#and another of his habits but this is a sweet one

[kafkasmuses]

KITTY KAT — art donaldson + reader : art has a tendency to show up late to your lessons. 

tags: mdni, tennis lessons, coach!art donaldson, p in v sex, fingering, art is kind of an asshole, cheating (not on reader) 

a/n: sorry to tashi… this goes out to my dear @murdrdocs

thirty minutes ago. 

art donaldson was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago, your teeth grit against each other, foot tapping impatiently against the concrete floor below you. 

art was a sweet guy, sure, but his time management was beyond infuriating. it almost made you feel like he thought himself above you, like you weren’t worth his time. 

“one to talk,” you mumble to yourself, dragging your racket on the ground, “rich from the guy who was coached by his wife.” 

ahem. 

you spin around, and of course, he’s standing right there, looking the same as he always does. his dirty blonde hair was messed up and falling over his eyebrows, blue eyes, with a mix of brown, staring directly at you with an almost amused expression. 

you blink at him, once, twice. 

a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips, “sorry for being late.” 

it sounds condescending, like he would never actually mean it, especially not after what he heard, it felt like a sort of karma for what you were previously saying about him. 

and he knows that, of course he does, so he masks it with a sense of sweetness, one that would typically gaslight people into thinking they’ve been forgiven, but you know better. 

you’ve been coached by art for a while now, and his little habits became far too predictable. this was odd, though, you couldn’t make out the glint in his eye, especially when you mumble a, “sorry, i didn’t mean—“  

“let’s get started, yeah?” art cuts in, bitter, yet his voice still sounded like it was dipped in honeysuckle.

he whisks right past you with that same, tugged up smirk, he reeked of rich cologne and mint. 

your lips press together and you silently, albeit ashamed, nod in agreement. 

maybe silence will earn points back from your coach. 

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾

silence did not earn anything. 

art served hard, hit the ball hard, it was as if he wanted to make the ball break through your racket and hit you square in the face. he clearly took your miniscule words personally, and he was testing you, trying to break you down, to see how much you could take until your bones turned soft and you felt like giving up. 

the first time you called a pause, art smiled, “don’t tell me you’re giving up.” 

“pause,” you repeat through heaved breaths, sweat sticking to your skin underneath the relentless sun. art had that same playful look in his eyes that he always did, he knew that what he was doing was working, he knew that he was getting under your skin, and as cruel as it sounds, he really did enjoy it. 

if you ever were to ask him about it, he’d just shrug and say it’s all a part of the practice, it always happens in tennis, especially professional, he’s just preparing you. but deep down, he really just wanted to say that he was doing it for those reasons but for his own personal pleasures, karma comes in many forms, but art picks the harshest form first. 

he watches you drink water with a desperate urgency, stifling his own chuckles, “you sure you’re okay?” 

“‘m fine,” you speak after gulping down the last drop, finally satisfied, “let’s keep going.” 

art’s brows furrow ever so slightly, but as soon as you’re back to being ready, he rolls the tennis ball in his hand a little, observing it, before throwing it up in the air and sending it your way. he’s so casual with every hit, despite his grunts and the way his nose scrunches whenever ball meets racket, he makes it look like it’s nothing. 

to make it even worse, he starts trying to conversate between passes, “you know—“ smack! another grunt leaves his lips, “it’s really rude to—“ smack! “speak about people behind their—“ smack! “fuck.. backs.” 

you’re so busy trying to decipher his words you almost miss the next hit, but thankfully you snap out of the trance quick enough to hit it last minute, which he chuckles at and quickly sends it back. 

smack! “‘m sorry, art, really—“ your shoes scratch against the concrete below, smack! “i was being very—“ smack! “childish, i apologize.” 

he hums, content with your apologies, but still not outwardly saying he forgives you, instead his hits start to soften, he’s less trying to kill you with the ball and now rather trying to actually play tennis. “you’re all good—“ he confirms, smack! “just make it up to me, yeah?” 

ball meets floor, his words had completely caught you off guard, and you missed your hit on the ball he sent your way. you felt almost stupid, standing there, staring at him and trying to decipher what he meant by making it up to him. 

and of course, he didn’t elaborate, he never did, he simply just picked up another ball, smiled at you, and said, “ready?” 

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾

art said he forgave you, right? 

ever since that day, he’s been acting.. off. he was more focused on your figure now, not in a crude way, but in a way where he wanted you to position yourself correctly when playing. he watches you serve the ball, then his tongue prods at the inside of his cheek and he stands, “hey, hey, wait a second— your uh… your stance is wrong.” 

“it is?” it was the fifth time he’s corrected you, today, and it’s safe to say you were getting annoyed, he picked up on the bitterness of your tone as he approached you. 

“‘ts not my fault, kitty cat,” he shrugged simply, noticing the way your eyes narrow in frustration at his nickname, he only smiles. he leans in behind you, “may i?” his hands are ghosting over your arms from behind. 

“whatever helps,” you remark. 

“good,” it’s softly spoken at the shell of your ear, making you swallow thick, his fingers wrap around your wrist, other one holding your fingers grip on the racket’s handle. his grip is tight, yet gentle at the same time, veins flexing against his flesh with every movement as he helps you move into the right position. “just gotta.. do it like this,” he’s still whispering against your ear, nearly making your knees buckle. 

once he’s satisfied with your position, which is far too quick for your liking, he backs off and lets you serve the ball again. he smiles once he’s gotten what he’s wanted, “perfect.” 

eventually, after a while of hitting the ball, you decided to take a break. there was a silence between you and art, a tension you couldn’t place, you had nothing to blame it on, nothing to apologize for, and he constantly looked like he was trying to say something indescribable. 

“hey,” he starts, before tugging his bottom lip under his tongue for a mere second before continuing, “remember when i said you had to make it up to me?” 

you stare at him, curious, “yeah, of course.” 

“you know,” his hands smooth over each other, skin underneath his right eye twitching as his pupils dilate in thought, “i’ve been having a.. problem, lately.” 

“with tennis?” 

“nono,” he laughs nervously, moving to scratch the back of his neck, “it’s personal, y’know? well— not entirely, since ‘m telling you, but uh— actually, nevermind.” 

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾

you and art hadn’t discussed much after the last meet, you found yourself standing in the court yet again, whilst he was no short of an hour late at this point. you wanted to ask him what his deal is lately, what his problem is, but he wasn’t even here to be questioned. it was almost ridiculous, like he was toying with you. 

“i like your skirt,” it comes out of nowhere, but it’s the same, smooth voice that art holds. 

yet again, you find yourself spinning around to meet him, he’s closer, now, clearly eyeing you— but that’s.. weird, is it not? he has a wife, he shouldn’t be complimenting your obviously short skirt, or eyeing you like that, or wishing to tell you things that he had apparently not told anyone else because it’s personal. but who are you to question his relationship? maybe he’s just.. being nice, really. 

“thank you,” you offer, nice, short, sweet. 

he rolls his shoulder, meeting your eyes, flickering his gaze to your lips for a mere second, then saying nothing and walking by. rich cologne and mint. that’s what wafts into your senses immediately, as if it was some sort of distraction from his odd behaviors. 

“do you always call people kitty cat?” you eventually ask him, it was something you’d been wondering, truly, especially since you’ve never been called that before. 

“to pretty girls with an attitude, yeah,” art says it so casually. 

“like your wife?” 

“like you.” 

art corrected you. 

he corrected you, and his correction didn’t annoy you like how they always did, it made your stomach churn in a way you couldn’t decipher, you couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. you liked it, maybe, but isn’t that so sickening? art seems to think no big deal of his own words, as he doesn’t even react, so you try to be nonchalant about it as well. 

the whole entire test match you play with him, he has a certain glint in his eye, his grunts are louder, his shorts look tighter, he looks like he’s having some sort of reaction to playing tennis, to playing tennis with you. your tongue runs along your lips between breaks, noticing the way his eyes linger on it, the way his pupils widen at the shine of saliva over your lips with each swipe. 

at the third break, art was convinced you were doing this on purpose. 

“why do you keep doing that?” he asks as he’s walking over to grab his water bottle, right where you’re sitting on the concrete floor. you blink up at him, watching him hover the bottle near his lips and squirt the water into his mouth. did he always look this good when sweaty? 

gosh, maybe you’re just tired, maybe your mind is just foggy. 

“what?” you frown, confused. 

“licking your lips,” he speaks after swallowing the water, towering over you. his muscles were nearly bursting out of his white t-shirt with every movement, especially when he puts his water bottle down and crosses his arm, head cocking to the side. sweat causes some of his hair strands to stick to his forehead, lips puffy from how much he bites them when playing. 

“my lips are dry,” you explain, so simple. 

“yeah?” again, another smile, he had to be toying with you, “do you need some other help with that?” 

“what do you mean?” 

art hums, not explaining anything when he opens his mouth and swipes his thumb along his tongue, moving down to rub the saliva from his tongue onto your lips, memorizing the pillowy soft touch. your eyes widen, slightly, “art, this is—“ 

“not helping?” art tuts in faux disappointment, mumbling a small, ‘why don’t i..’ before he leans down further, licking his own lips and getting closer and closer until his lips are brushing against yours. 

“wrong,” you mumble out, but you sound unsure, like you don’t really believe what you just said, you don’t think this is wrong, you’ve always thought art was attractive, it was his wife that kept your crush on him at bay. you mumble against his lips, “you have a wife, art..” 

“do i?” he smirks against your lips, a near chuckle slipping out, “i must’ve forgotten.” 

“art,” it sounds like a warning, but again, you wanted nothing less than for his lips to fall against yours right now. 

“make it up to me, yeah? remember that?” his hand moves to hold your cheek, tipping your head up at him, eyes meeting yours in such close proximity, “i’ve got some marriage problems right now, so why don’t you play wife for me, hm?” 

you nod at him, ever so slightly, he clocks it immediately, and that’s his que. his eyes flutter shut, and he’s leaning in only a mere centimeter before his lips fall against yours. the kiss is soft at first, sweet, new, but then art starts taking the lead, and it quickly becomes something on the faint lines of cannibalism, he kissed you like he wanted to eat you, like he loved you. 

when he said he wanted you to play wife, he wasn’t lying. 

he pries your lips open with his own before his tongue makes it’s way inside your mouth, tasting the peppermint of your gum on your own tongue, memorizing the noisy breaths that leave your mouth and move into his. your nails are quick to run along his arms, making him pull back to speak, “hold on, kitty cat.” 

“you call your wife kitty cat?” you watch him peel off his sweaty shirt from his skin. 

he tosses the shirt to the side, exhaling a breath that showed he hated the feeling of the wet fabric on his skin, “mm, i call you kitty cat, ‘nd you’re playing my wife, so.” 

“right,” you agree, letting his cold hands brush against your skin when he takes your clothes off of you, of course looking at you for approval beforehand, which you nod to. 

“did you start wearing shorter skirts on purpose?” art questions when his fingers reach the waistband of your skirt, ever so slowly dipping underneath. 

“no, ‘course not,” you speak breathlessly, feeling his fingers move under your underwear as well until his fingertips meet your clit. you swallow thick, lashes fluttering as he starts moving his fingers in an almost cruel slowness. 

“look at me,” he whispers a simple command, free hand holding your chin and forcing you to look at him. his fingers move further down, immediately feeling how wet you are, he chuckles in surprise, “god, you’re this wet for a married man, huh?” 

“for my husband,” you mumble out, playing the part. 

“that’s right,” his middle finger circles your entrance for a second before ever so slowly dipping it inside. he watches your lips fall apart, the way your eyes get glossed over, the way your hips push up against his finger. “needy.” 

he doesn’t take long to push another finger in, letting go of your chin so he could guide your hand to his clothed cock, hard and pushing against his flimsy shorts. as soon as you start rubbing his dick through the fabric, his breath shudders slightly, as if he’s been waiting too long for like, as if he hasn’t had sexual pleasure in weeks. 

soon enough, only a mere minute or two in of foreplay, art gets antsy and he has to have his dick inside of you, he pries his fingers from your cunt and takes your skirt off next. “lay down for me, yeah?” he smiles at the fact that you do it immediately, even spreading your legs for him. 

he hisses at the feeling when his bare knees meet the concrete floor below, harsh on his skin, he tugs his shorts and boxers down ever so slightly until his cock is finally freed. you inhale sharply upon seeing it, he had a big dick. he spits in his hand, coating his dick with a grunt before he finally lines himself up with your entrance. 

“ready?” he hushes out. 

“yeah, yeah,” you’re barely able to finish the last yeah before his dick is moving into you, his nose scrunching from the tightness of your walls around him, it’s like you were purposefully squeezing his cock with an attempt to milk him dry already. 

“fuck,” he grunts out, pulling back, then moving back in, earning a pathetic moan from your lips. it sounds like music to his ears, so he keeps going, his thrusting was slow at first, gentle, kind— but just like the test matches, or the kiss, he gets hungry, and he wants more. 

his thrusts turn relentless almost immediately, maybe even like he was taking out some sorts of sexual frustrations out on your poor cunt. whimpers, whines, moans, all of those leave your lips, matching up with the grunts and the occasional whimper from his own mouth as well. 

sex was intoxicating for art, and there was something so dangerous, so forbidden about this, you weren’t really his wife, he was married to another woman, he was solely your coach. some sick part of art loves that, maybe that’s why he leans down and starts nipping at your neck, sucking at the delicate skin until maroon and blackberry starts blooming on the blank canvas. 

“art, oh my god,” you moan out, hands moving to scratch at his bare back, and maybe art should be smart enough to tell you not to leave marks, but he lets your nails dig in as his thrusts get harsher, surely drawing blood, or at least noticeable scratches. 

in fact, the feeling of you tearing into his skin only makes his orgasm come on faster, soon enough wracking his body and making his hips stutter. he keeps going though, despite the overstimulation that makes him pathetically whine softly, just until you’ve reached your own orgasm. 

he pulls out, panting, smirking down at you, “thanks, kitty cat.” 

#୨୧ (jules yapping) .ᐟ #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #mike faist #mike faist x reader #mike faist x you #art donaldson smut #art donaldson challengers #challengers #challengers smut #mike faist smut #mike faist challengers

[strawberrystepmom]

happy gojo fluff friday i guess. gojo x f!reader. established relationship, self indulgent crafting fluff, reader is teaches the second years. | divider by cafekitsune, wc 1.4k, reading time 5 mins 17 seconds

“I used to make these all the time, remember?”

Sitting with your legs tucked beneath you in your living room, you hold up a bundle of braided twine bracelets, a rainbow of colors with assorted charms attached to them. Little plastic seashells on the blue one, flowers dotting the green one.

Satoru remembers, he still has the one you made him in your first year. It feels like a lifetime ago that six teenagers had vaguely matching mementos they wore showing their unity as a group, yourself and your fellow first years Nanami and Haibara and of course himself and his friends. 

“Blue seems cliche,” you opined at the time with a raised brow, a pink cheeked seventeen year old Gojo staring back at you anxiously. His crush had bloomed by then although you pretended to be oblivious to it. “How about pink instead?”

He has never been able to tell you no so he nodded, keeping his mouth screwed shut while you worked. Pink he received, so bright it almost hurt his eyes to wear it back then. You attached a little smiley face charm right in the middle, affixing it around his wrist. He wore it every day until it began to unravel, safely kept in a small lockbox in the back of his closet.

