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13tinysocks · 2 months ago

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My Dead Girlfriend

He comes in droves, hoards of himself, brokenhearted and wanting, wrecking cities for a chance to get one last glance at you. You're different, more than all of them expected. It's saddening for some, boner inducing for others. [Invincible Variants x reader]

Tw: Suicide, drug use

[Part one] [3] [Ao3] [View Full Piece Here - It's mine!]

2 * RX Only [6.7k]

"While my queendom crumbles around me,

I'm fucking stuck here sucking this cock,

I'll kill myself right here on stage,

And it's gonna fucking rock!"

I Win - Go Hang Music

Blood, guts, and sulfur, but no demons rising from the ground. Just a man in the night, backlit by the burning Sydney Opera House. Watching the blinking dot on his wrist cuff disappear. He holds his breath. Horrified. She was an illusion. A trick of a grief addled brain.

The screen automatically zooms out, showing a pixelated view of the northern hemisphere of the planet. The dot reappears in North America. Numbers flash in the left corner of his blue tinted vision. When he first saw his alternates, he thought they'd have the same upgrades. Super computers laced into the fabric of their suits. Considering how stupid they were acting and how one of them asked where Mount Rushmore was- they likely didn't.

He rises, scanning the numbers one last time, burning them to memory before minimizing them. Your coordinates and vitals, both monitored by the cuff. Perfectly healthy, alarmed, scared shitless probably, but healthy. Alive.

The breath he held lets go.

Eyes scan over Sydney one last time. Before he left, he had to ensure his end of the deal was complete. Be absolutely sure Angstrom wouldn't be displeased and send him back to where he'd came from. Sure, he hadn't expected to see (Y/n) here, so soon, he wasn't really done with Sydney. He could level the place if he wanted. Angstrom would approve, but Angstrom's approval didn't matter. All that mattered was bringing you home. Still, he searches for loose threads. Just in case. The machinery in his suit quietly whirs. He sees no survivors. Not with the rubble and fire. But his goggles lock onto the outline of forms in neon green, hiding behind a slab of rubble where he couldn't see. He's there in a blink. Stood at the one and only entrance of the little hovel the family had decided to hide in. Only one of them lives long enough to scream. There, done. Now he could- His lenses lock onto another hidden form. Then another and another. He sighs. Head turning to the floating ball beside him. Angstrom's drone making sure he was doing what he was supposed to. Five minutes, he told himself, five minutes to kill all these fucking people and be done with this place. It wasn't like he was going to lose track of (Y/n). He rose, up, up, up. More and more forms catching in the lens. He pushed a hidden button on the side of his lenses. A tiny segmented timer started in the left corner of his view. Five minutes, on the clock. *** "You're fucking kidding me." First the apartment, now CVS Pharmacy. You stood in the parking lot, breathing in acrid smoke. Looking at the building that was your personal emergency room for the last five years. That mohawked shapeshifting asshole must have rammed right through the place at some point. Bringing the red roof down on most of the building.

Physically, you were fine but there was something you desperately needed from under that crumbled roof. Especially since you were now suddenly living through the end of the world. The automatic glass doors were crushed under concrete but a massive hole, probably where he flew through, was a perfectly fine entrance into the rubble. You stepped carefully over rebar and the body of a cashier. There was no more inside, just parts where the roof didn't cave in all the way, and you were standing in the biggest one. Shelves tipped, chip bags popped open on the carpet floor. You find yourself meandering into the two upright fractions of aisles in front of you, the store so unrecognizable you felt lost. Caligula laid across your shoulders, over the crook of your neck like a scarf. Gray nose gently twitching at the smell of corpses. There were more in the aisle that was for foot cream. One man bisected by a chunk of roof. One lady who lay stiff, hands still clutching her chest where she'd likely had a heart attack. You exit the remains of the aisle. Not sure why you’d gone down them in the first place, pharmacy wasn't down there. You were still reeling from the last half hour. Was that all it had been- had everything fallen apart in thirty minutes? A clatter breaks your reverie, your head shooting towards it. Crawling out from under a piece of roof was a white coated pharmacy tech. The old-timer full-timer, Wes, you used your powers on almost every time you came in. You didn’t wait for him to stand to use your powers on him. “I need my usual.” When he stands, he leans dramatically to one side. The muscles in his side are split, piggy pink insides poking out of his coat. He turns for the wreck that used to be behind the counter, where he’d pass hours by counting pills. Gait short, steps dragging and too slow. “Ignore the pain.” With that, he goes upright. Walking confidently over to a fallen shelf, bending, ignoring the slippage of his guts. He goes from paper bag to paper bag, prescription to prescription. None of them have your name on it. Going official would’ve meant asking Machine Head to pull strings and you weren’t in a hurry for more debt. Controlling the pharmacy techs was the only way. Wes straightens. Walking on uneven ground. Stopping two feet away and holding out a paper bag to you. Prescription for Sandra O'Connell. Probably dead now.

You frown at the bag. Contents soaked into the brown bottom. Dripping out in clear, thick rivulets. You hadn’t been specific enough. Again with semantics, the pain in your ass. “Find me some that’s intact. As many bottles as you can.” *** "No." He's going to vomit. "No." He's going to cry. "No!" He's going to split this planet down the fucking middle, again. His grip on Isotope's throat tightened. "You're lying." Spit flies off his teeth, onto Isotope's cheeks. Together, him, Isotope, and Machine Head, hover over the rubble of what was supposed to be your apartment. A dead woman lying on its very top, head like a maraschino cherry. Machine Head kicked at the air, gargling, "Get us the fuck out of here Isotope!" One look from Dregs pissed off ex-boyfriend and Isotope knew. If he so much as tried to leave, they'd both be dead. "I'm not." Isotope can barely speak, throat the only thing keeping him upright. Hovering twenty feet above the busted building. "She should be on the third floor." "What third floor!?" "The one you fucking knocked down!" Machine Head grappled his arm. Twisting his sleeve, trying to hurt him- him with his weak human hands. His hand tightened on Machine Head’s neck. Something inside his fleshy human body cracked. The man groaned and shuddered but still fought. “That bitch is dead!” His head pounded, like a hammer slamming behind his eyes. His fingers are a flex away from breaking both their necks when Isotope says, “I know where else she could be.” He involuntarily shuddered when his assailant's eyes fell on him. Wild as his wind whipped mohawk. “Spill.” The freak’s grip lightened. Isotope slipped down an inch, latching to the man’s wrist for support like he wanted to be choked. “She’s some sorta dope fiend. Boys see ‘er at the CVS all the time, picking up the same shit.” Isotope’s words came out in heaves as he caught as much breath as he could. “If she’s alive.” At that word, if, his grip tightens, “Hurk— she’s probably at the pharmacy.” His arm came up, red suit creasing at the shoulder, “Right down the corner. Can’t miss it.” His grip clenches tight, shutting Isotope up. “If she’s not there, I’m gonna see how high your body bounces when I drop you ten-thousand feet.” He flew, slower than he’d like, searching for the right building. He knew what a pharmacy was, of course, but this wasn’t his New York. His New York was worse off than this one. Last time he saw it plants were taking over the concrete remains of the city. So he’s slow, only speeding when Isotope coughs and points out another chunk of destruction that looked like everything else in a thirty-mile radius.

***

T-minus eleven minutes until he arrived. He only had to hold onto Mach twelve for that much longer. Think of (Y/n). Think of holding you. Bringing you home. The sound barrier cracked, then there was someone beside him. “What the fuck are you doing in my sky?” Ah. That one. The one that called dibs on the king’s land because at home he was more than a king, better. Clad in his— their— old super suit. Viltrum’s sigil on his shoulders. Shoulder pads thick. "Answer me.” How the hell were they the same person? This version of him was so whiny. More insolent than a child. Apparently, his style was gaudy too. Minutes after they first met he went on and on about his outfit. How he was only wearing ‘this old piece of shit’ because he didn’t want to get his emperors clothes filthy. And still— he’d come wearing shoulder pads and metals of valor that were jittering in the wind, just barely holding on. He’d scoffed at the idea of human blood on his fuzzy emperor's cape. Much as he wanted to, taking on the other version of himself was ill-advised. Sure, they were different but also the same in many ways. He’d know something was up. His lips peeled apart. Glued by stagnant spit and silence. It felt like reopening a wound. “I’m done. Returning to the rendezvous.” His voice came out robotic. A modulator attached on the inside of his suit's throat. The people of his world knew of Invincible but it was better no one saw any part of his face, recognized any inflection of his voice. Whatever was left of it anyways. The other him, Shoulder Pads (there was no way he was calling him Mark), rolled his eyes. “That place better be dirt cuz if I gotta go to that shithole and finish what you couldn’t I’ll—“ “I assure you, the job is done.” Just leave. Go back to torturing people and making weird comments about slaves. Leave me be. Shoulder Pad’s eyes narrowed to slits behind his goggles. “Don’t lie to me.” “I don’t lie.” And that was the truth. Partially. Shoulder Pad’s lips twisted. “Then you won’t mind if I come with you? Be nice to get to know my next commander better.” Under his mask, his eye twitches. He'd heard this before, one too many times. Shoulder Pads saw him and the others as lesser. Good assets for his empire, sure, but lesser. He didn't plan on joining anyone's empire anytime soon.

Putting up a fight would be suspicious. Though his throat was already raw with how much he’d spoke, more than he had in months, he said, “You’re finished?” Shoulder Pads scoffed. “Hours ago. Whole country's ash.” He laughed, though he wasn’t lying. Looking down didn’t provide much of a view. Too much smoke in the way, billowing up from the entire United Kingdom like the thousands of acres were nothing but an overused ashtray. “I’ve been getting bored destroying those things they call islands.” He nodded. A ‘so be it’ kind of gesture. They flew on. Shoulder Pads filling the not-quite silence— ripping through the air at mock twelve was awfully loud— while he thought over ways to get rid of his companion. Too many what-ifs.

