#I’m slowing catching up with Patreon posts on here | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jarofstyles · 6 months

Text

Illicit

Hello my loves! Welcome to the first part of our next mini series we've been working on behind the scenes. The next 2 parts are available immediately on Patreon now, but will be updated here in the next few weeks!

Patreon

Warnings- cheating ( WITH y/n), Asshole Harry, I hate everyone but her, old money/wealth, toxic relationship dynamic, harry is mean and will be mean but not to Y/N lmao, smut

WC- 2.4k

------------

Harry had just finished cleaning himself of cum as his phone rang.

It was his girlfriend. ‘Girlfriend’, really, because this wasn’t a real relationship. Not in his mind, anyways.

“What?” His voice was a sharp whip, already annoyed that the post orgasm bliss had been interrupted by Katherine. Y/N was sitting next to him, her leg thrown over his thigh as fingers traced over his chest, absentminded circles pausing when she heard his attitude already. Her brow raised as he lifted the phone to show the name on the screen, making her nod, lips turning down. That irritated him further.

“When are you coming to get me?” A voice that pierced his ears made him close his eyes, a dull throb beginning to coast down his head. “Daddy said you’re coming to the event and you were going to pick me up!”

She was huffing like a child, not wanting to wait. Realistically, he would leave in 30 minutes. Y/N would stay curled up in his bed and wait for him to come home before he took her away to one of his family cabin’s with the rest of their friend group- the ones who knew of him and Y/N. He would spend the entire night trying to think of an excuse to get back to her early, and hoping Katherine wouldn’t throw a fit about not being able to come on this ‘business trip’.

“You live with your father. Could you have not shared a ride?” His tone was icy, something Y/N had never been the recipient of. Thank god, really. As sexy as it was to hear him talk like that to other people, it would definitely make her cry. The man was intense, even he knew that, but not everyone seemed to catch on.

“Hazza! Come on.” She whined. “He already left and stopped by the office. I’m getting ready now but we have to be early for the photos!” As if that was going to help her cause. It was like the girl had a handbook on how to say the wrong things.

Harry didn’t do those stupid step and repeats. While Katherine loved being the center of attention, it wasn’t something Harry desired. In actuality, he detested it. He hated paparazzi and had broken 2 cameras from having them in his face without a second glance. No aggression, the picture of calm with pure ice on his face as he did so. If they valued their possessions, they shouldn’t be shoving them in people’s way. That’s what he thought, at least.

“I’ll be there in an hour. I’m not doing those photos. I don’t care what you do. Now stop calling me when I'm in the middle of things. You know if I don’t answer once, wait for further instruction.” He paused. “And stop calling me that childish nickname. I don’t find it cute or endearing, it’s embarrassing. Goodbye.”

There was a sharp squeak as he hung up the phone and threw it to the ground, rolling Y/N around onto her back and sliding his still sticky cock back inside of her yet again. His annoyance was clear on his face, but it quickly melted away as her arms wrapped around him and her lips covered his face with soft coos, legs pulling him in deeper. Maybe she was a bit sore, maybe his last load was still dripping out of her messy hole, but she knew exactly how the man needed to express himself.

“I know.” Her silky voice wrapped around his tension and broke it down, slow thrusts inside of her quelling the bubbling irritation in his stomach and turning it into arousal. Y/N could read his stone cold features, knew what his eye twitch meant, the simple movement of a brow or the tiniest down or upturn of lip. This magnificent woman seemed to have him all figured out, and he felt like shit for having to leave and be seen with another woman. “I know, baby. Only a few more months.” Fingers stroked his hair back, guiding his lips to her own.

He kissed her back, eyes squeezing shut as he allowed himself to lose the anger that had developed by focusing on her. The heat of her cunt wrapped up tight around him, snug. Fitting him perfectly, just as it always had. Y/N was the one he had wanted to take to these things, but he had to wait. For once, his patience wasn’t being practiced.

The best thing in his life had to be hidden from most people, all because he had taken a stupid deal. He had to go out with the girl who thought she was going to be the next Mrs.Styles, while all he wanted to do was stay nestled in his luxury sheets with Y/N’s soft, supple body to worship.

It was all his fault, though.

He had always been ambitious. Ruthless, some may say, but he knew that to a degree he could be cruel to get what he wanted. That was how had been raised. His father had put that right into his head, doing anything for success, power, money… that’s how he ended up in this situation.

In order to secure the deal of a lifetime, he had agreed to date the man’s daughter. Maybe that sounded cruel, but he knew the intentions from the get go. The man was using his conventionally pretty, high society daughter to try and sweeten the deal- but he knew the true motivation. An attempt to get him into the family and continue having control of the company through his daughter’s supposed relationship with him. If only he had been smarter, if he had done more research. He would know he was sending a sacrificial lamb right into Harry’s awaiting lion jaws.

See, she had been no stranger to him. Katherine had been after him for quite a while. They were acquainted to a certain degree, running in similar circles and society dinners. The crush, more so the obsession she had with Harry had been no secret to anyone. She claimed to have been in love with him, but Harry knew what it truly was. A lust for money. An infatuation with the power he could secure her. She loved what Harry could represent for her, not only to secure place in the society she had been thrown into as she grew up- but to elevate it. She knew the score, knew what Harry’s ring could mean.

Katherine knew nothing of his true personality, his likes, his dislikes, his jokes. All of those things were reserved for the tiniest selection of people that she only knew of in passing. His real friends barely touched that superficial, vapid, bitter world. Katherine’s family was new money, looking to secure their place in society. Harry’s wealth went in decades, and it would most likely stay that way. Her vying for his attention didn’t shock him in the slightest.

The condition of dating Katherine for at least a year had been one he had wanted to scoff at, one he had wanted to tell Mr. Eugene Brant that it would be obvious what it was, but he was smart enough to bite his tongue and agree. Playing stupid was a superpower, letting him think he got one over on Harry and vastly overestimating his daughter’s appeal. One year of being toted around with her overly big smile and his signature scowl on his face hadn’t been an issue. It was something he would merely go through the motions of until the exact year was up and she would be out of his life.

At least, it hadn’t been until he met Y/N.

The first woman who had ever captured his heart and soul. Softened the edges of his razor sharp glare.

She hadn’t wanted to give him the time of day once she realized he had been flirting whilst not single. She hadn’t known the deceptive relationship and it hadn’t been her fault, but that didn’t mean Harry was going to leave well enough alone. Even after she had dumped her Shirley temple on his brand new pure cotton button up.

If anything, it made him want her more.

One thing about Harry? He was going to get what he wanted. He would bet anything on it. He was patient, stubborn, and fixated. Checking guest lists to see if she’d be in attendance to parties, see if she was going to hang out with his friend group, he was on the prowl to get her to talk again.

She had blocked his number already- he didn’t really have a chance to explain. He understood why, but that didn’t mean he was going to give up.

When he finally did have the shot to tell her the relationship was a hoax, she was still doubtful. Dubious looks sent his way as he had pulled them into a private room of the club they were at- one his father owned, funnily enough- his hand holding hers as he sat beside her to plead his case. He was strong and defiant, insisting that it was a means to an end and there was no clause saying he couldn’t date other people- but he would like to get to know her on a real level.

Against her better judgment, Y/N had fallen for the soft green eyes, the soft looking lips with the sharp cupid's bow and his even sharper tongue. Giving him one date was all he needed to get her on board.

Fidelity wasn’t a term in the contract he had signed. Stupid, stupid mistake on Brant’s part. A new money, no lawyer to look over, a hasty mistake that would most definitely come to bite him in the ass. Harry hadn’t honored fidelity in the slightest even before he met Y/N. Sex was an outlet for him, as was the gym, things that were pleasurable and stress relieving. He’d only slept with Katherine a handful of times, tapering that off when he saw it made her get more and more attached. She had obviously known Harry had a reputation and while the sex had been alright, there hadn’t been much to his benefit besides the fact that she swallowed his load.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t that hard to find willing participants.

Sex with Y/N had completely rocked his world. He thinks, in part, it was because they had a real connection. She made him wait, she made him work his way up to that if he wanted- and made him stop sex with anyone else. As if he had any interest in anyone else. Y/N had taken up the majority of his brain that wasn’t filled with revenue and contracts and contacts and emails. She was his escape.

The first time they had sex, Harry had fallen for her. There was no question in his mind. Despite being positive that he wouldn’t ever marry for love, Y/N had him questioning that. She had flipped his entire world view upside down, made him weak in the knees.

Y/N wasn’t in the public eye. Her family had some elite ties, but she was friends with a lot of the quietly wealthy people who didn’t feel the need to showcase it to everyone who looked with tacky labels and monograms. She’d gotten into one of the best schools, gotten her degree and continued her friendship with her roommates and best friends- who just happened to be the girlfriends of some of his best mates. The real ones. There were only a few single members of the groups, and Y/N had been the new blood that had people wondering. Harry had been interested immediately.

It was about 4 months into their relationship and everything still felt fantastic. Y/N knew more about Harry than anyone else ever could. She was the one with the key to the future, even if she didn’t know the exact depths his feelings went to.

“I don’t want to go.” His lips parted from hers. “I want to stay here… want to stay buried inside of you, want to feed you your chocolate and lick it from your tongue.” Inhaling his words, she moaned as his hips rolled and he found his home back at her most sensitive spot. He had spent hours finding it, claiming it, and he knew it was his. “Spent all week working… I just want my sweet Angel.”

Noses brushed against one another, Y/N’s bleary eyes opening up to look at his own. Hazy, dark green, hooded. She gently dragged her nails over his shoulder blades, arching up into him and pressed a bit harder on the skin to make him moan in surprise. “You have me, Harry.” She whispered. “You have me now. Leave with my traces on your cock… then come back and take more. We leave tomorrow… and you can hold me how you like. Kiss me. Our friends don’t care. They’ll keep our secret.” Even if it was forbidden, their tight knit group knew exactly what the relationship between Harry and Katherine really was- and none really liked her. They knew Y/N made him happy, softened him up, they’d all been rooting for this. Their safe space. The only ones who knew.

“She won’t ever have me.” He reassured. “I’m yours. I want your marks on me.” Breathing harder, his thrusts getting a bit more deep. “Make me bleed. C’mon, my sweet girl. Paid for those nails… give me what I want.” Her cunt quivered around his prick, making him smile. She pretended not to like that sort of thing, but she got them done specifically for this. To quench his thirst for pain, for marks. They loved it. “She’ll never have me like this. I’m yours.” He whimpered, the freak of the bed and their noises filling the room. “M’yours, baby. My sweet Angel… stay in my bed and wait for me. I’ll give you everything. Just wait for me.”

She would. She would wait for him, to be his fully, as long as it took.

1K notes · View notes

smileysuh · 10 months

Text

Sunday Sinner TEASER

🌙 staring. Mark & Donghyuck x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “Everything is wrong,” Mark sighs. “Doing this with you two is wrong. Wanting you this badly is wrong. Getting hard in Church is wrong. What I want to do to you is wrong. But… as crazy as it sounds, it also feels right.”

tw/cw. threesomes, inexperienced!Mark, fingering, blow jobs, deep throating, pussy eating, spit roasting, voyeurism, lots of masturbation (especially in the shower), Hyuck has a dirty mouth, sin sin sin, unprotected sex, creampies, cum play, kink for being 'full', religious contention, Mark gets hard during Sunday Service, Mark getting outed as low key virgin, proposition, Mark uses a cross necklace in sinful ways, praise, slight degradation, corruption kink, squirting, multiple sex scenes, etc… I pet names: (hers) angel. (Mark's) church boy.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 12.6k

🍭 aus.frat/uni au, soccer player au, church/inexperienced!Mark, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I've wanted to do a fic about Mark being Christian for a while, but I wanted to make one that was still respectful. This idea popped into my head, and I think it turned out really well :) it's only slight blasphemy.

“I think…” Mark swallows the lump in his throat. “I think we should do this.”

“Really?” you ask while Hyuck lets out a loud “What?!”

“You’re both right… maybe it will be good for me.” Mark can’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth. “But- I’m not sure what I’m even ready for.”

“We can go slow,” you assure him, squeezing his hand. “Anything you’re comfortable with.”

Mark looks up at you. “Can I… can I kiss you?”

Hyuck scoffs loudly, but it’s an afterthought in Mark’s mind when you nod, reaching up to cup his face. “You can kiss me,” you tell him softly.

Mark’s free hand reaches out to grab your waist, and he moves closer. He can feel your breath on his face. He’s never been this up close and personal with you, and you’ve never been prettier. There’s a softness in your expression, an acceptance, and it makes Mark feel confident enough to press his lips to yours.

It’s a gentle kiss - a perfect kiss - and Mark can feel the tension releasing in his shoulders.

You step even closer, and your breasts press against his chest, your arms wrapping around the back of his neck. Your tongue smooths over his bottom lip and Mark stifles a groan, opening his mouth just enough for his own tongue to meet yours.

He can count the number of girls he’s kissed during his life on one hand, including you, but none of them have happened like this. Mark had never imagined he’d end up in this situation before, and despite the calming effect you have on him, he still finds himself pulling away and struggling to catch his breath.

“I want to touch you,” he admits, in fact, he’s been thinking about it all day.

“Yeah?” There’s a sparkle in your eye and you smile at him. “Where?”

Mark can’t bring himself to say it.

Read the fic here now

☀️ to read the full fic AND 2k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

👹 or wait till the fic is posted on tumblr on Saturday, July 8th

🔮 see what’s already available to read on my m.list

Tumblr has a tag limit of 50 people so I’ll do my best to tag those who interact with reblogs, but likes will not guarantee a spot- if you really want to see this fic, reply, reblog with a tag, or follow me, and hopefully it will pop up on your dash on Saturday July 8th

#nct #nct smut #mark lee #mark lee smut #haechan #haechan smut #lee donghyuck #lee donghyuck smut #markhyuck #markhyuck smut #nct dream #nct dream smut #mark nct #nct mark #nct mark smut #haechan nct #nct haechan #nct haechan smut

391 notes · View notes

kittenofdoomage · 2 years

Text

Confronting The Past

Summary: You’ve made a home on Earth after signing the Accords as a condition of your sanctuary but there are some things you cannot leave in the past (set some time after Civil War and before Ragnarok but isn’t entirely canon compliant)

Pairing: Thor Odinson x female!short!Asgardian!reader

Word Count: 4051

Warnings: Angst, feelings perceived as unrequited, grief, fluff, childhood-friends-to-lovers, heartbreak, I’m sorry this got long, soft smut (oral sex - f receiving - and penetrative sex), bittersweet ending

Ao3 Link (most of my works can be found here)

Tumblr Masterlist (a small selection of fics posted here)

Patreon (early access and option to request fics)** this story was previously posted on Patreon in 2021.

The air crackled as you reached for the top shelf, fingers barely getting halfway. You slumped back down at the realization you couldn’t lay a hand on the last box of pop tarts but the disappointment was quickly squashed by the sense that you were not alone in the aisle. Turning slowly, your eyes widened as they landed on him, taking in the casual way he was dressed, and how different he looked since you’d last seen him. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, blond strands framing his face, slightly lighter than the thick stubble that covered his jaw. The last time you had laid eyes on him, he was in full battle-dress, a stark contrast to the faded denim and black t-shirt he was presented in this time.

“I was under the impression you would be hard to find, Lady Y/N,” Thor murmured, approaching you as if you could attack at any moment. You remained still, shocked at the sight of him, following his hand as it reached up behind you and easily scooped your prize from the top shelf. “I guess I know you a little better than Natasha does.”

“What -” Your voice came out squeaky, so you paused, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Stark informed me that you had accepted sanctuary on Earth,” he said softly, placing the pop tarts in your hand. “That you signed the Accords.”

“It was either that or return to Asgard,” you shrugged. “And we both know I’m not welcome there.”

“There are other worlds,” he pointed out.

You smirked at him, dropping the sweet treat into your cart. “None with pop tarts.” With a glance over your shoulder at him, you pushed on. “I should have known you would find me.” He began to follow as you strolled down to the next aisle. “Though I’m surprised it took so long. Losing your touch?”

Thor chuckled deeply. “You haven’t lost your sharp tongue, my lady.”

Sighing heavily, you slowed to a stop, turning to look at him. He paused only a few inches away, blue stormy eyes boring into yours. “Why did you come here, Thor?”

For a moment, he appeared confused, eyebrows drawing together in a frown. You waited, one hand on the cart, the other limp at your side.

“We did not part on good terms,” he muttered, suddenly breaking eye contact. “Not a day has passed that I have not thought about you.”

You snorted, turning abruptly to continue on, pushing the cart with a little more force than necessary. Thor stalled for a moment before following, rushing to catch up and walk beside you.

“Y/N, stop -”

“No,” you ground out, keeping your eyes ahead, fingers curled so tightly around the handle of the cart that the metal began to warp.

“Y/N -”

Your temper flared and you turned to face him, feeling the rage burning through your veins. “What do you want from me?” you yelled, attracting the attention of other late night shoppers. A few paused, one or two pulled out cameras, obviously recognizing the significantly more famous face you were shouting at.

Thor’s eyes darted around, a concerned expression developing, and the heat in your blood simmered, rationality taking over.

“This is not the appropriate place for this,” you grunted bitterly.

“Then perhaps we could discuss this somewhere more private?” he suggested hopefully.

A wry smile tugged at your lips. “We both know that would be a very stupid idea.”

“I promise, Y/N,” he said quietly but firmly. “I only wish to explain myself. To apologize.”

You stared at him, chewing the inside of your cheek as you considered his request. The possibility of a physical altercation of any kind was highly likely when you thought back over every other encounter you’d ever had with him. Thor was a flame, and you were the moth, drawn to him at every single turn, but curiosity was pushing you to accept his request.

Finally, you sighed and nodded. “Would you prefer to drive with me, or are you going to…” You finished the sentence by flinging your hand up in a flying motion, and Thor grinned.

“I will accompany you,” he chuckled.

“Great,” you replied, teeth gritted. “Good thing I’m almost done.”

It only took another thirty minutes to get through the rest of your shopping and that was with being derailed by two young ladies who had recognized and begged Thor for a selfie, which he seemed happy to indulge. You ignored the interaction, stalking off with your purchased items and leaving him to catch up in the parking lot.

“Let me,” he requested as you opened the trunk, and you happily stepped back, allowing him to load the few bags into the car as you climbed into the driver’s seat. In the rearview, you watched him return the cart with a friendly wave to the guy stacking them.