The same box that contains most of the memories you’ve given him, the photos, the cards, the trinkets, and the ones the two of you have yet to make including that pesky engagement ring he can never seem to figure out the right time to give you.

“I might take it to school with me tomorrow just to see what the kids think.”

Two big hands make their way to your bent thighs and you smile, still digging through the box in your lap. Beads, closures, all the stuff you used to pride yourself on keeping tidy and neat. You glance up at him, that same smile on your face.

“Let me make you a new one since I have all this stuff out.”

You dig through the box for a minute more, squinting and making a show of exaggeratedly humming. Leaning in toward him, you hold colored embroidery floss up to his face to compare it to the shades of his eyes, the unforgettable feature that they are. One bundle of floss is too green, the other is too yellow. 

“What do you think the kids will say?” He asks, watching each of your movements raptly. Your tongue pokes out of the corner of your mouth when you concentrate, an adorable habit you’ve maintained in all of the years he’s known you, and you sit back on your haunches for a moment, hands on your thighs. 

Yet another adorable habit.  

He reaches to grab your arm, gently rubbing his thumb along the inside of it. You smile at the touch and ponder what your students will truly think if you bring this to them. It’s a bit of a dated hobby compared to the luxury of choice teenagers have now and you laugh to yourself, shaking your head.

“Well, Maki will probably say you’re rubbing off on me since I don’t bother to teach anymore and call it stupid to my face.” Satoru chuckles, watching through his lashes while you spring back into action, reaching behind you to grab a few more bundles of blue. “Inumaki will probably spell something inappropriate in English if I bring the letter beads. Panda will ask me to make each of them a matching bracelet because he’s sweet and will request that I make one for Yuuta to have when he gets back, too.”

Looking at the latest bounty recovered from the little tackle box that stores the trinkets required for this, you gasp. Cerulean with a deep blue sparkle woven through the strands. 

I’ll save this for something special some day, you told yourself more than a decade ago, spending your student stipend in some fancy embroidery shop in Nippori. Yen exchanged for fancy thread, dotted with glitter or metallic coating. You had no idea. Maybe you even bought it back then hoping a day where you’d be able to compare it to Satoru’s eyes would arrive, subconsciously laying the tracks for your own future.

“It’s a perfect match.”

The grin on your face is mirrored by your love who reaches around your body to grab from the twine selection himself. A handful of colors that match your eyes sit across his large palm and he glances down at the collection, mimicking your previous attempts to find something that screamed “him”.

“What are you doing?” The question is a half joke but you let him hum to himself, raising one bundle and then another to compare them. “Well, I didn’t make you one back then because I thought I was too cool,” he blinks at you, making you giggle. “I was right, of course, but there’s no time like the present, right?”

Nodding your agreement, you remove the paper from around the twine and shake it out. You’ll need some coordinating colors so you dig back through the bundles in front of you, sticking them against his face again. 

“I still have the one you made me, by the way.”

Scoffing, you roll your eyes and use your index finger to poke around in the bead compartment, searching for the perfect one for your newest creation.

“Don’t lie, I can always tell.” Satoru grabs your hand delicately although your fingers are still holding various crafting supplies and raises it to his lips, gently kissing your wrist. You are very attentive to the little things about him and likely noticed when he finally stopped wearing it, several years after it was first made. “I’m not lying. I had to stop wearing it because it was unweaving and I didn’t want to lose it forever.”

You feel guilty for the accusation and lean in toward him, kissing the tip of his nose, claiming your hand back from his grasp to begin braiding twine together into a pattern.

“I can always re-make it if you’d rather have a pink one,” you offer, braiding together various shades of blue in your lap without looking down. “I can wear this one.”

Smiling softly, he looks at you, then the bundle of your eye colored twine in his own hand.

“You wear the blue one and I’ll make one that matches you to wear myself, how about that?”

Nodding, you let the conversation fall quiet while he unbundles his own selections, fingers deftly separating and joining three strands, just the way you tried to teach him years ago when you assumed he didn’t care. He has always paid far more attention to you than you’ve realized and you’ve given him a lot to study over the last ten or so years.

“I think you should leave this at home,” he admits. It’s selfish but he doesn’t want to see you share this precious memory with your students who may not even appreciate it. He wants to sit cross legged on the living floor with you, making little friendship bracelets that will eventually unravel or fade or snap, for the rest of his life. He wants to make them for your children someday, matching bracelets with mom and dad. He wants to keep this, to keep you, all to himself.

“Okay. It’s probably for the best anyway, I don’t need to give them one more thing to give me shit about.”

Satoru leans toward you and kisses your forehead right as you’re finishing the blue bracelet. He looks down, tying and knotting it around your wrist, remembering when you did the same for him so long ago. 

“Looks good.” His words catch your eye and you smile up at him, looking between his eyes and the bracelet wrapped around your wrist. It is an uncanny match and you’re proud of your own eye for color though your pride is stopped in its tracks when he sticks out his wrist, bracelet pinched between two of his fingers and dangling from his hand. “Would you mind?”

You do as he did for you, as you’ve done for him before, with softness in your eyes it would be impossible to hide. 

“Not bad,” you compliment and he shrugs with a chuckle. “Obviously. I even think mine is the better of the two.”

Letting your hand rest in his lap, next to his, the hastily made bracelets sit one next to the other on each of your bodies. His eyes follow yours and he weaves your fingers together, thumb gently rubbing the thickest part of your palm.

It’ll always be the two of you, a perfectly matched set, no matter what.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #kendall writes #satoken

[onlyjaes]

hands (p.sh)

pairing. stepdad!sunghoon x fem!reader

— 𖦹 warnings. taboo relationship (stepcest), pwp, choking, fingering, cunnilingus, degradation, hair pulling, multiple orgasms

authors note. don't like it, don't read

(18+) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

you're thinking about hands.

long, slim fingers and knuckles that are a little prominent, a little pinker than the pale skin it is against. rough but careful ministrations, cradling the back of your head even as they yank your hair, pulling your head around so your gaze meets his.

hands, hands, hands... thumb brushing your lower lip before pushing past to rest on your tongue. hands on your neck, just enough pressure to have you seeing stars. or maybe no pressure at all. maybe they sit loose around the base of your throat like a collar to remind you of your place. they dip just below the neckline and you hope they’ll go further. 

hands that press forward, hands running along your body, along every tender place—neck, waist, thigh. hands that still at the slightest response from you, pausing in a way that you can feel the smugness through his fingertips. 

he loves it when you beg, he demands it of you; not with his words, but with fingers curled just right, with your legs draped over his and his breath hot on your neck. the only thing he loves more than hearing you beg is knowing you’re too far gone to do so, too fucked out to form words. he can pinpoint the moment it happens, too... feels it in the skip of your pulse, the way you clench around him. he loves making you look at him with a hand on your jaw and another between your legs, watching as you struggle to pull your eyes back into focus. "c’mon, baby, look at me, you can do it, yes, good, so good for me..." you want to pull him closer after that. sloppy open-mouth kisses, his tongue sucking yours as you cry out and ankles locked around his waist and hands clutching at his shoulders desperately, and...

“class dismissed for today! remember to turn in your papers by..."

class is over already? but you could have sworn you’d just opened up your laptop and logged on but your professor seems very clearly to be wrapping things up. a quick glance at the clock confirms that yep, you’ve been checked out for the last half hour of the lecture.

you need to spend more time focusing on your schoolwork, and less time lusting over your stupid hot stepdad.

-

sunghoon isn’t an idiot. he knows hooking up with his own stepdaughter is a bad idea. it is probably the worst idea he's had. he knows his wife would kill him.

but you’re making it incredibly hard for him to remember that.

you, prancing around the apartment in ankle socks and tiny little shorts paired with oversized sweaters that hang off your shoulder and make it look as though you aren’t wearing any shorts at all. you and all your casual touches... a kiss on the cheek when you thank him for doing some chore for you, a head resting on his shoulder when you sit next to each other on the couch, a hand on his arm as you pass him in the hall. you, sweet-voiced and soft-eyed and blushing at everything he says... dirty or otherwise. 

you, buying a vibrator. 

he’s always been curious about your sex life yeah, but you haven’t given him much to work with. you weren’t really in the habit of bringing anyone home. there was that one asshole named jungwon or whatever you’d been dating long-term when sunghoon first married your mom, but you always slept over at his place. sunghoon met him a few times and seen the way he treated you. it didn’t take him much more than five minutes of knowing the guy to be pretty sure there were zero orgasms happening. 

and now… you broke up with jungwon. now you spend your nights in your room. now you share a wall with... your mom and stepdad.

and now you own a vibrator.

he wonders if he’ll be able to hear you. he's been living here almost for a year. surely you must have gotten off in that time. he can just picture you biting down on your lip, brows slightly knit as you shake and tense and arch off the mattress.

he’s always liked his partners vocal but for some reason the thought of you in his bed trying so desperately to stay quiet just makes him want to rise to the challenge. already you make the prettiest noises whenever you’re startled or excited or shy. given the chance he could coax a fucking symphony out of you, he just knows it. he just doesn’t know when such an opportunity will ever come.

as it turns out, though, opportunity does knock... and sooner than either of you would have ever thought.

friday night. your mom is working late and you're eating dinner with your stepdad. he has that stern look on his face 24/7 so you suggest cracking open a bottle of wine to share. to your surprise... sunghoon agrees.

he's always been on the stricter side. he always frowns when you do anything... risky. so you didn't think he would say yes to drinking with you.

neither of you are drunk drunk yet but the combination of alcohol and being alone together makes you both start playing never have i ever in your room. you both have glasses of wine in your hands. his pretty hands.

"never have i ever... uh... gotten married." you smirked and your stepdad just rolled his eyes at you.

"very funny."

"okay you go."

"never have i ever gone my whole life without cumming even once."

you turned completely hot as you wondered if he meant that.

"what?! where did that come from?"

sunghoon nods at the box with your vibrator. you just now realize that it's sitting wide open on your nightstand and you blush.

"just assumed."

you sit up quickly. "i just got out of a yearlong relationship okay. what... you think i've never cum?"

"have you?"

"yes..." he tilts his head and you get flustered. "yes god, yes! yes, i've had an orgasm before!"

"but...?"

you aren't sure what it is about this night, this moment that makes you so honest with him. is it the alcohol? or his gaze? the clear and cruel behind his glasses? "only by myself," you whisper and cross your legs to hide the ache between them. "never because of someone else..."

to your surprise he doesn't laugh or mock you for your answer. he purses his lips and shrugs. sighs. "at least you can get off on your own."

"yeah i guess... i just," you look back at the box, "it's different having someone touching you. i'd rather have that... without the orgasms.... if i had to choose." you look up at him shyly and look away. the atmosphere grows serious, vulnerable, and intimate. and then your stepdad snickers. you look up at him. "what?"

"you don't have to choose."

you roll your eyes. "yeah right."

"i'm serious."

"pfft. aren't you confident? are you sure no one's faked it with you?"

"faked it? possibly. but unlikely."

"jungwon couldn't tell i was faking it."

your stepdad scoffs, "he's a boy. he doesn't know how to pleasure you like a man."

"like you can do any better."

he goes quiet. it's unlike him... so unexpected, and you almost ask him what's wrong. but he says "come here" in a low voice.

"what?"

"come here y/n."

you haven't had enough to drink to be drunk. but as you move across the mattress toward him, you kinda know what's coming and you want to jump into him. you've been touched before, cuddled, but there's something different tonight. something about the way he pulls you onto his lap so that you're straddlign him. something about the feeling of his hand on your thigh, his palm on your cheek, his warm chest against yours.

"was that a challenge dear?" he asks.

"what if it was?"

-

sunghoon isn’t sure which one of you makes the first move or who leans in first but it doesn’t matter, because how many times has he fantasized about exactly this? how many times has he sat there on the couch with your head on his lap as you watched some mind-numbing chick flick, run his hands through your hair and beat back the urge to yank?

he doesn’t hold back now. one hand curls into a fist and he pulls your head back, forcing you to look up at him. but that's his stepdaughter! he can't just... fuck your cheeks are flushed and lips slightly parted—

he wants to fucking ruin you.

your hands are still against his chest but they went slightly limp in surprise at having your hair pulled. when he slides his hand up the back of your shirt, you seem to come back to life, winding your arms around his neck. you’re breathing faster than usual and he can feel your nipples through your shirt and you’re tugging at the collar of his shirt and yeah, if he doesn’t get your clothes off sometime in the next thirty seconds he’s going to go insane.

he doesn’t tear your shirt in half... he has more self control than that. much easier to just pull it up and force your arms above your head, and then before you can bring them back down, push you gently so that you fall on the bed, legs still parted around his hips and eyes wide. he tugs off your shorts and underwear, and you grab a fistful of the front of his shirt to bring him crashing back into you for a desperate open-mouthed kiss. he catches the back of your neck with one hand mostly for support, his hand big enough in comparison to your neck that he’s able to rest his thumb just below your jaw. when he gives your neck an experimental squeeze you gasp into his mouth.

interesting. 

you as quiet as he'd expected. just gasps and whimpers. it’s cute. it’s also infuriating. he wants to hear you. he wants to hear you moan, beg, scream. and he doesn’t need a vibrator to do it.

you’re playing with the hem of his shirt. your fingers are electric against his skin and the slight touch sending flickers of desire careening through his veins and it’s too much and not enough and he reaches around your back to snap open the hook of your bra a moment before he lets you pull his shirt over his head, and there are no words to explain how it feels to have his stepdaughter's bare chest flush against his... to reach down and feel how wet you are. you’re soft and warm and so so wet, it’s driving him crazy and he isn’t even inside you yet.

as he pulls away and backs up to stand once more by the edge of the bed, you get into as upright a position as you can manage, trying to brace yourself on your elbows. “what are you...?"

the mattress slips out from under you as he pulls you forward by the waist, positioning you so that your hips are in line with the end of the bed as he sinks to his knees and buries his face in your cunt.

he doesn’t move slowly and doesn’t ease you into it. one moment you’re lying there bewildered, and the next you’re trying to buck your hips up against his face. trying because he’s holding you down with enough force you half expect to find his fingerprints there tomorrow.

he listens to you, pausing until you whisper yes and please. he takes each twitch of your legs and sharp intake of breath into consideration as he finds each sweet spot and latches onto them with precision. 

you scrabble for something to hold onto, grasping at the sheets. he takes enough pity on you to reach one hand up... the other on your hips keeping you firmly in place... his pretty fingers interlacing with yours. another lick has you arching off the bed with your head thrown back and it takes you a moment to realize he’s guided your hand to the back of his head. 

you thread your fingers loosely through his hair careful not to pull. he can tell you’re holding back because he makes a frustrated noise against you and then he turns his head and bites your thigh, his free hand pushing your hand against his hair. when he sucks on your clit again it’s startling and sweet and so intense that you don’t think twice about tightening your grip... unconsciously guiding him exactly where you need him. 

the first time you really let go and tug at his hair he lets out a growl, pleased and primal. sunghoon's hold on your hips loosens, allowing you to ride his face in earnest with all your shy manners gone and forgotten as the overwhelming wave of sensations narrows to a point of pure excruciating pleasure and you finally cum.

he doesn’t stop.

why would he? now that he finally has you where he wants you. and vice versa if the way you’re still writhing on the bed is any indication. you’re still frustratingly quiet but the sight of you so lost in sensation and twitching with the aftershocks is enough to sate him for now.

you’re overstimulated for sure with your hand weak against his temple but all your protests are replaced by whispered pleas for more, oh fuck, more, daddy, more please as he slips one finger inside you. slowly. wet as you are and relaxed from your first orgasm of the night. 

did you really think he’d stop at one? the thought makes him chuckle against you. he's two knuckles deep and to his delight he gets something more than a gasp. he repeats the motion and adds another finger and oh, oh, you sound just as good as he’d imagined. better, so much better. he moves harder and faster, working you out until he feels you tensing, feels you right on the edge...