What if Shoulder Pads saw you as some human to be killed on the spot, squashed like some kind of bug? What if Shoulder Pads toyed with you, if he tore you limb from limb? Made him relive the same memory in a different universe. Shoulder Pads taking the role of daddy-not-so-dearest. Worse— what if Shoulder Pads was here for the same thing? A second chance. *** One bottle, two bottle, three bottle, four— there was a cute rhyme to tack to the end of that but you didn’t have the energy. Neither did the pharmacy tech, falling stone cold dead soon as he passed you the last bag. You tear open the first bag, medicine for a Nancy Giovanni. You pull out the dark bottle, rolling it in your hand, making absolute sure the dying tech didn’t fuck up. Prescription for: PROMETHAZINE VC/CODEINE [SYRUP] - 4 fl oz. EACH 5ml (TEASPOON) CONTAINS: CODEINE PHOSHPASE USP ... 10 mg PROMETHAZINE HYDROCHLORIDE USP … 6.25 mg PHENYLEPHRINE HYDROCHLORIDE USP … 5 mg ALCOHOL … 7% [RX ONLY] Oh yeah baby, that’s the ticket. Cough syrup. The actually medicated stuff. Totally illegal to buy over the counter. You didn’t know what in it did the trick. The pain killer, the throat soother, cough suppressant, or the drinking so much you got a buzz part— either way, Codeine and Promethazine were a match made in heaven specifically to fix your powers right the fuck up.

You twist the cap and end up dropping the rest of the bags. Sighing, you settle to sit, organize before getting down the business. Though the only place was wasn’t covered in debris was… “Sorry Wes.” You say as you sit on the dead man's back. Something hard pushes into your ass. Shit, right, gun safety. You pull the six-shooter from the back of your sweats and set it by your feet. Not the top of the market stuff Machine Head's guards get, but a solid piece. Got enough of the latest tech to pop a supe's brains out their ass. Small but mighty. ID numbers sanded off, bought off the black market, given to you by your shithead boss. Sometimes things went south. Your mouth covered or earplugs put in. So you took the gun everywhere, just in case.

You finish popping off the cap, take a breath of the rank air, and throw your head back, brown rim to your lips. There's a joke to be had there, but again, too tired for that shit.

Caligula hops off your shoulders, annoyed. Tail twitching as he pads away to explore under rubble. Looking for mice like he always had in your apartment. You let him go. The cat was loyal as a dog, he'd be back.

The syrup comes rolling down your tongue. Bitter, mucus-thick, gag worthy. Nothing you weren't used to. There've been too many times you were run dry and had to chug the slop mid-shootout to keep your head on your shoulders. So you don't breathe and drink, drink, drink until the bottle is a quarter empty.

You lean forward, elbows on knees. Holding your head as things right themselves. Your throat numbed, blood drying in your nose, head not throbbing, only a light pulse.

It was a funny thing really, finding your personal anti-kryptonite. Three years back you were sick as a dog. Of course, you were on duty. When weren't you? You talked a backstabbing rat up to the roof of his apartment building, holding onto him up all the stairs, weak in your sickness. Right before you told him to jump, a coughing fit cut you short. He escaped your hold, pulled a gun on you, almost blasted your brains on the door to the stairwell. Lucky thing Isotope was there, zapping you out of the way. Pushing the dick off himself, and zapping you to this very building. Suggested you fix the problem, whatever it took, because he wouldn't bail you out again.

He sucked balls but at least wasn't a whole dick.

You got a prescription. Drank the allotted amount. The cold cleared. Powers coming back like a tsunami. So strong they demanded to be used. So you drank more than the prescribed amount. Killed the rest of the rats nest of police informants on your own. Almost got killed again. Machine Head was angry you'd gone alone, when not assigned. But you didn't care. You'd found a power-up. Except, because there's always an exception- the boost only lasted as long as you could stay conscious. You’d overdosed more than a few times.

You recap the bottle. Consolidating the bottles in the front pocket of your hoodie. Tempted to down the whole thing, scared shitless from earlier, but it was a stupid idea while not being in immediate danger. Unless Wes decided to get up and chew you out for sitting on his dead body- you were safe.

But not stupid. You pull out your phone, scrolling through your contacts, trying to call contingency one through twenty-seven. Most didn't answer. Dead or unable to come to phone right now, so please leave a message! Some did, orders were given. Help, in case it was needed, was coming. Things like this had a strange way of being nowhere near over once things get quiet.

Boots come down. Your head lolls over your shoulder. Danger is standing twenty feet back. Holding Machine Head and Isotope by the throats. Isotope pale and passed out. Machine Head weakly clawing at the ground, held down, forced to stay on his knees.

He stares at you, the not-Mark with the dark, deep-set eyes, sat on your human throne. "That's... hm. Did you do that?"

There goes saving the syrup. Out comes the partly drunk bottle, off goes the cap, to your lips the bottle goes.

***

What the hell are they doing?

Two dots on his wrist cuff, side by side. Darting through the projected 3D model of Earth. Heading west fast, over the Northern Atlantic. Making a b-line for another dot. The only one of the three who is where he's supposed to be.

"Got'chu now!" A shadow overcasts behind him.

He presses a button, zooming into the map, not bothering to turn. Had he missed a message from Angstrom? No, not possible. He was the most reliable of all of them, no way Angstrom would cut him out. Certainly, he wasn't stupid enough to think he could.

A mace whistled through the air, coming to split his skull. His arm slices out in an arc behind him. Barley trying. The sound of his would-be assailant so keening and pathetic he couldn't even take satisfaction in the kill. He pulls his arm free, the body falls.

He watches the remains splat onto the last intact chunk of sidewalk left in Seattle. The city was destroyed. The last of the gnats swatted down. He might as well investigate. Double check that he wasn't being double crossed.

***

"Wow, oh wow, you like that." He laughed as the last of the syrup disappeared behind your lips. The bottle is thrown to the debris, to be forgotten. His voice is cloying and saccharine, and way too familiar, "Was that good?"

Bitterness coats your tongue. Chemical smell stinging in your nose. Head swimming but feather light. "No." You say. The syrup leaden in your stomach. Throat numb but soon to burn with vomit. You didn't have much time to dispose of this freak. "But-"

"Dregs! Jesus Christ, Dregs get him the fuck off me!" Machine Head kicked at the ground. Mohawk, you'd dubbed him, because no fucking way were you calling a shapeshifter the name it wanted you to call it. Name aside, he wasn’t about to let Machine Head go, or even let him touch the ground. His dignity just a few short inches away as he gagged and kicked.

"You seriously work for this guy?" Mohawk says. "So weak." His thumb barely flexes and all the air is cut from your boss's throat, the kicks becoming frantic.

You know the shapeshifter is trying to get to you but it gets deep, deep under your skin. You're on your feet, swaying. "Tell me who you really are."

He laughs but the words are pulled out of him anyway. "Mark Grayson."

Your teeth grind. He's not lying. Maybe not a shapeshifter. Maybe a hidden supe. Someone projecting hallucinations onto you, to make you go batshit and somehow kill yourself.

"Tell me if you're real."

"As you are, baby."

"Dregs!" Machine Head screeches the second his thumb relaxes. "Dregs, if you don't get him off me, I'm docking your pay!"

Mohawk's lip twitches, hand flexing. Shit. "Don't kill him." His hand relaxes. Though his eyes aren't as glazed as you'd like. He's still resistant but you've got the upper hand as long as your stomach holds.

"Yes! Yes, now get him to let go!"

The command makes your stomach roil. Probably just the excessive drugs but still, you don't like the motherfucker. He can wait. "Why are you doing this?"

"Made a deal. Break enough shit and I get a prize." Under control, people are emotionless, no use of unnecessary words or turn of phrase. But there he was, talking like a seventh grader.

"Which is?"

"You," you roll out of the way before they touch down. Feet first and much harder than necessary, sending dangerous bullets of rock spraying every which way. You're fine. Clothes dusty whereas Wes's corpse is more cut up than before. Sorry, guy.

If one had been too much, enough to think he was a hallucination, then three was enough to make you consider committing yourself to a ward.

You'd seen one of the newcomers back in Sydney. The other beside him, eyeing you up and down like an antique at auction, was new. You'd forgotten about the cuff on your ankle. You were no techie, but logic and superheroes meant it was a tracker, hell, maybe hand (ankle?) cuffs if activated by something.

"Oh what the fuck!" The mohawked one spoke for you, "I called New York. Find somewhere else to flatten."

"Is this what you were in a such a hurry to finish for?" The newcomer with his stupid shoulder pads kicked a wall to pieces, looking to his companion.

The full-masked one stood still as a statue, quiet as a phantom.

"Course not," Shoulder Pads answered himself, "You came for that," his finger pointed accusingly toward the mohawked one, "isn't that right? He bruised your ego when you first met pretty bad, huh?"

An insult from a version of himself who thought mohawks were peak fashion meant nothing. Sure, he'd called his mask creepy, but he didn't hold enough of a grudge to want to kill the guy over it. He did, however, not like how close he was to (Y/n). Twenty feet was nothing when one moved as fast as they did.

"Who are you?"

"Mark Grayson." The two newcomers answered together. One similar to the voice you knew, if a little nasaler. The other like that Guardian's dickhead, Robot.

You dip down, swiping your gun off the ground. Careful not to move too quickly and let the bottles fall out of your pocket. "Why are there three of you?"

"There's actually eighteen," Mohawk answers. "Dickheads all of 'em."

