#trying not to feel the pain of everything for a little | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yunalinwrites · 24 hours ago

Text

one of my fav kdramas (called youre beautiful) is abt a girl joining a boy band and pretending to be a boy ohshc style except her fellow members dont know and she has to somehow live with them while hiding it 😭 it's so wattpad i love

so imagine being fem!reader sharing a dorm with the saja boys while trying not to get found out

of course u cant hide forever tho so this is how i think you'd get found out and how they'd react:

❓ mystery knew from the start. you didnt realize he was scrutinizing you so closely bc of them fuck ass bangs but from the day you met he could tell just by looking at you. but, much like he does about everything, he kept quiet because he didnt want to freak you out. he found it cute though, every time you'd slip up and get all flustered trying to cover up why you were staring at the dresses at the mall or why you were caught buying pads. so, he'd just smile, pat your head, and calmly help you make excuses. if you walk into the wrong room at the wrong time he'll quietly direct you to a gender neutral bathroom or drape a towel over your eyes whenever the guys got too... carefree in the locker room. lowk helps you hide it from the other members bc he likes it being his little secret

🍼 baby also found out pretty early but also like not really? he walked in on you in the bathroom once and was like "mb" and then he thought about it and was like "wait a sec..." but then he just shrugged it off. and since then for a while in the back of his head he would catch the way you walk or the way you sit or the way your eyelashes look against your cheek and for a split second would think like "is he a chick?" but he never really came to a conclusion bc he just dont gaf. dude or not he treats you pretty much the same. once everyone else starts figuring it out tho thats when he starts acknowledging it. now that everyone else seems to treat you differently as a girl, he starts questioning how to feel or act around you...

💪 abby started rough housing with the other boys and tried to pull you in. lifted you up and not only were you lighter than he expected, your bodies were right up against each other. you did your best to bind your tits down but when you were chest to chest like this it was still noticeable. he awkwardly puts you down and scratches the back of his neck, mumbling an apology. for the next few days his brain is fried thinking about it. he never verbally acknowledges it but he starts being super gentle around you and treating you like you're fragile. feels the need to protect you physically, even if its against the other boys. always keeping watch to make sure they're gentle with you as well.

✨ jinu overhears you out yourself on the phone somehow and is so mad and so flustered at the same time. he's afraid you're going to be a liability if the fans find out and its gonna be a pain to hide but behind all that anger he's just scared of women fr. blushes every time he remembers you're a girl. every time you end up together alone in the living room or catch each other in the hallway, brushing each others shoulders in the slightest, he turns bright red and freaks tf out. somehow though he finds it easier to connect with you emotionally as a girl. with other guys it sometimes feels weird to be vulnerable, but you don't seem to have that shame at all. he admires it. gwi ma probably forced you into this situation so he empathizes with you.

🫶 romance liked to ask you all the time about your love life. asking what your type is, ideal date, dream wedding, do you want kids, etc. you figured it would be safest to just pretend you were a straight dude who liked girls. he wouldnt have cared though. he was starting to feel a little something for you even before you revealed yourself as a girl but refrained from going down that route to stay professional. but when you do reveal yourself as a girl it starts to get even harder to keep that boundary.

🥤 overall once they figure it out none of them tell each other or really say it aloud bc of the implications it has. but they all show it through actions like making sure you're fed and hydrated, letting you use the shower first, asking you if you need a break during rehearsal, etc. but trust, once they all start offering to help you at the same time--like all of them reaching to lend you their marker during fan signings when yours goes dry or surrounding you with 5 different choices of hoodie when you mention you're cold--they start getting real jealous and possessive real soon; they all want to be the one and only you rely on.

eventually though when they all reveal that they all know and everyone's on the same page, they start working together to protect you. all 5 of them wrapped around ur finger 😋 but still fighting for your attention

a/n: ugh i wish i had time/energy to do this properly along w all my other fics for kpdh (this movie has taken over my life) but idk i prob wont LOLL if anyone else wants to build off of this plz go ahead and tag me

#jinu x reader #kpdh #jinu kpdh #jinu #kpop demon hunters #kpdh x reader #saja boys #saja boys x reader #fanfic #kpdh fanfic #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpdh romance #kpdh abby #kpdh mystery #kpdh baby

501 notes · View notes

withmyloveasyourgarden · 2 days ago

Text

─ FLUSH OUT THIS FIRE FROM MY VEINS

BUCKY BARNES x F!READER

Summary: You're convinced that your feelings for your teammate and friend are one sided but when you're doused in a mysterious powder on a mission, it suddenly seems like that might not be the case after all.

Warnings: 18+. Sex pollen fic. Oral (fem receiving). Piv.

Word Count: 4K

A/N: A little re-write of an old fic :)

You felt feverish.

A savage burn flaring to life in the depth of your bones. It's in your blood, the branches of your lungs, rushing outwards to eat at every part of you like the spread of a wildfire before it settles hot and heavy in your gut.

It rips a gasp from your mouth as something wicked pierces through you, all primal need and desperate hunger, legs buckling like toothpicks at the cramp that swiftly follows and nearly sends you crashing to the ground if it wasn't for Bucky being right there.

"Woah, what the hell." He curses when he has to dive to catch you, the shadow of a frown creeping over his face when you practically swing from the cradle of his arms before you manage to regain your footing. "What's the matter with you?"

Beneath the harsh clip of his tone, you can hear it. His worry, his concern, packed tight around every word he grits past his teeth as you sway.

It's in his eyes, a streak of dark that bitters their natural warmth and narrows them to slits like that will help him peel back your layers until he can find the cause of your distress.

You want to tell him you're fine but you can't. You can't lie, not when his touch is on you.

Not when every nerve in your body is single mindedly attuned to this strange tingling stemming from his fingers sweeping up your back, circling around your arms and holding you firmly to his broad chest. He's too close but also somehow not enough, and it's all scrambling your brain, your eyes screwing shut because this is Bucky.

Because as much as you try to deny it and bury it way fucking deep down, your teammate is gorgeous and maybe the reason you were always joint at the hip isn't just the fact you're knitted together through blood soaked loyalty and trauma - but also the fact you're just that little bit in love with him.

And right now, every less than innocent thought you've ever had about the man is currently crashing against the wall of your skull and making the ache between your thighs pulse hotter.

If you don't move away, you could ruin everything.

Clawing feebly at his hands to release you, "It's the powder." You whimper. "It has to be. Probably one of those chemical weapons we were warned about."

That makes him go rigid.

Alarm subtly bursting across his face as his eyes rake over your body, no doubt measuring your symptoms against the ones he could remember from the files - the tremble in your legs when you escape his hold and stumble back over a gnarled root, your soft grunt of pain as your back hits a tree and you sink in a heap to the floor before he can reach out and snatch you back to his chest.

His brow furrows deeply, but then he's shaking his head. "They were just theories. Nothing was ever confirmed that they'd managed to actually create them."

"Does this look theoretical to you, James?" You growl. "It fucking hurts."

You curl in on yourself, fingers dragging through your hair and head hitting your knees as a fresh bloom of agony slashes through your belly and radiates out to the far reaches of the rest of your body.

There's silence. A beat, then two, then the vicious crunch of leaves under heavy boots. You glance up and Bucky is pacing, the tense set of his shoulders and furious tick in his jaw making you swallow hard as he mutters to himself before blue eyes snap to you.

"You absolute idiot." He hisses.

You were an idiot.

One with good intentions you could argue but definitely an idiot.

It had only happened because you'd both been distracted, because rather than paying attention like the seasoned heroes you supposedly are, you and Bucky had been bickering - like always.

'We're wasting our time here.'

'Shut up, James.'

'Why do you never listen to me, doll? I already told you the facility is a dead end, they've already cleared everything out.'

'And I already told you there could still be something left or it might not be as abandoned as we think, now shut up.'

You'd been in the middle of whirling around to flick him in the forehead, the way you know he despises, when you'd heard it. The quiet little clink of metal rolling over the floor behind you, the sound sending ice slashing down your spine before you'd burst into motion.

You'd snatched at Bucky with frantic hands, ignoring his stunned look before you'd shoved him with all your might back through the doorway you'd both just entered through.

Surprise had been the only reason you'd been able to unbalance him enough that he'd hit the ground and when his eyes found yours again you witnessed every emotion that flared across his face - confusion, understanding, followed by unfiltered horror.

The widening of his eyes as the fear flooded through and turned his movements wild.

You'd smiled at him sadly, a look that only made him lunge harder to reach you before you'd forced the heavy, steel door shut - slamming your entire weight against it for good measure so he couldn't get in no matter how hard he slammed his metal fist against the surface of it and screamed.

There'd been a moment of stillness, your forehead resting against the door, the beginnings of an apology on your tongue.

Then the canister exploded.

And you were so fucking confused because there had been no searing heat, no force that burst you apart like confetti.

Instead, you were covered in ocean blue powder, the sweet scent of it shooting up your nose, clogging your throat and making you splutter and choke whilst you glanced down stunned.

It was everywhere.

Your hair looked like a cotton candy disaster and your lashes were caked, bright little particles fluttering around your face every time you blinked.

Bucky had been furious when you'd opened the door.

Meeting your meek offering of a soft "hey" with a look like you'd committed the ultimate betrayal, like he'd been ready to explode and chew you out for even thinking of sacrificing yourself for him.

His nostrils flared, the soft blue of his eyes drowned out to a near black with rage before he'd blinked and they'd clouded with confusion.

"Why do you look like a smurf?"

It had itched first.

Barely coming off despite both yours and Bucky's efforts to dust you off once you'd got deep enough in the jungle to be considered safe.

You could feel it with every step you had taken, like a chalky film coating your body, mixing with your sweat and making your fingers clench with the desire to claw at yourself until you bled.

Then you burned.

And you'd tried desperately to hide it.

But Bucky was so acutely observant that from the very first gnarled root that seemed to suddenly appear on the jungle floor with the sole intent of tripping you up, his eyes had remained unflinchingly trained on you.

He'd watched your legs grow weaker, stumbling over nothing whilst they struggled to hold your weight, watched as the sweat beaded on your skin when the powder became acid in your veins and your expression turned dazed and nervous.

He'd murmured your name, soft and low in his suspicion. "You okay there, doll?"

It was a far cry to the way his tone slices at you now, the fury leeching into his eyes when he shoves a rough hand through his dark hair and points accusingly at you.

"You knew." He growls. "You knew something wasn't right with that powder and you didn't say anything."

"Didn't want to slow us down."

He scoffs, incredulous. "How's that working out right now, genius?"

"Jesus christ, Bucky!" You spit, an explosive shock of pain racking through your form and snapping the last fraying nerve of your patience. "What do you want from me - an apology? Is that it? You want me to say sorry for trying to save your ass, for dragging you in there in the first place? Or maybe I should apologise that this weird powder trying to kill me is such an inconvenience for you. I am so goddamn sorry, there, are you happy now?"

Your voice cracks on a sob at the end, a pang of horror flooding through you when your vision blurs and salt spills down your cheeks. How embarrassing.

But it stops Bucky dead, the violence of his rage burning out in a blink to be replaced by frantic worry.

He's right in front of you in seconds, knees hitting the dirt harshly and you almost scold him for it, your concern for him beating back the sudden longing you feel to climb into his lap and press yourself in deep. But then his fingers are on you, sweeping back the hair plastered to your cheeks and gently snatching at your chin to force your eyes on his.

"Hey– hey, don't cry, I'm sorry, okay?" He breathes, eyes darting over your face before he swallows hard. "You're gonna be fine, sweetheart, just tell me how I can help– tell me what you need."

His words curl warm in your chest, dripping down like syrup and gathering low in your belly as your thighs clench.

When you gaze at him, drinking in the thick girlish lashes, the shadow of stubble that frames the full pout of rosebud lips, your fingers begin exploring before you realise you've even lifted your hand. Palming the rough scratch of his jaw and pressing tentatively against the swell of his bottom lip whilst your teeth sink down on your own.

You shake your head despite yourself. "You don't know what you're asking."

There's no ignoring the way his throat bobs, the hitch in his breath as he watches you watch the slide of your fingers over his mouth. Pupils expanding and petal pink tongue darting out to taste the salt of your skin as he wets his lips.

"Tell me."

It's so much.

Overwhelming and not enough in the way that leaves you torn between shoving him away and yanking him closer to beg for more. Each stroke of his tongue is molten, desperate and messy as he seeks to soothe the ache ravaging your body.

He hauls you to your feet, buries you into the rough bark of the tree beneath the relentless press his hips, fingers digging in your jaw and fisting your hair and when he pulls sharp it spills a ragged moan from your lips to his as the spark of pain shoots straight to your needy cunt.

You can feel his grin, that brief flash of cockiness that is so Bucky that you're almost tempted to give him shit for it. You don't.

Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck, suck the plump flesh of his lip into your mouth and score it with your teeth whilst you rock shamelessly against him. There's a lewd pop when you release it, swollen and slick, that makes you both shudder.

"Please,” you rasp, “I need you."

He chokes, a low growl rumbling from his chest, his grip on you tightening, and then it's gone just as suddenly when his hands move down. Palming at your breasts whilst his mouth works its way down your jaw with soft kisses and stinging nips of his teeth.

"I've got you." He murmurs. "Gonna make you feel good, doll, make all that pain go away, I promise."

There's a sweetness to the way he says it. Mixing with the heat, the lust. You hear it, the thing he always tries to hide, tries to run away from - the simple fact that Bucky Barnes cares. Deeply.

Enough to give you himself to save your life despite the fact he sees you as nothing more than a teammate, a friend maybe at most.

And beneath all the wild hunger and aching need, the truth of what this is makes your heart hurt.

But you can't focus on that right now, your unrequited feelings have to wait because the effects of the powder are changing again. The flames morphing to feel like knives beneath your skin, jagged and piercing, and forced harder through your system now Bucky's touch has ignited your need.