... and he stops.

you whine. you’re turning your head up to look at him. he’s pleased to see what a mess you look: flushed face, messy hair, your lips kiss-swollen. your eyes still clear and soft with the afterglow of your previous orgasm. “why did you stop?”

he lets out a low thoughtful hum before turning to face you. “what’s the matter?” you’re taken aback by his eagerness across his face. he licks his thumb and smirks and you bite your lip. “one isn’t enough?”

"ah... uh..."

he climbs up the bed to meet you in another bruising kiss, the taste of you still on his lips and your legs spreading further to allow his hips to slot between them. once you’ve helped him get off all clothing below the belt you melt into his touch only to be jolted back when he rolls over to pull you on top of him.

“i stopped,” your stepdad grunts, getting a good handful of thigh to squeeze and smirking when he hears your moans, “because this time you’re going to cum on my cock my pretty girl.”

he pulls you against him as if to demonstrate and you can’t help but let out another louder sigh at the feeling of him long and hard and throbbing against you. you sit up to align yourself and the first press of him inside you is so good that your head tips back and your lower lip caught between your teeth as you bite back another moan. 

sunghoon's voice is mocking but he breaks as you slide down to be seated fully against him with the tip of his cock practically kissing your cervix. “fuck... such a cock hungry whore.... cum once already and you’re still so tight. is this what you needed?” he starts leading you in an achingly slow rhythm and relishing in the way you clench around him with every thrust. you nod as your eyes flutter shut. the sting of his hand on your ass makes you whimper. “c’mon little girl. want to hear you say it.”

“say... oh fuck, i, fuck, daddy." you moan.

“you act so innocent. i bet you think about me fucking your pretty pussy all the time huh? you think of your stepdad fucking you? behind your mom's back? huh? tell me.” he fucks up into you hard, his hands on your hips pinning your hips to the mattress. “convince me you deserve to cum.”

when you reach for your clit he catches your wrists in one hand. “please.”

“please what?”

“please let me cum daddy.“

he shakes his head. “not good enough. if you’re desperate enough to grind on my cock then your slutty enough to tell me exactly what you want me to do to you.” 

desperate, slutty... you’d never realized until now that degradation was something that turned you on. you bite your lip one last time and your eyes fix on his. “i want to cum on your cock. please daddy, fuck."

"that so? you want your stepdad to fuck you? aren't you such a dirty whore?"

"y-yes... i want you to fuck me hard. want you to fuck me all night." he rewards you with a few fingers circling your clit and you almost choke on a moan. ”i want you to fuck me into the mattress until i can’t think straight.”

sunghoon can’t help but shudder at that... at the sound of you. you, his shy and not-so-innocent stepdaughter. such filthy words in your sugar-sweet voice.

it’s only a matter of seconds before he has you on your back with your legs draped over his shoulders and he's filling you up at an almost brutal pace. he’s rewarded with the shaking of your legs and the frantic drag of your nails across his back, and most of all the way you can’t help but moan with each thrust as you grow closer and closer to falling over the edge.

when you cum again you seem to melt into him, clenching and squelching around him with the prettiest cries he’s ever heard and that’s all it takes for him to pull out so that he can come on your stomach. you’re still twitching as he does and all he can think as he collapses next to you is that he’d give anything to see you like this, fucked out and hazy and covered in his seed every day for the rest of his life. 

“two orgasms,” he finally says, once the two of you have spent a few minutes in silence. “easy. your ex must be even more of an idiot than i thought.”

without thinking you press a kiss to his shoulder. “thanks,” you whisper. he doesn’t answer... not at first. not out loud. but a moment later you feel him shift, reaching across you to grab something from the nightstand. then he’s above you and kissing you. it's soft, deep, sleepy in your mutual post-orgasmic haze and you sense some mischief behind it. when he pulls back you see it in his eyes as well.

you blink up at him. “what are you..."

“making you cum a third time.” you can do nothing but grab your stepdad's shoulder again as he reaches down to lower the vibrator to your clit and as you whine again at the sting. you feel his free hand on your cheek and take two of those long pretty fingers into your mouth. he smirks at you. “why don't we test your limits baby?”

#enhypen hard hours #sunghoon smut #enhypen smut

[hecateslore]

Thank you for writing my ask! I loved it!! 🥺 I'm a huge sucker for just that equal partnership "we're in this together" sort of relationships.

I've got another one for you, if you don't mind of course! ❤️ Older boyfriend!Simon with any sort of sweet domestic moment? The kind of moments where you look over at your partner and you go "wow, I love them. I love them so, so much. I'm glad they're here and I wouldn't change it for the world" kind of feeling? If that's not too much to ask 🖤🖤

Thank you again! Hope you're doing well 😊🖤

sure can 💗 asks are open!!!

"If you were any other person, I would've went like this and then like this, " You demonstrated your sneak attack on a very quiet and confused Simon. Your hand flat and swatting at the air in front of him.

"Okay..." Simon said awkwardly, Moving past you, You let out a loud cackle in response. "What'd you do today?" You trailed behind him into your shared bedroom. Watching him get out of his work uniform. "Work." He grunted taking one of his boots off. "No der." You rolled your eyes, "You hungry?" you asked him, watching him stretch his arms and back, "I'm always hungry.." He mumbled, You shook your head, chuckling at his sarcasm.

You stood in the kitchen in the middle of making dinner for you and Simon. Simon walking out of the hallway in his lounge wear. He looked over your figure. He watched you clean as you went, checking the pot ever other minute or so, "What'd you get up to today?" His voice raspy with exhaustion, "Stuff." You grunted, poorly impersonating your man.

"That's sounds fun." He sat with his head in his hand, his fingers played with his bottom lip. "Foods almost done." You mumbled, too in focus of what was in front of you. You served yourself a plate first then getting Simon's. You slid it over to him on the counter, "How's that?" You wiggled your brows, Simon only chuckled at you.

"You're a crazy woman," Simon looked at you, watching you prance around the kitchen with food in your mouth. "So i've been told." You agreed, "Why aren't you sitting?" Simon asked, "I've been sitting all day." You explain, digging into your plate.

"Stop staring," You said with a mouthful, "It's a habit." His eyes still on you, "A bad one." You took a sip from your glass. Simon winked at you and you flicked his arm in return. "You look pretty today." Simon said, pushing his empty plate away, "Don't I always look pretty." You stabbed at the pasta on your plate. "Always.." He hummed, his hand going to your shoulder, "...Always so pretty and kind." Simon's hand brushed you cheek. You narrowed your eyes, "What is it?"

"What is what?" Simon said confused. "Are you drunk?" You grin, "Just happy." He shrugged, "That's weird." You make a pretend shocked face, Simon shook his head at you. You finished your food with Simon staring at you the entire time.

You both sat on the kitchen stools, "You sleepy?" You rubbed Simon's back, "A little bit." He said mid yawn. "I love you," You said, placing a kiss on his shoulder. Your lips linger and he places his hand around your head. Embracing you, You pull away eventually, Staring at him.

"Love you more." He kisses your lips, short and sweet. He pulls away leaving a smile on your lips, you wipe what was left of your gloss that transferred onto his lips. "Let's go to bed." You suggested, Simon wiggled his brows, a habit he picked up from being with you so many years. "Don't be gross," You push his face away, Simon kissed the palm of you hand affectionately.

"Let's go then." He sighed, filled with food and so full of love.

#lunden’s response ❀— #olderboyfriend!simon #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #simon riley x you #ghost simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost fanfiction

[traumxrei-archive]

【 take me home (don’t wanna be alone anymore) 】

summary: Yuu was standing and alive, a logical part of him said. Screw being fucking logical, Leona thought spitefully, they had almost died. (or, the leonayuu mafia au where yuu almost dies and leona isn’t equipped for how that makes him feel)

word count: 1.5k

author’s note: leonayuu except they’re both bad with feelings + in the mafia, so the only way they know how to communicate is to hurt each other. hope you enjoy ^^

[ or read on ao3 ]

It was a greeting devoid of words. Leona's eyes met theirs and his hand slipped under their shirt in an attempt to deny it. To deny the fact that Yuu had gotten injured. Yet all that Leona could feel was the expanse of bandages covering their body.

His hand mapped the wrappings, from their ribs to waist to their lower back. They winced at his grip though they kept their mouth shut while the anger burned, scalded, and tore at him.

"Off," Leona demanded, and there was a short intake of breath before their shirt was being thrown onto their bed. It was worse now that he could actually see everything.

"What the fuck," He muttered as he traced over another bandage on their arm and shoulder that he had missed.

It was...maddening. Absolutely maddening how he saw red when it came to them; when it came to the bandages scattered across their skin. Yuu was standing and alive, a logical part of him said. Screw being fucking logical, Leona thought spitefully, they had almost died.

He was sure that they were dying to speak, their sweet words of reassurance ready at the back of their throat. But before the words could escape, Leona got there first. His hand wrapped around Yuu's neck, squeezing with promise as his other hand pushed them back toward the bed. They went easily, the movements practiced though they shouldn't be. Because it was the first time he had done this, the first time that they had—

Leona forced his gaze into theirs, finding a quiet trust there. He shouldn't have felt so reassured. Bad habits always die hard, he thought as his thumb pushed Yuu's chin to the side, exposing their mercifully unmarked— unhurt— neck. His teeth itched to sink into their skin, to force them to submit, and promise that they wouldn't do something so reckless, to never disappear from his—

Yuu's throat bobbed, and raw compulsion shot through Leona like a bullet.

He caved, his lips dragging against their neck. Leona had no mind to be gentle. Not when he was seeking reassurance in the most cowardly way possible. Their heartbeat thudding under his mouth, the feel of it spiking when his teeth bit a little too hard; a little too close to tearing skin. It was all proof that they were alive. Here. Right under him. 

Cowardly, how cowardly. The crownless king who had so much but couldn't truly ever possess the one thing he wanted more than anything. Because the only way to possess a person was to cut off their wings, they were...they were Yuu.

Wonderfully vexing Yuu, whom Leona would follow to his foolish death.

"Ah–" It was the smallest sound, just a half formed thing that had barely escaped by chance, yet he greedily devoured the syllable from their lips, his fingers tangling in their hair. His other hand traced over the bandages again, the one that mapped the expanse of their side, to the one at their arm, and finally to their neck, where he knew bruises would soon bloom.

Leona pulled away, the kiss ending as abruptly as it started. The only trace that neither wanted it to end was the way their bodies were still pressed together; hovering too close to feign ignorance.

He wiped at his mouth, "Were you trying to die without my permission?" It wasn't the right thing to say. Leona knew it wasn't, but they had been playing this twisted game for so long. Ever since that day he met them in that decrepit alleyway, the day they promised to follow him with blood staining their smile. He did not know how to treat Yuu with softness, for everything they did made him burn.

"Leona," There was a half smile on those lips; this time devoid of blood. "It was an ambush. I only did what I did to keep everyone alive." Liar, Leona bit back his words. He heard that they had been targeting Yuu. And he knew it was all to get to him.

"If I didn't want you alive, I wouldn't have taken you as one of my people," Leona was surprised at how calmly his voice sounded as he spoke, even if his fingers were digging deeper into the mattress. "If I had tired of you, then maybe—"

"Leona," His brow twitched, and Yuu's hand finally brushed his hair. Did his expression betray him? "I'm sorry it escalated so far." His lips twisted into a scowl. Leona's mind couldn't help but conjure the memory yet again. 

The sirens were blaring as he pulled up to the building. It was reported to be a fire, but he knew an ambush laid in wait. Leona rushed in, gun in hand as he fought his way into the office. There were too many scattered bodies for him to see straight beyond the smoke.

And Yuu was missing. The person that had tripped the fire alarm, recklessly locking themselves in the building with the attackers.

Leona broke down the door to his office. He found it ransacked, desk full of bullet holes. There was....blood everywhere. On his chair, his papers, the couches. It was like someone wanted to make sure that everything was as bloody as it could be.

The inside of the safe was the only hiding space left to check. A numbing fear hit Leona as he entered the code. You'd think that there was no way someone could survive after losing that much blood. But against all odds, Yuu had their gun trained on the door as he entered.

Yuu had seen him.

Their eyes flickered with recognition, as their lips mouthed what was he knew was his name. And it was like their will to hold on had vanished. Their eyes slipped shut, body growing limp and already cold before he could reach them—

A warm hand touched his cheek, and he looked at them again, "If I was ever gonna die, I'll die after you die."  Something in Leona calmed considerably at the sentence. It was a platitude, plain and simple, but he couldn't shake the deep satisfied relief he felt to hear it, even if they were lying.

Leona's eyes dropped to the bandages, and again the scent of blood seemed to cloud his nose. A hand tugged at his collar and Leona was jerked closer.

Now they were frowning, "Stop it." Stop replaying it in your mind. They knew him too well for him to hide any longer.

And then they kissed him.

I'm alive, look at me, they commanded, kissing him with such bruising intensity it halted Leona's thoughts.

Stop looking at me like I'm gone, they seemed to demand, their teeth biting at his bottom lip with purpose.

They hammered the words into him, and Leona felt almost breathless at the feeling. It consumed him, until all his anger faded and all he could think about was them, their presence in front of him commanding the same gravity that the sun wielded. And Leona was nothing but a slave to their orbit, as they were to his.

There was a tremble in their hand as they held his face, a gentleness unbefitting of the aggressiveness they displayed. If he was a coward, then it seemed that they were two of a kind. Leona knew it then, as his hand brushed away a stray tear from their cheek. (Did there exist a person who was immune to the fear of death? Leona sure had never met one.)

They parted, languidly this time, and Leona lowered his head. Their hand brushed over his hair before they spoke, "My wound hurts." Leona instantly shifted his weight, lying by their side instead. "It's not your fault, dummy lion." He grunted, keeping his eyes closed as they nestled closer. They held firm onto his hands, as if they knew that they itched to run over the bandages again.

"Welcome back, Leona," Yuu murmured, the nostalgic greeting burrowing deep into his heart, finding softness where he didn't know it was capable of festering. It was late, late by the weeks it had taken for Yuu to recover and wake up, and the weeks still it took for him to track down the people who had dared to order such an operation against his right hand.

"I'm back," Leona answered, and it felt right. It was a promise, between two people whose lies would probably bite them back someday. It was was an open secret that Leona would give his life if it meant that Yuu was safe. And he was sure that Yuu would do the same, no matter how much he insisted that they shouldn’t.

But that was who they were.

Two cowards, who couldn't allow themselves the weakness of love. Two liars, guns pointed at the most vulnerable parts of each other. But for now, they were just Leona and Yuu. And they were finally home.

supplementary brainrot bc this au has been plaguing me for days:

leona’s the boss and yuu’s the right hand (and ruggie’s the left hand >:D)

the gang started off as leona, yuu, ruggie, and jack, and grew into an actual criminal organization as they grew together

in this au, leona’s family aren’t in the picture bc leona ran away from home as a teen

the reason why leona’s so protective over yuu is because they grew up together

(they met as teenagers, and after fighting n saving each other a few times, yuu does the completely normal thing of offering leona their undying loyalty, and leona responds by doing completely normal thing of telling them that they’re now 'his person’.)

