#i hope he can be less nervous next time and get the center part i think he wld have killed it

[seokmatthewz]

SEOK MATTHEW ✧ KILL THIS LOVE ✧ BOYS PLANET EP.3

#boys planet #seok matthew #ultkpop #iri.gifs #flashing tw #kazlook #so real of me to only gif 2 of these well and the other 2 just dont match KLFDSKL #HE DID SUCH A GOOD JOB THO!!!!!!!!!! #i hate this song and i have seen this stage so many timesdkfsdkllf #im so glad he got his well deserved all star too <///3 he always performs so well #i hope he can be less nervous next time and get the center part i think he wld have killed it #im biased i know this. i dont care KLDSKKLFD #so many icons on this team like keita too??? a w for me

[gilmore-angel]

unexpected pleasures || A.T x fem!reader

summary ♱ reader has just wed the infamous aemond targaryen, and though she's nervous, she will soon discover there are many pleasurable things to come (tldr reader gets finger fucked good)

warnings/contains ♱ arranged marriage, awkwardness at first, smut obvi, sub!reader dom!aemond, fingering, praise kink!! use of good girl, pretty girl, wife. overall very fluffy!! soft!aemond<3. let me know if I should add anything else!!

authors note ♱ okok this is probably trash but I'm literally forcing myself to write rn<3 lol anyways this is also my first time actually writing for aemond which is crazy bc I've been obsessed with him since like early January💀. if you enjoy please reblog! likes are obviously appreciated but reblogs are the thing that actually help the writer<3 oh and lmk if you want a part two!!

navigation 𔓕 follow and turn on notifications for @baysfics to know when I post my writings

married life isn't so bad after all.

of course, you've only been married for about three hours now, but it's going better than expected, which at this point is all you can hope for.

your new husband, prince aemond, has been quite pleasant thus far. you have only had roughly six full conversations since you were betrothed two months ago, but based off of them he was very polite and well educated.

though you had dreaded the wedding day, everything had gone smoothly. the ceremony itself was a big event, full of lords and ladies you didn't even know the house of, all eager to get on the new princesses good side. and of course there was the kiss you shared with aemond, one that sent an unknown feeling through you, settling at your lower belly. and now, the grand feast to celebrate the union.

it had less people there, only family and the very important houses were allowed to attend. you sat at the table in the middle, sitting in the center along with your husband. on your other side sat your father, mother and siblings, the same went for aemond. your husband stayed mostly silent during the feast, only speaking when spoken to.

your belly slightly ached with nerves for what was coming next; the bedding. thankfully, the queen had insisted upon a private bedding, just as she did for her other children when they wed. the action soothed your nerves a bit, but they still clung to you.

you had been warned by your mother that the bedding was an uncomfortable and painful process for the woman. but she also informed you that it is something all woman must do to please their lord husband and produce heirs.

you felt your heart sink when the king stood up weakly to announce it was time for you and aemond to head to your chambers. you both stood up and gave your goodbyes, your mother giving you a reassuring smile before you left.

there was an awkward silence as you walked with your husband to your chambers, escorted by guards. you glanced at him, only to see him looking straight ahead, blank expression on his handsome face.

once you arrived the guards pushed open the heavy wooden doors. you gave them a small smile in thanks before aemond dismissed them. as the doors closed aemond let out a small shaky sigh, you couldn't tell if it was out of nervousness or dread. you both stood awkwardly, unsure of where to begin. he spoke first, breaking the deafening silence.

"would you like help taking down your hair?" he blurted out. you nodded, giving him a awkward small smile.

"please," you moved past him to sit at the vanity. you began taking out the many odd placed pins and braids in your hair. aemond came up from behind you to start assisting in the process. the feeling of his long fingers in your hair made up for the times he would accidentally tugged too hard trying to take down the hairstyle. you both worked in silence, the only word spoken was his occasional 'sorry's when he would notice you wince.

now that your hair was down, the room was once again filled with an thick silence. eventually you stood up, turning to face him. you sucked in a breath, looking up at him nervously.

"should i..... should I remove my clothes, my prince?"

his eyes widened at the question, but he nodded, "yes, my lady... I can help."

he moved behind you, undoing the laces of the dress with shaky fingers. the gorgeous dress fell to the floor, pooling around your feet. you stepped out of the dress, leaving you in a silky shift and small clothes. you felt quite vulnerable as you begun taking your shift off, even more so once it was gone.

aemond let out a shaky breath at the sight of you in nothing but your small clothes. he looks up and down your body, desire filling his eye. he walks closer to you, looking deep into your eyes.

"may I kiss you, my lady?" he asked, his usual cold tone gone, now replaced with a soft, caring one. you nod, eyes wide.

aemond smiled softly before leaning down and kissing your soft lips. this kiss was unlike the other one you both had shared just hours before. this one was out of pure want, not obligation.

you gasp softly against his lips when he deepened the kiss, your hands flying up to his strong shoulders. his hands found home on your hips. he pulled away just enough to whisper against your lips, "is this okay?"

you nod, staring up at him with wide eyes. "yes, my prince, I just... I don't really know how to do this properly."

he smiles at you softly, moving one of his hands to caress your cheek gently.

"that's okay, just copy what I do, okay?"

he leans back in, kissing at a slow pace. his lips are soft and warm against your own. you feel something wet poking at your bottom lip and soon realize it's his tongue. you open your mouth slightly and gasp when he slides his tongue in, exploring where he can reach. the sensation causes a soft whimper to fall from your lips.

he begins pushing you backwards gently until the back of your knees hit the edge of the plush bed behind you, causing you to lay down on it. to your surprise, aemond gets on his knees before you and pulls you down so your legs hang off the bed. leaning up on your elbows you look down at him extremely confused. "my prince... what are you doing?"

he simply smiled and blushed, "let me know if you wish to stop, okay my lady?". his big calloused hands went up and down your thighs, pulling them apart. you laid back, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes. his hands eventually found their way to your small clothes.

"may I remove these, my lady?" one hand continued rubbing you thigh gently. you hum and nod. that wasn't good enough apparently and aemond lightly pinched your thigh. "words, wife. I need to hear some words out of those pretty lips."

you blushed deeply, taking a deep breath, "yes, please take them off."

he smiles, murmuring under his breath "good girl". you felt a tingle in your lower belly, growing each time he touched or talked to you.

he carefully slid your small clothes off, throwing them somewhere in the room. he sucked in a big breath at the sight of your bare cunt. you squirmed slightly, his gaze lighting you on fire almost.

"may I touch you, wife?" he spoke softly, a poorly hidden desire behind the words.

you nod but quickly remember what he told you. "yes, you may."

with one hand he softly rubbed your thigh, with the other he rubbed one finger up and down your lips, pushing past them and exploring the wet outside. your back slightly arched at the unknown but not unwelcomed feeling. he moved his finger higher until he found your clit. a high pitched whimper escaped your lips at his soft but achingly good touch.

he looked up at you with a sweet smile. "does that feel nice, wife?". his finger moved in gentle circles, pressing ever so slightly.

a few breathy whimpers and moans slipped out of your mouth. "yes," you breathed, "so so nice..."

he let out a hmm, continuing his movements. he moved his finger up and down, gathering your wetness and then spreading it around your sensitive clit. as he rubbed on your bundle of nerves, his other hand came up, softly pressing against your slit.

"this may feel strange, my lady, but I promise it'll feel so good soon, okay?" he pushed a long thick finger into your previously untouched hole, groaning at how tight you were. your back arched off the bed as a loud moan rang around the room. he slowly started moving it in and out, sending waves of pleasure through your body when he curled his finger upwards. your gummy walls tightened around him, almost as tight as he cock felt in his trousers.

he looked up to see your reaction, smiling when he saw your head thrown back in pleasure. soft whimpers left your mouth as his movements quickened.

"may I add a second finger, sweet girl?" something about the way he said the affectionate name sent chills down your spine as you slightly bucked against his hand.

"hmmph, yes, yes please husband." he smirked as he added a second finger. he pumped them in and out fast, his other hand still focused on your puffy clit.

suddenly a new feeling hit you. like some sort of knot in your belly, ready to explode any second. a panicked expression washed over you at the strange sensation.

"aemond, aemond! something is, fuck, happening!" you cried desperately, clenching the sheets beneath you hard.

"shh, it's okay, it'll feel so good. just let it happen sweet girl." it was too much and too little, it was overwhelming yet you needed more. it hurt but felt so so right.

before you could reply waves and waves of pleasure washed over you, drowning you in the feeling of him. your whole body shook, hips bucking wildly into his hand. creamy white cum drooled onto his fingers and hand. he groaned at the sight and fucked you through your peak.

he eventually slid his hand out and climbed up the bed, hovering over you. he brought his cum covered fingers to you mouth, "open," he commanded softly, sucking in a shaky breath when you wrapped you lips around them. he pulled them out, moving to caress your cheek, "such a good girl."

he began kissing your neck, trailing his hand back down to your thighs. you whimpered sweetly causing him to chuckle.

"oh, sweet wife, we are just getting started."

#aemond Targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x you #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #hotd #house of the dragon x reader #bay writes🌻

[nuatthebeach]

"i'll give you another chance."

part 2 of the compilation "come let's walk for miles." feel free to ask me a quote-themed prompt here on tumblr for more!

comment here on ao3.

"I'm sorry I called you a slut."

"Jesus. Yeah, security!"

Of all the chemistry readings Ginny was subjected to in the film industry, none were as predictable as the one she had today. Golden spun hair, cerulean blue eyes, and a strong jaw, Cormac McLaggen may be on the front page of Hollywood's Hottest Hot Shots year to year, but Ginny considers herself quite confident in her ability to tell the sleazy, spoiled child actor apart from the less sleazy but equally spoiled manchild.

Call it intuition or continuous bad luck, but she only picks up roles that offer these readings for a reason.

"Just name the price, and we can keep this incident on the down low!"

Exhibit A himself, calling out to save face, getting dragged out the door by his own agent.

When Ginny no longer is able to see McLaggan's ridiculously built shoulders in view, she slumps down in her chair and massages her temples.

"Again, I am so sorry about that," her casting director Hermione apologizes, handing her a bottle of water. Ginny flicks open the cap and takes deep gulps, hoping the cool drink will wash the sliminess she feels inside. "His agent warned us that he would play into every stereotype of an entitled actor, but…"

"He's a big name. Big bucks," Ginny mutters in between sips. "You wanted to try your chances, I get it. Just bring in the next guy."

Hermione's sheepish smile turns into a grimace. "Are you sure? This next one's a…"

Ginny raises her eyebrows. "Tax auditor? Zebra?" Hermione snorts. "So long as he's not a dick, I'm okay. I don't care if he's not well-known. Call him in."

Glaring down at her script, she doesn't bother to fix her slouched position, having seen the word lunch printed in black ink earlier that day. Damn, how long has she sat there for? Is today pizza or chicken pesto day? For some reason, she always gets the two confused. Honestly, what she wouldn't give for one of those American oreo milkshakes right about now…maybe she could fit in time for a quick drive-through after all this –

A voice clears its throat.

She starts a bit, ceasing her pen-clicking. Then, she lifts her lashes up from her script. And looks at the next auditionee.

He dresses differently from McLaggen, to say the least. Instead of designer leather jackets and styled, product-filled hair, he wears Champion sweatshirts and dark, messy locks that remind Ginny of raking leaves on a foggy autumn day.

Of fingers teasing scalps and silk threaded sheets.

She shakes her head swiftly.

"Hi."

Ginny straightens, stretching out her hand to shake his. Warm, large. "Hi, er…" She glances down at the call sheet. "Harry Potter. Nice to meet you. Says here you've been a stunt double for several years?"

That would explain the callouses.

"Yeah," Harry shifts on his foot, glancing around the room like he's nervous to be the center of attention. Hmm. Seems in poor taste to be here of all places, but okay.

"What made you want to switch to acting in the first place?" She figures that's a safe enough place to start.

But he only crosses his arms with such obvious discomfort that Ginny fights a cringe, already planning out the words to her polite rejection in her head. He starts speaking, and her wariness only becomes worse. "Acting has been my passion since I was young." Kill me. "From taking on leads in uni theater plays" —do not groan, do not groan—  "stunt doubling in twenty action and horror films, thinking quick on my feet in improv scenes – "

Maybe it's the long day she's had. Maybe it's the sexist twat she had the displeasure of meeting half an hour ago. Maybe it's her craving for oreo milkshakes. Or maybe it's a combination of all three.

But all she knows is that one second she's bored out of her mind, and the next: "If I wanted to hear a list of all your qualifications, mate, I would've reread your CV."

Great. How can she talk badly about spoiled actors when she's behaving like the poster child of one now? Maybe she should call McLaggen and they can start up a support group together. AA for Actors Astray.

Ginny opens her mouth to apologize profusely (and then apologize again after telling him that regardless, he's still not fit for the job) when she sees the man press his lips together.

And hide an amused smile.

"Er," Ginny widens her eyes, thrown off guard. Suddenly, for reasons entirely unknown to her, her intuition whispers for her to give him another chance. "I'll give you another chance." Right on the nose, her intuition. "Just be yourself. Same question.”

A pause more pregnant than a three-humped camel. And then:

"Honestly, I was getting tired risking paralysis falling arse over tits for yet another low-budget film. At least now I'll get paid properly for it."

The laugh that escapes Ginny bubbles out before she can help it, bathing in warmth at Harry's slightly surprised grin in response.

She eyes the witty gleam of his green stare and notes how he hasn't once gushed over her presence since arriving on set. Not much of a celebrity worshipper then. Good.

Just like that, the decision is made before she's conscious of it.

"Right, okay. Sit," Ginny juts her chin to the seat across from her and lifts her script to a comfortable reading position. "Let's see if all that sass is worth something in the end."

He shoots her a grateful but determined smile. Blazing, to match her own. "Wouldn't expect anything less."

She'll take his word for it.

xxx

Turns out, Harry can act his bollocks off. And not just the reading-off-the-script type of acting, though he can do that plenty as well.

They make the tabloids and so do the pics of them walking about the streets, hands swinging between them like a terribly kept secret. When paps ask if they're dating, she simply adds, "And we're fucking too." And when they startle at her audacity, she and Harry break into a giggling, breathless run, white lights flashing from behind like in the movies.

At the premiere, they poke fun at each other's improvised lines ("We should huddle closer a bit…you know, for warmth." "You should have brought a fucking jacket then.") and crack up at shots taken out of context ("That sort of looks like you in the morning." "Shut up, Harry.").

Oh, and there's milkshakes too. Loads of them. Though, he likes the strawberry one, the weirdo.

#hinny #harry x ginny #hinny fluff #hinny drabble #hinny au #hinny au drabble #thought yall could use some fluff after last time

[asirensrage]

Wrong Number - Dark!Billy Russo Oneshot

Title: Wrong Number Rating: M Fandom: The Punisher Warnings: Dark!Billy. Stalking. Breaking in. Kidnapping. Summary: When the burner phone rings, Billy expects another job for Rawlins. What he gets is someone calling the wrong number and Billy wants to know who.

Notes: Please READ THE WARNINGS. Happy Friday the 13th! This came to being today when @vixenofcourse and I were talking while at work about having to phone people and calling the wrong number. This was quickly developed to be done to celebrate today lol. I hope you enjoy it.