You'd crumble if he pulled away. His name is already on the tip of your tongue ready to burst forth and beg him for more, more of his fingers, more of his mouth. More of him.

And it's like he can sense it, that chaotic desperation sweeping through your chest. Because suddenly his hand has slid inside your pants, peeling away the drenched fabric of your underwear and then, oh. Bucky slides a knuckle through the soaked folds of your cunt and your mind goes in a tail spin, your body jolting like a livewire in his arms.

"Fuck." He groans. "You're so wet."

He sinks his fingers inside you, curls them nice and deep so he can stroke that part of you that threatens to make you sob, your nails biting deep into the leather of his jacket with the iron grip you have on his shoulders.

He rubs at the aching peak of your clit and pinches your nipple, his mouth lapping the sweat from your throat whilst you cry out when you flood his hand. Every spark of pleasure he drags from you is a balm, the knives beneath your skin turning blunt, coated in cotton wool.

There's still a fire in your veins but it's twisting, morphing into something you're desperate to chase rather than run from and it's like you can't get there quick enough.

"Oh my god–"

He knows. You don't know how, but he understands immediately, like he already knows your body far better than you do.

He pulls back to look at you, drags his lips away from the seal they've placed upon your neck so near black eyes can stare directly into yours.

"Do you need more, baby? Just tell me and I'll give you it. I'll give you anything you want."

It hits you low in the gut. His eagerness to please when you've always known him to be so stubborn, the boldness of his hunger and his want streaked across blazing eyes and swollen lips - the erratic mess of his hair where your hands have raked through.

You must nod because his easy smile shifts wicked and he's on his knees before you can blink, yanking off your boots and dragging your pants down your legs before he presses them apart.

He sucks in a breath and looks up at you for just a moment, a brief slash of awe in his gaze as his fingers trail over your bare thighs, his hands squeezing the globes of your ass.

Then he winks and he's shoving his face between your legs, his tongue sweeping through the slick mess of your cunt before you can properly brace yourself. Your back hits the tree with a sharp knock and you squeak, the noise swiftly dissolving to a broken moan when he hitches your leg over his shoulder and buries his mouth deeper.

It's feral the way he eats at you, laps hungrily at your arousal like he's starved for it before he seals his mouth to your throbbing clit and sucks. You almost buckle when he presses his fingers back into you, when he crooks them just right and grazes his teeth lightly over your clit until you're practically soaking his face.

It feels like your entire body is clenching. Your muscles aching and stomach drawing tight, hips grinding against his mouth whilst you fingers catch at his hair to press him closer until he groans into your flesh.

He must be able to feel it, the way you're winding up like a tightly coiled spring, all of that volatile energy gathering in your centre just waiting to burst you wide open.

"That's it, sweetheart." He urges, voice rasping. "Cum for me."

You choke when it slams into you. His name a strangled cry in your throat as the pleasure climbs high and hot until it crests violently. Blacked out vision and static in your ears, enough fire in your blood to set the world around you ablaze.

And Bucky doesn't stop until you're gasping, until you're boneless and trembling beneath his hand that is buried in your thigh, holding you up. Still encouraging you to rock against his face until every sensation but pleasure is stripped from you and there's an endless stream of tears sliding down your cheeks.

When he eventually pulls back, your cheeks flame.

He's a mess, hair in disarray and the lower half of his face coated in you. He wears an expression you've never seen before, something dazed and proud, soaked in longing.

It makes you reach for him, makes you give in to the quivering muscles of your legs so you can sink down into his lap and drag his mouth to yours.

His hands come to cup your cheeks, thumbs sweeping the curve of your jaw whilst his lips glide bruisingly sweet over yours. "Good girl." He murmurs tenderly, the deep edge of it making you shiver. "How do you feel?"

"Better." You sigh softly, weakened by relief. "Thank you."

His mouth quirks slightly. Eyes turning endlessly warm, drifting down to where his thumb is pressing against the swell of your lip, rubbing at the spit slick shine. "My pleasure."

The air grows charged when he glances back up at you. It bloats with something intense, less wild than before but more gripping, something that makes your heartbeat break out in a gallop when he breathes your name and swallows hard.

There is panic in your chest suddenly. Dread for what has him looking at you so nervously, what he might say, nausea over what you must say first because without the pain clouding your thoughts the realisation of what you've done is very quickly setting in and god, what the hell are you supposed to do?

Do you apologise and attempt to act professional about it?

Do you pretend that it never happened at all?

You don't know if you're capable of doing either, not right now. Not when you're so in love with him and feeling like you've been cracked open by the softness of him after giving you the best orgasm of your life.

“Bucky, I–” You begin hesitantly, but before you can utter another word, you're gasping. Your stomach seizing up tight and sore from the brutal force of another, much worse, cramp.

His arms close around you when you drop your face into his neck, nosing at his throat in an attempt to douse the heat searing at your insides with the comfort of his scent.

"Hey." He soothes a hand over the back of your head, sweeps his fingers over your neck and down your sides to massage the muscles that have gone rigid with agony. "It's okay, you're gonna be okay."

"It hurts– I can't–” You whimper, frustrated tears threatening to spill over your lashline if you close your eyes against the pain. “I'm so sorry, Bucky, I need more."

"I know, baby, let me help– fuck."

He inhales sharply when you roll your hips over the thick of his clothed cock, your body shifting and rocking, searching, until he's pressed hard against you, the wetness between your thighs smearing over his jeans.

"I need you inside me, please." You beg, teeth scraping his throat, heart lodged somewhere in your own when he grasps your thighs with a curse and ruts up into you.

"Shit, okay." He hisses. "Come here."

You can't catch your breath, the sharp burn of it stuck inside your chest makes you light headed with every push and pull of his thick length inside you, stretching you open. His pants are shoved down around his thighs, his skin glistening in your slick as you clench and burst warm and wet around him.

You're beyond words, mouth dropped open and back arching, half delirious with need and pleasure as your friend fucks your brains out in the middle of the jungle whilst there's a jet probably only minutes out from the safehouse you're both supposed to be at, and you can't even bring yourself to care.

Instead, your hands are clawing at his jacket, a desperate whine building your throat, ‘closer, Bucky, please– I need you closer’, and he goes without a fight. Hauls you up until you're crushed tight against chest and hitches your thighs higher over his hips whilst his fever-hot mouth latches over your clothed nipple.

"Jesus christ." He groans into your skin. "You feel so fucking good."

You cry for him when he drops a hand to your clit, torturously slow strokes timed with each deliberate roll of his hips. There's blood roaring in your ears, the obscene slap of skin against skin loud in the otherwise silence as Bucky drowns out the effect of the powder with every climax he rings out of you.

"Oh fuck." You gasp as you press your face to the heated skin of his neck. There's molten heat beginning to ooze through you, thighs shaking and pleasure swirling low in your belly when he uses all that enhanced strength to move you over him exactly how we wants.

"Look at me." He urges, a gruff rumble through his chest as he throbs inside you. He grips the back of your neck and squeezes, shoves his brow against the side of your face to nudge his nose at your cheek as his voice hinges on a rough plea. "Look at me, baby, please, let me see you."

You can't deny him, not when he's coaxing you from your hiding place in his neck with the soft drag of his lips over your shoulder and the deep, honey-slow rock of his hips. And god, you just know you're a mess when you peel back, pupils blown wide and hair plastered to your tear soaked face.

You feel chafed raw, an exposed nerve being plucked like a guitar string and maybe you'd be embarrassed and eager to hide as much as possible if Bucky wasn't looking at you like you've somehow slammed through the hard shell of him and cracked him open.

It brings that feeling back again.

The one that leaves the air swelling warm and sweet and electric when your eyes lock with his. Tentative fingers drift over the swell of your cheek, his thumb drifting to press into the pillow of your lower lip and it feels like you're choking. Words rushing to the tip of your tongue that you desperately try to swallow before they burst free and change everything.

Only just as you think you've managed, Bucky changes everything for you.

It shudders out of him, his admission a choked gasp as the pleasure builds and your movements turn frantic. "I love you."

It takes you both by surprise, your mouth dropping open and his eyes blinking wide.

You're rendered incapable of responding because you're suddenly shaking apart with the hot burst of a climax, the intensity of it all dragging him along with you as he makes a wrecked noise low in his throat and spills deep.

When he trembles against you, you can see it past heavy lidded eyes.

The bloom of fear snaking through the pleasure.

That part of him that tells him to draw back, to throw his walls up, because he doesn't know how to handle the possibility that he's ruined one of the few good things he has in his life. It ripples across his expression, fearful and nervous, and it's your turn now to soothe him.

So you do.

You comb your fingers through his dishevelled hair, mold yourself against him and kiss him until he moans and goes soft and slack in your arms. The whole time, pressing the truth of your feelings into him like a promise, an oath that brands you both.

I've got you.

I love you too.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic

222 notes · View notes

freakmcnastyy · 2 days ago

Text

Possession Games

Park Humin x f!reader

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, semi-public setting, fingering, unprotected sex, light pain, biting, possessive behavior.

Summary: Baku loses control of his jealousy after seeing you meet with an old friend.

Note: Anon requestttt

⸻ /Flashback/

Your eyes were fixed on the fractured navy of the sky. A soft breeze stirred the lazy whispers of the trees. The wind brushed against your back, speed danced at your feet, and a childlike hope glowed quietly in your gaze. You swung higher and higher on the swing, unaware of the two sets of eyes watching you.

In the far corner of the yard, hidden under the shade of an old walnut tree, two boys sat side by side. The weight of their conversation didn’t quite suit their age. They heard only your laughter, watched only the way your hair danced in the wind. But the meanings behind their gazes were far from the same—one held trust, the other, a secret.

Baek-jin tilted his head slightly, fidgeting with a stone in his pocket. The words sat heavy on the edge of his tongue, refusing to fall.

Baku’s brows were furrowed; he didn’t like this kind of silence.

“What is it?” he asked, his tone clipped and direct.

Baek-jin blinked, then subtly nodded in your direction as you soared back and forth.

“I love her,” he said.

The words hung in the air for a moment, suspended in time. Even the breeze seemed to still.

Baku didn’t respond at first. He squinted toward you, then turned back to Baek-jin.

“What did you say?”

“Yn,” Baek-jin repeated, firmer now. “I love her. I have for a long time. Maybe you’ve noticed, maybe not. But I… I don’t know. Keeping it in this long is starting to eat away at me. And when she smiles… it’s like I can’t think of anything else.”

Baku said nothing. But his jaw tensed, a flicker tightening the muscle near his chin.

Baek-jin noticed—but didn’t back down.

“Everything’s going to change, I know. We’ll grow up. But no matter what happens… I think I’ll always love her.”

He looked down at his hands, then back toward you.

“Have you ever looked at someone and felt time stop? Like… even just the way they breathe feels like a miracle?”

Baku’s eyes shifted back to you again.

Baek-jin’s voice returned, quieter this time, unsure:

“Maybe I’ll tell her someday. Or maybe I’ll just stay beside her… quietly.”

Baku clenched his jaw, but stayed silent.

What was he supposed to say? Don’t love her, because I already do?

⸻ /Today/

It was a small café on a street corner. The table by the window sat in soft afternoon shadow, sunlight spilling through the glass at an angle. A slow jazz tune played in the background, and the outside world blurred into something cinematic.

You glanced at your phone. The time matched exactly what you’d agreed on.

Then the door opened.

Baek-jin.

His hair was slightly messy, his eyes familiar but a little more tired than before.

But the second you saw him, you stood without hesitation and wrapped your arms around him. It wasn’t a long hug, nor a short one. It was the kind that held just enough weight to carry everything unspoken.

You both sat down. The way you crossed your legs under the table, the sip you took from your coffee, the way you tilted your head—it all showed you still cared.

“How’ve you been?” you asked, voice soft.

Baek-jin didn’t look away. He smiled, faintly.

��Alright. Life’s shit in its own way, but I’m getting used to it.”

You paused. Your eyes lingered on his.

The distance between you wasn’t new or old. Just… known. Familiar.

That’s why you asked without hesitation:

“How’s the Union going?”

There was concern in your tone, though your smile stayed gentle.

“I don’t want to see you getting in trouble again.”

Baek-jin said nothing for a second. He took a sip of his coffee, then looked toward the window.

“I’m trying to grow it,” he replied. “But the more you build something like that, the more enemies come crawling out.”

Your head lowered slightly.

“Just… be careful,” you murmured. “There are still people who care about you. Not everyone’s abandoned you, okay?”

Baek-jin closed his eyes briefly. He sighed.

“I know,” he said. “I know you’ve always been there. But…”

He didn’t finish. Because both of you already felt the weight of that but, lodged somewhere in the space between.

While you spoke, someone was watching.

A few tables away, a boy in a hoodie sat motionless, hands clasped together, elbows resting on the table.

Baku.

His eyes were locked on your face.

The way you smiled, how your fingers danced around your cup, the gentle angle of your head—he saw it all.

But what really anchored him was the way Baek-jin looked at you.

That same look, from that same afternoon under the walnut tree.

“I love her,” Baek-jin had said.

And maybe he still did.

Maybe he always would.

Baku’s jaw tightened. His eyes narrowed.

Maybe he couldn’t hear what you were saying—but body language didn’t lie. Every gesture between you two felt like a quiet threat. Not because he didn’t trust you. But because he did.

And that made it worse.

⸻

Your footsteps echoed softly against the wet pavement. The exhaustion of the day hung over you like a damp coat, and the night had swallowed the city into a hush. You were only a few blocks from home, having cut through a quiet side street where hardly anyone ever passed. No music in your ears. No phone in your hands. You didn’t hear the footsteps behind you.

Until it was too late.

An arm wrapped around you from behind, pulling you back into a firm chest. A hand pressed over your mouth.

A warm breath brushed against your neck.

“Don’t scream” came a familiar, low voice.

