#though it's definitely not difficult to pull it off

[bloodied-blossom]

Killer Chat HCS!

Minor spoilers for V's Name

Small headcannon about their favorite physical touch! (Small writing to keep this active while I write angel x reader) Honestly I was thinking about which physical touch they'd be caught doing the most and these sillies came to mind! I might write little one shots based off this later!

Friendly reminder these are just headcannons!

── .✦Angel ˚໒꒱

Angel's favorite physical affection would have to be hand holding, or caressing the other's face. Softly holding you to let you know you're safe. You'll always have her by your side, that if you need her? She's right there.

She seems like the type of person to keep you close and whisper comforting words to you, like you so proudly comforted her all those times before. Rubbing her fingers against the back of your hand gently to keep you grounded or pressing feather like kisses to your forehead.

Simply reminders that she's there, she loves you.

Bonus; Favorite nicknames for you would be sweetheart, little feather, or mi amor.

______๑♡⁠๑______

── .✦Misaki ⌐╦ᡁ᠊╾━

Misaki's favorite physical affection would most probably be hugs, embraces. Wrapping their arm's around you, whether it's one around your shoulder, both around your waist or neck, anything to feel you against her. It's comfortable being able to know you're there, that you're okay.

They get anxious, so having a weight pressing against them can comfort her. Plus! Getting to be close to you like that means you two can joke around without many hearing... (but you both know you're too loud for that) She's the type of person to give surprise hugs! Whether you're busy or not, if you're in range? They'll go for the hug.

Kissing your cheek or shoulder even depending on how they hug you. Their hugs bring you a sense of warmth and comfort just as much as holding you makes them happy. They'd go above and beyond to keep you happy.

Bonus; Favorite nicknames for you would be honey, dear, something REALLY CORNY, or a play on your name! (Cherry > Cher)

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

── .✦Ronin ♱𓄋♱

Ronin's favorite physical affection was most difficult for me to place, but I definitely think grabbing. Now i get it... WDYM? Well! I feel as though he's the type of person to grab his partner's wrist, arm, hands, or even their face and either pull them closer or turn them to face him. He's not exactly the most gentle person..........

Wanting your attention, and knowing how to get it, he'd reach for your wrist or arm and pull you closer. Keeping a hand on your shoulder or your chin. I could also seeing him tugging you close by your wrist only to kiss your hand and let you go as though nothing happened.

He's never been big on vocalizing his love for you in a more sweet or gentle ways, but there are times when you two are alone where he holds your chin gently, kissing your cheek or the corner of your lips and reminding you he does love you despite his crude ways of showing it.

Bonus; Favorite nicknames for you would probably be darlin', angel, or even sugar! Idk he seems like a 'sugar' person!

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

── .✦Valentin𓂃𓆙

And finally! (Best for last hehe)

Valentin's favorite physical affection would have to be small, gentle touches such as pats or things like shoulder rubs. Walking up to you and gently kissing the top of your head, running his fingers through your hair and telling you how lovely you look today. He's definitely better with his words than touch.

Cooing at you, softly rubbing your shoulders while telling you he's proud of you, that you're doing well. Checking if you've taken care of yourself today, keeping you in a state of relaxation whenever he's close. It's a nice feeling, the placid atmosphere. If you're lucky, i think he'd nuzzle against your head, rubbing his cheek against the top of your head or against yours and then get terribly embarrassed for doing it.

Besides this, I think he'd crochet you small things rather than show physical touch. Small things from plushies to beanies or hats. Anything that makes you happy.. because to him? You look amazing no matter how you dress or accessories.

Bonus; Favorite nicknames for you would be little bird(dove), love, dearest, and possibly precious.

╚══════ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══════╝

I loved writing this! Honestly it helped me get out some stray thoughts and gave me some ideas!

Enjoy temporary food hehe

[hotpinkboots]

~~~

~"The Purge Event." (Pt. 1)~

(Dream BBQ!Ena x Reader

A/N: Some of the things the reader says are actually my out loud reactions when I was playing the game for the first time. I thought using what I said for a blind playthrough would make it more realistic (as in someone seeing The Purge Event for the very first time). Enjoy, darlings :D

Warnings: Brief talk of veins ew!!, mention of eating people (Purge Event), the general tone is that undertone where things seem fine but you feel really weirded out because something is wrong and you can't put your finger on what it is, anxiety, not good things happen oh no !!

Notes: This story can be taken as either a close platonic friendship, or a budding romance, whichever you prefer to think of it as.

~~~

"It appears that you're weirded-out! Is this correct?" Ena leaned into your personal space, hand rubbing her chin as she observed your expression.

You were definitely weirded out.

It had been your idea to come here in the first place. Everybody seemed to be talking about it. You figured it must be some cool secret in this bizarre world, but now that you were actually standing before the strange building, you had a gnawing gut feeling that this place was something freakish.

Your silence was long enough for Ena to decide that she should just go for it.

"Yeah, that's correct. I don't think- WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" You shouted, watching in horrified confusion as Ena began to pull her literal arm off.

She recited the toll for entrance. "Pay with body!" Said Ena, as though this were a normal Sunday afternoon for you. "That was the demand for entrance. Unless you have short-term memory loss and forgot immediately, or are possibly deaf?" She looked at you with still eyes and a half smile, waiting for you to laugh at her teasing.

You didn't laugh.

She kept tugging at her shoulder.

"OKAY, STOP," you grabbed her wrist to stop her. "I don't like this, and I don't want you here," you stated firmly, "I think we should leave. This isn't safe for you." You had just met her recently, and yet, you found yourself caring for her safety immensely.

Perhaps it was because she seemed so determined to get to "The Boss" that, at times, she was subtly desperate.

Perhaps it was because she was a hard worker, and did stupidly difficult tasks that she didn't get well-rewarded for.

Perhaps it was because everybody seemed to spit her name out (or something that sounded somewhat like her name) with disgust as though she were a war criminal.

No matter the reason, you cared for her deeply.

Ena smacked your hand away. She tossed her hands up in annoyance and snapped at you- or rather, Meanie tossed her hands up in annoyance and snapped at you.

"THIS WAS YOUR IDEA, FLESH-BAG, LET'S GO!" With that, she popped her arm off.

You wailed. "WELL, DON'T GIVE HIM THAT ARM, IT'S MY FAVOURITE! PUT IT BACK-"

Too late. She tossed it up in the air as though to prove a point, and gave it to the entity, receiving some sort of green drink in return. Ena had already drank half of it. You'd have to drink the rest to go with her, unless you wanted her to go alone.

You didn't want that.

You glared at her from the corner of your eye, nose flared in disgust as you drank the gritty green liquid. The bowl shattered the moment you finished.You could now see the entrance to The Purge Event.You resentfully walked to the sliding double doors alongside Ena, who spoke up playfully.

"You have a favourite arm of mine?"

• • •

The Purge Event was hellish.

You had been exploring for awhile now, and there didn't seem to be anything special happening. No grand event at all. Every room was the same, the dance floor flashed to the same beat that never changed, even the people were the same in every room. You felt disoriented. Something was terribly wrong. What was worse was that you couldn't put your finger on what specifically was wrong. Nothing bad seemed to be happening, it was just an endless labyrinth.

Ena, on the other hand, was in bad shape. You looked over to tell her you weren't sure what to do in this place, but stopped mid-sentence, staring in disbelief. Were those branches growing from her chest like she had been impaled, or some sort of internal organ system panicking and going haywire? She looked jittery, eyes flicking about from wall to wall, entity to entity. Her pupils lagged occasionally, getting stuck on a random spot, before looking where they intended to.

"Ena? Ena!" You stopped in your tracks. She stopped, too, swaying on her feet.

"What.." Ena mumbled breathlessly. The voice she spoke with should've been the voice that screamed furiously at the sky for bleeding acidic cheese dip onto her shoulders. Instead, it was frustrated and confused.

"You look terrible!" You fretted, reaching a hand out towards her worriedly.

Ena glared at you, shrugging your hand away. "And you think you look great?"

You were momentarily stung, but decided that your companion was being crabby because she was unwell, not because she actually thought you looked less than great. You looked at her seriously. "We need to find a way out. We never should have come here-"

"IT WAS YOUR IDEA," she reminded you once again, an undertone of anxiety in her voice.

"I know-"

"AND THE TAXI'S BUSTED. WE'LL NEVER GET BACK!"

. . .Oh.

That's right. How were you going to get out of here?

You stared at her unblinkingly, wracking your brain for a solution. You suddenly began to miss that strange desert-like land that you felt so unnerved in before. You never should have gotten into that Taxi.

Ena watched your expression. Her insides felt as though they were writhing anxiously. I pushed it too far, she thought, Why are they looking at me like that? ...I don't feel well.

Ena buried her face in her remaining hand. "Let's just go," she grumbled.

20 minutes went by - if you could even call them minutes. Time felt different in this world.Then an hour. Nothing was happening. Whatever "Event" everybody spoke about either hadn't begun, or didn't exist and this was just a bizarre state of being that would perpetuate until the end of time.

You had found the doors that you entered through, but they hadn't budged. You had searched through every room again. You had even reached a point where you attempted to punch a wall in hopes that your fist would go through to the outside. Instead, you just really hurt your knuckles.

What was more unsettling was Ena's silence. She was following you like a ghost. You kept looking over your shoulder to make sure that she was still following behind, not truly seeing her, just checking that she still existed near you and wasn't lost.

Suddenly, you felt a cold, trembling hand touch your back. You flinched and turned your head quickly, finally paying attention to how she looked rather than her mere existence, only to be met with a very ill looking Ena.

She looked far worse than she had earlier. The right side of her face was a sickly pale blue. The left looked as though somebody had dipped her in tar and left her alone in an empty basement to dry, matching the inky black of the formerly clear white of her eye. Those strange branches looked like misshapen veins that had been drained of blood. They caused her chest to crack like broken porcelain, and were causing a mess of her limbs. How she managed to walk was beyond you.

You began to exclaim in protective concern, but Ena spoke before you could.

"I..." She began tensely, bracing herself to use the energy to speak,"I am f-feeling sick in this...." Her red hand tiredly gestured around, as though trying to catch a word that had floated away from her mind.

Ena started over to put her thoughts together, managing a full sentence: "I am feeling sick in this...place."

Your heart sank, and you murmured her name worriedly, brows furrowed. You felt an ache in your chest knowing that this wouldn't be happening if you hadn't suggested this in the first place.

You weren't sure what to do or say, not having seen her in such a state until now. Ena definitely didn't know what to do, either. Escape seemed hopeless.

With what little power you had over the situation, you walked forward and hesitantly hovered a hand over her shoulder, silently asking if it was alright to touch her, to offer comfort.

She didn't respond to the offer, her one visible eye looking around, unfocused. "Everything is loud," she grunted, staying completely still, something unnatural for your constantly-moving companion.

You decided to rest your hand on her shoulder like you initially planned to. Maybe getting her to focus on the only stable thing here would help. "Hey. Look at me-"

"No," Ena muttered, looking for a way out, as though she were a caged creature with the bars closing in on her. You took a step closer, so she'd hear your gentle voice over everything else.

"Please?"

Finally, her pale pupils darted up to make eye contact with you. Standing this close, you could hear her breathing raggedly. Or perhaps it was the sound of lagging, loading, or the verge of crashing.

You moved your hands from her shoulders to the sides of her head, cupping your hands over her ears.

The overwhelming sounds hadn't gone away, but they were muffled. That felt better. Ena felt momentary relief, her eye locked on you.

"I know it's loud and confusing," you murmured to her soothingly, "But-"

"I'm not helpless," Ena mumbled against your comfort. She sounded humiliated.

You continued, ignoring her weak complaints. She didn't seem to truly be upset. Just embarrassed.

"....But, we're going to get out of here. You and I. Together." You paused to let your words sink in before continuing.

"Let me break it down for you: Music is loud, people are everywhere, and the dance floor is bright. You're more than capable of making it through those," you reassured softly, breaking the situation down to make it more bearable.

Ena felt worse. "Only three things are happening and I can't even overcome those-"

"No, that's not the point," you interrupted quickly, "Ena, I'm trying to say that it's going to be okay."

She went quiet. Her eye slowly drifted to the ground.

. . ."That was cheesy," she muttered, though you saw her mouth twitch upwards into a small smile.

"You liked it," you pointed out fondly. Ena attempted to stand up straighter and prouder. It didn't work well, but she was making an effort. "In that case, let's get to wo-... What is that?"

"What? What is what?" You turned around quickly, following her gaze.

Oh. That's what.

Thick pink goop was oozing grotesquely from the mouths of the creatures mounted onto each wall. Your heart sunk deeply into your stomach. The determination of the moment faded as the liquid began to rise to your ankles.

This could only mean one thing: The Purge Event was beginning.

You instinctively turned to Ena, but you only caught a glimpse of her before the lights went out all at once, plunging you into blinding darkness. Your chest felt tight with panic- panic that amplified into a shocked scream. You felt yourself being dragged away, though you didn't feel physical hands forcing you back. A shrill cry sounded in the distance.