"To expand my empire." Shoulder Pads says, more responsive to your control.

"To destroy so much, it ruins the life of this dimension's Mark Grayson." The Phantom answers, voice and actually helpful honesty, sending a shiver down your back.

"Dregs-!"

"Shut the fuck up." Your attention on Machine Head is nothing but murderous. As the situation unfolds, you find yourself realizing, for one, Machine Head is most definitely going to die. Villains of the week are stupid, sure, but they also take no prisoners. You’d say Machine Head had less than five minutes' life left on him.

For two, the world was pretty much fucked. Which means- weakness, instability and power up for grabs for Mister Liu to reclaim as his. You could be by his side, his left hand as he already had a right. No more debt, no more humiliation at Machine Head's hands. Because there was no way you were going straight, not after everything. But, you could climb the ladder in the dust of the world and climb it high- as you were right now.

High enough to push Mister Liu off the ledge. High enough to never have to take orders from anyone ever again. Be your own boss. Maybe Machine Head had less than five minutes.

Even better, you could relocate out of the city (which you'd have to do anyway, I mean, look at this place). Somewhere you'd see Mark so little the lingering pain in your heart would maybe start to heal. The thought of killing him had crossed your mind. You placed heavy piles of blame on him for how your life turned out. Still, you ached and yearned for a teenage romance that'd never rekindle. You couldn't kill him, yet, not without crawling into Mister Liu's skin and wearing his shoes awhile. Surely you'd grow into them, give the order for someone to kill your ex without batting an eye- one day.

Your Mark wasn't on the official kill list yet, but these cheap imitations? These dimensional clones or whatever the fuck? Oh yeah baby, they've gotta die.

***

He didn't bother telling his tails to leave. They were all lesser, but still, him. They were good at what they did, destroying things.

"Can you believe that guy tried to trap me in the- what was it- the shadow realm?" The blue and yellow clad gnat yammered beside him. The variant, slightly different from the others without his lenses, blasted up from the Guardian's HQ when he'd flown by. Asking all sorts of questions that were left unanswered and more importantly, unacknowledged. Maybe if he was ignored long enough, he'd go away. "Do'ya wanna know how I got out after I killed 'im?"

No response.

He went on anyway. "So like, after I ripped his heart out his chest the whole shadow realm started falling apart. I was like 'oh shit, I'm gonna die' so I gabbed the guys body and was like 'lemme out'. Shakin' him n' stuff. I dunno what happened, if there was a lil life left in him or what but I think I kickstarted something in him, cuz after eight or nine shakes I was back! Man, I almost forgot how crazy I killed those Guardian guys!"

The other gnat, blue and black and imperceptibly different from this dimension's Mark Grayson, flew up to his other side. "You gonna show me that map or what?"

He did not answer, for they had arrived. Three dots now five, six counting himself. All around the unimportant gray mass of some Earth dwellers' hovel. He stayed above because he was literally above touching down on Earth’s soil. His mother had been from this mud ball but she'd been elevated above the rest of this dirt-loving species by his father when he brought her back to Viltrum, swollen with pregnancy.

The others truly were lesser than he, for they shot down. Too impatient, too stupid to know what it is to observe from afar. They did all have enhanced hearing, did they not?

***

Shoulder Pads shook his head, throwing the control off his brain like a wet dog. "The hell was that?" His head stopped, hair swept across his masked forehead. "How dare you- you-" His head kicked back a degree like he'd been sucker punched. It took him a minute, with the dirt and the outfit and the daring to wave around a gun. He recognised you now. Felt the pain searing hot in his chest. "Leave," he commanded, "All of you but," he turned back to, "you, stay."

Nobody moved to obey.

"I said-"

They came down from the sky like falling angels.

"The hell's this?" You watched him land. Watched him roll his shoulders. Mark, your Mark. Exactly the same. But what the fuck was he doing with this lot? "Where's Angstrom?"

"Not here, duh." The other newcomer says, bouncing on his heels. "Are we gonna turn on each other and fight to the death now? I really hope we turn on each other and fight to the death now." His eyes, lighter brown than you remember, slide from Mark to Mark to Wes to you. "A prize fight! Even better."

You didn't like that word- prize. How he looked at you. Not as a person but as a street dog to collar.

Machine Head's toes displaced rubble. His captor's mohawk stood on end, as if electrified, "Get the fuck out of here." He says, "New York's mine. 'S not the meeting place for when we're done anyway."

The stuck-up one, Shoulder Pads, moved toward you. Ankles breaking rubble as he went, too graceful to do something awkward like stepping over an obstacle. Why do that when you could just break it?

"Leave us now." He doesn't seem bothered by the fact that you raised the six-shooter, aimed straight for his throat. "And I'll consider letting the rest of you serve under me."

He was there in a flash. Arm outstretched in front of his boy king other self, stopping him in his tracks- the phantom. Shoulder Pads stopped, ten feet shy from your person. You don't know what to say because as soon as you really get going, a fight is going to break. You won't survive. You've seen what Mark can do on the news. You don't doubt they can punch holes in you before you say stop. They're not far away like Mohawk had been. They're instant murder close. You have to be careful.

"Don't get in my way." Shoulder Pads sneered to no reply.

The lensless newbie jutted his thumb toward you, "Gonna go out on a limb 'n guess she's also your guy's dead girlfriend?"

The word girlfriend hits you like a sack of rocks. When hit, hit back. You breathe in.

"Dregs!" His voice is nails on a chalkboard, screeching, loud, and desperate. "God damn it! Help me!" Your hold on Machine Head had waned. He was back to whining.

Your hold on his captor had waned as well, telling by his eyes. But he didn't break Machine Head's neck. Instead, he watched, curious, a smile tugged the edge of his lip.

Tension rolled off Phantom and Emperor Shoulder Pads in waves. Lenseless’s knuckles popped, expecting violence with glee. The white clad warrior watched on from above. And your stupid ex-boyfriend just watched you, sneer on his lip like you were the problem. Like he wasn't covered in blood the fucking hypocrite. "I don't kill," my ass. He acted like he was better than you.

"I'll promote you! Right above Isotope." Who was passed out and couldn't be bothered by the betrayal. "We can run this city together. I can get you as much lean as you want! Fuck- I'll put you through rehab if you want!"

A bubble rolled up your throat. Not much longer now before you puke out power. You swallow down the burp. Anger a beat in your throat. "I'm not an addict."

"Sure!" Machine Head laughed, "Sure! Whatever you say, just help me!" Isotope's eyes peeled open. He groaned, barely there. Machine Head noticed, reaching out to shake the man's knee. "Get me out of here!"

Your Mark clicked his tongue. "I can't say I'm surprised you haven't changed."

"Isotope! Hey! Wake up!"

"I used to think you'd be better than," Mark gestures to your boss, to your clothes, to the dilation of your eyes, embarrassingly aware of your high, "this." He sighed, "But I guess the more things change, the more they stay the same or however that shitty song goes. So much potential wasted. (Y/n), Seriously, this is pathetic."

"Dregs, get Isotope up! Get us all out of here!"

Mark smirked, "Name suits you."

Your earlier machinations crumbled. Fuck waiting, maturing. People were going to die here, in this destroyed pharmacy, so why not start with him?

"Hey Mark?"

"Yeah?" It's a shame the others don't reply to the name. Too smart, too aware that if they were locked in conversation and attention, they'd be dead.

"Kill yourself."

One hand to the chin, the other to the shoulder for support, like the first time you tried this trick on his doppelganger. The snap is quick. So powerful it twists his whole body backward, spine ripping out his back. He drops, blood dribbling out his mouth.

A weight lifts off your shoulders. You thought this would be harder. It's sad, sure, first love dead, very Romeo and Juliet, but you're still alive. You wish you could've made him see more, get a more torturous revenge. Or in a perfect world, one you didn't admit but dreamed of anyway, got him to see your side of things.

But you're so happy to see nothing behind his eyes. Dead while you're alive. The laugh forces out of you in a bark. It brings tears to your eyes, doubles you over.

The mood shifts. Tension sizzles away between the Marks. There were expectations, different for each, but this? Certainly was not one.

"Did you just-?" Lensless was at the corpse's side in a blink, poking at his twisted neck. "Oh, he's super mega dead."

"If he was weak willed enough to listen to the whims of a human he should've already been." Emperor Shoulder Pads says. "Better we weed out the weak before going back to my empire."

"Shit, I was gonna kill Seventeen," Mohawk said. "Beat me to it, babe."

"Seventeen?" You question between laughs.

"Uh, yeah? Mark Seventeen. Demsion three-four-five, like neighbors with this one."

"So he's not mine?"

"Yours? Baby, I'm yours- but that guy? Not from here."

Oh? OH! He wasn't yours. Another variant, just awfully close in appearance. Something like relief pools in your stomach, or it's just the promethazine-codeine solution getting ready to come spewing out.

The Phantom keeps his hands at his sides, though they want to go to his head, press into his temples until the pain stopped. You weren’t like this. You weren’t supposed to be like this. Nothing like him. Maybe Shoulder Pads was right. Maybe Seventeen was weak willed, loved you so much he'd do anything you said. You couldn't be a killer. It just wasn't possible- wasn't right.

"Isotope," he was starting to really regain consciousness, head lolling in Mohawk's hand, "Isotope, let's go!"

He was going to leave you. Words of promise meant nothing obviously, you weren't born yesterday but the insult of it was the last fucking straw.

Right as power started to glow weakly from his palms, you say, "Look at me, Isotope."

He does, slackjawed, droll rolling down his lip. Hands still glowing.

Here's the thing about word and meaning induced mind control. Sometimes actions, gestures, are good as words, and as long as you've got your claws in their brain, as long as they're looking at you and understand- a gesture is enough to control.