Your body tensed—not out of fear, but surprise.

“It’s me” Baku whispered.

Your breathing was still uneven. Your heart felt like it was trying to punch its way out of your chest. He let you go slowly—but didn’t move his hand away from you.

“How long have you been seeing him?”

You tried to turn your head, but he didn’t let you move far.

“I never stopped,” you whispered. “We’ve always kept in touch.”

Baku spun you around, gently but firmly. His gaze locked on yours.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

His voice wasn’t just accusing—it carried a quiet, bruised betrayal.

“Because I knew you wouldn’t like it,” you admitted, voice small but honest. Your eyes didn’t look away. You didn’t hide.

He took a step closer.

“Then why are you still seeing him?” he said, the calm in his voice barely holding.

“He’s dangerous. He’s into shit again. He could hurt you.”

“He’s my friend,” you replied.

And that—that word—was what set him off.

“Friend?” he scoffed.

The word rolled off his tongue like poison.

Before you could process it, your back was pressed to the wall. His body didn’t touch yours fully, but the air between you vanished.He raised a hand, brushed your cheek, then slipped his thumb under your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“Don’t act like you don’t know how he looks at you. He still wants you.”

His voice dropped, turning into something dark, something real.

“And you let him.”

His hand slid to your waist, no longer gentle. Fingers curled under the hem of your shirt, dragging upward slightly before smoothing back down. You gasped, and he felt it.

He didn’t stop.

“The thought of someone else imagining you like that… fucks with my head,” he murmured.

“But what messes me up more is knowing you don’t even care.”

The heat between you changed. Anger turned to desire. Possession became need.

Baku’s eyes burned with something deeper than jealousy now. His fingers slid lower, past your waist to your hips. His other hand tangled into your hair.

His lips didn’t kiss—but hovered.

Close enough to feel. Close enough to want.

But not yet.

“You knew you’d drive me crazy, didn’t you?” he whispered.

When his hand squeezed your ass, you leaned into him—instinctively.

Not because you had to.

Because you wanted to.

Fingertips skimmed just under the edge of your skirt, tracing the elastic of your underwear.

But he didn’t slip inside.

He just stayed there.

Right at the edge.

“I could go lower” he murmured, his lips ghosting your skin. “Should I?”

“Finish what you started” you finally muttered, breathless. “Do it.”

Baku chuckled. He already knew you’d give in—but hearing it lit a fire in him. Without hesitation, his hand slipped under your skirt and into your panties. But he didn’t dive in just yet. He wanted to feel how much you needed it first.

“God” he muttered, “is this what being claimed does to you?”

He laughed, low and dark.

“I haven’t even kissed you yet… and look at you.”

And he was right. You were soaked. Because nothing turned you on more… than knowing you were his.

He couldn’t wait any longer. Two of his fingers slid into your entrance—not to get you off with them, but to prepare you for something much bigger. You nearly screamed when you felt his thick fingers stretch you from the inside, but he caught your cry with his mouth. His kiss muffled the sound, but not the overwhelming feeling.

His movements were rushed. Was it because he wanted to finish before anyone found out? Or was it because he just couldn’t wait to be inside you? You couldn’t tell. Not when those two fingers were scissoring you open, making it almost impossible to think straight.

Your eyes were teary now, your legs trembling like they could give out at any second. But he held you down so easily, one hand gripping your waist, the other steadying you with his body. Just when your vision started to blur, Baku pulled his fingers out. It wasn’t supposed to end yet. You felt the sudden emptiness, but knowing what came next eased the ache.

He looked at you one last time. He needed to be sure. And when you looked back with eyes full of need, he didn’t hold back anymore. While you clung to him, he unbuttoned his pants—not all the way down, just enough to free himself. His hand found your underwear again, but this time, just to push it aside.

It was too dark to see anything clearly. You could only feel it. And what you felt now was something thick pressing at your entrance. Your eyes widened.

“Baku—fuck—what is that?” you gasped. He chuckled and kissed you again, his tongue invading your mouth with no hesitation. Your tongues tangled in a messy rhythm until he bit your lip suddenly. As you flinched at the sting, he used that moment to sink into you completely. Your eyes rolled back from the shock, your body frozen for a moment in white-hot overload.

He pulled back from your lips only when he was fully inside. You bit down on your own moan, trying not to make a sound, but fuck—he was huge. He waited, letting you adjust, not moving just yet. Instead, his mouth latched onto your neck, sucking in a slow, burning trail.

If someone walked in right now, you’d both be screwed. But neither of you cared. You were too far gone, wrapped up in each other like the rest of the world had disappeared.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, hips rolling into you at a steady pace. His voice sounded like he might stop if you said yes. But you knew he wouldn’t. And honestly, if you weren’t clinging to him, your legs would’ve collapsed by now.

When you didn’t answer, he picked up the pace. His bare cock kept slamming into you, again and again, harder every time.

“I was gonna do this in a more romantic way, but—fuck,” he groaned, thrusts turning frantic. “But you don’t respond to sweet talk, do you?” he finished through gritted teeth. He was pounding into you so hard, it felt like the wall behind you was going to crack.

And about a minute later, it wasn’t the wall that cracke—it was you. The orgasm hit you like a freight train, so intense it nearly knocked you out. He’d already come deep inside you by then.

The moment was so overwhelming you couldn’t catch your breath.

“Humin—what the hell are you, some kind of monster?” you asked, still panting, while he was still buried inside you.

“Oh yeah. A pink one,” he teased, making a joke out of it. And it was funny—if you weren’t so completely wrecked you might’ve laughed.

When he finally pulled out, the emptiness made your face twist into a grimace. Your legs felt useless, like they weren’t even yours anymore. He moved fast, adjusting your clothes, taking care of everything without needing to be asked.

“Want me to carry you?” he asked, completely serious.

“You better” you half-joked, half-meant it.

Everything had happened so fast, it felt surreal. But you didn’t regret it. Meeting Baekjin that day had been the best mistake you could’ve made—because if you hadn’t, this moment might’ve never happened.

#weak hero kdrama #weak hero x reader #weak hero class 1 #weak hero class 2 #weak hero class 2 x reader #ryeoun #ryeoun x reader #baku #baku x reader #park humin #park humin x reader #na baekjin #baekjin #park humin smut #baku smut #weak hero class #whc1 x reader #whc2 x reader #weak hero class two

142 notes · View notes

wynnevee · 2 days ago

Note

Hello! May I please request a comfort!fic were reader gets injured during a mission and bob comforts her? I’m a sucker for comfort fics haha

forever

bob reynolds x reader

note: of course!! i hope you enjoy :)

synopsis: the request

warnings: ankle injury, smoke inhalation, fear, unedited and barely proof read

“you’re okay, you’re okay, just breathe.”

“i’m trying, buck, but there’s smoke in my lungs,” you manage through coughs, each one making the pain in your chest worse.

bucky cradled your foot in his hands, turning it gently to asses the damage—truthfully, it most likely is not worse than an ankle sprain, maybe a fracture, but you’d fought on it for too long, and the blazing heat of the room made everything feel about 1000% worse.

“okay, there’s an exit out the door on your left, just down the hallway,” bob’s voice sounds, and you can’t tell of the cracks are a malfunction from your ear piece or his vocal cords. “john and ava are waiting outside, yelena is held up in the east wing, she’ll ride home with alexei. doctors are ready for you the second you arrive.”

“thank you,” you manage, although weakly, your throat tightening around the words like a vice.

without a second’s hesitation, bucky hoisted you into a bridal carry, turning your face into his chest as he ran out, dodging the flames and wreckage. once you reached the car, ava was quick to hop out and open the door, and bucky sat down in the back with you laid across his lap.

finally, you managed a few deep breathes of fresh air—even the smell of sweat and john’s too-strong cologne was a welcomed relief.

you passed out a few seconds later.

when you awoke, it was in your bedroom, and it was so dark that for a moment, you’d thought it was all a dream. that was until you attempted to sit up realized your foot was elevated, and your chest still aching.

“oh thank god.”

you turned to see bob, sat up next to you. there was a book open in his lap, open about a third of the way: little women, your night time read of the month.

“did you lose my place?”

it took him a second, but bob choked out a watery laugh. “no, no, i just… you usually read it at night and i thought maybe i should read it to you.”

you hummed, looking up at him, mind still hazy. he was so pretty.

bob looked back down the book nervously; over six months together and heartfelt conversations still made him bashful. “you really scared me.”

you smiled sadly. “i’m sorry.”

he looks up, quickly shaking his head. “no, no, none of this was your fault,” he clarifies, taking a beat before continuing. “you just haven’t had a close call like that in a while. i mean, gunmen and supervillains, you can handle, but fire? that’s hard. and then you passed out, and—”

you shake your head, cupping his face in your hand, trying to ignore the way your body ached with each movement. “i’m okay. we’re—”

you cut yourself off with a sudden cough, and you quickly flipped on your back, bob rushing to help you sit.

“hey, hey,” bob soothed, rubbing your back, and holding you as you bent forward. after a moment, he lifts and maneuvers you into his lap, allowing you to lean on him as you struggle for oxygen.

it takes about a minute for you to finally settle down, and by that point, you’re exhausted. you lean back on bob’s chest and waiting for his warmth to heal you.

“‘m sorry, honey, you shouldn’t have to comfort me right now,” he whispers, kissing your head softly. “what— what do you need? there’s water on the nightstand, do you need—”

you shook your head. “just you.”

bob hesitated, but nods, slowly leaning back into the pillows. “you have me. forever.”

you peel open your eyes, looking up at him with a teasing smile. “forever, huh?”

he flushes. “maybe.”

you adjusted your head on his chest, nuzzling a bit to fill every one of your senses with him. “forever sounds nice,” you admit after a moment. you manage to look up at him, warmth rising to your cheeks. “what does your forever look like?”

he holds your gaze, but he’s not looking at you—it’s more like he’s looking inside of you, like he is all consumed. “you.”

though his voice is gentle, lacking in any possessiveness you may have expected in such a statement, you feel it in your bones. and just like that, it’s as if the ache has lifted from them.

“well… yeah, you said that, but what else?”

bob shakes his head. “no, just you. and a cat, maybe, or a kid, or maybe just yelena living in our attic like a hermit,” he shrugs, “whatever you want. i want it all as long as it’s with you.”

you swallow thickly. “wow.”

silence.

“what is your forever?”

you take another beat, your mind, body, and soul still realigning. “well, it’s hard to argue with that.”

he laughs, kissing the top of your head once more, fingers still dancing along your spine. you sat in the comfortable silence for a while. it may have been five minutes, or ten, or maybe an hour; time felt pretty flexible with bob.

“you want me to read to you?” he asked softly.

you nodded. “but you have to back up to my spot, i want to know what happened with jo and laurie.”

you fell asleep before he even finished the chapter, still exhausted from the day. however, as you drifted off, you couldn’t help but think of your forever, and how you hoped it looked like just this.

#bob thunderbolts #bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds x y/n #thunderbolts #lewis pullman #lewis pullman x reader

96 notes · View notes

animeomegas · 2 days ago

Text

Let's talk about Jamil and conditional heats.

Conditional heats are a version of the omega heat cycle that are a little more... sentient? Rather than heats happening like clockwork, conditional heats only happen when an omega's instincts believe that certain criteria have been met.

For a sexual heat, they decide there's a fine piece of alpha nearby that is perfect to mate and make babies with.

For a soft heat, they decide that there is a safe alpha who can protect the omega while they deal with some kind of stress, sickness, or burnout.

...

So, imagine Jamil, someone who has never had a real heat before, waking up a little warmer and stranger than normal. He's confused, he thinks he might be sick, which sucks because he really doesn't have time to be sick.

It's harder to pull himself out of bed than normal, but when he thinks about how he has a meeting planned with you, an alpha that he... enjoys the company of... he manages to get up.

But when he pulls back the covers, he's hit with his own scent, crazy strong and thick. He just stares for a moment, confused, and then a horrible, horrible thought runs through his head.

No.

He races to the nearest mirror. His flushed, sweaty face stares back at him in horror. The scent glands on his neck and thighs are swollen, his pupils are dilated, his skin is flushed all over... and he can't help but wish that you were here with him.

No.

"Don't you dare do this," he whispers to his reflection. "Don't you dare. I'm just... sick. I'm just sick."

He's been busy and stressed beyond normal the past few weeks, perfect conditions for getting sick... He ignores the voice inside his head which points out that those conditions are perfect for a soft heat as well.

He doesn't have time for this, and he's choosing denial, so he slaps on as many scent patches as he has available to try and reign it in, splashes cold water on his face and get ready like normal.

He manages to convince himself that he's doing well, until the second he opens the door to his room, and everything in him is screaming that it's not safe.

He's trained to pay attention to his instincts, to seek danger, but today his anxiety is through the roof. Every step feels like the last one he'll get to take and he doesn't know why.

He's on edge, snapping at everyone over everything. Even Kalim notices that something is very wrong and thinks Jamil is sick. Several people figure out he's in a soft heat, and try to gently steer him back to his room, but he bites the head off of anyone that even hints at it.

Eventually, word must have got back to you, because you find him at lunch. He was trying to hide in one of the more shadowy corners behind a building, just to take a moment to regain his composure, when he hears your voice.

"Jamil?"

No. No, anyone but them.

Underneath all the scent patches, he can feel his scent glands working overtime to try and desperately produce a scent that will bring you close to him.

No, he's sick! He's just sick!

"G-Go away," he manages to grit out, the words causing him physical pain. "Leave me alone."

Unhappy with his resistance, his legs buckle beneath him, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Yes, if he falls, if he's weak, his alpha will protect him, they'll stay by him, this is good.

No! No, it is not good!

"Jamil!" You rush to his side, supporting him with one arm around his waist while your other hand gently pushes his hair away from his face. He can feel you studying him, looking for what's wrong. He just hopes you don't find anything.