That whistling . . . It sounds

Hungry.

~~~

~Love, HotPinkBoots

[hakogyi]

hate it when my interests in history and fashion are at odds (has trouble forgoing aesthetics in character outfit design in favour of historical accuracy)

[kurooh]

☆ US AFTER POUNDTOWN ! — JJK

⊹₊˚. what aftercare looks like with gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, fushiguro toji, & kamo choso.

warnings: 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, intimacy, cleanup, fluff, no graphic smut, pillowtalk, showering, brief discussions of pregnancy and kids. i needed to write this okay

GOJO SATORU.

silky pink ribbons slide off of satoru’s wrists, curling into themselves once they hit the bedsheets. he can’t help but watch you, more wide-eyed and teary than he should be, as you take each wrist between your fingers and rub gently. his skin is flushed where he’d been securely tied to the headboard, and it doesn’t hurt in the least, especially when compared to fights he’s been at the center of.

you hum, thumb kindly sweeping over his pulse point. “you okay, ‘toru? i know that went on a little longer than usual.”

you watch as he blinks, diamond eyes glassy with traces of euphoria. he’s still coming down, he realizes, when your words bounce around his brain after you speak them, echoing endlessly in the space.

“i’m okay, sweetheart,” satoru replies, feeling something in his chest begin to melt when you settle beside him on the bed. the air still smells faintly of sex, though the scent rides away on the breeze filtering in through an open window. it is almost completely dark in the bedroom, to make the strain on his eyes a little easier after a long day—he closes them, automatically wrapping a strong arm around you.

“there’s a new restaurant a few blocks down,” you begin, fingers reverently stroking over the curve of his side, “many of the reviews mention the dessert and sweet treats. it’s supposed to be good.”

fully nude, satoru curls against you, taking note of how easily you fit in beside him. like you were always meant to be here, something whispers in the back of his head. “heh, sounds like you’ve already vetted ‘em. i’ll take a day off next week and we can go.”

“you’re always so busy,” you tease, pulling him closer as though he might just slip away when you fall asleep. as you breathe, satoru feels the swell and sink of your back beneath his palm, and he considers maybe not going to work tomorrow. as if he could take days off on a whim—he might be the strongest in the jujutsu world, but he can’t even make his own choices. then, more quietly, you murmur, “i hope you aren’t overworking yourself too much, satoru.”

when he replies “‘m not,” reflexively, your body momentarily goes rigid, as if he wasn’t meant to hear you. before you can look up and refute him, satoru tugs you closer, making sure to sit his chin atop your shoulder. “really, angel, i’m okay. i can totally handle it.”

he totally can’t, even if he won’t admit it to himself. but satoru doesn’t want you to worry, get caught up with his issues during your day to day—this is simply what comes with the weight of ‘the strongest’ as his title. you huff like you don’t entirely believe him, although you don’t pull away.

“if i don’t pry any further, do you promise to sleep more than three hours tonight? and in this bed, not at work.”

you’re not even asking that much of him. if satoru can wipe out hundreds of curses in less than five minutes, he can definitely try to sleep until sunrise. at home. when there’s work to do. right?

he bites his lip, protesting weakly, “i don’t need to sleep, though, baby. i’ve also gotta get in early to deal with the first years.”

the coolness of sheets in an empty bed flashes through your head, and you decide to push, though there’s a tinge of selfishness behind it all. “please? you still need to rest and let your technique cool down.”

it’s not that difficult to convince satoru to stay after all, especially when he’s feeding off your body heat and you his. the bed does feel more comfortable than his office chair, and just as he comes to this realization, a headache has the nerve to come on, only persuading him further. slowly, like he’s submerging himself in a pool, his body begins to succumb to the comfort of the queen bed, the softness of your skin, the sweet smell of your body wash.

“fineeee. but only because you asked so nicely, angel.”

GETO SUGURU.

“i’ll get the water started for you, honey.”

so he does, turning on the faucet and letting the water heat up as it rushes through the pipes, then out of the shower head in a warm spray. from your seat on the toilet, you can’t help but feel a lovesick, fuzzy warmth building in your chest.

muscle ripples in suguru’s back as he carefully takes down his hair, undoing the band to allow the dark tresses to fall past his shoulders. his hair is impeccably taken care of—he lavishes it in only the best shampoos and conditioners every few days, his side of the shower almost overtaking your own. it’s made up of hair products and a few scented bars of soap, the way a shower should look. (not barren and home to a single bottle of two in one, two dove bars, and a dull razor, like satoru’s.)

when the glass door slides shut and suguru steps into the spray, you hear him exhale with relief. the toilet flushes and you stand, joining him in the shower.

“i’ll wash your hair,” you say, as if it’s second nature. though it seems simple on the surface, he’s allowing you to touch one of the most intimate parts of him—his scalp has only known his own hands, and yours, on the occasion that you help him wash it. “shampoo, please.”

suguru laughs, angling the shower head down so you don’t get too wet. shampoo is squirted into your extended, expectant palm and the ritual begins.

“are we taking more showers after sex specifically so i can wash your hair, suguru?”

there has been an increase in the amount of showers after sex. he’ll make a mess of you on the couch, drink some water afterward, and carry you to the bathroom like a princess to her chariot. you can’t quite place your finger on when, but you’d started washing his hair at some point during your baths.

“the curses really have been . . taking a toll on my arms,” he says cheekily, settling on that excuse just to hear you laugh, “perhaps i’ve been having difficulty reaching back and dealing with my hair.”

suguru’s got quite the mane, which anyone could surmise just from looking at him. but as wet hair slides through your fingers, you can see why he likes your help so much. you’re gentle with him, making sure to never yank on anything as you make your way through his hair. even the light sensation of your nails raking along his scalp relaxes him deeply, and all the tension in his shoulders bleeds out and washes down the drain, along with the suds.

“yeah, okay. if i mess up one of my arms, you’re outta luck.”

“we could take epsom baths together, so then you’d have no excuse.”

it’s endearing, the way he’s able to come up with a solution so quickly. you laugh again, light and airy in the thick steam, and suguru decides he never wants to leave this place.

“wash my back while the shampoo sits, sugu?” you ask, switching places with him to get your back thoroughly doused with water. white suds slip down his temples and he pushes back his hair from where it’s piled on top of his head, looking like a child’s sloppy sand castle on the beach.

“want me to pick the body wash this time?”

“that’s a trick question,” you say, eyes sparkling when you look at him, “you’re just going to choose peppermint vanilla like always.”

suguru already has the bottle in his grasp and is squeezing the wash out into his palm, but he still manages to look affronted. “no, i wouldn’t.”

you turn around, stepping out of the spray to playfully wiggle your ass at him. “i can barely smell it anymore, that’s how much you’ve worn it out.”

“it’s your smell,” he shrugs, shoulders rolling with the motion, “it’s your signature soap scent. you can always cover it up with perfume tomorrow anyway, it’s not that strong.”

“is that why you’re always sniffing me at night?”

you can hear him breathing you in when you’re cuddling at night? embarrassing! still, his eyes crinkle at the corners. “it’s comforting, so sue me.”

you sigh in relief when his hands coast over your skin, palms firmly pressing the soap into your back to both wash you and make the scent stick. a comfortable quiet settles between you, and he continues to lave your back with the wash, fingertips tracing the dents and lines of muscle.

it’s domestic, and entirely him.

he pauses, sputtering and gracelessly coughing on the water. “i’m sorry.”

you turn, helping him rinse the bubbles away from his face. “what’s wrong, sugu?”

“not to ruin the moment, but, well, i got soap in both my eyes.”

NANAMI KENTO.

“i can’t believe you made me breakfast, ken.”

kento returns to the bedroom with one of those lap trays made for eating at the couch, carrying a plate of fluffy waffles garnished with a colorful array of sweet berries. there’s even a full cup of syrup on the side to pour to your heart’s content.

he’s pulled on his boxers, the ones that are tight around his ass, and an apron with kiss the cook in calligraphic script embroidered across the front of it. a smile plays on his lips, the kind he wears when he’s biting back an ear-to-ear grin, and he takes a seat beside you. your excitement is something he thinks he’ll never get tired of. with a creak, the bed dips under the newly added weight, and you carefully slot the tray over your lap.

“how’d you know i was craving something sweet?”

“sweetheart, i know you,” kento shakes his head, laughing around the words. “go ahead and try them, i added something new.”

red blooms around the bite marks littered across his collarbone and around his chest, only becoming visible with his occasional shifts beside you. kento watches you eat with a distinct softness in his eyes, his heart swelling in his chest as your face lights up with every bite.

light and sweet as can be, the waffles burst with flavor, although a small tweak has been made to the recipe. maybe kento’s added finely chopped coconut or a few extra spoonfuls of sugar?

“you’re staring,” you point out, cheeks growing warm. his gaze is obviously lovesick, and strong enough to make you feel the littlest bit shy—a hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck, and he looks away with a short chuckle. “we can share, ken.”

“that’s okay, honey. i had some while i was making them earlier. so, how do they taste? have you figured out the extra ingredient yet?”

“i’ve got no idea,” you reply after a large bite, setting the fork back on the tray before gently nudging it away. kento’s forearms flex as he lifts it, placing it on the bedside table for later.

he unties the apron and scoops you into his arms, pulling your giggling form close to his chest. “i decided to add more buttermilk.”

a warm kiss is pressed to the space beneath your ear. through your back, you can feel his heartbeat syncing up with your own—relaxed and content in the presence of one another.

“thank you for this morning,” kento whispers, adding, “was i too rough with you, angel?”

“perfect, ken. you almost put me back to sleep, though.”

you share a laugh with him, curling up in his warmth. kento’s fingers trace mindless, ticklish doodles into your side as he begins to slip further into a state of drowsiness. “i don’t like to make excuses, but i find it difficult to hold myself back with you.”

the admission isn’t inherently sexual, not in the way it’s said so delicately. kento is right, he does have difficulty holding back, but only because he’s so known. you’re essentially on the same wavelength, finishing his sentences for him before even he’s able to conjure up the word he’s looking for; you understand him wholly, in the kind of way that transcends the surface and physicality of it all. unspoken feelings make no difference—kento’s open like a book for only your eyes to pore over.

even now, in this embrace, it’s nearly impossible to tell where one body begins and the other ends.

“all mine?”

“all yours, ken. pinkie promise.”

“pinkie promise?” he sighs without exasperation, letting you loop your pinkie with his own. if this wasn’t something he was doing with you, kento would be the first to ask something like isn’t this a bit childish? but this isn’t like making an agreement with gojo; this is a promise he wholeheartedly intends to fulfill. after all, what would he be if he wasn’t yours?

“pinkie promise.”

FUSHIGURO TOJI.

“on your stomach.”

you turn back to throw him an incredulous look, eyebrows drawing together in surprise. “more? toji, i thought you—”

he scoffs, rolling his eyes and motioning toward the couch cushions. “yes, ya heard me. on your stomach, doll. don’t make me ask again.”

“don’t make me ask again,” you mimic him, flopping forward onto your belly as requested. it’s odd that toji’s even vying for more when he’s the one who tapped out first, panting so hard he could barely form a sentence of explanation beyond a few muttered words.

instead of positioning himself at your ass, toji remains sitting beside you, though he turns to press his hands into your upper back. faint as can be, the scent of lavender curls in the air as the worship begins—toji’s suddenly a professional at effleurage, palms circling upward near your shoulder blades.

slow and firm, his hands seem to iron out any aches that may have taken root there. lotion spans almost the entirety of your upper back, serving as both moisturizer and lubrication for the easy glide of skin against skin.

“really, toji?” you ask, lips curling up in amusement, “you wanted to give me a back massage?”

you completely expect him to retort something sassy and annoying, maybe even call you a damn brat or start torture tickling you. instead, toji’s voice rumbles low and meaningful from his chest. “had ya laid out on your back for a while, and on the couch, no less. jus’ wanted to make sure you’d be able to sleep comfortably tonight.”

toji’s answer does something that it never has before. it shuts you up, and at the same time, makes heat rush to your cheeks. embarrassment and a particular fondness, of all things, stir in your chest at his thoughtfulness. you haven’t messed around on the couch in many months, and yet he still remembers the small, almost unnoticeable hunch of your back after getting up last time.

he laughs at you, feeling proud to have finally ‘won’ all the bantering.

“didn’t expect that, huh?” toji pauses, fingertips lightly dragging down the planes of your back. before he even speaks, you can already hear the smirk in his voice. “anyway, i wish ya could see how pretty you look right now.”

“you can’t even see my face, toji.”

a huff escapes him, and he makes sure to dig his fingers in, just so he can hear you squeal in both laughter and pain. “just can’t take a compliment, huh? you’re such a brat, swear to god.”

“your brat,” you remind him cheerfully, feeling his hands slide to the middle of your back. “as much as i’m enjoying this, i wouldn’t mind taking care of you, baby.”

he snorts. you’re calling him baby like he isn’t 6’3 and nearly 200 pounds of muscle—but there’s something endearing about the idea of being taken care of too. toji actually . . . wouldn’t mind it.

“oh yeah? and what do ya plan to do to me?”

you hum thoughtfully, turning your head around to fix him with a playful look. “i’d turn on one of the movies i’ve been telling you we need to watch and then scratch your back so you wouldn’t get up in the middle of it.”

“this better not be about—”

before he can begin trashing on your favorite movie, the one he hasn’t watched yet, you bulldoze right over him. “as the movie starts, i’d be whispering sweet nothings into your ear.”

“wouldn’t that just make me bend ya over? kinda defeats the purpose of aftercare, doll.”

“the key word is sweet, toji,” even with your clarification, he still looks a little lost, making the same confused face he does when shiu cracks a sly joke at his expense in front of you. “sit down and i’ll show you what i’m talking about.”

the comforting pressure on your back lets up, and for a split second, you almost wish you hadn’t suggested to demonstrate. toji sits down, remote looking dwarfed in his closed palm, and smirks expectantly, like there’s something funny to say. “i was just thinking. what if all the aftercare turns me into a spoiled brat?”

you scoff as he turns on the tv, settling on your knees behind him. “we can’t both be spoiled brats, toji.”

KAMO CHOSO.

“did i hurt you?” is the first thing to come out out of choso’s mouth when you finally return to yourself, a few crystalline tears starting to dry on your cheeks. you hadn’t quite noticed them during the pandemonium, too wrapped up in the overwhelming sensations of sex to focus on something so unimportant. but now, there’s a warm stinging that you trace to your neck—where he’d been biting and sucking the most in the moments before orgasm.

“‘s okay, cho. i’m okay, just tired now,” you laugh breathlessly, watching the worry drain out of his face, “i’ve gotta get up and wipe off, or i’ll end up getting pregnant.”

choso’s eyes are shining. “our kids would be so pretty, all ‘cause of you.”

you sit up on your elbows, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. this is the same look you give him every time he mentions it, and not wanting to nag you too much, he remembers himself. “okay, i know. have to wait more than five years first, i got it,” with the mildest degree of resignation making its way through his huffed words, choso slips off of the bed and pads toward the bathroom.

shortly after, he returns with a damp washcloth and settles on his knees between your thighs. even in the low light, his movements are perpetually delicate and skillful, a direct result of his understanding of your body, built through touch. with the way he’s comfortably wiping cum off your inner thighs, it’s hard to believe that choso had once been so awkward he’d stalked off mid-sex to let out a few tears of embarrassment.

“it’s not too hot, is it?” he checks in, more worried than he should be. it isn’t difficult to imagine him as a father, gasping as your child toddles around recklessly, jumping off of the couch and into his awaiting arms. he’s the type to always come to the rescue, no matter what.

“no, it’s just right,” you murmur, feeling the sweep of the lukewarm washcloth at the top of your thigh. “no need to be so concerned, choso. i trust you, baby.”

pink blooms in the apples of his cheeks at your words, just as it always does whenever you pay him an innocent compliment. he takes comfort in your relaxed sigh, folding the washcloth into itself and setting it on the bedside table before sliding himself up to lay his head on your chest. “you need to stop indulging me so much,” he groans when your fingers slip into his hair, combing gently though the dark strands, “keep up the ‘put a baby in me’ and i might actually do it.”

choso feels his entire face burn once he repeats a line that’s supposed to be yours, a shudder rippling through his body when a memory from earlier flashes behind his eyes.

“i know, cho,” you hum, nails lightly raking against his scalp in your odyssey through his hair. it’s painfully intimate, and impossibly soothing for him—he could say just about anything to you, even confess something deep and dark without the usual constraints of your daily routine. this is just you and him, simple and naked.

then you giggle, “but i also know how crazy it makes you.”

it does make him more wild than it should, the idea of getting you pregnant and then the concept of raising the baby itself. choso pauses meaningfully before he answers you, letting his eyes close. “maybe something’s fundamentally wrong with me.”

a gooey hybrid of affection and sadness races through your veins upon hearing his words. it’s hard to say something—even anything at all—when you know just a little about his struggle being half-human, half-curse. choso is constantly feeling guilty about taking the easier path in life as a human, wondering if someone like him could possibly deserve something greater than himself to love and care for.

it’s quiet now, save for the steady hum of the fan and sweep of your fingers through his hair, loose and languid. “sorry,” choso exhales softly, tilting his face to the side, “i didn’t mean to become so negative.”

“there isn’t a thing wrong with you, choso. i know you’re wanting a family of your own, and i don’t disagree with that in the slightest. i see a future with you, but there’s no shame in taking it slow, is there? we aren’t even engaged yet, baby.”

“engaged?” he echoes quizzically, voice low.

“it’s when two people agree to get married in the future after a proposal with a ring,” it’s hard not to smile at the thought of the two people being you and him, even though choso’s baring his soul to you right now, raw and all himself. he hugs you tighter, arms straining as if he’s trying to prevent you from slipping away. “don’t worry, cho. we both still have a lot to learn.”

[s0dium]

Sex Pollen

Geto x F!Reader

A/n: This was pulled out from the depths of my fantasies

Word count: 2.2k

Synopsis: Oh no! You and Geto get hit by an aphrodisiac curse technique on a mission!! What should you do now?

Warning: Breeding, masturbation, begging, mating press, rough sex, desperate sex, marathon sex, doggy, squirting

You think there's something wrong with you. Something feels off, you feel off, rather, you feel hot.

You bolt upright in your bed, flinging the sheets away as if a second more underneath them would burn you. No, something was definitely off. Your mind buzzed, and it couldn't be from the adrenaline of the mission, that was hours ago, it was midnight now.

Your eyes adjusted to the darkness of your room and you bit inside of your cheek. It wasn't just physical exhaustion that draped over your limbs—it was something else, something deeper and more consuming. The air around you felt thicker, every breath you took seemed laced with a heavy, intoxicating warmth. You press a hand to your forehead, trying to quell the rising temperature of your skin, but it provides little relief.

A creeping heat suffuses your body and an unmistakable pulse emanates from your core.

Where you.... Turned on?

A sickly-warm-funny feeling bubbles in your stomach and you're becoming aware of how your skin is starting to stick to your tank top and that the cloth between your legs feels....wet?

Hesitantly, you snake a hand under your waistband and underwear, releasing a small gasp when your skin makes contact with your arousal. You're soaked.

Why is this happening, why now? Your mind races through the events of the previous day. It was mainly just you and Geto on a mission, one like any other—find the curse, exorcise, clean up the mess. Could it be the technique you were hit with?

Could Geto be feeling this too?

Your heart jumps at the thought but you try to shake it off. You know you should get up, wake up Shoko, wake up Geto even, but you can't seem to will your legs to move. Your mind was is just too occupied with something else, the promise of something sweeter, something that is making the funny feeling in your stomach spread.

Without much of a thought, you press an index finger on your throbbing clit, garnering a sharp sigh from you. Just from that simple touch pleasure ripples through your body, making your toes curl. You do the movement again except this time you start drawing light circles on the sensitive nub. You can feel yourself squeeze around nothing from your own ministrations, bliss clouding your hazy mind.

It wasn't enough though. You needed more.

You dart your tongue across your lips and try to focus on the pleasure, on getting some relief. You try to dip one of your fingers inside your hole while continuing the ministrations on your clit with your other hand, but it proves too difficult, your fingers are too small.

Tears blotted your eyes from frustration, letting out a soft whine from the relentless heat that continued to rack your body. Oh how you wish you had someone else to help you, oh how you wish Geto was here.

Your core throbs at the thought. Yes, that was it, he is what you need. You resume your ministrations this time focusing on the euphoric thought of Geto suguru. He would be so good to you wouldn't he be? Oh you bet he'd fill you up so well too, fuck you just right, get rid of this painful arousal, and fill your mind with only pleasure. He would probably talk you through it too, let you pull and tug on his long black hair oh you can practically feel his hands on you right now, so big and warm.

You don't even realize that you are loudly moaning Geto's name at this point, too busy trying to grapple with the searing heat coursing through your veins. You feel like your body is surrounded by an invisible flame, fuck it feels like you are going to die. The room around you blurs into insignificance, as your thoughts fixate solely on your Geto Suguru, his absence a gaping void that echoes through your heightened senses. You feel a desperate craving, a pull so strong it borders on physical pain, rendering you breathless and sobbing for his touch, his presence.

"Suguru, please...." you gasp between sobs, your voice breaking with each word. The tears stream down your cheeks, blurring your vision as you clutch your sheets.

As if on cue, the door swings open and you think that there must be a god out there listening to you because there Suguru stands, backlit by the hallway light, his broad silhouette framed in the doorway.

Before you can even get a word in he is already next to you sitting on your bed and cupping your face with his large warm hands.

Deep violet eyes examine your face as his thumb brushes away the tears on your cheek.

"I-" You choke, a wave of emotions crashing down on your mind stifling the words that desperately wanted to escape your mouth.

"Shhhh, I know baby I know," he coos kissing your forehead and tracing your jaw with his thumb. "I feel it to, but I'm gonna take care of it ok? Don't worry about a thing m'gonna take such good care of you I promise."

He gently tilts your chin up, meeting your doe-eyed gaze with eyes that seems to devour you. Slowly, he lowers his lips to yours, encapsulating your trembling mouth in a deep, comforting kiss that steadys the chaotic beat of your heart. You sigh into the kiss and let his entangle with yours.

As the kiss deepens, he shifts slightly, his lips traveling from yours down to your neck. A soft gasp escapes you as he plants soft kisses along your skin, occasionally nipping and sucking at the delicate skin. You are so lost in the feeling of his lips that you don't even notice his hand on your inner thigh until his finger grazes your lips.

You jump at the sensation but Suguru places a light reassuring kiss on your lips

"jesus, please just, fuck, gotta get you ready just a little bit"

You shake your head quickly and place your hand on Suguru's crotch, the caress of his growing bulge making him groan.

"Please sugu, please just fuck me I can take it."

You don't have to tell him twice.

In one fluid motion Suguru tears off your underwear, lays you on your back and positions himself between your legs.

"Been waiting to do this for say long," he mummurs as he pulls down his sweatpants and whips out his dick. You thickly gulp at the sight, you could've guessed he was big not this big, could he even fit in you? A white beed of precum dribbled from his pretty pink tip and down his length and he uses the liquid to stroke himself in a few fluid motions.

You could hear your heart in your ears and adrenaline coursed through your veins at rocket fire speed. The need in between your legs was too much, it was clouding your head and twisting your stomach so tight you almost felt sick. You jolt when his fat tip bumps into your clit; collecting your juices before pressing against your quivering hole.

"Suguru please~" You whine and nearly miss the way his ears go bright red at your words

"I know baby I know Don't worry, I got you.”

You're cut off by the feeling of his length spreading you so helplessly wide and his tip smashing against something which must be your cervix you think. It’s painful, but in the pain is so much pleasure. He presses his forehead against yours as he slides into you, gripping the sheets with his supporting hand as your hot, wet entrance swallows his cock. Instinctively, your cunt squeezed around the foreign intrusion, trying to push it out, making Suguru let out a low groan of his own and pushing even deeper into you. 

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he said hoarsely.

“Ngh so goo-"

You dont get to finish the thought because he pulls out and rams back into you with such a fever everything goes blank for a second.

His thrusts started out shallow and slow, testing the waters for how much he could get away with. What your limits were, and if you could fully take him for what he wanted. But that quickly changed to harsher thrusts, until he’s using you like his personal cock sleeve, shaping your insides and bruising your cervix until your entire body jolts with sensitivity.

Every thrust knocks the wind out of you, his tip smushing right against your cervix only to be pulled out and rammed back in again. And the sounds, god the sounds where sinful. Wet skin against skin echoed through the room and the sloshing sound of both of your arousals makes your eyes roll back.

You don't know what's happening, you couldn't even tell someone your own name if they asked. Your grip on the sheets was starting to get loose, tears flowing down to your cheeks, mouth hanging open with drool pooling on the sheets as you were already fucked out of your mind.

"Come on baby just keep your legs on my shoulders. Can you do that for me?" His breath is hot against your ear. "F-fuck please" he says through a groan. If you weren't so fucked out of your mind you would think that he was actually begging. And you were right. Suguru isn't a whimpering man but here he is, voice cracking from the vice grip your cunt  