The whole car shuddered and sank under his weight when he got in beside you, his huge frame awkwardly hunched in your little compact. Unlike most Asgardians, you were small in stature, though it didn’t diminish your inhuman strength, and only increased your speed. You waited until he was buckled in, trying not to stare at the way the belt sat snug between his pecs, pulling his shirt tight across them.

“To your home, I presume?” he asked, and you nodded, unwilling to talk with such a suddenly dry mouth.

You didn’t live far from the grocery store. Part of your agreement with the American government was a small stipend each month which allowed you to live in relative solitude, though it required you make yourself available to them - a clause they had not yet called into play.

“This is it,” you muttered, pulling into the driveway. You didn’t wait for any acknowledgment, climbing out and heading to the trunk to retrieve your bags. Thor followed, and the car raised several inches as he climbed out, making you smirk in amusement. Once again, he insisted on shouldering all the burden so you simply shrugged and headed for the front door, keys in hand.

It was a modest little house, one you’d worked hard to make comfortable over the last year. The few possessions you had managed to carry with you from Asgard were scattered among other curiosities you had gathered in your new home, along with shelves upon shelves of books. Your living room resembled more of a library than a home, but you were happy with it, and it wasn’t like you had frequent visitors to entertain.

The only people you’d seen in the last year were government agents following up on your end of the deal, making sure you were remaining out of trouble.

Trouble seemed to have found you after all.

“It is… nice,” Thor announced as he loitered in the doorway, surveying your humble little home. His head was only an inch or two off of scraping the doorframe, and he looked ridiculously out of place, but you couldn’t help feeling a little proud of the life you’d built and glad that he could see that you were very capable of surviving on your own.

“Thank you,” you replied, gesturing to the kitchen. “You wanna put those on the table?”

He nodded and continued on with the bags, placing them atop the large oak table that dominated your small kitchen. “Your voice is different,” he commented quietly.

“Just trying to blend in,” you forced out, grabbing for the first bag. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“I’m fine.”

“I need to put all this stuff away,” you sighed. “Why don’t you go make yourself comfortable in the living room?” He glanced back the way he’d come and you smirked. “Just through there.” His sheepish smile made your grin grow unbidden, but when his back turned and he disappeared through the hall into the lounge, you dropped your elbows onto the table and covered your face with your hands. “What am I doing?” you groaned quietly, digging your fingertips into your temples.

You just had to be firm with him. Whatever explanation he had for what he did, it didn’t change things. He had chosen a human over you, and his father had banished you for your part in their plot to save the same human. Thor had only watched as Odin stripped you of your very identity and stranded you on Midgard. In the two years since that had happened, you’d put that betrayal behind you, rebuilt yourself and your life, albeit a lonely one, and you were damned if Thor was going to destroy any of that.

It didn’t take long to get the groceries away but you took an extra few moments to make yourself some tea, carrying it through to the living room with you. Thor hadn’t made himself comfortable on the couch, not that you’d expected him to; he was standing by the large ornate bookcase in the corner that stretched from floor to ceiling, thumbing through a book. You tilted your head to catch the title, smiling in amusement when you saw it was one of your Norse mythology tomes.

“Some of the things they got wrong about us are hilarious,” you commented, sliding into your favorite spot on the couch. Thor looked up with a grin, closing the book, replacing it on the shelf with the others. “And it’s remarkably easy to pretend to be a professor of mythology when you lived through most of the legends.”

“Is that what you do with your time?”

You shrugged, lifting your tea to blow across the surface. “Only a few hours a week. It’s entertaining.”

Thor’s grin didn’t fade and he moved to the big armchair opposite you, dropped one meaty hand to the top, assessing it quickly to make sure it would hold his weight. He sat slowly, keeping his eyes on you. “My father was wrong to banish you,” he said softly. “And I am sorry that I did not speak up for you.”

Keeping your composure, you leaned forward, placing your tea on the low table between you. “I made my peace with that,” you replied coolly. “I knew it was a possibility when I helped you and Jane escape.”

His eyebrows drew together again in confusion. “I must admit, I’m confused,” he confessed. “Why are you so displeased to see me if you have forgiven my betrayal?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “It amazes me that you have lived over a thousand years and you are still so clueless.”

“Enlighten me,” he requested gently, leaning his arms on his knees.

“I’m not sure that would be wise,” you chuckled dryly. “If you do not know by now how I feel, then I fear there is little hope.”

He looked surprised at your choice of words. “How you… feel?”

Sighing again, you leaned heavily on the couch arm, propping your chin on your knuckles. “Do you remember when we first met?”

“Of course,” he laughed. “Your mother was handmaiden to mine. We used to play together in the gardens.”

“We grew up together,” you mused quietly. “Trained together. We became adults together, fought together… we…” Your throat dried a little at the recollection of the more intimate times you’d shared, young stolen moments in the back halls and chambers of the palace. “All that time, and you believed we were only friends? Was that all it was for you?”

Clarity descended on his face, astonishment widening his eyes.

“It’s funny,” you continued, “I always imagined it would be the Lady Sif I lost your heart to. But I suppose… if I never had your heart at all, then how could I lose it?” Your chest felt tight as you shifted to pick up your tea again, sipping it delicately, avoiding his gaze. “When you chose Jane, when you left me to your father’s mercy, I accepted my fate. And I have tried to move on.”

“Did you succeed?”

The question threw you and you looked at him sharply.

“I thought I did.”

Thor was quiet for a moment, watching you as you gripped the porcelain cup in your hands tightly, hoping the shaking in your fingers wasn’t too obvious. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, watching the blue storm in his gaze, remembering other times when he looked at you with such intensity.

“I was a fool,” he said suddenly.

You broke eye contact, putting your cup down again. “Maybe,” you whispered. “Maybe we both were.”

“You were never a fool, Y/N,” he murmured softly. “You were always my dearest friend.”

The comment stung and you looked away, trying to ignore the tears gathering in your eyes as you waited for the ultimate rebuttal, waited for him to tell you that he had never felt the same need for you as you had for him.

He moved then, taking to his knee in front of you, reaching for your hands as you met his gaze with watery eyes. “But I… I was such a fool. To believe that I belonged anywhere but with you.” You sniffed, choking back a sob as he smiled and lifted one hand to wipe away an escaped tear.

“You belong on Asgard,” you stuttered. “I no longer do.”

“What if I could change that?”

You paused, staring at him in shock before shaking your head. “No. I do not wish to return to a people that shunned me. There is no one left there that I care about.” Tugging your hands free, your expression turned to stone as you looked at him. “And I know you would not stay. You have a purpose, Thor. We both know your journey does not end with me.”

“Then come with me,” he urged. “Fight with me.”

Shaking your head again, you pushed him away, getting to your feet. “It would break the agreement I have with the people of this planet.”

“You wish to stay here?” he asked, standing and watching as you crossed the room to the fireplace, putting distance between you. “Why?”

“I have fought in a thousand battles,” you exhaled, leaning one arm on the wooden mantelpiece. “I have lost family, friends, my home… this place, this existence, it may seem small to you, but it’s mine, and I am not subject to the grief and gravity of any position. I built this… this is my home now, Thor.” You met his gaze again, trying not to let your trembling become apparent, nor to let your resolve crumble. “Would you really wish for me to give that up?”

He was silent, and you nodded, requiring nothing more as an answer. Pushing away from the fireplace, you approached him slowly, lifting one hand to take hold of his.

“I will always love you, Thor Odinson,” you whispered, lacing your fingers through his. “But our paths meet in fleeting circumstance and you know you cannot stay.”

You went to pull away but he suddenly tightened his hand, holding you in place. When you looked up at him with a puzzled expression, he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a soft and gentle kiss that stole your breath away. For a moment, you indulged the buried need for him, letting it blossom as he continued to deepen the caress. When he pulled away, you were panting, clinging to his hand like it was your very last hope.

“I cannot stay,” he admitted quietly. “And you are right there are things I have yet to do. Something is coming and our people are in danger, and I would not be able to rest knowing I have done nothing. But I cannot leave until…”

“Until?” you prompted, when seconds ticked by without a resolution to his words.

His lips twitched into a smile, his free hand cupping your jaw. “Until I know I can come back.”

You almost sagged against him, clinging to his shirt with one hand, the other still contained in his larger fingers. “Thor…”

“My Lady Y/N,” he purred back, coaxing you into another kiss that you willingly accepted. The need you’d allowed to surface was becoming all-consuming, mixing with the need to have him return to you, to ease your loneliness in the life you’d chosen. A hope you’d carried for over a millennium burned brighter with each stroke of his tongue over yours, and your fingers twisted in his shirt as you tried to get closer to him.

“Would you stay tonight?” you asked nervously, pulling away only a fraction.

He smiled, nodding lightly. “I will stay a while,” he murmured, dropping a chaste kiss to your lips in between words.

“Then let me show you the bedroom,” you whispered with a slightly shy look, tugging on his hand to lead him to the stairs at the back of the house. He looked almost comical in the small hallways, his large breadth meaning his shoulders nearly brushed each wall as you guided him up to the second floor of your small house. The bedroom took up most of the space up there, with a bathroom occupying the last few square feet.

He didn’t waste time once you were inside the open area, pulling you into another eager embrace, kissing away each nerve and reservation until your resolve was utterly obliterated. You found yourself half-naked before him, rectifying that by almost tearing his shirt in your hurry to even the score.

“I can get you more clothes,” you giggled, dissolving into moans when his hand found its way under the waistband of your pants and underwear, thick fingers caressing you intimately. “Oh…”

Thor grinned, pushing his hand deeper until he had a single digit buried in your tight channel, stroking in exactly the right spot. You clung to his shoulders, panting as he fucked his finger into you, his eyes locked on your face as your expression dissolved with pleasure. “Do you want more?” he asked quietly.

You could only manage a nod with your bottom lip captured between your teeth but instead of increasing the stimulation, he withdrew, pulling you towards the bed. His shirt hit the floor before he turned his attention to your pants, disrobing you until you were entirely nude.

“Lie down,” he murmured, kissing you again, trailing one hand down to tease a puckered nipple. You shuddered and obeyed, sitting on the edge of the bed without taking your eyes off of him. He dropped to his knees in front of you, slipping one hand over your bare thigh, and you realized he’d asked you to lay, not sit. Leaning back, you swallowed a whimper as he pressed your legs apart, returning his fingers to your sex. It had been so long since anyone had touched you like this - human males seemed too fragile for the sort of enthusiasm you usually displayed and most of your attempts had failed miserably. The only man who had ever pleased you without concern for injury was the one touching you now, further proof, you felt, that he was the only one for you.

He was quick to penetrate you again, leaning in as his fingers filled you, dragging his tongue over the swollen pearl of nerves that made a shaky breath pass your lips. You fisted the sheets underneath you in one hand, letting the other dance over his golden locks as he began to feast on your cunt. He grunted as he devoured you, his free hand pinning your thigh to the bed as his other fingers fucked into you with a steady stroke.

“Thor,” you whined, pushing yourself further up the bed as if you could escape the unbearable pleasure building in your core. He only tightened his hold on you, and you heard the bed creak under his weight. “Thor, please -”

Pulling his mouth away abruptly, he grinned at you, withdrawing his fingers with a little more leisure and sliding them into his mouth, sucking your essence from them. “You’re still just as impatient as always.”

You smirked, pushing up onto your elbows as you watched him stand and discard his pants before he crawled up the bed, his larger frame covering yours. His knees parted your thighs, the thick heft of his cock resting heavily against your drenched sex as he drove in for another kiss.

“I missed you,” you murmured, brushing your nose against his when he broke away once more. His blue eyes seemed to shuffle through darker hues as he looked down at you, careful to hold the majority of his weight off of your body.

“And I you,” he replied. “But I will always endeavor to return to you, Y/N. I swear by all of Asgard and the Nine Realms; I belong with you.”

You wanted to say more, though it felt superfluous, but then Thor was pushing into you, filling you so completely that all you could do was cling to him. Each kiss was met with enthusiasm, and you quickly wrapped your legs around him to pull him in deeper, letting him settle in your belly with a comfortable and familiar weight. One of his hands rested on your ass, the other underneath your shoulder, and when he began to move, every cell in your body sang.

His thrusts were measured and slow but hard enough that you felt the first stirrings of climax within only minutes, digging your fingernails into his shoulders as he drove into you. You whimpered into each kiss, responding to every touch with just as much passion as he gave, desperate and unwilling to break contact with him for so much as a second. Thor seemed to share that sentiment, moving the hand under your shoulder to cradle your head, allowing him to plunder your mouth with his tongue until you were aching to breathe. Your head swam with bliss, and you could barely find the strength to cry out as the wave of pleasure dragged you under.

Thor slowed, lifting to watch you as you fell apart, keeping his strokes hard and purposeful, glancing down to witness your body accepting every inch of him. “My Queen,” he hummed, dropping his mouth to suck one hard nipple between his lips.

You smiled lazily at the quiet comment. “I’m not a Queen,” you corrected softly.

His eyes met yours, and he released your breast with a wet pop. “To me, you are.” He didn’t give you a chance to argue, sweeping you away on another round of intense kisses, rocking into you with a steady rhythm. You felt the pressure in your belly build once more, only this time, you want to feel him, all of him.

“Thor -”

“I know,” he shushed, breathless with exertion. “Kiss me.”

It wasn’t a crescendo like you’d experienced before. This time felt different, more concrete, more mature - he was promising to always return to you, even if he couldn’t stay. His oath was more binding than even the bond you’d shared as children, and you knew it would be a vow he would never break.

“Let me feel you,” he whispered, and you crashed, clinging to him as he spilled into you, eagerly accepting a last hard kiss before the both of you collapsed atop the sheets. Thor was quick to move you into a more comfortable position, holding your body firm against his as he sought out lazy, gentle kisses and caresses.

You laid still in his arms for a while, enjoying the warmth of his body, listening to his heart pound in his chest, mirroring your own heartbeat. There was a stickiness you’d have to deal with eventually, though that threw up an entirely new problem.

“You know,” you whispered, looking up at him as he gazed down at you, “I’m not sure you’re going to fit in the shower.”

He laughed, a throaty and loud noise that made you smile anew. “We’ll figure it out,” he chuckled when his mirth died down a little.

For a second, you simply stared at him, unable to voice the dozens of questions clogging your head and your heart. “And everything else?”

Thor smiled, cupping your cheek and leaning in to kiss you softly. “There is nothing we cannot conquer,” he murmured, “together.”

If you enjoyed reading this, please let me know your thoughts by either reblogging or sending an ask! Feedback is like gold to creators, we love hearing from you!

#thor odinson x reader #thor x reader #asgardian!reader #smut #fluff #angst #the three main food groups of fanfiction #mcu fanfic #marvel fanfiction #kitten writes #rhi writes

107 notes · View notes

talenlee · 4 months

Text

Decemberween 2023 — Nixie IV

Hey, you know Nixie right? I talk about her about once a year, it seems. You know, the one who likes planes. The one who likes guns. The one who watches anime and recommends I check some out. The one who contributed to my Air America article, the one who contributed to the Nicolas Cage Month Con Air article, and the one who has gotten an article multiple Decemberweens in a row now.

It’s not just because I get to use pictures from Ascendance of a Bookworm because they remind me of her.

Anyway, this year, Nixie went to China and became a pirate.

It’s been a year of the social media collapse. Twitter, the place where Nixie and I first found each other, has gone from being a sort of expected ongoing failure everyone participated in to a website that literally pays Nazis for pissing people off, and I was one of those lucky enough to be in a position to easily rip off that particular bandage and extract myself from the place. As far as I know, Nixie hasn’t.

I don’t know.

Nixie has two frontends for making things on the internet, as far as I understand it. She produces stuff on Patreon, and she makes long, long, long threads on twitter. Archiving that twitter is itself a fundamentally challenge thing because like, it’s a thing that needs a specific skill to derive it and another skill to know how to store it for access. And even then you’re not going to rely on people paying attention to what you’re saying, right? The thing Twitter had going for it was that it was a subscription service to Me that everyone could run, which meant that while you may be mixing up a potpourri of whatever immediate concerns or interests you had, the whole space was still a place you could put stuff and that stuff was in a place where other people willingly and openly checked on the regular.

Losing that is a real problem, and it means that I can’t readily point you to just ‘hey, here’s what Nixie’s been up to this year.’ I don’t have it in me to put that all together and I do run a blog where I can put together a bunch of information. Hell, you’re four hundred odd words into this post and it’s just all about how as awful as it is to admit it, I owe Twitter for introducing me to Nixie, and even if I don’t need it to talk to her now, I know that its loss creates a void for Nixie and it’s one she hasn’t yet done anything to address.

I can’t fix that.

I can’t apologise for that, either. I don’t feel bad about using Twitter when I did because, like, it got Nixie into my life and Nixie is a wonderful delight. Even though I know before the point where Twitter sucked complete shit, it still sucked pretty bad and was responsible for a lot of bad things. None of those things are in my grasp.

So I’m just gunna tell you a story.

I’m at the bus stop. It’s a grocery day. I’ve mapped my time properly, but it’s the weekend for me, a Saturday morning. DST hasn’t kicked in yet here or there. I know I’m shaving times a little here. I had to check a few more stores than I normally would and that was frustrating. I mean, it’s the bus, I know the bus is going to happen on its own timing, and this being a weekend, it might be a little late. But that little bit late can create elasticity; there are just fewer buses on the weekend, and that means if something holds one up a bit, then it might take ages for it to catch up.

I could walk home.

It’s not that far.

But if I start on walking home, and I’m not right about that, and this trolley slows me down then I’m going to make the wrong choice and how much am I overly worried about what I’m doing? Why am I so worried about this?

Because I don’t want to miss her recital.

Nixie is getting ready to perform, in a choir, in front of dozens of people. It’s not her first. It’s not going to be her last – at this point, Nixie and I know full well that she wants to do more of this. She loves the recitals, she loves choir, even considering the complications and the challenges getting to go.

And so.

The bus arrives.

I get home in time.

I start the livestream so I can watch my friend performing with her choir, songs I don’t know from cultures I don’t understand and expressing ideas I can’t tell. I have to set up software to record the video, so I can capture her moments. I watch her file into place, I look for her in the big crowd of people, and zoom in and realise what I’m doing. Like, I didn’t grow up in a place with recitals per se. There were one of two but they were like the really privileged kids of architects or something like that in the church. They’d set up basically a unique event for their kid who’d play some piano and we’d all clap and I have no idea why I was there. But that was also the family that could afford a camcorder, and where I could see someone proud of someone they loved, reaching out and trying to make sure that they were there for this moment, they were there to encode and preserve this memory.