"Jamil? Did someone trigger your heat?" you asked delicately, voice quiet and soothing, like he's some sort of child that needs mollycoddling.

"No!" he denies. "I'm sick. I'm just sick." He doesn't know which one of you he's trying to convince at this point.

You don't believe him, he can tell. Honestly, he doesn't blame you; it's a rather pathetic attempt at a lie. But you don't call him out on it, either.

"Jamil, if you're sick, then you should be resting in your room." You scoop him up in your arms before he can protest. He let's out a little strangled noise of surprise though. "Let me take you back to your room, you won't gain anything from forcing yourself through the day like this."

"But Kalim-"

"But Kalim nothing. You're just as important as he is, and you need rest when you're sick, Jamil. If Kalim needs anything, I'll handle it, okay?"

Part of him croons at your words and the other part resents them. It's this ridiculous attitude of yours that has him all... ruined. It pisses him off; life was much simpler before you turned up.

There's also another part of him, a much louder part than he would like, that's angry at the thought of you helping Kalim. You're supposed to be helping him, looking at him, being with him, not Kalim!

He doesn't say anything out loud though. He's honestly worried he'll make an embarrassing noise if he opens his mouth to speak.

Besides... your arms feel nice. Maybe he should take a nap? His eye lids feel heavy... he's been overworked so much recently, he needs a break, and you're here to protect him...

No... he shouldn't... it wouldn't be a good idea...

You're shushing him now... the vibrations from your chest are soothing...

A good idea...

To...

"Sleep, Jamil. I've got you."

To...

His eyes slip closed and his body goes limp. He'll regret his succumbing to his instincts later, but for now, some good sleep is well needed.

...

Jamil is perfect for this set up imo, because he needs an outside force to make him admit he likes an alpha. It's not convenient for him, so he'll ignore it until he literally can't anymore lol.

I don't remember the point I was making when I started this post but... Jamil 🥰

[I'm still learning about the TWST characters, so hopefully this is okay! Thank you for reading!]

#jamil #omega jamil #a/b/o #omegaverse #alpha!reader #twst #twisted wonderland #hcs #headcanons

90 notes · View notes

krispdreemurr · 2 days ago

Text

They don't remember this.

What they have is patchwork, fragments. The dark under the trees. The chain or tail or string around her leg. The way they'd held onto her hand, tried to pull her up.

The way that, suddenly, there had been nothing to hold.

There had been nothing to hold with.

Their memories regain order and sense hours later, laying half-frozen in a snowbank as people yelled and rushed around them.

They had tilted their head, a little, and looked at their hand.

In the predawn light, it had looked gray.

—

There’s a shape their hand remembers.

They sketch a shape again and again, even though they can't even make out what it's meant to be. Their hand traces lines in the air, on loop. Even as they try to wash it clean, even as they try to will it to stop, the shape keeps coming back again and again.

The people they talk to after drawing ask them to explain what it is they're drawing, and they try.

The words never come.

They just keep sketching the same shape in the air.

—

There's a song their hand remembers.

They're at Noelle’s again, half-waiting for her mom to get home so they can talk about the latest phone call, half-hoping that she never comes by at all.

They try to play with her. They try to have fun the way they used to. But they keep circling back to what they know, what they did, the fragments in the dark, the duet that won't come because they–

Sometimes the piano helps.

It doesn't today.

As they sit in front of the keys, staring at them, their hand lifts. Presses four notes, twice over. Shifts a little deeper. Plays the sequence again, twice. Shifts back up. Repeats.

It's a little nice. It's like stimming. It at least works out some of the nervous energy.

But they don't know where the notes are from.

It's easy to keep playing them, at least, and so they sink into that for a little while.

—

There's a trick their hand remembers.

They lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, barely able to do anything else. They'd managed the insertion of the connection - her terms, and probably nicer than anything they thought to call it - a month ago, and every day and night since has been like this.

Their limbs heavy. Their mind empty. The world so distant.

“The connection is there. The other end is not,” she had said. “For now, it’s dormant. You’ll have to learn to work against it.”

And they manage enough - they eat, they go to school, they shower, they have basic conversations. Everything feels like they're pushing against a heavy, numbing fog, but they can learn to do that.

But tonight. Tonight they're tired, and they can't muster enough will to even properly roll onto their side.

With effort, they lift their hand to their chest, rest it over their hoodie. If they could just take it out, they think. They know - it can only be coaxed out with the Dark World’s power, and otherwise it's seated deep within them, but - but if they could just grab hold–

Their hand looks gray against the pale light of artificial stars.

It sinks in, and grips onto something, and pulls.

There's pain, burning, blinding, unbearable–but–but–

But the pain ebbs, and takes the fog with it, and they are themself again, with their hand clutched around something brilliant red.

They stare for a second, and then they break into disbelieving laughter.

(They go three days before the guilt makes them call her - but she doesn't sound disappointed. If anything, she's eager to put them back to use.)

(They wish they'd kept a secret.)

—

There's something they almost remember.

They stand on the street outside the school, still hazily numb from everything that had happened. Their thoughts are rushing, stumbling. They feel more awake than they have in months. They feel bone-deep exhaustion.

There's a tug from their chest, and they frown as they rummage through their pockets, checking what's there. Pencil, some sort of amorphous blob–

They feel a sting of sharp pain.

They lift the thing out of their pocket.

It's just a piece of glass, a jagged shard from a window or something. They look at it, tilting their head–

Through the glass, they see the street beneath their hand.

Like it isn't there at all.

They jolt, and the angle breaks. Just glass in their hand, nothing more.

They tuck it back into their pocket as quickly as they can.

They don't want to think about it any more.

—

They promised to remember this.

Despite that, it's still fragmented. The room picked out in shades of green. Someone telling them that copies were grayscale but colored in with care. A story, behind a tree, and a man.

They had said something, in the gap they knew would be forgotten by everyone.

Maybe it had been gratitude. Maybe it had been dismay. Maybe they had just asked why, what it meant, why he'd bothered, if it was theirs at all, if they'd lose it again or forget it or–

The man had only smiled, and pressed an egg into the palm of their hand.

Blue against eggshell white.

They remember those colors, when the rest fades.

#deltarune spoilers #ch4 #krisp fic

82 notes · View notes

theamberparadise · 1 day ago

Note

what would your hcs be for tim/masky and/or toby with a silly reader who is reaaaaally inexperienced but desperately wants to try a bunch of freaky stuff out... what would be their first thing to try? do they like playing a certain role? just stuff like that!!

also your writing/headcanons are bomb. dont die ever

MASKY AND TOBY x SHY BUT FREAKY! READER

SYNPOSIS; when a shy little sweetheart makes a lewd statement, Masky and Toby are taken aback… how do they react?

TW; d3gr4d4t10n, b0nd4g3, embarrassment/humiliation k1nk, sp4nk1ng, sl4pp1ng, ch0k1ng, b1t1ng, bru1s1ng, m0ck1ng, mentions of using hatchets in s3x

A/N; i am going to assume that this was a fully nsfw request……….. To this anon, i genuinely am so sorry

MASKY

You were sweet. Sweet as candy.

You loved Masky fully for who he is. You never hesitated to embrace his rough edges ever so gently like cotton. And when he inches even just a step towards your face, or when his gaze lingers on your face a little longer than he usually does, the pink glow on your cheeks reveals itself and you shuffle a few steps back.

So when you said you wanted to be tied up and ruined by nobody but him, a force blocks his body from screaming into the air, like an animal chained by a leash shaped like silent victory.

The moment you tell him your dark little secret, he is grinning under his mask like a maniac, which he absolutely is one.

Masky wouldn’t waste any time dragging you by your forearm in the bedroom. He doesn’t care if he leaves a bruise. You wanted this.

First thing on his mind is to restrain you. By any means possible. Scraps of dirty clothes? Perfect. The handcuffs in his pocket? Thank fuck he didn’t leave it. Tough rope he brought home after a mission? It would leave scratches and rope burns, but he likes seeing you ruined.

He wants to see you regret everything you said. And he’s going to enjoy it all with a low scoff and a glint in his eye.

His second action would be putting you in a position wherein he’s making you watch everything he does to your body. Masky wants you ashamed, ridiculed. Everything to make you feel dirty, because in his eyes, that’s what you are now.

Third? He wants to see your innocent body swell in pain, marks of paddles used for spanking being imprinted on your hips and ass sets him on fire.

Because if you turn out to be in the same fucked-up things he is? You’re not getting praised. You’re being punished. And Masky? He’s going to make it hurt.

He likes playing this fucked-up version of a teacher that doesn’t tolerate shit. And you’re a rowdy, trouble-ridden student that needs a good session of discipline.

The moment he sees you crying out of pain, desperation, and overstimulation, he spares no mercy. He might even mock you.

“Poor baby,” he coos, his imitation of a girl's voice sending strings of embarrassment up your spine. “Little bitch didn’t get what she thought she wanted all along? She wanna stop?” your sobs are like heaven to him. Your tears strayed along your cheeks while you frantically shook your head. “No? Don’t wanna stop?” he swears he can’t stop smiling when you nod. “Then stop fucking crying!” your face was met with a harsh slap before he continues fucking you at a mind-numbing pace.

Masky honestly feels betrayed. Why didn’t you tell him you were such a fucked-up whore in need of a filthy fuck session?

That doesn’t matter now. You can tick off all the dirty little things you’ve always wanted to try, because there’s no stopping Masky from giving you all the experience you need– whether you like it or not.

TOBY

You were an angel to him. An angel who despite all his gnarly scars and unsettling jolts, you still wholeheartedly place a kiss right on his pale, cold face.

He loves the way you blush when he snakes his arm around your waist. He loves the way you almost whine at even the most mundane body contact. He loves the way your eyes water when you’re overstimulated by his affections.

He’s been through a lot of things multiple times and sometimes he can even predict what might happen during difficult situations. But when you admit all your filthy little fantasies to him on a random Friday night, time seems to freeze and the air gets a little too stuffy.

Next thing you know, you’re trapped under him like a caged animal.

Thank god it’s Friday.

As soon as you finish off your bucket list of… oddities. Toby’s body jolts once before turning away from the tea you asked him to make. His head twitches to the side while the gash in his face emanated gentle jittering.

He’s quiet. So quiet. You could hear the crickets croak.

Then Toby beams. He beams like never before.

“D-damn, baby. Di-didn’t know you were into sh-shit like that,” he giggles, a shiver running down your back. “You get under my skin just right, don’t you naughty girl?” and with that, he hauls your body on his shoulder, giggling at your pathetic little hits.

For all his life, he has always been treated a dumb little twitching bastard that doesn’t know how to do anything. And that has extended to his proxy life, with Masky trailing behind him like a leech, sucking out everything Toby has in his body.

So when you tell him you wanted to do the dirtiest things despite not even having your first makeout, it was like divine intervention. No longer was he the rut of the litter. Right now? He’s the rabid fucking menace that was gonna ruin you tonight.

Toby would be the kind of guy that will swear that he’s going to be gentle on you– yet he never is. He would let you take the lead at times, especially if you’re getting a little needy, and when he wants to see all of you.

He wants to try something that can instill fear in you first. Maybe it’s him growling in your ear to fucking behave when you squirm too much. Maybe it’s him threatening to take a chunk of meat off your skin. Maybe it’s him bringing his hatchet into the game.

Then he’d like for you to take the wheel, allowing you to choke him while you bounce on him vigorously, spitting in his face whenever he tries to keep your hips down. Toby hates being told what to do. But when it was you who’s telling him to lick your cunt faster? He’s on it.

And after all that, he would take his power back and leave disgraceful marks on your body, be it his bites, his hickeys, bruises caused by him. He would laugh at your pathetic-fucked out face, mocking at the way you plead for him to slow down and make you cum, only for him to go agonizingly slow and deny your orgasm. “Please Toby, please I’m sorry please go faster,” you babble, watered-down mascara trickling down your temples and staining the pillows.

“Pwease Toby pwease,” he mocks, giggling at your pleading. His hand was on your neck, squeezing so deliciously while your eyes rolled back both in pain and in pleasure while he took his sweet, sweet time on hitting your g-spot. “Come on, baby. I thought you wanted this– unless you’d like me to stop?” you shook your head, frantically saying no, no, no and faster, faster please. Toby snorted, snapping his hips so harshly against your cervic, the tip of his cock throbbing at the new and sudden pace.

In short, Toby is ecstatic. He loves how secretly filthy you are, and while you kept it hidden from him all this time, it makes it as an excuse to go even rougher on you.

