the riding crop on a horse -the woman, an avid rider, was also known for the love and patience she treated the animals with- but given the brutality with which she was now wielding it, Theon probably regretted he hadn’t been handed over to the jailers already “I can’t believe you would do something this despicable! To your own cousin!”

The man was lying on the floor, younger and stronger than his aunt and still unable to defend himself against her righteous fury. “Auntie… please, I swear it was just a prank…”

“Don’t call me aunt! You’re no longer part of my family from now on! And your prank could have killed (name) or her friend! What would your poor father think? You’re a disgrace, you… you bastard!”

“Mother, language.” (name) intervened idly, stepping closer to the older woman. She looked down at the man snivelling at her feet, and her expression darkened; she had probably left her derringer in her room, but her homicidal gaze said clearly she could easily kill her cousin without shedding a tear “Hello, Theon. Clearly our ideas of pranks differ somehow.”

“(name), I… I’m s-sorry…” the man stammered; he sat on the floor, holding his stomach where a particularly vicious blow from the riding crop had hit him “I had no idea someone could die… I only thought it would embarrass you, and cause gossip to spread around the island about you and whoever you would choose to…”

“And what if I wasn’t able to control myself? What if I assaulted someone and ended up hurting them? Or if someone abused me, taking advantage of the fact I wasn’t able to consent to a rapport?” 

Theon bit his lip; he didn’t even try arguing that he hadn’t thought about the possibility. A moment later he noticed Mihawk, standing silently behind the two women; he paled, as if suddenly realising who the friend who had been poisoned by his gift was, and knew instantly that apologising -and even begging for mercy- would be useless.

 “What are you going to do to me?” he asked, returning to look at (name) and her mother.

“You do understand what you did could qualify as treason, if we decided to consider it as such.”

“It was a joke! I swear I didn’t mean to hu… to kill anyone. Please… my family needs me…”

(name) sighed; he turned to look at Mihawk. “You want to have him killed?” he asked “You are the victim, you should at least have your say.”

The swordsman reflected on it. “Can he wield a sword?”

“He can.”

“I can’t!” the man protested, immediately seeing where the discussion was going; the lady Veressa looked at him, disgusted, and took a step back to avoid the man touching her.

“Then no. If he were a worthy opponent I could let him challenge me and settle the matter with a fight, but I think it’d only waste my time.”

He preceded the two women in leaving the room; (name) closed the door. “And I thought my opinion of him couldn’t sink any lower.” she muttered, while her mother looked at Mihawk; given the state the two lovers were in, and what she had learnt about the Lily of Twilight’s properties, she had to be well aware of what he and her daughter had spent half of the day doing, but there was no embarrassment in the woman’s eyes.

“Mihawk… I am so sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for, my lady. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Still, both you and Theon are guests under my roof, and I am the head of our family; I know he harboured resentment towards the two of us, but I really can’t believe my nephew would stoop so low. He does deserve to be punished.”

MIhawk, who didn’t forgive easily, agreed; he didn’t even want to think what would have happened if (name) had been the one poisoned by the flower… especially if he hadn’t been there to take care of her.

“Unfortunately we can’t have him killed like our ancestors did with the relatives they didn’t like a few centuries ago.” the younger woman mentioned, clearly unhappy “We could order him to send his child here as a hostage, to punish in case he misbehaves again…”

“(name).”

“I was kidding, mother. I can’t believe it, he’s really getting away with it? I know he’s part of the family, and punishing him would only exacerbate his hatred, but he needs to know he can’t defy us and suffer no consequences.”

In the end, the two women decided Theon would be banished from the island for a year; from then on, a person of trust would be sent to his house to discreetly check whether the man had learnt his lesson and was behaving himself, or he was still scheming against his aunt and cousin, whether for revenge, spite, or in order to become the new lord of the island.

The lady Veressa asked the servants who had remained nearby to help Theon to prepare his luggage, and to make sure he’d be out of the fortress within the hour.

“To think that his father was my favourite cousin.” she added with a sigh “Well, I better go back to my study, I have a few letters to write. Are the two of you… alright?”