+ obviously he’s madly in love with them, he just has the emotional intelligence of a grapefruit (and so does yuu. rip relationship.)

they’re both bad at admitting their feelings; leona was worried and it translated as anger, and yuu was afraid of dying, but it translated as nonchalance,,,,,they’re just little freaks (lovingly)

also songs i listened to while writing: take me home by ateez; new cydonia by starcadian; easy love by sf9; gunners in the rain by mili

thank you for reading ! if you enjoyed, check out other fics on my masterlist or ao3 <3

#/trau writes #leonayuu *ascends into the astral realm* #title from ‘take me home’ by ateez #leona kingscholar #twisted wonderland #twst #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar x mc #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader

[stephaniebrownslover]

Hİİİİ YET ANOTHER ANON

Can I ask about Creepypasta ages headcanons in your main AU??

THANK YOU FROM NOW <333

HIIIIIIII NEW ANON, YOU'RE SO SWEET<3333

Okay thank you so much for asking, you guys are literally spoiling me, like I'm having a little heart attack whenever someone asks me something.

I don't want this post just be numbers so I'll give a random fact about main characters' most important birthday day and something about non-human characters, hope you don't mind. It's mostly angst and I'm so sorry about that.

YOU'RE WELCOME AND I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKE IT<333

I know most of the ages sound ridiculous but it's really hard to attach them all together :(

Characters' Ages And Facts About Main Characters' Most Important Birthday

Au's ships: TicciWork, NinaKate, MaryJane and Bloody Angel(probably should've said this earlier)

Current year: 2014

Main characters

-Jeff The Killer: 20

Jeff got burned at the age of 15, at his most important birthday. His parents were seeing a therapist while Liu was still in prison, and his therapist made a suggestion to Jeff's parents to organize a birthday party for cheering Jeff up. Jeff can never forget the day he was burned alive because his whole life was shaped by it. That's why he hates his own birthday and attacks if anyone tries to celebrate besides Liu.

- Clockwork: 20

Clockwork's most important birthday is the 18th age. Because that was the first year she wasn't on her own. Jeff, Toby, Nina were close friends of Clockwork at the time and each had their own small-scale celebration. For the first time, Clockwork didn't hate her own birthday. That's how she got into the habit of celebrating other people's birthdays, if she felt good about something stupid like that, the people who cared about her might also deserve to feel good in a stupid way, or something like that.

- Hoodie: 25

According to Brian, the most important birthday is the one he celebrated at the age of 10. His family had taken him to see a theater as a gift, and little Brian was so impressed that he was literally obsessed with theater performances and musicals after that show. Even though 10-year-old Brian is the reason why he is where he is right now, Hoodie never blames him for following his dream.

- Masky: 26

His most important birthday is the 20th, when he started working under Slenderman's orders. The year he realized that his life would be like this and that he would have to spend more than he hoped in this job, that fighting would only cause him to die sooner. Obviously, he didn't care about himself, he'd rather die than live this way, but he didn't want to leave Brian alone.

- Ticci Toby: 19

15th birthday. The last year he celebrated with Lyra and his mother since he was a proxy at the age of 16, he celebrated rest of his birthdays as a proxy. Toby doesn't remember all of his memories, and although most of the time his memories are more like pieces, he knows that two women named Lyra and Connie are worth worlds to him. And every time the fragments of that birthday come in front of him, he feels nothing but happiness.

-Eyeless Jack: 21

↺Actually, if he was still alive, he would have been 34. Because he was 21 when he died during the ritual in 1980.

The most important birthday is the year he received the letter of admission to medical school at the age of 18. He had received this a letter a few days ago, and he and his family had thrown a big party to celebrate it. Although he spent his 19th birthday, his first year of studying med, with his family, the most important thing for him is his 18th age.

-Jane The Killer: 22

21, when Mary proposed to her on her birthday. Jane was in a very emotionally repressed state after all her trauma, and Mary could no longer control her feelings for her. While Jane and her lover Mary were sitting in a fashionable restaurant, Mary proposed to Jane. And when there was a lot of opposition because the age group was generally old due to the cost of the restaurant, Jane kissed her on the lips so as not to discourage Mary. The best birthday of her life.

-X-Virus: 17

7th age. That year, he had gone to the zoo on a school trip and celebrated his birthday with the animals there instead of people. This is the biggest proof that he prefer animals' existence to humans. Of course, he might have been happier if a monkey hadn't stolen his food, but little Cody wasn't mad at the monkey then. And when the monkey saw that Cody was upset later, he gave him some of his food anyway.

-Nina The Killer: 19

16th birthday. She and Jeff hadn't made up yet and it was a day when she was really hurt emotionally by him. Her close friend Kate, who saw this, tried to kill Jeff. Although Nina could hardly stop her, Kate was convinced later and they went to hang out at Kate's special place together. Kate was a really special friend to Nina, and she liked that she knew that Kate opened herself up so much. And when Kate dropped her home in the evening, she found Toby and Clockwork were clumsily trying to celebrate her birthday, she cried because of cuteness.

-Kate The Chaser: 20

The first year she spent with Nina as a lover, 20th age. They had become lovers a few months ago, and unlike other proxies, Kate did not remember anything about her past, so she had no memories to miss. Nina had known her since she found Jeff at the age of 15 and was after him. They became close friends when Kate was 17 and Nina was 16, and they started dating when Nina was 19 and Kate was 20. Their relationship began when Kate took pity on Nina and helped her, and Nina helped her during difficult times where Kate tried to expertize in proxy work. The year they became lovers, Nina organized a special day just for the two of them, knowing that she wouldn't want a big party, and Kate's favorite moment was when they watched the sunset with one head phone.

Main supporting characters

-Homicidal Liu: 18

-Sally: 13

↺If she was still alive, she would have been 55 years old. She died in 1972.

-Ben Drowned: 12

↺If he had continued to live, he would have been 32 years old. He died in 1994.

- Puppeteer: 23

↺ If his heart was still beating, he would have been 37 years old. He died in 2000.

-Zero: 24

-Nurse Ann: 27

↺If her heart had been alive, she would have been 33 years old. She died in 2008.

-Bloody Painter: 17

-Judge Angels: 17

-Mary Vaughn: 22

Supporting characters

-Lulu: 16

-Laughing Jack: 214

↺He was produced in 1800.

-Nightmare Ally: 15

↺If she was still human, she would have been 55 years old. She died in 1974.

- Kagekao: 29

↺If he was still a human, he would have been 34 years old. He died in 2009.

-Rouge: 32

-Jason The Toymaker: 134

↺He was produced in 1880.

-Laughing Jill: 114

↺She was produced in 1900.

Background characters

-Slenderman: 2500+(?)

↺It is not known exactly when he was born, some say that there are drawings of him even in ancient Egypt.

- Emra: 25

↺If she was still alive, she would have been 37 years old. She died in 2002.

-Dr. Smiley: 33

-Cat Hunter: 30

-Zalgo: ?

↺It is estimated that his existence endured back even before the earliest times of humanity.

-Weeping Forest: 16

↺If she had not undergone this change, she would have been 56 years old. She died in 1974.

#jeff the killer #creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta headcanon #clockwork #creepy #ticci toby #creepypasta clockwork #creepypasta headcanons #hoodie creepypasta #masky creepypasta #ticci toby creepypasta #nina the killer #kate the chaser #jane the killer #homicidal liu #zero creepypasta #nurse ann #judge angels #eyeless jack #laughing jack #x virus #ben drowned #puppeteer #mary Vaughn #bloody painter #lulu #sally creepypasta #rouge #ninakate

[em-harlsnow]

i firmly believe there’s a time when Mickey goes back to school. probably around season 3, because the courts tell him a condition of his release and probation is to go back to school. he barely turns up, only enough so his PO isn’t on his ass.

obviously, he doesn’t want to be there. so one day he’s sort of sitting in the back of some class - something like english that he doesn’t care about at all - and just goes to sleep because it’s boring. the teacher comes over, tells him off, and he just does something like flips her off and rolls his eyes, to which he obviously gets detention.

he usually wouldn’t go to detention, but he thinks he may as well because he doesn’t rlly wanna go home.

now, ian also gets detention that day, which is unusual for him. maybe he had a very public argument with Lip, calling him some names and a teacher who really hates swearing threw him in detention.

when ian walks in, mickey’s already there, leaning back on his chair. he almost falls off when he sees ian. ian will smirk and sit on the seat in front of him, not next to him. and because mickey is like a three year old with a crush half the time, he spends his time kicking the back of ian’s chair.

there’s another boy in detention, i imagine it to be a sort of American-jock type. all arrogance and self importance. he goes up to mickey and acts like their friends or some shit just because mickey dealt at a few of his parties.

“hey bro, how’ve you been?”

now mickey doesn’t really remember him, so he just sort of scowls.

“….good”

“that’s so good, bro, so, do you have anything on you i could buy?”

mickey doesn’t, actually, because he doesn’t make a habit of bringing copious amounts of drugs into a place where he could easily get caught.

“nah.”

and then it’s over and Chad or whatever goes back to his own seat. it’s then that he sees ian, and chad has some homophobic bullshit built up in his head. also, mickey’s there and he sort of wants to impress the bad boy drug dealer who won’t give him the time of day. at this point, mandy and lip are banging, so a lot of people know ian’s gay.

he goes up to ian, assuming while mickey kicks his chair and laughs when ian turns around pissed off it’s because of the same stuff he has in mind.

he calls ian something homophobic, and ian just rolls his eyes and tells him to fuck off. Chad gets mad at the indifference and slams a hand down on the desk.

“you wanna fuckin’ quit it with that?” mickey pipes up from his seat.

“you don’t got a problem with the gays, mick?” chad says and mickey instantly looks a little lost.

ian sighs and says shit like “just fuck off, Chad, I don’t have time for your bullshit.” because he doesn’t really need or expect mickey to fight his battles for him.

chad gets mad at ian again but he’s a pussy, so doesn’t outright attack him. just slams his hand down a few more times, starts yellling. ian just can’t be bothered to give a shit, is more annoyed he got in detention in the first place.

mickey stands up, because chads getting annoyed at ian’s lack of reaction and gets in chad’s face.

he says some excuse like ‘he’s friends with my sister’ but at the end of the day he shoves chad back and away.

chad tries to make some stupid joke, like ‘we were just playing’ and mickey’s having none of it.

“go sit your ass down over there you fucking pussy and leave him alone” and chad walks away with his tail between his legs.

ian sort of beams, sort of grumbles at mickey. like he smiles, but also mutters to him that he can fight his own battles, but thanks.

mickey just shrugs even though he’s blushing a bit because that sort of shows he cares, doesn’t it? but then he goes back to kicking ian’s chair and ian goes back to getting annoyed while he tries to do some homework.

they leave together and chad leaves thoroughly dejected. they go to the dugouts and ian keeps grinning at mickey and mickey keeps rolling his eyes at him and its just a bit sweet.

#shameless #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #gallavich fic #shameless fanfiction #they’re adorable

[hawkinsbnbg]

See, Eddie had always been bad at flirting if not a disaster at it. And it didn't help when he had a bad habit of going dumb around Steve Harrington—the boy of his dream, the muse of his soul, the sun of his flowers, and the light of his life.

At this point, it was inevitable that whatever he managed to say to Steve always ended up sounding awkward or worse, ominous.

"Why are you staring?" Steve cocked an eyebrow at him, hazel eyes gleaming in amusement.

They were having a movie night at the Munson’s new apartment after holding one at Steve’s just last week.

And as usual, Eddie’s attention was on the other boy, unable to stop gazing at that lovely face.

Sometimes, Eddie still felt like he was hallucinating whenever he hung out with Steve. Because, never in his wildest dream, he would see himself being friends with King Steve.

And yet, against all odds, after surviving Hell together, they had become fast friends and stayed like that for months. These days, Eddie could confidently say that he was Steve's best friend besides Robin.

Then again, he was quite sure Steve wouldn't give him The Moves™️—lips biting, eyes glancing up through lashes, knees squeezing, hips knocking, hands holding—if they were just friends.

So. Flirting.

If only Eddie was all suave and smooth, he bet they would be boyfriends by now, and not whatever that had been going on between them these last few months.

Sorry for staring but your eyes are so beautiful; they’re the most priceless gemstones in the world, sweet candies that I want to possess, a hazel sky that I want to keep drowning in, was all Eddie wanted to say.

But instead, he blurted out. "I wanna lick your eyeballs.”

Horrified, Eddie slapped a hand over his mouth before quickly correcting his grave mistake.

"Wait– I didn't mean that," he flailed his hands around in panic and tried to explain to a wide-eyed Steve. "I meant, I want to keep your eyes to myself– No, that sounds so creepy, oh my god–"

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Steve straightened from his comfy position on the couch and held Eddie's hands gently. "Calm down, Eds. Just take your time. I promise I won't go anywhere."

Eddie nodded, heart beating fast under the attention of those warm and kind doe-eyes.

Eventually, he got a grip on himself and turned his hands so he could lace them with Steve. Theirs were about the same size but always fitted so well together like gloves.

Eddie looked up to meet Steve's patient gaze. He took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. The success rate was sixty percent, which was enough for him to work with.

"I uhm, like your eyes a lot,” he cleared his throat slightly. “So can I take you on a date tomorrow?"

In a fleeting second, he feared for a rejection. But then, Steve smiled at him, sweet and pretty, and Eddie was done for.

"My shift lasts until four, so you can pick me up then," Steve gave his hands a light squeeze.

Overwhelmed with joy, Eddie pulled the other boy into his lap to kiss him silly.

Later, they moved into Eddie's bedroom to continue their making out session without worrying about being walked in on by Wayne.

He hunched over Steve with those long legs wrapping around his lower back, and kept peppering Steve's face with kisses because he could never have enough of him.

"Should've," a kiss on the forehead. "Done," a kiss on the eyelid. "This," a kiss on the nose. "Sooner," another kiss on the cheek.

Steve giggled and threaded his fingers into Eddie's hair to pull him down into another tender kiss.

When they parted again, they were both blushing and panting.

Eddie had to refrain himself from grinding against Steve, knowing he wouldn't be able to keep his pants on once he succumbed to the siren's call.

Steve didn't share the same sentiments as him, however, when those legs tightened and forced Eddie to scoot in closer, making their clothed erections press into each other.

Even through multiple layers of denim, Eddie still felt the delicious friction that lit him up like wildfire.

"God, you're killing me, sweetheart," Eddie groaned and pecked those pouty lips, red and swollen like sin.

"Haunt me then," Steve whispered and rolled his hips, tempting and alluring. "Make me remember."

Eddie didn't say anything. He didn't need to. He just surrendered himself to the siren's call and got lost in the sweet paradise that was Steve Harrington.

Afterward, as Eddie was stroking Steve's naked back absently, he pressed a kiss on Steve's forehead.

"Think we should take it slow, baby?"

"If that's what you want, Eds," Steve shrugged slightly. Then, in a small voice, he glanced up from where he was pillowing on Eddie's chest. "You'll tell me if I move too fast, 'kay?"

"The last thing I'm gonna complain about is you, baby boy," Eddie snorted and tucked a stray hair behind Steve's ear. "I just wanna hear your opinions about our relationship is all."