You are too dumb to reply, only spurting outcries and whines about how good he was fucking you. He snapped his hips so fast that everything seemed like a dream, the bed was shaking immensely with the headboard banging on the wall and you were losing your mind from the friction of his dick against your walls.

"Wanna fuck you every day,"  he grunts out, pumping into you, the length and level of his arousal brutal. "fuck fuck fuck," he swears, as he brings a hand to the back of your head and presses your lips onto his. Your so dazed you practically drool into the kiss, letting him entangle his tongue with yours until spit smeared on either side of your lips. He doesn’t slow the movement for a second as he kisses you, giving you full, hard thrusts, your breasts bouncing from the brutality.

Suddenly, it hits you. Like an ignition of fire your brain goes white and you feel yourself ascend to euphoria.

“You gonna cum baby?" he coos into your hear, pressing light kisses on the hollow of your neck. "fuck, cum for me baby, please, cum on me."  His hand flew between your bodies to rapidly rub your clit back and forth, hurtling you towards your orgasm. Your pussy tightens so hard around his cock that he nearly has to stop his thrusts. Your mouth grows lax as you feel yourself splitting in two, coming with his cock buried deep inside you. 

“That’s it,” He fucks you through your orgasm, pouring every ounce of his strength into chasing his own high. His thrusts became sloppy, hips stuttering before he stilled his hips flushed against yours, burying himself in your creamy cunny.

“Fuck fuck fuck FUCK!”

His grip tightened significantly, a loud moan of your name slipping from his lips as his own orgasm washed over him, coming so hard he sees white. But he's not done.

Before you could recover, Suguru rolls you onto your back, in doggy, and slips into you. After the first thrust he has to hold still for a second, knowing that if he kept moving, if he gave himself up to the exquisite tightness, the heat, he would burst inside you again. But the moment of rest only lasts for a second. He resumes his brutal pace, pumping himself in and out of you. 

You are wetter then ever down there, there is no longer friction only the mind-numbing pleasure of his tip hitting your cervix again and again. 

There is no warning when he cums inside you again, you only know when you feel his cum drip down your thigh.

"Feel so good, you feel so good baby."

You're in heaven right now. Your mind has gone to a different space detached from this world. Every time Suguru pushes into you, his tip of his dick rubbed perfectly against the gummy spot in you that made your whole body shake.

“Fuckkkk… I’ll fill you up, make you a mommy, you’d like that wouldn’t you… shit.”

All you can do is dumbly nod as you felt the crescendo of your euphoria building and building. It was so hot, your skin was radiating heat and before you could say anything you were tumbling toward the end faster then you could put a stop to it.

“S’feels weird~” you babble, too fucked dumb to properly pronunciate words. 

“Oh yeah? What does it feel like?” He coos, grabbing either side of your hips harder to fuck himself into you from your behind.

“Like m’gonna pee I don’t-hah-” something was pressing down on your stomach and it was overtaking your body; too fast to put a stop to it. You started to shake, abdomen clenching and mouth going into the lock jaw, tongue rolling out as you squirted clear juices everywhere.

“Oh f- good girl" He says through a groan, not stopping for a second as your pussy fluttered and clenched around him.

[maghendearey]

I’m begging you please write something for dad!Lando Norris maybe he is streaming with Max f and y/n walks in with their kid and lando just goes from game raging to being the softest person ever

I love this idea so much and am so excited to put it into action. Sorry if it took a while. If any of you have any ideas, my requests are open.

Baby days

Masterlist

:in which Lando decided to stream on one evening and ends up cuddling with the children

triggerwarnings:none

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Since Lando was little, he only wanted a few things, to find a best friend: which came in the form of Max, to get into F1: he managed in the year 2019 and to win a world championship: he hadn't done that yet but was well on his way.

What wasn't on his plan, however, was you, when you broke down on the side of the road with your car problem and he stopped because you were somewhere in the mountains and he wasn't going to leave you there overnight without any help. What wasn't on his plan, however, was your beautiful smile and your sense of humor which was so bad it made everyone in the room laugh. What wasn't on his plan was that he would make you his girlfriend, that you would get on really well with his family and that Max, his best friend, would soon be like a brother to you. And what was least on the agenda was that at the age of 23 you would become a father to a little girl, Maja, and at the age of 25 you would become a father for the second time, in this case to a little boy, Oliver-Max.

He didn't quit F1 and to be honest, you didn't want him to either. You loved him and what the sport meant to him. And even though that meant he wasn't home a lot, the time he was there he was completely there for you and the little ones. He loved them and he loved you too, madly. He would die for the three of you in seconds if he had to. And even when he was home today, you had allowed him to stream on the computer with his friends; it was good for him to switch off and besides, Oliver, who really was the cutest baby, was already asleep on your chest. And Maja was watching Cars. You thought that film was weak but she had inherited her weakness for F1 from her father. Although she couldn't do anything with a go-kart yet because her little feet couldn't reach the pedals, you still knew that one day she would be a really good driver.

You left Maja alone in her room for a moment, the tablet in her little hand, and the film still playing, to put Oliver to bed. As you walked past Lando's streaming room with the baby in your arms, you heard him cursing loudly. You didn't really mind, but if he was that loud, it would wake Oliver up. So you knocked gently on the door before pushing down the doorknob. When he didn't answer, but presumably didn't hear you, you pushed down the doorknob and went in with the baby. Lando was wearing headphones, so he couldn't hear you. You stepped behind him and gently tapped his shoulder, which made him flinch. He took off his headphones and looked up at me, his smile changing from professional to loving in an instant. "My baby," he said, taking your son from your arms. You knew that "my baby" meant not just him but you too, because he didn't just take the baby from your arms. but also pulled you onto his lap. Your little boy pointed with his fingers at the screen, which your gaze also wandered to. There was not only the game but also Max, who was smiling brightly at you. "Hey, how are you?" Max asked, whom you could clearly hear through the headphones that were now on Lando's shoulder. It was difficult to concentrate because Lando's head was tucked into your neck and his lips were on your baby's forehead. "I'm fine, Max." You were just about to ask, but before you could, you heard the little footsteps running down the hallway and into your room with Lando. She must have heard Max's voice, because the one thing she loved besides F1 was definitely Max. But before she could do anything, you pulled Maja onto your lap.

Shortly after, Lando ended the stream; he wanted time with you. He wanted to kiss you, hold you, and spend the evening with you, Maja, and Oliver, with lots and lots of cuddles.

You didn't care about anything. You didn't care that you only got to bed in the middle of the night today, you didn't care that you'd both be overtired tomorrow. And you also didn't care that the photos from the stream would be all over the internet tomorrow. Because no matter what you were like, you were together. Totally in love and more than happy with everything you had and will have forever.

I hope you liked it and I was able to implement your idea. I wish you all a nice day.

Love you all 💋

[himbodruid]

Primal Pull

Rafayel x Reader

CW: Rafayel in rut, breeding kink, Lemurian knot, i’m purposefully embarrassing Thomas again

INTENDED FOR 18+ READERS. MINORS DNI.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:𓇼⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆ ೃ࿔*:𓇼⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆

Something was off. You couldn’t tell what it was, but there was something in the way that adrenaline seemed to course through you without reason, coiling tight around your chest. It was like your nervous system was certain it was being hunted for sport, except with undertones of…something that you couldn’t really pinpoint.

You took the day off as a result. Focusing on work would be impossible with the amount of distraction thrumming through you. A shiver wracked you suddenly and aggressively, and you had a passing thought that maybe you were getting sick. You cocooned yourself in your blankets, curling back in bed. It wasn’t until early evening that you fully roused yourself.

With an over exaggerated groan, you rolled over in bed and retrieved your phone. Lighting up the screen, you saw missed calls from Thomas. Listening to the series of voicemails he left, a smile alighted on your face. Something about Rafayel being a moody booty, and Thomas asking you to go to his house and deal with him so that their deadline wouldn’t be missed. The way Thomas always seemed to rely on you to make Rafayel be cooperative made you laugh. It’d basically become a game to you. Even better was the fact that you could always seem to bully Rafayel into doing what needed to be done.

With an amused huff, you dragged yourself out of bed and readied yourself. Showered and dressed, you felt better than when you first woke up, but there was still a hint of something unsettled in you. The cute new dress you wore was one you’ve wanted to wear for a while, but the weather never permitted. It was still cloudy, but the persistent rain finally ceased the night before. It was just too bad the skirt was too short to ride your motorcycle to Rafayel’s villa. Ah, well. You win some, you lose some.

The closer you got to the villa, the more it felt like something was pulling you to him. It wasn’t painful, actually the opposite. Like the distance allowed for slack in the tether, easing the tension in the rope and uncoiling it from your chest. When you reached his doorstep, you felt like you were finally able to breathe easier, and the relief was a curious sensation.

The door was unlocked, which suggested to you that Rafayel was home. However, when you entered his home and called out for him, he didn’t respond. Concern knit your brow as you pressed further into the house.

You found him easily, sitting on the couch in his studio. Sitting was a loose definition, as really he was slumped and leaning heavily into the back of the couch, an arm draped over his face where his head rested on the back of the couch. Your heart lurched painfully at the thought that he might be hurt, so you rushed forward.

“Rafayel?” You question, removing his arm from across his face, which was flushed deeply. He kept his eyes closed, scrunching up his face at the intrusion of moonlight splashing across his face. You reached out to cup his cheek, attempting to rouse him further, and noticed that his scales stood out against his skin. Heat radiated from him, as though he had a fever, and you relaxed ever so slightly. Not an injury, thankfully, but this situation felt awfully familiar.

“Cutie,” he groaned pitifully, turning his face to nuzzle into your hand. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Nonsense, you should have someone taking care of you when you’re sick,” you say, trying to gauge his temperature with your hand. He made it difficult when his face kept chasing your touch. Then he grabbed your wrist, bringing your hand back down to cup his cheek. He inhaled deeply at your wrist, and you were reminded of a night long since past. A night where he went insane over a silly perfume. Well, you definitely weren’t wearing that perfume at this moment, yet his reaction was nearly identical.

“You should leave,” he urged, his lips brushing your wrist in a feather-light touch. “While I’m still in the right frame of mind to let you go.”

“Don’t be dumb, I’m not gonna leave you like this,” you say, pinching his cheek gently. He attempted to pout, but it fell flat and he dropped his head against the back of the sofa with a breathy groan.

“You don’t understand,” he whined. You waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. So you settled onto the couch beside him, knee knocking against his thigh.

“Okay? So, help me understand,” you press. And then a thought comes to you, your eyes following the glimmering trail of scales on his neck and dusting his cheeks. No wonder you thought it felt familiar. “Wait, is it Ebb Day again, already?”

“I wish it was that simple,” he mumbled. “That I can at least sleep through. This is way more embarrassing.”

“There’s nothing embarrassing about being sick,” you say, nudging his shoulder. He inhaled sharply when your hand made contact with his skin. And it was no wonder; it felt like an electric current coursed through you from every contact point you had with him.

He turned his head away from you, mumbling something you couldn’t quite hear. The only part you could make out was “I’m not sick”, so you poked at him until he repeated it louder. You weren’t sure how it was possible, but it seemed as though his face was somehow even more red.

“I’m going through a rut, and I’ve never experienced it before,” he grumbled.

“Oh, that’s not so bad, then. Everyone gets stuck in a rut every now and then,” you say, stroking his arm in what you hoped was a reassuring way.

Rafayel barked a laugh, the sudden sound at odds with the quiet ambiance of the room. A kind of laugh you’d never heard from him before. He rolled his face back to you, the mirth sparkling in those oceanic eyes. He reached a hand up to cup your cheek, running the pad of his thumb along the edge of your lower lip. Your breath hitched, his touch paired with the intensity of his gaze stirring something in you.

“Miss Bodyguard,” he chuckled again. “My darling.”

Your brows drew down in confusion. “What?”

The smile falling from his face was the only warning you got. He sat up abruptly, leaning into you and crushing his lips against yours.This kiss was far different than ones you’d shared previously. Gone was the soft sensuality that you were accustomed to, in its place a hunger so great that your very essence was devoured with every stroke of his tongue against yours.

When he finally broke away from you, he pressed his forehead against yours. Shaky breaths mingled between you, and you all but melted against him during the contact. Your hands rested against his neck to cup the base of his head, threading your fingers into his hair. The rough texture of his scales scraped lightly against your palm, heightening your awareness of him.

“When a Lemurian finds their mate,” he breathes, pausing to kiss you again. “We sometimes experience a full body pull to them. Like some primal instinct takes over, and…well.”

He didn’t finish his thought, instead taking your hand and dragging it down the length of his body until it landed…oh. It was your turn to flush, the moan he released sinking into you when your hand came into contact with his hardened length. You hadn’t even noticed his tented trousers when you entered the room, but everything came into sharp focus now.

“So…when you say ‘rut’…you don’t mean…artistically,” you say, feeling your face redden further with every word. Yet, you didn’t remove your hand. His palm fell on your bare knee, your knee that was pressed into his thigh. Heat blazed in his touch, and he trembled with the effort of restraint.

“Yeah,” he whined, burying his face against your neck and inhaling deeply. His breath was let out in a shaky gust, lips drifting across your skin. “Your scent…it’s everywhere.”

You gripped his cock through the fabric, earning a moan from him. He shifted his hips, pressing into your touch further. You tugged at his hair to bring his mouth back to yours, taking up his lips in the same kind of crushing kiss he started with. Tongues tangled and danced, hands roamed, and you could feel a rightness settle in you. Like this was exactly what you needed to happen when you woke up.

Rafayel’s hand moved up your thigh, dipping under the hem of your skirt. Shivers wracked your body until his advance stopped at your hip. His touch was like fire, and it ignited something deep inside you. It coiled in you, low in your belly. It was like that thread from earlier, the one pulling you to Rafayel, curled in anticipation.

You felt your bodice slacken, realizing his other hand snuck up to slowly pull the zipper down. With a small chuckle, you helped him by shrugging out of the bodice until you were bare to him from the waist up. With a heady moan, he hauled you into his lap and latched onto one of your breasts. You sucked in a breath, arching into him and gripping at his hair. His tongue swirled against you nipple, teeth scraping against your flesh every now and then. The sensations shot through you, sending a pulse to your core where it was pressed against his length.

“Rafayel,” you moaned, shifting your hips to grind on him. “I need you.”

He groaned, swinging you around so that you now lay under him. Your legs were wrapped firmly around his waist, ensuring he couldn’t leave even if he wanted to.

“Cutie,” he breathed, looking at you intently. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you respond, firmly pulling him down atop you and taking the opportunity to unbutton his shirt. “As sure as I ever will be with anything.”

“I don’t think-“ he huffed, interrupting his own sentence with a hard kiss.

“I will be able to be gentle,” he finally finished when he came up for air. He sat back on his heels, pulling his shirt off. Then you helped him slide your dress down your legs before he settled over you once more.

“I’m not asking you to be gentle,” you say, slanting your mouth back over his again. The fabric of his trousers strained to contain him, and you reached between your bodies to flick open the button to free him. Taking him in hand, you stroked him and devoured the moans he released into your mouth. His hips jerked forward to chase your grip whenever your hand got too close to the tip of his cock, as though he were afraid you’d stop. Root to tip, you stroked him over and over, his ceaseless moans growing louder.

Distracted by the sensation of your hand wrapped around his cock, his lips hovered over yours. It allowed you to watch his expressions; how his brows drew down, how his nose scrunched adorably, how his jaw clenched while trying to hold back his moans. And the relax of those features as he gave in to the waves of pleasure.

With a guttural cry and stuttering thrusts of his hips, you felt him spill against your stomach. You kept your grip on him, feeling the pulsing throb of his cock as his climax washed over him. A feeling you couldn’t name swelled in you, a sort of satisfaction at bringing the beautiful man atop you to completion with just your touch.

“Mmh, Cutie,” he said, his voice taking on a huskier quality. “I’m just gonna apologize now if I get too rough with you, but you make it very hard to hold back.”

“So don’t hold back, give me everything you have,” you say, shimmying under him to remove your underwear. He sat back on his heels again to look at you, drinking in every curve and detail. His hand splayed on your stomach, spreading the mess he made there with an aroused huff. Then he used those fingers to dip into your slicked folds, curling them just inside. He watched your reaction to his touch with those damnable eyes that were half-lidded with unrestrained desire.

And then he…oh, fuck. He removed those fingers from you, lifting them to his mouth and tasting your arousal mixed with his release. He groaned, eyes fluttering closed as bliss spread across his face. It was a sight that would be seared into your brain, and you weren’t certain how you’d be able to face him normally ever again with that memory constantly rolling in your head.

When he opened his eyes again, you noted a faint blue glow to them. His gaze locked onto yours, and you had a feeling he wasn’t all Rafayel, but also something other. It reminded you of your brush with the Sea God, but you felt no fear. Only a contentment that settled in you, a piece of something that was missing falling into place.

He kicked out of his trousers, not even breaking eye contact. When he settled back over you, his cock lay heavy and hot against your pelvis. It wasn’t the first time you wondered how he would fit inside you, but you knew very well that he would. It always amazed you how splendidly he filled you, and you squirmed in anticipation.

Hungry. It was the best way that you could describe the way that he devoured you. His mouth easily coaxed you open, the taste of you lingering on his tongue. The way that he thrust his tongue into your mouth was indicative of how he would plunder your body, a sort of foreshadowing.

He gathered your legs, setting them against his shoulders and effectively folding you in half. True to his words, there was nothing gentle about the way he plunged into you. He filled you with one swift stroke, sinking deep into you. He didn’t offer any time for your body to get used to him, instead taking to thrusting into you over and over. Not that you needed to adjust to him, anyway. Your body was ready and more than willing to take the full length of him without pause.

He slammed into you, grinding against you with every full forward thrust. Your moans mixed with his, rising to echo through the studio. All you could do was cling to him, digging your nails into his skin as he fucked you hard into the sofa cushions beneath you. He all but crushed you beneath him, using your willing body to drive himself towards release. Fuck, the sounds of him slamming into you propelled you towards madness. You needed more, needed him to take you deeper and harder than he already was.

“R-Ra..fayel,” you moaned into his mouth, which hovered low over yours. You weren’t even sure when the kiss ended, but all concentration turned to where you were connected below. You absorbed all of his moans, groans, and growls, his pleasure working to heightening your own.

“Ngh, fuck, when you say my name like that, Cutie,” he said, his hips snapping forward more forcefully. He set a punishing pace, each stroke of his cock bringing you closer to the edge at such a rapid pace.

“Rafayel,” you moan again, voice louder. He bucked into you at a frenzied tempo, barely pulling out before slamming back into you. The pressure with each strike was enough to send you hurtling over the edge without so much as a warning. You cried out his name over and over, a breathless chant even as he continued to thrust into you.

With a cry of his own, he plunged into you as deep as he could go. Searing heat filled you, overwhelming your cunt with every pulsing twitch of his cock. It was as though liquid fire was flooding you, but fuck if it didn’t feel so damn good. Your body drank him in, every lingering flutter of your cunt milking him for his every last drop.

“Mmh, don’t….don’t move,” he whimpers when you shift under him. “I’m sorry.”

Confusion pooled in you at his apology, followed by worry as he began to tremble. He kept you in place, his cock still buried deep in you. His face was still flushed, and the shimmery blue of his scales stood out in stark contrast. His eyes were clenched closed, and each breath he took sounded labored.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, voice strained. “I can’t stop it.”

You were just about to ask what “it” was when you felt….something. You weren’t really sure how to explain it, you weren’t even sure what was happening. But it felt as though Rafayel’s cock was somehow growing larger, stretching you further than your body was ready to accommodate. He murmured apologies and encouragement in your ear, slipping into Lemurian tongue the more he went. You flinched once at the sting, but it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle. If anything, whatever it was that now locked Rafayel to you just aroused you all the more.

“Rafayel,” you begged, needing to feel him move inside you again. He whimpered, hips jerking at the breathy quality of your voice in his ear. He buried his face in your neck, nuzzling you and inhaling deeply.

He finally began moving in you again, much shorter thrusts that were constrained by whatever that bulge at the base of his cock was. He couldn’t pull from you, only the tiniest of movement was allowed by that knot, but it was enough. The stretch of him buried in you, the way he filled you. It was all too much and you felt your body begin to tremble before you could even feel the pleasure coil in your belly. Somehow, this climax was far more explosive than the first, and you threw your head back into the cushions below you while you cried out. You felt his release searing through you again, his guttural moans muffled with his face buried in your neck.

His body continued to jerk, a seemingly never ending orgasm just pumping into you. Even when it seemed like it would be over, his hips would jerk forward and start the process over again. You clung to him, your own release being ripped from you over and over until you were a trembling mess beneath him.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he moaned against your neck. “I-I don’t know if I can stop.”

He took pity on you, releasing your legs from his hold to let you wrap them much more comfortably around his waist. The shift put new pressure on his cock, and he hissed in pleasure. It also made you much more aware of that bulged base of him, lodged tightly in place. It was just more of a reminder that Rafayel was far from human- not that it ever bothered you. Even more was that emblem blazed on his chest, a sigil that seemed to alight every time you engaged in some form of intimacy with each other.

Bathed in the light of the full moon, you lay intertwined with each other. You thought that perhaps whatever primal instinct had taken over Rafayel had abated, but you were sorely mistaken. He pumped himself into you with only the briefest of pauses between each shuttering climax. You lost count how many times his hips snapped forward, how many times your body shattered around him, how many times your voices joined each other in pleasured cries.

Dusk had long turned to night when his body finally released its vice grip on him and he was able to relax into you. The knot, or whatever it was, subsided and he collapsed on top of you. His breathing was ragged and you could feel his heart thundering. You stroked his sweat-slicked hair, working to steady your own breathing.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured again, nuzzling his head against your chest. “If I knew it was gonna be like that, I would’ve tried harder to send you away.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” you reassured, kissing the crown of his hair. It was true, this was an experience with him that you wouldn’t trade for the world. You just wished you knew what triggered such a thing, so you could be better prepared for him should it happen again. Both of you were drenched in sweat from the exertion, but it seemed that his fever from earlier had disappeared. So had most of the scales and the ominous blue glow from his eyes.

“Come,” you said, determined to get him up and into a bath, with a pitcher of ice cold water shared between you. You nudged him, but he groaned and didn’t move.

“I already did. Way too many times, I might add.”

“Oh my god,” you say with a laugh, softly punching him in the shoulder.

“Yes?” He chuckled. You hit him in the shoulder again, and he laughed playfully. He grabbed your fist, placing a kiss on your knuckles. Then a quick kiss on your lips and he was sitting up. You mourned the loss of his weight over you, but thirst became too great a need to ignore any longer.

After chugging what felt like a gallon of water between the two of you, a bath was drawn and you were tucked in front of him in the hot water. Soreness already began to seep into your muscles, but you didn’t let that deter you from exploring his body more and asking questions about hiss Lemurian anatomy. He didn’t have a lot to answer with, since that’d been the first time he’d ever experienced such an event. He couldn’t even tell you what triggered it, just that he woke up that morning and heat engulfed him, with no relief until you’d walked through his door.

So, you spent the night locked in each other’s embrace. He took you, over and over, his appetite for you seemingly never ending. This time it was the kind of lovemaking that you were accustomed to, anywhere between soft and sweet or rough and wild. You loved every second of it, even the sloppy overstimulated portions towards the end. When exhaustion finally took over, you were wrapped in his embrace, his head tucked against the back of your neck with his soft snores fanning across your skin.

You completely forgot about Thomas’s call earlier. And even more, you were entirely unaware that he’d been calling during the first moments of your tryst, and that call had connected as your dress fell to the ground.

It wouldn’t be until the next morning that you came to the mortifying realization that the poor man had accidentally heard everything.

[iamthatonefangirl]

miss possessive - congressman bucky barnes

okay not my best work, i swear i have like nine drafts i've come up with in a week, none of them good enough to post.

this is inspired by miss possessive by tate mcrae even though i completely lost sight of the song really quickly

part 2

part 3