The phone rings. 

It takes him a second to dig it out and he flips it open and answers without thinking. It’s a burner. There’s less than a handful of people who have the number. Which is why he’s so surprised when a feminine voice answers to his brisk “what?” 

“Hi,” she says. “This is Isa from Macy’s and I’m calling about–”

“How did you get this number?” He snaps, cutting her off. 

“Oh,” she pauses, sounding surprised. “I’m sorry, is this not…Gabe Lewis?” 

“It’s not.” 

“Oh my god, I am so sorry, sir. I must have messed up the number. Sorry about that.”

He finds himself settling a bit, listening to her panic. “It’s fine,” he says soothingly. “Don’t worry, sugar.”

“Still, I’m sure it’s annoying to get calls you don’t want. On that note, I’m hanging up now. Again, I’m sorry and have yourself an outstanding day!” She hangs up before he can say anything back. 

He stares at the phone, feeling irritated but not because she called, because it was over too soon. He realizes he wants to hear her voice again. So it’s almost like fate when his phone rings less than a minute later. 

“Yeah?” 

There’s a beat of silence then a small groan that shoots straight down to his cock. “Oh my god, I swear I dialled it right this time!” 

He grins something sharp as he hears her voice again. “You sure you just didn’t miss me sweetheart?” 

She lets out a nervous laugh. “No, I am so sorry, sir.”

“It’s alright.”

“I’m just going to cross this number out of the system. He probably just rambled something off in hopes we never reached him.” 

“Then I’m just lucky,” he teases. Despite the initial annoyance, it’s the best call he’s ever received on this phone. It’s not a demand that he give up another part of himself, another demand for blood and retribution. No, this is a simple mistake with a sweetly pleasant feminine voice. 

She lets out that nervous laughter again and he wonders what she looks like. “I’ve removed you from the system, sir. Once again, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t hear from us anymore.” 

“Damn shame,” he says. He means it too. 

“Right, well…” there’s a pause, as though she’s not sure what to say. “Goodbye. Have an outstanding day.” She hangs up before he can say anything to keep her on the line. He looks at the number, repeating it over in his mind as he tries to memorize it. That’s fine. He’ll wait and see if she’s as pretty as she sounds. 

It’s not hard to find the place the call came from. 

She gave the company name, he has the number and her first name. There was no trace of a foriegn accent so his chances that the center is in the States is good. He nails it down to one. 

He uses his company to gain him entrance. It isn’t hard. In fact it’s so easy it’s almost appalling but he’s not about to comment on the problem when it leads him to her. It takes multiple times wandering around the place before he finally hears her voice. 

“I understand, sir.” 

The anger that flashes at hearing her call someone else ‘sir’ surprises him. Logically he knows she’s just being polite, she’s doing her job, but it grates on him. He only wants to hear her voice saying it directed at him. Especially when he finally catches sight of her. 

Her hair is tied back, out of her face as she’s slumped forward, chewing absentmindedly on the back of a pen before she drops it to type something out. He catches sight of the person sitting next to her leaning back and looking at her before making some motion he can’t see. She smiles widely and shakes her head, motioning them away. He makes note of it, even as he’s trying to memorize the look of her smile. He was right. She is as pretty as her voice sounded. 

He’s forced to keep moving, unable to linger and introduce himself as he’s led around one more time to look over their security issues. Issues he brought to light specifically so he could make an appearance. 

He passes by as often as he can, making sure he catches her eye and smiling. The first time she just stares back, confused. Eventually she blushes and starts smiling back. It’s tinged with politeness but that’s fine. Billy can work with politeness. It gets him in the door. 

He stays long enough to gain her information. The few pieces he needs to fully delve into who she is and her life. He tells them what his intel has found and agrees that they don’t need his company, but something smaller. He gives them to a smaller security company, one that wants the connection to Anvil and will take what scraps he doles out. 

He forms a plan once he has her background check and he knows everything there is possible about her. He has her social media that she rarely posts on. He knows she’s currently working three jobs, trying to get by. It doesn’t take much to get her fired from the one that keeps her out the latest. He wants her safe. He wants to ensure that no one else sees what he sees and threatens to take it before he fully has a grasp. He makes the excuse to himself that she’ll be able to get more sleep but it’s a lie that he doesn’t even have the heart to try to believe. 

She has no one in the city. No one to remember her, no one to question why she’s going to leave her job so suddenly. The few tags she has on her social media have her more in the background. She’s not close to anyone from what he can tell. That’s fine. Makes his life easier. There’s no one who will really ask questions. 

Her security is abysmal. 

The front door gets held open for him by some man who’s older than Billy but who grins at him like he knows Billy is there for some midnight booty call. Her front door isn’t even chained. It’s locked twice but nothing that actually keeps him out. There’s no animal to warn her that someone is in her apartment. There is nothing but her self assuredness that she’s safe. She is, but only because he’s here now. He’s going to make sure of it. 

He glances around. There’s a bookshelf that’s filled and he makes a note to have it brought with them. A sense of comfort in her new home. The rest can be scrapped. He’ll get her new things. Whatever she wants. Once she’s ready to ask that is. 

He pauses to peek at her fridge, sighing slightly at the mouldy vegetables and the lack of actual decent food that isn’t in a take out container. He reminds himself that everything is going to change as he closes the door. Nothing in the kitchen is coming with them. 

Billy moves slower, watching each step carefully so that he moves almost silently as he comes to her bedroom. He pushes the door open slightly. She keeps her apartment dark and he can hear some soft sounds of music coming from her phone that’s plugged in on the nightstand. He unplugs it, turning off all location tracking and resetting the password with her thumbprint to his before shutting off the music and locking it. It’s luck that her hand is hanging off the side of the bed, but everything about their meeting is luck and he takes it as another sign he’s right. This is meant to be. 

He lies down on the bed next to her, facing towards her and waiting. His eyes trace the path over her nose and across her face, trying to memorize every bit of her. She shifts slightly as if sensing he’s there, but she only moves closer, hand reaching out seeking heat. When her hand actually hits his chest, he holds his breath, waiting to see if she’ll wake up. She doesn’t. 

He moves closer, arm going across her side and holding her against him. It’s not enough, not really, but he can be patient. Sniper training works in his favour as he revels in the feel of her, curling up against him as if she’s done it a million times. 

He feels her stiffen and he moves, hand covering her mouth as her eyes open wide with fear when she realizes she’s not alone. 

“Shh,” he tries to quiet her, ignoring the way she nearly screams. She doesn’t fight though. She’s smart. He knew she would be. “Don’t scream. It’s alright sweetheart,” he says quietly. “Everything’s going to be alright now. We’re about to have a fuckin’ outstanding future.” He sees tears build in her eyes. Whatever. She’ll learn. It’s better this way. “Together.” 

taglist: @raith-way  @arrthurpendragon @zeleniafic @jvstjewels @reggiemantleholdmyhand-tle @chickensarentcheap @booty-boggins @residentdormouse @delicateblackrose @stanshollaand @itscapokaybye @thewavesroar

Billy Russo taglist: @profoundme444

#friday the 13th oneshot #billy russo oc #dark!billy russo #obsessed!billy russo #billy russo/oc #billy russo fanfic #billy russo x oc #billy russo #the punisher fanfic #that's right #I wrote another one today

[nyxlaufeyson]

Coming Out

Oneshot Masterlist - Main Masterlist

POV: Second

Ship: None, but could be read as Loki x reader, or just general friendship. Works perfect either way, it's not the focus and there's no romantic mention other than "love," but I think platonic love is valid.

Type: Pride Fluff!

Wordcount: 519

TW: None

Synopsis: You come out to the team. (And so does Loki). Also there is no specific labeling of the reader, so you can imagine it as it fits your identity. So like there is no gender or orientation-specific mentions of the reader. You can be bi, gay, lesbian, trans, and still read this and fit it to your liking in your head.

A/N: This one takes up the "coming out" block of my Pride Month special! I do hope you like this one. I didn't feel the need to make it centered on romance, so just some Marvel coming out fluff. (Again, could be read as an established relationship OR friendship).

To leave a request, feel free to comment anywhere or inbox me

This was it. This was the day you were going to announce to the team your sexual identity. 

You weren’t worried that they wouldn’t accept you, as you couldn’t imagine any of them to be homophobic, but that didn’t make you any less nervous. 

You walked into the common areas of the tower, seeing most of everyone lounging around and immersed in their own conversations and affairs. 

You cleared your throat, and most of the team stopped their conversations and looked up at you, expectantly.

Most of them.

“Tony! Peter!” You shouted, the two of them looking over to you, surprised.

“Sorry, I was just trying to explain this movie to Mr. Stark.” Peter said, and you rolled your eyes with a smile. “Of course you were.” 

You turned your attention to the whole of the room, taking a deep breath. “I have an announcement to make.” 

You hesitated for a moment before telling them, mustering all your courage as you explained to them what you were and what that meant. 

The room was quiet for a moment, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. This was a bad idea. You thought to yourself, biting your lip. 

“That’s awesome!” Wanda said, walking over to you and giving you a hug. Natasha followed, smirking at you. “Pretty sure everyone knew you were fruity somehow. After all, we live with you.” 

You laughed, appreciating their support. The rest of the team voiced their support, all of them happy for you. 

“You know, I’m what Midguardians call bisexual.” Loki confessed as you took a spot next to him on the couch. “And gender-fluid.” He said, and you smiled. “That’s awesome.” 

Loki chuckled, standing up. “And the best part about that is-” Loki said, green magic flashing over them as their form changed to a more feminine form. “I can just do this whenever I want” 

Loki did a little twirl and your jaw dropped as you took in her features. “Oh my god you're beautiful! Not that you're not usually beautiful, of course.” 

“Of course.” She said, winking at you as she sat back down with you on the couch. 

Most of the team was utterly surprised with Loki’s transformation, but Thor looked indifferent. “Loki used to switch forms all the time in Asgard, especially when it would help them get out of trouble.” Thor said, cracking a smile. 

“I remember this one time when we were children, Loki ran in and caused a scene with her horse. She let the horse lose and ran back out, and then a few minutes later, the Loki everyone knew showed up. Nobody had recognized Loki in their female form, so they got away with it.”

Loki chuckled, remembering that banquet night. “Later on Mother did realize it was me. Though, she never did tell Odin.” 

“Well, I still love you no matter the form you take.” You said, and Loki gave you her signature grin. “Even if I was a worm?” She asked, and you rolled your eyes. 

“I should have never taught you about social media.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.”

Tag list (Sorry if you guys don't want to be tagged for the Pride stuff, please just lmk and I can remove you for the non- xreader pride stuff. Lmk if you want to be added/removed!!!): @anukulee @mischief-dream @iceeericeee

Also yay I posted twice in a row- woah.

#fanfic #lgbtq marvel #marvel fanfic #genfic #loki fanfic #loki fluff #loki laufeyson #avengers #marvel #lgbtq #lgbtqia #lgbtq+ #pride #write with pride

[acosmicblizzard]

Childhood friends hcs pt.3 (ikemen revolution)

Links to other parts: pt.1, pt.2

Don’t repost my writings, reblog instead!

I’ve only completed rays route so characters may be ooc and certain info may be incorrect.

Warnings: Slight oliver route spoilers

Wonderland Residents

Blanc Lapin

Hate to break it too you but unless you're immortal being Blancs childhood friend probably means you're dead. Blancs been around for possibly hundreds of years and the oldest age a human has ever lived is 122 years and even then you probably had to be the most healthy and athletic person in the entire world.

If you wanna go the angst route, Blanc visits your grave every year leaving flowers and other gifts. You were one of it not the only person close too him that he could never forget. All throughout his first years of life you were there, holding his hand and being there for him and as much as he wishes you were immortal to he wouldn't want the burden of immortality to be shoved onto you and hopes your soul is resting well.

If you wanna go the fluff route and say you're immortal too, you two 100 percent live with eachother. You're most likely also apart of the groups and jobs working in the civic center. most likely also a record keeper like Blanc.

Carrots? Carrots.

Oliver Knight

Being Oliver's childhood friend means you're probably from the land of the reason and until the events of his route where Alice tells Oliver's father Oliver is still alive you probably though he might be dead due to how long he's been missing but for the sake of these hcs let's just say you fell into cradle along with Oliver.

Pov: waking up unconscious next to a child version of your best friend after getting knocked out by men with cloaks.

You're the only person in the world he'd probably let mess or tinker with his inventions and help him make them if you're capable of doing so. You two could spend all day working together on inventions if you weren't humans with human needs.

You most likely live with blanc along with Oliver ever since Blanc allowed you two to stay after explaining the entire situation and ever since then it's been history. The mad hatter and his assistant working on new inventions for the better of cradle.

Loki Genetta

You and Loki were probably very close before he got taken by the magic tower and basically disappeared from the rest of the world. It was only until years later when you both were adults when you both finally saw eachother again. A very tearful reunion ensues with a ton and i mean a ton of hugging. Don't expect Loki to let go of you for a very long time. Will 100 percent beg Harr to let you live with them after trying to convince you which may or may not work. Merchant buddies, Loki probably teaches you a ton of stuff about the market and stocks and other stuff if that's stuff you're interested in.

Harr Silver

Pov: Befriending the quiet kid at school

Harr has never been the best with words but you help him slightly get out of his awkwardness.

For awhile also you were probably close with Sirius and Lancelot during their high school days.

100 percent wants you to move in with him and Loki but is too nervous and awkward to bring it up thinking you'd probably be better off just living by yourself but if you don't mind and somehow get him to admit he wants to live with you and Loki he will be really happy if you do move in.

Mousse Atlas

Since Mousse is a member of the Atlas family in order to be his childhood friend you'd probably also have to be of high status in red territory as a descendant of a noble family.

Noble or not though Mousse could care less, you're still the person who encouraged him throughout his childhood and is still here too encourage him now.

Will be straight forward and ask you if you want to cuddle and take naps together.

If you can, he'd be really glad if you could help him out with some of his diplomatic affairs and would even ask you if you wanted to become a diplomat like him.

Dalim Tweedle

Being childhood friends with the bartender means one thing, sometimes free drinks. Don't get use to it though, he's not gonna let you off the hook all the time.

Will hide the fact he's a magic disciple from you with his life, he doesn't want you to hate him. The one person who has been there for him for almost all of his existence. He doesn't want to lose you.

Still very flirty but tones it down slightly compared to how he flirts with others but will flirt with you just to make you blush and embarrass you.

Tease, tease and tease.

Dean Tweedle

Basically unlimited access to academy/school grounds if you aren't already a teacher. You can just walk in and go into the library and start reading and literally no one will care because of how much Dean speaks of you. His students can literally recognize you so fast.

It's not uncommon for you to help him grade and organize papers for lessons. You helping him takes a lot of time off his break that he has to spend grading and not relaxing.

You two will spend lunch breaks together talking and eating together and just hanging out.

In those moments where he feels incomplete or randomly gets sick on his birthday every year you're always there by his side. Helping him through all of it and he couldn't be less grateful for it and will try and make it up too you in anyway.