74 notes · View notes

mapoeggplant · 1 day ago

Text

skip to loafer chapter 72 analysis // spoilers

“who shall be the one to mend this lonely soul?”: the counterpoint and similarities between the dreamer and the desolate and how to move forward even with the feeling that there is nowhere to belong.

when i opened comic days, i confess that kanechika was the last person i was expecting to see. so much so that, thanks to this confusion, i first thought that the chapter would take a completely opposite direction to what i was expecting, which was the school play. but i soon understood what sensei was trying to do and the overlap she chose for this very important moment.

it’s not new for sensei to intersperse two stories into one in order to develop one character or the other (or both) a little more. this mix of elements brings more life and support to the narrative, since the character is able to open up more when faced with something that is opposite or complementary to them. and here i believe that sensei decided to combine the two forms and gave kanechika the role of being the opposite and, at the same time, the complement to shima.

kanechika has always had a huge passion for cinema and theater. this has been evident since the first time he showed his homemade movies to his insistence that shima join the theater club. but, something that hasn't been explored in depth yet is the loneliness that comes with this passion. not everyone around you will always grow up having the same interests as you or feeling them to the same intensity. sometimes, especially for a child, it’s much easier to ignore the “different boy” than to try to understand what this cinema that he likes so much is all about.

but, even though he felt alone and couldn't really fit in with people his own age, something inside kanechika encouraged him to keep going, to try, until he found people who shared his passion or came face to face with something he had brought to life, understanding that everything he had gone through had led him there. seeing shima blossom on stage not only brought him a sense of pride for the kouhai he held in such high regard, but also the idea that he was indeed on the right path and that there were people in the world who were able to listen to what he had to say and who were able to consume his art.

this insistence on what he loved, even if it hurted you, is the opposite of shima. the realization that your tastes, desires and dreams are valid and that you have the right to feel them would be the complement.

shima finally took the stage dressed as the monster he had always believed himself to be. and this becomes even more vivid considering the moments in the play that sensei thought were important to highlight, such as the monster's understanding of his loneliness, the forced isolation imposed on him and the understanding that the person closest to you, such as the one who raised you, will not always be responsible for curing the persistent pain of not belonging.

while kanechika sees his passion for theater shine with his own eyes, shima stands against the world. even though it is not him himself standing on stage, it is not his words but those of the monster, shima finally stands up to face everything that he swore was much greater than he could handle.

and, in contrast to everything, we have his own victor frankenstein waiting on the other side, with teary eyes and the fear of trying, once again, to connect with the monster. a mother drowning in the open wound sees, for the first time, her son blossom and live for himself, live for his ideals and passions, face his fears and move forward. her creation that she herself could not fix, the soul so sad.

however, next to her, there is someone who has the courage to say out loud what she so desperately wants: yuki does have the right to try one more time, to be honest with her son and listen to him with all her heart, to try not to rebuild something that is broken, but to forgive what cannot be undone and start over something that they can both build together, side by side, mother and son. she sees the child she raised forcing himself to be an adult from a very young age, giving him the chance to be young for the first time, to try to take control of what hurt him so much. why not try again, in a new play this time?

for the first time in years, they look into each other's eyes, completely raw, ready to face this new unknown. for the first time, she allows herself to praise her son, something she was so afraid of doing, with a great fear of putting an enormous pressure on his shoulders once again. and he allows himself to accept the hand that his mother extends, letting himself dive into this vulnerability that the monster gave him. not only that, but he also now shows a new interest in this family that was given to him, an enormous desire to belong, to be the older brother that his little brother admires so much, to be able to be someone who has frank conversations with his stepfather. shima and yuki are, for the first time, experiencing what could be a complete family.

and in the midst of so many new beginnings, endings, goodbyes and new days to be lived, there is that one girl, who still waits for him in the same hallway, emanating the same light that welcomes him so much. letting himself be carried away by the feeling and embracing mitsumi once and for all is another step that shima takes in his favor, another step that he allows himself to take to finally be able to walk side by side with this person that he admires so much and finds so special. falling apart in her arms, not so that she can pick him up and rebuild him, but so that he can show her every little piece of himself.

the monster found not only someone who could mend his oh so lonely soul, but someone who would give him the strength to fight alone and for himself. mitsumi isn’t the saviour nor needs to be saved: she’s the light that guides him to find his own path and our courage. it was she who showed him how beautiful it is to be true to yourself and now that he has finally embodied this monster that haunts him so much, he can give himself the chance to walk side by side with her towards a new future.

how beautiful it is to be able to read such an incredible story about taking a chance on yourself and loving without regrets. we’re once again being able to experience another beautiful chapter and for that i’m so grateful.

before we go, can we also appreciate kanechika's shirt when he was a kid? he once wore a shirt with monsters on it only to later see a monster on stage. what a comeback, huh?

thank you so much for reading and sorry for any gramatical mistakes 💛! please support sensei if you can! we will be on break next month thanks to the release of vol 12. excited to see what comes next!!!!!

#duckmetas #skip to loafer spoilers #skip and loafer spoilers #skip to loafer #skip and loafer #stl spoilers #skip to loafer chapter 72 #I almost went crazy with this chapter #when I say crazy I mean crazier #god I love this manga so f much

75 notes · View notes

midgarangel · 3 days ago

Text

nsfw alphabet sephiroth

contents: unhinged sephiroth hc’s, dom!sephiroth x sub!reader, protective/possessive seph, p*rn w feelings, somnophilia, marking, yandere/stalker archetype mentioned in “j.”

— ʚɞ

a · aftercare

It usually goes like this. You remain pressed together, him inside you, above you, gentle kisses dropped onto your oversensitized skin. He is the only thing that exists, your entire world, all-encompassing, a universe of comfort and love and searing heat. You are far beyond words, and even your tears have stopped running, but it doesn’t matter, because he feels his heart beat in tandem with yours, your soul intertwined with his. Your cunt occasionally clenches around his still somewhat hard cock, but he doesn’t move, careful not to hurt, but loathe to leave your warmth. He wants you to feel how much he loves you, because words will never feel good enough. And right now, after loving you so thoroughly that you are both still shaking, he slowly pulls out, slipping two of his fingers inside you to help you slowly close up, minding the whines that tumble out of your mouth, minding your clit, oversensitive from his abuse. “i’ve got you.” and he settles on his side, facing you, pulling you into him, to kiss and caress and hold you until you fall asleep in his arms.

b · body part

Sephiroth likes his body more for functionality than aesthetics. That can’t be said for his hair though. At first, he liked that he was strong, big, and tough enough to deal with the abuse his father and his shitty environment threw at him. He likes how he’s always been so agile and fast. Always catching others by surprise, their incredulous eyes when his masamune is in their throat before they even see him move. He loved when he could finally fight back and win. Then, he came to love and hate in equal parts the way others looked at him, trying to gauge if they wanted to talk to him or run from him. He knows how tall he is, and that his muscles are packed, the width of his shoulders. He likes his dexterous hands, he likes his strong jaw and smooth voice, how it makes anyone shake a little bit. He loves that he can pick you up and manhandle you so easily, like his body was made to worship and adore yours. He likes his cock too, even though you were weary of it at first, not sure if it would fit. He lives for the way it takes everything in you to take him. How he breaks you apart every time, threading the line between pleasure and pain, between worship and desecration. He goes insane for your pussy, his own personal heaven, made for him to lick and fuck and breed. Loves your thighs and covers them in bite marks, your legs wrapped around him, loves your pretty tummy and the way it goes all taut when you’re on your hands and knees as he presses on your back until your arms give out. He loves your dainty hands in his. He loves your neck with his teeth and his kisses, holding your life in his hands. He’ll sometimes possessively grope your ass out of nowhere, just to make you jump, and he loves fondling your tits in the crudest, most vile way possible, to make his good girl squirm and blush, reminding you that your his. A contrast to when he lays on your chest to listen to your heartbeat, your hands running through his hair, making delicious little shivers run down his spine, his hips and into his cock. And what makes his heart burst and his eyes twitch, what makes him so unbelievably hard, is your face, all of the thousand different smiles you have, your plush lips and your delicate teeth, your sweet tongue, your nose he can’t stop kissing, your jewel-like eyes he has to make himself look away from, your elegant cheekbones and the curve of your jaw. The little beauty marks in random places. Can’t forget about your voice, soothing him and exciting him in turn. Sometimes it almost makes him hate himself, that he was born to kill and ruin and destroy, that this is what he is the absolute best at, when all he wants to do is worship your beauty and your life. He’ll have to settle for sex, to make up for all he cannot say.

c · cum

He’s only a man, isn’t he? It’s natural to want to come inside you all the time, he reassures himself. It’s biology. He loves when you swallow him down too, begging for his cum down your throat, on your face too sometimes. He had to pull out of you (ignoring your frustrated whines) to make himself come on your stomach so many times when you were just starting to mess around. Now that he knows the absolute ecstasy of emptying himself deep inside you, of filling you up, making you utterly his, he’s never, ever pulling out again.

d · dirty secret

His intelligence and terrifying laser-focus, his ability to strategize and predict an exact outcome. Mind tricks and invincibility, combined with his physical abilities and talent for violence, it made him a dream for shinras science department and would have made him a nightmare for such a sweet girl if he didn’t love you so much. Being on the receiving end of his full, undivided, eternal attention feels like standing in the eye of an omniscient god who just really, really wants what’s between your thighs, what’s behind your ribs, what’s inside your skull. His frequent deployments and ventures mess even more with his need to claim you, and your need to be claimed, to be held and possessed by him, and because you’re so smart, you do some research and shyly suggest that he give you a toy only he could control. His brain fully stops functioning for a moment, especially since you bring this up during a fully clothed conversation about your mutual feelings. You take his silence for hesitation, or even worse, rejection, so you give him some more arguments, about how you both love and crave when he orders you around and you obey him perfectly, the relief and sense of rightness that floods you both when you’re at his mercy. How he gets off on telling you you’re his, his and only his, making you repeat it back to him. When his hand rests around your throat at all times without squeezing, just because he needs to feel you with him. When he rewards you endlessly for being such a good girl for him, for keeping yourself safe like he taught you, for sucking his dick when he told you to, for showing him how wet his voice makes you. You say all that, and he says “Anything for you.” in that voice of his, desire burning in his eyes.

e · experience

Not much but that doesn’t mean he can’t fuck. Sephiroth was primarily focused on his goals and his connection to Jenova, not on romantic relationships. But then you came along. In a way you helped guide eachother. He hears your wants and needs, turning them into realities. You learn from eachother.

f · fav position

He loves it all, with a preference for anything that allows him to see your face, all of your blushing, see how you look up at him in pure adoration and love. He needs something that allows him to cage you in, hold you against him, all safe and sound, for him to position however he wants. He’s a big fan of fucking you on your back with your ankles crossed behind his neck, folding you until you’re completely at his mercy, opened up for him to take. Really loves fucking you on your side as well, especially in the middle of the night, under the covers, with you all tangled in his arms, your leg high on his waist, every inch of you pressed against him. Prone doggy works really well too, especially when he covers you with his heavy body, better than any weighted blanket, to take away all your anxieties and help you focus on nothing else than receiving his love, and giving him all of yours. Sometimes he takes you against a wall, when he wants to show off his strength, but your height difference can make it somewhat awkward.

g · goofy

Sephiroth = very dry, and dark, sense of humor. He can be witty at times. When you first began your relationship, he tried so hard to make you laugh even if the jokes were awkward, so you’d relax and feel safer with him. He allowed you to make little jokes in bed, because he knew the tension was hard on your poor nerves. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous either. The nervousness melted away eventually.

h · hair

Sephiroths not very hairy on the rest of his body, courtesy of his light hair. The hair on his head is a different story. Sometimes during sex you’d pull on it without realizing, earning a graon and a, “Do that again.” from above you.

i · intimacy

Any sort of relationship with Sephiroth will need a stupendous amount of trust and intimacy to even exist in the first place. He, just like you, is far too intense, too odd, too traumatized to allow for regular human feelings and relationships. Sex with him feels like you could drown if you aren’t careful. If he didn’t keep you conscious and swimming in his arms, in the tsunami of feelings and sensations you bring to each other. It feels like a declaration of love every time, and you cry under him more than a few times (he’s always so proud of you for giving him so much). Everything about living with Sephiroth is intimate, the s necklace around your neck, the ache between your legs, his scent in your bed, his kisses whenever he’s close to you, his voice permeating your dreams. When you bring him a glass of water while he’s doing reading, and he loops an arm around your hips to bring you closer. He looks up at you just long enough to kiss your hip in thanks, and you curl up with your own book on the couch opposite to him, not prying in his business, but still present. He takes you to bed twenty minutes later. When he makes you strip in front of him while he sits with his legs spread. When you both wake up in tandem at three on some random thursday night, overcome with love, even though you already had each other not five hours ago, you lift your leg over his hip he can slide inside of you. Your face pressed against his throat, while he mumbles insane words about how much he loves you, thanking you for letting him inside you, that he knows it hurts, and you’re his little slut and he loves you to death.

j · jerk off

Sephiroth has this uncanny ability to dominate his environment, to use every single piece of sensory information, of material component for his own purposes. He remembers every sensation, every ache, every movement. He remembers every pleasure, every taste, every feel. When he’s deployed, thousands and thousands of miles away from you, the only thing that can put him to sleep is to drown himself in every sensory memory he has of you. When he’s sharing living areas with his fellow soldiers, he sometimes contents himself with remembering the silk of your skin and the weight and texture of your muscles when he gives you a massage, or the sound and light pulsing of your heart when he lays his head on your chest. Most of the time though, he needs more. He can’t help it, he’s only a man. He’s real good at risking his life, at killing, at being a strategist, analyzing, at manipulating intel out of every person and item around him. He’s also a healthy young guy with a really hot girlfriend and very high libido. He needs the release so he doesn’t go insane again, so his aggressiveness won’t make him do something stupid when he’s out on the field, with dangerously high levels of testosterone thrumming through his blood and his brain reminding him of what you look like bent over. He’s always rough with himself, the way he usually is with you, because he doesn’t know of any other way to express his love for you. Other than to utterly ravage you and himself. He usually thinks of something absolutely depraved, like of being a deranged stalker slipping into your bedroom at night, while you’re sleeping naked and feeling all safe, unaware of the predator looking at you. His hand tugging at his cock faster as he imagines standing over you, pulling your covers down and kneeling over you so he can stare directly between your legs, jerking off on top of your dreaming body, until he comes all over your sex, your inner thighs, your lower belly. A terrifying gift for you to wake up to, so you know there’s a monster watching over you. It makes him so hard to think you’ll always have his claim on you.

k · kink

Panty thief? maybe. Definitely has a scent kink, obsessive/possessive, slight stalker tendencies. Light somnophilia. Very into marking and soft restraints. Wants to know everything about you, all the time. Cannot get enough of hearing you whine and blabber “I love you” when he’s inside you, making you come. Feeling safe to be so utterly needed and worshipped by one he worships also. He knows he likes being in control. he also knows how grateful he is that you give yourself to him. Shibari makes sense then and it makes him go berserk. Nothing else exists in his big brain other than the ritual of tying you up, taking you both into this other space, and you, all bound and pretty, at his mercy, it makes him want to spoil you rotten, want to make you come until you pass out. His whole life, his day to day, his work is a continuum of violence and domination. He’s only ever getting more dangerous, endless potential where most men his age have already reached their prime. It feels sane/normal for him to be in command, to know exactly where he is going, to hurt and kill and destroy in favor of a larger objective. Or maybe the opposite when he actually saves someone. It’s just in his nature, and then he comes home to his partner and takes her as he should.