This time, it was Steve's turn to snort. "Haven't been on a date yet, and here we're already talking about our relationship."

"Yeah," Eddie chuckled. "We're kinda doing things out of order right now," he gave Steve's forehead another small kiss. "But you were an impatient little thing, sweetheart. Can't imagine what you would've done to me if I hadn't given in earlier."

"Don't pretend like you haven't been desperate to lay your hands on me," Steve rolled his eyes with a quiet huff.

"Keep doing that and you're gonna see how desperate I am, doll face," Eddie said huskily.

"Is that a threat?" Steve raised his eyebrow in challenge, hazel eyes gleaming impishly. "Because it's not working on me, honey."

Eddie's lips stretched into a wide grin and before Steve could taunt him again, he started tickling the other boy.

In the end, Steve had won the tickle war and Eddie had blown him off as a reward.

To no one’s surprise, they managed to go through another round, and by the time they finished, Steve was too out of it to tease Eddie anymore.

The morning after, he had woken up with Steve in his arms.

Once Steve roused, they had made out a bit too long in the bed, exchanged toes-curling handjobs in the bathroom, and had breakfast together with Wayne before leaving for work.

When the time rolled in, Eddie might be a bit too eager to give Steve everything, because he had gone a little overboard for their date night.

But all in all, Steve had enjoyed the dinner Eddie prepared and given him the most legs-shaking blowjob ever when they were watching TV on the couch.

Later that night, listening to Steve snore blissfully in his arms, Eddie decided that the date was more than a success.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie is a simp #disaster gay eddie munson #but also #smooth eddie munson #when he finally got his shit together #sionewrites

[glorismorningstar]

PARENTING

Pairing: Vox x fem!angel!reader

Summary: Now that little Pixel is born, you and Vox raise her thanks to a deal with Heaven and lots of chaos.

A/N: this is part two of PREGNANT, thank you sm for the request anon! Idk if it's the same one that asked for the first part but if it is I hope you like it <3

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

VOX tends to get home late, so you usually spend the day with Pixel until he comes back

At the end of his work day, he greets his daughter like she's the most precious thing in the world

Because she is

And because she came out of the second most precious thing in the world

You see him with Pixel in his lap, her little screen staring at his bigger one and babbling something unintelligible

It almost makes you cry tears of joy

Vox normally struggles to be soft around others

Well, not exactly struggles as chooses not to, because he has a reputation to maintain

But when it comes to his family he'll do anything and everything to protect them

You notice that he seems much more himself around you and Pixel

Not that you're complaining, of course

You love this vulnerable side of him more than the eccentric, manipulative businessman he purports to be

Although if you mention it to him, he'd likely deny it

Still hellbent on keeping you away from Valentino

As a friend he's great, sure, but his filthy habits near his newborn daughter and the mother of the aforementioned daughter do not sit right with him

You're wary of keeping Velvette on babysitting duty, although Vox convinces you to try it once

Not the worst babysitting shift in the history of the world, which surprised you greatly

After you gave birth, Vox moved you and Pixel to another house to separate his family from his work life

He deems it to be safer

And he would be completely correct

That's why when Alastor returns, he flips out

He's afraid of losing you and his little Pixie to that smiling freak

And if he loses everything he's worked for, how will he support his family?

Honestly, you have no qualms about his borderline homoerotic obsession with Alastor

Of all the flaws he has, that might not be number one

And he could do much worse, in your opinion

As long as he doesn't act on it, you're completely fine with it

It's true that you're an angel and he's a demon, a seraphim and an overlord no less

It makes you wonder why Sera would agree to let you keep the child and spend your maternity leave wherever you wish

Pixel is technically a hellborn, but she's the child of a blessed and a damned soul

You don't know how that would work

When she comes of age, she'll have her court case to decide her fate, since as a newborn child she's still of indeterminate morality

As hard as it would be, Vox would want her to live a blessed life

Therefore he lets you raise her to be a good person

You teach the little girl kindness, empathy, generosity and care

The sight is bittersweet for Vox

On the one hand, he's proud of seeing his own blood be a better person than he is

On the other hand, he'd miss Pixie being home at the end of every day and clinging to his leg like a vice

"My sweet girl. Thank God you're just a baby. Dad doesn't want to give you away, but he knows it's the right choice."

You hear him talk to her like that one night, and tears spill from your eyes as you overhear the conversation

It breaks your heart to see him suffer like this

To give up his own child in this way, you know full well that you wouldn't be able to if the roles were reversed

"Da-da..."

You freeze in place when a little babbling voice reaches your ears, while Vox grins so hard and his eyes glisten with tears for a brief moment

"That's right, sweetie... dad's here. Dad's here."

You sniffle softly and walk over to sit beside him, resting your head on his shoulder and stroking the top of Pixie's screen

"I can't believe it. Time flew by so fast."

"I know... suddenly I'm seeing her go off to school."

You giggle at that, kissing Vox on the cheek and running your thumb over the edge of his screen with a little sniffle

"Are you sure you're okay with me taking her to Heaven?"

Vox sighs, expression dropping from the joy of the moment as he pauses to word his reply properly

"Yeah. It's not easy, but it's what she deserves. It's the life I want her to have."

You wrap your arms around his neck when he says so, affectionately caressing the back of his screen

"I'm really sorry. I know I'd be flipping out if I were in your place."

"Oh, believe me, I am. I'm just doing a stunningly good job at covering it up."

You chuckle softly, nuzzling your nose on his screen

He laughs along with you and plants a sweet kiss on your lips, then holds both you and Pixie close to his chest

Soon Pixel grows into a pre-teen

She has already sprouted her wings and goes to school

Vox suggests that you let her go on her own, as she can fly and he has cameras everywhere

And he'd definitely maul to death anyone who tries to mess with his daughter

But you're still extremely on edge, insisting that even if he could know when she's in danger, there's no way either of you would get there in time to save her

So you drop her off and pick her up by flight every day

She doesn't like it very much, but somehow understands it's for her own good

It isn't until she's 14 that she finds out about the Radio Demon

She first overhears it while passing by Valentino's tower when she drops by the Headquarters one day and decides to ask Vox about it

"Dad?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Who's Alastor?"

Vox is visibly aggravated

Electricity zaps across his antennae and racks his entire body as he struggles not to dig his clawed fingers in the table

"Ha, ha... where did you learn that name, Pixie?"

Pixel worries for his reaction, flinching back as she stutters out a soft, "I- I- I-"

"Lady Archangel Pixel of Pride and Kindness, tell me who told you about that freak right now!"

"I- I heard Uncle Val saying that name, and- and that he hears he's back...!"

Vox is seconds away from electrocuting the entire Pentagram

So today he's going to deal with explaining to his teenage daughter about some psychopath he used to know and is learning that he's back from his child

"Oh, no, because God forbid Valentino shut his mouth for once in his fucking life!"

He slams his fist on the table and buries his screen in his hands, resting his elbows on the table and attempting to take a few deep breaths

"Dad...?"

He looks up and sees his daughter's big eyes staring at him with concern

He must have scared her with his outburst

Vox frowns and gathers her in his arms, sighing as he plants a kiss on the top of her screen

"I'm sorry, Pixie, I'm sorry. Alastor used to be my partner."

Pixel looks to the side and back at him, blinking multiple times

This conversation just took quite the turn

"I'll probably regret this, but... partner as in...?"

"Business partner! Jesus Christ, Pixel!"

The young girl sighs in relief

Honestly, he couldn't blame her for jumping to that conclusion

Vox tells her about his partnership with Alastor, everything about what he's really like and what he could do to hurt them now

He knows she's mature enough to understand

"What I want you to do now is call your mother and ask her to come pick you up. Now."

"But-"

"Now, Pixel."

Pixel hesitates, eyes flickering around with worry as she finally stared up at Vox

"Do you trust me?"

"...yes. Yes, I trust you."

"Then do as I say. Please."

She can tell something's off, her father has never acted this way before

The girl throws her arms around him, burying her face in his chest

Vox wipes the tears from her eyes and gives her a reassuring smile, holding her screen in his hands

"I love you, okay?"

"I love you, too, dad..."

He presses another kiss to her forehead and squeezes her tight

He's so terrified of letting her go, but he knows that he has to, for her own good

"Go over to aunt Velvette's and ask her to call your mother. Tell her to meet me here as soon as she can and we'll come get you."

Pixel is extremely apprehensive, but obliges either way

As she trots off to Velvette's tower, Vox gets footage of the Hazbin Hotel from Valentino

Meanwhile, you receive Velvette's call and fly over to the Headquarters as fast as possible

Vox clings to you and squeezes you tight, cupping your cheeks in his hands and looking into your eyes

"Ask for an advance on the court date."

You swear you feel your soul leave your body when he says those words

You've been dreading this for so many years

"Vox, this- this can't be the only solution."

"She's in limbo, Y/N, and right now the good in her has the edge. Request sanctuary and ask Sera to move the date. Please."

With a heavy heart, you agree

He's right, if Alastor really is back, you need to get Pixel to safety

You hug Vox close, tucking your face in the crook of his neck and letting out a sob

You don't know if you're going to see him ever again, and that terrifies both of you to your very cores

"Don't cry, my love, don't cry."

"I love you, Vox."

"I know. I love you, too."

You share a last passionate kiss before departing, tears brimming both yours and his eyes as Velvette accompanies Pixel to say her goodbyes

Vox's farewell to his child is heartbreaking

He reassures her that he loves her and it's for her own good, even if he knows that deep down she'd never forgive him

You give Vox a last kiss before opening the portal to Heaven, letting the dimensions swallow up both of you, never to see Hell for years on end

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #vox x reader #vox x you #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox #vox

[bearlytolerant]

Fandom: Dragon’s Dogma 2

Pairing: Arisen/Phaesus

Chapter Rating: Mature

AO3

Figures spin in an array of silks. Donning masks feathered or scaled or embellished in some format or another. Fancy birds and beasts alike. And her eyes watch from the shadowed corner of the room.

Blonde hair. Braided bun. Blue plumed mask.

Blonde. Braided. Blue.

The description plays on repeat for her target of a delivered letter. A noblewoman—Lady Henrietta—who can be swayed to the side of the arisen. To her side. Not that she cares for her position or any side swaying (unless it’s in reference to a pretty woman) but she cares for Ser Brant and Regentkin Sven and they are the ones pulling all the strings. Someone always is. She’d made an attempt at convincing Brant to let a pawn go in her stead but it failed. Miserably. So she resigns herself to playing puppet. At least she can don a pretty dress, drink and dance. Besides, their hard work on her behalf should be rewarded, no? And it’s not like it’s a difficult assignment. She might even be best suited for it, her whole life spent knowing the subtle details of each of her goats to call them by name. These nobles are just goats.

More masqueraders filter through the doorway and something new plays on the violin, soft and sensual. Half the candles are blown out, casting a warm, moody glow on cheeks unshadowed. Roses in a vast array of pinks and reds fill vases around the room, and the sweet fragrance cannot drown out the scent of sweat and sex that permeates the air.

Gwyn manages to spot a woman matching the description she’s searching for. But the blue of her dress is caught up in a twirl on the dance floor, the same blue plumes of her mask taking flight before she can even peel herself off the pillar. With slumped shoulders, she sighs and mindlessly adjusts her own scaled black mask. Patience is almost too steep a price for paragonal virtue.

A shiver runs up her spine and she averts her gaze from the dancers to scan the dim-lit recesses between the marbled columns nearby. Her eyes land on a tall figure, dressed in black with mask to match, hands clasped behind his back. The gold accents on both mask and robe gleam when the flickering flame catches the metallic just so. His attire is different. Not Vermundian in style but more Battahli, and she wonders what a noble from the neighboring country is doing here. Surely events such as these exist in his own courts and ballrooms. Does he just want to bask in the revelries of Vermundian customs or is he on a mission, much the same as she? A half smirk tugs at those lips, eyes never leaving her and his bearded jawline is accentuated by the candle’s half-light. Like a moth to his flame, she floats over to him.

He’s not quite as tall as her up close. And not everything is black. The habit beneath the robes is a deep shade of purple and a thick, wine red cord is tied about his waist. All of it is luxurious garb, the kind only befitting nobles and she wonders what title he carries back home.

His eyes remain fixated on her. More often her chest than any other feature. She can’t say she wouldn’t do the same if she were him. But isn’t that what these little masquerades are about? They say it’s to celebrate The (false) Sovran but everyone knows what those celebrations entail. Unadulterated lust and stolen moments of forbidden fornication disguised as dancing. She smooths her hands down her corset, his eyes never straying from her body. At least he carries no false pretenses about his desires. She determines she likes him already and closes the small gap between them.

A tilt of his head and his eyes flick back up to hers with a pleased hum. “Why, you’re—”

His voice is like a hypnotic rumble carried on smoke laden clouds. Or velvet sheets caressing the skin just before that first light of dawn peeks through the curtains. A voice she associates with satiated desire coupled with possession and she wants to be his tonight. She just knows with that deep decadent tone and alluring cadence that he’s the type to talk you through an orgasm and if not, she’ll take enjoyment from hearing that voice of his relinquish a moan while threading her fingers through his raven colored locks. Raising a brow in piqued interest, she hopes he continues speaking.

“No, pay me no mind.”

“A senseless request when you have caught my attention and are all that consumes my mind now.”

A small smirk but her bold attempt at flirting is not enough to make him blush. He unfolds his arms from behind his back, dispersing the tension of his haughty posture with a roll of his wrist. “We who are gathered here are naught but nameless nobles. Twould be uncouth to inquire after another’s identity.”

She wants to laugh. Ask how many times he’s rehearsed such an alliterative line or if he’s the type to succumb to such formalities. But the way he turns each word into goosebumps on her arms has her trading her almost-laugh in for fire running through her veins. She no longer even cares about his name. Would it be uncouth if she skipped banter altogether and went straight to sex in the corridor? Does she care if it was? She surmises she aught to at least dance with him first.

“All such speak of identity aside, might I ask you to dance?”

“I would be a fool to deny you.”

“You would indeed, my lord.” He offers a small bow before taking the lead.

Fingers cool to the touch, hers interlock with his until they find a place amongst the other masked dancers. Somehow her memory serves her for once when she recalls the required four-steps and turn for this particular dance but her mind wanders. One-two steps and he’s too far away. The third and the fourth, brings him back and she wants him closer. Wants him to stay. Desires his fingers skimming along her skin, playing her like the violin, her sighs harmonizing with his.

“You seem distracted,” he says when they rejoin, fingers interlocking with hers, raising their arms into the air as they slowly circle one another. His lips, thin and yet so alluring, are so close. Too close. Not close enough.

“Are you not?”

Though taciturn, the desire that burns behind his own dark eyes, reveals a satisfactory answer.

A catch of breath and his eyes don’t leave her as she steps back, spins and then they trade partners. Another four-steps that she must focus on or else be tripped up, and she loses sight of him with the next twirl. The music comes to an end. The crowd claps, pressed in tight together. She stretches on tip-toes and searches above the crowd. Spies his robe slipping smoothly away toward the fringes and she follows, almost forgetting the whole reason she’s at this masquerade.

A collision. A gasp. And wine is spilled down the front of her bodice but she spots that braided, blonde and blue and remembers the letter. Squeezing past the clumsy, wine-spilling noble, she reroutes herself, trailing after the blue dress.

A hand gently wraps around her wrist from the shadows and she’s pulled away from her pursuit.