#ikemen revolution #cybird ikemen #ikemen series #ikerev #cybird #ikeseries #fanfic #writing #cybird ikemen series #otome #dean tweedle #dalim tweedle #mousse atlas #oliver knight #blanc lapin #harr silver #loki genetta

[shibee-inu]

hi helo 👋 can i have uhhhhhh 8, 9, 10, 16, 17, 27, 35, 53 and 65 for selen and 8, 10, 12, 13, 35 and 69 for endymion?

D&D Ask Game

Selene

8. What is something they cannot resist?

Hmm I guess maybe her own impulsiveness? Although that's actually kinda changing over time so it's not so much that she can't resist, moreso that it's difficult. I dunno, this feels like a strange question to answer, like how would you answer this for yourself ??? So the real answer: she can't resist adopting NPCs at the drop of a hat. Colton watch out you're next.

9. What is their favorite scent?

I don't think Selene has just one favorite? I'll give a few different ones. From her home: the ocean, cypress, and burning wood. In modern times: flower perfumes and fresh pastries.

10. If they were in a rock band, what role would they play?

Lead guitarist! Selene has played the lyre before, and while they obviously aren't the same, I think string instruments would generally interest her more. Plus she likes being the center of attention so her playing the melody would be fitting !

16. What keeps them going?

Hope and confidence! Fake it till you make it type beat. Selene figures that even if no one else believes in her, she can at least believe in herself, and that can be enough.

17. Does your character swear? What’s their favorite phrase/word?

Of COURSE Selene swears have u heard her… As for favorites. I think Selene is very particular to the usage of "asshole," but I've never actually considered it consciously? lol

27. If they were a ghost, how would they haunt in the afterlife?

She would move around your furniture and make spooky little noises. Mostly harmless! Haha unless…? I guess it would also depend on who she's haunting, because if it was like, the PRESIDENT? That guy would not be getting a harmless ghost that's for dang sure.

35. Do they consider themselves childish/mature for their age?

I don't think she really considers herself more or less childish/mature tbh. That's just not something she ever really thinks about yknow. Listen, that's Talfryn's obsession, not hers'. She's just livin her life out here.

53. What does freedom mean to them?

FUCK the government is what it means. Selene doesn't want to be constrained by others' ideas of who or how she should be. Also she's a roaming kinda gal <3 loves to wander. The facilities are basically antithetical to that entirely which is part of the reason she's against them on just a basic level. Governments that rob people of their autonomy have never been her jam (cuz yeah… the ancient Greeks did do that with women. A lot.)

65. Adoration or Intimidation?

Adoration for sure. Above all else, Selene is a charmer, although she definitely uses the power of intimidation when she really needs to! Sometimes what people need to be convinced is a good scare, and how is that her fault, huh.

Endymion

8. What is something they cannot resist?

I don't think Endymion is really a person who indulges in much so like. I can't really think of anything SORRY. I guess like… Selene in a way ?? She gets him to do things out of his comfort zone, pushes him out of his shell, gets him to say what he normally wouldn't. They're besties :) and he trusts her with that power.

10. If they were in a rock band, what role would they play?

Uhhh vocalist, perhaps ? He isn't really very musically inclined haha. Though I think he would get a bit nervous when put in the spotlight, so something like percussionist/keyboard might fit him better. If only he knew how to play either.

12. Physically, does your character feel warm or do they always feel cold?

Endymion runs hot! So it's always a little chilly for him during normal weather. That's why the Mediterranean climate fits him well, it's usually at least somewhat warm and sunny, and the winters aren't too too cold.

13. If they were a body of water, what would they be?

This is. Such an odd question to think about aslkdjglsk. Maybe like… a stream???? Not as big or intimidating as a river. Idk man it ain't that deep <- am I talking about the question or the stream? Who is to say.

35. Do they consider themselves childish/mature for their age?

Mature—he has a lot of responsibilities and has been able to basically single-handedly take care of himself and his family for over a decade. Though maturity is all subjective, and it's not something he values in himself or others. If he had a choice in the matter, he'd want to be more childish and enjoy life rather than be bogged down with worries or responsibilities. dw about his traumas <3

69. Journey or Destination?

Destination!!! Endymion is always looking ahead at the future, so living in the moment is harder for him to do. 6isms amiright. The shorter the journey the better, in his eyes.

#ask game #dungeons and dragons #dnd character #james-fun-in-the-sunderland #thanks for the asks rev these were fun to think about !!!! #a few made my brain hurty akglfjsk hope the answers were sufficient #I can expand more on anything that doesn't make sense/wasn't detailed enough

[moxigejuan]

1

I opened my health code. I saw a harsh red on the phone screen. I was shocked, in a second, I became a "wanted criminal".

New messages are constantly popping up in the WeChat group. The campus is blocked, it can only go in but no out. The one-time-out-of-school-a-day rule lasted less than two weeks. I feel hopeless —— it's starting again. The next time I walk on the street, I don't know when it will be.

The red code on the phone made me even more nervous. When are they coming for me? Where will I be sent? Quarantine closed or square cabin? I was reminded of all the things I saw on social media, people being asked to board buses, no one knew where they were going, no one knew how long they were going to be in the bus, no one knew when they would be back. People were picked up in the middle of the night and put on buses to nowhere.

I told my roommate about the incident. I was afraid that it would implicate her and force her to be sent to a place for isolation as well. My roommate told me that she doesn't mind, don't worry, and if I don't want to, I don't have to take the initiative to report.

After a while I got a call from the CDC. A little hope was shattered, and I couldn't hide it after all. The people from the CDC told me that it was a close contact, asked me where I was at that time, and told me to wait for the notification. Waiting. I can't ask anything because I won't get any answers. Everyone claimed it wasn't their job to tell me what to do next. Wait, obey, all I have to do.

For a moment I thought of running away —— but where could I go? All public places will require a health code. I have nowhere to go. Will I sleep on the street? They know my information, they can find me no matter what. Will the school expel me if I run away? Will I be detained? I'm still sitting on a chair in my dorm, but I've been caught and I've lost all the freedom my social identity has.

The CDC called again. It is the Center for Disease Control and Prevention of Huangpu District. They asked me if I had been to No. 158 Julu Road on October 5, and I confessed my crime. It was the night I went to the club.

I recall the dim lights of nightclubs, rows of bottles on the bar, glowing in the light. I can't remember what the wine tasted like that day, I just remember that I'm not happy with that hard-won freedom - it could be taken away at any time. Behold, it is now. It seems that everything is "as expected".

I sat there, staring blankly at the messages on WeChat. After that, I got a call from the school stuff. I told him that I was a close contact, and he said that since this is the case, I will be arranged to isolate on campus. I'm a little more relaxed, I don't have to get on a bus that doesn't know where I'm going.

I started to pack my things. I carried almost nothing, and it didn't make much sense to bring anything. I brought Yukio Mishima's "Confessions of a Mask" with me, as if I brought a container for my soul.

I pushed the suitcase and went downstairs. I was told that one of the school's isolation points was full, and I stood there waiting, along with about a dozen other students. I heard someone joking to her friend: "Why are you here?" Some people just have an unearthly optimism, I thought. I think of the lush sycamore trees on the street, the pedestrians passing by me, the busy stores and small restaurants. The outside world. That line of life that was once part of my life now seems to have become a kind of handout, and I'm allowed to occasionally come out of the prison and look outside. Why wasn't I locked up all the time? I can't figure it out either.

We were taken to another group of places. The school security guard told us to follow him from a distance. A large group of people dragged suitcases, like livestock being grazed on a farm. Waiting again, I looked around at the people, most of them were staring at their phones, and some of them were talking to their fellow travelers.

We waited until 12am at night. I was glad that I wore a warm coat, and I probably knew in my heart that I needed to prepare according to the standard of escape. We were finally allowed into the isolation point - an empty student apartment building. I thought I'd be in bed soon, however we had to go through the complex check-in process one by one with only one staff member.

We were told two people one room. I looked at the classmate in front of me. She was very beautiful and had a very cheerful personality. She kept talking to the people around her. She must be from the acting major. It seems a problem to me. Although we are from the same college, it seems that they are not from the same world at all.

It was almost 1am in the morning when we finally arrived. The staff impatiently pointed to the mountain of bedding piled up on the floor behind them, telling us to take them and go upstairs. I opened the door of the room. The room was spacious, much bigger than our dorm. Two beds on one side of the room and two desks on the other. In the middle is a wooden floor and a large open space. The accommodation conditions of international students are much better than those of ordinary students, which I knew before. I didn't expect it to be this good.

My new roommate is still sending constant voice messages. I lay on the bed, looking at the strange ceiling. Outside the window is the West Zhongshan Road Viaduct. Still some people are free. I wonder. I'm locked up here, and my health code is red. I can move physically, but socially, I'm in an electronic cage.

2

At 7am the next morning, I was awakened by a violent knock on the door. People outside the door yelled "Breakfast!". My heart is full of anger, we were able to sleep in the early hours of yesterday, why can't they leave breakfast at the door and leave? Why do they have to wake us up? We will see breakfast when we open the door. Not only was I deprived of my liberty, I was deprived of my dignity. They can make trouble for me in any little thing, make me feel uncomfortable, I can't fight back.

Another classmate came after lunch. She said the rooms were full and now they asked three people to share a room. She went to the cot under the window and sat down. There was only one chair in the room, and I ate my lunch sitting on the cot. I was very irritable thinking that I would still have to sit at a desk to study in the afternoon.

"Why is there only one chair?" the girl who came with me the day before complained. I walked straight out the door and took the elevator to the first floor. The lift was not facing the front desk and I was still undetected when I went downstairs. I scanned the first-floor rooms, entered a cluttered room, and picked up a chair. When I got back to the elevator, they saw me. "How can you go downstairs??" the staff member yelled at me. "You can't take that chair!"

I stood in the elevator and she stood outside the elevator. I looked into her eyes and pressed the close button hard. The elevator door closed, and her face disappeared through the elevator door. I saw the elevator start to go up, and I leaned against the wall, relieved. She did not catch up. I ran away and I got the chair.

I walked into the room, "I took another chair." I said calmly, picked up a tissue, and wiped the dust on the chair carefully. This is my prize, I thought. I couldn't run away, I couldn't fight back on bigger things. But just like they don't want me to be comfortable with any little thing, I won't pass up this "harmless" opportunity to cause trouble for them.

[mollified-barbarity]

Fixation

Paring: Edward Nashton (The Riddler) x GN! Reader

Word Count: 1112

TW: //Mentions of stalking, mental illness, voyeurism, Edward is a creep, no gendered terms are used.

Authors Note: This is my first time actually posting a fic, most of them I keep to myself but my Batman brain rot is too severe. Like, my brain is genuinely rotting. This is more of a setup of what I have next, if people enjoy it I'll post more in relation to it. I didn't proofread too much, I really hope I'm not girlbossing too close to the sun. Enjoy <3

It’s a night no different from the one before; even in mid-September, the weather is oppressively cold and wet. A foggy haze overlooking the city. As the gutters flood with grime and filth from the streets. City-dwellers scurry around to evade the downpour. Rain like this usually only lasts until later in the morning. It’s half-past eleven; it isn’t necessary to check any clocks; your body language makes it so painfully obvious as to what time it is. It’s a Friday, meaning your shift ends at twelve. By the end of your shift, your homely and congenial disposition declines. The differences are subtle; your shoulders hunch slightly, and you walk much faster, no doubt, in an attempt to get things done in a more time-efficient manner. You want to go home, he’s sure; it's evident in the way your typically nervous laugh seems much less polite and much more exasperated, teetering on dismissive when some of the older men try to start up small talk as you top off their coffee. The changes are slight, but Edward has an eye for them; every minor and insignificant thing you do can be viewed and analyzed to his liking.

From across the diner, he watches with wide eyes. It’s like an alarm goes off in your head, eyes watching with intent you can’t place. You turn your head, and his eyes quickly flicker to the TV above in the corner of the bar counter; his chest tightens with overwhelming pressure. It’s a sort of nausea, the kind of nausea one experiences after they’ve been caught in the act of something presumably wrong. You don’t look at him, not directly; your eyes passively run over the remaining customers. It’s a quarter to twelve, and the uneasy feeling you have won’t let up. It never does, not anymore; it used just to be this idea in your mind. Ever since you were a child, you’ve always been horrifically paranoid of someone watching you. Even living in a small town, you’d always felt eyes on you, no matter if you were alone or in a crowd, not quite the eyes of anyone specifically but the eyes you imagined in your head and glued to you, judging every slight move you might make before you even made it. Though now, as you’ve gotten older, that once dominating feeling has been watered down. This is different, you think; this feeling is unlike what you’ve felt before. The eyes that watch you aren’t in your head but on the other side of the counter.

Edward’s always habitually staring at people; he isn’t shameless about it. While he might tend to gawk, it’s routine only once they’ve turned away from him. To look directly at someone for too long makes him feel creepy. Most people don’t take notice of him anyhow; living in a city, one learns to brush past the watching eyes of strangers; he assumes you didn’t grow up in a city, not such as Gotham, anyway, because you seem to take notice of it all. There have been many different occasions of you taking a look back at him, often not directly, but regardless, he’s sure you can feel his eyes boring into you. You have this peculiar habit of looking yourself over; after you’ve given a table their order, you peer down nervously at your hands or check that your uniform is not wrinkled nor pulled down in any unsavory places. It's almost obsessive; he can’t tell if you're just that self-conscious or that self-centered. It’s likely just some nervous tick you have, but even as Edward might know and understand that notion, there's this part of him that refuses to believe it as merely something you do in reaction to everyone. Even in the comfort of your apartment, you do it. Looking around as you make sure no one can see you spot the slight imperfection, but he does. It planted this terrible belief in his mind that you know he’s there, watching you. Even when it may seem unlikely, you feel him there just like he feels you. In his sickened mind, it shows as proof of how drawn to one another you are.

The two of you have never interacted before beyond taking his order and politely casual remarks. Despite his delusional and selfishly idealistic mindset, he isn’t stupid. Edward is well aware that his social ineptitude is crippling his perception and understanding of you as a person. He can watch you, sure, know your routine, mannerisms, and what you love and hate, but there's a difference between knowing something about someone and understanding what that something truly means to them. Edward desperately wants to crawl into the cavity of your mind and settle himself inside; he wants to know everything about you beyond face value. So much so it hurts, though, whenever the chance comes about, he can’t even bear to look at you, much less speak to you casually. A sickly feeling floods the pit of his stomach, and all he can do is quickly state what he wants. Which is typically just ‘the usual’.

You don’t quite know his name, but you see him everywhere. You’ve tried telling yourself he looks that typical, that you see him in so many different places because his haircut is popular and clear-rimmed glasses are in fashion right now. Still, the more you think about it, the more you feel he looks exceptionally ordinary and commonplace because it's an easy disguise. You must admit that, when you first saw him,  he seemed sweet with his boyishly round face and dorky veneer, but as this horrible feeling started to become so much more oppressive, the more his awkwardness seemed out of guilt rather than just being who he was. There was a strange glint in his eye whenever he spoke to you, one that made you feel so strangely uneasy. That man has something wrong with him; you wish you could figure out what.