~~~

you really had no right to be so jealous.

you watched him from across the floor, sipping on your flute of champagne. you'd grabbed it off of one of those waiters' trays as they were walking about the room.

it tasted like shit. you didn't like the taste of wine, and it wasn't even enough to get you drunk.

you knew this kind of event was difficult for him to sit through, but hey, he made his choice going into politics.

you watched as he made his rounds, speaking to various donors and attempting to charm them. you watched as all their wives fawned over your-

no.

you watched as all their wives fawned over him, bringing him in for a hug instead of a handshake. of course they were interested; he was the best looking man here. yes, he was the oldest man in the room, but appeared to be the youngest and was, regardless, easily the most attractive. and all the thirty-some wives of the cranky old rich white men wanted him.

it pissed you off. not that you had the right to be pissed, but. oh well. you're just a girl.

after two flutes of champagne, you watch as one of the donors receives a phone call, leaving his wife with Bucky. ever the gentleman, he would never leave a woman all by herself in a room full of sharks who might try to snatch her up. 

Bucky was very much a different man than he was in the forties, of course. doesn't mean he lost the ability to attract every woman in the room.

you can't stand idly by as she puts his hands all over him, and he can't take his eyes off of her. no, of course he would never go for a married woman. what he did know, though, was that if he pissed her off, her husband wouldn't donate to his campaign.

you roll your eyes and decide it's time for some hard liquor.

you hide in the corner of the room, drinking your much stronger beverage as fast as possible. no, getting drunk at a professional event isn't the best idea, but what do you care. you're not the star of the show.

he is.

he's the brilliant ex-POW who's turned his entire life around in a whole new century. he's the gorgeous soldier who not only survived, but is also electing to do something meaningful with his life. 

he's the star tonight.

he's the star of every thought you have of your future, but that can't possibly come to surface now. it's not the time or place. 

watching him entertain this woman truly boils your blood, but at least you have some actual alcohol in your system now. you no longer feel the need to justify why her hands on his pristine suit makes you want to grab her by the diamonds around her neck and yank her off of him. you can justify your desire to grab him by the tie to pull him away from her and yell at him for not focusing on what's important. 

you bite your tongue. you knew it was all a ploy.

doesn't mean you had to like it. 

~~~

while you stand at the bar waiting for your second beverage of the evening, a man comes up next to you, and the bartender takes his drink order. 

you give him a small, awkward smile as you briefly make eye contact. you're kind of shocked: he's definitely the only man in this room who appears to be younger than 60, Bucky excluded.

you almost startle when he speaks up, introducing himself. Michael, he says his name is.

you turn to actually face him this time. roughly 40, plenty taller than you, and brown hair sprinkled with some greys in there. your perfect type. you quietly tell yourself you're done drinking–no way you're gonna fuck this up. if you weren't so mad about Bucky's new admirer, you might be a tad less inclined to speak to him, but… 

you step closer as you give him a real smile and introduce yourself.

"so, correct me if I'm wrong, but something tells me you're here alone tonight," he begins, indicating to your left hand. no ring. 

you laugh a little. 

"you would be correct," you tell him. "I could say the same about you."

he smiles back at you. it's so beautiful you forget all about your boss and the woman he's now got on his arm as he continues to walk around–

well. you almost forget. good enough.

"you would also be correct."

you explain why you're here, you work for one of the candidates. although, you don't tell him who, exactly. he explains why he's here, one of the patrons. you have to pry the information out of him, but you appreciate it: he's trying to talk to you without flashing his money in your face. it's noble, you think.

you eventually learn he's interested in actually getting to know the candidates' campaigns, not just what they think they can offer him in return for his money.

"you know, I would be happy to learn more about your boss' campaign. from one of the people who probably understands it best," he tells you. you're slightly taken aback for a moment, not aware this was a business interaction. you never even told him who your boss was, so it was confusing, to say the least.

you felt stupid for thinking he was actually interested, for thinking that he was flirting with you.

"oh, of course-" you begin to tell him, but he interjects, "after I take you out, perhaps?"

your smile perks back up subconsciously. so you didn't have it wrong.

"I would love that," you tell him, carefully taking the lapels of his jacket into your hands. you feel his hands come to your waist, and it's like a jolt of energy runs up your spine.

you look closer and almost flip your shit as you see his eyes up close. they're Bucky's eyes. he's not Bucky, sadly, but. 

you're fucked.

"maybe dinner can happen... another time?" you offer, hoping he gets the hint. you realize you probably look like a whore throwing yourself at him like this.

he chuckles. "I've got a room upstairs, if you'd like to come have drinks instead of dinner."

hell yes. you're gonna score tonight, even if it's not with the man you dream about with your hands between your legs every night-

"I would," you say, and bite your tongue. "I just... have to stick around until this thing is over. yeah?"

he nods and steps back. "I suppose I should also do what I came here for," he chuckles. "I'll come find you later?"

you smile and you feel your face go pink. "sounds good."

you can't help the fact that your gaze reverts immediately back to your boss the second the man walks off. Bucky hasn't spared you a single glance all evening, but the second you look back at him this time, you're suddenly staring into his beautiful eyes. 

he holds eye contact with you for what feels like an eternity. his expression is muted, no real emotion showing. maybe... curiosity?

of course he's not going to look mad, or upset, or jealous. you have to stop thinking he'd ever look at you with anything other than pure professionalism.

because he's everything. and you're just a kid, lost in the world, desperately in love with your boss, and everything is fucking falling apart around you.

at least you've got a rich, hot, older man ready to fuck you tonight.