“There you are.”

“My lord, I hardly think I was lost. You are the one who left and are in need of searching out.”

“Am I?”

She grants him an easy smile, taking in his form. “Indeed. Though, you are found now.”

A hum of acknowledgment and he folds his arms across his chest.

“I regret that I must leave you for a moment but I have need to speak with a friend. But after, if it would please you, I would relish in the opportunity to share another dance.”

“I was thinking we could share in a moment more—private.”

“I believe there is a storage—”

He interrupts, lips almost against her ear as he says, “let us reconvene when the clock strikes the next hour.”

She nods. Searches out Lady Henrietta. It’s all hush hush and a secret exchange gone well before Gwyn is almost sprinting around the outer hallway, blotting away the wet spot of spilled wine on her black dress with a kerchief she stole from a man in a Beastren mask.

She will definitely be early.

Heart racing as the clock tolls the new hour, Gwyn readjusts her position on a forgotten desk littered with old, dusty books buried in the ballroom's storage closet behind a room divider. Remembering to breathe, she quells her nervous excitement. But it all shatters when the door creaks open and the gentle hum of a spell is cast. She marks down another certainty. But is he a mage or sorcerer? Or some combination of the two? She resigns herself to thinking it doesn’t matter.

“I presume you found your way easily enough?” She hopes it’s her masked tryst and not a guard she’s speaking to.

“Indeed,” he answers and her momentary worry dissipates.

“You did lock the door, yes?” Though, she can make the assumption easily enough if he felt the need to use magic.

Rounding the room divider, she takes in his handsome form and it’s a shame she can’t peel off that mask and those robes to reveal all of what’s underneath. To see what face that growl of a voice comes from. But his mouth will have to do as he inches closer and she tugs the wine colored cord around his waist. He nearly loses balance, but braces himself, palms on either side of her. Cupping his chin in her hand, she captures his dark brown gaze and slowly inches toward him, breath on his lips.

“Yes. And we shall remain uninterrupted for a few hours,” he says.

“Hours?”

He closes the gap between them, lips pressing against hers in a surprisingly gentle way and her fingers crawl along his jawline and slip to the back of his neck where she twirls a dark lock around her finger. Heart thudding wildly, she releases all of her pent up tension with a tug of his hair. A soft, pleasant gasp and she smiles against him. Deepens the kiss with a slant of her lips and flick of her tongue, she yanks him even closer. But he breaks away with a coy smile.

“Time is needed for a fruitful and thorough experience.”

“Thorough hmm?”

“Might I inquire of you?

“Go on.”

“How well,” he reaches down, hooking his fingers under the hem of her dress, thumbs sliding across her thighs, as he slowly shuffles the fabric upward, bunching it around her hips, “do you follow instruction?”

She expects a grin but only seriousness lingers in his gaze. “I suppose it depends upon who is instructing and if they are worthy of my obedience or not.”

“Hmm,” he says thoughtfully, inching to his knees. A press of his lips against her inner thigh and his eyes flick back up to hers. “I shall make myself worthy then.”

#bear writes #dd2 fanfic #dragon’s dogma 2 fanfic #dd2 #dragon’s dogma 2 #phaesus x arisen #ascension #chapter 1 #oc: gwyn #eyyy it’s out 😅

[starsxinxthexbluexsky]

Wei Wuxian's Nose Rubbing Habit

#cql #the untamed #theuntameddaily #here little meow meow wwx #and another of his habits but this is a sweet one #It took me a long time making these gifs and not cuz of the gifs themselves but the scenes #literally for wwx to make this gesture is very strange and well hidden so i had to watch the drama again #but it's so cute. i wanted to make a lot these gifs of this habit with his face of 'i didn't do anything' or 'this will give me problems' #wwx and nose rubbing habit #for this reason gg also became familiar and stayed with this habit #wei wuxian #xiao zhan #my gifs #mygifs.cql #1k.

[ghouljams]

fae!soap’s darling is one of those crazy makes you throw up poems in her notes app girls

Ding ding ding, here's the threat, the hard darling, the crazy girl

Warnings: Very public sex, themes around addiction/interventions(if you squint)

This is really Gaz's hunting ground. The thumping bass, the technicolor lights, the sea of people. But Soap isn't looking to hunt tonight. He's drained, wasted some of his best magic on a musician that wouldn't pan out. What he needs is thoughtless, what he needs is sex. He catches your arm as you walk past him. The prettiest thing in this hole.

"Can ah buy ya a bev, Bonnie?" He asks, watching your eyes flick approvingly down his body.

You've never been one to pass up an easy catch.

He presses you against the wall, his tongue insistent against yours, hands gripping your hips tight. You get the feeling this guy just got out of a relationship. This sort of intensity only comes from trying to forget someone. Which is good for you, means less talking.

Soap slides a hand from your hip to push between your legs under your skirt. The club is loud, crowded, not very well lit, good for a quickie. You're already wet at the prospect of it. You can feel his smile against your lips when he feels just how soaked you are. He pulls away from kissing you to press closer, speak in your ear where he knows you'll hear.

"All this for me, hen?" He's cocky, you like cocky.

"Could've been for my date if he'd found me first." You tell him, you don't think he's used to being a second choice. Cocky guys never are.

"Just have to make it f'me then," He tells you low and dangerous, fingers rubbing you through your underwear. You smile, tipping your head to suck at his neck as you rock against his fingers.

He's good with his hands, you'll give him that. 

Soap pushes your panties to the side, fingers collecting your slick before pressing into your hole. They’re thick, dextrous, crooking to stroke your walls with practiced precision as the heel of his hand grinds against your clit. You hum, your hips following the stroke of his fingers. He pushes them against the spongy spot near your entrance over and over, stirring need in you like he has a direct line to your orgasm. You press against him, twist your fingers in his shirt desperate to hold onto something while he works you up. You drop your forehead against his shoulder, grind against his hand as you focus on the tight knot in your stomach. 

“Come on sweetheart,” He whispers, lips catching the shell of your ear, “be good for me, yeah?” You nod all too eager to cum when you can feel his hard cock pressing against your leg. That’s what you really want, you can pluck at a few strands and push yourself over the edge if it means you get fucked after. You shake against him, his fingers never stopping as your walls flutter around them. You can feel the slick dripping off of you when he pulls them out. 

Soap opens his belt and fly one handed, pulling his cock free, his slick fingers pumping it, getting rid of some of your wetness before his hands hook under your thighs. He lifts you with that wonderful inhuman strength and pins you between the wall and his body. You wrap your legs around his waist as he thrusts his cock against your slit. The weight, the angle, god when he fills you he fills you. Gorgeous thick cock pushing your gooey walls apart to make room for itself, the length of him hitting you deep enough you feel it in your stomach. You purr, clenching around him as you squeeze your arms around his shoulders. 

“Fuck you’re squeezin’ the life outta me, bonnie.” He groans as you tease your teeth against his pulse. That’s the idea. He pulls out just enough to thrust back in, your t-shirt the only thing protecting your back from being scraped against the wall, and you bite him as he bounces you on his cock. 

The drag of his thick length is hot enough to make your head spin. His hips snapping against yours, hitting that deep spot that makes your toes curl, that makes heat knot in your stomach again. You moan into your bite, doing your best to muffle yourself when all you want to do is scream. You’re oversensitive, and he is driving you back to the edge as he chases his own high. You do your best to meet his thrusts, distract him from your fingers threading through the tethers that lead off of him. There’s got to be something in- You pull on a painter’s thread and Soap shudders, pressing hard into you as he cums. 

You feel the trap on your back light up, tugging attempting tethers into the sink like a black hole. Sexual energy fills you as nicely as Soap’s thick seed. Your legs feel a little weak when he pulls out and sets you back on the ground. You lean against the wall, catching your breath as he tucks himself back into his pants. You give him a thumbs up when he reaches to… you don’t know, check on you?

“I’m gonna find my date,” You tell him. A look of confusion crosses his face, you don’t give him time to respond before you disappear into the crowd. No need to stick around and deal with whatever baggage he’s got.

-

You bump into Soap at a shitty underground show your friend dragged you to, promising cheap drinks and hot potential hook ups. Normally you're a one and done sort of person, men are so emotional you really can't spare them more than one no strings attached fuck. You don't think this guy has even heard of feelings the way he holds you against his cock and grinds against you in the dim lights on the outside of the mosh pit. He certainly doesn't seem to feel anything but desperate when he bites your shoulder.

"Too many people," You tell him as he soothes his tongue over his bite.

"Wasn't a problem last time," You roll your eyes, yeah you'll give him that. People are a little more watchful here though, this show is at a bigger risk of getting busted up by the cops. You're not getting cuffed outside the bedroom again.

"Ok well it's a problem this time, so find somewhere private." You gripe, hearing a grumble of protest before Soap pulls away to glance around the venue. "Think there's a loft somewhere, might have a bed." You pick at your top, waiting on Mr. Bitey to come up with something better. His eyes dart around the top edge of the warehouse before nodding.

You half lead, half follow him to the loft space overlooking the party. You test the lock as he tests the bed, or the mattress. What is it with punk guys not having bed frames? Is a bed frame too establishment? Better than nothing you suppose, and the place looks clean. Now that you think about it this might be the band’s place. Funny.

You don’t really want to stick around here too long. You drop to your knees in front of Soap. His hand moves immediately to drag fingers along your jaw, tip your head to look at you. 

“Wouldn’t want anyone else getting this view,” He tells you, you roll your eyes more focused on getting his belt open than whatever charm he’s trying to hit you with. It won’t work anyway, you’re more than protected against his magic. Still, it’s always funny seeing weavers try to work you.

“Your dirty talk could use some work,” You tug his pants down, wrap your fingers around his cock. You hadn’t seen it last time, but it’s just as pretty as the rest of him. You’re careful as you drag your tongue along his length, slicking the pump of your fingers. Soap swears over you, eyes fixed on the movement of your mouth. You put on a good show for him, kissing his thick cock between strokes of your hand, sucking at the head and lapping at the beading pre-cum. Your eyes lock on his, enjoying the way his pupils dilate for you. 

“Fuck you are good at this,” He groans, watching you swallow the length of his cock. You hum affirmative, your hand leaving his cock to cup his balls. You’ve done this enough times, you should be at least competent at it.

You can feel the pentacles on your back starting to turn, the itch of warded magic. So compliments are part of it. Noted. 

Soap’s hand presses against the back of your head, and you’re happy to give him a second just to feel your throat constrict around him as you swallow before you’re bobbing your head. Your tongue drags along the underside of his cock, tracing the veins and circling the head. You never take your eyes off of Soap, too eager to watch him lose a piece of his composure. 

And he does, the cracks in his cocksure mask slipping as he swears and bucks into your mouth. Curling over you with a low moan when he does finally cum. You lick him clean as more hooks get redirected by your ward. More threads worked into your trap. Insurance.

You leave to find your friends before he can get it in his head to ask about the tethers.

-

You're talking to a guy at the bar, half interested too, when someone catches your arm and drags you away. You yank your arm away in protest and round on the guy only to realize you recognize him. Fuck what was his name, you've hooked up a couple times before.

"Oh hey, Mr. Clean, welcome back." You absolutely fumble whatever he's actually called. He barely seems to hear you, already dragging you towards the bathroom. The broken mirror and sticker covers stalls barely register over the way Soap kicks a stall open and pushes you into it. He locks the stall door behind you, and turns the both of you so you're pressed against it, dropping to his knees.

"Why is it every time I see you, you're with someone?" He asks, hardly waiting for the go ahead before he's dragging your shorts down.

"Bad timing?" You joke, he doesn't laugh frustrated with something. Not you, you think, otherwise he wouldn't press his mouth to your cunt with such an eager groan. You thread your fingers through your hair and exhale as you feel one of your hooks grab him. His tongue rolls over your clit, stoking the rapidly igniting heat between your legs, you wonder what’s got him all worked up. You suppose it doesn’t matter, he’s an easy meal.

You let out a shuddering breath, his tongue following the movement of your hips as you try to keep quiet in the empty bathroom. His mouth is hot, a furnace befitting a summer fae, just at the edge of too warm for you. His lips close around your clit, fingers digging into your thighs to leave bruises for the rest of the bar to see. The suction makes your hole clench, and you can feel the way slick smears with each drag of his hungry tongue. Eating you like a last meal, fast and aggressive. Like he can’t think of anything but your cunt. 

He might not be able to. You’re never sure about your dosage for repeat customers. Coaxing his energy just a little heavier, feeling the rush of it when he palms himself through his pants.

“Good boy,” You purr, enjoying the shiver that sends down his spine. The renewed need that has him pressing his tongue into you, tasting you from the source. You press your fingers a little more insistently against the back of his head, hips bucking to follow the stroke of his tongue. He needs this, you think, needs the easy rush as badly as you do. An addict chasing their high.

His tongue twists and you whine, pressing your hand against your mouth. He does it again and you know he wants to hear you. But that won’t happen here, and he sure as shit isn’t coming back to your place. Still, it’s good, electric and wet. The attention to your clit sends sparks up your spine, paying you back for leaving him last time. 

His hand leaves your thigh to push his fingers into your cunt as his tongue flickers against you. His fingers crook, twisting and stroking until the added stimulation makes you push down hard against his mouth, whining loud into your hand as you cum. 

You feel his tethers hit your trap hard as your legs shake. His groans against you, fingers and tongue still working your clenching cunt into overstimulation. You grab a fistful of the tethers leading off of him and yank him back. He stares up at you with glassy eyes as you pull your shorts back up and tumble out of the stall to get the fuck out of dodge.

-

Soap stares daggers across the bar table, his fist tightly pressed against his mouth as his scotch sweats in front of him.

"What's bit your ass?" Gaz asks, barely drawing Soap's attention away from the space over Price's shoulder.

"Ah'm bloody starvin'." Soap snaps, the other three men at the table exchange a look. He's been through more artists in the last three months than ever before.

"What happened to the bird with the violin?" Gaz tries, voice measured and slow to keep the concern at the edges. Ghost's brows twitch together watching Soap drag a hand down his face.

"Only gave me one piece."

"Any good?" Price chimes in, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. Soap frowns.

"Really good."

"Then what's the problem?" Price presses. Soap doesn't know. It used to be enough. Ages ago one haunting piece could keep him for months, years if it was good enough. He was patient, he wasn't as jaded. What happened?

"Johnny," Ghost starts, Soap turns his glare on him, Ghost glares back switching tactics as the concern leaves his voice, "Find a new meal. There's a reason leanan don't live long." Soap scowls.

"Ah found one, and they don' give two shits about me."

"Sounds like a nice change of pace." Ghost says dryly. Price nudges him. 

“You got any tethers in ‘em?” Price asks, trying to ease the Scot’s tension. Soap stops, thinking. He’s met you three times, he should have something, but as far as he can feel they’ve been empty interactions. So why do you fill his head at every spare moment? Why does he want to see you so badly?

“Not one,” Soap says finally.

“Christ you’re as bad as Ghost,” Gaz groans. Price stays silent, gaze heavy, inspecting. He snuffs his cigar after a moment, and pulls a new one from his pocket.

“I’m only gonna ask this once, so I’d think real hard on it,” Price strike a match to life with his fingernail, lighting his cigar with narrowed eyes like he’s worried Soap might lie, or might not know, “How many hooks they got in you?”

Soap counts zero, nothing, tries to feel for anything new that might have latched onto him. He’d know if a human got a few hooks in him, especially if he hadn’t gotten any in them. But the longer he thinks, the more he feels them.