(name) looked at Mihawk; the swordsman nodded, his expression impassible. “I think we have everything we need.”

“I’m pleased to hear it. I’ll see you both later.”

A smile and a nod, and the older woman walked away.

“Your mother doesn’t get embarrassed easily, does she?” Mihawk pointed out; from inside the room he could hear Theon moan that his aunt had covered him in bruises. (name) smiled, slipping under his arm to press her body against her lover’s “I mean, she could probably see you’re naked under your robe, and smell your perfume on me.”

“She really is; I think nothing short of a Buster Call could actually upset her. And she knew how much I care for you, so the fact that we are together now wouldn’t have surprised her in any case.”

She looked up at him. “You want to continue this in my room?” she murmured quietly, turning to face him “I could ask to have some food brought there; even the world’s strongest swordsman needs to regain his strength.”

“I could eat something.” MIhawk admitted; with a smirk, he slipped a hand under the hem of her dressing gown, immediately finding the warmth between her tights “Maybe food, maybe something else…”

“Hmmm, you’re so forward…”

(name) smiled. Mihawk felt her relaxing her legs just enough to let him plunge his fingers inside her; the woman’s inner muscles clamped around him, her lovely body wet and warm just like he had always imagined it to be. She was perfect, he thought admiringly as he gently rubbed the pad of his middle finger against her clit, eliciting a moan so exquisite and decadent Mihawk wished he could have tasted it, perfect for him and capable of bringing him so much joy, and he would never allow anyone to come between them. Whatever happened, no matter what challenge or obstacle the world threw their way, Mihawk would prove himself worthy of her love, and never let her doubt his.

He promised himself.

“Fuck… Oh, God, darling, yes…” (name) whispered; she had pressed her back against the wall facing her cousin’s door, as if her legs could no longer support her, shamelessly riding the wave Mihawk was gifting her with the simple but deliberate pressure of his fingers “Like this… just like… oh! Oh, yes, love…”

He knew anyone who needed to cross the corridor would see, and hear, them; she did as well, and neither cared. He made her come, a sudden kiss pressed to her mouth to swallow her scream, and when he felt her collapsing against him Mihawk was quick to lift (name) in his arms. She kissed him, hard and possessive.

“I’d ask where you have learnt to do that but I doubt I’d like the answer.” 

“I’m a swordsman; I’m good with my hands.” he pointed out “Now, I think food can wait.” 

He swordsman didn’t waste any time before setting out towards her bedroom. 

“You are stuck with me now.” he murmured; Gods, ambrosia was nothing on her lips “I hope you know what awaits you.”

The woman smiled. “I think I know.” she murmured before kissing him again “And if I don’t, I can’t wait to find it out.”

[catnipaddictt]

Hi! I’m not sure if requests are still open but I’m currently watching Higher Ground right now and I’m in love with Scott (is anyone surprised)! I was wondering if you could write a short fic about him comforting the reader when he finds out that she’s self harming? Totally get it if not.

scott barringer x gn!reader

wc: 0.8k

cw: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, angst, mentions of self harm, reader has a history of sh, heavy topics, if you are not doing okay please read with caution

comment: hey anon, thanks for the request <3 This one deals with some heavier topics so reader discretion is advised

You were lying down in your cabin when you heard the loud movement of Scott's feet on the hardwood floors. His steps came closer and closer until you felt the bed dip as he sat down. 

You roll over to face him and are greeted by the blonde’s messy hair and piercing blue eyes. 

Scott had been at New Horizons far longer than you had and he knew his way around. When you had been put into the program by your concerned parents, Scott was given the task of showing you around. Although he wasn't too happy about being your ‘babysitter’ for the first few weeks, you grew on him.

You shared the same sense of humor and had similar taste in a range of things. Eventually you two had become close friends, always sneaking out to the docks together and making fun of the outdoor activities you were subjected to.

You thought you had been getting better, even the counselors believed so. There was even talk of sending you home in a few weeks to test the waters. You were looking forward to sleeping in your own bed for the first time in months. Until you realised that going back home meant leaving your new friends, including Scott, behind. You didn't want to give them up. 