l · location

He has a preference for your place, because it smells and feels like you. Never in public.

m · motivation

He’s heavily touch-starved, touch-desperate, touch-ravenous. Sephiroth cannot get enough of your hands all over him, caressing his face, tangling in his hair, massaging his scalp, his neck, all over his chest, digging into his back, grabbing his ass, caressing his cock. Even just holding hands gets him going, or when you touch his forearm, trace his muscles and veins with your fingers, and he’s got a thing for you kissing his arm when you’re out in public. It makes him feel so wanted by you, helps him understand you truly do love him. Praise. You praising him. You begging for him. Him providing for you. “Sephi, I love you so much,” with tears running down your flushed face, followed by a little hiccup of pleasure, as he methodically ravages you. “You feel so good inside me, so big, perfect fit.” When you finger yourself open and make yourself take four of your dainty fingers in front of him, dripping wet, begging him that you’re ready, that you can take it, and it’s still a stretch when he fills you up. You telling him you need him, can’t live without him, need his cock, need his cum. Giving yourself to him. He loves protecting you, keeping you safe and sound. Making sure you have everything you need. He needs to be your reason for living, the one you want entirely. He needs you to take his love, take his cock, take his teeth on your neck and his hands all over you. Any show of intimacy gets him going, from you crying in his arms to falling asleep curled up next to him, showering together, whispering your deepest secrets. He also has a (barely) hidden wish to get you pregnant, make you fully his. I should’ve added that to kinks. Breeding kink.

n · no

Not a strict no at first, but he doesn’t really like being penetrated. He’s tried it and it just doesn’t do it quite right for him, though it does make him more considerate towards his partner he tops. A bit of spanking is okay in his book but he’d never want to take it further than that when it comes to violence. He’s rough, and strong, and big, and passionate, but he’d never hurt you for real. You feeling safe in his arms, being needy for his touch is what he craves.

o · oral

Oral is a whole topic for Sephiroth. Its very own category of sex he could spend hours on. He loves eating pussy. He loves giving because it feels so intimate, so good, he wants you on his tongue with your thighs shaking and squeezing around his head. He loves to bite your inner thighs, to make you spread your legs wider. Loves to fuck his tongue inside you and feel you clench, feeling you dripping. Gently sucking on your clit until you go from tense and thrashing to soft and crying his name, begging him to stop, but he knows better, right? This pretty pussy belongs to him, and he’ll lick it for as long as he wants. And you sob out a “Yes, Seph..” that makes his cock throb. He adores making you sit on his face, ready to worship you like the little goddess you are. His offering to you white and sticky on his skin where he came untouched, just from the ecstasy of being surrounded by your body. He loves it as much as you love sucking his cock, taking him on your knees with your aching throat stuffed full. You’ve spent just as many hours licking his cock, the two of you training your mouth, your jaw, your throat to open up enough for him to slide deeper, and deeper, like you cannot get enough of him no matter how much it hurts. He learns you need it as much as he does, and as your dynamic progresses, he learns to use it as a way to center you and himself, to fulfill your mutual craving for obedience. When he comes home and tells you to get on your knees before he even kisses you, tells you to keep his cock warm while he’s reading through a debrief. He never knew there would be so much intimacy in fucking your pretty mouth, holding you down, coming down your throat as there is in licking you open, having his face all drenched in you, feeling every fold of your pussy on his tongue. He also really, really loves to 69.

p · pace

Sephiroth naturally tends towards the rough and fast, but he learns to be soft, to be slow, to be gentle not only because he’s concerned about the stretch he imposes on your sweet cunt, but also because you teach him to explain his feelings without violence. It’s hard for him, but he tries, really hard. He’s especially good at going slow and soft when he’s already come once, or when you’re the more assertive one. He’ll usually be softer when you’re particularly fragile and vulnerable, broken down by whatever troubles your mind and the harshness of the world, to remind you that he’s here and always will be. He’ll protect you against everything but himself, and you can let go of everything else if you just hold onto him.

q · quickie

Penetration with no prep is difficult at best, impossible at worst, but he knows exactly how to take care of you when you suddenly get needy for him and he has no time. Gathers you in his arms, “Spread your legs for me.” and kisses you while his long fingers work you open, mercilessly hitting every single nerve inside you without the slow buildup you prefer, and it feels like electricity running through you, too much, too fast, too strong, and he pulls an orgasm out of you before you can get your bearings, putting you in this fuzzy headspace where he rules everything. Sephiroth loves you all out of sorts and fucked out like this, allowing him to take your body, and to take your mind into a place where you don’t need to think. “I need to leave soon, so you just need to open your pretty mouth and let me fuck your throat, can you do that?”

r · risk

His life is molded around risk and danger. He never risks you, but sometimes the heat of battle, of absolutely dominating during a mission , of danger, it makes him hard, makes him see red, and if you were there, he would do things to you he would not be proud of in the morning.

s · stamina

It took months of continuous sex and of you repeating to him that you loved him and needed him, for his dick to finally occasionally get soft after his first orgasm. It’s better now, but he can still spend the night between your legs, overstimulating you both to tears, coming half a dozen times until he physically cannot get hard anymore, and you can’t even sit up.

t · toys

Big fan of them. Especially since he loooooves overstimulating you.

u · unfair

He’s not that big of a tease, preferring to overstimulate you until you’re sobbing. He knows it hurts to not have anything inside you when you’re turned on, but it also hurts when he forces his cock inside you without any preparation. So he settles for shushing you, gathering you in his arms so he can make out with you while fingering you open, the delicious stretch of his fingers so satisfying. You writhe and moan and curl in his arms like a kitten in heat, and he kisses you endlessly, pressing his weight against you to pin you down, not giving in to your pleas for his dick just yet, “need to stretch you a little more, okay?”

v · volume

Sephiroth is vocal for sure. His voice drops an octave when he’s turned on, he can’t help it. When he tells you dirty things it often ends in animalistic sounds, he’s a growler. He tries to muffle those sounds at first, afraid of scaring you, because you’re so pretty and sweet, you don’t deserve to get fucked by someone who can barely keep himself from sinking his teeth into your pretty throat. Then he understood that you like the gravel in his voice, and his breaths, his moans, his whines, his breathless little growls that rumble in his chest. He learns to be a little louder for you. Most of all, he learns how wet his voice makes you, and that his pet names, loving and degrading and praising you. It makes you go insane. He loves making you whine, cry out, and sob his name. Loves when he manages to break through your self consciousness until you forget everything but him and scream.

w · wild card

Can occasionally be submissive, usually when emotion is breaking him down, and your love is the only thing keeping him from drowning, the only light at the end of the tunnel. That usually means you overstimulating him like he does you, telling him you love him while kissing his forehead, and he whines and comes and comes and comes. Will send you dick pics, and videos of himself jerking off, especially when he’s away. He has a secret folder in his phone cause he just misses you. You make him hard even when you’re not there. He keeps a stash of slutty pictures of his love.

x · x-ray

Sephiroth is big everywhere, and he knows it. “F-fuck Seph, you’re so biiiig” makes his head spin, and when you add “it’s too big, I can’t take it” with wet eyes brimming with tears, looking up at him in adoration, he has no choice but to reply: “It’s not even halfway in, honey. I know you can take it, though, can’t you? Just trust me, baby, give yourself to me.” He shows you he can split you open without pain, bigger than anything you thought was possible for you, taking you to a place beyond ecstasy. It takes all of your focus each time, feels more like a religious experience than anything else, like receiving a god inside you. But for him you’ll do anything. Rearrange your body however he wants, loving him as intensely as he loves you. 

y · yearn

Ready to go at a moment’s notice, ever eager for your touch, your kisses. Sephiroth is a frozen abyss of thought and feeling that never learned how to express anything other than what he needs to accomplish, specific objectives. There’s a presence inside him howling for love, bleeding for your attention. He’d like to have you every morning and every night. Have you preen under his caresses during the day, and allow him to do awful things to your body while you sleep. Trusting him like he’s some kind of knight instead of a wild animal.

z · zzz

Sephiroth has had trouble sleeping for years now, never really having a truly safe place to rest at night has messed with his brain. In your cozy little place though, in your plush bed, his body closest to the door, you curled up in his arms, he slowly learns to relax and let go of constant vigilance. Sex helps too, especially when he allows himself to use you until he’s come once, twice, sometimes thrice or more. Then after you’re both cleaned up, he wraps you up in his arms and kisses you until you both drift off. You usually wake up with his arms around your throat and face, pressing you fully against him, an iron embrace you’d have trouble breaking from if he didn’t wake up at the same time as you.

— ʚɞ

i hc sephiroth as a sub most of the time but i love picturing him this way too.

#sephiroth x reader #sephiroth smut #sephiroth ffvii #sephiroth fluff #sephiroth ff7 #sephiroth final fantasy #sephiroth #final fantasy 7 #final fantasy vii #final fantasy seven #ff7 #ff7 remake #ff7 rebirth #final fantasy imagine #final fantasy series #cloud strife final fantasy #tifa lockhart #aerith gainsborough #midgarangel

82 notes · View notes

arkofangels · 3 days ago

Text

Flushed with Emotions

Pairing: Jean Loo Pissoir x Reader – Date Everything!

summary: After losing your job to AI, your life takes a bizarre turn when you receive the Dateviators—enchanted glasses that reveal the true, dateable forms of your household objects. One of them? Your toilet.

a/n: sorry for the corny rhyme idk what to write

Your day started the same as every other since you got fired. You'd shuffled into the bathroom, bleary-eyed and barely awake, trying not to think about your rent or the way your boss had said “the algorithm just does it better.”

Now you’re standing in front of your toilet. And it’s talking to you. In rhymes. With a French accent. And a chain that holds a mic named Ballcock.

You blame the sunglasses.

The Dateviators, gifted to you by a trench-coated weirdo outside the unemployment office, are perched on your nose. And ever since you put them on, your apartment hasn’t been the same. Your microwave flirts. Your vacuum growls. And now—this.

“Bonjour, mon cœur,” the toilet purrs, tilting its porcelain face toward you. His plunger-hat leans rakishly to the side, as if it’s seen some things. “You look like a clogged soul… in need of a flush.”

You stare. “Okay. Nope. No. We’re not doing this.”

Jean Loo doesn’t miss a beat.

“You flush your feelings, bury them deep, But mon amour, the pain still leaks. Sit down, relax, let’s unclog this mess— The bathroom’s a church, and you came here to confess.”

Your eye twitches. You point at the door. “Out. No rapping in the bathroom.”

“I am the bathroom,” he says, arms out like he’s Christ on ceramic. “And the rapper.”

You groan and walk out, only for Jean Loo to follow. Somehow his boots make a flush sound with every step, and the toilet-seat shoulder armor creaks dramatically when he moves.

“I didn’t invite you into the living room.”

He shrugs. “Everything in this home is mine to access. Or are you forgetting who handles your… delicate situations?”

You want to scream. You want to laugh. You want to throw the glasses out the window. Instead, you flop on the couch.

“…You smell a little like bleach.”

He leans on the doorframe, arms crossed. “Merci. I shower in Lysol. Most find it… invigorating.”

You bury your face in your hands. “Why me?”

He suddenly quiets. You peek through your fingers and see something rare—earnestness.

“You looked sad. Lonely. Your eyes were heavy like a tank with no flush,” he says softly. “And I—Jean Loo—do not let my cherie rot in solitude.”

You lift your head. “Did you just say I’m like a neglected tank?”

“…Romantically, oui.”

You sigh, but it’s a little less hopeless now. Maybe a tiny part of you—some small, unhinged recess of your unemployed brain—likes having someone (thing?) around. Even if he does come with freestyles and flexible hoses.

You lean back. “Fine. You can stay. But no freestyling during me time.”

Jean grins. “But all time with you is mon temps préféré.”

“…That better not mean what I think it means.”

He winks. “Would you prefer a bidet pun?”

You hurl a throw pillow at him. He catches it with flair—bowing like you’ve just thrown roses.

#fanfic #arkofangels #date everything #jean loo pissoir #jean loo x reader #date everything game #jean loo x date everything #fanfiction #date everything x reader

142 notes · View notes

conclover · 3 days ago

Text

Mr. Tenna x GN! Reader | Static Hearts Part 6

Previous chapter

Summary: Tenna has prepared a special game just for the two of you.

Warnings: +18, penetration, bondage, semi-public sex, dom Tenna, slight power play, reader’s genitalia are not specified, Tenna is a pathetic yandere jealous man, dubious consent.

Notes: Saliva might not be the ideal substitute for water based lube, but apparently... sex shops don’t exist in my fanfics.

Word count: 4K (more or less)

“Ladies…”

“...present to you…”

“...today’s show…”

The words bled into each other, distant and distorted, like a radio stuck between stations. Your head throbbed with something similar to a familiar ache, the kind that follows a long night of partying and one drink too many.

“Don’t worry!”

That voice. It was familiar. Too familiar. Cheerful, bright and utterly charismatic.

“They’re perfectly fine… It’s all part of tonight’s show!”

Your eyelids fluttered open, but light stabbed through your vision like knives. Everything shimmered, as if you’d spent days in darkness and had just stumbled into the sun. You blinked hard, trying to make sense of the shapes. Where were you?

“They’ll be awake any time soon!”

A glowing red light blinked on its side like a mechanical heartbeat, aimed squarely at your face. A camera?

You shifted, instinctively trying to move. Only then did you feel it. Something hard pressed against your chest. You glanced down. A podium. You were bent over it.