Intricately latticed gossamer threads dig haphazardly into him, squeezing the other tethers and wrapping around old hooks. They constrict and expand just shy of tight. Just shy of noticeable. Now that they have been noticed, the feeling makes him shudder, it’s unmistakable. Soap drags a finger along one, hissing at the blood it draws, the way the line lights up red before falling away. Gaz leans back away from him, pressing against Ghost’s stiff form. Price exhales smoke across the table, the tendrils latching onto the spider silk threads and snapping them.

#Did no one consider that Soap's darling might not be an artist? #or at least not one in anything but body language #What do you give the man that's never had to work for his darlings affection? #a chase #wow ghoul this seems like another case of two unhealthy people finding love with each other #and what about it? #I have a lot of apprehension around this darling and Soap #my worry is I've gone too ooc for Soap #but I think seeing his own destructive habits mirrored will snap him back to sweet soap #need someone to be genuine for this man #I've been thinking too many sad thoughts about Fae!Soap #Imagine a life knowing no one actually loves you they only love what you give them #afab reader #x reader #fae!Soap #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x oc #hard darling

[hotyanderedaddies]

The School Bully Loves You, Pt. 1:

Yandere Bully Forces Nerdy You to be His

[I hope you all enjoy my first semi-series on here!]

[Yandere! Bully x GN Nerd! Reader]

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

Everyone at your high school knew that it was best to avoid Blake.

The upperclassman was a bully, plain and simple. He had a habit of beating people down if they dared get in his way, or even if they just looked at him in a manner he didn't appreciate.

You were on the complete opposite of the spectrum: a grade-A nerd. You were a goody two-shoes to boot, always volunteering after school and helping your fellow classmates study whenever they struggled with a subject. The captain of the Mathletes team and one of the star columnists in the school newspaper, you were the epitome of nerd.

However, even with your good nature, you avoided Blake as best as you could, fearful that you'd face his wrath and have him beat your face into a pulp. You'd heard the stories, and you'd seen enough teen movies to know that bullies and nerds do not mix, at all.

Unfortunately, one Friday morning, you walked out of the front door to your house to head towards the bus stop-- but you immediately froze when Blake was in your driveway, leaning casually against his car.

"Bl-Blake?" you coughed out in surprise. "What are you doing--"

Blake just grunted and opened up the passenger side door, gesturing at it. When you didn't make a move, his frown deepened on his face.

"Get in!" he barked, the forcefulness of his deep voice making you jump.

Afraid of making the bully even angrier, you scurried over towards the car and practically leapt inside. "Um, wh-where are we going?" you trembled as soon as Blake got in and started to drive off down the street.

Blake cocked his eyebrow at you in confusion. "School," he scoffed, as if it should've been obvious.

You wanted to ask why the school bully was driving you to school, but you were too concerned with how he placed his arm over your small shoulders in the tight confines of the car.

You were stunned silent at first, but then something popped into your head that you couldn't ignore.

"How did you know where I live?" you asked Blake, your voice small and barely audible over the loud music playing over the speakers.

"Huh?" Blake asked, turning the volume down a bit before shaking his head. "Don't worry about it."

"B-but..."

Blake turned the volume back up, effectively silencing you. You kept your lips pursed for the rest of the drive to school, anxiety seeping out of your every pore. When Blake finally parked in the parking lot, you thought about bolting as fast as you could, but your legs were like jelly.

You nearly crawled out of the car and cautiously began to walk towards the entrance when a tight visegrip swallowed your hand.

Blake interlocked his fingers with yours, giving you a sneer when you attempted to pull away. He was much stronger than you, and when you kept trying, he leaned down closer to your ear.

Thanks to his proximity, a lot of the other students began to gawk at the two of you, their eyes widening and many of them murmuring to another as they saw the school bully holding hands with the nerdiest person in class.

"You're smart," Blake smirked as he whispered in your ear, "so I need you to comprehend this: You're mine."

A cold shiver traveled down your spine, and you tried to pull away once more; but Blake was much stronger than you, and he gave you a rough tug, making you topple into him.

"That's one," Blake sneered, even holding up one of his fingers to count. "When I get to three, I'll have to punish you. So make sure you behave and be my sweet little angel, got it?"

Swallowing hard, you nodded, fearful of what was in store for you.

To be continued...

#yandere boyfriend #yandere boy #yandere daddy #yandere x reader #yandere x you #obsessive love #possessive boyfriend #yandere bully #yandere bad boy #bad boy #bad boy x nerd #nerd you #Blake #my oc #Blake the Bully

[makoodles]

I would give anything to know Ghost’s inner monologue during any part of the last fic you posted. Is he purposefully getting into her space at the beginning (because we all know Ghost is too aware of his body and his trauma to accidentally touch anyone, let along have his entire side against them)? When he walks in does he just blue-screen, is that why he doesn’t immediately leave? What is he thinking when he sees our wet cunt still stuffed? When he finds out no one has touched us that way, or made us cum? When we want him to fuck us so badly we beg him to do it raw? Does his heart break a little when he heard us say we thought he left us, while we were so vulnerable and still dirty? Is he also freaking out about the fraternization stuff, or has he decided that we are his in the same way that he is ours, and Price will just have to cover up another damn thing for his team?

yes to all of this

(a little drabble part 2 to this)

Ghost has a little habit, when you're concerned. He's usually hyper-aware of his body and his limbs and where he's touching, what's around and beside and behind him. His skin itches sometimes when he's touched without warning, though he always hides his reactions. But with you... he's not so careful. He lets his legs spread, his arms stretch, lets himself crowd into your space. There's something intoxicating about the way that you let him, the way you never lean away from him. You're just so soft, so warm, always letting him infringe on your space with a sweet little smile as though you're happy to see him. You're one of the rare people who are happy to see him, and it makes something uncomfortably warm wriggle in his belly.

So yeah, he leans into you when he sits next you in the rec room. It's mostly muscle memory, because you've never minded before. But today, you're a little tense. Ghost knows you, knows you well. He can see the way your spine is a little stiff, the way your eyes are a little glassy as you stare off into the distance. You look a little... ruffled. Ghost watches you carefully out of the corner of his eye, probes a little, but backs off when you dance around his question. He's knows boundaries well, and he won't push yours. Even if he thinks it's... strange that you leave so quickly, eyes averted.

Finding your phone wedged into the seat after you left was like an opportunity. Simon Riley has never had much, he's always made do, and yet he's admittedly greedy when it comes to you. He's not often a selfish man - he's never had enough to be selfish about - and yet he's hungry for your time, your smiles, your touch. And you're always so generous with yourself, so he doesn't second-guess his decision to follow you down the hall to your quarters. He's never been there before, and he wants to see your space, hungry for any shred of you he can get.

He should have knocked. It was rude not to. But he's so, so fucking glad he didn't.

He's a little rough when he opens your door, a little too eager to get into the room and see your pretty grateful smile when he gives you your phone back. But when he gets that door open, sees the sight of you on your back among your sheets, legs spread, head back, eyes fluttered closed, his mind goes fucking blank.

He watches you scramble, watches the mortification flash across your face as you attempt to shut your adorable little pink vibrator off as you shut your legs, depriving him of the prettiest view he's ever seen. Ghost is not a man with a weakness for pretty things, but it seems only natural that you're the exception, you and your pretty wet puffy pussy.

He hardly even knows what happens, his fingers and toes numb and his attention narrowed down to you, only you. Before he knows it, he's sitting on your bed, feeling enormous and ungainly next to you as you stare up at him. He reaches out, his big hands scarred and ugly against your pretty skin when he holds your vibrator, his blood buzzing at the thought that this had been inside you mere moments ago.

He never thought he'd be envious of a piece of fucking plastic, but here he is. A big man, a deadly soldier, reduced to a fool at your bedside. And yet, you don't even seem to notice. You're so good, so sweet, parting your legs when he asks you to and letting him look.

He asks you to finish. It's bold, and stupid, and greedy. He wants to see you come - he already knows it'll be the prettiest thing he's ever seen, that it'll be seared in his mind forever. In this moment, he thinks he'd do anything just to watch your eyes roll back, your face go slack, to hear the pretty little noises he knows you'll make.

It escalates faster than he could have imagined. Such a sweet thing, laying back and showing him how you use your vibrator. And he watches eagerly, his breath catching at the realisation that this is how you play with yourself when you're alone. You're clumsy about it, which is absolutely adorable.

But then you make a confession, and Ghost thinks he might be spiralling. You've never been touched, never been fucked, never come. It feels like an outrage. He thinks of how tense you'd been earlier, shifting beside him in your blue jeans, and he just thinks... what the fuck? Prettiest girl he's ever seen, and you don't even know how to touch your own cunt properly? He wants to show you, more than anything he's ever wanted before. Greedy. You make him so greedy.

"Let me try."

He's between your legs before he even knows how he got there, pulling your stupid little vibrator out so he can replace it with his fingers. And if he thought he was greedy, he soon finds that he's well-matched when it comes to you. You're just as eager, just as hungry. Spreading your legs and whimpering, all those sweet, sweet noises that spill out of your mouth, just like he knew they would.

You have the prettiest cunt he's ever seen. Pretty, slick, swollen, just as hungry as the rest of you. He alternates between his fingers and his mouth and your little dildo, a little drunk on your taste and your soft thighs when they squeeze around his head. He kisses you too, because he can't help himself. Greedy.

He's never been a chatty man, but his cock is so hard now and he knows his mouth is running. He can't help himself. Your salty-sweet slick on his tongue has loosened it; he barely even knows what he's saying, or what he's promising, but by god he's going to live up to it.

Then, your lovely sweet voice, all breathless and pitchy, asking “Can I try yours?”

Not only that, you beg. You plead with him to fuck you, to do it raw, as if he was ever going to say no. As if he'd ever be strong enough to say no. He can hardly handle hearing you beg like that; he feels as though he's going to blow before he even gets his cock inside you.

In his wildest dreams, he never imagined you so needy. You writhe, you're soaked, you make the most heart-stopping little noises deep in your throat when he presses inside. You're so hot and wet and tight that it feels as though you're about to squeeze his cock right off, and he tries so hard to feed it to you slow, to give you time to take him. You're so good, taking him even though you struggle a little. He's not a small man, certainly not an easy man to take inside of you for your very first time, but it's a testament to how slick and eager you are that he slides in with minimal effort.

After that, he loses himself. Hardly even knows what's he's doing, working based on pure instinct, filling and fucking you until he's losing his breath. God, you're beautiful, and he clenches his jaw hard to bite back his orgasm - he has to focus on you, only you while the tears are streaming down your pretty face as you gasp and cry for him.

He can see your orgasm creeping up on you before you recognise it yourself. When it hits you, it's a whole body event. Your back arches, legs spasm, stomach trembles, eyes roll back. Your cunt clenches down so fucking tight that it's a little bit painful. Simon doesn't dare blink - he's never going to fucking forget this. Your very first orgasm, and you're experiencing it on the end of his cock.

He loses it a little after that, his thoughts fizzing and slipping from his grasp as he loses his coordination. By the time he comes inside of you, cock throbbing and skin tightening, he's already decided that he's going to have to make you come again. Once isn't enough, not for someone as hungry as him. Or you.

He thinks he might have fucked you stupid. Your eyelids are fluttering and your lips are parted, but you're a little bit dead to the world. It's cute. He feels his pride swell, smug at the thought that he's fucked you so good that he's sent you reeling off into dreamworld.

He leaves, only for a moment, unable to be away from you for too long. He just wants to get a cloth, something to wipe you off with to make you all clean and fresh again. You're already awake when he comes back, though you're still hazy and clumsy and all teary-eyed.

He's happy to wipe you clean, despite your quiet mewling complaints, and then he hauls himself into your bed just so he can curve his big-ass body around your smaller one, relishing your sweet softness. God, he's wanted to hold you like this forever, but he's still a little nervous about hurting you. Killing and maiming and hurting have been the only things he's been really good at his whole life, and he's irrationally fearful of moving wrong and hurting you, even after the sex. Or maybe especially after the sex.

He can see your brow crease, the uncertainty in your eyes. He realises you're probably a little uncertain about where you stand with him, or what this is. That's fair. Simon has never been the most demonstrative man, but he's also been the type to cling on like a tick to the things he values, the things he wants to keep safe. He holds you, checking his strength, proud to be able to keep you safe in his arms.

He's going to make sure that you don't worry about it either. Your hair smells sweet, your skin is so warm, and your ass is so soft where it's pressed against his crotch. He's reaching for you before he can think about it, and his heart pulses hard when you spread your legs for him so easily. God, he's gonna ruin you. Just like he promised.

#asks #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod smut #drabble

[gay-dorito-dust]

How these guys would react to having their face held…

Dick smiles out of habit and pushes his face even further into your hands, humming in content.

He loves it when you held him, however that may be, as it was the one thing he looked forward to the most when coming home.

He’s prone to frequent bouts of fatigue with patrols and the like, but it was moments like these where he could truly appreciate your touch and the healing properties they have on him.

‘I could spend forever here in your hands.’ He’d sigh as he allowed himself to relax within your touch.

‘Oh really? Is that so?’ You raised your brows, watching as the features within his face relaxed into a one that showed you just how exhausted Dick looked. You could see the toll his job his job took but you knew that Dick was too devoted, too attached to what he does to ever give it up, no matter how constantly drained and tired it made him.

You respect his decision to keep doing what he was doing but there came times where you’d just wish he would take a breather from it all, even if it was just for a second, you just wanted to take the weight off of Dick’s shoulders and put it aside for a moment while you work the tension out of his aching muscles.

‘Yeah.’ He responded, feeling himself sink further into sleep. Dick loved what he does but some times he resents it for leaving him with little to no time to spend with you, at least not without him falling asleep five minutes within the interaction. Time with you was sparse and all Dick wanted to do was spend as much of it as he could to make up for the fact that he was barely home at all during the day.

He knew that he prioritised being a hero over your relationship too often and he couldn’t help but feel a tremendous amount of guilt over it during your relationship. You didn’t deserve to wait up for him every night to make sure he was okay, not while developing heavy eye bags of your own and a lack of a sleeping schedule.

He just hopes that one day you too will realise that you better then what he’s giving you and put yourself first, but you were too selfless to ever do that and he could feel that through the way you trace his features with your fingers with featherlight caresses.

Jason stiffens beneath your touch and goes unresponsive for such a long time that you were worried that you had accidentally crossed a boundary.

So just as you were about to remove your hands from his face, Jason quickly reaches out to grasp your hands and pull them back to cupping his cheeks as he then proceeded to nuzzle his cheek against your palm.

‘Stay.’ He whispered. ‘Please.’

Your heart broke at his plea but obeyed as you began to stroke his cheeks with either of your thumbs, feeling him gradually relax under your touch until he was practically a puddle in your hands.

‘I’m sorry.’ He whimpered, burying his face into your hands so that you didn’t see his tear stricken red face. ‘I don’t deserve this. None of it.’ He adds, cursing himself for being so pathetic but your touch practically broke him in the best way.

In your hands Jason felt as though all his broken prices were being put back together again through love, warmth and patience and that was enough to make him breakdown into tears.

Physical affection is a foreign concern to this poor man, and in due to that Jason is naturally going to be skeptical and on edge the moment the pads of your fingertips explore his jawline, before slowly coming up to cup his cheeks. ‘I’m right here Jaybridie.’ You utter softly as you felt his grip on your wrists slack a little. ‘I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere because nowhere is more important than staying here with you. Just take your time.’ And stay with him you did.