Nixie has spent this year learning Chinese, getting another name (ask her about her Chinese name, it’s sick as hell), and learning to sail. She has escaped the internet we know to Touch Grass, and in so doing she has learned more, seen more, and embraced more. She told me about how great the food was in China, about how the exercise excited her, and about how the Great Wall smells. I am not there but I am present, because Nixie has taken her memories, and her stories, and spread them before me to share.

I couldn’t be more proud of her and I want to be there to help encode more and more of those memories.

Sigh. SIGH. GRUMBLE even. Hey, I wrote about how it’s hard to link Nixie’s work? Well, she did that after I wrote this article so here’s a link and anything else that makes no sense in the above is because of that.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#Decemberween 2023 #Diary

0 notes

northern-passage · 2 years

Text

i’ve posted a few snippets on patreon recently and i wanted to share my favorite one, with merry 💕

You’ve been staring out the window for a while now, wringing your hands and pacing around the front room, waiting for Merry. She went into town early this morning, before you even woke up, but now the weather has turned, and you can hardly see past your porch with the way the snow is coming down.

That’s how it is out here, sudden bad weather coming in off the sea, and you know Merry is fully capable - but you always worry. You’ve already got a pot of water heating on the woodstove, a hot drink waiting for her, and the woodstove itself is already stuffed full with wood and burning hot enough to make you sweat.

When Merry finally appears out of the trees, the snow has slowed considerably, and the sun has almost vanished beyond the horizon. She takes the horse straight to the stable, and it’s a few more minutes before she finally opens the door, swearing and dropping her haul in the foyer. She stomps the snow from her boots and quickly closes the door, the cold air biting through the warmth of the cabin.

“Sorry,” she mumbles as you hover over her. “I ended up just waiting it out,” she explains. She’s soaked, though, so you imagine she must have been on her way back when the weather hit. Her face is flushed red, her hair plastered to her face, and she takes a moment to collect herself, giving you a small smile.

“I’m alright,” she says, but you step closer and start to undo the front of her jacket. You can feel the cold radiating off of her, and you pull her farther into the house, even as she clicks her tongue in disapproval, her boots tracking snowy mud after her.

You slide her jacket from her shoulders, leaving it to hang by the door while she starts to untie her boots. You put a steadying hand on her back, and she grunts as she pulls her boots off, discarding them in the general direction of the door.

“What a mess,” she mutters, standing up straight and turning to you. You usher her towards the bed, towards the woodstove, though she resists your attempts to sit her on the bed, instead peeling off the wet layers of her clothes, wincing as she catches her hair in the collar.

You ready a hot cup of tea for her as she changes, and also fetch a cloth for her face. She gives you a look, glancing between your face and the cup.

“Here,” you just push the hot cup into her hands, and she sighs, sitting back on the bed then. She’s still wearing her bandana over her eye, and she fidgets with the edge of the fabric, grimacing as she pulls it away from her face.

“Let me,” you say quickly, climbing up onto the bed with her, trailing your hands over her shoulders as you slide up behind her. You can tell her hair is tangled around it, wind tossed and wet from the snow, and you carefully take it in your hands, gently pulling her hair away from her neck and slowly sliding the bandana off. She winces a bit as you untangle it from her hair, but you manage to get it free without too much issue. You stand from the bed again, moving to hang the sad, wet piece of fabric by the window to dry.

Merry is already rubbing at her eye, scowling down into her tea.

You can tell it’s irritated, and you fetch the cloth you grabbed earlier and dip it into the hot water atop the woodstove, ringing it out a bit and bringing it over to her.

She sighs, looking up at you, hesitating.

“Can you do it for me?” she asks.

You nod, and she pushes herself farther up into the bed, setting her cup of tea on the side table as you crawl back onto the bed beside her. She’s fidgeting with her sleeve, hiding behind her hair, still self-conscious all these years later. You suppose you’re the same, though, flexing your hand without thinking about it, the scars on your arm still tight and uncomfortable, hidden away beneath your sleeve.

You take her face in your hands, pushing her hair out of the way and gently pressing the cloth to her eye, slowly wiping it clean. Merry is meticulous about taking care of her eye, but when it’s been under the bandana for long periods of time it can get irritated, especially in the cold and with the bandana getting wet. You end up just holding the warm cloth over her face for a few moments, and Merry reaches up, putting her hand on your arm, closing her other eye and shifting closer to you.

“You’re so much better at it than me,” she says then.

“That’s because you’re too rough,” you say, shaking your head.

You know what she’s going to say before she even says it, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smirk.

“You like it when I’m rough, though,” she pulls you closer then, tugging at your arm and taking the cloth from your hand, setting it aside. She raises your hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to your fingers, over your knuckles.

“Thank you,” she says softly, and you shiver, mainly because her hands are still really cold… but also the way she says it, her breath tickling over your skin, her eye watching your face as she leans closer.

She presses a kiss along your jaw, her arms wrapping around you, an icy hand slipping under your shirt making you inhale sharply.

“We need to put… the stuff away…,” you try, but you don’t really mean it, and Merry is kissing your neck, making you stumble over your words.

She just hums, brushing her teeth against the hollow of your throat.

“Don’t you want to help me warm up first?” she murmurs, and you shiver again, tilting your head to finally catch her lips in yours, Merry’s hands tightening around you.

“If you want to get warm you should drink your tea,” you say, your lips brushing hers, and Merry laughs, the sound reverberating through you.

“This is better than tea,” she counters, her hands roaming over you as she kisses you again.

Your indignant scoff turns into more of a groan as she opens her mouth against yours, your own hand wrapping around the back of her neck, fingers twisting through her hair as she presses against you.

“You agree with me,” she smirks, breaking the kiss as she leans back, pulling you along with her.

You don’t bother trying to come up with some smart response, instead just leaning after her, both of you sinking into the furs together, the tea on the bedside table going cold.

#merry harlowe #snippets #i've been struggling to write snippets lately and i havent posted any here #since i launched patreon so

109 notes · View notes

artistsoftheapocalypse · 2 years

Text

[ FAQ :: Priority Spreadsheet :: OC Registration Form ]

Requests Finished : 14 / 34

[ Updated February 27 2022, 12:20 PM US Pacific Time ] Burnout, Extension, and Suspension

Hey all, sorry for the lack of communication on the overnight. Loor here.

Last night I, personally, hit a serious wall and realized that I am burnt out. I’ll be making a bigger blog post about it on my personal page in the future, when I got it all more sorted out, but the long and short of it is AoTA will be suspending operations after this Sketchy Weekend to give me the time and space I need to recover, AND to catch up on all the previous commitments I owe to various people since LAST JULY, which I am certain are a big part of my burnout.

I’m sorry this happened so suddenly. I thought I was okay, and then all at once I wasn’t. I apologize to everyone for the disruption, both volunteers and participants. I know it sucks to get hype for a thing, and then something goes wrong. BUT! By taking the time to pause and re-organize, we’ll be able to come back and deliver a better event for everyone.

We are extending this week’s event, because I did not want to let go of all these cute requests. Too many of these asks are bloody adorable, and if we are going to PAUSE Sketchy Saturday for a hot minute? I see no reason not to let this one run long and slow.

Thank you all for your patience and understanding.

-Loor

Our Volunteers For LAST WEEKEND, the weekend of February 18 - 20 , 2022

:: Art Team ::

Nyx [ @trashkingnyx ] They/Them :: Ko-Fi :: Commissions :: Store

Halk [ @tarberrymentats ] They/Them :: Ko-Fi :: Commissions :: Store

Kal [ @fanthings ] They/Them :: Ko-Fi :: Commissions

Paint [ @paintsplattere / @squirttheradspooder ] She/Her | They/Them :: Ko-Fi :: Store

Blitz [ @kaybrandchaos ] They/Them :: Ko-Fi :: Commissions :: Patreon

Jay [ @actualsunflower ] He/They :: PayPal :: Surgery Fund :: Commissions

:: Mod Team ::

Nyx [ @trashkingnyx ] They / Them :: Donations :: Commissions

Loor [ @solesurvivorpaigeargot ] They / Them :: Donations

Halk [ @tarberrymentats ] They / Them :: Donations :: Commissions :: Shop :: Twitter

#Sketchy Saturday #status post

151 notes · View notes

quirkfics · 3 years

Text

eager | gang orca

wordcount: 1569 warnings: smut, established relationship, belly bulge, penetrative sex, fingering, dirty talk, oral (just, lemon the whole way through) pairing: Gang Orca/Kugo Sakamata x Gender neutral reader note: Old but new fic! Written for the After Hours patreon way back when, with a very minor amount of sprucing up. I was.. tempted to wait til May to post it, because of MerMay stuff, but it’s been sitting almost done in here for a while. Enjoy!

Being able to work yourself open, to leave yourself messy and slick with lube has always been a prerequisite when it comes to fucking Kugo. His fingers are lovely, with the way his nails prick your skin, or how they curl behind your neck to pull you close, but they're far too sharp for tender places. Kugo's mouth is infinitely better, and the soft roll of his tongue against your most intimate parts? The thought never fails to leave you aching for want of him. Yet, to use his mouth, you both have to be patient, steady and slow. You've suffered more than one sharp knick from his razor-fine teeth, and you're not interested in taking that much time or holding that still. Not tonight.

“Deeper,” Kugo says, voice so low and rough that you have to pause and take a breath, hand trembling, before you push your fingers into yourself as far as you possibly can. The noise it makes is obscene, and it's more than enough to have Kugo frozen in the midst of unbuttoning his suit jacket. “Back in,” he rasps, as soon as you attempt to pull your fingers out. “Hold still for a moment,” he adds and you have to clench around your own fingers, eyes fluttering momentarily closed. Kugo turns his attention back to divesting himself of clothes, moving to set each item carefully over the back of a clean chair.

The position you're in has your thighs trembling, and you must make some kind of low, desperate noise, because he glances at you over his shoulder. “All the way out, and in again,” he allows, eyes bright, and you follow his directions, breathing out slowly as you stretch yourself. He goes quiet again, angled so he can just barely see you.

“Kugo?” You ask after a moment, watching him curl those sharp fingers around the chair back. His shoulders roll, and his biceps flex, before he finally let's go of the chair. He turns back to face you, cock thick and heavy between his thighs. The sight has you closing your eyes for a moment, and a choked moan escapes your lips as he crosses the room. “Please?” You gasp, when he comes to a stop at the end of the bed.

“You're always so eager for it,” he murmurs, reaching down to take himself in hand. You breathe out a curse, thighs quivering while you watch that dark, sharp fingered hand stroke roughly over his shaft. He walks around the edge of the bed, eyes zeroed in on your panting mouth. “You can never wait to have me inside you.” You don't even attempt to deny it. The thought of that thick cock in your mouth, or of him thrusting up into the heat of you, has you absolutely salivating for it. Your teeth catch on your bottom lip, and you curl your fingers, lube squelching with the motion.

“Please, Kugo, I want you to fuck me. Want your cock. I wan—” a moan strangles your voice in your throat when Kugo reaches out, sharp nails terribly gentle on your scalp. He urges you closer to the edge of the bed, patient as you adjust yourself so you can reach him, fingers still slippery inside you.

“Open your mouth,” he demands. Your lips part without hesitation, and then Kugo is guiding you towards his cock with a soft pressure against the crown of your head. He lifts himself, fingers curled around the dark length of it, stroking up to where the shaft fades into white, and the flush of palest pink. Kugo presses his cock head against your tongue, and groans when your lips close around him. He's too big for much more of him to fit in your mouth, but it's always fun to try. You suck, rolling your tongue against the smooth skin, making soft, impatient noises when he curses. “Look at that mouth of yours,” he growls, squeezing the base of his cock, rocking it gently out, brushing it against your teeth and lips, before he pushes back in. He continues the motion, jaw slowly dropping as he watches his cock disappear into your mouth, his sharp teeth gleaming in the half light. You hum softly, eyes fluttering closed, and simply lose yourself in the sensation of him, slick skin sliding over your lips. There's a small pulse against your tongue—he's getting harder—and then Kugo is pulling away. The motion is too fast, leaving you messy with saliva, drips of it on your chin, and before you can even think to wipe it away, Kugo is pushing you back onto the bed. You go without a fight.

“Will you—” You start, but Kugo shushes you, a single finger pressed to your mouth for maybe a second, before he starts to pull away. The curl of his nail catches against your bottom lip though, and you can't resist flicking your tongue out to taste. He chuckles, and reaches down to gently tug at your wrist, silently urging you to pull your fingers out of yourself.

“You'll get what you want,” he assures you, voice deep and steady—and then he's breathing in sharply, watching your fingers come out messy and dripping. The sudden emptiness leaves you aching, but Kugo's careful hands are stroking up your thighs, parting them as he kneels on the bed. You wriggle, even though you know you won't be left wanting.

He starts off slow, taking your slick hand and curling it around his cock, putting the remnants of lube to good use. The feel of him, wonderfully hot and heavy, curving in your hand, makes you even more eager than before.

“Please, Kugo?” You ask, squeezing, angling the hard length of him towards what you really want. “I've been waiting, I've been good—oh, fuck. Fu-” The soft rub of his cock against you has you trembling, legs spreading even further, and then he pushes, and all you want to do is arch your hips, urge him to go faster, but-

“You're always good for me,” he rasps, slowly working himself inside you, in and out, and further in, on every thrust. You lay back, biting at your bottom lip, fisting your hands in the sheets near your head to keep yourself from interrupting. Kugo is slow and steady, pushing until you're gasping, his hands sliding up your thighs and then curling around your hips, anchoring you. You feel almost too full now, and still, he can't fit all of himself inside you. “So good, so-” He rolls his hips, and his eyes fall closed when he bottoms out, nails pricking into your skin. Kugo stops, just taking a moment to breathe, and you know he’s giving you time to adjust to his girth, but you just want more. More movement, more noise, as much of him as he’s willing to give, filling you up, over and—your brain short circuits, desire overriding any attempt to plan things out.

“Fuck me,” you plead, breath leaving you in a rush as you lift your hips. Your abdomen bulges slightly, too full, and then, finally, Kugo is moving. He leans over you, hands sliding up your body until he’s tweaking your nipple with one hand and bracing himself on his other forearm.

“No please?” He asks, voice low and strained, but teasing. If the light were better, you’re sure you would spy a smile in his eyes. Instead you’re hyper focused on the feeling of his cock almost slipping out of you as he pulls back, and then, with one swift thrust, he’s back inside, and you can’t stop talking.

“Yes, yes, please, all of it. Give me, give-” You grunt, eyes falling closed as he starts rocking into you steadily, just a little faster than before. “Want all of you, just, Kugo!” He’s gentle, careful, even while he fucks you, and the sharpness of his teeth against your shoulder has your arousal spiking. You let go of the sheets, sliding one of your hands up the side of his face, reaching towards his dorsal fin and scream when he bottoms out inside you again, teeth pressing harder into your skin. “Kugo, Kugo, I’m gonna come, fuck, fuck!”

He doesn’t let up, hips slapping against the back of your thighs as he fucks you through orgasm. There’s a harsh groan against your shoulder, his wide tongue laving over the marks he’s left, and then Kugo is pulling back, just enough to see your face, bracing himself on both forearms. “I couldn’t wait to watch—watch you fall apart,” he rasps, and maybe you’re oversensitive, with your legs still shaking, but everything, his cock inside you, the press of his body ; it feels hotter. Blistering. “I’ve been able to think of little else,” he adds, and then his pace skips. His hips stutter, thrusts becoming choppy, and then you’re full again, gasping and messy as he comes inside you, sharp fingers curling into the sheets. Kugo is moaning, forehead pressed to yours, and one more sharp thrust has you cursing, and then laughing, soft and pleased, when he slumps onto you with a sigh. “Something amusing?” He asks, but he sounds like you, content, relaxed.

“Happy,” you murmur, pressing a small kiss to his nose. “Potentially looking forward to another round. After cleanup?” Kugo pulls back, looking down at the mess he’s made of you with a pleased expression.

“Most definitely.”

#gang orca x reader #kugo sakamata x reader #sakamata kugo x reader #kuugo sakamata x reader #lemon

297 notes · View notes

castielle-deanna · 3 years

Text

Destiel fanfic masterlist

My Destiel fanfics in decreasing word count order:

Hold me tight or don't (Explicit, words: 37,677)

Tags: Canon Compliant up to 15x13 // First Kiss // Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker // Conversations in the Impala // falling!Castiel // New Relationship // First Time // Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent // Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love //Art Embedded //soundtrack

Summary: With Jack’s soul now back, the four inhabitants of the Bunker are working on establishing a new routine. Between hunts, God’s wrath hanging over their heads and Castiel’s dwindling grace, the angel is not particularly eager to mention his deal to the Winchesters. With everything that’s going on, allowing himself to be happy sounds impossible anyway, right? Wrong…

With art by the fantastic @lizleeships

“Why now?” The angel asked quietly, taking a small step back.

Dean's fingers tightened on the tie he'd been holding onto as if it was a lifeline. “You said we were real. I want to believe it.”

“Even if it ends in pain?”

“Cas, everything I do ends there, eventually. There is always a bigger, heavier, smellier shoe waiting to drop. Holding back in fear of it doesn't make it any smaller, lighter or... or... “

“Less odoriferous?” Cas offered.

“Is that even a real word?”

“It is, indeed.”

“Sometimes you sound like you eat dictionaries and Victorian novels for breakfast,” Dean shook his head, grinning.

My unintended (Explicit, words:10,202)

Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending // Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On // FUCK CANON! // Saving Dean Winchester - Retconning the finale - The fangirl business // Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss // Castiel/Dean Winchester First Time Having Sex // Slow and Romantic Sex // Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester

Summary: At first, Castiel is ready to honour his part of the deal with the Empty, but then Jack shows up with distressing news...

With art by the fantastic @jeanne-de-valois

Cas heaves Dean into a bridal carry, struggling under his weight, but still he shifts slightly when Sam moves closer to help. He knows he needs to stop keeping Sam away, because it’s not fair, and it’s not what Dean wants anyway, but Sam accepts it and simply hangs back with a nod before he speaks again.