“The ropes are for security reasons!”

You noticed your arms were tied up behind your back. You struggled again, twisting your wrists, but the restraints bit in snug and tight. They were not painful. Just tight enough to remind you that you weren’t going anywhere. Not until someone let you.

You tested your legs. They weren’t restrained. For a moment, you thought maybe you could still move, still walk away. Until you pushed yourself up and a large hand shoved firmly between your shoulder blades, forcing you back down.

“You’re finally awake!”

The voice came again, this time right beside your ear.

Your eyes flew open fully.

Tenna.

You twisted your head as far as you could, trying to see him. He was right behind you, impossibly close and his form was larger now, somehow broader than you had seen before. You couldn’t quite see his face, but there was a screen right behind him that flashed an animated sparkly text.

“Round… one… ready?” you read aloud slowly, the words catching on your tongue.

“That’s right!” Tenna beamed, his palm still pressing firmly between your shoulder blades. “You’re just in time for tonight’s very special episode!”

A wave of applause roared from somewhere, but when you looked toward the sound, the audience was empty. Only a camera remained which hovered nearby, capturing the perfect shot of the two of you.

“Tenna, what is this?” you asked, your voice tight with nerves. You didn’t move, even though his hand was no longer holding you down.

He tilted his head slightly, just enough for you to see the glow of his screen and the eerie smile painted on it.

“Oh, don’t be so nervous, darling,” he said in an almost loving way. “This round is all about compatibility. I thought we could finally get a little honest with each other.”

Slowly, he leaned over you. His weight pressed against your back, not enough to hurt, but enough to trap you in place and to remind you who was in control this time.

“Ready to play?” he murmured, propping an elbow casually on the smooth podium just inches from your face.

You lifted your gaze. He was holding a stack of cue cards, humming happily to himself as he flipped through them like this was any other game night.

“Ready, sweetheart?” he repeated, almost sweetly, pressing himself closer against you.

At first, you hesitated, unsure how you even ended up here or why you were tied. But when his hand drifted down your waist, a shiver ran through you. You gave him an exaggerated nod, drawn to him without question. You didn’t care if this was strange. You needed him. Every inch of your skin craved him. You didn’t care how it happened, you just needed to be touched after months of starvation in this odd place.

“Such a good contestant we have here tonight, folks!” he cooed, his voice smooth and theatrical, though it was just the two of you.

Tenna shifted against you, the motion slow and erotic, pressing his body to yours with a boldness that made your heart stutter. Was he already hard?

His fingers toyed with the waistband of your pants. Just enough to remind you how easily he could undo you, how close his hand was to something private. It was a calculated invasion of space. Nothing more for now. Not until you gave him the right answers.

“And remember…” he said with a smile in his voice, “...if you answer wrong…” He let the silence hang, just long enough for it to settle in your chest, “I might have to punish you.”

He let out a low mischievous chuckle and somehow, it only made you crave him more. He must have been savoring it. This moment, this control over you. The way your breath hitched everytime he pressed his hips forward. The way your body reacted despite yourself. He could feel it and he reveled in it.

Pathetic…

You were already on your knees for him and he knew it. Ugh, he knew exactly how to make you grind your teeth in frustration, how to twist you up with longing until it hurt. He knew how to make you desperate. And starving you like this? Keeping you right on the edge for months? He must have planned this all... or not?

Tenna flipped to the first cue card, holding it closer to his screen face. Then, with a sudden grin, he tossed all the cards into the air. He didn’t need them at all, he already knew exactly what he wanted to ask you.

“Let’s start easy,” he said cheerfully as he leaned in, his voice warm and comforting against your ear, yet his words were laced with venom. “Why were you laughing with Lanino near the vending machines yesterday?”

Your stomach dropped, but the surge of emotions were abruptly interrupted as Tenna tore down your pants and underwear in one swift and forceful motion. The cold air of the studio hit your skin like a slap, leaving you exposed and slightly embarrassed at the thought of being filmed.

“Was he telling you jokes?” he continued, his hand travelling down the curve of your body to reveal more skin. “Or were you just… happy to see him?”

His screen was closer to you now, his hand holding your chin tightly so you would look at him. He was searching for something beneath the surface. A glimpse of truth, guilt, a flinch, anything.

“Question two,” he sang sweetly, your eyes not daring to look away from his flickering screen. “Would you ever kiss someone else if I wasn’t looking?”

His smile widened, as if he was too pleased. You didn’t understand why until you heard it. The soft clink of metal as his fingers unfastened the belt, the leather slipping loose with a slow hiss. The button popped a second later and then came the unmistakable sound of his zipper being pulled down.

He didn’t say a word. Just stood there, watching your every reaction while the sound lingered in the thick silence like a threat.

“And don’t lie,” he added, his voice carrying a note of danger that made it clear this was a warning, not a request. “You’re not as good of a liar as you think you are.”

He’d noticed it. The way your hips shifted, almost involuntarily. The way your body betrayed you, like instinct had taken over. You really were hopeless, just the slightest pressure and you were completely at his mercy. Tenna chuckled in response, with a knowing sound that sent a chill down your spine.

His hand slipped away from your chin, slowly and deliberately, trailing down until it disappeared from view. You couldn’t see where it went, but you could guess. And that guess twisted something deep in your gut, not dread but want.

“Question three,” Tenna continued, voice calm but cutting, his attention fixed on you as if the answer might break something in him. He was deliberately ignoring the heat in your body in favor of something he needed more: answers. “Do you want someone else to touch you, or are you just trying to hurt me?”

The silence that followed was heavy and pressed thick against your chest.

“Tick-tock, sweetheart,” he whispered, his throbbing erection brushing lightly against your entrance with each subtle twitch. “Your turn to answer.”

“Tenna…” you gasped, your voice caught somewhere between panic and pleading, or maybe want.

You weren’t sure what game he was playing anymore, whether it was about testing your loyalty or if he just needed an excuse to fuck you. All you knew was that you knew exactly how you wanted this to end.

Without thinking further about how his smile tugged at just one corner of his lips as he waited for an answer, your legs shifted, parting slightly to give him more room. It was a silent offering of your body, a clear response to his needs or maybe it was really just your own. Either way, the truth was about to be revealed.

“You know I love you…” you whispered, your voice dropping low in a way you knew he liked.

The words tumbled out before you could second-guess them. They were part truth, part survival. You couldn’t tell which one of them felt more real.

“Only you.”

Tenna raised a hand to the side of his screen, tilting it thoughtfully, as if genuinely weighing the truth behind your words. For a moment, he was silent, calculating the sincerity in your voice.

Then, his attention drifted downward. You were already like this for him: open, waiting, trembling for his touch. A perfect picture of surrender to him, born from long months of unsatisfied yearning and aching need.

Whatever illusion of restraint he’d been pretending to hold onto dissolved in an instant. The quiet calculation vanished from his face, replaced by something raw and possessive. The way you trembled, the way you offered yourself so easily to him, it unraveled him. He couldn’t contain himself anymore.

Every breath, every flinch, every trembling muscle screamed the truth he’d always wanted to believe. You were his. Utterly, helplessly, his. And he reveled in the thought that as long as he had you like this, you were bound to do anything he desired. But still, he needed to hear it in words.

“Say it again,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he braced both hands on either side of the podium, caging you in. “Tell me you love me.”

The words weren’t a plea, they were a demand, threaded with something volatile. A barely contained storm holding itself by a thin thread. If you didn’t satisfy him, not just his lust in that moment, but his deeper need to know you were truly his, that he wasn’t alone, that thread would snap.

“I need to hear it,” he admitted, his breath trembling against your ear, as if he were fighting the urge to make you say it by force. “Say it… and maybe I’ll be gentle.”

“I love you,” you whispered, hoping the ache would soon be calmed.

“Yes,” Tenna growled, pulling his head back as if your words alone were enough to drive him wild. “That’s exactly what I needed to hear…”

In response to your compliance, Tenna shifted slightly, his hand moving away from the podium to press his cock against you. He didn’t rush. He was testing you, watching for the smallest shift in your body. Measuring every breath, every moan and every instinctive flinch against his size. Watching to see if you’d recoil or surrender completely.

“More,” he demanded, voice strained, struggling to push deeper, his size overwhelming you. “Say it. I need to hear you say it.”

“I love you,” you gasped, your body reacting as he struggled to press some inches in.

His pale throbbing cock slipped away every time, the control he tried to maintain unraveling with each attempt.

“Don’t move, sweetheart,” he said, his voice smooth but strained, the usual playfulness replaced by an edge of concern. “I need you to stay still... please.”

There was a flicker of doubt behind his tone, a crack in his confidence. Like he was worried that he wasn’t enough. That he couldn’t give you what he thought you needed.

But you knew it wasn’t your fault. Your anatomy and his simply weren’t made to fit perfectly. Especially when intense emotions like arousal hit him, his form grew bigger in every way, stretching past what you were used to.

You didn’t care as much as Tenna did. In fact, you found yourself enjoying his struggle, the way he hesitated, testing your limits, playing with your entrance, his movements carrying a mix of frustration and growing desire... It was almost like a game, and you were savoring every moment of it.

You almost had to hold back a laugh wondering how long it had been since he last had sex. Even though you knew it was more of an anatomy issue, it was hard not to find it funny, watching him struggle, trying so many different positions, desperately using whatever he could to adjust, just to make it work. His tongue was nearly dry from how much saliva he was using. Ugh, if only he had brought some lube…

His brows were furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line as he focused, clearly stuck in a loop, trying the same technique over and over without success. The playful confidence he usually wore on stage was gone, replaced by pure frustration. A low groan escaped him as he fought to push deeper, unable to fully enter.

“Maybe if you shrink just a little?” you proposed, your face tilting, eyes searching his face for any sign of vulnerability.

You knew he couldn’t shrink back. Not in this state. But saying it gave you a small sense of control, a reminder of who was really in charge when it came to sex.

“I’ve got this,” he gritted his teeth, fighting to keep control as he caught the teasing look in your eyes. “Just… give me a fucking moment, sweetheart.”

You laughed, and that was it. He snapped, frustration flashing across his face as things didn’t go as planned, but that was exactly what he needed to get what he wanted.

He stood up for a moment, stepping away from the podium to give himself more room. His hands were now free, and you could feel the weight of his focus shift entirely onto you, and more specifically, your exposed skin. He adjusted his grip, holding you in place, pressing your cheeks apart to have more access to you. His actions were calculated, deliberate, and unsettling in their certainty.

“Yes, please, Tenna,” you begged, almost embarrassed at the way you had desperately pleaded for him as he touched you.

Tenna couldn’t help but try harder after hearing your pleas. His grip tightened, and for a moment, it felt like there was nothing else but the need to bridge the gap between you.

“I’m going to make you mine,” he muttered, almost to himself, his certainty radiating through every movement. “Whatever it takes.”

And then, he pushed into you, inch by inch with a slow, aching rhythm that didn’t satisfy so much as ignite, leaving you yearning for more with every drawn-out push.

A loud moan escaped his lips, almost as if he was relieved that he was some inches deep inside you, though there was still a long way to go.

“You want... m-me?” he asked, voice low and uneven as he slowly pushed deeper.

You nodded, unable to answer due to the overwhelming sensation of his cock filling you. He was stretching you out with such an ease that surprised even him, as if your body had already decided to take him in. This was it. The reward he’d promised. And it felt so good that every moment of waiting had been worth it.

“Then say it, say how much you love me,” he whispered, his voice still thick with a different kind of need.

With a last slow thrust he was already deep inside you, leaning against the podium almost breathless. You tensed beneath the pressure, your breath catching as he pushed even further, unaware that his size had its limits on you.

“Ah— I… I love you,” you managed to gasp, the words trembling out of you, unsteady and breathless.

Your body was still adjusting, still trying to adapt to the full size of him.

“Again, sweetheart,” he demanded, his voice struggling to stay calm, but the desperation was unmistakable beneath the surface.

He wasn’t sure how much he would last, but he would make sure you enjoyed every last bit of it. And in the mean time, he would claim you in a way that felt permanent. After all, what mattered most to him was that you were already his, completely and without question.

To prove this, one hand settled firmly over your restrained wrists, holding you in place as though you were something he intended to claim. The other one held the podium tightly to give him more stability as he moved against you slowly, each shift in pressure calculated to test you. Not just your body, but your desire for him, as if he were still unsure of how much you craved him.

“Say it... my love,” he gasped, his movements growing faster each time you said those sweet words he craved more than anything.

“I love aah—” you said, your words turning into a breathless moan before you could finish the sentence, your body responding to the force of each thrust.

The hand that held your restrained wrist moved to your back, lifting your shirt with urgency, his fingers pressing into your skin as he took in the sight of you, relishing in the vulnerability you couldn’t hide anymore.

“Yes…ah, m-my love,” he gasped between moans, his voice trembling with desperate need, no longer concerned with masking how you made him feel.

His breath came in uneven bursts, shaking against your neck as he fought to maintain the same pace. It was clear he was already close, the erratic movements of his hips betraying the intensity building within him. It was also obvious by how his hands gripped the podium, both to push himself deeper and to give him something to hold onto as he claimed you.

“Tenna...” you exhaled his name, barely able to catch your breath.

Each movement brought you closer to the edge, every sensation sharpening as it rose from the background, no longer ignored but felt in full all at once.

The silk of his tie dragged across your bare skin with each thrust, the coolness of the fabric contrasting with the heat of your body.

The wet sounds of his skin slapping against yours filled the silence of the stage, transforming it into something deeply intimate.

Even the soft glow of the camera’s red light stirred something in you, the thought of watching this in the future sending a shiver down your spine. Maybe even with him…

His grip tightened on the podium, fingers digging into the wood as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded, even though he was already lost in you, completely drowning in the experience he had kept buried for so long.