A soft beeping noise takes you out of your train of thought. Finally, it is time to go home. You look back to find that he's gone; he usually sits at the end of the bar counter. His coffee cup was empty, the plate nearly clean, and three five-dollar bills were left behind. Sighing, you clean up what’s left and take your tip. Not aware but conscious of what could be waiting for you by the time you get home.

#Edward Nashton #The Riddler #dano!riddler #edward nashton x reader #the riddler x reader #dano!riddler x reader #The Batman (2022) #The Batman (2022) x reader #The Riddler fanfiction #x reader

[phantasmiafxndom]

I loved that ask about Mal being moved to a humane lab! How would the savanaclaw boys in the test subject au handle that? Being taken to a humane research center and having a handler who cares for them would do them good

Leona

By the time he gets moved, Leona has more or less given up hope. He doesn't expect anything better from anywhere the researchers could take him next, and in a bitter, resigned sort of way, he's okay with that. It's just his life now. The sudden, pleasant treatment is a shock. One that almost makes him uncomfortable. He's gotten so used to a certain way of living that this change doesn't feel right. Leona remains his usual, grouchy self, never letting much slip, but internally, he's sickeningly grateful that he's not suffering quite so much anymore. It really is a relief.

Ruggie

As soon as he hears he's being moved to someone else's jurisdiction, Ruggie is prepared to take advantage of it. Even if this new place sucks just as much as the first, he's gotta make it so he's as well-off as he can manage. But then, being put under your care actually doesn't suck, way less awful things are happening, and Ruggie really, really doesn't know what to do. He winds up kind of nervous and jittery, afraid of when this actually kind of decent treatment is going to abruptly come to an end. That's the part that makes him anxious, no matter how nice it is now.

Jack

When he's transferred, he's just plain grateful. By this point, even the small things are worth being very, very thankful for— so actually decent living arrangements well surpass that. As starved of kindness as he is, Jack winds up latching onto you pretty quickly. You come to represent what's safe for him, and he'll absolutely try to cooperate with experiments as best he can in the hopes that being good will make the nice things last. He's still scared of everything that could happen, but this change is nice enough that it gives him a little bit of peace of mind through it all.

#Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Leona #Leona Kingscholar #Ruggie #Ruggie Bucchi #Jack #Jack Howl #Headcanon #Reader #TWST Test Subject Au

[forcefullyawake]

did i forget i was part of this collab? no, u did

Here is my totally on time entry into @introloves​ once upon a time collab!

Pairing: Knight! Kakashi x Princess! Reader

Warnings: Unprotected sex, breeding kink, literally no plot just fucking honestly

WC: 2.8k

Summary: There’s a tournament held for knights across the lands to prove their worth, that they can protect you as queen and as your husband. When the winner takes off his helm, it’s the last person you expect to see in the world

The spring air is cool along your exposed collar bone, the sweet smells curling around your shoulders. It is, simply put, the nicest day in recent memory, and all who you’ve spoken to assured you that this is a blessing of the highest honor. The day needs to be perfect, right down to the way the sun’s rays reach your face. It’s the day that will decide the rest of your life- the tournament that will change everything as knights from all over the kingdom fight for the honor of your hand in marriage.

It makes you giddy just to think about it, delighting in the attention you receive the week before the event. The castle grows even more crowded as noblemen and women come from near and far just to see who will become your husband. You’ve tried to sneak peaks at the men competing for your hand, but your father has kept you under tight lock and key, taking great pains to make sure that you see nobody- and nobody sees you. 

Dawn rises early, and so do you. You lay in bed, nearly vibrating with excitement at the thought of the day ahead of you. Your maids come in, helping you bathe, and the cool water helps clear your mind. Still, it’s hard not to get too ahead of yourself when you dress, in as fine as dress as you’ve ever had, the nicest dress you’ll have until your wedding day. You even get a pot of red rogue to dust along your cheeks and lips, highlighting them perfectly. When you look at yourself in the mirror you almost don’t recognize yourself- you finally look like the princess you truly are. 

There’s a pavilion built in a field, three chairs upon it for you, your mother and father, the king and queen. You get sat in the center, the place of the highest honor. A tiara rests upon your head, sparkling in the sunlight. As the knights being to filter into the area you try your hardest to sneak peaks at them. All of them have their faces uncovered, allowing you ample time to stare. Most of them seem older than you by a few years. 

One of the knights, you realize has completely grey hair. You can’t see much of his face, his back turned from you the whole while you watch him before your eyes flicker over to the next man. There’s so many of them, and realizing they’re all here for you makes you nervous. You sit, trying to look pretty and unaffected as the tournament begins. 

The joust is straightforward enough- the knights face each other one by one. Whoever wins can claim your hand in marriage, having proven himself worthy of protecting you. You get to rule, with your chosen hand by your side, just as your mother had. It’s been all you’ve dreamed of since you were a little girl. 

You watch with curious eyes as the first two knights take their positions on their horses opposite each other. You don’t realize how violent it will be until you see it with your own eyes. The first knight is knocked out of his seat, landing on the ground with a loud, almost exaggerated thud. He doesn’t get up for so long that someone has to go check on him, and it does nothing to settle your nerves. You’re not sure if you can go through a whole day of this. 

But you have to- it’s your whole future on the line. 

One by one the knights joust, and it never gets any less brutal to watch. There’s a clear front runner, a knight that unseats opponent after opponent, though they lack a squire and clear banner for you to place who they might be, or where they’re from. You find yourself rooting for them, hoping they’ll win as it becomes clear they’re the best you’ll be able to find. Before you ever even realize it, the sun is setting and there’s one last joust about to take place before you. 

It’s over in mere moments. Despite unseating so many people already, and though you know he must be completely exhausted, the winning knight is the one you’ve been watching all day. One last name falls before him, and as a cheer rings out over the field he brings his horse around. The knight rides to right in front of you, dropping from his horse and taking a knee in front of you and your parents. 

“Rise, brave knight,” You proclaim, trying to keep your voice steady as you speak. “I would look upon the man who would claim my hand as his own.” The knight stands without a word, pulling his helm off and making you gasp. 

In front of your stands Hatake Kakashi- your former lover and master of your security. 

“Hello, Princess,” He smiles at you, the last thing you see before you faint. 

There’s a clamor all around you when you finally begin to come to. Your eyes slowly flutter open to see the soft hues of the sunset, and that you’re still right in front of the chair where you fell. There’s a whole repertoire of people around you, though you only have eyes on one person- Kakashi. He’s staring at you openly, though he waits on the fringes for you to be declared completely okay. 

You’re able to wave most of the closest people to you off with a smile, though your maidens still gather at your back, and your father has your hand on his arm as you walk back up to the castle. Kakashi trails not far behind, ever present on your mind. 

You hadn’t even considered that he might try to show his face today- so far removed from your mind he usually was. While you knew he was a knight with no equal, he had been the one to break things off. And now? To show up here? Ready to win your hand in marriage as if nothing at all had transpired between the two of you? It was more than you thought you could bear. 

Since you have a perfect excuse already, you dismiss your handmaidens as soon as you get to your room, claiming to want to be alone. It’s all too easy to collapse on your bed, panic taking hold in your chest. 

Why, oh god, why is Kakashi here? As if your thoughts alone summoned him, you hear a soft knock on your door and his voice on the other side. 

“Go away!” You cry, trying to make sure the tears don’t leak into your voice. Unfortunately for you, Kakashi is as headstrong as you are and opens the door anyways. “I said leave!” 

“I can’t,” For his part, Kakashi sounds as pained as you feel. “Please, I thought you would be happy.” 

“Happy?” You nearly screech, turning towards him, “You left me! Abandoned me! And now you show up like nothing at all has happened and we should get married?” 

“Keep your voice down, love,” He warns, glancing nervously at the door. “I don’t exactly have permission to be here.”

“Love?!” The word pulls you off the bed, marching over towards him. “You lost the right to call me that as soon as you left me!”

“I had no choice!” Despite how brave you know he is, Kakashi takes a step back from you, putting some distance in between your bodies. “I had no name, no right to claim you.”

“And yet you did anyways!” You barely manage to keep your voice quiet and level as you hiss at him. “And now you’ve returned just to torment me more!” Kakashi’s face crumbles for the briefest moment, several emotions running over his face before he composes himself. 

“I came back because I love you!” Now it’s his voice that’s rising, color warming his cheeks as he takes a step forward. He reaches for you, but you jerk away from him, pain written all over your face. “I had to leave. You know I had to.”

“You didn’t even say goodbye,” You remind him. You had simply woken up that awful day to a note from your mother, telling you that Kakashi had retired from the household, and that she would send a new head guard the following day. Your whole life was divided into before and after that day- before, when your life was full of laughter, and love, and your nights spent in Kakashi’s arms. And the after, when your home was quieter, and more reserved, and you spent your nights in silent tears. 

“I didn’t say goodbye because I knew I would always be back,” Kakashi says, taking another step towards you. His scent washes over you now that he’s so close, and he smells the exact same as you remember. This time when he reaches for you, you don’t move away but let him pull you in close. He’s taken off his armor sometime between winning and now, so his warmth permeates you. You can hear his heart beating under your ear- no, not beating, pounding. Like he’s scared. 

“Please,” He whispers into your hair, “Please let me love you again.” You should say no, and you pull back to tell him that, but the tears you see dotting the corners of his eyes won’t let you. Instead you find yourself pulling him down to press your lips to his. 

Kakashi moans into your mouth, arms tightening around you to press you to him. His lips feel the same, the way they mold to yours, the familiar pressure of them against your own. It’s all too easy to open your mouth for him when his tongue begs entrance. You offer no resistance as he walks you back towards your bed, and when he pushes you down back onto it. 

It’s been far too long, you think, as he crawls over on top of you. Kakashi never lets his mouth get too far from yours, even as he starts to undress himself. He only gets his shirt off before he reaches to start to pull at the laces of your dress. You let him struggle, only for a moment before your hands are swatting his away, lithe fingers make quick work of your dress. He sits back, just to watch it slide off your body- and then there you are, only a thin slip of fabric covering your body from his. 

You’re as beautiful as he remembers, though perhaps the want-the love- he feels for you isn’t written as openly across his face as he imagines, because your arms come up to cover your chest, and you can’t look at him now. 

“You would hide yourself from me?” He asks, the words almost a growl as he pulls you towards him once more, hands grabbing at your wrists to tug your arms down. You don’t resist him, not when the feel of his skin on yours sends sparks over your body, heat pooling low in your gut. “When I have won you fairly?”

“Of course not, my lord,” You try for sarcastic, but your breathy tone of voice betrays you. You don’t sound like yourself, but like a simpering maiden. A feral grin paints Kakashi’s face, only for a moment before he grabs you properly now, tugging you down to the bed, your legs falling perfectly open for him to slot himself between. You can feel the hard line of his cock pressed against you, up against your most sensitive spot, and you have to bite your lip to keep the keen that tries to spill from them. 

“Poor little princess,” He coos, one arm holding himself up, his free hand skimming down the side of your face, your neck, down your front to pluck at one pebbled nipple. “Nobody has touched you since me, have they?” His tone is teasing but you see a flash of anger in his eyes- and for one brief moment you consider lying but instead-

“There is only you, for me,” The truth rests between your bodies, only for a moment before his mouth is on yours, and his hand grips your slip tight, ripping it down the front. His mouth drops, from your lips, down your neck, nipping and sucking over your pulse, before moving down even further. He holds your gaze as his lips close over your nipple, tongue running over the peak. One of your hands twists at the sheets beneath you as the other covers your mouth, holding back your moans. 

Still, he doesn’t give you a moment of respite, moving to the other side, giving it the same treatment before moving on. Down the valley of your breasts, down over your stomach, the fabric of your slip ripping under his hands until you lay before him, pants the only thing hiding you from him.

And then he all but rips those off you too, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder, the other leg pressed down to the bed, leaving you open and vulnerable for him. Your skin feels too hot- you’ve done so much with Kakashi in the past, but never this. 

“What are you-” Your question gets broken off with a strangled moan as his tongue licks up your slit, before circling the bud nestled between your thighs. His mouth is on you, all over you, lapping up your slickness like a man parched. His fingers press into you, slowly working you open as the knot in your stomach grows tighter and tighter until-

“Ka-oh!” You can’t even get his name out as you shatter under him, hips twitching, trying to get more of his fingers, more of his tongue. To your dismay he pulls away, letting your legs fall back to your bed, as his clean hand begins to pull at the laces of his pants, the fingers that were inside of you going to his mouth to be licked clean. 

His hand comes to down pump his cock a couple of times, his spit and your wetness mixing over it before he lines himself up with your entrance, hips rutting forward to bury himself in you in one movement. It feels like he was never even gone, cock splitting you open easily, your inner walls hungrily guiding him in. He groans, low and deep and right in your ear, and everything is right in your world once more. 

Kakashi rolls his hips, hitting every part inside of you that sends pleasure shooting up your spine. It’s somehow too much and not enough all at once, not when you’ve missed him so much, not when you’ve been left to get yourself off these past months, unable to bring yourself even half the pleasure Kakashi could. You plant your feet on the bed, hips moving in time with his. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed this- your sweet cunt, your little moans,” He whispers in your ear, never stopping his hips. “I spent so many nights alone with nothing but my hand for company, thinking I would never get to taste the heaven between your thighs.” He pauses, making sure you’re looking at him before he continues on, “And now I will taste it every night.”

You think you might be agreeing with him, babbling nonsense as his hips continue to thrust into you, hitting your sweet spot over and over again. You can tell he’s already close, too, the way his breath hitches, and you can feel tremors running down his spine. Still, he reaches between the two of you, fingers rubbing your bud as harshly as he dares.

“Come for me,” He grits out, “Please.” That word is all it takes for pleasure to overwhelm you again, shuddering and sighing as your skin starts to feel oversensitive. 

“Where?” It’s a gasp, a plea. You can feel him start to pull away, to finish on your stomach as he has done so many times before, but you lock your legs around his hips, pulling him forward, the tip of his cock pressed deeply and firmly inside of you. 

“Inside,” You insist, looking into his eyes. With a too loud moan he spills himself inside of you, filling you with his spend. He doesn’t roll off of you, pressing your foreheads together as he works through the aftershocks. 

Distantly, you can hear a pounding at your door, and you know you’re caught. 

“You’re dangerous,” Kakashi whispers against your lips, smiling the whole time as he kisses you. “Very dangerous.” The pounding on your door continues, responsibilities and the rest of your life trying to intrude, but you ignore them all in favor of wrapping your arms around your love, and pulling him close. 

The entire kingdom can wait, this is all you need. 

#kakashi x you #kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake x reader #unprotected sex tw #breeding kink tw

[devilyn]

leave a message at the tone | kuroo tetsurou

— alexa, play: stay by kid laroi ft. justin bieber

I do the same thing I told you that I never would I told you I'd change, even when I knew I never could I know that I can't find nobody else as good as you I need you to stay, need you to stay, hey

— synopsis: kuroo can't stop drinking, and only realizes what he cares about most when you're gone. — genre: angst, happy endings, sad kuroo — word count: 1.6k

He knew he shouldn’t have done this again. Drinking late at night and stumbling home in the dark. He knew you’d give him that look again. That same look you gave him each night you’d gently rub his back while he threw up, and each morning while begging him to stop going out so often.