You lower the gun. As if it'd do anything against Shoulder Pads. One hand slipping off its metal grip, coming to the side of your head right above your ear. Rule number one of gun safety: Never put a gun to your head. So your bare hand comes up to do the job. Pinky and ring curling into your palm. Pointer and middle pressed to your scalp, thumb hanging down like the trigger.

Isotope's hand goes to the holster on his belt. Freeing the pistol, pressing it to the green side of his head, clicking off the safety. Waiting for the last order.

"Dregs! Don't you fucking dare!" Machine Head trashes but his kicks do nothing to Mohawk's balance.

The Mark’s watch, hypnotized like snakes to a charmer.

Your thumb twitches, miming the pull of a trigger.

The bullet goes from one side of Isotope's skull to the other. Stopped by the side of Mohawk's knee, who doesn't even flinch at the lead cracking uselessly against his suit. Pale pink brains splatter his boots and shin guards. Chunks stick to Machine Head's dented metal face. Gravity slowly rolled them down, leaving trails of blood and cerebral spinal fluid in their wake.

The dead weight is so unexpected in his hand, Mohawk is slow to drop the body. Killing another version of him was fair game. They were threatening your planet after all. But an ally? Very un-hero like.

"You murderous yuppie cunt!" Machine Head's hand flies to his own holster.

"Don't talk to me like that, boss." He goes still, gun in hand. Your hand goes to the center of your forehead and so does his. Another twitch of the thumb sends a bullet and shrapnel backward.

Machine Head slumps, gun dropping, body twitching. Not dead yet.

"Access the control panel." You say.

His hand shakes violently as it comes to the side of his head. Pressing a button that makes the front half of his busted forehead come forward. Revealing the computer gore inside his head.

"Remove the leftmost microchip." You'd seen him getting maintenance too many times not to know that the chip contained his very consciousness. He'd yelled at so many paid-off Best Buy employees not to touch it. Threatened their families over it, but here he was, pressing its back so it'd come popping out. Soon as it does, his whole body goes slack.

Killing what you thought was Mark yielded mixed feelings. But Machine Head and his lackey? That was pure cocaine right there baby. You felt like you could climb Everest. Like you really could overtake Mister Liu.

"Holy shit." Lensless let his jaw hang. "Powers, babe!? 'S awesome! Do it again!" His fingerless glove pointed to Shoulder Pads, "That guy! That guy next! Oh, wait, try it on me!" He doubted it'd work. He was way stronger than that pussy bitch Seventeen.

Mohawk pulled Machine Head's slack body high above his head, inspecting. He was dead alright. So dead his bladder released and stained his gray slacks dark. He let the body drop. "You're pret-tee different here, huh babe?"

Another bubble rises up your throat.

"What-" Shoulder Pads started, "What the fuck is wrong with this one?" He was expecting something else. Docile. Sitting at his feet like a good pup. At his beck and call. Especially not powered or alien or experimented or whatever the fuck you were. Clearly, you weren't normal.

Phantom had nothing to say, as usual. Too busy fighting back the tears burning the back of his eyes. What has this world done to you? What had made you so callous? What had made you a killer? Whatever it was needed to burn. This monster in you, it could be culled; he could have the you he knew back. He could have it later, but for now, he fought grief.

In the sky, the white clad warrior lets contentment simmer in his chest. Different, sure, but good different. Nothing like that human he brought to Viltrum to breed. A kicking, screaming crybaby who had no idea how lucky she was. Part of the shreds of resistance left, left alive by him of all people. Nothing like the doting creature his mother was to his father. Relationships like the ones on Earth weren't a thing on Viltrum. His parents were considered strange, but a strange he liked- though he wouldn’t admit it to a living soul.

So disappointing and ungrateful, a waste of time, of resources, he was sour about when he had to kill you. But not here, not this you.

Shadows whipped through the sky hundreds of feet below him. Some came hopping and bounding through the broken street. The few defenders left, not dead due to their own cowardice.

Contingency Six, Twelve, Nineteen, Twenty-two, and Twenty-eight surrounded you in a defensive circle, showing up at just the right time. Machine Head promised security but he wasn't omnipotent, despite his upgrades. You didn't trust him far as you could throw him either. So you had heroes, fellow crooks, and dregs of society on speed dail. Hypnotized at some point in the past with the same little speech.

"See this number right here? Remember it. When you see me calling, you answer, no matter what. I don't care if you're mid-fuck, you'll do as I say. After I snap my fingers, you'll forget we ever had this conversation but a part of you will. And you will never have your phone on silent."

You'd have to reset them anytime you called them in to save your ass from one thing or another. It was always worth the time if it meant you got to live and the other guy died.

Thank God for hindsight. Wait, no, not hindsight, was it foresight? Ah, whatever, you'll remember the right word later when you're not high on power and codeine.

Flesh drones wait for orders. The Mark's wait for someone to make a move. You don't speak, not yet, letting your eyes scan over them all. Thinking of killing them too, how good it'd feel to kill your (kind of) ex-boyfriend over and over. Thinking of the ones not here, the ones you'd seen, the ones you hadn't. You could find them, kill them after. Maybe then you'd be ready for the real thing. No more mixed feelings.

Blood slowly rolls down your nostril. Darkly covering the dried streak from minutes ago. Your stomach rages. Throat constricting as it readies to puke. It hurts so bad, but you can't help but grin. Thinking aloud, "This is going to be the best day of my fucking life."

Orders shoot out your lip. He should prepare for battle, but he couldn't help but be still, staring at you and the malice radiating off you. Lensless tugs on the hem of his mask, swallowing thickly, "Can you hold up a sec with the battle plans? I've got a crazy boner."

#invincible x reader #invincible variants x reader #invincible variants #mark grayson x reader #mohawk invincible #lensless mark #emperor mark #viltrum mark #phantom mark #fanfic #long post #my writing #rea writes #mdgf #guys idk what a tag list is i post on ao3 not tumblr normally lmao #eat my little children eat

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taegimood · 3 months ago

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— nudes?! (c.sb) ♡

pairing: choi soobin x fem!reader genre: best friends to ?, non-idol au, suggestive rating: nsfw, mdni wc: 1k warnings: mention/description of reader’s nudes, brief mention of a blowjob, implication of sexy time at the end, soob has a boner, everyone’s horny synopsis: what happens when your best friend who secretly has the hots for you accidentally sees your nudes?

requested forever ago by @mapofthemazeinthemirror <3 [blog status: semi-hiatus, requests closed]

masterlist

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soobin is an honest guy, but he'd have to admit that he's been lying to himself a little when it comes to you.

you, his pretty best friend who he's always been able to tell nearly everything to — everything except for the naughty stuff, the kinks and the turn-ons that he keeps firmly clutched to his chest every time you try to teasingly weasel one out of him.

he has no idea how you can be so casual about that stuff with him, tossing out a joke about the last blowjob you gave while he sits red as a tomato at the mere thought, and as a result he's left with the burning question:

why is it only you that makes me feel this way?

but there's no time to think about that right now as he sits on the edge of your bed, waiting expectantly while you pull your phone out of your back pocket.

one of the things you and soobin had first bonded over was your mutual love for anime, so when you’d told him recently that you want to try cosplaying for the first time at this year's comic con, he readily agreed to be the beta viewer for your costume;

you had already taken the test pictures of yourself as yor from spy x family (merely hearing which character it was had him swallowing hard to begin with) and you're ready to sit down and show him when suddenly the stove timer beeps from the kitchen.

"ah right, the ramen. here - you can just look through them all. let me know what you think i should change!"

"alright," he calls after you as you hand him your phone and skip off to the kitchen.

his heart thumps in his chest the second he sees you in costume, scrolling slowly through the pictures you took, fingers hovering over the screen with the guilty temptation of zooming in a little on your peeking cleavage — shaking his head to himself as if to clear the thought away before scrolling on to the next.

but his brows raise subconsciously the longer he swipes as your poses seem to grow more and more.. he gulps.. provocative....

soobin freezes.

he blinks. once, twice- three times-

"f-fuck."

he stares wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the sight in front of him, a sight he never thought he'd ever get to see, his mind going blank as all of his blood rushes immediately straight down to his cock.

your body,

your naked body,

displayed on the screen in his hands.

you had removed the dress with nothing underneath, still clad in the thigh-high leather heels and golden headpiece, his eyes wandering hungrily over your figure despite every moral warning bell in his head telling him to quickly scroll away.

but instead he swipes to the next one, and your tits- god, your tits- he has to stop himself from groaning as the next picture has you leaning forwards, breasts pushed together deliciously as your tongue sneaks out to trace the fake golden dagger in your hand, and soobin's head is reeling.

he shouldn't be looking at his best friend this way, at these pictures that he clearly wasn't meant to see, he knows it, but.. soobin has obviously been lying to himself for more than a little too long as he swipes and swipes, dizzy as he reaches the end and finally forces himself to turn your phone off, gaze trailing down to the rock-hard bulge in his pants.

he doesn't even have time to wonder how to hide it or what he should do when you come back before he's suddenly jumping out of his skin at the sound of your panicked voice as you rush down the hallway, yelling,

"WAIT! SOOBIN, WAIT!"

he's like a deer caught in headlights as you burst back into your room, quickly coming to the accurate conclusion of what happened as he stares up at you with wide, panicked, guilty eyes, posture stiff and face redder than you've ever seen it before.

even if he were to try sputtering through a poorly executed excuse, he can’t; soobin is speechless.

"um....... okay. so, i.. forgot.. that those were in there."

and as if the fact that you're speaking to him suddenly gears his brain back into motion, soobin's mouth becomes a motor as words fly out of it faster than you even have the chance to answer them.