He hadn’t expected it to feel this good. No. Nothing in his fantasies came close. This wasn’t just pleasure… it was his purpose. You were his purpose. You were everything he’d ever craved, suffered for, and obsessed over. And now you were here, trembling for him like a desperate, whimpering mess, begging to him to fuck you like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

“Ahh, fuck!” he moaned through gritted teeth, past the point of sweet words, lost in the moment.

His movements grew sloppier, but he still took a firm hold of the podium as if his body wasn’t trembling with the weight of his own need to release. You could feel the shift in him, the way he fought to maintain composure, but it was clear he was losing that battle with each passing second he thrusted into you.

“Tenna,” you caught his attention, savoring the moment before speaking. “I love you.”

“Fuck o-oh….off,” he chuckled between moans, his voice laced with amusement, clearly enjoying the way you played with his desires, knowing exactly how to push him to the edge.

That sparked a surge of confidence in him. The way you toyed with control only made him want to remind you who was in charge. Who was the one fucking you, and who was the one tied up against the podium whimpering for his huge cock.

He rose, lifting himself off you and gripping your hips with brutal force, slamming your body against his cock with a strength that felt almost inhuman.

You would have given anything for your hands to be free, to dig your nails into the podium for something to hold onto. But instead, you were forced to press them into your palms, the pain almost forgotten as his forceful thrusts drowned everything else out.

Your body tightened in response, instinctively wrapping itself around Tenna, making it harder for him to maintain his confident pace, as if your every twitch pulled him deeper into the intensity of the moment.

“AaaAHhahahah,” he moaned, or maybe laughed. It was hard to tell, but it sounded like a melody to your ears. A reminder that, despite his efforts to claim control, you were still the one holding the reins, even if he wanted to believe otherwise.

Seeing how he was getting close, you tightened your body around his throbbing cock intentionally, clearly enjoying how he struggled to keep his legs steady. He wanted to tell you to stop, but instead, his words came out as strained moans, betraying his difficulty in holding himself together.

The way your body tightened around his cock, the sound of your breath catching with every thrust, the sight of you half naked and so completely his, it overwhelmed him, and he couldn’t stop himself.

He tried to pull out before it was too late but his warm cum shot inside you, and then slid to the rest of your body, following the rhythm of his last thrusts.

Thick, white droplets shot out in your direction, splattering across your back. It clung to the small of your back and trailed down your body, coating your curves in a way that felt shamelessly erotic.

It was like his cock had a mind of its own, spreading and splashing with reckless abandon, leaving behind a trail of white and slightly embarrassing evidence.

His cock was still throbbing and some of the cum splattered across Tenna’s suit before he noticed it, leaving a trail of glossy white that contrasted against the red fabric.

What a mess. Even the edges of the podium were now covered in a slick film, a lot of white spurts that glistened in the light. A few droplets even hit the floor, bouncing softly before settling into a puddle of chaos.

You didn’t dare move at first, afraid some of it might touch the rest of your body. But curiosity got the better of you. You really wanted to see his face. So you turned carefully, avoiding the white puddle on the podium to get a better look at him.

But before you could even get a glimpse of the state he was in, he collapsed against you. His full weight pressed down on you now, making it genuinely hard to breathe.

“My… m-my… dear,” Tenna said between deep breaths.

Each time he drew in air with whatever passed for lungs in him, it pressed you harder against the podium.

“That was… amazing.”

“Tenna,” you cried, trying to push yourself up, but his body still weighed heavily on you, even as it began to shrink.

“My sweetest love,” he whispered tenderly, completely unaware of your struggle.

He pulled you closer into his embrace, tightening his arms around you lovingly, making it even harder to breathe.

“Tenna!” you protested, surprised that you managed to lift him even slightly despite how heavy he felt.

“Oh!” Tenna quickly straightened up, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his face. “I’m sorry, sweetheart… I didn’t realize.”

He rushed to untie the ropes, quickly turning you around as soon as they fell away. You stretched your arms, relief washing over you at the sudden freedom, only for Tenna to seize your hands before you could fully savor it, pressing them close to his face.

“I’m so in love with you,” he breathed, pressing soft kisses to your hands, nuzzling them against his narrow nose as if trying to drink in your scent. “You can’t even begin to imagine.”

“Me too…” you said, not sure if it was entirely true, but wanting to keep him in this gentle state, far from the edge of that darker side you feared.

Once he let you go, you slowly slid your hand around his waist, drawing yourself closer, unbothered by the lingering heat and the mess still clinging to your skin from the frantic intimacy you’d just shared. Tenna twitched slightly, a flicker of something like a glitch showing across his screen. Then, with a soft, lovesick sigh he wrapped his arms around you, clinging tight, as if letting go wasn’t an option.

“My sweet… m-my sweetest, dearest little loving... sweet beatiful creature,” he blurted, the words tripping over each other like his heart couldn’t keep up with his mouth.

For a moment, it hit you just how close he’d come to short circuiting. His screen flickered intermittently, and you could see the faintest tendril of smoke curling from it. Despite everything, he remained functional, even tender. His fingers traced the line of your damp temple with care, a lazy smile tugging at his lips, softened by exhaustion.

“I’ll hold you and love you and squeeze you aaaaaaand…” he paused, pulling back just enough to see the face he adored, now glowing in the soft afterglow of sex, “…you’ll be mine. Only mine. We’ll be happy and we’ll never fight again. We’ll be the couple everyone dreams of. Forever and ever. Together. Just you and me.”

Oh my fucking fuck.

I hope this is a joke, Tenna.

#undertale #deltarune chapter 3 #tenna x reader #tenna deltarune #utdr

62 notes · View notes

yukioos · 2 days ago

Note

hiii I absolutely adore ur fics!

could u mabye write a lil somthing on Shinsou with a partner who’s chronically ill?

(Heat fatigued, flare ups, dizziness, extreme body pain, etc)

hitoshi with a chronically ill partner

hitoshi’s pays a lot of attention to you, so he can tell when you begin to get heat fatigued

when you start to slack in your movements in hot temperatures, and you aren’t as fast with your moves during training, he’ll take you away under a tree so you can hopefully cool down

because of your heat fatigue, he always carries extra water bottles with him, and always double checks that you bring your water with you during training

when your muscles hurt from all the training, he’ll run them softly and do anything to ease the pain

when the two of you are training, he makes sure you aren’t going past your physical limit, sometimes pausing when he sees your face become a little pale

and when your eyes become unfocused or blurry, starting to close, then he’ll suggest you sit or lay down as you feel dizzy

when you falter and try to balance yourself from falling because everything is spinning, he’ll rush to your aid to help, often giving you some water to drink as you take a break on a nearby bench

sometimes he’ll draw you a bath when you’re in extreme pain, occasionally asking todoroki to make some ice so you can apply it to the area that’s hurting

hitoshi also gets you medication that helps your pain, although most of the time he stores it with him, whether it’s in his backpack or in the pockets of his hero costume

overall, he’s very patient with you and does whatever he can to help with your illness

hii!! thank you for requesting this, and i’m so glad u love my writing! hope this was good

82 notes · View notes

demie90s · 19 hours ago

Note

Reader and Angel were each other’s first love in college but broke up when Angel went pro. Years later, they run into each other at a charity event—both successful, both changed, both still clearly hurting. Angel pulls reader aside and quietly asks, “Do you ever regret walking away… or just regret that I let you?” The spark’s still there, but so is the pain.

History

Angel Reese x Fem!Reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: Years after their quiet, painful breakup, Angel and you reunite at a charity event. Both have grown. Both have healed—somewhat. But the spark never left, and neither did the ache.

Word Count: ~ 1.2k

Genre: Second chance, angst, slow burn, emotional tension

Warnings: emotional intimacy, bittersweet memories, slow pacing

I hadn’t seen her in almost three years, but I knew that frame the second she walked in.

Long legs, chin high, diamond necklace catching the light as she laughed—her whole presence still magnetic like I remembered.

Angel Reese, number five on the court, number one in every headline. But before all that, she was just my girl. My first love. My everything.

I watched from across the room, pretending to sip from my champagne flute as she made her rounds. She looked happy. Or at least… she looked like someone who knew how to wear happiness well.

The kind that was curated, practiced, press-trained. I’d studied that kind of polish in the industry for years now—working with models, artists, walking egos and broken girls alike. I knew what hiding in plain sight looked like. And maybe I was projecting. But when her eyes finally met mine, the way they widened told me she saw it too.

Neither of us moved at first. Just… staring. The kind of stare you feel in your ribs. The kind that makes your throat close. She took a slow breath. So did I. Then, almost cautiously, she started walking toward me.

God, she was beautiful.

“Wow,” she said, the word leaving her lips like it had weight. Her voice was lower now. More control in it. But still Angel. “You look… damn.”

I laughed before I could stop it, nervous and quiet. “You too,” I managed, still clutching the stem of my glass too tightly. “I—how are you?”

She didn’t answer right away. She tilted her head like she was still trying to believe I was real. “Been busy,” she said. “Chicago… media, playoffs. You know how it is.”

I nodded. “Yeah. I’ve seen.”

“You’ve been doing your thing too,” she added quickly, almost like she didn’t want to give me a chance to humble it down. “I saw your Vogue feature. That shoot with Anok and Zaya? That was fire. I was like—‘She really out here changing the game.’”

That made me smile for real. She still remembered the way to say things that hit my chest first. “Thank you,” I said softly. “It means a lot. Coming from you.”

The room felt too loud. Too hot. People buzzed past us—publicists, stylists, agents, fake friends in heels. But it was like a silent current pulled just the two of us to the side. Somewhere quieter. Away from the clinking of glasses and curated laughter. Angel didn’t ask. She just walked, and I followed. Because I always did.

We ended up outside on a terrace. Just city air, warm lights, and that hum between us.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” she said, leaning on the stone railing. Her nails tapped lightly against the edge. “I wouldn’t have come if I’d known.”

That stung a little. “Damn. That bad?”

She sighed, shaking her head. “No, I just—I wouldn’t have known what to do.”

I stepped beside her. Not too close. But not far. “You still don’t,” I whispered.

She looked at me then. Really looked. Like I’d peeled something back without warning. “You think about it?” she asked. “Us?”

My heart kicked. I tried not to let it show. “I don’t stop.”

Angel looked down for a second, jaw flexing, like she was biting back years. When she finally spoke, her voice was almost raw. “Do you ever regret walking away… or just regret that I let you?”

I didn’t have a good answer. Because neither of us had walked, not really. Life just… moved. Faster than we expected. She went pro. I stayed back, focused on my grind, told myself I’d catch up later. But later kept slipping away.

“I regret everything we didn’t say,” I admitted. “I regret that we let silence win.”

Angel nodded slowly, eyes wet but unreadable. “I used to replay our mornings. That little corner cafe you loved. The way you’d hum when you were picking out outfits. I’d play whole conversations in my head when I couldn’t sleep.”

“I thought I was the only one.”

She laughed under her breath, but it cracked in the middle. “You weren’t.”

A long beat passed. The kind that stretches time, lets you sit inside it.

I turned to face her fully. “So what now?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m scared. I’ve been scared. We both got big lives now. People watching. Pressure. Schedules. I can’t do another heartbreak. Not like that.”

“Me either.”

“But,” she said, stepping just a little closer. “You still make me feel like I’m nineteen and nothing else matters.” That broke something soft in me.

“You wanna be honest?” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “You still make me feel like home.”

She just stood there, looking like everything I wanted and everything I was afraid of. I didn’t reach for her either. Not yet. But we were here. Finally. And maybe that was enough for now.

We weren’t healed. We weren’t whole. But we were still us. Somehow, after all this time… that still meant something.

We didn’t rush it. Even though every part of me wanted to.

I could’ve kissed her right there on that terrace. Could’ve said come home with me, and I know she would’ve. Hell, she might’ve said it first. But something about the way we looked at each other—that long, loaded silence—said don’t ruin it this time.

Instead, we just stood there, shoulder to shoulder, letting the air carry the weight of what we didn’t say out loud.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” she said finally, voice low like a secret. “Not again.”

“You’re not the only one scared,” I admitted. “I think I’m still holding my breath from the last time.”

She turned to me slowly, a small smile pulling at the corner of her lips. “So what if we take our time? Not fall into it. Build it. Like something we earned.”

I nodded. “Like a story we write on purpose.”

Her pinky brushed mine. Just that. A soft, accidental-almost-intentional touch. But I felt it everywhere.

It was crazy—how something that once felt like a wildfire now felt more like a candle we were both protecting from the wind.

Not because the fire wasn’t there. But because we knew how hard it had been to relight it.

“I still love you,” Angel said quietly. “I never stopped. I just… stopped saying it out loud.”

I didn’t freak. Just looked her in the eye, chest warm and eyes tired from missing her for too long.

“I know,” I whispered. “Me too.” Maybe that was the beginning. Not a second chance, not really. More like the first real one.

The one where we weren’t kids trying to hold onto something too big for our hands. Now we had the hands. And the hearts. And the lessons.

So we walked back into the event like nothing had changed. But everything had. No one else knew it but us.

We didn’t kiss that night. We didn’t sleep together. We just texted when we got home. Called the next day. Saw each other that weekend.

And slowly—deliberately—we let the fairytale unfold. This time, page by page.Like the kind of love you only get once,

if you’re lucky enough to find it again.

@letsnowtalk @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264 @yorubagirlsworld @daffodil-darlings @h4untedghOul @followthesvn @hibiscusblu @sevikasleftbicep @swiftie4evr @babyphatbrat @sivensblog @beeop223 @huntedghOul @tpwkrosalinda @lightsgore @em-nems @salemsuccss @villain-ryuk @ihrtsarahstrOng @liyahh037 @sillystarv @somedetailsinthefabric @essence-134340 @mochelisgf @soph1asticated @heheievidbri @unvswrld @breezybellab @planet-ghoulborne @art-ofmusic @toorealrai

65 notes · View notes