He knew, but it was like he couldn’t control himself. He could escape daily life when he drank--pretend like he was satisfied with himself and didn’t have an ounce of responsibility. Yet, when he sobered up, you’d always be right there, laying in bed next to him and fast asleep. With your presence always came the overwhelming guilt of being a burden to you, and dragging you down with him.

As he kicked his shoes off, he heard you shuffling around on the couch. When he looked up, you were already standing in front of him and rubbing the sleep from your eyes. His vision blurred, and he couldn’t help but drunkenly smile at the sight of you.

“I’m leaving.”

It took his inebriated brain a few seconds to process your words, but when he did, his smile dropped instantly.

“What do you--”

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve asked you to stop this,” you cut off his slurred words. Now that he was looking closer, through his blurred vision, he could see the redness in your eyes and the familiar swelling in your lower lip where you bit down to try and suppress your cries.

“I’ve had enough, that’s all I can really say now,” you continued, voice shaky and hands trembling. Kuroo swayed a bit on his feet, still trying to process what was happening right in front of his eyes.

“Wait--” he struggled to grab your hands, fumbling a bit, even though you didn’t bother to resist. “Please, I’ll be better. I’ll--I’ll drink less often, I’ll come home earlier--”

“You say that all the time,” you told him calmly, “but nothing ever changes, does it?”

He was afraid. He’d rather you yell and scream at him, call him a piece of trash and abandon him fully. Tell him he ruined your life and you never wanted to see him again.

But you didn’t. You never would.

“I really loved you,” you said instead through tears, “I’m sorry.”

Loved. Loved. Loved...?

He stood still, unable to say anything more as you pulled your hands out of his own and flashed him a watery smile. You grabbed your packed suitcase that he didn’t even realize was sitting right by the door, and slipped past him.

Out of his apartment with you, and out of his life.

Kuroo couldn’t remember how the rest of the night went. When he woke up the next morning, he felt the familiar urge to vomit and quickly stumbled to the toilet.

A nightmare, he thought while washing his face after throwing up anything he might’ve consumed in the last 12 hours. It must’ve been a nightmare. He’d walk back to his bedroom, and you’d be lying there on your side of the bed, half awake and waiting for him to come back to sleep.

But when he trudged back to the bedroom, his heart sank to his feet when he saw it was empty.

He must not have noticed the night before--must’ve passed out before he could even register what had happened--but every semblance of you was gone. Your clothes, your familiar knick knacks, your favorite pillow, even polaroids and pictures you’d set up of you and him--they were all gone.

How cruel of you. You didn’t leave anything behind for him to remember you by.

His hand weakly smoothed over your side of the bed, where he remembered you were just yesterday morning. His head throbbed as he recalled the way you gently kissed his forehead while murmuring something about making him a cup of coffee.

Kuroo laid in bed for the rest of the day, eyes closed, and not bothering to drink water to soothe his dry throat or take any painkillers for the pounding in his head.

Maybe it was his way of repenting for his mistakes in your relationship. For hurting you, and for chasing you away because he couldn’t give up the numbness that came from alcohol.

Now, it seemed he didn’t need it anymore. The next day, when he monotonously went through the motions of going to his classes, eating lunch, completing his assignments, and studying for his exams, he no longer felt anything.

There was something missing inside of him. Something that left him feeling empty. His pen moved over the paper as he took notes, but something didn’t feel right. His fingers flew over the keys as he typed up a report for his professors, but something was off. His lips parted, and he chewed his food as he usually did, but something was different.

When he glanced at his phone for the first time later that night in his empty apartment just to check the time, he realized.

Tears pricked at his eyes at the sight of his lock screen. Your bright smile, right next to his own.

Maybe that was when it finally hit him. You were gone. You had left him.

Kuroo buried his face in his hands, the dinner he bought left abandoned on the dining room table as he sobbed into his palms.

You gave him what he wanted. That numbness he was chasing after was here to stay, because you took a piece of his heart with him when you left.

“I’m sorry--” he mumbled to your voicemail later that night, just hours before his next class would begin at 8am. “I should’ve listened to you. Running away from my problems really doesn’t help.”

He could picture you scolding him over lunch, telling him that drinking would only help him hide from his life for so long. Telling him you were there for him, and you could get through this together.

Together.

God, he wished so badly the two of you could be together right now.

“I just wanted to apologize,” he told your voicemail again the next night, “...for taking advantage of you being by my side, and not cherishing you while I could.”

Everyday was the same without you. Eat, study, sleep, eat, repeat. Sometimes, his eyes would instinctively search for you in places he knew you two used to frequent together. Sometimes, he’d see you sitting next to him at the dining table at home. You’d look up from your phone and smile at him, and when he blinked, you’d be gone.

“That night, you apologized,” he murmured over the phone on another night to someone he wasn’t even sure was listening. He lost track of how many messages he’d left you. “It was never your fault. I just want you to know that. You did...everything you could.”

A few weeks after you left, he finally spotted you on campus. Your back was to him, but he recognized you regardless. The sight of you for the first time in such a long time warmed his heart. For a second, Kuroo contemplated calling out to you.

But you quickly disappeared in the crowd of busy students who could care less about the brokenhearted man standing in the center of campus.

And he clutched at his chest.

“I stopped drinking,” he admitted quietly in another message while laying in bed, “I have you to thank for that. I know it’ll never make up for anything, and I know it won’t bring you back, but...I like to think you’d be proud of me.”

He threw out every half-empty bottle of vodka that he’d hidden from you a few nights after you left. Somehow, it felt good to let go of something he was dependent on for so long.

He hoped that even if you weren’t here with him, you’d hear his message and you’d be happy for him.

“I love you,” he finally confessed in what he told himself would be his last voicemail, “I know you said you loved me, but I--I still love you. I’m sorry...you won’t hear from me again. I’m sorry for everything.”

He was sleeping better now. Before, there were nights where he’d stay up the whole night imagining what life could be like if you had stayed by his side.

Now, he’d close his eyes, and tell himself you were happier without him.

“I’m coming over. I hope your schedule hasn’t changed.”

He never expected to get a text from you. He also never expected for you to actually show up with an expression filled with relief when he opened the door.

For a second, Kuroo just took you in. It felt like years since he last saw your face, but you looked as beautiful as ever. You still used the same body wash he had contemplated buying just to smell like you when you first left, and you still had that familiar habit of fumbling with your fingers when you were nervous.

“...hi,” he greeted you quietly, and you smiled softly up at him.

“Hey,” you responded, reaching up to gently cup his cheek.

He instinctively leaned into your touch, relishing in the feeling of your skin against his own as his eyes closed.

“You still love me?” you asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Kuroo responded, eyes still closed, “I do.”

He heard you sigh, and he opened his eyes to see your weak smile as you took his hands into your own.

“...alright. Then let’s start over.”

He squeezed your hands, the coldness in his heart quickly washing away as tears started to well up in his eyes.

“...you’ll stay?” he asked tearfully as you reached up to gently wipe his tears away.

“I’ll stay.”

He wrapped his arms tight around you, his face buried in your hair as he cried.

Your hands gently rubbed his back, and quietly to himself, Kuroo hoped that you’d stay forever.

#haikyuu angst #kuroo tetsurou angst #kuroo angst #haikyuu scenarios #kuroo tetsurou scenarios #kuroo tetsurou imagines #haikyuu imagines #hurt/comfort #kuroo imagines #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagine #kuroo scenarios #kuroo tetsurou #haikyuu

[cooltoneturtlesimp]

Fem!Reader who doesn't know how to swim being taught by Leo?

So... this ended up a LOT longer than I meant for it to... welp no going back now! Hope you enjoy! (I LOVED this prompt! Thank you for such an inspirational first request!)

Word Count: 1729

Leo2012xF!reader

He learns that you don’t know how to swim in the middle of a mission

It’s a bit dramatic (welcome to being part of Leo’s life, babe)

You two are at the docks on a simple scouting mission gone wrong. Long story short, explosions, running to the water, the works.

You reach the end of the dock and suddenly stop, he nearly knocks you over as he runs into you

“Y/N! Why’d you stop? What’s wrong?”

“Funny story… I can't swim.”

There’s not much time to think with the approaching enemies, so without another word he looks between his options- fight or swim- and scoops you up into his arms, telling you to hold your breath.

He swims quickly into the nearest sewer pipe (less than 30 seconds to get there even while carrying you, not surprising considering he’s a turtle but still impressive)

He carefully places you on a ledge above the water, treading water just below you, a hand still on your back.

“You alright?”

“A little shaken up, but I’m fine. Thanks, Leo.“

“Let’s get back to the lair. I think we should have Donnie check up on you just to make sure. We should update the team on what we found anyway.”

/Later/

After you get the go ahead from Dr. Donnie, Leo comes up to you after a particularly tough training session the next day to make an offer

“Hey Y/N, about the docks-”

You perk up almost immediately at the sound of your name coming from his mouth

“Yeah, Leo?”

He blushes a little, but only takes a moment to regain himself.

”Well I was thinking that maybe you’d want some swimming lessons? Considering that I- er- we may not always be around to carry you. I’m free after my meditation today if that’s alright with you.”

It’s cute that he’s so decisive on missions but panics when talking to a certain femme fetale in more casual settings.

“That would be wonderful, Leo! Thank you so much. I’ll run and get my bathing suit from my apartment then!”

/1 hour later/

You follow Leo to a clean pool of the sewer (Donnie says it’s part of the water purification process? Kinda gross to think about but definitely clean according to all his tests.)

The water is a little warmer than you expected, which is nice.

Leo leads you through some stretches (he’s always a stickler for the rules, isn’t he?), and as you mirror his moves, you can’t help but admire his muscles. He pretends to not notice.

“Alright! Ready? We’re gonna start with floating. You just have to relax and not panic. Trust me, I’m right here. Besides the water’s pretty shallow, haha”

He rubs the back of his head, clearly nervous.

“Now I’m going to place my hands under your back just for balance, after a little while I’ll move them one by one and let you float on your own. Just remember to relax and you’ll float just fine!”

You hold a bar next to you as Leo slowly and carefully turns you on your back so that you can float on the water. As he gives you a minute to acclimate to the feeling, you try your best to keep your breath steady. Even though you’re being held by a very strong turtle that you feel very strongly about. Yup. Completely normal. Not nervous at all.

“Feeling alright? You seem a bit panicked.”

“Oh yeah I’m just, uh, a little nervous, you know? Haven’t tried swimming in a while haha.”

(which isn’t a complete lie, I suppose)

“You have nothing to worry about. We can go as slow as you need, just relax your body and I’ll only move one hand at a time so that you’re not completely on your own until you’re ready.”

A few minutes pass and you feel one of his hands slowly leave your upper back, leaving only one at the center of your spine. You tense a little, and feel his hand return. A bit more faintly than before, but still there.

“Y/N, I told you that you have nothing to worry about. Trust me and just relax, you got this.”

You take a deep, calming breath. You got this. Leo believes in you. He moves his hand so that you’re once again balancing on just one, but this time you feel lighter. He’s still holding you, but you feel almost weightless.

“You’re doing amazing! We’ll wait another minute and I’ll let you float on your own, okay?”

Leo’s obviously proud of you, but also a little proud of himself. It’s not easy to stay calm when he’s literally holding his beautiful crush in his hands for minutes on end.

“Yeah, okay. I can do that. This is easier than I thought!”

A minute later and you feel his hand carefully sink, and your body follows for a moment before relaxing and free-floating.

“You’re doing it! Wonderful job. Try to hold it on your own for a little bit, okay? You’re doing amazing!”

He moves his hand to your arm, just to keep you from floating away to deeper parts of the pool.

There are some moments where your focus falters and you start to sink, but Leo stays vigilant and offers kind words and gentle squeezes on your arm to keep you relaxed. After a minute or two has passed, you feel his hand move down your arm to your hand.

“Is this okay? I thought it might be nice to just float together for a minute.”

“Yeah sure! Morethanokaywithme!”

He misses that last part, partly because it was very mumbled, partly because he’s too busy trying to keep his own cool.

You feel a shift in the water as he moves to float, and you lose your focus for a moment too long. Another shift in the water, another tensed muscle, and you feel yourself start to sink. You’re about to call for Leo’s help, but he’s already gently reset your position with his hand under your back again.

“You still okay, Y/N?”

Deep breath.

“Yeah, thanks Leo.”

He takes your relaxing as a go-ahead to try floating together, carefully sliding his hand from your lower back to your hand and joining you in floating.

You float like this for a few minutes, his cool hand in your warm one as you float together, as the gentle undercurrent directs you both in laps around the pool. At some point, you’ve drifted into an almost meditative trance, your eyes closed just enjoying the sensations around you without having to think about floating.

You feel Leo’s weight shift again, and you’re pulled out of your trance and to the edge of the pool.

“I think you’ve gotten comfortable enough floating, let’s do some kicks and strokes.”

He places your hands on the pool’s edge and tells you to watch him as he demonstrates the basics of kicking.

“Just keep your hands on the wall and try to keep your kicks strong and consistent.”

You do what he says, and after a little bit of flailing, you start to get the hang of it. One strong kick after another, you start to develop a bit of a rhythm.

“You’re a quick learner, Y/N! A few more minutes and we’ll try some off of the wall.”

As he counts down 2 more minutes of kicks, he starts to notice how nice you look in your bathing suit. He can’t help but to admire the muscles you’ve acquired from training with the ninja these past few months.

And you can’t help but notice him noticing.

He notices you noticing him noticing, and decides to move on before either of you can acknowledge all of that.

“A-alright let’s move on to using those kicks. Just hold onto me and kick, I’ll steer, just worry about controlling the speed.”

He places your hands on his upper plastron and his hands lay gently on your shoulders. You two make brief eye contact before you both blush and turn away for a moment before getting back to the task at hand.

He gently pulls you so that you straighten out onto your stomach, and you start to slowly and deliberately kick to get some momentum going. You kick a little harder than he expected, so your head pushes against his chest at first. He’s taken aback for a moment, but soon regains his composure and starts swimming backwards to match your pace.

You continue in a sort of dance around the pool together, swimming as one. Occasionally you bump into one another, but Leo is as encouraging as always.

After a few minutes, Leo pulls the two of you to a gentle stop in the shallow end of the pool.

“You’re doing great, Y/N! Do you want to try some strokes?”

You get a bit lost in his eyes, having forgotten that this wasn’t some kind of dream.

“Oh, um, sure! You’re the leader after all, lead away!”

Leo lets you go and stands a few feet away to demonstrate the strokes, which you notice are essentially the stretches from earlier. Your eyes respectfully wander a little, but once again he quietly blushes and pretends not to notice.

You mirror his moves and soon, you’re practicing them in the water with his hands on your waist. Next thing you know, the pressure of his hands is gone and you’re swimming all on your own!

You touch the side of the deep end of the pool, turning to see Leo a few feet behind you, beaming at your success. He makes a quick dive towards you.

“Y/N! I knew you could do it!”

Followed by a quick hug before he remembers that you are, in fact, treading water, and he pulls away, but his hands linger on your hips. You both tread water for a moment, admiring each other’s victory gleams, before you’re interrupted by the beeping of an alarm.

“Ahem! Sounds like we finished just in time. Maybe we could do this again soon? Same time next week maybe.”