"i-i’m so sorry, oh my god, i shouldn't have looked! i mean- i- ok, fuck i-i looked, i'm so sorry i swear i'll just forget this ever happened and never talk about it again a-and i'm not a pervert i promise and you can even hit me if you want and- uh, w-wait that's not what i mea-"

"soobin."

soobin shuts up.

he swears that you must be able to hear his heart banging against his ribage as his hands grip the material of his sweatpants, leg bouncing nervously, and he swears he's about to explode or cry or both when your eyes trail down to the impossibly large boner that he forgot to try covering.

(he would have failed anyway).

"soobin..."

his eyes snap back up to yours. something in your tone has shifted and he's not sure what, but...

he inhales shakily as you step closer. the look on your face has his cock throbbing in his pants.

"soobin, do you want me to put the costume on?"

"w...w-what?"

you're so close that if you were to take one more step, you'd be standing right between his legs;

"i can put the costume on for you... and then, if you want..."

you lean in close to his ear.

"i'll let you take it off."

soobin is certain in this moment that he must have saved a nation in his past life to be sitting in this situation right now, as the strangled little moan that accidentally escapes past his lips causes your own to curl up into a smile —

it seems to you that you won't have to pine secretly over your best friend any longer as his hand tentatively comes up to caress your hip, and he breathes,

"yes, please."

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— taglist: @razsberrie, @saejinniestar, @hyukalyptus, @florestalio, @beomiracles, @kiss4baku, @kejingken

if you want to be added to my taglist and get notified whenever i post any writing, drop a comment or an ask and let me know! ♡

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sabertoothwalrus · 3 months ago

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hi!! do you have any advice on how to finish projects faster? or at least more efficiently? i take a few days to finish a piece (1 or 2 days at minimum) and i want to learn how to refine my process

that can depend a lot on what kind of look you’re trying to achieve, and what exactly is slowing you down!

things you can do if you take too long doing lineart:

Practice sketching in pen & marker! Do exercises that train your hand to be more efficient. If you can draw the same thing with 5 lines that previously took you 20, you’ll cut down on time.

Try a different brush! Maybe the one you’re using is too soft, and you have to keep going back over the lines to make them dark enough. There might be another brush that gets the same result with less effort.

Zoom out! On paper, a drawing that’s 2 inches tall will take wayyyy less time than a drawing that’s as big as your torso. When you zoom in, you’re essentially making the whole drawing bigger. When I draw, I like to be able to see the whole pose. If you’re worried about it not being perfectly clean, I promise you, no one is paying that close attention.

Skip the lineart entirely! Odds are, your sketches might already be pretty clean. If it takes you 20 minutes to do a sketch and 2 hours to do the lineart, but the lines look almost the same, then why bother doing the lineart?

similar advice for coloring/rendering!

Maybe it’s your art software! I can color 10x faster in CSP than anything else, because CSP makes it really easy to color in flats.

Limit how many types of brushes you use. There ARE certain effects (like convincing digital watercolor) that really do need 5-10 different brushes to get the look Just Right, but going through your tool menus to swap brushes will add time. When I render (which is rare, honestly) I stick to one, maybe two painterly brushes.

other general advice:

Don’t be so hard on yourself! Honestly, 1-2 days is still objectively pretty fast!

If you’re a perfectionist who will arbitrarily spend too much time fiddling and fiddling until it’s justttttt right, try setting timers! Give yourself a predetermined amount of time for the lineart, for the coloring, for the rendering, etc and MOVE ON once that timer goes off. Not everything you do has to be your magnum opus.

Use keyboard shortcuts!!!!!!!! I don’t like using screen tablets, especially if I can’t use shortcuts. If you have a tablet with programmable buttons or some kind of remote, that can work too. I see people use bluetooth xbox controllers sometimes, which is a good option if you already have that. Personally, I use so many shortcuts that there are never enough buttons to program, so I just stick with a keyboard.

JUST KEEP AT IT! The more you draw, the faster you get. I avoided doing paneled comics for nearly 10 years cause they took so much effort, and would only do comics where each panel was its own layer/image. After enough time doing that, I eventually got good enough at everything else to do with comics that the paneling aspect wasn’t that difficult anymore.

#art help

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hyomaslut · 2 years ago

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──★ ˙🍆 ̟ !! casual conversation between friends. 18+!

☆⌒(ゝ。∂).ᐟ ᴀsᴋɪɴɢ ʙʟʟᴋ ʙᴏʏs ғᴏʀ ɴᴜᴅᴇs ᴘᴛ. 𝟷

✿ ─ characters: isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, chigiri hyoma, reo mikage ✿ ─ cw: smau!, extremely suggestive/borderline smut, aged-up!characters, college!AU, gn!reader, no pronouns, unestablished relationships/mutual pining, use of foul language, descriptions of genitalia, suggestive themes, you and chigiri are talking about npc college drama, proofread??? ✿ ─ notes: honestly the smau aspect was so hard cuz im a perfectionist and wanted read reciets and everything. all the apps for them suck. i managed :))) and i rlly hope you guys like it :)) feedback appreciated. i put chigiri's at the end cuz its so long. part 2 is here!!!!

ISAGI YOICHI...

your fingers fly across the keyboard to tell him that yes, you were very serious. isagi literally jumps out of bed to go shower and everything. he has been crushing on you since forever and god knows he’s not blowing this chance you’ve given him by sending a shitty picture. you get an image attachment 20 minutes later, yoichi standing in front of his foggy bathroom mirror, the phone in his hand covering half of his face. he’s barely out of the shower, hair dripping wet and towel hanging extremely loose around his hips. his other hand sits at the base of his dick, acting as both a size comparison and a way to draw your attention to it. it’s obviously of decent length as far as you could tell, but the girth. you cant even pretend your mouth doesn’t start watering at the sight.

ITOSHI RIN...

you don’t have time to feel all that bummed about it though, because within a few minutes you’re shocked to get a picture from rin, the camera facing downwards towards his legs. nothing would be all that out of the ordinary if it weren’t the obvious tent in his shorts. the fabric around his crotch looks stretched by his hard dick fighting against the confines of his soccer uniform. it’s not exactly what you asked for, but you can’t find it in you to complain, because it’s way more than you actually expected to get. your mind starts racing. he’s hard from just a few suggestive texts? that means one of two things. either he really is a virgin like you thought he’d be, and the littlest of acts gets him riled up. or he’s just that into you. both of those possibilities sounded like fun. and the idea of those possibilities made you greedy. enough to push your luck.

MIKAGE REO...

two pictures come in quickly and you laugh at the idea of him rushing to take these for you. he sends the first one, taken standing in front of the full length mirror in his boxers, dragging down the waist band of them so you can see the first few inches of his shaft, phone in front of his face. he’s perfectly clean shaven, zooming in closer, maybe he waxes it? you can’t help but be impressed by his attention to detail. it’s so reo that it makes you smile. second one is sitting down in some fancy looking suede armchair, underwear gone, cock in one hand while the other splays over the bottom half of his face, poorly covering the wide self-satisfied smirk. you assumed he set up his phone with a timer considering he wasn’t holding it. as you stare at it, the initial evaluating that everyone does when they receive a dick pic fades away, and you feel heat creep up your face. reo was really hot, and just this once you figured it wouldn’t hurt to tell him you thought so.

CHIGIRI HYOMA...

you get through the stressful minutes waiting for his response by chewing on your nails. maybe you really just fucked it all up. but then, to your surprise, a photo loads in. its hyoma sitting on his bed in front of his mirror, his fingers buried in his hair to push it out of his face in possibly the sexiest way you’ve ever seen. his other hand holds his phone, his pretty face in full view with his gaze locked on the screen. your eyes can’t help but travel down to the only part of your crush you haven’t seen. and boy was it worth the wait. his dick curves up towards his abs and its a lot bigger than you expected. long and a perfectly pink tip. you bite your lip at the thought of it stretching you out, and then feel slightly guilty for thinking of him that way, as if you haven’t done it plenty of times during your so-called dry spell. if the whole soccer thing doesn’t work out, you’re sure he could be a pin up model. or maybe a greek god.

hyoma's got long again ;-; mb,,, but can you blame me??? i want to do a part two with at least nagi and bachira, but idk who else i want to include. open to suggestions ♡

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enimsiyobeht · 25 days ago

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skz & sex BUTTTT when it comes to their s/o at work 🫣🫣

why is this lowkey reminding me of this one love in the air a03 fic ive been rereading ....

Bang Chan is THE husband when it comes to 'visiting' your home office. Chan's been clingy all day, still in sweats, hair messy, and pouty because you're holed up in your home office. At first, he just wants to sit in your lap while you type… but then he starts grinding slowly, mumbling how much he missed you all morning, and how he’s so sensitive from the dream he had about you. You try to stay focused on your report, but Chan's whimpering, nuzzling into your neck, and pulling your hand between his legs until you finally shut your laptop—and fuck him hard over the desk until he can’t sit still anymore.

Lee Know is THE boyfriend when it comes to 'visiting' your recording studio. Minho always says he doesn’t like distractions, but when he stops by your studio with “lunch” and sits on the couch watching you work, you can feel him staring. He starts texting you from across the room, sending pictures under his oversized hoodie—thighs spread, biting his lip, no underwear. “Come play with me,” he writes. You try to resist, but the moment you walk over, he’s on his knees, tugging your pants down. You end up bending him over the soundboard, fucking him raw while he holds in his moans because the studio isn’t soundproof.

Changbin is THE fiancé when it comes to 'visiting' your gym. Changbin knows not to bother you during work hours, especially at the gym where you train clients. But today he showed up early—flushed and sweaty from his own session, towel around his neck, and his compression shorts leaving nothing to the imagination. He follows you into the back room “to hydrate” and ends up on his knees between your legs. By the time you’re fucking him against the wall, his fingers clawing at your shoulders, you both forget about the timer you set before your next client walks in.