It had started small. Taking too hot showers that left your skin red and raw. Picking at the skin around your nails and chewing the inside of your mouth until it bled. But it wasn't enough for you. You knew relapsing was bad and that you shouldn't be doing this to yourself. But you couldn't help it. You didn't know how to deal with your only emotions any differently.

Scott speaks before you do. “Are you alright? You've been acting off and I don't fucking like it.” He looks at you, studying your face for any signs of anything wrong. You immediately turn defensive at his questioning. Shooting him down with a “I'm fine Scott, just tired.”

He speaks your name. “You're been tired for a week and a half. I haven't seen you at all basically. You haven't even been at dinner for Christ's sake.” 

You turn over, facing the wall instead of Scott's gaze. “Don't shut me out” he responds to your actions, placing a hand on your shoulder to roll you back over harshly. “What is wrong with you?” you practically yell at him, you use your anger to push his hand off of you, “Get out.”

His eyes widen at your outburst, letting you shove his hand off your shoulder and getting to his feet. He is momentarily stunned before his eyes soften. “How long?” Is all he says.

You roll back over to inspect the wall again, ignoring the question. “Y/n How long?” He repeats clearly. Your legs come up to your chest in a fetal position, and you bury your head in them. You feel his weight sit on the end of your bed. “You can't keep doing this to yourself” he says softly.

You stay silent, hoping that he will get the memo and leaving you alone. You didn't want to have this discussion. Scott places his head in his hands, thinking, before he looks at your curled up figure. “Come on, speak to me please, so I can help you.” He practically begs. 

You can help the tears that build up in your eyes, and slide down your face. You didn't want to be like this. Scott hears your racked sobs and his heart shatters. All he knows is that he needs to comfort you and make sure you are alright.

You feel the bed dip again and then a warm body pressing against your back. Scott's arm wraps around your waist pulling you closer to his chest. You let the tears fall as he whispers in your ear that it's going to be alright and that he is going to help. 

His hand rubs soothing circles over your shirt where your hip rests, making you feel more grounded than you had a few minutes ago. His hushed tone and gentle words make you feel safe in his arms, letting you know that he cares more than he lets on. 

He slowly turns you in his arms, so that your head is tucked under his. You sobs shake your frame, and he lets you cry into his cotton t-shirt. Slowly your tears come to a stop and he speaks to you softly, “it's going to be alright, okay? We're going to get you some help and you will be better again.” He places his lips against your forehead after you nod slightly but enough for him to feel. 

You spend the rest of the day flush against Scott as he assures you that it will work out. A glimmer of hope erupts in your chest.

Please please please reach out if you are struggling. You are on this earth and you are loved. Below are some helplines if you are having a tough time. My messages are ALWAYS open if you need someone to talk to. 💙💙💙

Helplines

Taglist: @heartsforanakin @qvnthesia @ysrjune @anisscarletstarlet

[notnights]

I think abt Jax abstracting while Gangle doesn’t ( or Jax abstracting before her ) very often

Gangle is very conflicted bc like she should be somewhat happy/relived right? Jax treated her and everyone else awfully!

But she can’t help but feel awful about it. Especially because the last time she saw him before he abstracted Gangle could tell something was off as he was.. well not *nice* but he was less mean.

She tried to ask him if something was going on but he either snapped or brushed her off ( Gangle wonders if maybe if she pressed him harder he’d still be here )

There’s also the elephant in the room regarding his funeral. I can imagine there was a hefty debate on if Jax even *deserves* a funeral, in the end the funeral did happen but it was awkward and short.

This is a really great concept!

When you lose someone who's important to you but who has been awful to you is really conflicting. Even if we say Gangle hates Jax, Jax has been a constant in her life. He was there since she arrived. A part of her world is gone now even if that part was awful.

She would feel both relived and sad. And then feel guilt for feeling relived (because he was lost how could one think something like that when someone "died"), and/or feel guilt over being sad (because he was awful, why should she mourn him).