~~~

you kept to your word to yourself and didn't drink for the rest of the night, although you continued hovering at the bar for the semblance of safety it provided.

you continued staring at Bucky for the next two hours. the clingy woman's husband had, in fact, returned and took her away from Bucky. clearly, she was pissed, but tried to hide it. you had to bite back a smirk.

he didn't look back at you once for the rest of the evening.

eventually, the crowd dies down. you realize that now, you have to explain to your boss that you won't be riding back to the office with him, effectively telling him your exact plans for the rest of the night. embarrassing!

you're almost ready to bite the bullet and bid Bucky a good night, scanning the room for him, when you hear a voice from behind you. 

"we still on for drinks?"

you plaster a smile on your face as you turn around to the man standing behind you.

"absolutely," you say, taking his hands. "lead the way."

you begin to follow the man, telling yourself to try and remember to shoot your boss a text to 'not worry about you' before getting your clothes torn off by this man who's currently whisking you away.

you get into the elevator with him, what's his name, you think? oh, Michael, and yank him in hard, crashing your mouths together, putting all of your energy into how badly you need this.

you're startled by the sound of a clanging of metal, ripping your mouth away from the man's and turning to face the noise.

well, apparently, you were too eager and stupid enough to not wait for the elevator doors to entirely shut, because you see now that the noise was a result of Bucky's vibranium arm grabbing the elevator door. he pushes it open and steps inside, eyes piercing daggers through you the whole time.

you stand there, appalled. the man gently pulls away from you, reaching out a hand to attempt to shake Bucky's hand.

"Mr. Barnes, it's a pleasure," he begins. "my apologies for this... less than ideal meeting."

Bucky doesn't even look at the man, eyeing you up and down, taking in your smudged lipstick and the way your dress is slightly out of place.

the man attempts once more to interject. "Mr. Barnes, please, don't worry about her. why don't us men go back downstairs and have a real discussion? I'd love to hear more about your campaign."

wait. why do his words sound like they're throwing you under the bus, almost?

Bucky notices it, too, you realize. he tilts his head in the man's direction before actually averting his gaze to look at him.

"and leave the lady all by herself?" he asks.

"don't worry about that. she's... inconsequential. if you and I can just go back downstairs and–"

"what did you just say?" Bucky asks. you swear he doesn't look like your boss anymore, but someone... else.

the man is taken aback by Bucky's demeanor. his mouth gapes like an idiot.

"you do know this is my assistant, right?" Bucky asks him. the man's face goes pale as the pieces slot together in his head.

"Mr. Barnes, my apologies, truly," he says.

you just stand there feeling more stupid than ever. inconsequential? wow, okay. you almost don't even care that he's dismissing your entire existence, but you can't stand the fact that he's doing it in front of Bucky. you care more about what Bucky thinks of you than literally anyone else, and now? now he's going to see you as a fucking slut who isn't even good enough for a man to commit to for one night.

god, you're pathetic.

"shouldn't you be apologizing to her?" Bucky grits.

the elevator doors open to the man's floor, and he mumbles a sorry under his breath as he runs out.

great. not only do you look pathetic in front of your boss, but you're not getting fucked tonight, either. just great.

the doors shut behind Bucky, who has now returned his gaze to you. you wonder if he's going to press the button to go back to the lobby.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Mr. Barnes," you say, swallowing your embarrassment as you stand up straight and adjust your dress.

he just stares at you.

"what?" you ask.

"are you okay?" he asks, and he looks genuinely concerned.

you know he cares about you, you're his assistant, after all. but that's it.

"fine," you assure him, and begin to reach behind him to press the button to take you back down to the lobby.

he gently grabs your wrist before you can.

you look at him, confused. you know your face says it all.

"Mr.–" you begin.

"Bucky," he corrects.

"can I press the button, Mr. Barnes?"

he still hasn't let go of your wrist. you feel stupid for enjoying the feel of his metal hand against your skin, for getting to feel a part of him that's real.

"you know, you clearly picked out the worst of the men here tonight," he observes.

you roll your eyes and pull your wrist away from him before you do something stupid.

"are you kidding? this place was riddled with capitalist billionaires and politicians. like you," you say, smirking.

he chuckles a little.

you can't help yourself, though. can't let it go unsaid.

"clearly you had some interested parties of your own tonight."

he rolls his eyes and finally turns away from you, pressing the button for the lobby. you let out a quiet sigh of relief. being in this elevator any longer, with him? that would just about kill you.

"you noticed that, huh?" he asks.

"who didn't?" you mumble. but of course, he's not just a politician, he's an enhanced, so he hears it.

"look, I knew she was married, I was never going to-" he begins to explain, but you cut him off.

"oh, I don't care what she does in her own fucked-up marriage."

oh my god. what did you just say? did you just admit to the fact that the only reason you did care was because she was fawning over Bucky?

fuck.

the elevator doors open, and you rush out.

you can hear the smirk on his face as he trails after you.

"so, you were really going to sleep with that guy, huh?" he teases.

you stop in your tracks. most everyone has left by now, leaving only you and Bucky in the room aside from the clean-up crew. you turn back to face him.

"can we just go?"

he nods and calls for the car to come around.

~~~

twenty minutes, you remind yourself.

in twenty minutes, you'll have made it back to the office, and you can go get in your own car and take yourself back to your own place and you won't have to be sitting thigh to thigh with your boss in the back of a limo that would totally be hot to fuck in-

he clears his throat, and you turn your head to face him.

"what that guy said..." he begins. you roll your eyes in anger at the reminder. you didn't even care he said it, you just wish he hadn't said it in front of Bucky.

you wave your hand as though waving off the thought, and waving off Bucky's concern. but it doesn't quite work like that.

"you're not inconsequential."

he says it with such a conviction you feel it deep in your bones, in the very core of your being. he sounds so authentic that it almost hurts.

a million thoughts swirl in your head. you could say i know, you could get defensive, you could say thanks, Bucky...

a better one pops in your head.

"how did you know where I was? you didn't see me all evening."

the limo stops moving. the driver rolls down the divider to grumble something about traffic at this hour? before rolling it back up again.

great. now it's going to take even longer to get home to your vibrator.

Bucky sees the interruption as a way to drop the matter. you press it.

"Mr. Barnes?"

"god, would you stop calling me that?"

you see him turn away from you to look out the window, biting his lip and rubbing his forehead. you've now frustrated him, and he's mad at you. this is good. it's easier for you to deal with him being angry at you than him being nice to you.

you know he just wants you to call him Bucky, but you're a smartass.

"yeah, okay, sorry. Sergeant Barnes," you mumble, smirking to yourself.

he about flips his shit. why is he getting so worked up?

"seriously?" he asks, turning back to you. his eyes are blown back, in anger, probably. not lust, like you wish they were. because you're just a stupid kid, and he's just your boss with a lifetime of trauma. you could never understand him the way you wanted to.

"what?" you say, biting your lip as you smile, continuing to tease him.

you swear that for a second, he glances down to your lips.

SHIT!

in that embarrassing moment, you realize your lipstick is still smudged across your face from the moment in the elevator. your heart rate shoots up as you bury your head in your chest, bringing your hand to wipe away the mess of your face, before turning to face the opposite way from him.

you are, well and truly, stuck in traffic. some concert, or sports game, or whatever...

which means you're stuck, pressed up against your boss, in the back of this tiny limo right now, for only god knows how much longer.

you're pulling your phone out of your clutch when he says your name.

you want to lean into the feeling, how smooth it is. how crisp his voice is, how pretty it sounds saying your name, as though he's genuinely paying you any attention whatsoever.

"you're not inconsequential."

it flares your anger, all of it coming up from your gut and into your throat, as you respond.

"god, would you forget it already?" you snap.

shit, shit, shit. you fucked up. you just snapped at your boss, of all people. you try to backtrack, throw out a million comments of "sorry," but that's it, you're getting fired.

you finally look back at him, and he's actually looking at you. like, it feels like he's staring into your soul, seeing all the pieces of you that you're trying to keep hidden from him.

the car begins moving again.

~~~

he watches you, trying to figure you out, as always.

he can't think of a better word for it than the fact that you genuinely amuse him.

he sees the look in your eyes, the way you're desperately trying to cover up the shame you feel over what happened in the elevator. he's trying to be gentle about it, trying to assure you that what the man said was utter bullshit, but you keep shutting him down.

god, and you look so...

no. you're, like, 80-plus years younger than him (he rubs his temples every time he remembers his age) and employed by him. any interest on his part would be purely inappropriate, a gross misuse of his position of power.

and god, his fucking age, man. he shouldn't even be around anymore-

anyways.

you look at him with those fucking doe eyes, going back and forth between anger, and shame, and something else he can't quite pinpoint.

this is probably the worst part of what happened. you're always so unapologetically yourself, but he can tell this man has gotten under your skin.

even if it's not his job to comfort you, he doesn't want you to feel like that. because who you are is perfect. 

~~~

one minute, you're staring into his eyes, trying to read the look on his face. 

the next, you're bracing yourself as the car spins out of control, feeling hit after hit of various cars all crashing into you sequentially.

you don't register it until after it's all over. the way he's wrapped himself around you as though to protect you. his flesh arm cradles your head to his chest and his vibranium hand wraps itself around the back of your neck.

you take a few deep breaths and begin to pull away from him, looking up to his face as you do. his eyes widen in shock as he looks at you. what? what is it?

"fuck, we gotta get you to a hospital." 

~~~

part 2

part 3

masterlist

tag list

tagged: @clavedelune

[poisonofthepaint]

total control

after a wild shift, you head back to jack's apartment to hang out like you usually do, but today, something feels different. inspired on the song total control by djo :)

cw: age gap, lots of exposition, kissing, dryhumping briefly, fingering, pet names (baby, sweetheart, good girl, honey,), jack calls reader young lady in a nonsexual way, jack is an old man and it shows, dom!jack, sub!reader, lmk if i missed anything

wc: 3.8k

It wasn’t completely unusual to go back to Jack’s apartment with him after a shift. It had become a habit after the PittFest casualty. You had been put in the red zone with Robby, Abbot, and Samira, and you and Jack had hit it off immediately. You flowed together so easily, it made you switch to night shift. The way he taught was more attuned to you than the way Robby taught. All excitement, all thrills, unconventional medicine, doing stuff you probably weren’t exactly ready for, but Jack was standing beside you the whole time. It wasn’t that exciting surgical stuff didn’t happen on the day shift, because it definitely did. But, when your mentor doesn’t have the boss breathing down his neck every hour, you can get away with a few more things. Jack let you do procedures that you had once believed you would only ever read about. Anytime there was something interesting going on, he’d pull you from the bedside of a patient just so you could perform it.  Ellis joked that he was playing favorites, but he didn’t seem to care.

The first night shift you worked after PittFest, he had let you do a REBOA. The patient had fallen onto a wooden fence after a night of drinking, and he came in with the piece of wood still inserted right next to his pelvis. Jack stood at your shoulder, carefully walking you through everything. How to remove the wood, where to place the balloon, how much to fill it up. He described everything that was happening while you performed it. He was huddled behind you, almost whispering it into your ear. To say Walsh was pissed was an understatement, but after that? You never wanted to work while the sun was out again.

Despite the age gap, it had slowly divulged into a friendship rather than a mentorship. Jack was really, really fucking funny. He had always seemed like a hard ass to you when you saw him for the brief transitions from night to day, but on his shift, he was a lot looser, less tense. There had been times you had to step away to gather yourself. It was mostly that he didn’t bullshit people. He once told a disorderly patient that he was going to give him a spanking if he didn’t stop being a jackass to the nurses, and you thought you were going to die. 

You started hanging out after your third week. At first, you would just go out to a diner after. A lot of time all you wanted after a shift was sugar, and you knew the waitress at the small joint. She would fire up the milkshake machine for you, even though it was seven in the morning. Jack gave you shit for it, but you didn’t care. He was more simple, just some scrambled eggs and sausage, maybe a black coffee if it was an especially difficult shift, and he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping anyway.

But, you two were drawn together, it was a nice friendship. You trusted him to tell you what to do, and he trusted you to listen. And that was that.

The first time you went to his apartment, you were shocked by how empty it was. He was a simple man, to say the least. A recliner, a nice couch, a huge, mounted flatscreen, and a framed photo of some of his army buddies. Eventually, you convinced him to get a small, fake plant for the corner. He told you no at first, saying he didn’t need decorations, but the next time you came over, you saw a big, fake Monstera in the corner. He mumbled a quick, don’t even say anything, and you kept your mouth shut. 

Hanging out with Jack after work in his apartment made you feel like a guy. He would hand you a beer some days, and turn on the TV. He watched old man shit, like Gold Rush, or American Pickers. You realized this was his equivalent to doomscrolling. It was his way to turn off his brain. At first, you found the hangout a bit strange. But then, you also realized that he probably didn’t know how to hang out with a woman half his age, so he just treated you like he would any of his guy friends, which you found inexplicably endearing. You would hang out for a few hours, talk about the shift, and then head home. 

But today was different. Today, you felt the tension between you two. For the first time, you realized, oh, I might actually like this guy. Not in the friend way, not in the mentor way, but in a crush way. Usually, after a shitty full moon shift, you just wanted to be alone, but not today. All you wanted to do was watch American Pickers, drink his beer– well, drink the type of beer that you liked, that he had started buying for you– and sink into his couch. You realized, you didn’t just want company after this shift, you wanted Jack.

You push off the feeling as you exit the hospital together. Jack doesn’t live far, a fifteen minute walk down the street. It was nice out today, the sun shines down on you, it makes the top of your head feel hot. After the horrible winter, it felt really nice to see the big star again. You let out a content sigh.

“Sometimes I think the sun fixes everything.” you say, the vitamin D seeping into your skin. 

“Why the hell are you on night shift then, kid?”

“Dumb question. Because if I work the day shift, then I can’t be outside while the sun is shining, duh.”

He opens his mouth in a dramatic way, raising his eyebrows, “Wow, you finally made a good point.”

You scoff at him, “Oh, c’mon,”

He looks over at you and gives you a small smirk. Like he knows exactly how to push your buttons, and he does.

“I cannot believe how many people were in tonight with dumb shit. Like, how do you even get a whole wine glass stuck in your foot? Literally, how is that possible?”

Jack shakes his head, “I used to think the full moon shit was a joke, but I don’t know anymore.”

The rest of the walk is quiet. You hadn’t even discussed going back to his apartment, it was just part of routine now. 

When you reach the door, he unlocks it, and swings it open, heading to the fridge first to grab the two cans. 

He settles into his recliner, and you go to your spot on the couch. You notice he folded the blanket you always use. You lay it across your body, and it smells, clean? Like fresh cotton.

“Did you wash this?”

“Yeah, you’re gross after your shift, didn’t want it on my couch.”

You scoff again, appalled at his truthful statement. “You’re one to talk, old man.”

“Old man?”

“You heard me.”

“I’ll tell Robby to put you on day shift if you keep talking like that, young lady.”

You don’t want to admit that the nickname makes your face feel hot, “God, please no, I cannot deal with Gloria.”

He huffs out a laugh, the TV is playing low in the background, the volume almost completely mute. 

“Could you imagine if she saw how we dealt with that patient in chairs?”

“I think we would have to get the crash cart for her.”

He laughs again, and you both settle into silence. You want to talk more, you want to ask him if he feels this too– the pull to each other, like the moon and the tides. But you don’t know how far to push it. You want to do something about this crush, you don’t want to shove it down and let it get worse, and then really have to go back to day shift. But, you’re unsure how Jack feels, if he thinks of you that way, or if he just thinks of you as a young lady, as he put it. 

After a while, when you’re almost drifting into a soft sleep, Jack speaks, “Hey, when that teen came in, and needed to be intubated, you didn’t start until I told you to, why?”

While Jack didn’t bullshit patients, he also didn’t bullshit you. He didn’t believe in biting his tongue, in letting things slide, if he wanted to know something; he asked.

“I don’t know, it’s complicated, and weird.” You didn’t want to admit the truth to yourself, much less to your boss.

“What’s complicated? You’ve done a million intubations. What stopped you?”