"Sounds perfect, Leo. Thanks for this, I really had fun! ^^”

He falters for a moment before helping you up and over the edge of the pool, reaching for the towels on a nearby pipe, and, ever the gentleman, offers one to you before drying himself off.

#tmntxreader #tmnt x reader #leo tmnt #leonardo tmnt #tmnt 2k12 #tmnt 2012 #tmnt2012 x reader #tmnt leo x reader #tmnt leo 2012 #fic request #morte-mistrata #morte-mistrata request #tmnt leonardo x reader #tmnt 2012 leonardo x reader #jameson's original works

[yeojaa]

( NEVER LET YOU GO. )

You do things without thought, making impulse decisions that’d make Freud proud.  Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they don’t.

(or:  Jeon Jungkook’s just as impulsive as you.)

pairing.  tattoo artist!jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating.  slice of life fluff, light smut.  explicit (but only at the end). 

tags / warnings.  mentions of heavily tattooed!JK, casual drinking, tender lovemakin’, JK with the bad jokes, honestly just him being funny and chill like that one guy you never get over...

wc.  7.6k.

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​, @papillonsgf​, and @yeoldontknow​​ 💛 ty for always indulging me and most importantly, supporting me when i begin to spiral. 🤠

author note.  i got this idea into my head one evening in the shower and now... it is this.  it’s not your usual bad boy tattoooist!JK fic but i hope you enjoy regardless.  as always, feedback means a lot! 

You and forethought aren’t close friends.  You really aren’t even distant cousins, or part of the same family tree.  You consider it a stranger, wave loftily as it passes you by, squinting like you can’t properly make out what it is.  Careful consideration?  Thoughtful patience?  None of that exists for you.  At least, not when you really, really want something. 

It’s what has you here now, bumbling your way into the tattoo shop like a newborn baby bird.  

You wonder how it must look, whether the shop assistant is used to this.  Random girl shows up on a Sunday afternoon looking like a fish out of water, eager yet afraid.  By how she greets you - with a curious stare and not quite a smile - you’re sure she is.  

“Do you take walk-ins?”

You’d meant to make an appointment.  Had sat for hours on the shop’s Instagram page, combing through the residents’ portfolios, trying to decide who to reach out to.  When you’d finally decided, you’d realised books were a thing and most of them were closed.  (Just your luck.)

Still, it never hurt to try, right? 

“Everyone’s fully booked.”  The girl sounds bored, apathetic yet genial.  (You don’t blame her.)  By the way her stare swings over you, it feels like a dismissal.  You’re ready to admit defeat - head half-bowed, words draped over your tongue.  “But our apprentice might be able to squeeze you in.”

An apprentice?  Well— that’s not exactly what you’d been hoping for, but this shop is reputable.  Well-known.  Considered one of the best in the city.  Surely their apprentice would be fine.  Just less seasoned, not as experienced. 

You all but snap your neck nodding along, gratitude tumbling out in the form of awkward laughter.  “That’d be great!”

The girl passes you off with a nod of her head, gesturing down the hall.  “Last room on the left.  His name’s Jungkook.  His schedule says he’s all clear, but maybe knock before you go in.”  It’s not the sunniest smile you’ve ever received, but the small thing she offers helps with the nerves.  Stills them beneath your skin as you do as you’re told. 

“Jungkook?”  There’s not really anywhere to knock, every wall neatly frosted glass and no doors in sight.  (You had passed a few folding screens but otherwise, it’s open concept, each room offering a glimpse into the artist who works inside.)  It feels too disruptive to tap your knuckles on one glass pane, lest it interrupt someone else. 

(His studio is minimally decorated but inviting:  one big cabinet; two of those typical IKEA shelves in the 4x4 grid that every new homeowner and their mother have; and a shop table, upon which a black backpack sits.  Various plants dress the room - both hanging from the ceiling and along the window - and Polaroids string over walls, held aloft by twine.  A Roomba sits by itself in a corner and the tattoo bed dominates most of the space, positioned closer to the dividing wall;  one teeny tiny rolling chair sits beside it.  There’s a bench on your left, with a pair of Birkenstocks tucked beneath.  All in all, very homey.  Reminiscent of your own apartment.) 

Hidden behind the bed, crouched low to the ground beside the cabinet, is a head of dark hair that speaks, drawing your attention from studying the cozy space.  “Oh?”

You’re not expecting the face that turns to you, all big doe eyes and the sweetest dimples. 

For a moment, you forget what you’re here for.  Why you’re standing in the empty door frame, staring down at the guy like you’ve spent your entire life secluded and have no idea how to speak.  

The longer you’re quiet, the more his concern seems to grow, single brow disappearing into his inky fringe.  It hangs in his vision at certain angles, shields the brightness of his stare with each turn of his chin.  “Are you okay?”  He’s even risen - stopped what he was doing - so he can see you more clearly, without any obstruction in the way.  Good for him, but worse for you. 

He’s so cute.  Were you prepared to look like an uncertain idiot in front of this… angel?

“Y-yeah.”  You manage after what feels like forever, sweeping your nerves under the rug that sits on the floor, separates the sole of his sneakers from hard concrete.  “Um— I was told you might have some time?  For, uh, a walk-in?”

(Why’re you stuttering?  You’re never shy.  Or rather, you’re not this nervous mess.  People have always called you an extrovert, outgoing as hell, a social butterfly.)

(You aren’t those things but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.)

“Oh!”  Realisation dawns across his features, throws his kind smile into greater relief, and you have to actively tell yourself not to stare, tearing your gaze away to focus on the wall of stencils past his shoulder.  He moves into motion then, stepping around the bed to meet you still rooted in the doorway.  “Yeah, I’ve got time.  Come in.”  Up close like this - there’s only maybe two feet between you - you can make out the little scar on his cheek;  the tiny beauty mark below his bottom lip;  each individual lash that frames his Bambi eyes and flutters when he blinks.  “I probably can’t draw you anything new right now but I’ve got some flash, if you’re interested?”

Even if you weren’t interested, you don’t think you’d say no.  You were always a sucker for a cute boy and this Jungkook?  He was that.  In spades. 

“Sure.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”  He’s retreating back into the room, moving to grab his iPad off the far table.  It’s balanced on his arm when he swivels to you, prominent front teeth on full display.  “I’ve got a pretty big selection.” 

When he drops onto the bench - a wayward vine above his head tickling his cheek - he gestures to the spot beside him.  This time, you don’t stare for a stupid amount of time, instead taking up the seat without hesitation. 

“So—”  He’s swiping through the photo library with his Apple Pen.  You’re sure there are pretty sketches on the screen - you just can’t focus on them, too preoccupied by the artwork that crawls across his hand and into the sleeve of his oversized, well-worn shirt.  It’s an intricate chrysanthemum, impossibly well-shaded with bold colours that demand attention and stand out over his fair complexion;  it creeps halfway up the back of his hand to tickle over his knuckles.  He notes your attention with a quiet chuckle, fingers wiggling.  The ink moves, flows, ripples with the motion, before his hand relaxes, knuckles unravelling as he offers the limb to you and your curiosity.  “Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible.”  It really is.  You’ve never seen anything like it, as if a painting has been done across his skin, laid in watercolour rather than tattoo ink.  “Did it hurt?”

(You almost want to hit yourself for the stupid question.  Of course it did.  It’s a hand tattoo.)

Jungkook only laughs again, doesn’t hold it against you despite the verbal barrage you’re faced with internally.  “Like crazy, but it was worth it.  This was my first tattoo and all the rest have just sort of been—”  He shrugs, fabric of his shirt bunching around his collar.  

“A piece of cake?”  You can only imagine.

“Exactly.”

You nod thoughtfully, as if that means anything to you.  (It doesn’t.  You’re bare as a baby’s bottom, blemish free save for the occasional hellish pimple and the scar you have from surgery on your hand when you broke parts of it in sixth grade.)

If he can tell you’re talking out of your ass, he says nothing, redirecting your attention back to the iPad propped on his lap.  “Do any of these interest you?”  He’s resumed scrolling, swiping carefully through pages of flash.  There are assorted floral pieces (plum stems, lily stalks, fully bloomed mums) and various skeletons (what looks like a deer, a dragon, a wolf).  They’re mostly blackwork with fine lines and heavy contrast, so wonderfully detailed you spend too much time studying one piece before he’s flipping to the next.

“That one.”  It catches your eye more than the others have.  Likely because it’s one of the few pieces in colour, soft hues spilling over neat lines.  A pretty little cat with a braided collar, big golden bell centered beneath its head, unravelling petals sweeping around it.

“You like cats?”

You do.  “She looks like mine.”

“It’s settled.”  He beams then, rising so quickly you’re startled;  you watch as he moves around the space with decisive steps, putting your plan into motion.  A paper is pulled seemingly out of nowhere, laid on a wooden clipboard and offered with a blue ballpoint pen.  “If you can fill all of this out, I can get the stencil ready.”

Well, that was easy.  Somehow, you’d thought it’d be more complicated, a ton of back and forth and yes and no.  You can’t deny you’re nervous, staring down at the consent form.  

(It doesn’t mean you read it any more than you normally would, though.  You gloss over all the points, making note of what you’re agreeing to without really considering any of it.  You’ve wanted a tattoo for most of your life.  There’s really no going back now.)

(You just hope it turns out like you want - that you’re not just being blindsided by a sudden superficial crush and a lack of critical thought.)

“I think I’m done,”  you mumble, slashing the date into the paper with gusto.  

“Do you have your ID?”  You’ve got it ready for him when he returns to take both it and the form.  “I’m just going to make copies and then we can discuss more.”

He’s gone with that same smile, disappearing back the way you’d come. 

Alone, the nerves set in.  You’re actually doing this.  Getting a tattoo.  Putting something permanent on your body.  It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, shaking your hands in your lap.  Maybe you should’ve eaten more before you’d come.  (You’d woken up late - had only shoved two pieces of raisin pinwheel bread into your mouth before you’d made up your mind about this.) 

(But had you really made up your mind?  Was this going to be it?  It feels mostly like yes, though the repetitive thud of your toe against concrete seems to indicate otherwise.  It’s as if you’re tapping out something in morse, telling yourself—)

“Okay!”  Jungkook’s back before you know it, driver’s license returned to you along with an unsealed envelope.  You eye it curiously.  “A copy of your form and an aftercare sheet.”  

He’s really thought of everything.  Or the shop has.  Either way, you appreciate that when you’re not so sure, caught somewhere between giddily excited and vaguely worried, as if someone’s pulled a weight off your shoulders, taken on some of the burden of this spontaneous choice.

“So, where do you want it?”  It’s like he has a one track mind, utterly focused on the task at hand.  (Probably a good thing, given you’re about to voluntarily let him needle your poor skin.) 

You hadn’t thought about that.  You’d always liked the idea of a back of the arm tattoo, positioned somewhere along your tricep so it could be seen while turned away.  “My arm?”

“Upper?  Forearm?”  There’s not an ounce of annoyance or exasperation or anything else negative.  He’s just genuinely curious, peering over his shoulder at you. 

“Tricep area, I think?  Would that look good?”

“If you like it, it will.”  Then he grins - beams so bright you half expect the sun to come zooming out of his mouth - and laughs, a funny little cackle that makes you do the same.  “I’m kidding.  That was cheesy.  But I’m sure it’ll look fine.  We can try laying it down first, so you get an idea?” 

“That sounds good.”  A lot better than endless years of regret for poor placement. 

“You’ll, uh— need to take your shirt off though.”

It’s then you realise your mistake:  wearing a turtleneck.  “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes, then another, and he smiles so kindly you wonder what your expression must look like.  Sour, like you’d sucked fresh lemon?  Awkward, as if you’d never worn anything less than double layers before (a proud Never Nude)? 

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can reschedule.  Or I can put a divider up so you don’t have to worry about being seen from outside.  Whatever you’d prefer.” 

The longer you stay quiet - a seemingly common occurrence today - the closer his brows furrow, preparations coming to a standstill.  You can tell he’s not trying to rush you, politely waiting for an answer with transfer paper in one hand and scissors in the other.  

(If only he could peek into your brain, see the whole reason you’re hesitating is because you can’t quite remember which bra you’re wearing, whether it’s the slinky black one that offers absolutely zero support or the lacy blue one with the cute detailing and practically see-through cups.)

(Did it really matter either way?  He was probably desensitized.)  

“It’s fine.”  You find the confidence somehow, nodding firmly.  Jungkook’s still studying you carefully, though.  Waiting as you strip your purse off your shoulder and reach for the hem of your sweater.  It feels funny in your fingers, more like steel wool than sheep’s.

One breath.  Two. 

You fold your turtleneck neatly, laying it beside your bag and turning back to face him.  “All right.  Let’s do this.” 

“So, which arm?”  He’s close now - crossed to you in two strides of his long legs - and holds up the stencil.  

Your right rises, fingers wiggling as if to say hello. 

He lays the design down, pats it into place with deft fingers.  You don’t realise the breath you’re holding until he pulls the sticky paper away, leaving neat line work in its wake.

“Oh.”  It slips out of its own accord, almost a whisper as you stare at the design in the mirror.  “It’s so pretty.” 

There’s pride in his eyes as he stares with you, bounces his gaze between it and your face.  “Thanks.”  He lets you linger, peering thoughtfully at your reflection before speaking, casually hopeful.  “What do you think?”

“This is it.  Right here.”

Maybe he’d fist pump, if he were any less cool.  As it stands, he simply nods, cheeks round like fresh baked bread, nose scrunched with glee. 

“All right.  We’ll shave you down and get started.  You like the colours, right?”  Once again, he’s buzzing around the room, gathering up all his materials and snapping black gloves on once everything is laid out upon his cart.  It’s heavily stickered, covered in video game vinyls and anime mattes.  (You recognise a handful of them, make a note to ask him where he got them from.)  He pats the tissue papered bed top when you make no movement toward him.  “Hop on up.  Face down, if that’s okay.”

You do as he says, climbing atop with minimal grace.  It takes you a bit of adjusting to get comfortable, folding your left arm under your head and allowing your right to simply dangle, uncertain of where it should be.  

“You’re sparkly.”

“What?”  You’d misheard that, right? 

“Your skin.  You’re sparkling.”  He sounds a little in awe, surprised as wetness spills across your arm, the edge of a razor following closely thereafter.  

“Oh.”  Heat creeps over your cheeks, slinks all the way up into your roots and has you chuckling awkwardly.  “It’s my soap.” 

“Sparkle soap?”  Whether he’s just making conversation or genuinely curious, you’re not sure.  He does seem delighted by the fact, though, as if he’s never seen a girl covered in glitter before.  (Which, fair.) 

“It’s this specialty holiday soap.  It has pigment in it.” 

“That’s cool.”  He’s laying the stencil down again, smoothing it over your now-hairless arm.  “It smells nice.”

Obviously, you agree.  It’s honey and citrus, brightly fragrant but not overpowering, lingering on your clothes like the subtle golden glitter does.  Still, you flush, heat crossing from a casual day under the sun to burning-on-the-stove hot.  “Thanks.” 

“Was that weird?  I hope not.”

“No, you’re fine.” 

He hums a tiny noise, something that sounds like understanding and appreciation all at once.  