“I also know it’s not my business, but… do you think you could talk to Dean once he’s up for it? I’m not blind, or stupid. You two have to stop only holding each other like that when one of you is hurt or dead.”

Love me right (Explicit, words: 2,436)

Tags: Established Castiel/Dean Winchester // Porn with Feelings // Dean Winchester Wears Panties // Light Bondage // Panty Kink // Wing Kink // Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester // Light Dom/sub // Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester // Light BDSM // Dean and Castiel watch porn then recreate it

Summary: Dean asks to be tied up - who's Cas to say no to that? Written for a prompt by @winchester-reload on Patreon: "Thee Pink Panties"

“I want you to tie me up,” Dean blurts out one morning, closer to being asleep than awake still. He has no idea if Cas is even in the bedroom with him - for once, the angel is not curled around Dean with his whole body, their limbs entwined to the point where they can’t tell where one of them ends and the other begins, cliché as it is.

There’s no reply, so Dean lifts his head and blinks the grogginess away to look around. Cas is in the room, sitting cross-legged on the green couch by the wall with an open book in his lap but he’s staring at Dean with eyes so comically wide Dean would think it humanly impossible if he wasn’t seeing it with his own eyes.

“For fun,” Dean adds in hopes that Cas catches his meaning. The angel looks slightly less taken aback at that, but he still appears confused and tilts his head as if a slightly different angle would help with unraveling the mystery of Dean's words. “During sex, Cas.”

Rewind the exit (Teen And Up Audiences, words: 2,408)

Tags: Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair // Fix-It // Grief/Mourning // Angst with a Happy Ending // Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love // Grieving Dean Winchester // Grieving Sam Winchester

Summary: "Rewinding the exit wound, I'm holding on to you 'Cause I need words like anyone, and I need love like everyone With those words I'm strong enough, and I need love like everyone." (Rewind the exit by Volbeat) Obligatory 15x18 fix-it.

The Bunker is haunted. It's haunted by two faint apparitions of humanity who mostly pass each other by in the corridors like ships in the night, silent and distant.

Dean prays. Every morning, every evening, and most waking hours between the two, he prays. He doesn't know if Cas can hear him, but the faith that he can is all Dean has, so it has to be enough.

It's not enough. Yet Dean clings to it, because if he doesn't have that, he doesn't have anything.

Bite me (Mature, words: 1,407)

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence // Vampire Dean Winchester // Mild Blood!Kink (comes with the territory) // Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss

Summary: After Dean gets turned into a vampire during S06E05 - Live Free or Twi-hard, instead of going to Lisa's, he prays to Cas. Written for a prompt by winchester-reload on Patreon: "Vampire!Dean having a Cas snack"

“I can get you through this, and then we’ll burn any other bridges as we get to them,” Cas says earnestly.

“That’s not how the saying… you know what, never mind. I don’t want to get through this! I told you to kill me!” Dean pushes Cas away, but the angel holds onto both of his shoulders to stabilise him until Dean shakes him off in defiance. “Fucking stubborn angel, why can’t you just do as you’re told?”

“Because I’ve decided to disregard stupid orders!” Cas shoots back, and his previous stoicism is gone entirely. His eyes flare faintly with the light of his grace as he shrugs off his trenchcoat and goes to work on loosening his tie.

I wanna get you back again (Mature, words: 1,176)

Tags: Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair // Canon Divergence // Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss

Summary: Dean breaks into the Empty to save Cas. Written for a prompt by winchester-reload on Patreon: "Come on and lay it down/I've always been with you/Here and now/Give all that's within you/Be my Savior"

“Am I wrong in assuming that our friend who has the fashion sense of a flasher wasn’t the only one in love?” Balthazar smirked.

“Huh?”

Balthazar rolled his eyes. “Bit slow on the uptake, aren’t we? You know what, don’t answer that,” he shrugged, rolling right over Dean’s indignant splutter. “I’m talking about Castiel.”

“I know!”

“So which part of my question was confusing then?”

“Fuck you, Feather Boa, the Empty is trying to push me out and you want to chat?” Dean scoffed, trying to stomp his way past him.

“Your trenchcoated boyfriend is that way,” Balthazar said dryly, pointing to his left.

Forward is just the way ahead (General Audiences, words: 1,091)

Tags: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor // Baby Jack Kline // Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent // Tattoo Artist Dean Winchester // Single Parent Castiel

Summary: Tattoo artist Dean falls for client. Written for a prompt by winchester-reload on Patreon: "Cas getting tattooed by Dean (or the other way around)"

“So,” Dean began, “It’s a simple black design, correct? Four rows of symbols?”

“Yes. It’s actually a warding-slash-protection spell in Enochian, the language of Biblical angels. There’s… well, there’s a story to it,” Cas chuckled.

“Is part of that story that you were named after an angel?”

Cas’ chuckle changed into full-blown laughter. “Yes. I have to say I wasn’t expecting you to know that. In fact, all my siblings have angel names, except for Luke, but only because they wouldn’t allow my parents to officially name him Lucifer…”

Waffles or kisses (Mature, words:1,026)

Tags: Domestic Fluff // Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester // Established Castiel/Dean Winchester // Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural)

Summary: Cas tries to make breakfast for Dean - it doesn't quite work out... Written for a prompt by winchester-reload on Patreon: "Great British Bake Off contestants with fewer clothes and lots of flour!" I have nefariously tweaked the prompt to allow me to play in the canon!verse.

“You look like one of the Great British Bake Off contestants, but with fewer clothes... and lots of flour, what the hell are you even doing?” Dean guffaws.

“Is that Dean?” A slightly tinny female voice comes from somewhere underneath the bowls, and it takes a moment for Dean to recognise it.

“Hi Jody!”

“Am I on speaker?”

“Yes,” Cas says, rolling his eyes. Dean finds that his behaviour is not unlike Miracle’s after the dog got caught chewing Sam’s 3rd pair of slippers to shreds, and the comparison draws another laugh out of him.

“Hi, Dean,” Jody says warmly. “Nice to hear your voice, though it would be even nicer if you were the one calling, rather than hijacking a conversation between Cas and I…”

Dean ducks his head as Jody’s “mom voice” tries to work its magic on him. “I’m not hijacking anything! Can someone explain why my kitchen and my… Cas are head-to-toe covered in flour?”

“I was trying to make waffles for breakfast,” Cas replies barely audibly, looking down, shoulders drooping.

With those words I'm strong enough (Mature, words: 703)

Tags: Dean Winchester Deserves to be Happy // Dean Winchester's Birthday // Established Castiel/Dean Winchester // Non-Explicit Sex // Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love // Dean Winchester Says "I Love You" // Pillow Talk // Dean Winchester Lives // fuck 15x20

Summary: It's Dean's birthday and Castiel doesn't waste a single second to wish him a happy one (Utter finale denial and slight sap below.)

“Where did you go, my love?” Cas asks, ruffling Dean’s hair, curling a longer-than-usual strand of it around his index finger.

“Thinking.”

“Uh-oh, that’s never a good thing,” Cas deadpans and Dean whacks his upper arm with very little force. “Ow.”

“Sarcastic asshole in one moment, drama queen the next,” Dean grumbles, and he fully intends to kiss it better, but before he could get around to it, he’s pushed onto his back and there’s a former angel of the Lord straddling him with a grin on his face.

Domestic (General Audiences, words: 462)

Tags: Domestic Fluff // Established Castiel/Dean Winchester // Fallen Angel Castiel // Suptober 2020

Summary: Middle-of-the-night Destiel chat. Just a lightning-quick ficlet as my first and possibly only entry to Suptober 2020. The prompt was 'domestic'

“Of all the human things, the constant need to urinate is the worst,” Castiel complained as he slid under the covers with a yawn.

“The worst?” Dean huffed in sleepy amusement. “Being shot is worse. Broken bones. A toothache…”

“They are worse, but they are temporary. Urinating is permanent. I will have to put up with it for the rest of my life.”

#Destiel #Destiel fanfic #DeanCas fanfic #creativecaviar #fanfic masterlist #destiel masterlist #Destiel fic #DeanCas fic

114 notes · View notes

saxxxology · 3 years

Text

Freedom | oneshot

PAIRING: Sam Winchester x Reader WORD COUNT: 2,446 WARNINGS: spoilers for “Inherit the Earth,” character death, drinking to cope, minor trauma processing, smut, post-sex feels, stress/anxiety NOTE: This fic is set post 15x19 - “Inherit the Earth.” Do not save or repost my work without my consent. This work is 18+ only.

⭒ become a patron for just $3 ⭒

patreon masterlist | tumblr masterlist

“So we’re free.”

Sam glances up, casting his eyes over the rim of his beer bottle to where you’re perched on the edge of the counter. Legs slightly parted under the hem of your knee-length nightshirt, back slouched, eyes boring into him like you can see right through his skin and into his soul.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Chuck’s gone, Jack’s… doin’ his thing, I guess. There’s nobody calling the shots for us anymore.”

You hum, tipping back your bottle of vodka to take a long swallow. The clear alcohol burns your throat, and you let out a sigh that turns warm in your chest. “Where’s Dean?”

“Holed up in his room.” Sam swipes his tongue over his teeth. “He hasn’t really been able to process Cas, I figured we could give him a few days.”

“Yeah.” You swallow thickly and raise the bottle to your lips again. “Fuckin’ Cas, man.”

“I know.” Sam chuckles. “He was one of the good ones.”

You nod in agreement. “I’ll second that.”

There’s a long silence, interrupted only by the dull clink of glass on metal, the swish of liquid in an almost-empty glass, and a repetitive shuffle of paper as Sam flips absentmindedly through a two-day-old newspaper.

“How are you?” you ask, eager to break the quiet. Sam’s eyes flicker up to you once again, and you shift a little on the counter. “I’m just asking because you haven’t said much since we got back.”

Sam tightens his lips and takes a deep breath. “I don’t know, really. I feel numb. Like, I don’t know if it just hasn’t hit yet, but… yeah, I feel numb.” He rolls his shoulders back and downs the rest of his beer in a single swallow.

“Same here.” You sniff, screwing the cap back onto the tall vodka bottle and setting it aside. “I’m so tired of it. Dean said Cas died and I felt nothing.”

“You’re in shock,” Sam excuses, “and we’ve been dealing with so much shit, we can’t process all of it at once. Cas deserves to be… he deserves for us to grieve for him, without thinking about anything else.”

You chew on your lower lip, surveying him as he rubs his forehead with one hand. He’s tense, the relief of having Chuck gone only half-there. All three of you are used to things being too good to be true, only for shit to hit the fan right after you’ve booked a beach vacation or a weekend in Vegas.

But hell, you deserve to take a little bit of this newfound freedom for granted. Besides, it’s been a while since you had the time or energy to get laid. Sam’s hot, you’re needy… one night of not considering fallout from anything might be nice.

“Sam?”

“Hmm?”

You take a quick breath, leaning back to brace one hand just behind your hip. “If I asked you to fuck me, would you?”

He stiffens, unable to keep his gaze from drifting over to you. He looks beat; tired and lost and just a little scared of the world. For a second you regret asking, thinking he might just say no and get to blame it all on the alcohol.

“I…” he blows air through his lips as pink stains his cheeks. “Are you drunk?”

“Not really.” You speak a little too soon, as your focus begins to drift and you blink twice to clear your vision. “Well, maybe not enough.”

“No, don’t drink any more.” Sam stands up, abandoning his empty bottle on the table as he shuffles over to you. The toes of his boots drag on the polished concrete floor; he’s so cautious about it, like he’s scared to indulge in something other than people prying him for answers or questions. He hates selfishness, and taking this, taking you… it’ll be the ultimate self-indulgence that he may or may not come out of feeling like he deserved it.

“You scared of me?” you tease, tipping your head back as he leans a hip against the side of the counter.

“Never.” He chuckles softly. “You really okay? You want this?”

You lick your lower lip. “Am I ever okay?”

“That’s true.” He sighs heavily, raking his eyes down the column of your neck, over your nipples pressing through the dark blue fabric of your shirt, your stomach, the rise of your thighs, and then right back up to yours…

It’s like he’s a virgin all over again, you think to yourself. He needs a little help getting into it.

You reach for his hand. He lets you take it, guiding his fingers under the hem of your nightshirt. The tips of his fingers are still cold, chilly from his beer, and you shiver a little when he guides them against the inside of your thigh, creeping closer and closer to your core.

He inhales sharply through his nose when his fingers slip against the smooth, warm lips of your pussy. Your thighs part a little more, and you let out a little sigh when he takes the lead, nudging the tip of his index finger down into wet heat.

“Why are you not wearin’ any panties?” he asks.

You arch an eyebrow. “Why are you questioning it?”

He chuckles, bracing his free hand on the metal countertop next to your hip, and slips his fingers a little farther into your folds. You shimmy a little to encourage him, and he lowers his head, the tip of his nose pressing against your cheek to nudge your head back.

He kisses you hungrily, humming against your lips as you reciprocate eagerly. You can taste the beer on his lower lip, and he deepens the kiss, licking into your mouth as his fingers explore deeper between your legs. He finds your clit, targeting smooth, gentle rolls over it as your hand wanders over the front of his jeans.

“Fuck me,” you whisper, “please, Sam, I need you.”

He growls, stepping quickly between your thighs. “Not here.”

He scoops you up, striding towards the steps and feeling his way into the hall. You wrap your legs around his waist. The door to his bedroom is open, and you giggle when he kicks it shut, lips still glued to yours. He lowers you to the ground, waiting for you to stand still before running his hands under the fabric of your nightshirt.

“Get this off,” he murmurs, stripping it roughly over your head and tossing it to the floor. He palms your tits, thumbs rubbing over your nipples, and you arch into the sensation, pulling at the buttons of his flannel, popping each metal clasp until he can shrug it off. He cups your face with both hands, pushing his hips closer as you tug at his belt. His jeans fall to the ground with a dull thud, leaving him in just a pair of navy blue boxers.

He pulls back when you slide a hand into the waistband of his boxers, wrapping your fingers around the hard length of his dick. His pelvis jerks into your touch, and you grin up at him, stretching up onto your toes to claim his mouth in a deep, dirty kiss.

“Condom,” he whispers, “in the nightstand—”

“No,” you reply breathlessly, “I’m on the pill.”

Sam smirks, his hands sliding down to grope your ass. “That works, too.”

He kisses you hard, lifting you up just enough to dump you on the bed. He crawls over you eagerly, reaching down to stroke himself, and you whimper when the thick tip drags through your folds.

He sinks inside with a loud sigh, fisting his cock to push deeper as you squirm underneath him. Your knees fall open, giving him as much room as possible, and his hand falls beside your waist to brace when he gets himself deep enough to thrust comfortably.

Your nails dig into his hips on the first deep, desperate grind. He hisses at the sting and presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips, panting hard as he thrusts into a rhythm that has the frame of his bed shuddering under the force.

He feels like heaven. Thick and hot and hard as his belly slides against yours, skin already dotted with sweat. His hand comes up to cup your face, fingers curling against your hair as his lips dot a line down your throat, over your chest, and then wrap around a swollen nipple. Your head falls back against a pillow, and you plant your toes firmly against the mattress for leverage. He grunts when you push up against him, allowing him to move even deeper inside until he bottoms out.

“Stay right there,” he mutters. He heaves himself up in one smooth motion, eyes locking on your face as he drops his entire weight into his thrusts. The loud slap of flesh on flesh echoes through the room, and you’re unable to stop your gasps and moans when you feel the ache of it. He grabs your wrists when you try and touch him, pinning them down on either side of your head, and you let out a long sigh of his name that earns a feral growl in reply. The roll of his hips changes when you squeeze around him, deep scoops that have your belly clenching.

“Oh my God, don’t stop,” you breathe, “make me cum, baby, please…”

“That’s the fuckin’ plan.” Sam dips his head to kiss you, and you wiggle playfully in his grip, the tease only making his fingers curl tighter. “You need to touch yourself?”

“No.” You catch a breath when he pauses, lips feather light against yours. “Just keep movin’ like that.”

He chuckles, shifting his weight for balance before resuming the same delicious, expert strokes. His eyes drift down your body until they land between your legs, and he groans at the sight of his cock plunging in and out of your cunt, shiny with your slick.

“Yeah, that’s it, honey,” he murmurs, “c’mon and cum for me.”

You push up against his thrusts, mouth falling open as the hot skin above his dick rubs against your clit. You’re almost there, you can feel it brimming in the pit of your belly, and when Sam’s thrusts turn into hard, bestial shoves, you spiral into bliss, convulsing between Sam’s body and the mattress as he fucks you through it. His grip on your wrists loosens, and you wrap your arms tight around his shoulders, dragging him down on top of you. He slows, then stops, lifting his head from the crook of your neck to press a lazy kiss to your cheek.

“Good?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you reply breathlessly, “you didn’t—”

He stops you with a kiss. “I will. C’mere.”

He rolls onto his back, keeping you close with an arm looped around your waist. You situate yourself on top of him, eyes falling closed as your head spins.

“Whoa, there,” he chuckles, “here, baby, put your hands right here.”

“I know how to ride a dick, dummy.” You arch your back, leaning forward far enough to brace your palms over his shoulders, tits just inches away from his kiss-swollen lips. He huffs, fingers splaying out on your hips as you begin to ride him, rolling your hips and bouncing down on his cock. He grunts, mouth opening in a soft O, and you moan when he gives an instinctive little push of his hips, meeting you halfway as you find your own rhythm.

“Fuck,” he moans, craning his neck to lap his tongue against one nipple. You pull back before he can get a real taste, scraping your nails over his chest as you work him harder, faster, until his soft pants and grunts turn into full-fledged moans.

He cums with a strangled groan, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. You keep moving, giggling when he arches and bucks underneath you, breathing high in his throat as he crosses the brink from pleasure to overstimulation. Unable to take any more, he pushes you off with a hoarse laugh, and you collapse beside him, giggling with your lower lip between your teeth.

“Fuck, I needed that,” you sigh, turning your head to gaze at him.

“Me too.” He stretches one arm under your head, allowing you to scoot close into his side and rest your cheek against his chest. His heart is a steady beat, thumping slower and slower as his body calms, and you tip your head back to kiss under his jaw. He smiles, allowing his eyes to flutter closed, and skims his thumb over your shoulder.

You lie together in silence for a long time, calming down with soft kisses and touches. You’re the one to break the silence, running a hand over a small scar on his opposite shoulder.