Hyunjin is THE fiancé when it comes to 'visiting' your fashion studio. Hyunjin has always loved your work—especially when it involves him. He comes in during a fitting day, already in one of your experimental pieces: tight, sheer mesh and low-cut pants, saying he wanted to “model something for you.” He keeps posing, slowly, drawing your gaze to the outline of his cock straining under the thin fabric. When you finally approach to adjust a seam, his arms wrap around your neck and he whispers, “Fuck me before anyone else sees me like this.” You end up fucking him over the dressing table, his legs spread wide in front of the mirror, watching himself fall apart in your hands like he was made for it.

Han is THE fiancé while you're on a zoom call in your own (shared) apartment. You’re stuck on back-to-back video meetings, and Jisung’s been pouting all morning in your hoodie with nothing underneath. He tiptoes in while you’re mid-call, crawling under the desk without saying a word. You shoot him a warning glance, but then feel his mouth wrap around you, humming softly as you try to stay professional. He ends up riding you in your office chair during your final call, camera pointed safely up—while he bites his own hand, desperate to keep quiet as he milks you dry.

Felix is THE husband when it comes to 'visiting' your coffee shop. It’s closing shift and Felix insists on waiting for you in the back, helping you clean up. He’s giggly and clingy, hands slipping under your apron when no one’s looking. The moment you lock the front door, he’s already bent over the counter, whispering, “You’ve been ignoring me all day.” You give in and fuck him with the register light still glowing, his face pressed to the cool marble, moaning how good it feels when you don’t hold back after a long shift.

Seungmin is THE boyfriend when it comes to 'visiting' your law office. Seungmin shows up dressed nice, claiming he's just "bringing you coffee"—but the way he slowly uncrosses his legs and fixes your tie says otherwise. He teases you through the whole lunch hour, legs draped across yours, whispering how tight his pants feel and how he accidentally forgot his underwear. You end up bending him over your desk, fucking him deep with your hand clamped over his mouth as he shudders from the thrill of being used in such a clean, controlled space.

Jeongin is THE boyfriend, 'visiting' your tech office late at night. You’ve been stuck in after-hours debugging for a launch, and Jeongin shows up with snacks and a hoodie over his pajamas. At first he’s curled up on the couch behind you—quiet, scrolling his phone—but then he’s suddenly leaning over your chair, arms slipping around your neck, asking softly, “How much longer do I have to wait before you fuck me?” He’s flushed and needy, clearly been holding back since he got there. You close your laptop mid-keystroke and bend him over the desk, fucking him deep and slow as he pants into your neck, moaning how much he missed you all day.

i actually could see myself expanding these hcs into longer thoughts/perhaps a fic .... would y'all like that??

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ms-demeanor · 3 months ago

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"The alarm is fake if it doesn’t have consequences" THANK YOU! No one irl gets that my problem is it's just a noise! Sometimes it tells me what to do but if I'm in the middle of something I turn it off and expect it to ring again in 5 minutes. Which it does. But I'll get to the thing I was supposed to switch to when I'm done with this thing! Aaaassss long as I don't forget or get distracted by Something Else! *gritted teeth* alarms are *great*!

I use alarms on my computer at the same time as timers on my computer and the issue with both is that when they go off they drown out all other sound on the computer (like the audio of the zoom call I'm on for work) so I have to dismiss them right away and then I get off the call and it's like the alarm never happened.

OR I get used to them and it's an annoying sound that I have to stop. I had an alarm to floss set at seven pm for a few months and it just became a reason that I had to dig my phone out of my pocket when I was grocery shopping or cooking or walking the dog or eating.

The timers work pretty well as a "time is passing are you focused on a thing? tool but yeah alarms do almost nothing for me.

(I'm also a super, super, super heavy sleeper and it has been common all my life for someone to come from another room in my home to turn off the extremely loud alarm that I am sleeping through)

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cottonlemonade · 5 months ago

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Brushing Your Stress Away

word count: 1321 || avg. reading time: 6 mins.

pairing: University AU!Tsukishima x chubby!Reader

genre: spice with fluff

warnings: mdni

request: Hello!! can me and my dear Tsukki get an 11 and 23 for lunch before i procrastinate? || fluffy-spicy, dealing with exam stress + studying together with boyfriend Tsukishima

Tsukishima didn’t even flinch when the pen zoomed past his head, bounced off the wall, and landed perfectly in his hamper. Without looking up from his notes, he asked, “Tough chapter?”

You groaned and let yourself fall on your back, arms and legs outspread like a starfish, “I wanted to study art because I love painting, not because I love remembering dates! This is impossible!”

You dramatically flung an arm over your eyes to drive your point home that you were done with studying.

“Come on, only 32 more minutes on the timer.”, your boyfriend said, turning a page and pushing your art history book closer to you.

“No.”, you pouted, wiggling a foot in defiance, “Don’t wanna.”

“So, you plan on working in a museum as… what? A barista?”

Letting your arm fall off your face, you turned your head to look at him, “You could come visit me during your breaks.”

“Not likely. Coffee is disgusting.”

“Not the point, Kei.”

“Resign to your fate or study for another 31 minutes. Either way, stop whining. Some of us want to focus.”

You sat back up, squinting indignantly at your boyfriend, who skillfully ignored you as his eyes skimmed the pages.

Letting out a small huff of boredom, you looked around his bedroom. When he invited you to come spend the break with him in Miyagi you were excited, even more so when on the drive here he casually mentioned that you’d be alone because his older brother was staying at uni with his friends and his mother was away on some conference. But four days of your precious week had already passed without so much as a roaming hand.

On a whim, you reached for your pencil case to take out a cheap replica of an old artist’s brush - a small gift from the souvenir shop Kei had gotten you the last time you visited a museum together. Turning it in your fingers to have something to do, you stared at the page of your book, admiring the pictures at least.

Kei meanwhile, chewed the inside of his cheek, throwing a quick glance over his glasses at you. He knew he wasn’t doing a particularly great job as a boyfriend right now.

To not make it too obvious what he was looking forward to the most during this week together - uninterrupted alone time with no nosy roommate to worry about or forgetting his key and having to spend the rest of his night on a bench in front of his building - he had put together quite the itinerary under the guise of how much you’ve nagged him to show you his hometown (you asked once). Somehow, being in his childhood home after the months away at university made him almost shy. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought he felt guilty for bringing you here without telling his mother. However, if his shower thoughts were any indication, he wanted nothing more than to make use of the empty house with you - not seeming too eager, of course. He flipped a page without having read the previous one. Unless he finally acted on his impulses, you would return to academic life without even a good solid make-out session at this point.

A soft caressing sensation on his arm made him snap out of his thoughts. He found you running your brush along a faint vein on his wrist.

“What are you doing?”, he asked unnecessarily but didn’t pull away.

“Nothing.”

The smooth bristles followed his long fingers now one by one.

Without any conviction, he said instinctively, “Stop that.”, whilst really hoping you wouldn’t.

Luckily, you never listened to him, so instead you brought the brush up to his neck and tickled the sensitive spot under his ear. He shuddered and you laughed.

“You think this is funny?”, he asked.

“Hilarious, actually.”, you said.

He got to his knees and all too easily made you tumble backward, making sure to catch your head in his hand before towering over you. With a superior sneer, he took the brush from you.

“Let’s see how ticklish you are.”

Trapped between his long legs, you giggled and squirmed when he ran the brush under your chin, and you ducked your head between your shoulders to defend yourself. So he brought it to your ear.

“Stop!”

Your hand shot up to cover one side, but he just took this to mean he could attack the other. He sat back on his heels and in an attempt to hide the outline in his sweats, pursed his lips in fake pondering.

“Hmm… looks like you leave me no choice.”, he shrugged with a heavy sigh and unceremoniously lifted the hem of your shirt, making extra sure his palm, rough from the years of playing volleyball, dragged gently over your pillowy tummy as he did. You became very still, waiting for his next move. He felt you pressing your thighs together between his legs and scoffed while painting invisible lines on your skin as if he were sketching the outline of your bra.

“This is very much in the way.”, he said more to himself than to you and pulled a cup down from your breast. He leaned forward now, his free hand holding him up next to your head and with precise little teasing strokes he flicked the brush over your perked nipple. You made a small noise, one he loved to hear so much, so he did it again, and again.

“Pretty sure the other one is just as sensitive.”, he murmured and without warning, he pulled down the second cup, tucking it safely under your breast, then got the brush into position. You bucked your hips under him when he twirled the bristles this time.

“You’re right, this is fun.”, he noted and kissed you, not letting up on the teasing with the brush. You ground against him, making him gasp into the kiss.

“Will you finally focus on your studies if I give you what you want?” He had trouble catching his breath, was met with a very enthusiastic nod, and kissed you again.

Kei moved back, slowly dragging your sweats down with him, and had to suppress a dreamy groan. You were nothing short of perfection. With the pudgy tummy, the generous love handles, and full thighs you had always reminded him of beauty depicted in Renaissance paintings.

He shifted to lay on his stomach, propped up on his forearms, spinning the brush in his long fingers. A little spring of pride bloomed in him when he noticed a wet patch on your panties already.

The more he dragged the brush over the soaked fabric the more he noticed a definite gleam on the bristles. With the very tip of it, he focused on the pronounced little nub of your clit and was rewarded with a high moan. He was curious if he’d be able to make you cum just with a simple little painter’s brush when the door to his room slid open.

“WOAH!”

Akiteru spun around to look away.

“Sorry! I just heard a noise and - don’t mind me.”