Then the buzzing starts - a steady, inescapable brrrrrrrrr - and he’s gripping your arm, steady yet gentle.  “Ready?” 

Honestly, you’re not sure.  Hearing the noise makes it seem scary, has your entire body tensing up like Pavlov’s dog.  Your honesty can’t be helped, a nervous giggle chased off your tongue.  “I think so.” 

“I think so too.”

By the time you’re done - a good almost five hours later, your arm stinging so bad you wonder why you’d ever sat down in the first place - you’d fallen asleep twice, started drooling on your other arm once, and really, really have to pee. 

“All right—”“  The incessant buzzing stops.  Liquid spills where the pain centres, followed by rougher paper towel.  “You are finished.”

(You might be imagining it, but he sounds about as relieved as you.  Maybe because you’d been sitting for hours on hours, turning down his offer for a break because you just wanted to get it done and therefore forcing him to do the same.) 

“Can I see?”  You don’t want to leap to your feet - feel a bit too lightheaded for that - but you’re bouncing with excitement, the thrumming in your arm intensified when you shift to catch a better look at Jungkook’s face. 

“Yeah, go ahead.  Just be careful - you might be a bit—”

He’s right.  You nearly topple over the moment you stand, none-too-gently rolling off the edge of the bed and barely landing safely on your feet.  It’s only his close proximity that prevents you from falling to your knees, one degloved hand darting out to steady you. 

“Careful!”  It’s politely reproachful, coloured soft with worry.  

“Sorry, sorry.”  You seize the edge of the bed, gripping tight as you wait for everything to settle, the lightheadedness to recede.  Everything straightens out quickly enough.  “Got up too quickly.”

“Do you need a snack?”  He’s already up, moving faster than you, rummaging through the cabinet against the far wall.  “I’ve got seaweed and Choco Boys and shrimp chips and—”

You can’t help but laugh, hobbling to the mirror to inspect your new piece of art.  “I’m fine.”  That, and you’re too occupied with the ink that now sits embedded beneath your skin, a flurry of lovely colour and impressive line work.

“Choco Boys it is then.”  The familiar yellow package is thrust toward you, a pack of his own already ripped open.  Mushroom-shaped treats are tossed into his open mouth, lips curling around chocolate and his next words,  “it’ll help with your sugar levels.”

A thank you comes, fingers curling around the snacks, but you’re still in deep, so focused on the lovely hue that bleeds over your skin, marks up previously unblemished flesh and holds your attention.  It’s better than you could’ve possibly imagined, a piece of artwork forever yours.  It makes you giddy as you stare at it - almost reach for it, but stop when you catch the alarmed widening of Jungkook’s eyes.  

“You like?”  

“I love.”  You’d stare at it for hours, if you could.  Likely will, once you get home, sitting in front of the mirror like a zombie.  “Thank you so, so much.”

The brunet beams as he polishes off the last of his Choco Boys, tossing his dark hair back with a flick of his head.  Triumph rolls off him in palpable waves, sitting pretty in the lines by his eyes, the scrunching around his nose.  Seeing how it blooms in his stare is like a straight endorphin shot, as if you’ve done more than just be the canvas he’s laid all his hard work into.  “It was a pleasure.”

It’s a whole month later - enough time for the piece to heal - before you decide you want another one.  It’s not as spontaneous as the first time, instead led with an Instagram direct message to @jeonink.  (You half expect him not to answer;  you’re utterly delighted when he responds not five minutes later.) 

Maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s luck that has him with availability the same day you reach out, bringing you back to the studio three hours after you’ve messaged him.

He’s just as cute as before, black baseball cap pulled low over his ears, silver-lined ears twinkling beneath the shop lights.  

“So, what’re you thinking?”  

Truthfully, you hadn’t done much thinking.  Just like before, you’d decided you wanted a tattoo and, well, the rest had been history.  You figured you’d let him have free reign, given how happy you were with your first piece.  “A sleeve?”

That surprises him.  His whole face lights up, eyes wide, mouth rounding curiously.  “Like, a full sleeve?”  It’s not necessarily a no - more of an are you sure? he hides between the syllables.

“I think so.”

He nods slowly, knowingly, arms folded over his chest, expression suddenly unreadable.  “You caught the itch.”

Your own features twist, brows shooting high.  “The what?”

“The tattoo itch,”  he clarifies with a laugh, the sound sweeping your concern away like the sea.  “People say once you get one, you get addicted to the feeling.”  He’s extending both arms to you now, hands palm up.  For a moment, you’re note sure what he’s doing.  (In actuality, you’re distracted by the fact that he’s in a tee, muscle cording his limbs, undulating as he turns his arms over.)  “I got bit by it when I lived in Japan.  It’s actually what got me into tattooing myself.”

You remember what he’d said last time - how he’d spent a handful of years overseas, working in restaurants after having followed his last partner there.  He’d shared lots about his life, giving you the Sparknotes version while you’d ground enamel to fine dust.  

“I guess I have the itch then.”

“Guess you do.”  

Your dream comes to life in four excruciating sessions.  It’s some of the worst pain you’ve ever endured (you’re never going to get an elbow tattoo ever again) but you’d do it all again in a heartbeat, utterly in love with the mural that now lives on your skin.  A peony caps your shoulder while one runs halfway up your bicep.  Another takes up the entirety of your forearm.  There’s a darling little bird and delicately inked koi.  It’s breathtaking, greater than anything you could have dreamt up.  

You’ve been staring at it for at least three minutes now, tracing over the freshly laid colour with a tender touch.  You’re grateful for the SecondSkin, the clear bandage that wraps everything up and keeps it safe from your over eager hands.

“You did it.”  Jungkook’s grinning at you, feet kicked up where he sits, his usual bag of Choco Boys balanced in his lap.  “Big girl.”

From anyone else, it might sound condescending - might rub you the wrong way and have you glaring daggers.  Instead, you take it in stride, beaming at him from your seat.  He’s been there with you every step of the way, been there for every hour (seventeen over three months, to be exact) you’ve dedicated to finishing this beauty up.  Tease you as he might, you know he really is proud of you.  

“You mean we did it,”  you return, giddy like a child.  

“Ah, right.”  The chocolate-covered snack he’s devouring goes crunch crunch crunch before he speaks, mouth still full, eyes crinkled.  “I guess I did do all the work.”

“Hey!  Screw you!”  You’re glowering at him, middle finger raised in defiance.  

(How curious that your relationship has grown like this, turned from tattoo artist and client to what feels like more.  It probably makes sense, given the long hours you’ve spent together, the support he’s had to offer each time the pain has gotten this side of too much, chattering your teeth and dizzying your head.  Solidarity in pain and all that.)

(You really had tapped out once, when he’d crept his gun into the ditch of your elbow.  You’d asked him whether it’d hurt beforehand and he’d only laughed, shrugged off the question and continued with the careful shading to your inner arm.  That in itself had hurt like a biiitch;  you hadn’t thought it could get worse.)

(You’d been mistaken.)

“Am I wrong?”  He drawls, full of laughter and that big dumb smile of his you’ve grown accustomed to.  It eats up his cheeks and disappears his eyes, makes it hard to be mad at him when he looks so sweet.  

“Yes, you are.”  You’ve got absolutely nothing to back it up, but who cares.  This is the sort of banter the two of you have developed, like two old friends forced to spend too much time together.  (Not that you’d complain.  You’ve loved hearing his stories, all the tales he regales you with whenever you’re in his chair.)

A snort is his answer, the full roll of his eyes over-exaggerated and playful.  “You’re lucky we’re all finished or I’d sneak in an ugly fish somewhere on your arm.”

You think he’s kidding - know he takes too much pride in his work to do that.

Still, you stick your tongue out, hopping down from the bed with your freshly inked arm, hands clapping together in celebration.  “You wouldn’t dare.”  You’re confident, crossing to the bench to tug your flannel on, careful of the dull pain that throbs beneath the thin medical dressing.  

“Wouldn’t I?  I’m leaving anyway.”

You’re ready to call him out for it, insist he would never ruin the sanctity of his profession in such a way, when you realise the words he’s spoken, the casual tidbit he’s just dropped like it’s nothing.

“Leaving?”  

(Is it you or do you sound disappointed?  You can’t dwell on it for long, worried you’ll miss his explanation.  Had he mentioned it previously?  Slipped it in when you’d been delirious from pain?  No, you would’ve remembered that.  You swear you would’ve.)

“I’m moving to Tokyo.”  How he’s so casual, you have absolutely no idea.  You suppose it’s not a big deal for him - he’s not from here anyway.  Home is back in Korea, the place he’d spent most of his life before moving to Japan and then here, just two years ago.  (God, your memory is good.  If only you’d retained knowledge like this when you were in school.)  “My flight’s next weekend.”

Your face must be hilarious because Jungkook’s laughing, cackling like the evil villain in an anime.  

“Gonna miss me?”  

Would it be inappropriate to say yes?  Because you will, you realise the moment he’s posed the question.  You’ve grown to consider him a friend, someone who you send random memes to on Instagram (usually pertaining to #tattooartistproblems or one of your shared hobbies, like video games and finding the best noodle soup restaurant in the city).  

You go for the safe bet, answering with a question of your own.  “Are you gonna miss me?”

“I’ll miss your restaurant recs,”  he answers, offering honesty to your reticence.  “You can still send me funny photos though.”  

You can’t help your laugh, the tiny quirk of your mouth into a smile.  “I guess you’re right.  Will you still be tattooing?”  It’s an innocent enough question - you really do want to know.  You can’t imagine going to anyone else, even if it means you’ll be shelling out an absurd amount of money for a plane ticket.

“Yep, new shop.”  Something twinkles in his stare, has him giddy as he rises to his feet, tossing his empty packet of snacks into the trash bin.  “Actually, where I got most of mine done.”  You understand it then - that it’s a move of faith.  He’s finally come full circle.  You’re unbelievably happy for him, brimming with delight to mirror his pride.  

But you’re still going to give him a little bit of a hard time because you have to.  It wouldn’t feel right otherwise.  “Whoa, big shot.”

“I am actually,”  he sniffs, raking an ink-strewn hand through his hair.  It’s longer now than it was when you met him, curling over the tops of his ears, hanging in his eyes at every turn.  “You’ll be lucky if I remember you when I’m famous.”

“Famously lame, maybe,”  you tease, slipping your bag over your shoulder.  You busy yourself pulling your keys from the interior pocket, checking your phone as if you’re ready to go.  It’s only when you’re standing in the hallway - you have no real intention of departing like this and he knows that, considering you haven’t paid yet - when you level him with a half-formed smirk.  “But I guess I should take you for a drink?”  

His hoodie is on before you know it, yanked over his head and tugged into place as he joins you.  It’s become your regular routine - leaving together after your sessions, a perk of always booking the last slot he has available.  (Not that you relied on that, but simply because your work schedule didn’t really allow for anything else.)  “Obviously.”

Jeon Jungkook is a talented artist, a dedicated snacker, a lover of the colour black.  You discover, sitting on the patio of the nearby bar, that he’s also really, really good at holding his liquor.  

(Not that he’d ever indicated otherwise.)

“Do you think you’ll get anything else done?”  He’s on his sixth pint, casually leaned back in his chair as he picks at the fries you’d ordered but that he seems perfectly happy to help himself to.  (Payback for all the times he’s forced snacks on you maybe?)  “Like, a face tattoo?”

You scoff at the question as if greatly offended.  “You think I’d get a face tattoo?”  

While a little glazed in the eyes, you can tell he’s altogether coherent, grinning across the table at you.  “Hey, I don’t judge.  You like making surprise decisions, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Okay, so he’s got you there.  Used your own impulsive history against you.  “I would never.”  

“If you change your mind, do I get first dibs?”

“Dibs on what?  Tattooing me?”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world.  “Duh.”

You can only roll your eyes, tossing a wayward burnt fry end at him.  “Yes, Kook, you get first dibs on ruining my face.”

His expression twists, mouth shaping around words he’s keeping caged behind his teeth.  There’s something he isn’t saying, a comeback he’s chosen to lock up.  You wonder what it is.

“Hey - nothing wrong with face tattoos.”  

“Really?”  You’re leaning forward, a clear challenge written across your face.  “Then why don’t you have one?”  He has a million others as it is:  a hand, nearly the entirety of both arms, his chest, his shoulders, one of his legs.  (You haven’t seen them all in person but you have seen them online, memorialised on his Instagram feed.)  

“And hide all this?”  One inked hand is gesturing toward his own face, gesticulating wildly as if that’ll drive his point further home.  “I would never.”

“That’s what I said!”

It doesn’t matter to him, not when he’s fully sober and most certainly not now, when he’s slightly buzzed, eyes glossier than usual.  “But I’m cuter.  It’d be a shame if it were me.  You…”  The way he trails off is suggestive, indicative of something mocking and mean.  (Except it’s never cruel - far too friendly and soft to ever hurt your feelings.)  “—not so much.”

Another fry hits him right between the eyes and then another disappears into the hood of his sweater, lost to the black fabric that bunches up around his neck and hides the flush he’s been battling since you two got to the bar an hour ago.

“Don’t be rude!”  

He beams at you then, so unnecessarily endearing you can only throw one more piece at him. 

“I’m kidding.”  You knew that already but pretend to ignore the pseudo-apology, choosing instead to polish off the last of your now-cold fries.  A bad choice, you realise when he continues, surprising you with the words that come out of his liquor-laden mouth so much so that you almost choke.  “You’re actually pretty cute.”

(So what if you’ve sort of maybe been waiting to hear them?  Wondering if the tiny crush you’d developed was in some way reciprocated?)

(Not that this meant it was.  Only that you perhaps weren’t alone in thinking he was the most lovable - and somehow simultaneously hot - person you’d ever met.  It’s almost rewarding to know the long hours together hadn’t left him unscathed.)

“You all good?”  The look on his face is worse than that smile he usually offers, instead a devilish smirk that makes him look like Satan himself.  

Were you?  You’re not sure.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really?  You can’t?”  You’re not sure what that means, whether you’re simply reading too far into it.  But then he’s dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, head cocked curiously.  It’s a bait, you realise—and one you’ll gladly take.

“Should I have expected it?”

Shoulders hike, rising up around his ears.  “I thought I made it sort of obvious.”  

Had he?  Thinking back on it, you can’t really recall.  Of course, he’d always been friendly, indulging you in your pursuit of body art, sketching up the loveliest things you’d never even think to dream of;  accepting your distracting Instagram messages without complaint, always tossing you a like or some sort of acknowledgement no matter what you’d send (and you’d send some random, random stuff).  Chatting with him daily had just become the norm, conversation flowing freely whenever you’d pop in for your next session.

But that was just because he was a nice guy - or so you’d thought.  You realise now how wrong you’d been, too occupied with your own crush to notice his (if it could be called that).

“You like me,”  you hum, surprisingly nonchalant despite the little pitter patter in your chest, the flutter of your heart within your ribcage.  

“I think you’re cute,”  he retorts, though there’s no real weight to his rebuff.  The two statements are really one and the same and you’re giddy with the knowledge, absolutely tickled pink.