“I don’t know why we never did this before,” you comment.

“Me either.” Sam kisses you tenderly. “It was good.”

You sigh against his lips, gazing up into his eyes as an ache suddenly builds in your throat. “Cas died.”

He nods slowly, exhaling long and slow through his nose. “Yeah. You wanna talk?”

You shrug. “I guess.”

“Tell you what.” Sam props himself on one elbow, leaning down to nuzzle your shoulder. “How about we take a shower, put something on the TV, we can take our time.”

“Uh… yeah,” you sigh, trying to keep your voice steady. “You go ahead.”

Sam gives you a soft, sad smile. “Don’t take too long, ‘kay?”

“I won’t.” You let your head roll back onto a pillow and close your eyes. “I just… I need to cry for a few minutes and I wanna be alone.”

He clicks his tongue and grazes his fingers over your cheek. “All right. I’ll save some hot water for you.”

“Don’t steal it all.”

“I won’t.” He kisses your cheek. “It’s gonna be okay.”

You sigh deeply. “I know. Go on, I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay.” He slides out of bed, and you watch him tread slowly to the door and disappear into the hallway. Rolling onto your side, you bury your face against his pillow, sucking in a deep, shuddering breath and holding it.

Your strokes of luck lately have been too good to be true, and there’s a weight in your stomach that usually only means one thing. All the big, heavy-hitting players are gone. It’s just you, Sam, and Dean now, left alone to form your own little path in the world for the first time ever. It’s terrifying.

Shit’s going to hit the fan, and when it does, this time, it’ll be the worst thing to happen to you.

💕 Reblogs and comments are lovely 💕

Wanna get tagged? Click here!

FOREVER TAGS: @atc74 @anaelsbrunette @comicmcfly @defenderrosetyler @emberocrpblog @emoryhemsworth @ellen-reincarnated1967 @fandom-princess-forevermore @kittenofdoomage @kickingitwithkirk @lunarsaturn88 @mariekoukie6661 @neii3n @percussiongirl2017 @ssworldofsw @supernatural-bellawinchester @starsandasteroids @spnwoman @spnbaby-67 @serpentbaby @stoneyggirl @thecleverdame @tumbler-tidbits @zombiewerewolfqueen

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader smut #sam winchester reader insert #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester fanfic #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester x you

258 notes · View notes

smileysuh · 9 months

Text

racer TEASER

🌙 staring. Jaehyun x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. You feel like a chew toy caught between two rottweilers, and it kills you to give Jaehyun one last look before turning your back on him, following your brother to his car. Jaehyun is watching you as you get in, and when you close the door, you let out a deep breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “I know, what a killer race,” Johnny grins, starting his engine. “Could have been better though, he could have actually died.”

tw/cw. car crash/injury, Johnny maybe slightly tried to kill Jaehyun, illegal street racing, protected sex, dry humping, blowjob, hand job, pining, praise, slow sex, slight wrist restraint, admitting you love someone while balls deep, sweet dirty talk, hair pulling, etc… I pet names: (hers) Lil Suh, baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 6.7k

🍭 aus. street racer!Jaehyun, star-crossed lovers, secret relationship, step-brother!Johnny, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I watched the new Fast and Furious movie a few months ago and this is the outcome

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, and with his shirt off, you can see the full extent of the crash. His ribcage has a nasty bruise, which is visible under the ice pack he’s holding to his skin, and your heart breaks for him.

“Jae,” you whisper, sinking to your knees in front of him to assess the damage. “You need to go to the hospital-”

“And tell them what?” he sighs. “That I got in a car crash? Come on, we both know that could never work. I’m fine.”

You reach for the ice pack. “There could be internal bleeding-”

“Baby,” he catches your wrist, “I said I’m fine.”

You look up into his dark eyes, and you take a shuddery breath. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Jaehyun cocks his head to the side, brows furrowing.

“Everything-” you swallow thickly. “I’m sorry for the crash, and for getting between you and Johnny, and for going to that stupid after party with him-”

“He knows.”

“What?”

“Johnny,” Jaehyun says. “He knows about us.”

“He doesn’t know-” you shake your head.

“He does,” the racer insists. “Everyone knows, especially now. Hyuck will tell him about the way you ran to me after the crash. He’s not stupid. He’s gonna know, baby.”

“No one knows,” you say again, but your voice is a whisper now.

“They all do,” Jaehyun tells you. “They see it in the way we look at each other.”

☀️ to read the full fic AND 3.3k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

👹 or wait till the fic is posted on tumblr this Sunday, August 6th

🔮 see what’s already available to read on my m.list

READ IT HERE NOW

#jaehyun #jaehyun smut #jeong jaehyun #jeong jaehyun smut #nct #nct smut #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #jung jaehyun #jung jaehyun smut #jaehyun nct #nct jaehyun #nct jaehyun smut #jaehyun nct smut

314 notes · View notes

thegreenwolf · 3 years

Photo

Betting on the Ponies (originally posted at my blog at https://thegreenwolf.com/betting-on-the-ponies/)

(Above: Breyer Classic Arabian Stallion made over into a winged unicorn with real wings from a barnyard mix rooster I raised for meat.)

If you’ve been paying attention to my social media or my shop links at all, you may have noticed that I haven’t really been posting much in the way of new hide and bone art for the past year or so. It’s not that I’ve stopped; I still make some fun things for my Patrons on Patreon every month, and I make some bone, tooth and claw jewelry on Etsy to order. But ever since events dried up, I haven’t been regularly making new batches of costume pieces or other Vulture Culture art. My usual M.O. was to make all sorts of new things for an upcoming event, and then once the weekend was done and I was home, post whatever hadn’t sold on Etsy. And since there haven’t been events…well…I’ve just found myself doing other things.

Some of that is because I’ve had to scramble to make up for the lost income; events were a pretty big chunk of my “pay”, and losing them meant having to tighten the belt. I also lost several other income streams thanks to the pandemic making it unsafe to be around groups of people, which didn’t help. So I had to rely on what was left, along with adopting a few new sources of bits and bobs of cash here and there.

And, honestly, I’ve needed a bit of a break. I’ve been making hide and bone art for over two decades now, and while I love it, any artist eventually wants to explore different media for a while. Sure, I’ve stretched my Vulture wings in new directions, going from costume pieces and ritual tools to assemblages and the Tarot of Bones. But ever since the Tarot came out, I’ve been feeling….not really burned out, but a little creatively wrung out, at least. I’ve really appreciated my Patrons and Etsy customers who have helped me keep a hand in that particular medium, while also allowing me to head off in other directions, too.

Which is to say that if you have been paying attention to the aforementioned social media and shops, you may have also noticed that I’ve been increasing the number of customized Breyer model horses and other animals I’ve made over the past couple of years. This might seem like a heck of a departure from skulls, bones, and other dead things. But in a way it’s really me getting back to long-neglected roots.

(One of my favorite customs I’ve done on one of my favorite molds, the Breyer semi-rearing mustang. )

See, I was a horse girl when I was a kid. Or, rather, I was a wannabe horse girl. I never got to lease or own a horse, and even now in my early 40s I’m still about the greenest rider you’ll find. (Seriously, I need one of those kid-proof horses that’s seen it all, done it all, and is probably more trail-smart than I am.) But I was obsessed with horses from a young age. It started with my very first My Little Pony that I got Christmas morning, 1983 (Applejack, if you must know), and then exploded further with a book on how to draw horses and my first Breyer model (Black Beauty 1991 on the Morganglanz mold) in my preteens. Horse actually took over for Gray Wolf for a few years as my primary animal spirit during my teens, so we have a very long history indeed.

And since I couldn’t have a real horse, I ended up collecting model horses, mostly Breyers with a few old Hartlands for variety. I had over 100 at the peak of my collecting, but I had to sell them all in my early twenties when I was between jobs. In hindsight it was probably for the best because having less stuff made it easier to get through the period of my life where I was moving about once a year, but I do miss that collection.

Back then I did my part to add to the artistic end of the model horse hobby, mostly with badly blended acrylic paint jobs and terrifying mohair manes and tails. But it made me happy, and that was the most important thing. Even though I only knew a couple other collectors in my little rural area, and my only real connection to the hobby was through the quarterly Just About Horses magazine Breyer put out, my collecting really made me happy in the same way that my first fur scraps and bones would catch my interest a few years later.

2020….well, it sucked. We all know that. Pandemic, political stress, financial roller coasters and more made it a really tough year for anyone who wasn’t wealthy enough to hide away and weather it all. And many of us found ourselves with more time at home, in need of distractions and solace. It ended up being a time where many people rediscovered their love of childhood hobbies. I’m one of those people. I’ve been slowly edging my way back in for the past few years, starting with repainting a few old Breyer models found at thrift stores, and then gaining momentum as I found that not only was I much better at customizing these models than I used to be, but I was having fun without the pressure to make a living off of it. (Yes, I love my hide and bone art, but when an art form is your bread and butter, it changes your relationship to it. But that’s a post for another time…)

So 2020 saw me really ramp up my customization efforts. I had to stop for a few months in summer and fall when I moved to a spifftacular new living space on the farm I’ve been working on the past few years (with, by the way, THE best studio space EVER!) but as the days shortened I found myself making more dedicated time to repainting and otherwise customizing models. I even started keeping a few of the models I’d bought to customize that were in better condition to create a small, but slowly growing original finish collection, and that really helped me feel like I was back in the (not actually a) saddle.*

That’s why a well-established artist of organic, pagan-influenced arts made from fur and leather and bone and feather suddenly started painting all these secondhand plastic ponies. It’s giving me that deep injection of childhood nostalgia balanced with adult skill and perspective, and it’s offered me a much-needed break from the exhausting schedule I’ve been living the past decade or so. Because suddenly, even with the time spent rearranging my income opportunities to make sure I could stay afloat, I found myself with a little time that hadn’t been scheduled to death, and when I thought about what I wanted to do with that time, I gravitated toward one of the few creative outlets in my life that was purely for fun.**

(Yes, this IS fan art of “The Last Unicorn”! I used a Breyer Stablemate rearing Arabian for the unicorn, and a Breyer Spanish fighting bull for the Red Bull. A LOT of fun to make this particular project.)

In a way having all my events canceled was one of the best things that happened to me, because it made me slow the fuck down. I no longer had several weekends a year where I had to spend weeks beforehand making art and otherwise preparing to be away from all my farm responsibilities for 4-7 days at a time, with all the packing and moving and setup and vending and teaching and teardown and going home and unpacking and exhaustion that goes with each event. I realized just how much each one was taking out of me, especially as I’ve gotten older. And I also recognized how much pressure I had been putting on myself to ALWAYS MAKE MORE STUFF FOR ETSY EVERY WEEK OR ELSE.

So the model horses are really sort of a symbol of the childhood joy I’ve managed to recapture, wresting time and energy back from my workaholic tendencies. I’ve even been thinking about what my professional life is going to look like once the pandemic eases up enough to allow events again, and whether I’ll put the same amount of time toward vending and and teaching at conventions and festivals as I used to. (There are a few favorites that I’m not going to miss for anything, so don’t worry about me dropping out entirely.) But for the first time in a very long time, I’m relearning to prioritize myself, and figuring out that maybe I don’t have to go hell-bent for leather every week, every year, in order to keep the bills paid and the critters fed.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s okay for this dead-critter-artist, pagan-nonfic-author, teacher-vendor-farmer, to indulge herself with something fun, and bet on the ponies to help her get through the tough times.

(P.S. Amid everything going on, I am back to working steadily on my next book, which I mentioned in this blog post almost a year ago. As a recap, its working title is Coyote’s Journey: Deeper Work With the Major Arcana, and it’s a deep dive into that section of the tarot using pathworkings with the animals I assigned to the major arcana of the Tarot of Bones. It’s not just a Tarot of Bones book, though; it’s a good way to get a new, nature-based angle on the majors in general, as well as hopefully gain a better understanding of yourself. My goal is to have it out later this year, self-pub of course, and at the rate I’m going it may end up being my longest book! Stay tuned, and if you want to get excerpts of the work-in-progress, become my Patron for as little as $1/month!)

*At the height of my “horse girl” phase, I had a really beat-up pony saddle I’d bought for ten bucks at a yard sale, and got a cheap saddle stand for it and put it in my room. And yes, I occasionally sat on it and pretended I was riding an actual horse. Hey, it made me happy at the time, and it was the closest I was ever going to get apart from a trail ride every few years.

**Yes, I do sell my customs. But I don’t make them on a schedule, I take commissions VERY sparingly, and I’m getting to stretch some new creative muscles, especially in the realms of sculpting and painting, so this is primarily for my enjoyment. The sales are just a side benefit.

(My ode to the forests of the Pacific Northwest, a Breyer deer repainted to resemble the Columbian black-tailed deer that frequent the farm I live on, along with hand-sculpted Amanita muscaria mushrooms, real and fake moss, and real lichens from fallen branches.)

#Breyer #model horses #vulture culture #artwork #artist

49 notes · View notes

lemonlushff-iy · 4 years

Photo

Do you want to play a game?

In the spirit of Halloween, I’ve written some One Last Ride smut. Two smuts.

Almost 40 pages worth.

It’s kinky. It’s hot. It’s semi public. It comes with butt plug warnings, and spanking warnings, and ass play warnings, and “Call me Daddy” warnings.

And to read it...You have to meet the following notes to get a treat:

10/16 Snippet 0 - 0 Notes (the freebie snippet)

10/16 Snippet 1 - 500 Notes

10/16 Snippet 2 - 1,000 Notes

10/17 Snippet 3 - 1,500 Notes

10/17 Snippet 4 - 2,000 Notes

10/18 Snippet 5 - 2,500 Notes

10/18 Snippet 6 - 3,000 Notes

10/18 Snippet 7 - 3,500 Notes

I didn’t want the game to be over in a day, so I’m only posting the snippets on the dates listed next to said snippet. Provided we meet the note goal. I don’t think we will...but...As a precaution, I added them in. The game could take longer than three days. WHO KNOWS!

“But Lemon...what happens if we reach 2,000 notes on 10/16??”

I’ll post Snippet 3 and 4 as soon as I wake up on 10/17.

“But Lemon...what happens if we reach 3,500 notes on 10/16??”

Still posting them as soon as I wake up on the dates listed next to the snippets...But...Damn...I will be IMPRESSED.

I hope this is fun for people...that was my goal!!

And I hope you catch the “Easter Eggs” in it. I’m curious how many people will find them all.

I’ll post everything once it’s done on FFN and AO3, and you can catch what I’m doing for @clearwillow‘s game early on my Patreon HERE! (It might be more smut...It might be fluff. WHO KNOWS! Either way it’s related to One Last Ride. Again. Either way it will be posted there once it’s done before going into her game!)

PLEASE NOTE THIS GAME WON’T START UNTIL 10/16!!

Until then...

He was right.

Between the two of them, she was the screamer…and she was trying so hard to not scream! But when he did those things to her...God...It was nearly impossible!

He pulled away from her to look her in the eye as he deliberately slowed his pace, wanting to torment her a little before slamming his fingers back into her dripping cunt. Her resulting moan echoed off the walls around them.

“Quiet Kagome...You don’t want to get caught…”

Wall of tags for notifications - Please let me know if you want in or out:

@clearwillow, @keichanz, @dangerouspompadour, @nartista, @kaze-ranna, @superpixie42, @sticky-llama-perfection, @pinkpigeonstudio, @mcornilliac, @itzatakahashi, @zelink-inukag, @juliatheanimelover7, @i-dream-of-soup, @smmahamazing, @the-lucky-ones311, @cyncyn981, @animemomma96, @ayari17, @underwater0phelia, @sailorbabydoll92, @l-taisho29, @animelove1313, @littlemissinukag, @gofoulpuppycollector, @umacaking, @chanin29, @willowandfog, @lebiishoujo, @theinuyashareader, @bluejay785, @irrationalandimpossible, @cstorm86, @ruddcatha, @desiree239, @littledaisy91, @liz8080, @cannibalsforbreakfast, @horriblehowl, @arcprz, @daisy-st-pati3nce, @senneth-pendra, @nsr0716, @eringobroke, @kagometaishostory, @thisshipisbananahs, @sunsetskys, @ajoy3fanfics, @sangoslays, @v0dka-cat, @cloudsz04, @lavendertwilight89, @yurawiththegoodhair, @saturnsilence, @lavaffair, @blairex, @fawn-eyed-girl, @fandomobsessions016, @neutronstarchild, @preciouslyours, @kalsies, @shnuggletea, @ladyphoenix0711, @littlestuffstohide

#olr halloween game #lemon's reblog smut game #inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha fanfic #inuyashafanfic #inuyasha #inukag #DAMNIT CARRA #Ode to Carra #Clearwillow #rancher #cattle rancher #western #romance #angst #one last ride #lemonlushff

47 notes · View notes

bibbykins · 4 years

Text

Heliophilic Rain and His Pluviophile (M)

Yikes, it’s been a hot minute. That’s my bad. I have been having it a little rough with my job and so I’m in the process of finding another one and that among a billion other things is slowing me down. Which makes me wonder if I were to open commissions if anyone would be interested? I also would like to add there is a scene that could be triggering so proceed with caution, please. Either way, thank you for your patience as always, and I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: (Soft) Yandere! Yoongi x Reader Genre: Smut/Fluff

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: possessiveness, yandere tendencies, anxiety, unspoken threat of sexual assault, slight violence, oral, penetrative sex, cock warming, toxic relationship (he's yandere ya kno)

Summary: He was the rain just as you were the sun, both too transfixed with watching each other to get any closer. Few things feel more refreshing than drops of fresh rain on heated skin or the warmth of the sun on a gloomy day. It would be a shame to not indulge in the natural wonders of the world before you.

“Her voice was like the wind. I could listen until it was all that filled me. I could listen until she swept me away into the vast ocean of her presence. I would drown if it meant I would drift back to her. Her voice was like the wind. No matter how much I tried to catch it, I would get carried away. Suddenly, I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Suddenly, home was wherever she said it was, so long as she did so with that voice of hers.”

“His voice was like the tap of rain against a window. He was asking me to go out to see him, but there was something beautiful about the way I knew he wasn’t referring to me specifically. I was a mere onlooker to his presence. Even so, I would catch a cold if it meant I could reach him, even for a moment. I thought this, knowing I would never have the guts to go outside. I made peace with this until the taps on my window turned into knocks on my door.”