And then if we add the idea they are somewhat friends, Jax being the one that really communicates the most to her (from what we've seen so far), or even controls her, that's a big loss. She is free now, but with that comes the conflict of what does she do now? She's been following Jax's lead so long, what happens now? Feels a little lost without him. And if he was really one the only sources that really hang out and kept her company, god she'd just feel so lonely. That one constant again. Gone.

The emotional conflicts of losing an abusive loved one is very interesting to me. I always really liked that scene in Tangled when Mother Gothel falls to her death and Rapunzel actually reaches out for her. Because despite everything Gothel put her through and kept her from, she still raised her.

Anyways that tidbit is a bit of derail but just... always an interesting aspect in these kind of relationships that don't really get talked about. And it's perfectly fine to feel these ways too... understanding and knowing what they were doing to you was wrong, even never forgiven them for it. But still mourning their loss. It feels bad, conflicting, guilty but that's okay, emotions are funny like that.

Gangle dealing with that would be so interesting and sad. Worse if we add the idea she actually does care about him someway. Considers him a friend, or loves him, etc.

Worse if she knew Jax cared about her in someway too. Involving that "if she pressed, he'd still be here" idea. Jax always kept her as company, making her realize she was really the only one that could have noticed, could have helped. Even if it was just as his victim or lackey. Feels guilty that even if she's just the one that was always standing closest to him, she out of everyone should've noticed something, right? If she was something, anything, to Jax, she feels it was her responsibility to help. That eats her up even if being "something," to Jax wouldn't have changed anything.

Then at the end of this, Jax's funeral is depressing. Not for the same reasons as many others though. They don't hesitate to do it, they know they have to, Jax was still a person lost. But they didn't think that far into it, as no one really knows what to say about him. Ragatha steps up and tries to talk about him, has trouble with it. Lots of "he--- well!! Ah, Jax was..." that really ends with nothing said at all. Maybe Zooble says they'll miss him being a thorn at their side, as they can't find anything kinder to say.

Maybe Gangle decides to say something, if they were "friends," maybe she does have some interesting things to say. Maybe she just ends up standing up there and crying and sobbing in front of everybody because really what can she say? What can she do? Nobody liked him, not even she liked him, and yet she's here crying so hard she can't speak over him.

[coryothesub]

Sweet Relief

I was in a kinky mood again so I wrote another piss kink drabble, this time it’s peacekeeper Coryo, hope you’ll enjoy!

nsfw / mdni / pk!sub!coryo / district!dom!reader / piss kink

You were walking home from the Hob feeling the amount of beer you had consumed pressing on your bladder. The distance to your shack was just a few minutes, still you somehow felt you weren't able to hold it any longer.

You veered off the road finding a grassy patch that looked like a tiny meadow and looked around. There were some houses in the distance, but all of the windows were dark. At this hour everyone was probably sleeping. No one would notice, right?

Wrong. Private Coriolanus Snow had decided to pay another unannounced visit to your home and he’d been following you pretty closely, using the skills he had learned at the peacekeeper training not to get noticed.

He silently watched you wandering off the road, taking a lazy look around and then squatting down in the grass.

You pulled up your dress and pushed your panties to the side, finally starting to relieve yourself with a happy sigh.

Moonlight shone through the clear stream that soaked up the grass with a soft swooshing. You closed your eyes and your features radiated a peaceful satisfaction finally freeing yourself from the uncomfortable pressure.

Coryo found this view quite salacious. In his mind it only confirmed that district people weren't much above animals, always unable to contain their natural urges no matter the circumstances. Still he couldn't turn his eyes away from the golden stream gushing from your pretty cunt. It felt so mesmerizing that the boy started blushing at the realization of his own arousal. It felt primal and wrong.

“So good,” you muttered to yourself and wiped off the last drops with a fallen leaf before adjusting your panties.

“You know, I could get you fined for public indecency,” you heard Coryo's voice loud and clear right beside you and lost your balance at the surprise falling back on the grass.

“For fucks sake, Coriolanus, don't sneak up on me like that, I thought it was an actual peacekeeper,” you looked up at him sitting at his feet.