“Why aren’t you in Tokyo?!”, Kei yelled in frustration, scrambling to his feet. A low rustling behind him told him you followed his example.

“Needed some fresh air?” His brother shrugged awkwardly, still with his back to him. “I’ll uhm… I’ll head to the convenience store. Should take me maybe 20 minutes. Do with that information what you will.”

He grabbed around behind him to find the handle before pulling the door closed again, then called from the hallway, “I’ll bring you some snacks!”

Kei exhaled, rubbing his eyes under his glasses, “I’m sorry… y/n, I- mfpg”, he was interrupted by you turning his head and yanking him down to you by the collar of his shirt to kiss him.

“You heard him, 20 minutes. Let’s go.”

a/n: reader was on mission! Thank you to the anon who requested this prompt! I hope you enjoyed it 🌟

#tsukishima x chubby reader #tsukki x chubby reader #haikyuu x chubby reader #chubby reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x curvy reader #tsukishima smut #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu tsukishima #tsukishima kei #tsukki smut #tsukkishima x reader #tsukki x reader #hq tsukki #haikyuu tsukki #tsukkishima kei #hq smut #haikyuu smut

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milk-is-stable · 24 days ago

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The Shoot from the Hip Hunger Games Day 1 - The Bloodbath

Masterpost (<-START HERE! the posts are best read in order)

Content Warning: descriptions of violence, blood/injury, and major character death

The sun rises on the first day of the games, and as the cornucopia glints in the morning light, twenty-four tributes prepare themselves for what’s ahead. As they rise onto their platforms and survey the arena, the one minute timer begins to count down. The camera sweeps around, showing you their faces as the seconds tick away. Some of them, like Juliet, look confident. Others, like Robin, look grimly determined. Some appear to be eyeing specific supplies scattered around the cornucopia, while others are looking at each other.

The camera zooms in on Janae, who is staring across the field at his brother, mouthing something silently. The microphones do not pick up any sound and lip reading is difficult, but you think it may have been “it’s okay.” Panning to the right, you see Caesar staring at Juliet, a frown creasing his brow. She is not looking at him: her eyes are glued to a sword near the center of the cornucopia. The camera moves around and you see Jasper swiveling his head back and forth as he takes in the arena, John Junior crouching low on his podium and looking at the ground, and Inga rolling her neck and shaking out her shoulders.

The camera rises up, showing an aerial view of the cornucopia and the tributes in a circle around it. The timer ticks down to zero, and the sound of the horn echoes throughout the arena.

Let the Hunger Games begin!

The tributes immediately spring into action. Jasper turns and runs directly away from the cornucopia, avoiding the fray altogether. Clarissa, Peter, and Chip each take a moment to run for one of the small supply bags at the edge of the ring before they too flee into the wilderness. Johnny starts to run towards his brother, but Janae shakes his head at him, and after bending down to grab a jug of water, takes off in the opposite direction. Johnny takes a step after him, but the sight of Michael barreling towards him makes him turn, snatch a backpack off the ground, and run.

The camera cuts and you see that some smaller scuffles have broken out between the tributes going for supplies. Marty and Jimmy are grappling with one another, a basket of bread on the ground beside them. You see Marty’s fist swing hard and Jimmy screams, blood spurting from his nose. He rolls away from Marty, who leaves him in favor of grabbing the bread and making a retreat.

Michael has made it to the center of the cornucopia and is scuffling with Robin over a mace. Robin is much shorter than Michael, but he is faster and manages to avoid Michael's stronger blows. He takes hold of the mace and Michael is forced to back off, but as he retreats he gets his hands on a small knife and a supply pack.

Pinocchio has gotten his hands on a spear, but the weapon is large and clumsy in his hand. He turns back and forth, as though unsure of where to go next. Caesar rushes past and Pinocchio lunges in an attempt to stab him, but he is much too slow. He misses Caesar entirely, and instead the tip of the spear is embedded in the stomach of the next closest tribute...Maria, who was running towards Pinocchio with a bag of food in her hands.

Maria falls to the ground, her eyes wide, and Pinocchio rears back, shock and horror written across his face.

“Sister? Sister! No! NO!” he screams, dropping to his knees beside her.

Maria’s eyes fill with tears, and she reaches up and cups her brother’s cheek.

“Whatever it takes, fratellino mio,” she whispers. “Do whatever it takes.”

Pinocchio clutches her hand desperately, pressing it to his forehead as tears of his own stream down his face.

The camera suddenly cuts away to follow Jimmy. His nose is broken and bleeding, but he’s back on his feet and running straight for the pair of District 11 tributes. Taking advantage of Pinocchio's distraction, he dashes past and grabs the bag of food that has fallen to the ground beside Maria's body. Pinocchio jerks up, shouting as he tries to grab the bag back, but he's too late: Jimmy is already out of reach and running towards the treeline.

Pinocchio's face twists into a grim expression, and he looks back down at Maria's body. He plants a final kiss on Maria's knuckles, then he lets her hand fall and staggers to his feet, leaving the spear behind as he chases after Jimmy. As he runs, he manages to grab one small pack of supplies before disappearing into the forest.

The camera cuts away again to show a series of other tributes in quick succession:

Hugh gets his hands on a slingshot, Sally acquires a long, sharp looking sickle, and Priscilla grabs a bow and arrow set before they all dash in different directions to find cover.

Alexa and Benjamin both run for the same axe lying on the ground, but Alexa reaches it first by a fraction of a second. She looks between the axe and Benjamin, her eyes blown wide with terror, and Benjamin freezes.

Before either of them can act, a shout rings out and they both turn: ten feet away, Inga has caught Jim off guard and sent him sprawling with a well placed kick. There is a knife in her hands, and the sunlight glints off the blade as she brings it down into the boy’s chest.

Alexa lets out a scream at the sight, and Benjamin chooses that moment to scramble away before Alexa has a chance to decide whether or not to swing the axe. Inga looks up from Jim's body and locks eyes with Alexa, who promptly turns and runs in the opposite direction.

The camera zooms in on the cornucopia itself, where two pale faces are visible peering out from the dark. Julian and Janusz have both had the idea to try and run past the other tributes and hide inside the cornucopia, but in doing so, they have inadvertently trapped themselves.

Juliet and Caesar have gained control of the ground surrounding the structure, chasing off other tributes and amassing resources, and now they are closing in on the pair inside the cornucopia. Juliet is wielding a sword and Caesar is armed with a trident, and the two boys clearly have no way to run past the more experienced fighters without being struck down.

Suddenly, a huge explosion shakes the arena, sending all four tributes sprawling to the ground. The footage freezes, and then cuts to show you a replay from another angle.

While everyone else was fighting and gathering supplies, John Junior was attempting to dig up the land mines surrounding the tribute platforms. However, he is unable to extract them successfully without setting one off, which kills him instantly.

The camera cuts back to the cornucopia, where Julian and Janusz both are scrambling to their feet, taking advantage of the opportunity to escape before they’re killed by the power couple. Janusz runs in the same general direction as Alexa, calling out her name, while Julian goes the other way.

Caesar is the first of the couple from District 2 to recover, getting to his feet and picking up Juliet’s sword from where she dropped it. She gets to her feet a moment later, and after looking around and seeing they are alone, she pulls Caesar into an embrace.

The camera zooms in on her face, and you see the exact moment her relief turns to shock as Caesar plunges her own sword into her chest. She coughs and blood bubbles from her lips, and Caesar reaches up and cradles the back of her head.

“I’m sorry, my love,” he says in her ear. “But I cannot allow you to take Rome from me. I’ll give your regards to Maximilian.”

He pulls the sword free and Juliet’s body goes limp, her eyes wide open and glassy.

Caesar lowers her to the ground, then stands and surveys the empty field around him. He takes a moment to gather up the remainder of the weapons and supplies worth collecting from the cornucopia, before he too heads out into the trees.

This broadcast will now break for commercial. Please tune in again soon to see what else will become of our tributes on the first day of the games!

— — —

Day 1 - The Remainder (next)

Game Summary:

Deaths:

Maria was killed by Pinocchio

Jim L was killed by Inga

John Junior was killed by a landmine/himself

Juliet was killed by Caesar

Kill Counts:

Pinocchio: 1 (Maria)

Inga: 1 (Jim L)

Caesar: 1 (Juliet)

Game Meta

The following is a series of screenshots depicting the events of the bloodbath as they were revealed to me. I actually ran multiple simulations to find one that would be the most entertaining/dramatic (the first one I ran was going fine, but then the final tribute death was environmental....and so was the final death on my second attempt. That's when I resigned myself to simulating multiple times to find the best possible run). I ran a few more simulations after this one, but I gotta say, with these set of first kills, I knew that this would be the run. The drama was too good to pass up, and I'm happy to report that it maintained a satisfying level of excitement through the whole run (other simulations started exciting but then had multiple simulated days of nothing happening but minor environmental effects)

As you can see from these screenshots, the way that I'm going about this is I take all of the events from the simulation and convey them to you in the order that is the most dramatic. The simulation always tells you the day's kills first, and then all other events/interactions from the day, but that's not good narrative structure! So I eased you in with a few minor supply runs, then escalated with a few minor scuffles before dropping the bombshell of 'Pinocchio spears Maria Clarissio in the abdomen.' (when I tell you I gasped reading that for the first time!)

Now, if you're particularly sharp eyed, you may notice a few tiny changes I made. Mostly I just gave a few tributes some minor supplies that the simulator didn't explicitly say that they had, but later simulated events implies that they do. The biggest change I made to this round was the simulator said that both Robin and Michael got the same kind of weapon, which I changed into a fight over one weapon.