——-

The office had an industrial-chic style about it, filled with neutral tones and the clanging of chains for no other purpose except fashion donned upon its employees. The color palette was gloomy and soothing, just how Yoongi liked it, an aesthetic that his employees gleefully shared with him as well. Each morning, Yoongi would look out his office and admire his growing business, eyes never lingering on one place too long, he loved all of the office equally. This much rang true until he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your form.

“She’s like a breath of fresh air, isn’t she?” Hoseok placed his hand on Yoongi’s soldier as he watched you through the glass doors of the conference room you were currently introducing yourself in, “Don’t be too hard on her, she’s competent and hardworking, okay?”

Yoongi could barely hear his friend as he lost himself in the way your eyes crinkled from a genuine smile adorning your face. You were his new host to one of the podcasts his company picked up. From the merger with Hoseok’s company full of his college friends, Yoongi went from popular podcast host and semi-popular producer to a CEO of Min Productions, famous music artists in production and performance, who oversaw the production of music and several podcasts on several topics, and you were what he had initially dreaded.

From the merger, came money, but what also came with it was Namjoon, the PR head of the company Hoseok was a part of, being able to choose one of every five talents for Yoongi to build up, hopefully into fame. Yoongi had just reached his fifth host, the podcasts he chose mostly consisting of music commentary or general life talks from people with aesthetics aligned with his own. However, from the sea of neutral colors and low voices partaking in casual conversation came you.

You were a perky college senior with some light in your eyes still. You were a rare find and had no set style ranging anywhere from pastels to the grunge he was used to seeing, but what never changed was your smile. Your teeth made an appearance at least 10 times a day, judging by the third smile you had just flashed the crew in a two-minute time frame.

Your podcast, however, oddly betrayed your attitude. You ran a sex and lifestyle podcast where you asked questions most people were too shy to throw out into the world pertaining to the unspoken social rules of casual dating and sex. It was interesting, yes, but it didn’t align with the brand Yoongi had been building judging by the synopsis.

The fuss he made to Namjoon ended as soon as he sat down and listened to a podcast of yours.

—–

“I have a formal complaint I would like to file!” You proclaimed as Yoongi found himself listening to your most recent podcast, “Why the fuck can’t I get a sugar daddy my age? It’s almost like… like my age demographic consists mostly of broke-ass college kids living with their parents, in a dorm, or like ya girl, an overpriced apartment and not rich as fuck for no reason. Fucking whack, I’ll say it.” He unwittingly cracked a smile at your charm and sarcasm, “I spent one day on sugarbaby.com and had to watch vanilla straight porn at the number of wrinkly dicks I saw instead of profile pictures. That’s like the most boring porn. So here comes a Patreon plug for the brainwashing I will conduct on myself in case I saw anyone’s grandfather’s penis.” You had an unabashed charm about you that urged him to listen more, maybe just one more episode.

Yoongi found himself listening to your entire discography, even the less promoted music you released once every blue moon, which wasn’t half-bad. However, he couldn’t find a picture of you, most likely because you posted under the alias Sugar Sun. The only pictures of yourself being from behind.

“On this episode of men are trash: men are fucking trash. Hello all, Sugar Sun here, and let’s talk about my day,” Yoongi could feel his intrigue grow, as you kept releasing, your delivery became less forced and more natural, “I don’t talk much in class, believe it or not. I’m a stuttering mess and like two people know my name at my big ass university, so when I do talk and my shit hole of a lab partner yells at me in the middle of a presentation to speak up, I cry, in front of the class. But do I stop the presentation? No, I’m fucking frozen with fear, so I just continue with my tears and the presentation. Bitch, what the fuck I looked like a middle school drama kid doing a monologue in front of her math class for no fucking reason.” You took a deep breath, “In conclusion, I’m sensitive and men are trash. Now, to the podcast.”

You had gained more traction with your commentary on romantic life and general comedy, catching Namjoon’s attention, “Hello again, double S here, with a special announcement. I got like, an actual company to sign me! Wild, I know! I’ll get paid and have meet-ups and stuff, which means you lovely listeners will get to soak in my face and talk to me in person and really experience why the only orgasms I’ve had are self-made!”

—–

“Yoongi!” Hoseok tapped his shoulder, snapping him out of his trance you put him in.

“Sorry, she’s just-”

“Be nice,” Hoseok warned.

“Like sunshine.” Yoongi could feel the air enter his lungs as you sat down with a smile, “Like, what the fuck, Hobi?”

His friend blinked, “Woah, shit, what?” He stifled a laugh, “You know, there isn’t a no-dating policy, right?”

“I’m well aware.” Yoongi rolled his eyes, “But there will be if anyone tries anything.” He spoke nonchalantly and Hoseok choked on air at his friend’s obliviousness while the glass doors of the conference rooms were opened, you pouring out from it, waltzing to Yoongi and Hoseok.

“Hello, Mr. Min and Ho-Mr. Jung, I’m Y/n, or Sugar Sun, thank you for this amazing opportunity.” You bowed as Hoseok shook off his bewilderment for just a moment to give you a small bow with Yoongi.

“I look forward to spending more time with you.” Yoongi spoke in his regular gruff voice, the same one that proclaimed to have your hand in marriage just moments before, “I find you’ll be a breath of fresh air to the company.”

“I also look forward to seeing how your podcasts go, you have a photoshoot in a couple weeks, right?” Hoseok smiled warmly at you as you beamed back to him. Yoongi swore the whole exchange was blinding.

“I do! I’m a little nervous, since it’ll be my big face reveal, and I don’t know how well I model.” You giggled and Yoongi found his new favorite song the moment you did.

Yoongi had a tendency to do this, whether or not he wanted to. He was a passionate man. He craved love and could see it coming from a mile away. Despite being one of the seven main heartthrobs of his college campus, he almost exclusively stuck to serious relationships, and he meant it when he said serious. Yoongi was a little, to put it lightly, obsessive. He was a jealous boyfriend, but he did his best to try not to be too overbearing. He was also excessively protective, and the women he dated were grungy free spirits who enjoyed the chase when all Yoongi wanted was to catch them then hold them for the rest of his life. Despite being blinded by his own passion, he could still see when it wasn’t going to last, having accepted to never find a girl to accommodate and sedate him when needed. However, when you looked his way, or he heard your voice, it was something more than a need being filled.

You felt your heart leap out of his chest, trying not to fall into Yoongi’s hands when you first saw him, and here he was, nonchalantly giving you an inkling of a smile. Maybe it was the lack of a solid fuck or a relationship, but you were definitely breaking some HR rules in your mind.

Suddenly, you became aware of the content you dished out. You talked about your sex life often, and he knows you’re inexperienced and terribly horny. You internally punched yourself in the face. He probably thinks you’re so weird. Yet, here you were, a huge fan of Agust D and now Min Yoongi was staring at you.

Yoongi smiled, “Don’t worry, I’ve had my experience with a face reveal or two.”

You returned his smile, remembering the day Agust D revealed his face. The whole world stopped, and you only fell deeper when you looked at his eyes, “I-I remember, I’m a fan.” You looked down shyly before facing him again.

“Funny, I am a fan of yours.” He spoke lowly as Hoseok had long walked away unnoticed.

You giggled stupidly, “A fan?” Your sunny smile beamed at him. He had always preferred rainy days, but if this was what the sun looked like, he could get used to being a little warm here and there, “I can hardly believe it.”

“I’m gone a lot and yet, your voice has a certain factor to it that draws people in. ” He mused as his eyes trapped you, “I wonder where you’ve been all my life.”

Just like that, the bubble popped. The chimes came to a screeching halt. The rose-tinted glasses were abruptly ripped off of your face. The magic cleared, and you were left with the realization that while you had damn near counted every interaction, no matter how minuscule, and he hadn’t cared to remember you until now.

“Here’s my personal cell,” He hands you a pristine card with silver numbers, “Call me if you need anything, and I mean it.” You take the card with a quaint smile that deflates

He’s never noticed you until now, of course. The answer to his thoughts was that you’ve been right here.

Before Yoongi could register the chill in the air without your smile, Hoseok came back, “Hey Yoongs, let’s go, we got a flight in a few hours.“

“Right.” Yoongi breaks eye contact with you.

“Have a good flight!” You smile, not as wide as before, and Yoongi sees it.

“See you Tuesday, y/n!” Hoseok waves.

“Don’t be late!” You giggle and as soon as they both are out of earshot, Yoongi grills him.

“You know her?!” Yoongi snaps as he enters the town car.

Hoseok blinks at him, confused, “Duh? I thought that was a given.” Upon seeing his friend’s puzzled face remain, Hoseok’s eyes went wide, “Holy shit, you don’t remember her?!”

The older male blinked in confusion, “I’ve never met her before?”

The younger businessman threw his head back as he placed his hands over his face in frustration, “She was in our forensics class and our history class last year’s fall semester and the year before!” He was exasperated, “Remember the super genius sophomore?”

Yoongi racked his brain. Last year? He had been dating some angsty theology major. How could he have let himself be blinded by a temporary fling when the love of his life was right there? He could kick himself at this moment. No wonder your smile faltered, you had remembered him, “Liar, you can’t be serious.”

“Dude, she tutors me to this day in history.” Hoseok deadpanned, “All she requires is I buy her meals that day.”

“How often do you guys have study dates?” Yoongi grits out as his friend snorts at the notion of it being a date.

“Your possessive is showing,” He snickered, “My girl is all I can see these days, no matter how cute y/n is.”

“I will end you if you touch her,” Yoongi doesn’t hesitate, “Especially with the way you treat girls,” His face scrunches in disgust before he grumbled, “But how often?”

“Every other Tuesday.” Hoseok smirked, “And you mean used to treat girls.”

Yoongi huffed in agreeance.

—-

“Hello, party people.” Your voice entered Yoongi’s headphones as he leaned back on his hotel bed, “Sugar Sun here, in my bedroom. We’re calm, we’re casual, it is a Friday night and this one goes out to my fellow homebodies.” You switched off to play a song. Part of the contract you signed was that you are allowed to go live whenever you liked to encourage and tend to fans. You explained it was almost a tradition for you to set aside a Friday night in once a month for your fans and Yoongi found in comforting as he lay alone.

Your taste in music was so unbelievably cute, he couldn’t help but smile at the lo-fi song, “And we’re back, hello all here and all who are joining as I speak. Today I took a tour of the studio my actual podcasts will be recorded in and holy shit, they seem to actually take me seriously as a personality and even artist, so expect some tunes soon.” Yoongi smiled at this, you don’t even know your potential, “I’m looking at the chat now to see if there are any questions, and- oh, yes, I did meet my boss. Yes, the iconic Min Yoongi. He is as dreamy as they say, but I have actually met him before.” Yoongi sunk a little further in shame, “Did he remember me?” You read from the chat, “No, of course not. I’m a voice, but no one will know me if I don’t use it.” You sighed out and he felt his heart clench. He was such a fucking idiot. “Which I don’t much beyond this mic. Am I scared to say this now that he’s my boss?” He held his breath a bit, “No, I doubt he’s listening. He said he was my fan, but he could just have said that to be a nice guy.” You laughed, a hint of sadness evident, “What a fucking disaster I must seem like if he were to, huh?” The sadness in your voice more prominent, “If he is, hi Mr. Min, please erase this from your memory, as well as my sophomore haircut.”

The live went on as normal and Yoongi drifted to sleep to the melodious sound of your voice for the remainder of the flight. However, even in his dreams, you were just out of reach, and he couldn’t begin to put into words how much it killed him.

—-

You don’t know how you got here. You looked around at the shabby setup. This "photography studio” looked a lot, and you mean a lot, like it was a half-assed school set not long ago. You scoffed, throwing your hands up incredulously when you caught sight of a black couch. You really hated your manager.

The jackass was assigned to you and you were too scared to say how uncomfortable he made you. He treated you like a child, but the way he looked at you was too adult for your taste. He was constantly texting you and asking for photos of your face, which you were constantly rejecting. To top it all off, he wants you to call him Big Brother, not Oppa, Big Brother. You opted for Big Bro instead, since he won’t give you his name. No, to top it all off, he booked your photo shoot with a “friend” of his to “save the company money”. He asked you to show up in a dress no longer than your knees and you felt dumber and dumber as time went on for doing so.

You stood in the middle of this studio-warehouse apartment waiting for this great photographer to show up. As you stood here, your initial thought was “how fucking ridiculous is that” but the longer you were there and the more you studied the ropes that were no longer as well hid, something in your stomach began to turn.

You were in actual fucking danger. This situation could not be a funny story if you didn’t live to tell it. Your eyes darted from different red flags in the room. A spot of dried blood scratches on the cheap wallpaper, bare plaster marks against the beige wall, a poorly-concealed camera you hadn’t noticed until now. Your chest squeezed when your phone vibrated.

You could get out of here! All you had to do was send an SOS.

Hoseok: Good luck in the photoshoot from my other half and I!

You smiled lovingly at the snapchat from the male, the more permanent girl in his life with a smile on her face and an encouraging thumbs-up. They were evidently on a date, finally, so there was no way you could call them to come get you. You would hate to bother them.

Mr. Min: Let me know how the shoot goes.

You faltered over the message. He was professional as ever. Would he think less of you if you abandoned a shoot like this?

Yoongi agonized over the three dots that stared him down. He had to remind himself to blink as he watched the minutes tick by that felt like hours. What the hell were you typing?

It had been about a couple of weeks since you’ve been under Yoongi’s company and all had been normal. Your routine was the same, and so was his. Except for this time, you two would exchange polite texts on what the other would do.

Sugar Sun: Great song as always!

You would always send exclamation points or some sparkle emojis, even a sun here and there. Yoongi found himself unable to shield his cheesy grin at the texts you sent him. You were always the first person to praise his new work. He found himself craving your praise more and more, but he forced himself to remain professional.

Mr. Min: Loved your live.

He always used punctuation despite using fragments which somehow added an aura of professionalism that he effortlessly radiated in person. Nevertheless, you would always send back a sparkly thank you which made Yoongi melt. He prided himself on not overstepping boundaries by attempting to control your professional life. His self-restraint proved quite strong as he held himself back from taking you out to lunch or giving you special treatment. This restraint was put to the ultimate test when he found out you were assigned Hyungin as your manager. He was an unfortunate employee with constant reports that would ultimately be rescinded by the female employees.

He was a disgusting piece of shit, Yoongi deduced. Hyungin was the brother of the management agency contracted by his company, per Namjoon’s damn insistence, and he was itching for that contract to end, and soon. Yoongi had to physically hold himself back when he found this information out, trying to respect you by not meddling or keeping tabs on you.

His resolve was a very thin string that was tugged and tugged as the days went on with Hyungin having total control over your schedule and an excuse to contact you 24/7. You were a strong girl and had not made a report. He had to respect that.

Your lip began to twitch, a movement you quickly halted as you shook the fear off. Maybe you were overreacting. Maybe you were being stuck up. You weren’t like Yoongi, maybe you had to photoshoot in shabby places.

You: I’m kind of scared…

You shook your head, erasing the message and locking your phone. You huffed, it was 30 minutes past the scheduled time. Surely you had the right to leave? You heard the back door open and could feel the bile lurch in your throat.

Something was very wrong. You were not overreacting. There were several heavy footsteps and as they thudded through the warehouse, nearing your reaching form, you could not deny the quaking fear that traveled through your veins like electricity.

One? Two? No, four sets of steps. The uneven rhythm proved as much, too many for a measly photoshoot. Too many for you to take on all at once. The correct amount to hold you down. The correct amount to-

“Little sis, are you here?” A sickening voice called out and you realized the steps stopped with only his continuing.

He was trying to surprise you.

“Come on, dear, let’s get to know each other.” You could hear the predatory smirk on his face and you choked on a horrified breath as the fear pricked your skin and pierced your lungs.

You were choking on your own horror.

“Come out, come out,” He called and you were frozen, absolutely fucking frozen.

Run.

You stood up, breaking into a sprint that was a hair too slow. You felt a calloused, obscenely rough handgrip your forearm with a vigorous force and you screamed. He was squeezing, and at this rate, your bones would surely snap, “Not so fast, little girl.” He stood next to you, breath pungent with halitosis. From peripheral vision, you could see his five o'clock shadow and you realized the size difference and the lack of camera. You couldn’t stop screaming, mimicking every cell in your body that seemed to yell,

RUN.

Just like lightning, you struck him with your head, harder than you knew you could stand. His nose gave you an all too satisfying crack and his grip loosened enough for you sprint again, this time more than quick enough to keep going. You heard the clamoring of footsteps and eventually, all you could hear was the sound of the wind as you turned corners you had no familiarity with, running until your legs could no longer carry you.

Your legs finally shook you down to your knees in a part of town you barely recognized. You had passed through here once before as a freshman in college sight-seeing. It was a tourist spot and you exhaled on the sidewall as people stepped around you.

You heaved a breath that you swore you had been holding for hours with a small victorious smile. Your eyes scanned the area of regular people and your hands shaking brought attention to the purse you thankfully still had.

Without thought, you ripped it open, using your phone to call the first person you could.

“Y/n?” His voice was gruff, as if he was whispering whilst trying to talk normally, “Is everything okay?” He seemed confused, you had never called him before.

“Can you… uh…” You faltered after realizing the strangled sound you made, voice raw from the screams you let out, “…please come get me.” You nearly whispered.

“Send me your location, I’m on my way.” Yoongi didn’t miss a beat before adding, “Stay where you are, don’t go near anyone.” He ended the phone call and you followed his directions, dropping your pin. You sighed in relief as you took refuge on the sidewalk, draping the cardigan in your bag over your shoulder, securing it around yourself.

Yoongi shot up from his office chair, looking at his employees mid-powerpoint. His marketing team turned into ice at his gaze. His eyes were much darker than a moment ago, and his jaw was like stone, “I have an emergency to attend to, we will proceed at a later date.” The room nodded stiffly as their boss walked out, all of them unaware why, having been too scared to even try to listen to his phone call.

Never in Yoongi’s life had he sped so recklessly. You were 10 minutes away and something was wrong. Your voice had never sounded so vulnerable. He had never heard it that quiet before. You were in a plaza of popular building, and if you had a photo shoot today, this would not be near any studio at all. His blood boiled at the thought of anyone taking away your light.