“I am an actual peacekeeper!” Coryo looked adorably offended at your remark.

“Okay, okay, Private Snow,” you teased him, still tipsy from the beer you had drank earlier.

“What you were just doing there is not appropriate for a lady,” he tried to maintain a stern tone. “That is if you even aspire to act like a lady at all.”

“Relax, Coryo,” you brushed off his concerns with a careless laughter. 

“I just wanted to pee. Haven't you ever had the need? So strong you can hold it any longer and you just have to do it no matter when and where?”

You gave him a cheeky look and cocked your eyebrow.

“How about now? Don't you think you could use a little relief?”

Coryo's suddenly realized he had been in need to pee ever since he’d left the base. And now that you mentioned it, it seemed to be almost insufferable.

“Well…” he paused. “Maybe I had a bit too much water after the physical training today.”

“Go ahead then. Do it!”

“Y-you mean now?” The boy stuttered, scandalized about the savage nature of your suggestion.

“Mhm,” you nodded, then started casually unbuttoning your dress, revealing your titties. You gave him a needy look and pointed just between your naked breasts.

Coryo's eyes widened realizing what you were doing.

“Wait, you want me to…?”

You winked at him smiling suggestively.

“C’mon baby boy, just let it go. Soak me up…”

Coryo wasn't sure of what he was doing, but it seemed like his hands were operating on their own. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his long handsome cock making you bite your lip at the sight. 

After a short moment of hesitation the boy aimed right between your tits and the first drops of clear white piss trickled from his tip.

You let out an audible gasp when the clear stream hit your naked skin, soaking your breasts and your stomach and streaming further down between your thighs teasing your pussy through the wet fabric of your panties.

“Oh Coryo,” you moaned, feeling your nipples hardening as Coryo’s cooling piss mixed with the crispy night air. Almost unknowingly you brought your hand down between your thighs starting to rub your clit at a frantic pace.

Coryo watched you in awe, his clear blue eyes wide and lips slightly parted at the gorgeous sight before him. He almost couldn't believe getting soaked in his piss could turn you on so much. The boy felt an amazing relief mixed with the undeniable arousal building in his lower abdomen.

You kept rubbing yourself with one hand and playing with your hard nipples with the other enjoying every second up until the last drop of the warm liquid touched your skin.

“Such a good boy for me huh,” you praised him tugging at his pants and pulling him closer just to wrap your hand around his hardening dick.

You started stroking him at a rapid pace watching his pretty face as he was taking in the sight before him.

You sat on the ground marveling at your piss soaked frame, a little drop still hanging from your nipple and shining in the dim moonlight. Your panties were pushed aside as your fingers kept dancing around your swollen clit.

Coryo felt like an utter pervert, still he couldn't help but marvel at your depraved beauty.

You kept pumping him with even more passion, causing a stifled moan to escape his lips. The thought of possibly getting caught terrified him more than anything still he couldn't pull away. He had no choice but to surrender to his own dirty pleasure.

“Fuck, Coryo, I’m so close,” you moaned, rubbing your pussy at an intense pace. You pressed Coryo's tip to your hardened nipple and the boy whimpered softly at the feeling. 

His cock twitched in your hand and after mere seconds he came, covering your breasts and hand in a thick layer of pearly cum.

The warm sensation of his release brought you over the edge and you threw your head back feeling yourself cumming all over your fingers.

“So good for me, darling,” you cooed as Coryo helped you back up on your feet and covered you up with his jacket dreading that someone would see you all soaked up in his piss and cum during the short walk back to your shack.

“I liked it,” he confessed quietly, walking beside you. You chuckled softly, noticing the red blush filling his cheeks.

“I know Coriolanus. You're a little pervert after all.”

[volivolition]

suggestion do you have... any wants? like obviously you do but like? suggestion my guy my ourple boy. both the easiest and hardest to write. you need a skill to say something to move conversation along but it doesn't fit any skill in particular? about 80% of the time you can have suggestion say it and it will make sense. but like actually characterizing him... how do i define you dude... what makes your character tick... urgh. i dont get you yet. im trying to understand but you are difficult.