Damian is another one who’s not use to soft touches and sweet affection.

So he’ll initially be on guard when he saw you coming his way with your hands outstretched to cup his cheeks, but will huff and reluctantly rest his face in your palms, he’s extremely stiff while doing so and looking away from you out of initial embarrassment.

‘Get on with it.’ He’d mutter, acting as though such acts or moments of tenderness and vulnerability were beneath him, when in actuality Damian loved the feeling of you hold his face as though it were porcelain. He loved the fact that despite knowing his upbringing you still treat him with a love, kindness and warmth that he has never been shown before.

To Damian it was clear that you didn’t care if he was the son of Bruce Wayne and Talia al Ghul, grandson of Ra’s al Ghul. You only cared about him, Damian Wayne and he could feel that care through your touch as he vowed to cut through anything and everything that intended to harm you.

Your touch brings him a sense of calm, serenity and peace that brought him back from the brink a plethora of times, especially in moments when his arrogance and brashness would resurface. Damian was thankful for you being in his life, a true guiding light in his darkest moments, and he couldn’t think of any possible way to thank you for everything you’ve done for him but he’ll surly try.

Bruce feels the tension behind his eyes and in his jaw sooth themselves under your touch.

His eyes would slowly close as he brought his calloused hands up to gently stroke the inside of your wrists. Bruce needs no words to describe how he felt because he feels as though his expressions and the noises of content made it clear how much he appreciated you being here with him.

‘You look tired.’ You commented, tracing the weary lines on his hard face with your eyes as he observed your face and the way it showed most of your innermost emotions whether you were aware of this fact or not.

Bruce knew that you worry and that you worry a lot about him in particular when it came to whether he was sleeping enough, eating enough and keeping himself safe whilst fighting on the streets of Gotham. Bruce knew he was as stubborn as mule when it came to his life choices and that you were only just worried about him because you cared for him, but sometimes he wished you would redirect all this effort towards yourself because he oftentimes didn’t think he was worth of your worry, nor your care.

Bruce felt as though he should be the one taking care of you rather than you taking care of him. It’s not as though he hates it, it’s just you’ve shown him on countless occasions of your care towards him, and on even more occasions you have shown him of your unwavering dedication towards him. Bruce also feels like he should be the one paying you back for all the hard times where you stood by his side, watching him practically work himself to the bone and almost into a comatose if you didn’t step in and deal him away from the computers.

For you’ve proven time and time again that you weren’t so easily swayed into leaving, and that was made more true when he felt comfortable enough telling you that he was Batman and the dangers that would come with knowing such knowledge. You however only shrugged and told him that by his side, you were the safest you’ve ever been or will ever be.

‘More so than usual?’ He asked in a way that it might as well have came out as an indignant huff.

‘And by more so than usual you mean constantly, then yes, yes you are more tired than usual.’ You replied as you ran your thumbs under his eyes and across his eye bags as if to emphasise your point. Bruce only huffs as he watched you take in all of him with nothing but love and affection in your eyes and your touch.

John would most likely bite your hand out of an inherent need to be a teasing little shit.

Will boast about the fact that you just wanted to touch up his stubble. He wasn’t lying but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that and instead say; ‘in your dreams John.’

‘Oh I’m sure I am in yours.’ He reply with confidence as he winked, causing you to lightly pinch his cheek as punishment for his cockiness. ‘I hate you.’ You’d say as you push your fingertips through his stubbly beard, enjoying the way it deliciously tickles your skin, almost as though they were little prickly kisses.

‘No you don’t sweetheart, try as you might but you and me both know that for definite that you love me.’ John would state in a matter of fact tone. Once again you hated how right he was, but kept your lips sealed shut as not to give him any more ammunition to tease and contradict you at any given opportunity than you’ve already have.

The air between you is playful and light in comparison to how cynical, sharp witted and sarcastic he usually is on a daily basis. It was a welcomed change as you allowed the blonde to pretend to bite your hand, only allowing for his teeth to barely graze your skin before pulling away with a sly smirk as you scratch at his stubble.

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[meiieiri]

when do we get to see megumi in your new series ^3^

𝐛𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 ! [toji fushiguro]

synopsis: “you really are your mother’s son,” toji grumbles to megumi as the little brat yet again refuses another kiss from him.

pairing: toji fushiguro x f!reader | art: @/amulin67 on twt/ig | hidden inventory: the lost tapes series masterlist

warnings: n/a | a/n: finally welcoming megumi to this series, yay! 💓💞

“I’m just gonna go nap for a bit. Promise me you’ll wake me up if something happens. But either way, his bottle is over there, just heat it up when he gets hungry and you know where his diapers are—“

You are interrupted by a sweet kiss that still manages to catch you off guard ‘till this day.

“I wasn’t done, you know.” You place your hands on your hips, shooting him a warning glance. “And don’t you go tossing him too high. Need I remind you, our apartment has a literal ceiling fan—“

“—You worry too much,” Toji cuts you off again with another kiss. “Not gonna lie though, seeing you all worked up like that is kinda turning me on.”

“You’re horrible,” you conclude. Honestly, at this point, almost anything and everything you do can be classified as a thirst trap for Toji. You blush when Toji inches closer, his hips pressed against yours, a smirk plastered on his face when he sneakily squeezes your ass causing you to yelp. “Ah! Toji!” you swat his hand away, burying your blushing face in his chest.

Chuckling at you, he plants a soft kiss on your temple as he pulls away. “Alright, mama, go get some rest. I’ll hold down the fort.”

“Thank you.”

No one ever told you that motherhood would be so stressful. Which is why you’re so blessed to have a supportive husband who may have started out a little awkward with caring for your newborn son but gradually became a natural with this whole fatherhood business as time went by. And that’s mostly because when Megumi arrived in this world at half past two in the afternoon of December 22 with nothing more but a small hiccup as he slipped into his papa’s waiting arms, Toji fell in love. And you don’t pretend to not know why. Because whenever you look at Megumi, your heart always just seems to melt at his pudgy rose-colored cheeks and his deep expressive green eyes that fill up with tears regardless if he’s crying or being overcome by a laughing fit whenever you pepper his tiny face with kisses.

Speaking of kisses, today’s latest fiasco is centered exactly on that: kisses.

You see, you have this habit that goes way back to when you and Toji first started dating. Toji remembers it well, you have certain moods when it comes to kisses. Sometimes, you’re the one initiating it which mostly results in Toji becoming an incoherent blushing mess, or most times, Toji gets the party started by slowly kissing up your neck, his breath hot on your earlobe as he presses his hips against yours while you slept fitfully, your hushed dulcet whines ringing in his ear as your lips instinctively find each other. Fun fact: that’s exactly how Megumi came to be.

But there are times too, when you were just not having it and you’d gently nudge Toji’s face away when he tries to kiss you.

It was a typical afternoon. Toji didn’t have work that day which was a huge relief for him because you’ve been suffering from dizziness and lower back pain all day. And being the helicopter partner and soon-to-be papa that he is, Toji keeps a close eye on you as you nap the afternoon away on the couch. He smiles softly as he sees you instinctively put a protective hand over your belly whenever you’d feel the slightest movements from the baby.

“Shhh, you’re alright,” he’d whisper to you as you slept, combing his fingers through your hair, a permanent worried frown on his face when a whimper falling from your pursed lips as the baby kicks you again. “It’s just the overgrown parasite fidgeting around.”

“Don’t call him that.” You brush his hand away, your eyebrows knitting in discomfort.

Toji chuckles, going to press a kiss to your soft lips only for you to place your entire palm on his face, applying gentle force to pry him away. “I mean, what is he then? Other than this thing that competes for your nutrients? He’s—“

“—Our baby boy.”

“—An overgrown parasite.”

Fuming at his words, you decide to hit back with a quick retort of your own. “Yeah? It really does take one to know one, huh?”

“What a cute comeback but maybe not as cute as you,” Toji smirks, his hand gently removing your smaller one from his face, his lips puckered up as he leans in. Teasingly, you place a hand over your lips, still refusing to indulge him with his much-craved kisses. “Come on, I just want one sloppy one~”

“No!” Your laughter-filled voice comes out muffled against your palm.

“Mm, yes,” Toji teases. “Yes. Come on, baby, just one.”

“You and I both know it’s never just one.”

Of course. Why else would you be in this situation if Toji knew how to spell the words: self and control? Still, it’s not like the two of you were complaining. After all, the bond you and Toji share is an unbreakable one that’s only been strengthened by time and the many trials you’ve survived together. And now, the arrival of the very product of your love is only a hair’s breath away. Toji rests his chin on top of your head, plopping down next to you and spooning you from behind. “Guilty as charged.”

And unfortunately, it seemed your son had inherited that troublesome quirk of yours and it’s beginning to break Toji’s infuriated heart because whenever he tries to give Megumi a kiss…

“Mmph—“

There it was.

Toji’s eyes shot open, grimacing as Megumi turns his head away, his eyes trained stubbornly on his dog plushie, and his chubby hands pushing his poor papa’s chin away with all the might a six-month-old like him could muster. And to top things off, he must be imagining things because newborns surely couldn’t scowl right? Their tiny little brains couldn’t possibly have enough electrical energy to charge a snow globe much less, learn how to hate certain people’s kisses.

“You little shit—“

Sure enough, the tiny little baby seems gravely unamused, his eyebrows are knitted, the corner of his lips curled into a disappointed frown as if to say: Go kiss someone else, you even bigger shit.

Toji mirrors the unfriendly scowl on his son’s face, noting how Megumi seems to be glaring at him. Oh, okay. The brat ain’t messing around, his eyes twitches but somehow, Toji is also a picture of a proud father. At least the little shit’s got spunk. And he wonders momentarily who he should blame for that.

Definitely not him, that’s for sure.

Toji doesn’t recall the last time he’s ever had the comforts of a peace like this one. Actually, this might just be the first time that Toji knew what that word meant: “peace”. A freedom from disturbance; tranquility, as per the Merriam Webster Dictionary. But Toji has a better definition for peace: you and Megumi.

But…

“I meant what I said to your mother though,” Toji engages in a one-way conversation with his son. He won’t recall any of this, but it didn’t hurt for Toji to be candid about his feelings every now and then especially when it came to this little one that came accidentally into your lives but brightened it up nonetheless. “The two of you would be better off — maybe even happier — with someone else.” He presses his thumb against Megumi’s cheek. “It’s what you two deserve.”

He’s been gone close to a whole day now and you were probably beginning to worry. Out of all the shitty things Toji has done, this, by far, has to be the shittiest. Standing outside a pachinko den, his back pressed against the wall, and his hand absentmindedly playing with the tokens he just bought. When he left the apartment that day, you knew that could very well be the last time you ever see him. Types like him aren’t keen on the whole picket fence idea of settling down.

“I’m heading out today.”

Your blood runs cold when Toji steps into the kitchen to inform you of his plans. You don’t even bother to look at him, your gaze simply settled on the positive pregnancy test on the table. The right thing to do was to stay, he should have held you in his arms and tell you that everything’s going to be okay not plant seeds of doubt in your mind by taking off and running away like a coward.

But for once, Toji was scared.

He had no business becoming a father when he’s lived in a dysfunctional household for majority of his life. What good would he even impart to his child? His pathetic existence has been a picture of disorder that was only recently resolved when you came into the picture. Well, if he were being completely honest, he still hasn’t figured things out quite as well yet. And as a father, that could be catastrophic for a child that required stability if nothing else.

Frowning, Toji leaves the pachinko den, chucking the tokens in the trash. It was far too early in the day to be hanging around shady places like these anyway. He wanders the streets for a good while, his hands buried in his jacket’s pockets as his mind swirls with thoughts about the all too terrifying future.

A pang of guilt strikes his heart and he wonders what you’re doing now. You must still be in the kitchen, your face buried in your hands as you try to think of something. You were probably assuming he wasn’t coming back. After all, you did say: “I don’t wanna pressure you into staying, Toji. You deserve to live your life the way you want it.”

A life without you? Sounds pretty miserable.

Toji must have been walking on autopilot because for some reason, he unknowingly finds himself in front of a bank. Mizuho Bank, Toji reads the sign, his eyes flicking over to one of the posters plastered on the window about opening a savings account.

He looks at the promotional material, transfixed at the picture of a family of four donning on those typical wide stupid grins in ads, the father is holding a hundred yen bill and is seen dropping it into a piggy bank that was filled with both cash and words like: health insurance, family vacation, utility bills, rent, tax, school, and…happiness.

…

…

…

Toji returns to the apartment at around eight in the evening after making a quick stop at the supermarket and the pharmacy. He finds you asleep on the couch, your cheeks stained with dry tears. He crouches on the edge of the couch, worriedly taking in your appearance. You’ve been crying. “Hey…hey, wake up,” he gently shakes you awake and your tired eyes flutter open. “Got you something.”

He holds out a shopping bag, chock full of fresh produce, and from the pharmacy, some camphor oil to relieve your symptoms and those folate supplements the attending pharmacist kept yapping about.

“You didn’t leave,” you said, bewildered. “I thought you—“

“—You thought wrong,” Toji says firmly. He pulls out something from his back pocket and you stare at him, perplexed.

“A bank passbook?” You open it to see that Toji had just made his first deposit amounting to fifty thousand yen earlier today. “You opened a savings account?”

Toji nods, looking a little proud of himself. “Yeah,” he tries to play it off with a shrug of his shoulders. “Every week, we’ll be depositing fifteen thousand yen in that thing. Ten thousand for your maternity needs, and five for the little brat’s schooling one day.”

Tears spring to your eyes upon realizing that Toji was here to stay. “You mean you’re—?” You are cut off by a warm kiss on your lips, and you place a hand over Toji’s chest, your fingertips gripping the fabric of his shirt as his lips move against yours. He pulls away after a while.

“Gonna spite the hell out of the Zenin clan and send my brat to the most expensive preschool in Tokyo? Yes, I am.”

Toji sighs, his thumb rubbing across Megumi’s chubby cheek. “But maybe — just maybe — hear me out and don’t you give me another glare.” Megumi’s not gonna remember any of this. After all, memories begin when the brain can fully register speech. But Toji felt the need to say this so, subconsciously, his son will understand just how much he’s done and he’s willing to do for the both of you.

“…Maybe I deserve the two of you too, you know.”

Megumi looks up at his father, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. Toji sticks his tongue out at the little one causing the latter to…hiccup? Nah, Toji was sure that was a giggle.

Smirking, Toji leans down to give his son a kiss, thinking he’s patched things up between them now only for Megumi to curl up again, his feet and hands resisting against Toji, his lip downturned in effort as he pushes him away yet again. Conceding, Toji grumbles, rubbing the spot where Megumi roughly pushed him away.

“You really are your mother’s son.”

#—​𝙝𝙞𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙞𝙣𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮: 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙖𝙥𝙚𝙨 🍓 #toji fushiguro x reader #toji headcanons #toji imagine #jjk toji #toji x reader #toji x y/n #dilf toji #toji x you #toji fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji zenin #jujutsu toji #jujustu kaisen #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #toji fushiguro x y/n #toji fushiguro x you #toji fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you #toji zenin x you #toji zenin x reader #dilf toji zenin #dad!toji #megumi fushiguro #jjk drabbles #toji zenin x y/n fluff