He slammed on the brakes when he caught sight of your shrunken form on the sidewalk, your head jerked up at the sound as your entire body jumped. Why were you so scared? Your face had a small streak of makeup on the side of your face and his skin only flared as you scurried into the car and Yoongi began driving to a more familiar side of town.

“Please don’t take me home.” You pleaded, unable to face him due to the shame.

Yoongi chose not to prod, for the time being, only nodding in response as he drove. He could see you stare out the window at the passing building and he watched your shaking for curl into the car seat. He settled on this resolve of leaving you alone all the way up to the inside of his apartment until your lip quivered as you plopped down on the couch, eyes unwavering from its spot at your feet. Then, you began to cry. No, not cry, sob, sob your hardest and just like that, a single tear snapped the ever-thinning string of restraint he had left.

You were pulled into Yoongi’s chest as sobs racked through your body, you clutched his shirt as you soaked it with tears of fear, relief, joy, and you couldn’t stop. Hell, you could barely breathe. Even so, Yoongi held you as his expensive dress shirt crumbled under your grip and stained with your mascara and eyeliner proving not to be as water-resistant as you hoped. His grip was unwavering and when a hand went to stroke your hair, you could feel oxygen reach your lungs again.

“It’s okay.” He breathed, “You’re safe now.” He fought the urge to clench his jaw again as you gripped his shirt harder.

Your breathing began to even as he whispered soft words into your ear until your eyes couldn’t cry anymore. The both of you stood there for what felt like an eternity, clinging onto one another as he felt the softness of your cardigan against his hands. You eventually broke the silence with a meek, “I’m so sorry."

"Why is that?” He spoke softly, his last intent was to scare you.

“I ran away from the shoot, and I know it’s not professional but…” You shivered, “ He didn’t have a camera.” Yoongi could kill somebody, “He had three other guys with him.” Someone, no, all of them are going to have to pay, he concluded. Nobody involved would leave the ordeal with their lives intact. They would lose everything for trying to take his sunshine away, for making your light falter, for even a moment.

He ripped himself from you, to sternly meet your eyes, “Do not apologize for the swine you encountered.” Your eyes only reflected sorrow, “You’re alive, and that is what matters most, okay?” You nodded.

“You’re not mad at me?” Your voice cracked against your will as you looked up at Yoongi, eyes glassy and begging for reassurance.

He visibly softened, “No, Sunshine, I could never be mad at you.” You nodded in understanding, “But will you let me fix this for you?”

Maybe you should have known from the beginning. You looked at Yoongi, so eager to be your saving grace, eyes intense with intent, and yet his touch was so soft. A man in love was a dangerous man, you once read in a book. Yet, never in your life have you craved such a man before, and if Yoongi’s rage mixed with infatuation could measure close to love, you would take it. He was powerful, he was kind, and he was pleasing to the eye. He was offering you the world in that one question.

“Please.” You cast your pride aside, “They don’t deserve mercy.” An angry tear went down your cheek, “I’m so tired of trying to brave it, doubting myself, denying myself any chance of help.” You could feel the tear trickle with hot fury, “I’m so fucking sick of relying on myself.”

Yoongi was quick to catch the tear with the softest hand you’ve ever felt, “I’m here now.” He spoke with the utmost confidence.

Your relationship with Yoongi from that point for the next couple of months was interesting, to say the least. You had somehow moved in upon his request, him rationalizing it by saying they knew where you lived. Granted, he wasn’t wrong. Hyungin knew where you lived, but within two weeks he and the monsters you encountered were promptly locked in a very dangerous maximum-security prison. You decided not to dwell on how they took such a shitty deal with a well-deserved long sentence.

Some things were above your pay grade, and you made peace with it.

Even so, he didn’t stop there. He could no longer stand on the sidelines anymore. That line blurred beyond recognition the moment he held you in his arms. He was essentially your new manager, stating he owed you at least that much after letting you fall into the hands of such a monster. Thankfully, the releasing of official statements and press conferences were received well. The victim-blaming for the nature of your podcast kept to an obsolete minimum. Your face still had not been released upon your request and you were able to move on, the media no longer covering the story as the sentencing was sealed.

The months passed in a flurry of Yoongi being awfully vague each time you asked about his personal life. He was constantly home outside of work, which you didn’t mind, but you didn’t want him to put his social life on your accord. You also had much less confidence in his infatuation for you then you did a couple months ago. Every time you tried to make a move, which meant a small brush of physical contact, he was not responding. The last time he gave you affection was the hug during your breakdown. The most you got out of him were a couple of head pats.

Like that did anything for you.

For crying out loud, you ran a sex and lifestyle podcast with no sex from the hot man you lived in the same home as.

Hell, the most emotion you see from him is the purest politeness you have ever encountered.

“Hello my listeners, welcome to the obligatory virginity talk.” Your voice was crisp in the mic as Yoongi laid in his bed, headphones in, listening to the newly released podcast. He was still a loyal listener, despite you living in his guest bedroom. He still could not get enough of your voice. If anything, he craved you more and desperately held himself back. He loved having you with him, but never did he think he would have to turn to rubbing one out during your more racy episodes or when he heard you pleasuring yourself in the dead of night.

Not even his thoughts could satiate him with you right there, and yet, out of reach.

“It has come to my attention that many of you think I’m a virgin, not that it’s an insult..” He could hear the smile in your voice, “Alas, I am not, but that doesn’t change my hand being the most impressive thing my pussy has seen, I’ll tell you what.” You giggled at this, “No, I take that back, my magic wand is my BFF.” Yoongi shifted, wondering if you had your toys in your room. He had sent for all of your things after all. God, he could already feel his dick hardening. How pathetic you make him at the very thought of you fucking yourself silly, eyes rolled back, vibrator against your clit. He huffed, shaking away the thoughts, “ Anyhow, let’s talk trends I am late to, rare, I know, but what’s this whole spelling coconut with your hips riding someone business?” You pondered, “I haven’t ridden someone in a good while, and my dildo can’t tell me if it feels good, so I’m at a loss here.” You sighed almost longingly, “God, I miss getting fucked, but also romanced,” You groaned, “It’s been a rough as fuck dry couple of months, which didn’t bother me for a while considering… you know, but the world keeps turning and I stay alone but moving on…” You droned and Yoongi went into overdrive.

Did you seriously want to fuck someone? Like someone else? You were living with him now, why would you feel the need to have relations with anyone else? His fists clenched at the very concept. You couldn’t be talking for show, you were say too genuine. Before he could even stop himself, he marched over to his bedroom door, ripping it open.

Only when he did had did he realize that you were in front of him, hand raised to knock on the door, “Oh, hey.” You gave him a smile as you slowly retreated your raised arm, “I was just gonna see if you wanted to watch a movie with me?” Every so often you both would have a movie night in which you would try to understand his feelings with small touches and ultimately fail. Nevertheless, you enjoyed his company. Today, you were buying into an article’s advice and watching a scary one. Not that you were terrified, but you were a jumpy person.

At this rate, you couldn’t tell if you were horny or just wanted affection.

Both, probably.

Your crush on Yoongi had only worsened throughout this whole experience to top it off. He was hot and kind who could blame you? And yet, he never made a single move as if he had no interest. God, what if he didn’t have any interest?

Your heart sank for a moment, “If not, I think I was gonna try to go out-”

“No!” Your eyes widened at Yoongi’s panicked tone when he cleared his throat, “I mean, I want to watch a movie, so you don’t have to go out.” He muttered and you nodded slowly. He could not have you going out, not after what he heard. You were craving other people. He couldn’t bear the thought.

“O…kay…” You smiled a bit, “Well, I picked a scary one if you think you can hang.” You gave him a sly smile before going to make popcorn.

He smiled as he watched you prance to the kitchen. You were so beautiful and fun and everything he’s ever needed. All that was left was for you to be his, but he didn’t want to scare you away. He had to be a gentleman. He had to wait for the right time. That’s what Jin, Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung said. The only issue was that he had no idea what the hell that meant.

“You know, Mr. Min-”

“Yoongi.” He was quick as ever to correct you, “Please.” He sounded more desperate than usual and you nodded.

“Right, well I was just going to say that you have absurd taste in snacks.” You said with a chuckle, “All I ever see in you cupboards are coffee.” You wistfully sigh, “I need to go grocery shopping.”

The sound of you being so domestic-made Yoongi break into an ill-concealed smile as he settled onto the sofa, setting the oddly scary movie you chose up, “I can take you on Saturday.” You nodded when you finally found a bag of chips and sat next to the man of your affection with a cushion between the two of you.

You really couldn’t say what the movie was about, you had only seen it between the gaps in your fingers all while Yoongi watched it with a straight face. When it ended he said a short goodnight as always, except something in you, lurched out.

“Actually, I think I may go out after all.” You swore you followed your mouth’s lead as opposed to the opposite. You just said shit and had to go along with it. Fuck, you didn’t want to go out. You wanted to stay home and be scared that there was a ghost in the closet, but now you had to get ready and shit.

“Why?” Yoongi stopped, hand gripping his door handle much harder than usual.

You were taken aback by the question. It was valid, you supposed. But was it? How do you even answer that question? “Well, it’s been a while since I've… ya know…” You clicked your tongue, suddenly too shy to say,

“Had sex?” It was so blunt, and his eyes pierced through you and yet, you could feel your core tingle.

You were nothing but a sputtering mess, “W-W, I-I, Mr. Min-”

“Yoongi, y/n.” He spoke through gritted teeth as he stalked over to you. Despite the unconscious steps back you were taking, the couch brought you to an abrupt stop.

“R-Right, anyways, I-” You shut your mouth when Yoongi hovered over you with his presence alone.

“Say it,” He glared daggers into your form, “Say my name.” Before you could even open your mouth Yoongi groaned, slamming his hands on the couch on either side of you in frustration, “God, why do you want other people when I’m right fucking here?” Your mouth was agape at this, “I’m so sick of holding myself back.” He cursed, body pressing against yours.

“What do you mean? Other people?” You mustered and Yoongi let out a chuckle void of humor.

“I listened to your podcast about wanting to be with someone and getting romance and…” Yoongi seriously thought you had been referring to anyone but him? Him? Seriously? The hot man in the place you live? You couldn’t stifle your laugh which caused his rant to falter, “How is this a laughing matter I am-”

“So fucking dense.” You giggled, “I’ve wanted you to at least look my way for the past three years, and you seriously think I want to be with other people?!” You sighed, “I live with you for fuck’s sake, and you won’t touch me!” Now, you were letting your frustrations out, “I brush your hand, I touch thighs with you, I-I scare the shit out of myself hoping you’ll at least hold me!” You heaved a breath, “And all you do is stay still!” You let out a frustrated yell, “The most attention I got from you was when I was almost attacked, is that what I need to do to draw sap from a fucking rock?!”

Yoongi flared at this, “Don’t ever think about putting yourself in danger.” He pointed at you, “I couldn’t take it, and I can’t take you not being honest with me, I thought you never noticed-” He was being a hypocrite, but he didn’t care.

“How could you say I don’t notice you when you straight up forgot I existed until this year?!” Yoongi was the one dumbfounded this time, and you took your chance to push past him, “I will go out tonight because I deserve-”

You couldn’t even breathe the next syllable before your back hit Yoongi’s bedroom door, his hands pinning your wrists above your own, the man breathing heavy. The air was thick with frustration as he gave you a stern look, “You deserve the world, I know,” The anger in you began to dissipate at his sincerity in his words, “And I am so in love with you, that I don’t think I’m worthy of giving it to you,” Your breath hitched at this, “But I don’t care anymore, because I would sooner kill someone before they put their hands on you, I’m sure you know I mean business, Sunshine?” You nodded, every cell in your body springing to life as Yoongi drew his lips closer to you, “So?”

You blew out a shaky breath with an equally shaky smile, “L-Love me? I-"

"Say you love me, and I’ll do it.” He was more rushed this time, urgent almost, “I’ll stop holding back, and I will give you all that you deserve and so, so much more.” He was almost pleading.

What the fuck do you know about love? What does it look like? Sound like? Is it the way Yoongi smiles at your dumb jokes in the morning? Is it the way his voice sounds through the walls as he practices newly-written lyrics? He was a good man to you. He was an attractive man. He could give you the world, and all he wanted in return was your love. Could all of this be love? Could it be the way he’s made you feel the past couple of years, especially the last couple of months?

Well, why the hell wouldn’t it be?

“I love you, Yoongi.” You breathed against his lips and he didn’t miss a beat in closing the gap so not even air could come between the two of you.

Electrifying all over again, but so, so different. This wasn’t fear. This was lust lighting a fire within you that Yoongi only stoked further as his silky tongue tangled with yours in a flurry of repressed emotions and endless unspoken confessions. His mouth attached to your neck and you let out a moan, quickly going to cover your mouth.

He ripped your hand away almost instantly, “You’re rarely this shy when you’re in your room, why deny me your sounds now?” He growled against your ear and the pure sex in his voice only made you moan louder. He was the rain you had admired from afar, but now he was pressed against you, and holy shit, were you getting wet.

“Yoongi, I don’t know if I can wait, I want to cum so fucking ba-ah!” You yelped when his hand went to cup your sex under the long shirt you always wore. You were on your tippy-toes, too sensitive to press your full weight onto him.

“Such an innocent-looking girl with such a nasty mouth.” He squeezed you in his hand and watched in glory as your eyes rolled back, “Since you’re a fan, I’ll be nice.” He teased as he got onto his knees, dragging your panties down with him to the floor.

“Oh shit.” You let out a breath that was quickly stolen when his tongue pressed against your entry. He lifted your leg, placing it over his shoulder as his mouth lapped at your clit and you lost yourself in the feeling, moaning mindlessly.

“You taste like deliverance.” He mumbled against your pussy and this only made your eyes roll back at the eroticism in his words. You couldn’t even keep track of what he was doing anymore.

All you could do was feel. His tongue fucked you into oblivion as he held your hips still, determined to make you come with his mouth, and his mouth alone. He let out a lewd suck and you quivered at the sensation and action. He knew how to play you and please you that you did. His tongue entered you again and he let out a delicious moan which vibrated against your folds, “Fuck, you sound and feel so fucking good!” You cried out as his tongue made thick strokes against you that only sped up expertly as he moaned into you, “Can I cum, Yoongi?” You asked, a smart girl, he concluded. He smirked against you, full intention to deny your request until, “Please, my love, I want to cum in your mouth like a good girl.” You begged pathetically and he couldn’t refuse you. You had him wrapped around your finger and hardly knew it. He got to work quickly, tongue entering you again only to flick upwards and you groaned at this. Groans were quickly replaced by increased screaming as he stiffened his tongue and licked all around your sex. You began to scream his name like a mantra as you tighten around the muscle and came the hardest you ever had.

You slumped against the door, chest heaving, “You okay, baby?” The nickname from him elicited a tired smile. You looked down at the man, lips glossy as he licked them. He sat back on his calves and you wasted no time in diving at him on the floor.

Before he could react, you gripped him through his sweatpants and smiled when you realized he was rock hard, “Can I please ride you?” You looked up at him through your eyelashes and he knew he couldn’t possibly say no.

“Your wish is my command, sunshine.” He growled when you straddle him as he sat, legs spread and back against the back of the couch now. You gave a less than innocent smile as you reached for his member, delicate hands wrapping around him, only to pull it free and closer to your entrance, “Condom?” He questioned.

“Pill, I need to feel you, fuck.” You panted, against logical judgment, but it was lost when you pressed the head against your own entrance, “Shit.” You ground against Yoongi as his head lolled back.

He could hardly handle it as your hips twirled, the tip just outside your entrance. Finally, he had enough, and with strong hands pulled your hips to fill you to the hilt. Your mouth popped open in shock and pure masochistic delight as the pain only added to the high of lust Yoongi gave you, “Sorry, baby girl, I knew you would feel so fucking good.” He emphasized this with a thrust up, “Plus, I could hardly resist being deep inside you immediately.” He growled in sadistic pride as your face twisted in pain and pleasure.

“Hurts so good.” Your hips moved spastically, chasing another high with Yoongi deep inside you. Not once did you lift your hips. You wanted to stay full, and Yoongi was more than happy to oblige, “So good, I wanna stay like this.” You moaned out as he sucked on your neck, hands going under your shirt to grip your breasts with a fevor you craved.

“You feel like heaven.” He grunted against your neck as he littered it with hickey after hickey. You were his and the way you squeezed around him and clawed at his shoulder only spurred him further.

Yoongi could feel himself twitching inside you and this only made you gasp as you gleefully squeezed around him, “Yes, yes,” You sounded like a prayer to him, “Cum inside me, I need it.” You were nearly screaming as he began to thrust into you at a rapid pace.

“Yeah? You want me to paint those pretty walls white, hm?” He teased you despite the strain in his voice, “Fuck it right into that pretty pussy of yours, no mine.” He grabbed your hips, working your body for his own high, “This is my pussy, isn’t it?"

"Yes, it’s all yours, Yoongi!” You yelled and with that, he groaned as he came, ropes of cum that you could feel as his hips made good of his promise to fuck it into you. You milked him as you squeezed tighter before coming undone as you came with a scream that sounded like the next symphonic masterpiece to the fucked out man inside you.

You huffed a small chuckle against his neck as your curled your form around his, “So needy.” He teased as he went to remove himself inside of you only to be met with a squeeze from you that made him curse, “You’re gonna kill me, I swear.”

You giggled, “I like how you feel inside of me.” You shrugged before shivering at the empty feeling only to gasp when three fingers were shoved into you. You wiggled in glee, “Fuck.” Your breath hot against his neck.

"You just like to be full, huh baby?“ You nodded shyly, "You’re perfect.” He chuckled as he used his other hand to stroke your back.

—-

“Announcement time, my dear listeners” You spoke in the studio, trying not to sound like it was through gritted teeth. You counted your blessings that you were alone, “As you know, your dear old Sugar Sun has promised a face reveal and I-Min Yoongi!” Well, mostly alone. You heaved a breath as you came against his mouth for the third time.

The man between your legs looked up at you, eyes way too innocent, “What? I’m waiting for my part.” He spoke nonchalantly despite the wetness on his lips.

“I’ll never get there if you keep making me cum and start over.” You glared and the man shrugged, “I got far enough, right, babe?” You pouted and watched his resolve crack, “Honeypie?” You pleaded and he faltered, “Love of my life?” He grumbled as he sat up next to you in front of the mic.

“Fine, go ahead.” He licked his lips.