“Sometimes I feel, um–” You sneak a look at him and he’s already looking at you, his hands locked on top of his head. You notice his biceps bulging through the t-shirt he’s wearing, and it makes your throat feel dry. You reach for the beer, and take a long sip, needing some liquid courage. “Sometimes, I feel like I can’t do something unless there’s someone guiding me through it. I think that’s why I like learning from you so much. You’re always right behind me, telling me what to do. I know that I know how to intubate, but I’m used to being— told by you, I guess.”

He nods, a signal for you to keep talking. You’re sitting criss-cross now, body facing him. You stare straight down at your hands, twisting your fingers together in anxiousness. 

“I just like to be guided sometimes. Maybe that makes me a bad EM specialist.” You leave out the part where Jack is really the only person you want to tell you what to do. If anyone else had told you to intubate when it was obvious to, you would’ve shot daggers through them. You feel the sudden urge to defend yourself, “I would know what to do if you weren’t there, I really would.”

“I know, that’s why it shocked me that you didn’t start.” Jack says, sitting forward a bit, “It doesn’t make you a bad EM specialist. You’re only in the second year of your residency anyway, you shouldn’t be doing everything by yourself.”

You nod, trusting what he says. “Is that weird?”

“No,” he says, and you swear you see his jaw tick. “No, it’s normal to want to be guided.”

“You’re very good at it.” you blurt out. “At guiding– teaching. I always just want to follow your lead, and do what you tell me.” You laugh; shake your head. “Sorry, I think I’m being weird. Maybe it’s the full moon.”

“Not weird, kid. I’d tell you if it was.” Jack gets up from the recliner and comes and sits next to you. “Can I ask you something else?”

You nod, and he doesn’t talk. He lowers his head so you can see him out of the top of your eyelids. You realize he wants you to look at him, so you do. “It’s your turn to tell me if I’m being weird, okay?”

You don’t move a muscle. Like you might scare him away.

“Does that translate to anywhere else in your life?”

“How do you mean?” You think you know, but you want to be sure.

He tilts his head in a quick flick, like he thinks you’re being obtuse on purpose. “In your personal life, y’like to be told what to do? Like to be— guided?”

“I think.” your voice is as low as the television. “I’ve never really done it, though. Never done it, like that, I mean.”

“You’ve never done it?” He has a small smirk on his face.

You groan and dramatically fall back on the couch, hands covering your face. “Yes, Dr. Abbot, I have done it.” You say, muffled, from the palms pressing into your mouth. 

You sit back up. “Just not in the way you’re asking.” 

“Yeah, because the people you’ve been with don’t know jack shit. I clocked it the first time we worked together, during PittFest.”

“I am not that easy to read.” You say it like it’s a fact.

“I hate to break it to you, honey, but you are.” He places a hand on your thigh, his thumb rubbing deep circles, and you think you might combust right there, on his couch. “You followed me the whole night. Not a bad thing, it was nice knowing you were right there, ready to follow, to assist.” 

His words are going in one ear and out the other, all you can focus on is his hand on you. 

“Hey, you with me?” He inquires; reading you again. “I want to make sure this is okay, I can stop right now, and we can act like it never happened, okay?” 

“Yes, it’s okay. More than okay.” You nod, locking eyes with him, so he knows.

“I want to treat you right. I want to turn your brain off, so you aren’t thinking about anything but me. Following my orders, doing exactly what I say. Do you want that?”

“Yes,” 

That’s all it takes for Jack to kiss you. 

He isn’t gentle with it. He kisses you hard, like he’s been waiting years to do it, despite only knowing you for a few months. You have trouble catching up at first. It’s true what you told him, that no one else seems to know how to treat you. It’s not that your other partners were necessarily bad, they just couldn’t read you like Jack can. No one else is able to.

He pushes you gently back onto the couch until you lay flat. His chest presses against yours and it’s comforting, like a weighted blanket. You try not to wriggle your hips too much, not wanting to jump too far ahead, but you can’t help yourself, they press up into his growing bulge and he groans into your mouth. He winds down on you quickly to meet you halfway, the lower halves of your bodies mold together. The friction it’s creating makes you think you could come just like this. It’s all so hot. There’s no other way to describe it. 

Jack groans again, this time in dissatisfaction. His hand comes down fast between your bodies to press you back into the couch, his thumb digs into the spot of skin right next to your hip and you whine, the pressure sending a wave of arousal through your body.

“Not yet, honey.” His tone of voice is a lot kinder than the cruel hand pressing you down.

You feel like you’re in a club with the way your heart is thumping, you can’t help but count the beats of it, taking your own pulse into account. Jack moves away from your mouth to your neck, sloppily trailing kisses all the way down. You can’t believe that you were so close to sleep a few minutes ago, now you feel like you’re running a marathon. 

He gets off of you, fully stands up. You’re out of breath, you try to make a noise of protest but nothing comes out, you stare at the ceiling for a second until he clears his throat.

“Are you sure–”

You jerk your head to look at him, “If you ask me if I want it again, I’m gonna scream.” Jack lets out a low laugh. “I’m just regaining my sanity.” you express.

“The whole point of this is you won’t have any sanity left. C’mon, let’s go to the bedroom.”

You stand and follow him back, you realize you’ve never seen his bedroom until now, and it’s the same as the rest of the apartment. Plain, minimalistic. He has black sheets with a white comforter, and his bed is made perfectly, probably a habit from serving.

You stand awkwardly in front of the bed, twisting your hands in front of you.

“Nervous?” 

You hum in response, keeping your eyes on him.

“You know me, it’s the same as working. Just follow me, do what I tell you, yeah? Just be a good girl.”

The praise goes straight to your legs and you feel your knees wobble a bit.

“Take this off for me.” He tugs on your shirt, “And these too, while you’re at it.” He puts his pointer finger into the top of your pants and swipes in across your stomach, the digit edging on the top of your underwear. If you knew this was going to happen, you might’ve tried to wear better undergarments, but this felt better, in a way; more natural. You knew you didn’t have to play it up for Jack. It was nice that he didn’t need all the fuss, he just needed you.

Obviously, you do what he says, stripping the shirt and pants off. You take your bra off too, letting it fall onto his floor. He lets out a deep sigh and shakes his head at the sight of your chest. “So beautiful.” Jack says, mostly to himself.

He walks towards you, until his body is pushing you back onto the bed. You sit instead of lay down, eyes staring straight into Jack’s. Sometimes his eye contact intimidated you, but not today, you wanted to catch every slight movement, every small inclination of what to do. His eyes shoot up to the top of the bed and then back at you, and you move yourself up until your head rests on his pillows. You feel loose, like your body has water running through your veins instead of blood. You feel like your limbs have connected to Jack’s mind, ready to do whatever he asks. Your brain feels a bit fuzzy, and all you register is that he’s climbed on top of you again, his eyes staring holes into yours. His shirt is off now, but he keeps his pants on. The vein on his bicep is prominent and it makes your mouth water. 

He places his hands on the sides of your head. His lips ghost over yours, but he pulls away when you reach up to catch them. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to have you like this. I see how you are with Shen instead of me, how cocky you are, how independent you are. But anytime we’re on a case together, I know you’ll follow my lead. It’s not just about guiding, huh? It’s about me.”

You swallow harshly, knowing he’s right. Knowing that you’re independent when he’s not the one in charge of you. 

“It drives me fucking crazy, sweetheart. Knowing that you only get this docile for me.” One of his hands starts trailing down your body, tracing your curves before it flows to the middle of your stomach. He rests his palm right on top of where you need him most, pressing gently. Your brows furrow, and he smirks. 

He pulls your underwear off with one hand, and you lift your hips to help him. Once they're off, he slips a finger through your folds, feeling the wetness. He doesn’t say anything, just nods his head, eyes still locked to yours.

“I’m gonna make you come so hard that there won’t be anything on your brain after, okay?”

“With your fingers?”

“Is that doubt I hear?”

“No!” You protest. “Sorry, just— usually people care about themselves.”

“I’m not like other people, baby.” He makes a ‘tick’ noise with his tongue. “Thought I made that clear.”

That’s the last thing you hear before he stuffs two fingers in you. His mouth falls open at the same time that yours does. You throw your head back in pleasure, and your hand flies up to grip his arm. Your body writhes below you, like you’re chasing his fingers, making sure they won't stop.

“There you go, just like that.” he says, low, into your ear. “Tell me what you like about this. About us.”

You moan, trying to push out the words through the noises that involuntarily leave your mouth. “I like that you know I want you to take control. I like that you’ll always go to the diner with me, or let me come over when I have a bad shift, even when I can tell you want to be alone.”

“Yeah? What else?”

“I like that you call me sweetheart. Even before this, it’s always made me–god– always made me mad when other people did it. But it’s not condescending from you. I like how you look out for me at work. You can tell when I need a break before I do. I like how your fingers feel inside of me. I like when you take control.”

You pant, the ramblings taking the air out of you. You can feel his hard cock pressing against your leg and it makes you feel even hotter. Your orgasm is creeping up on you, your stomach tightening into a coil before you know it.

Jack moves quickly, so that he’s sitting on his knees. You wonder briefly if it hurts him to sit like that, but the thought leaves your brain when he brings his other hand onto your clit.

“Jesus Christ, Oh—”

“Not him, all me.” Jack says, cockily. You huff out a laugh before it’s taken over by another moan.

“You gonna come for me, baby?”

“Yes, please Jack.”

“God, you sound so good moaning my name. You’re fucking perfect.”

He picks up the pace, and you can feel the pressure building up behind your clit, your all familiar tell that you’re about to finish.

“Please, I need to come, please.”

“Asking so nicely. Of course you can, Go ahead.”

You preen; zero in on the feeling of your orgasm and let it wash over you. 

“There y’go. Yeah, just like that.” His words barely register in your head. 

It takes you a while to come back down, your brain still a bit fuzzy when you do.

“Good?” Jack asks once you’ve regained your breathing.

“Good.” You answer.

He makes you go to the bathroom before you get too comfortable in bed.

When you lay back down, your head falls harshly on the pillows, your body bouncing the bed lightly. He moves up next to you so that his head is on the headboard. He’s stripped out of his pants now, just his boxers on. He took the prosthetic limb off too, so that he could be more comfortable. He opens his arm and you scoot over to lay your head on his chest. He kisses your forehead, in a soft way. In a way that tells you this will happen again, that it wasn’t a fluke.

“Another question.” He says, softly, just loud enough to stir you from the sleep that was trying to take over your body again.

“Mm?” you reply.

“How long have you felt this way?”

“I think I always have, but last night was the first time that it was really obvious to me. You?”

“Yeah, same, actually. It was always in the back of my head but, wasn’t sure how to make it real until today.”

“Must’ve been that full moon.” you say, groggily.

He pets your head and laughs, “Yeah, must’ve.”

[galaxy-stardust]

Simon Ghost Riley x you

Shaving him

The morning sun filtered softly through the curtains, bathing the room in a warm glow. Simon sat on a chair in the bathroom, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp, watching every movement you made. He was shirtless, wearing just his dark cargo pants. The scars that traced across his chest told their own stories - each one a mark of battles fought and won.

His mask was folded neatly on the dresser. You didn’t get many moments with Simon like this, raw and bare, without the layers he used to keep the world at bay. It made the air feel heavier, charged with the weight of unspoken things.

You climbed onto his lap, straddling him, the shaving cream and razor in hand. He didn’t say a word, just looked up at you with a mixture of amusement and challenge.

“You sure you trust me with this?” you asked, arching a brow as you scooped a bit of the cream onto your fingers.

He tilted his head slightly. “I trust you. But play with the blade near my throat, and I might start getting ideas.”

You smirked. “No pressure, then.”

Spreading the cream across his jaw, you took your time. The rough stubble beneath your fingers was such a contrast to the softness of the moment. You worked slowly, enjoying the way his eyes stayed locked on you. Simon never broke eye contact unless he absolutely had to. It was his way of reading people - and you were the one person he couldn’t seem to look away from.

“Careful,” he murmured, his hands resting loosely on your waist. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Oh, I definitely am,” you teased, dragging your thumb along his jaw. “You rarely let me get this close.”

“Close, huh?” His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk. “I’d say we’re more than close.”

You picked up the razor and leaned in, your face just inches from his. “Stay still, Simon.”

His hands flexed on your hips. “You’re the one making that difficult.”

You started with slow, deliberate strokes, sliding the blade along his jaw. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch - though you could feel the tension humming through him. He was always so controlled, so steady. But something about the way you took your time, the intimacy of the moment, made him feel like a coiled spring.

“You’re awfully quiet,” you said softly, rinsing the razor before starting again.

“Trying not to scare you,” he said, deadpan. “One twitch and I’m the bloke with half a face.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are. Sitting on my lap.” His hands slid a fraction higher on your waist. “Do you have any idea how distracting you are?”

“Distracting?” You tilted your head, brushing your lips over his ear. “I thought I was being very professional.”

“Professional’s not the word I’d use,” he muttered, his voice a little rougher.

You finished the last stroke and set the razor aside. Your fingers trailed over his freshly shaved skin, savoring the warmth and smoothness. “Done.”

Simon leaned back slightly, his gaze still burning into yours. “Are you now?”

“I am.” You grinned. “But you’re looking a little tense.”

“Because you’ve been teasing me for the past ten minutes.”

You leaned in, your lips brushing over the corner of his mouth. “And what are you going to do about it?”

The playful challenge in your voice was all it took. Simon’s hands tightened on your hips, and in a single, fluid motion, he stood, taking you with him. You gasped as your back hit the edge of the bed, but his mouth was already on yours, cutting off anything else you might have said.

The kiss was deep, slow, and thorough - Simon’s way of showing exactly who was in control now. His hands roamed, exploring the curves he knew so well, while your fingers tangled in his hair. He didn’t need words. The way he kissed you, the way he held you, said everything.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged, his eyes dark with want. “You think I’ll let you tease me and just walk away?”

You couldn’t help but smile, your heart pounding. “I was counting on it.”

Simon chuckled - a low, dangerous sound. “Then you’re in trouble.”

And from the look in his eyes, you knew the rest of the morning was far from over.

[littlemisshyperfixation]

Yoongi Fic Recommendations

a - angst f - fluff s - smut

part 2

Series

In the Margins (a s f) by @bonvoyagenoona ⊹₊⋆ You weren’t sure what he would look like. His writing made you think of a cabin nestled among tall pines, a well-worn cardigan, a scotch neat, and a wistful wisp of smoke seeping into the air from the bowl of an unattended tobacco pipe. What stands before you now is a studio apartment in the city, cigarette butts, coffee stains, and a scowl. There’s definitely been a mistake.

Fix You (f a) by @casuallyimagining ⊹₊⋆ When you take in a stray cat, you have no idea he’s secretly a hybrid trying to escape his past. Can you help him heal?

desolate (a f s) by @angelicyoongie ⊹₊⋆ you just wanted a cute little normal cat to keep you company. so you're not really sure how you ended up with the grumpiest hybrid on earth that seems hellbent on making your life difficult.

One Shots

Set Me Free (a f) by @casuallyimagining ⊹₊⋆ Tired of being told how to live his life and unsure of where he stands in the world, Yoongi--your soulmate--yearns to be free. When you give him what he wants, it causes a rift in your relationship that seems irreparable. 12 years later, you find him back in your life. Can you mend your relationship? Do you even want to?

back-burner (a f s) by @yoonpobs ⊹₊⋆ sometimes you felt like you were the back-burner of a two-decade-long friendship. how could you ever compete?

Love Language (a s f) by @gukslut ⊹₊⋆ Your boyfriend obviously loves you, but his silence has you questioning if he *wants* you. If you could only get past your damn insecurities maybe you could appreciate what you have.

27 Phone Numbers (f) by @bxebxee ⊹₊⋆ Yoongi has gone through twenty-seven phone numbers over the last ten years, and you haven’t changed yours since high school. 

sweetner (f s) by @taegularities ⊹₊⋆ You used to know how he sounded when you were wrapped around him, but circumstances have pulled you apart and sent you scattering in opposite directions. Feelings shouldn't reappear so easily by simple words, but when you find yourselves in the same place once again, this is exactly what happens.

One Chance (f) by @out-of-jams ⊹₊⋆ A musical genius, a guy with a bad reputation, your assigned partner for your final project. And the last thing you ever would have expected.

Seasons Change (a s) by @taetaesbaebaepsae ⊹₊⋆ Min Yoongi and you, through the seasons, break up and come back together. Nobody said love was easy.

All That Holly, Jolly Sh*t (a f s) by @daechwitatamic ⊹₊⋆ You haven’t seen or heard from Yoongi since he broke your heart five years ago, laying out a logical list of reasons why you were better off breaking up. When a Christmas Eve blizzard traps you together for the night, you have no choice but to examine how few of those reasons are still true. And if they’re not… where does that leave you?