Going forward, you can expect those types of changes between the screenshots and my narration, but NOTHING major. I will never alter a death, major encounter, injury, or alliance. I will occasionally omit superfluous interactions (for instance, several days in two tributes who haven't interacted at all for the whole game and proceed to never interact for the rest of it apparently spend the night holding hands...I cut that for simplicity's sake) or make some additional interactions up to strengthen the narrative weight of major events, but the vast majority of events were all generated by the simulator, the only thing I'm toying with is the order.

One final note: the bloodbath is technically also on the first day of the games, but it given its own simulated 'day,' so I will be posting the rest of "Day 1" tomorrow. Going forward, each day will get two posts, one for the Day simulation and one for the Night simulation (so tomorrow will be Day 1, the day after that Night 1, the next day Day 2, and so on)

Starting tomorrow, there will be a "Fallen Tributes Broadcast" at the end of each day, and when we reach the final 8 tributes we will see a return of Andre Beetroot, conducting family and friends interviews for the loved ones of the top 8 tributes!

If you haven't voted yet for who you hope will win, there's still two days left on the poll! This has no bearing on results, as they are already generated, it's just to see who folks are rooting for. I may use some of that data for dramatic purposes when conveying the fates of our beloveds ;)

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dresh-rx · 12 days ago

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Wonder what will the green boy of silly do next?

I don't normally say this but im quite proud of this art °^°

Closeups: (feel free to zoom in cause of details TwT)

Art for chapter 5 of my fic:

Echoes of the Fallen- "Not what you should do, but what you need to"

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60935134/chapters/171062683

More colored and full monochrome versions:

I worked a lot on this but went to check the timer and-

WHAT DO YOU MEAN ONLY 3.5 HOURS??

Well i guess the bg is a lil unfinished so- maybe

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago art #ninjago lloyd #ninjago drawing #lloyd garmadon #ninjago fanfiction #ninjago fanart #ninjago ao3 #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #archive of our own #echoesofthefallenfic #ninjago dragons rising #dreshrxart

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love44lew · 3 months ago

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All mine . sir lewis hamilton

彡drivers sir lewis hamilton

彡genre ferrari!lewis hamilton x tired!reader, fem!reader, phone s3x, sir k1nk

彡summary you had to miss out on attending suzuka gp and you accidentally miss qualifying due to being overworked and you call him

၊၊||၊ i literally read like a scenario based off of this and it moved me so much i came out of hiatus again 😭 lmk if yall want the part two, other than that enjoy and ty for reading!! ၊၊||၊

彡warnings sexual content

his job required many demanding attributes. not just from his body which is the reason of his toned figure, but also his life too. you knew what you were signing up for when you started dating him, but you didn’t mind. it was an excuse to go on many vacations and hopefully expand your cultural palette. you didn’t learn arabic for nothing, right?

The only thing you wanted from him was to just make it worth all the missed time together. Try his hardest even if it doesn’t give the results he wanted, its better to fail knowing you gave it your all then to never even try. He’s always gonna improve next time and wherever you are, you’ll be there to watch it.

It did get hard though, especially when he had to be gone for a really, really long time. you were unable to go with him to japan this year because of work and it crushed you. it was last minute stuff and it wasn’t something you could handle on a zoom meeting or over the phone. though, thankfully you were able to attend the next two grand prix the plan was to spend all 3 weeks of the triple header together.

lewis told you not to worry for he would always have his phone near in case you needed to call (except for when be was in the car of course)

Every night of that week in japan you called and talked every day or night. Sometimes you would wake up at 2am and you’d talk until day break. you understood that sometimes he couldn’t get back to you but you didn’t worry because you could see him working hard in the garage and you would text him a picture of himself sending a creepy text like “i see you hehe~” and then he would smile at you through screen.

the worst part of missing a weekend like this one is the once-a-year-date you guys would go on which was drifting through the streets of tokyo on a rainy night. you especially loved racing him and then winning for two reasons. one, you could tell people that you beat an f1 driver in a race and two, it was one of the few things you were better at

this year he had to do it without you which broke your heart, and his.

you were thankful all the race events were late from where you were so you could get home and turn on the tv. you didnt really mind missing fp but you always made sure you were on time for quali. but tonight was different, they had worked you to the bone and you were so done you contemplated even getting in the shower because you were so tired.

you flipped on the television and decided to watch just to see ferraris pace before qualifying, especially lewis’s.

you dont remember anything beyond a couple laps and the timer being 40 minutes.

when you’d awakened the clock on your phone read 4 am and espn was playing cricket on your screen.

oh no.. you slept through quali.

you hopped in the shower before you got into bed and called lewis.

“goodmorning pretty” a low soft toned voice spoke from the other end

“afternoon, handsome” even though you’d spoken to him just hours ago before fp3 but it doesn’t stop your heart from fluttering at the sound of his voice

“how was your day beautiful, i miss you so much” his words hit you like knives to your heart, he would usually say that when you’d come home from a long day. his strong arms capturing your waist and his lips brushing soft pecks across your face and neck. his fresh aroma filling your senses making you melt right into him.

you missed him so much

you bit your lip and pressed your thighs together in hope it would relieve some of the longing tension your body created for him

“it was long, i wish you were at home waiting for me” you sighed out

“id love that right now..” he sighed tiredly

“is everything okay?” his answer arose concern in you “you can tell me anything”

“no, no i promise everything is fine i’ve just been having some troubles with the car thats all” he quickly responded to not worry you

“oh, okay.. you sure?”

“yes love, i promise” lewis reassured you

“you left at the worst time ya’know” you sighed

“why’s that?”

“because..” you stalled telling the truth

“hmm? talk to me beautiful” his soft tone flowed through your ears like good music.

your whole body shook at his voice. if only you could jump on him right now…it didnt help that he was literally talking right into your ear

“they’re slaving me out here, i need a vacation” you fake cried “come save me my prince” you put a hand on your head dramatically, even though he couldn’t see you could hear his low chuckle

god, his laugh

at this point he can burp right into the mic and you would feel a little wetness between your legs. you had a rabid tiger down there that was begging to get out and you could no longer tame her

“you need saving princess?” he cooed

“yes please”

“im at your service” his accent peeked through, you couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not

“need you” you whined, the tension between your thighs becoming unbearable

“in what way my love” his slight naivety to your situation was heavily frustrating

“lewis— sir, please” whimpers escaping in between words as your fingers smushed against your needy clit, you felt so embarrassed to get off at just the sound of his voice

“pretty, i can help you but you have to listen to me okay?” he spoke affirmatively but still in his soothing tone “can you be a good girl for me and do what i say?”

“yes sir” you bit your lower lip hard

“stop rubbin baby, don’t want you gettin sleepy” you hesitantly took your fingers away

“okay” you responded to let him know you did so

“I want you to slowly rub over your panties, not too hard, slow, gently” you obeyed, allowing a small moan to escape letting him know that you listened

“y’know when im kissin it before eating you out” his words put imagery in your head, making your legs shake for a moment, remembering past times

“mhm” your jaw clenched

“move your panties and only put one finger in” you did it, even though a digit wasn’t nearly enough

“dont touch your clit baby” he instructed which you whined in disapproval

“i know, i know, soon baby i promise” he cooed “you’re doing so good for me”

you dont understand what he’s trying to do but you hated that he was doing this to you. things are so simple when he’s home, you’re horny, hes bored, he eats you out. you both are happy.

when its like this though, he takes advantage of your needy-ness that gets worse when he’s gone—your yearning to be held and loved by him again. you hated him for that but still you let him do it because it feels so good in the end and the sex when he gets back is.. yeah theres no words for that.

“you can add another finger for being so good” he directed, now two was more manageable

“cant wait til i get back so i can take care of my pretty girl” his ambition to finish the weekend made you excited too. you couldn’t wait til you were free from the shackles of loneliness and you could be loved on properly again.

“i miss being inside you, your perfect little pussy taking all of me so well” his lewd descriptions made your head spin “you’d love to do that huh? be full of me?”

“hmmph” you whined

“tell me how much you’d love that”

your moans filled the room as you curl your fingers imagining being stuffed by him and how being away for some time would mean you’d have to adjust to him all over again. you’ll probably be so wet that you wouldn’t even feel it though

“lew m’ s’close” you cried, trying so hard to hold it in

“not yet” he instructed

“sir, please i cant anymore” you were basically begging at this point

“just a little longer, you’re doing s’good” your legs began to twitch, your body barely holding on

“take your fingers out ‘n rub your clit” the relief of finally being able to pleasure the bundle of nerves almost made you finish right there and then

“slow baby, slow” his soft voice blessing your ears once again

“c—c’you keep talkin” you asked politely, your voice quiet despite the loud sounds you were making before

“of course beautiful”

“you moan so pretty y’know that? i love when you say my name, let me know whos makin ya feel good” lewis loves to act humble and surely he is but he’ll never admit that like every man or athlete, he’s a bit egotistical. you appreciate that he likes the stuff you do to make him feel good, not just physically but about himself. he gets doubtful really easily so you always want to make sure he knows that he’s the only man to ever make you feel this way

“you lewis” you say between moans, that familiar feeling building up in your lower stomach

“i do? whos pussy is that then?” he asks

“a’yours baby” you pant, your limit beginning to reach

“yeah? fuck—i love you so much, cum for me beautiful, let me hear you” his wish is your command

your back arched off the bed as your cunt spilled ecstasy, followed by a series of his name flowed from your lips into the phone mic

“thats it my sweet girl, m’so proud of you” his praises made the aftershocks easier, your tense body relaxing because of him.

“thank you, i love you more and i wanna see you really soon” you responded after coming down from your high

“soon baby, i’ll make you feel s’good i promise” his words brought tingles all over your body

“i’ll be waiting, but for now its my turn” you giggled, biting your lip happy to return the favor

——-

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