“…and I decided to go a step further.” You smiled as the man next to you held your hand, “I will be doing a photoshoot to reveal my face and my collab partner to an upcoming song and my boyfriend…”

You looked to him, eyes twinkling, “That would be my cue.” He placed a quiet kiss on your head, “My name is Min Yoongi or Agust D as some of you may know, and I look forward to my career and life with this little piece of sunshine.” You giggled at this.

“So cheesy.” You gave him a bright smile nonetheless, “Crazy news, I know, but I secured the fucking bag, my dear listeners, he’s never getting rid of me."

You were joking for the most part, but you didn’t know how right you were. You would not be away from him any longer. You were his sunshine, his little songbird, and his world all at the same time. He needed you like he needed to breathe. Now, you were his. You were his sunshine despite the rain he embodied. The rainbow between the two of you was too intoxicating to even bear the idea of giving it up. Even for a fraction of second. You were his. Every moment, minute, second, everything would be together. He was yours now and forever just as you were his. Blissfully and eternally in love.

"I’m too crazy to let go now.” You laughed as he kissed your temple affectionately.

So was he.

Buy me a ko-fi (it would make my day)

Masterlist

#yandere bts #yandere yoongi #bts fanfic #bts smut #yoongi smut #bts oneshot #bts yandere au #yandere bts smut #bts #bts fluff #yoongi fluff #min yoongi

829 notes · View notes

jawritter · 3 years

Text

Twelve Days Of Christmas

Chapter 7

Summary: Dean never realized that Y/N missed Christmas until he turned off an annoying Christmas song on the radio on the way home from a hunt, now he will make it his personal mission to give her the Christmas he misses so much, and if he plays his cards right, maybe he will give her what he has wanted to give her for so many years, himself.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Written For: @spnchristmasbingo

Square Field: decorating

Word Count: 1564

Warnings: Fluff, don’t want to give to much away after that.

A/N: This is to help me catch up on my SPN Christmas Bingo card lol Chapter 8 will post tomorrow! I knew chapter will post every day until Christmas! I know I’m insane lol. This is a real time fic collection and all mistakes will be my own! Please do not copy my work! Hope you all enjoy these!!

**SERIES MASTERLIST** **MASTERLIST** **BECOME A PATREON**

You don’t remember the last time you slept that well. For some reason, you were beyond exhausted by the time you went to bed last night, probably the alcohol, but still, you appreciated the decent night's sleep nonetheless.

Normally your sleep, much like most hunters, was plagued with nightmares. Since Dean and yourself had been sharing a bed in the Cabin you, as well as Dean, seemed to be nightmare-free. Even if he did sleep as far away from you as the bed would allow, arms folded like a corpse.

Rolling over with a sigh you take in the empty bed next to you. It was cold, Dean had been up for some time. The darker than usual sky outside told you that you were probably in for another day indoors, so why was he out of bed already?

You brush off the feeling of rejection that tried to slip its way into your subconscious. If Dean had a problem with you, then why the hell would he have gone so far and done all this for you? It didn’t make sense for someone who didn’t like someone to want to spend this much time with them, doing all the nice things Dean had done for you over the last few days.

“Calm the fuck down Y/N, and stop overthinking,” you scold yourself, kicking off the covers and making your way into the living area of the cabin in search of Dean.

As soon as you descend the little set of stairs you find him easily, sitting with his coffee cup in his hands, and eyes staring at the fire he had going in the fireplace, the tree standing in the corner, put together and fluffed in the corner of the room, waiting on you to decorate later today.

You stood there watching him for a moment, with his sleep tossed hair and sweatpant clad legs spread out comfortably as his eyes watched the hungry flames dance over the logs, consuming them and turning them into ash.

You reach for your phone in your pocket, and quickly snap a picture of him. Even with the tired, whether-worn look on his face, he was still just as breathtakingly handsome as he was when he was in his late 20’s. Maybe even more so now. That boy you met long ago had been replaced with the man you now loved today. It was done through fire, and torment, the broken pieces that were once discarded, now at the hands of the potter inlaid with gold and turned into a beautiful piece of kintsugi pottery. Unique in his own right, and heartbreakingly beautiful; made so by his own brokenness.

As you descend the last step his eyes drifted from the fireplace to you, and a warm smile spread across his face, masking the tired expression from before.

“What are you doing up so early,” he asks as you drift your way to the coffee pot, pouring yourself a generous amount before taking your place next to him on the couch.

You shrug, knowing his eyes were still watching you closely as you crossed your legs and took a sip of the dark, steaming liquid, savoring its bitter taste on your tongue. “I woke up, and you were already up, so why not get up too.”

Dean hummed in response, offering you the blanket that was on the back of the couch.

“Got her all setup,” he said, nodding in the direction of the tree. “All we got to do is decorate. It’s gonna be another snow day, so I figured we’d spend today making this place look a little more festive. I know it’s a piss poor day 7, but tomorrow we can get back into more exciting stuff once the snowstorm clears.”

Sitting your coffee down on the little table in front of the two of you, you take his hand in yours, determined to get through to him.

“Dean, not every day has to be some grand plan all day! I’m perfectly happy decorating the tree and just spending the day with you. When’s the last time we actually decorated for Christmas? Don’t feel like you have to keep me busy. You’ve done so much for me already.”

Dean’s eyes drifted across your face, searching, he was always so hard on himself, he was always trying to carry everyone else’s burdens, it was unfair that no one ever tried to carry him.

“I just want this to be the Christmas you deserve, Y/N/N.”

“Dean, you’ve already given me that, and so much more. I’ll never forget this, even if I’m lucky enough to live old and develop Altimeters, I will still remember this time here with you. It means that’s much to me.”

Dean’s eyes traveled to your lips, you didn’t realize you had been gravitating closer to him as you were sitting here talking to him, but right now you were so close to him you could feel his coffee kissed breath fanning over your skin.

Before your brain could even process what to do next, Dean deliberately leaned closer to you and tentatively captured your lips in his, giving you a sweet, slow kiss that was almost not even there, but at the same time, it was enough to set your heart soaring around the room and light your world on fire all at once. It took a second for your brain to catch up with your body, but as soon as your lips begin to move slowly along with his, he deepened the kiss, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him, throwing everything he had into it; slipping his tongue across yours as your lips parted with his own, stealing your breath away from you.

When he pulled away from you he kept his eyes close and leaned his forehead against your own, both of you breathing as if you had run a marathon, the room itself even felt charged with a current of sorts, igniting around you like the air before a southern thunderstorm.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he confessed earnestly, and looking into his green eyes, still pale in color from the morning light you thought surely you must have fallen and hit your head on a hunt, or this was all some fever-induced dream.

But it wasn’t a dream or a fever-induced hallucination. This was real, Dean was real, and this whole thing was hanging entirely on your acceptance or rejection. He’d taken a chance, and Dean was quite fragile when it came to his emotions, you knew this was the last time you would ever get this chance again if you pushed him away.

“And I’ve wanted you to do it since the day I met you.”

The wide, relieved smile that spread across Dean’s face could honestly have stopped the world from moving in its tracks if they saw it. Before his lips could reconnect with your own, his phone began to ring loudly on the coffee table, cutting through the still air around you. Sam’s name flashing in bright letters across the screen.

“You better get that,” you tell him, looking at the clear dilemma developing in his features. “It might be important.”

Reluctantly, Dean reached over, grabbing the phone and answering quickly. “Make it quick Sammy.”

You watched as Dean’s features transformed from annoyed to confusion, and your nerves started to get the best of you.

“Sure, that’s fine Sammy, what time?... Okay great...see you then.”

Dean hung up the phone, leaning over and placing another tentative kiss to your lips before lacing his fingers with yours.

“We better get started decorating,” he said, watching the relief spread across your features as he did, and his heart swelled at the idea that you still wanted to say with him, that he hadn’t just overstepped and ruined everything, he just couldn’t wait any longer.

“What did Sam want?” you ask, still a little concerned.

“He and Eileen are going to drive up here to see us tomorrow, he swears nothing’s wrong, he just wants to tell us in person. So I figure we get this place in shape, maybe fix a little family dinner and our Christmas with the family tomorrow, that way Christmas morning It can be just me and you.”

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you reached for the box of decorations sitting at the foot of the coffee table, and handed Dean the string of lights to untangle.

“Well, looks like we better get started then.”

Dean grabbed the lights from your hands, kissing you quickly again before starting to work on the ball, a new excitement hanging in the air around the cabin. Whatever Sam had to say, good or bad, Dean seemed really excited, and his excitement was contagious.

Or was it the fact that you were certain your heart would never come down from floating around the raters from that kiss? You didn’t even care what it meant at this point, all you cared about was Dean was kissing you. That was something you never thought would happen. If he gave you nothing else for Christmas, that would be enough.

Forever Tags:

@deandreamernp

@forgetthisbull

@miraclesoflove

@deanwanddamons

@rvgrsbrns

@chevyharvelle

@onethirstyunicorn

@i-love-superhero

@lyss-dw79

@magssteenkamp

@lemondropirwin

@squirrelnotsam

@hobby27

@spnbaby-67

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@defenderrosetyler

@screechingartisancashbailiff

@thecreatiivecorner

@vicmc624

@busy-bee-angel-misska

@justanotherwinchester

@brilovesdeanwinchester

@idksupernatural

@lyarr24

@amandamdiehl

@miraclesoflove

@emoryhemsworth

@dean-winchesters-gardian-angel

@softsebastian

@tatted-trina6

@anaelsbrunette

@hayleeharling

@flamencodiva

@coldmuffinbanditshoe

@dirty-pan-goblin

@itmejado

@supernatural3002

@teresa-67

@thoughts-and-funnies

@hearteyes-j2

@miss-nerd95

@writers-whirlwind

@peaches007

@bobbie3939

@lunarmoon8

Jensen and Dean’s Babe

@akshi8278

@love-jackles-37-blog

@supernatural-bellawinchester

@bobbie3939

Dean babes

@forgetthisbull

Series tag list:

@440mxs-wife

#dean winchester #spnchristmasbingo #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester series #dean winchester fanfic #dean x you #dean x reader #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #jawritter #jensen ackles #twelve days of christmas

75 notes · View notes

cake-writes · 4 years

Text

Six (5/6)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Story Warnings: Angst, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (Bucky), Eating Disorder (Reader), Fluff, Slow Burn, 18+

Summary: Bucky knew that there were more important things for him to worry about. Of course he did. He still had to work through the horrors of his past, never mind his present, which was the exact reason why he honed right in on your petty bullshit. You distracted him from the things he didn’t want to think about. You also drove him up a fucking wall.

Part Four / Master List

Put me down, you dick.

Yeah, he deserved that.

You’re a real asshole, Barnes, you know that?

Bucky absolutely did know that, and yes, he deserved that, too. He deserved each and every insult you flung his way. He internalized them, naturally, but he just couldn’t sit by and watch you kill yourself. He wouldn’t, not when you scared the hell out of him like that, when he found you all alone in the middle of the woods, unconscious and unresponsive. Although it may not have been the first time he’d seen you that way, it was the second time he thought the worst – and he panicked.

Your skin felt so cold to the touch, too cold, too clammy. He could just barely hear your shallow breaths if he listened closely enough – but he somehow kept his own steady and even despite the panic. Somehow managed to calm himself, ground himself, with gentle pats to your cheek and soft, whispered words.

Come on, pretty girl, wake up for me.

Pretty. Gorgeous. Inside and out, he’d come to realize. Platonic admiration.

At first, anyway.

He’d long since shoved the idea out of his head because you weren’t well, and neither was he. Didn’t stop the words from slipping out sometimes, though. Didn’t stop the fleeting thoughts every now and then, either.

Pretty girl. Sweetheart. Wake up for me.

No matter how sweetly Bucky tried to rouse you, however, you just wouldn’t wake, and it was all his fault. Again. He hadn’t had your six. Again.

He’d gotten on your case for months about the very thing that you couldn’t handle – drove you to starve yourself, and if that wasn’t bad enough, he’d made some stupid, offhand comment about your weight. It was a joke meant to lighten the mood, but in all actuality his carelessness had contributed to your downward spiral, or maybe he’d just caused it outright.

Malnourished. Dark circles, chapped lips. Half-dead, barely breathing.

His fault. All his fault.

You scared the absolute hell out of him, and rightfully so.

His fault. Always.

For all his worth, however, Bucky couldn’t quite keep his emotions in check – not during such a long, tiring, emotionally exhausting day, and as a result, he lashed out. Of course he did. He lost his temper, and he shouldn’t have. Not this time.

It certainly had something to do with the therapy session he’d attended early in the morning, the one that set him on edge for the entire day. His therapist had dredged up a hell of a lot of memories that he didn’t want to think about. Not today. Not ever. Memories about the war had been playing on a loop inside his head for hours – dark, grim, bloody memories where he’d seen at least half the men in his platoon meet their untimely deaths. Friends of his, left without a proper burial. And Italy – Italy was worse. Italy was where he’d been forced to sit by and watch even more die.

Just like now. Just like this.

Here you were, killing yourself, and all he could do was watch.

He couldn’t let that happen, and not just because he felt guilty. No, you were broken, too. Broken just like him. Two jagged pieces of glass – easily shattered, a total mess – and Bucky had found some solace in that, some comradery. If he didn’t know better, he would have called you a friend, but it wasn’t like he’d ever confided his secrets to you. Only the opposite. You’d confided in him. You’d trusted him.

Not anymore, you didn’t.

The first jab would have been when he brushed you off first thing. You’d trusted him last night, but he’d been too caught up in his own head this morning to know how to act, how to treat you – and then he found you like that, unconscious, and that ended up like this. Small fists pounding against his back, and each weak blow felt like a dagger. Death by a thousand cuts. One for each of his mistakes.

Then the barrage began to slow, before it stopped altogether, and he knew you’d given up.

Bucky, please. Don’t do this to me.

His stomach lurched at the beautifully broken syllables of his name. Quiet. Scared. Bucky.

You’d only just started calling him that recently. For months, the two of you had well and truly hated each other. You’d always driven him up a fucking wall; still did sometimes, if he was being honest and although things had become somewhat amicable, he’d never been able to open up to you. Not really. Not like how you did with him.

Why was he so afraid to trust you?

The minutes passed in insufferable silence, save for the rustle of wind in the trees and the sharp crunch of autumn leaves under every footstep. Your body sagged against him, lifeless and unmoving. You’d stopped fighting, stopped arguing, stopped caring.

That was what made him realize that he’d only won the battle, not the war. Quiet contemplation. Temporary surrender. He could take you in, but you wouldn’t comply.

When Bucky spotted the compound in the distance, he hesitated, because he knew.

Why the hell was he so afraid to trust you?

You’d done nothing but be honest with him the entire time he’d known you. You’d never lied to him, never tried to act like your disorder was anything other than it was – had you? You did try to hide it, of course you did, and he couldn’t fault you for that. He hid his problems, too. Even from you.

But relationships were a two-way street, and something had to give.

As he set you back down on your feet, his fingertips dug into your shoulders, gentle but firm. He used his grip to hold you steady because he was afraid to let go – afraid to trust you, trust that you’d be alright. He didn’t feel confident about it at all, but he let you go.

“What, aren’t you condemning me to hell?” you spat, like pure acid, but your voice sounded weak from crying. It bothered him more than it should have, and the dried tears on your cheeks made him feel even worse.

His fault.

“You’re just gonna fight some more if I take you in.” A statement, not a question. Level and even. “No sense in forcing you into treatment if you don’t care.”

At that, he caught a spark of recognition in your eyes but it disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by righteous indignation and a frown. The moment his hands dropped back to his sides, he might have expected you to immediately turn heel and leave, maybe even run, but you didn’t. Instead, you just crossed your arms.

“No shit, Barnes. What tipped you off?”

Not ‘Bucky’ anymore.

He had to trust you. He had to give.

“It’s just…” This time he sounded a little more unsure, not at all like his calm, controlled demeanour whilst carrying you like a sack of potatoes. “If someone forced me into therapy a year ago, I don’t think I would have gone along with it.”

The implication was clear: you wouldn’t either.

That was when the sharp edge to your features started to soften, and when you spoke again, your voice was softer, too, even if it did still have some bite to it. “What changed your mind?”

“I think I wanted to move on.”

Honesty.

“And have you?”

Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets and looked away, already feeling defensive and out of his element because he knew the answer was ‘no’. He may have worked through some things with his therapist, but he’d never be able to move on. Not really.

Your derisive snort set him off in an instant. Mocking. Spiteful, and Bucky’s eyes snapped back to you. Here he was, opening up a little, trying to make amends, doing the best he fucking could and you thought it was funny—

But then he saw the smile on your lips, and those bitter words caught in his throat. You were smiling a little, smiling at him – a genuine smile, full of tears and empathy and care.

Pretty girl. Broken just like him.

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” you croaked, hastily rubbing fresh tears away with the heel of your hand. The flush that came over your face made his heart stutter in his chest; not only were you right, but you were embarrassed about it. Why?

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said gently, reaching up to pull your hand away. “Shit, I’m— I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

His fault. Always.

You sniffled, small fingers lacing through larger vibranium like it was the most natural thing in the world. So small, so delicate, so god damned fragile—

A sob escaped you, followed by a choked, “I’m sorry, Bucky. I’m so sorry.”

Bucky.

Something broke inside of him, then, because his body reacted before his mind could catch up. Bucky let your hand go in favour of pulling you forward into his arms – cradled your cheek to his chest, and he soon discovered that you weren’t ice cold, not anymore. “You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry about.”

“But you— you keep helping me and I don’t deserve it, not after being so— so—”

He felt your shoulders shake with every sob, and his stomach twisted into knots.

“That doesn’t matter,” Bucky told you softly, stroking your hair. Hot tears soaked through his t-shirt – his fault, always his fault, but this time he pushed the blame away to focus solely on you. “Shh, I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

Fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, you buried your face in his chest and cried – a real, proper cry, ugly and uncontrollable, just like last night. Smeared makeup and mascara likely left stains, but neither of you cared. Not with him holding you so close.

Warm. So warm. So right.

“I— I don’t wanna die,” came your hushed voice, muffled by his warmth, barely audible. “I’m scared. I don’t know what to do.”

“I know, pretty girl,” he whispered into your hair. “We'll figure it out. Everything's gonna be okay.”

And for the first time, Bucky believed it, too.

(If you like my work, please consider donating to my Patreon or my Ko-Fi!)

Part Six

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes

636 notes · View notes