Now We Reign (a s f) by @oddinary4bts ⊹₊⋆ when working on a collab together makes you and Min Yoongi seek comfort with the other, you discover there’s more to life than loneliness. Only, hurdles mark your path in Min Yoongi’s life, and it’s unclear what the outcome will be. Will you be destroyed by him and his world, or will you learn to reign over it, together with him?

take five (a f) by @jiminrings ⊹₊⋆ you're min yoongi's nurse and you have a crush on him, and he gives you five chances to ask him out - he never said anything about accepting though.

The Final - Day 02 (s) by @yoongiofmine ⊹₊⋆ You've been Yoongi's go-to companion for the past few years, well aware that's all you were going to be. Despite your very real, growing feelings for the rapper, you took what you could get every time. Now, you're backstage at day two of the final leg of his tour when another member takes an interest in you. Will it be enough to make Yoongi realize he's got competition?

hello soulmate (f) by @bluemari23 ⊹₊⋆ your first day on the job doesn't turn out the exact way you envisioned

Sugar Rush Ride (s) by @lo1k-diamonds ⊹₊⋆ You produced a song based on your hidden desires for your fellow producer and promised yourself that tonight, things would change. You were done pining after him, but then he arrived at the listening party.

fuck being friends (a f s) by @strawberrynamjoon ⊹₊⋆ as if watching the guy you were hopelessly in love with hook up with another girl each weekend wasn’t enough, he also happened to be your best friend, making things extra complicated. and it only gets worse and worse once he finds you crying in the bathroom at a party one night.

Take One (s f) by @untaemedqueen ⊹₊⋆ There are three things which Yoongi was certain of. One, he was a big star in his field of work. Two, he had a huge cock, one to rival many of the largest names in his industry. Three, he can only find pleasure these days in written word. 

Illicit Favors (f s) by @yoongiofmine ⊹₊⋆ When your editor tells you to re-write the chapters of your book because the sex scenes are weak, suggesting you write them from experience, what do you do when you lack any kind of sexual experiences in general? You go to your friend and ask him for help with it.

Bet On It (s) by @minisugakoobies ⊹₊⋆ What's a little wager between enemies? How about if it's your body on the line?

subscribed (s f) by @aquagustd ⊹₊⋆ you find out that youtube isn’t the only site he uses to satisfy his subscribers. what do you do with that information?

[justsomuchhacking]

So like another thing about the transgender mecha discourse is like... the mech can be a metaphor for empowerment and an extension of the customizable self, but specifically for transfemmes the metaphor also works in the other direction!

The mech is safe. And it is familiar, and you have gotten used to controlling it. You are told that your highest purpose is violence, but that's not true about you, though it might be true of the mech.

The mech is safe. It is many layers of cold steel and machinery between you and the world. When people see the mech, they see power and strength. But you will have to crawl out of it if you wish to be seen and known by your name, instead of your callsign*.

The mech is safe. It does not take courage to pilot - it takes courage to leave. Anonymous, stoic violence in a shell that is not your body vs the horrifying ordeal of crawling out of a numb pile of metal and hoping people will love the weird-looking girl who is a little unused to socializing. On account of all the mech-piloting.

Anyway if I was going to write transgender mecha fiction the robot would be the closet. War is hell, truth is life, get out of the fucking robot, girl, and live!

Other small things I would include in an anti-war transgender mecha story:

"Why did you stop being a mecha pilot? You were so good at it!"

Patriarchal military industrial complex discovers trans people are just better at using the weird neural mech piloting interface. This plays out as badly as you'd expect.

"cis" pilot who has an unusually high sync with the mecha and the veteran pilots who Definitely Know.

Nothing good ever happens as a result of mecha battles and the reader should start to feel anxious about which beloved character Isn't Going To Be The Same after this one.

This would of course be very difficult to pull off in a way that's like... as fundamentally entertaining as giant robot fights where the giant robot is a metaphor for personal agency and the power of the individual, where a very traumatized trans girl incinerates mecha hitler with a blue-and-pink laser beam she got from self-actualizing. I recognize that my version is harder to make and definitely not for everyone. But I think it should be made. Both should be made!

*historical note here about callsigns - in fiction people choose their own but in the military these are chosen for you by your unit - and if yours is cool it usually means that your unit thinks you're a dweeb. If you try to make people use a callsign you chose for yourself, there is no doubt at all about whether you are a dweeb. So for me a callsign is a terrible stand-in for a true name. Knowing this fact ruins movies, because every Cool Callsign Protagonist makes you think "Iceman? Oh, he definitely got caught masturbating in the walk-in freezer".

[lucagray813]

I think this is pretty much the final concept I'm going to try and go with:

Still some amendments to be made, like the top skull ghost trail and just tweaking the skulls and everything in general, but I can fix that in the next phase. Wish me luck trying to do this with pencil and paper!

I'm working on something but I just wanted someone else to see this horrifying image. She looks so good with a skull face!

[msgexymunson]

Soft Touches

Description: you and your dealer Eddie get a little closer than anticipated.

Warnings: acquaintances to lovers, reader is AFAB, weed smoking (both parties so no real dub con), fem oral receiving, praise kink, p in v unprotected sex.

A/N: It's my birthday! And I'm high, and horny, so happy birthday! If you've read my work you KNOW I'm a sucker for the first time y/n fucks Eddie. When I'm a benevolent dictator it shall be a universal holiday ;)

4k words

Masterlist

“Eddie, what the hell was in that?” 

Floating in a cloud of your high, the entire room seemed to glow in pink and orange, senses tinged in a sunset glow. You were definitely stoned out of your tree if you were comparing Eddie's stuffy, cramped room to a breath-taking sunset. 

“It's a new strain I got from Rick. You feeling it?” 

“Oh, I'm feeling it alright. I can hear colours.” 

Eddie's rich laugh echoed off the walls of his trailer. He laid on the bed casually, one arm slung beneath his head making his tight t-shirt ride up slightly. Just a peek of his happy trail was on display, which you tried, and failed, not to stare at. 

It was proving difficult, especially since you sat criss-cross apple sauce on his floor. His body was eye level, handcuff belt shining softly in the low light. The glint of that drew your eyes even lower, concentrating on the bulge you could see in his jeans.

You thought you were being sneaky. You absolutely were not. 

“Hey, sweetheart, you gonna answer me or just stare at my dick?” 

“Huh?” 

Shaking your head as if to clear it, you finally met his gaze. 

“I said, you can come lay up here if you want.” 

Halfway between getting up and still in a weird little crouch his words finally filtered through your addled brain. 

“I wasn't staring at your dick!” 

“Whatever you say, baby girl.” 

Frozen, mind empty of comebacks, you clambered out of your goblin stance and stood up, when the blood decided to rush to your head. 

“Oh Holy shit.” 

Your knees buckled, and you would have ended up face first on Eddie's carpet if he hadn't caught you. 

“Easy there, I've got you.” 

Eddie's firm hands held your upper arms tightly as he manoeuvred you to sit on his bed. The room was spinning, everything was drifting out of focus. 

“I need to lie down.” 

Eddie pulled you towards his pillows and laid you down gently, picking your legs up and settling them on the bed with you. Staring up at his off white ceiling, things began to drift back in. Once the room finally stopped swooping around in your vision, you started to come to your senses. 

You are on Eddie Munson's bed. You knew him, sure, only in a ‘can I come round so you can smoke us out and listen to music’ kind of way. You'd hardly call him a friend. This though, feeling the heat of his body next to you, him leaning on his side staring at you worriedly seemed entirely outside of your current arrangement. 

Suddenly the air was stifling, Eddie's warmth only exacerbating the matter. 

“You alright?” 

“Yeah, just really warm. And fucking high.” 

Eddie laughed, relieved.

“Thank fuck, I was scared for a minute.” 

You fumbled at the hem of your oversized sweater, attempting to wriggle it up your body but all motor skills were beyond you right now. 

“Eddie.” You pouted at him, flapping the edge of your sweater with frustrated hands. 

“You want this off?” 

“Please.” 

He flashed you a mischievous grin and pulled up upright, beginning to draw the offensive sweater up and over your form. 

“Didn't think you'd be begging me to undress you sweetheart.” 

Rolling your eyes in response, you held your arms over your head like a petulant toddler. Sweater removed and tossed to the foot of the bed, you risked a glance at Eddie. He was entirely preoccupied, staring at your bare midriff that was now on display. 

“It's a crop top Eddie, get over it.” 

Flinging yourself back down on the pillow, Eddie coughed, looking a little flustered, and settled in next to you. 

“Sorry, I didn't expect it. You always wear baggy shit.” 

“Comfortable shit, thank you. I come here to smoke, it's not New York fashion week.”

Eddie ran a finger across you, just below your belly button. The barely there touch blazed across your skin. 

“I didn't know you had your belly button pierced.” 

Looking down, you watch as his fingers circle it, then flick the little jewel dangling off the end. Thighs clamping together out of sheer necessity, you attempt to ignore it. 

“Yeah, got it done when I was like 15, two towns over. Probably my least painful piercing. Apart from ears, of course.”

Apparently, Rick's new strain also makes you run your mouth, as well as being insanely warm and horny. It seemed you had captured Eddie's attention. He turned further towards you, one hand holding his head up. The other, much to your relief, stayed on your stomach. You're not sure he was even aware he was still stroking your skin. 

“Least painful? What other piercings do you have?” 

You seriously considered dodging the question, but it's difficult to be devious directly to those big wet eyes of his. It's like trying to lie to a baby cow. 

“Well, I got my nose done, but the piercing fell out and I didn't bother to get a new one. That one stung. But the worst had to be my… my nipples.” 

The whole bed lurched as Eddie jumped up and sat cross legged facing you. He practically flew into action, grabbing his cigarettes and a lighter as if you were about to tell him some epic tale. 

“Right, tell me everything.” 

Whilst laughing at his wide eyed expression, you realise he's being completely serious. 

“Well, they er, they like, sanitise the… area, draw a dot where they're going to pierce you and tell you to take a deep breath in and it's done. It's super quick actually. It's more the after part that hurts. Why are you interested?” 

Eddie pushes his hair behind one ear, the tip of it is glowing scarlet, you notice. 

“I was thinking about getting it done my last birthday but I didn't have the cash.” 

He's staring at you, nervously chewing on a hang nail. You can practically see the unasked question dancing on his tongue. You weren't going to offer, hell no. If he wants to see he has to ask. The thing is, the way your tummy is bubbling right now, you don't think you could say no to those eyes of his. 

The question remains unsaid. He merely offers you a drag on his cigarette which you take gratefully, before he's stubbing it out and laying back down next to you. 

“How you feeling now? Bit less baked?” 

“Oh I'm still fucked, but I can see straight and I don't feel sick.” 

His fingers begin their dance again, skating over your exposed flesh, stroking down your side to your hip, across your stomach, and back again. You want to mention it. He's never touched you like this before, but you also don't want him to stop. 

“Good. Not inviting you over again if you hurl on my bed.” 

Giggling, you turn and face him. You're both on your sides now, knees close to knocking. His shirts ridden up again and before you can even register what you're doing you've placed a delicate hand on his hip. His eyes widened briefly, but that's it. Both of you are touching the others bare flesh, whispers of touches. Little, tentative things, like the bursting of soap bubbles on skin. 

“I wouldn't hurl on your bed. I'm sure I'd at least make it to the bathroom. I'm not an animal.” 

Eddie just grins in response, and you look at each other, really look. His dopey smile is the same as yours, and it seems neither of you want to mention how this seems to be rolling into very unfamiliar territory. 

“Eddie?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Why are you touching me?” 

He pushes infinitesimally closer, his knee now slotting between yours. It's a small gesture, but suddenly the situation feels even more intimate than before. 

“Because. Because it feels good. You're soft, and warm. And you keep making little noises.” 

“I do?” 

He smooths his hand higher, thumb dragging along the underside of your breast, and you let out a tiny, quivering whimper.

“See? Like that.” 

Opening your legs slightly wider, Eddie's knee pushes naturally further forward, his thigh now wedged between yours. His breath is fanning your nose; cigarettes, weed, and sweet snacks. 

“So sweetheart, why are you touching me?” 

Your hand presses a little more firmly, snaking underneath the hem of his shirt. With no complaint forthcoming, you reach further up, stroking his side, up over his ribs, and back down again. He responds in kind. Every kiss of fingers is electrifying, filling the room with a soft, dense tension. 

“Because it feels good. Because I saw a bit of skin and I couldn't resist.” 

“Yeah?” He's smirking as he says it, but you're beyond playing games at this point. 

“Yeah.” 

“I didn't know I was irresistible.”

You pinch his skin a little and he stares at you like you just betrayed him. 

“I didn't say that, you're twisting my words.” 

“Pretty sure I heard-” 

Cutting him off with a tickle to the ribs, he grabs your hand to stop you. 

“OK, OK! You were right, I was wrong. Nice touches again please.” 

His hand swiftly makes its way back to your skin and you continue to stroke him. 

“Nice touches?” 

“Yeah, it feels really good.” 

Running your hand up, you graze his nipple, and then bring it back down, down, until you reach the top of his jeans. You graze a finger, just one, under them, sweeping across his tensing abs. Then, you move up to more innocent flesh. 

“Jesus Christ.” 

Eddie's chest is heaving, fingers pressing indents into your flesh. 

“Nice enough?” you're the one smirking this time, pleased at the effect you're having on him. 

“Yeah.” 

It's barely a word, more of a breath. You scoot closer toward him, just a couple of inches, but it's close enough to feel his thigh start to press against your heat. Gasping at the pressure, you rub subtly against his thigh to try and relieve your mounting feelings, no matter how slightly. 

Eddie's hand starts making a trembling journey up your form, fingers twisting underneath your top. Feeling the underside of your bare breast, you both gasp. Eddie undoubtedly because you weren't wearing a bra, you because, well, the obvious. The slightest graze had your nipple hardening instantly, hips rocking forward without your control. 

“Is this OK?” 

“Yeah. Please.” 

Fingers stretching further, Eddie finally brushes your nipple. The feeling is magnified by your piercing; they've felt more sensitive since you got them done.

The moan that escapes is louder than you meant but it couldn't be helped. This simple touch is igniting through your nerves and rushing to your high brain. 

“Shit, they are pierced.” 

It seems to be a thought that Eddie said out loud by accident as he rubs his fingers over your ruddy nipple, slowly circling the silver balls of the jewellery. 

Another moan breaks from you, even louder this time.

“Fuuuuck Eddie.” 

“Yeah?” 

His touches become firmer, rubbing your nipple between thumb and forefinger, mapping the way your face scrunches up with his eyes.

“Yeah, jeez. They're really sensitive.” 

Practically panting in each other's mouths, your noses rub together. 

“Can- can I kiss you?” 

His words are so hesitant that it makes you giggle. Pressing your lips in a swift kiss to his full bottom lip, you respond. 

“I'd be mad if you didn't.” 

Eddie wastes no more time, pressing a hot open mouthed kiss to you that you reciprocate in kind. You keep it slow, leisurely traversing new territory with soft, exploring tongues. Naturally your arms encircle him, pulling him closer, closer. His arm snakes around your back as your bodies press together, like puzzle pieces slotting together and finding their perfect match. Eventually you break away to take a gasping breath as Eddie presses kisses to your collarbone.

“I don't know why we waited so long to do that.” 

“We? I thought you just wanted me for free drugs!” 

You giggled loudly at that, so loud it came out as a snort, but it didn't matter. The moment was so honest that being cool had nothing to do with it. You were bare, in a way, and so was he. 

Eddie chuckled with you as he slowly but surely pushed you onto your back, slipping both of his legs between yours. Pushing your hips up, you feel his hardness graze your pubic bone. 

“Eddie?” 

He hums a response, lips and tongue busy loving on your neck. You tug at the hem of your top and pull upwards. Eddie gets the message, moving out of the way briefly so you can strip it off. 

There you are, bare chested in front of him. You'd be nervous, if you hadn't seen the longing in his eyes. He's kneeling, one arm leaning on the mattress whilst the other compulsively strokes your side. 

“Jesus Christ your tits are perfect.” 

The moment stretches just a little too long for comfort; you're a hair's breadth away from crossing your arms over your chest when Eddie leans down and runs his tongue around and around one nipple. Mewling pathetically, you lace your fingers in Eddie's soft waves and tug. In response his teeth graze you as he sucks softly; then he gives the other just as much attention. 

Shuddering and wriggling under him, you can't do anything but whine, your hips undulating upwards to chase some friction, some release, anything. 

“Eddie, please, I need you.” 

“Umph,” He responds, muffled by your chest, “I need you to say that again.” 

“Eddie I swear to God if you don't- ” 

He laughs, cutting off your sentence. 

“Alright baby girl, I got you.” 

Working his way down your front, he takes his time planting soft kisses, making you writhe at each touch of his lips, until he reaches your shorts. 

Flicking the button open, he slowly drags the zip down and finds the little sliver of red panties poking out. 

“Hearts? Cute.” 

Thick fingers plunge into your clothes and pull them away, flinging your shorts and panties across the room into the void that was Eddie's carpet. 

Insecurity finally gripped its claws into you. What if he didn't like what you looked like down there, smelled like, tasted like? 

A moment of unadulterated panic, and then Eddie licked his tongue, slowly yet firmly, between your lips and all the way up. Barging your thighs further apart with his shoulders, he rooted your clit out with his tongue, running dizzying circles and sucking at it desperately. 

Eddie's moans rivalled your own, such neediness etched in you swear his fingerprints will be left on the outside of your thighs like tattoos, simply from the force he held you with. Barely able to shake, you compensated by pulling his hair and guiding his tongue exactly where you needed it. 

He pushed a thick calloused finger into you slowly, looking up at you as he did so. You back arched off the bed. He felt around, staring at you with such intensity you that you were seconds away from telling him to quit staring when-

“Oh God, oh fuck!” 

Eddie smirked, sliding another finger in gently to join the first, and worked your clit between his lips. He incessantly stroked a spot inside that you'd never reach on your own, a firm, beckoning gesture as if he were willing your orgasm to come hither. 

It was working. Your insides tingle, a tightness pulling straight from your gut and shooting out to your fingers and toes. Beyond control by this point, your hand pulls his hair tightly. To your amazement, his other hand reaches out to you, seeking, and you lace your fingers in his own. 

As soon as your digits touched, you were gone. Your release plummets out of you, shaking through every bone you have, leaving you a twitching puddle of a woman. His fingers chase after it, dragging every inch of squelching pleasure out of your insides until you're tugging him away and begging for it to stop. 

As he moved back up your body, licking and sucking as he did so, you tried to think of an answer to the smug grin he was just about to flash at you. 

There was none. Brain unravelled, threads wound into your nerves instead of your thoughts, you laid there, ruminating on how he'd made you come faster than any other man.

Eddie hovered over you, nose nudging your own. He must have wiped his mouth at some point whilst you were in la la land. 

“Hey pretty girl.”

“Eddie, you're really fuckin’ good at that.”

“I know.”

You laugh, tapping his side.

“Cocky.”

“Confident.”

Before you can retort his mouth is back on you, peppering kisses to your jaw, as his solid member presses into your naked heat.

“Fuck Eddie, please, please please-”

“Please what baby girl?” He asks, then sucks a hickey on your neck. 

Pulling him towards you by his shirt collar, you bite down sharply on his earlobe, pulling a little groan from his chest.

“I want you to stuff me full Eddie. I'm- I'm on birth control. Fill me up.” 

You can practically feel Eddie's eyes roll to the back of his head.

“Fuck, you can't just say that, I nearly busted in my pants!” 

Pulling himself off you for the shortest time he could, he peels his t-shirt over his head and flops back on top of you. Desperate kisses and urgent gropes spill from you both; grinding, needy things that tore at clothes and grasped at flesh. 

After fiddling and failing with his belt, you huff and tug harshly at his waistband. He chuckles, biting at your bottom lip as he unlatches it with ease and then wriggles his pants and boxers down his legs with urgency. 

More desperate grasps, teeth and tongues clashing violently, your hand reaching down to clutch at his- 

“Holy hell!” 

His eyes widen, hands coming to a halt, waiting for the rest of your sentence. You're too busy trying to glance down his front as he hovers over you, your fist firmly stroking his hardened cock.

“You're huge Eddie!” 

He smirks and thrusts into your hand, the velvet smoothness of his dick massaged  by your palm. 

“Bet you say that to all the guys.”

“Er, no, Rick's made some truth serum or some shit because that's the biggest I've ever felt.” 

You guide him firmly towards your entrance, dragging the tip of his enlarged cock through your slickened folds. He quivers over you, arms thick with tension. 

“Baby girl just, just slip it inside, please-” 

“Now who's begging?” 

Grinning mischievously, you wait for him to start forming an answer with his mouth when you slip the head inside your sopping opening. His open mouth turns into a long drawn out moan. 

You would tease him if the feeling of him splitting you open wasn't all consuming. Which it fucking is. He just keeps pushing, and pushing, until his chest is flush with yours and he's mumbling platitudes in your ear. 

“Doing so good for me. Such a naughty, naughty girl. Getting filled up by her drug dealer? Baby girls a little dirty, isn't she?”

You're trying not to let him know how much his words affect you, but the fluttering of your satin like walls tells a different story. 

“You're not my dealer.” 

“Oh really? I'm not?” 

Pulling out nearly all the way and pushing back in, you bite your lip at the drag against your insides.

“Dealer implies I buy shit. You just give it to me, like a little simp.”

Eddie's mouth drops open in mock outrage.

“You want me to give it to you now? I'll fucking give it to you baby.” 

Hooking an arm under your thigh, Eddie thrusts into you hard and devastatingly deep. And again, and again, until you start moaning wantonly right in his face, all bravado forgotten.

“Yeah? Atta girl. That good baby? Wanna feel me right here?” 

His other hand pushes against your lower stomach, the pressure deepening the pleasure he's giving you tenfold. 

“Oh Eddie, oh fuckfuckfuck!!” 

Your release explodes out of your cunt with a gush, liquid spurting out of you so hard you nearly force his impressive length out. It waves drastically, like the sea against the shore, washing and washing over you until it's hard to breathe. 

“Baby, baby! Holy shit, I think you squirted.” 

“Ya think? My God, that was… mind blowing.” 

“Yeah?” 

Looking up at him, you expect that arrogant grin, but he just looks pleased and innocent. Like a kid at Christmas. 

“Yeah, fuck yeah.”

Rolling him over with all the power left in your thighs, you pin him down and move firmly into him, ferality taking over your actions. 

“Jesus Christ, you are a dirty girl, aren't you?” 

“Maybe just a little.” 

Smirking, you hump against him, your swollen clit bumping against his pubic bone on each delicious pass. 

“Holy shit, I'm not complaining- fuck, what the- what are you doing? Jesus Christ!” 

You bounce hard on him. Seeing him writhe under you is a special kind of power, one you aren't willing to let go of. Ever.

“Fuck, b-baby girl, you're gonna make me come!” 

His intense moans spur you on further. Unable to bounce so much on shaky knees you snuggle down close to him, arms clutching his shoulders, as you grind into him. It's massaging sensations into your clit, as well as teasing your g spot with his imposing length. 

“I can't, I’m-  baby girl-” 

“I'm gonna come, Eddie please, fill me up, I wanna feel it, I wanna feel your cum inside me, please, fuckin’ breed me Eddie. Oh fuck!” 

Quivering against him uncontrollably, your legs give out, collapsing on his body as he tenses and releases inside of you. It spurs your own orgasm, snaking up your spine and gripping on your system like a fly caught in honey. An open mouthed scream is all you give him, silent but chock full of feeling, as your back arches in its own tension. 

As it curls out of you, your back gives up, and you flop forward, bones turned to pudding. 

“Well.” is all that comes out, a puff of a word, just air escaping from a collapsing chest.

“Well.” Eddie responds, waiting for what you're about to say. 

You're sure he doesn't expect it. A laugh bubbles out; a weird, inside laugh, that you probably should never share with anyone. But it keeps coming. And coming. Laughing uncontrollably, you roll off of him and try to get your stomach muscles in check. 

You'd be worried about his reaction, if he wasn't laughing with you. It was this odd mixture of tension and relief that was bursting in the air, a barrier broken and left crumbling at your feet. 

“Eddie. Fuck, Eddie.” 

“Yeah?”

‘Yeah.”

His heated hand found yours, and squeezed your fingers hard. For some reason, it felt more intimate than all of this combined. 

Giggling again, you lean into his chest, fingers dipping up to weave into his hair. 

“Baby girl, you can't just-” 

“What? Pull your hair? Because you like it?” 

Tugging on his hair dramatically, Eddie tosses his head back and groans. 

“Knew it.”

“Yeah, yeah, certified genius. It's like you don't wanna be railed again.” 

Huffing, you pull yourself on top of him again, hardened nipples brushing softly against his flesh. 

“Oh, I think I'll be the one railing you. You wanna make a bet, for next time?” 

Smug grin forgotten, Eddie stares at you in disbelief.

“Next time?” 

“Well, I hope so. Got to be the best I've ever had.” 

Stupid Rick and his stupid strain. 

“Best you've ever had?” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Only if you wanna.” 

The teasing stopped. At least for now. It was pretty clear, your need for each other was outranking any goading you'd been sharing. 

At least for now… 

Taglist (Some permanents, some likely candidates, if you want to be added, jus say the word sweetheart)

@eddiesprincess86 @zestychili @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @roanniom @usedtobecooler @josephquinnsfreckles @mrsjellymunson

[sunderwight]

SV fic where Shen Yuan transmigrates into the former sect leader, Yue Qingyuan's shizun, right before Yue Qi shows up at the selection trials.

Shen Yuan is not sure why he's in one of his all-time hate-reads, let alone why he's gone so far back before the story actually begins (his system appears to be malfunctioning? something about an error and emergency backup...?), but he's making the most of it. This despite the fact that being a sect leader is a much more prestigious and political role than he likes.

But Shen Yuan is, at heart, actually a pretty good teacher, and he's spent enough time witnessing administrative work secondhand that he can competently tackle most of his duties. Whatever he can't handle, luckily there are other masters on Qiong Ding who always seem eager to curry favor by volunteering at the least hint that they should. Apparently his predecessor was known for being kind of cold-blooded and ruthless. (Shen Yuan gets checked for possession and it's concluded behind his back that he most have lost some of his memories, again, but also everyone kinda prefers this version anyway, again.)

But, so, he picks Yue Qi at the trials without even realizing at first who he's selecting, but just because that kid seems really determined to get in and clearly has been through it. Reminds him of Luo Binghe. Even when he puts it all together, all he feels mostly is kind of bad about it? He never thought Yue Qingyuan was sufficiently villainous to merit his end, even though he didn't blame Binghe for it either. He was always a mystery, an apparently kind person who nevertheless had some inexplicable fondness for the scum villain, turned a blind eye towards his abuses, and got dragged down with him. Shen Yuan feels even worse when he actually gets to know his solemn, smiling, secretive little disciple.

Yue Qi is very determined to advance, and as quickly as possible. Shen Yuan admonishes him. Obviously this kid has a protagonist-like aura and a similar drive to get places quickly, but you can't speedrun your disciple era, Mr. Future Sect Leader! There's no montage mode! Most of his attempts at intervening meet a brick wall that is Yue Qi's impenetrable smile and polite deference if he even hints at displeasure (this kid's gonna make a great politician one day), but Shen Yuan changes tactics and starts manufacturing excuses for breaks, taking Yue Qi on him with trips off the mountain and finding reasons to stop at local festivals and hot springs and etc. He can tell something's off with the quality of frustration that his disciple sometimes expresses, with how there's fear to it, but he's at a loss for the cause and it's difficult to get Yue Qi to talk. Despite appearances, he's actually very distrustful of adults.

When Yue Qi asks to claim his sword early, Shen Yuan says no. He remember how reputedly powerful Xuan Su was, and his disciple definitely needs a stronger base if he's going to pull a sword of that caliber. But he suspects this won't go over well, and when he catches Yue Qi sneaking off to Wan Jian Peak on his own, his disciple finally breaks down and admits that he needs to get strong in order to save his most important person.

Shen Yuan is moved. The way Yue Qi speaks, he's certain this person is a young maiden whom his student has fallen in love with. Truly, the sect leader was so very similar to Luo Binghe at heart! He must have failed in the original story, and that contributed to his difficulties and sorrows later on. Of course Shen Yuan will help him rescue his sweetheart!

Even if his sweetheart is... surprisingly butch? And is a slave owned by the Qiu family, and, wait a second, that name is kind of familiar... oh.

Oh dear.

Shen Yuan is internally screaming even as he helps buy Xiao Jiu out of bondage, even as he gives Yue Qi money to get his newly rescued friend all cleaned up and suitably dressed for the trip back to Cang Qiong, even as he buys the boys tanghulu for a treat, even as the System cheerfully informs him that his new quest is to get Xiao Jiu accepted onto Qing Jing Peak, even as Yue Qi tears up for the first time when he thanks him for helping.

He can only get to sleep that night by consoling himself with the knowledge that his generation is going to retire well before Luo Binghe and The Plot actually show up.

The System: (〜￣▽￣)〜

5 Years Later:

Huan Hua Palace Master: Sect Leader, we need your help! A terrible Heavenly Demon has come to threaten the whole of human society!

Shen Yuan: That's not possible. He isn't even born yet.

HHP Master: What?

Shen Yuan: What?

[hiraethwrote]

contents : f!reader, stressed and overworked satoru, pretty much pure fluff, profanity, baking, somewhat proofread, no use of y/n wc <1k an : happy birthday to the loml <3 that's it... that's the post

This was the last thing Satoru needed right now.

It had been a long day — much like most mornings, he had to carefully wiggle out of your grip in your shared bed to head to work, only to have the higher ups ride his neck from dawn until dusk. And today, for some reason, his students had decided to be particularly difficult, arguing on whatever he said.

Maybe he was just more short tempered than normal today, as he had a perfect vision of how he wanted the day to go — lazy morning, slowly waking up next to you as you’re nothing but tangled limbs, have a share breakfast, then do absolutely nothing of importance while graced with your company. Was that too much to ask for his birthday?

Seemed like it.

And what greets him first when he enters your apartment isn’t your warm embrace — no, instead it’s the scenery of his home looking like a complete mess before a frustrated groan is heard, followed by a loud “fuck, just work god dammit”.

He wanted to relax, rot on the couch with you pressed up against him before sleep eventually trapped you in oblivion and he could carry you into the bedroom where he could fall asleep next to you.

Instead, something is wrong — he doesn’t need to see it to know. His entire body feels it when something’s off with you, and he won’t be able to rest until he knows you’re at peace with whatever is causing you trouble.

“Piece of shit machinery,” he hears you say as he turns the corner to enter the kitchen. And though the scene is a mess, it’s a whole different mess than what he expects to see. “Ten thousand yen for this not to do its fucking job,” you say through gritted teeth.

Satoru lets his eyes roam every corner of the kitchen. There’s bowls and tools everywhere, flour covering the floor, some semi successful attempts of pastries on the table — there’s even what he suspects to be cake batter travelling up the walls, wondering how the hell you managed to do that.

“What’s this?” he breaths in confusion, your frame jumping at the sudden sound of his voice.

“Satoru!” You groan as you turn to face him. “No! You’re not supposed to be home yet,” you clap your hands to dust off the access flour.

If it was even possible, you were more of a mess than your surroundings. Your apron had definitely seen better days, frosting speared across your cheek and your hair tied up in a… birds nest was probably the best description.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” it came out nearly like a cry as your hands came flying to cover your face before dragging them through your hair, leaving white flour in its trail. “I wanted to do this for you! I mean, all that you do for me, especially with your busy schedule. Then I couldn’t make up my mind on what to make, because let’s admit it, sweet is your favourite flavour. So I thought, hey let’s just make them all. You deserve it after all, but then the damn machine decided to be a little bitch. I just wanted to do something special for your birthday-“

Your rambling is cut short as Satoru captures your rambling pout in a deep and passionate kiss, a hand on each side of your face. When he eventually pulls away, you’re left speechless and face flushed warm.

“My god, I love you,” he breathes, staring into your eyes with all the devotion he has for you, and it still doesn’t feel like he is able to do his feelings justice.

“It’s just cake, ‘Toru,” you say with a shy giggle. “Or more like four different halves of cake.”

“It’s about more than the cake.” His voice is low, nearly fragile, letting his thumb stroke tenderly across your cheek, never even daring to let his eyes leave yours.

Sure, it was just cake — but to him it was also the effort. The fact that you’d wanted to do this for him, specifically. The time, the work, the dedication — all things you didn’t owe him, but something you just wanted to do for him to show how much you loved him.

“But they didn’t even come out right-“

“I don’t care,” he smiled, leaning forward to press a soft peck on your nose before resting his forehead against yours. “It probably tastes amazing anyway.”

“Yeah, I used a shit ton of sugar,” carefully pulling away to look at his face.

He smirks again, thumb wiping away the frosting on your face before licking it off. “Hmm, think I gotta eat some to be sure.”

“Well, help yourself. They’re all for you after all,” you step away to gesture towards your creations on the dining table, his eyes immediately drawn to the chocolate cake with ‘happy birthday baby’ jankily written on top.

“Thank you,” he says softly, hand trailing down your arms to loosely grab ahold of your fingers. “I really love you, you know?”

“I know,” you smile in return and give his hand a squeeze. “I love you too.”

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