Except for the fact that he’s leaving, fully prepared to start a new life in another city in just one week.  The irony isn’t lost on you, like fate’s laughing even as she offers you this little crumb.  (You feel like Oliver Twist, frankly.)

“Same difference.”

He huffs - you’re reminded of how adorable he is when he does that - and downs the lukewarm remainder of his beer.  “I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.”  Where the confidence comes from, who knows.  You grip it tight with both hands though, hold it snugly as you level him with a stare that has his own unwavering.  It’s almost as if you’re caught in a staring match, a battle of unspoken wits. 

It drags on longer than it should, just the two of you locked to each other with nowhere to go. 

Then he does the last thing you expect:  shoves his chair aside and leans across the table, stealing a kiss and returning to his seat, all in the span of time it takes you to blink.  

(His lips are so soft.  A little chapped, a tiny bit dry, but soft - deceptively delicate.  Bitter, touched with sea salt and something else distinctly him.  French fries and beer and his Chapstick.) 

(For the briefest moment, you wonder whether you’d just imagined it - if your imagination had truly gotten the best of you and you’ve absolutely lost your mind.) 

“You just kissed me.”  It seems like you’ve found your new favourite hobby of just repeating things, giving live play-by-plays like an awkward narrator in a romcom.  

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re leaving.”  Speaking the words into existence feels bad;  you see the way his eyes tighten, the subtle sobering of his expression even while he tries to keep his cool.  

“I am.”  At least he’s realistic.  It saves you from any uncertainty, keeping the what-ifs at bay. 

You suppose it means you have nothing to lose. 

“Do it again.”

And Jungkook does - over and over, sinking the taste of him almost as deeply as ink, offering a piece of himself you want to keep for just as long.  

It takes you longer to add to your collection of art, nearly four whole years before you decide what you want next.  (It’s a back piece this time - a full body suit from your shoulders down past your ass.  Another cat, dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and surrounded by flowers.  An ode to your first tattoo, to the one that had started it all.)

(You’re not sure you’re ready for the pain, though.)

“Lay down,”  the artist instructs, back turned to you, busy preparing his materials.  You’d stripped down while he was occupied, discarded all your clothes to the allocated basket and stood quietly in anticipation. 

You do as he says, dropping atop the tattoo bed with a quiet oof.  The stencil has already been laid, the entire outline ready to be inked into your skin.  You can’t deny you’re more than a little nervous.  It’s been years since you’d last gotten anything done, uninterested in finding a new artist since Jungkook had left. 

(Which he had, exactly as he’d intended, gone on a 6 AM flight that you’d driven him to, teary-eyed and embarrassed.  He’d laughed at you standing outside of the departure gate, his suitcase at his side, arms wrapped around your shoulders.  You’d refused to show your face, burying it instead into the warmth of his neck, into the familiar scent of him that was going away for who knows how long.

“Stop being a baby,”  he’d said, smothering you in kisses, the full weight of his laughter palpable through your close proximity.  It'd rumbled out of his chest all the way into yours, finding a home behind your ribcage, right alongside where your heart fluttered, shaded blue and sad.

“Stop being mean,”  you’d countered, petulant like a child.

It couldn’t be helped.  You’d had only one week with him - one glorious, chaotic week filled with eating too much junk, rewatching your favourite animes, and generally making up for all the lost time you’d never even known there was.  As amazing as it’d been, it still hadn’t prepared you for the goodbye.

That was your fault, though.  You’d wrongly entertained the idea that maybe things would work out, that he’d change his mind or ask to take it - whatever you had, that is - with him, keep it going somehow.  He hadn’t.)

“Do you have a preference where I start?”  You’re unbothered, hair loosely knotted over your shoulder.  Ready for the session to start - ready to feel the familiar sting again.  (You’re proud of that.  It might have taken you years and years but here you were, tackling something huge.)

“Nope.”  

“Sounds good.”

The buzzing begins and pressure lands upon the small of your back, a gloved hand laid over the centre of your spine.  You remind yourself to breathe in, out, focus on something other than the pain that fizzles over your skin and then ebbs into tenderness.  Where he’s started - just above the fattiest part of your butt - isn’t too bad.  Tolerable and yielding.

You can do this.

Your back aches in a different way than you’d anticipated, soreness buzzing beneath inflamed skin and making it uncomfortable to move around.  It’s not any worse than your arm had been - the lines along your spine had felt comparable to that of your elbow - but it’s fresh, not dulled by years like your sleeve now was.

The artist is stripping his gloves off, your back neatly covered and the bed stripped of its original tissue paper.  He’s leaned against the sink, onigiri held in his now-free hands, nibbling at the edge of the rice ball as you turn this way and that in the mirror.  “You did good.”

You’re still undressed, admiring the linework from different angles, shimmying closer to your reflection to catch the lighter inking that makes up the undefined edges of the various florals.  Something tells you that you should be shy - eager to redress after spending nearly five hours naked in the secluded studio - but you don’t care.  Your back is quickly becoming a masterpiece, something that might as well be hung in the halls of the Louvre.  You’re in love with it.

“Thanks.”

You mean thank you for his compliment but also for all his hard work, the long hours he’s put into bringing this beauty to life.  It means so much - like progressing to the next level.  

Which, you suppose it is.  This is a fresh start for you.  A new beginning in a new city.  

“Proud of you,”  he hums, suddenly close, broad palms searing heat over your hips.  He’s careful to avoid the edge of the bandage that wraps your back and holds you delicately, like fine china or the most precious jewel in the world, lips sweet against your temple.  

You meet his eyes in the mirror - the same sweet doe-eyed stare from five years ago.  A little darker now, aged by the hand of time but endlessly kind, shining beneath the overhead lights.

“Proud of you,”  you chirp, identical smiles spreading over your faces.  

Jungkook’s having none of it though, bratty as usual.  “Proud of us.”

You suppose you can settle for that.  You really are proud of the two of you - for how far you’ve made it and all the obstacles you’ve overcome.  From the first few weeks of sadness, all the melancholy that’d set in when he’d left, to exactly one month after, when he’d called you in the middle of the night, drunk and stumbling home.  

(It’d been infuriating at the time - incoherent and foolish as he was - but it’d bloomed something between you, something neither of you could ignore.)

Four years of miserable long distance had become this:  a love that's brought you back to his side, to a city you’re unfamiliar with but that he calls home; to a city that never sleeps, loud with pachinko machines and some of the best food you’ve ever had;  to the place you’ve been missing every minute you were apart.  

You’d never thought you would move for someone, uproot your entire life for a relationship, but he’d changed that.  Made it worth it in ways you had never considered.  Convinced you more and more with each trip you’d taken, two visits twice a year, for a measly two weeks at a time.

“Should we head home?”  He means your physical home - the apartment the two of you had decided on in Roppongi, the one you haven’t seen yet, that he’s had to move into all by himself.  It’s not quite as nice as the home in his arms.  

You say yes anyway.

“I’m so talented.”  The words come entirely too whole for your liking, loud somewhere above your head.

“Are you serious?”  You’re levelling your boyfriend with the most incredulous look, whole face scrunched up, hands fisted into his dark sheets.  It’s uncomfortable at this angle - kinking your neck as you look over your shoulder - but you really can’t believe he’s just said that.  He’s knelt between your legs, knees spread wide around his own, his hand halfway up your back and tracking heat over your spine.  

Somehow, he has the audacity to look surprised.  “What?”

“You’re really patting yourself on the back right now?”  Now, when he should be pounding you into oblivion, working that big fat cock of his through your fluttering walls, making you moan his name into his pillows like it’s his only job? 

(It truthfully could be.  You’d rank his skills in the bedroom on par with his skills in the studio.)

“Oh.”  All at once, he’s the devil - sin personified. Or would be, if he didn’t somehow still look infuriatingly cute.

The gentle touch turns bruising, heel of his palm pressed hard into the tender notches of your spine.  “You don’t like when I admire my own work?”  Asked as he shifts behind you, length dragging out of your dripping cunt to gently tap against your aching clit.  The head of it glides through your folds, mercilessly teasing but never slipping back in, never filling you whole like you need.  (Because you really do need it.  You haven’t seen him in six months, left to your own devices - literally.)  It feels like heaven and hell, too good and not nearly enough all at once. 

“Kook,”  you snap. Try to, anyway, his name far too whiny and breathless to hold any real weight.

“I’m just admiring you, sweetheart.”  He’s dragging the hand over your back, tracing all the lines he’s embedded into your skin.  They make up his favourite piece, inked permanently into his favourite canvas.  A testament to his hard work, his dedication, his love.

Any other time, you might not care.  Here and now, after not having felt his touch in what feels like forever, you’re burning from the inside out, a million volts of electricity tripping your circuits.  When you speak, it’s more a plea than a reprimand, uttered so sweetly you know he can’t deny you. “Admire me later.”  

“I’ve missed you” is his only answer, punctuated by a fluid roll of his hips, the heavy press of his cock back into your dripping cunt.  “I’ve missed this,”  he breathes out, sinking all the way in, so slow you can feel every ridge and vein as he fills you.  

“Missed you too,”  you parrot back, a little delirious now that you’ve gotten what you want.  

Now that he’s right where he should be - with you.

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​​​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​​​ @snackhobi​​​​ @codeinebelle​ @xjoonchildx​

#goldenclosetnet #magicshopnet #ficswithluv #thebtswritersclub #networkbangtan #heartsforbts #bts #bts au #bts imagine #bts fic #bts oneshot #bts smut #bts fluff #bts jungkook #jeon jeongguk #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook au #jungkook imagine #jungkook fic #jungkook oneshot #jungkook fluff #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #work.zip #oneshot.zip #jungkook.doc #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook smut

[diaphragmjellyfish]

Careful

So after I wrote that last Paul fic involving vaginismus, I got quite a few messages saying how much it meant to some of you and I just want to say how much it warms my heart to bring others joy or comfort through my writing. Like I’ve been telling a lot of you, fan fictions are amazing. I love them. But they’re not always realistic, and that can be damaging to people who think sex is supposed to go a certain way and then blame themselves when it’s not like that. We’re all different, and everyone deserves to have a partner that cares about your well-being and pleasure. Don’t settle for less. 

Seth Clearwater x vaginismus!reader smut 

(Seth is 18+ in this)

Being with Seth Clearwater was, in a word, magical. He truly was the best boyfriend you could ever ask for. He was always there for you when you were upset or having anxiety, always made you smile and laugh, got you cute little presents or sometimes cool rocks that he found on patrol, and was super physically affectionate. Hugs, kisses, cuddles, hickeys, hand-holding. Y’all were the poster children for PDA. It made you nervous when you first started dating, because you thought he would want to get intimate right away. You knew that if you told him you didn’t want to have sex right away, he would be more than understanding. That’s just the kind of person he was. But you feared that holding off on intimacy would damage your relationship. Seth’s love language was physical touch. Yours was too, so stopping things every time it got too heated was a big roadblock in the relationship. Or so you thought. 

The day came where you had to tell Seth about your vaginismus. He had asked tons of questions before letting you know how he felt about it all. What causes it? What does it feel like? How does the physical therapy work? Is there anything I can do to help? Once you explained the logistics of it all, you guys could start to be more open and honest about what you were comfortable with doing. It turns out, he thought you just didn’t want to be intimate with him. He thought you were only sticking around because of the imprint bond. Once you explained that yes, you definitely really really want to have sex with him, you just can’t right now, he was all smiles and wanted to try all kinds of stuff that didn’t involve penetration. You guys would have super open conversations about what he could and couldn’t do to you, and started experimenting with the things you were comfortable with. Let’s just say, Seth became an absolute master in the art of oral sex. For a while, it was all he could do, so he did it. A lot. I mean, you’d have to physically pull him away sometimes when it got too sensitive. He loved knowing that he could make you feel so much pleasure. It made him feel needed. Wanted. And of course you returned the favor. 

You guys definitely have the foreplay routine down pat. Seth was almost always there when it came time for you to dilate every day. He would sit next to you, hold your hand, kiss you, or just talk to you about his day. Whatever you wanted, and whatever would distract you. He was so supportive, that when the day finally came that you wanted to try having penetrative sex with him, he said no. He didn’t think you had been using the biggest dilator long enough. What if he hurt you? What if you just didn’t like it? What if what if what if….. 

But you had been waiting long enough. His support honestly turned you on. Every day when he would sit there while you did your therapy, you wanted to jump his bones for being so. Damn. sweet. No guy had ever cared about you to the point of withholding from sex for you. They always just let you put up with the pain. Not Seth. 

“But baby, what if it hurts you?” he voiced. 

“Then we can stop and try again another time.” 

“But what if-”

“Seth,” you cut him off. “I know my body. Believe me, I’ve had to pay attention to it every day for the past year and a half while I did my exercises. I’m ready. If you don’t want to, that’s fine, but don’t say no because of me. I want to try.” You sounded so soft and adorable while you said the last part that he nearly melted through the floor. Here he was, with the most beautiful girl on the planet all but begging him to have sex with her, and he was hesitating. That’s what love made you do. 

“Ok, we can try. But you have to promise, I mean really promise, that the second it starts to feel anything but good, you’ll tell me.” His voice was laced with concern. 

“I promise,” you said with so much confidence that he had to believe you. 

“Alright. So we’re doing this. Did you want to… try it like, now?” The poor boy was a blushing mess right now. You just nodded your head and smiled. “Okay. Cool. Yeah, that’s cool. We can do it now. I’m totally down with that.” You knew based off of the way he was acting that you were going to have to make the first move, so you walked up, grabbed his face between your hands, and kissed him.

 He seemed stiff, so you pulled away and said, “Everything ok?”

“Yeah! Yeah, yeah. Everything is perfect. I just… do you want to go to my room?” Again, you just nodded, and let him take your hand and lead you into his bedroom, closing the door behind you guys. Jeez, he seemed more nervous than you were. You sat down on the middle of his bed, and reached your arms out and did grabby-hands until he laughed and joined you, lying you down and hovering over you. He kissed you sweetly, giving you every opportunity to say stop. You didn’t, but instead threaded your fingers up through his inky hair and pulled him closer to you. He took this as a green light to deepen the kiss, and brush his tongue up against your own. You guys continued kissing for a while since this was comfortable territory for you both. He eventually started moving his hands under your shirt, first massaging your stomach with his thumb and then moving up. He pulled back from you suddenly, eyes wide. “No bra?” 

“Nope. I didn’t want anything to get in the way today,” you smirked and slid your hands over his shoulders. He had a look of awe on his face as he pulled the hem of your shirt up. You sat up and took it off, throwing it to the floor. Okay, yeah, so you were eager. You’d never enjoyed sex before and you thought you actually might for the first time. It was exciting. 

As you laid back down, his eyes never left yours. He came back down for another kiss before trailing his mouth down your jaw, suckling at your neck for a few minutes before it was covered in faint red marks, and moved down to your breasts. Seth had always worshipped your chest. It was one of his favorite parts of your body. The size, the shape, the feel, were all beyond perfect to him. You gasped as he took a nipple into his mouth, your back arching up into him. He brought his hand up to massage your other breast while his tongue continued swirling around the first one. You closed your eyes and tipped your head back, just relaxing into the feeling and letting your muscles be at ease. He sat up for a second, which was far too long, to take his shirt off, and you opened your eyes to admire his sculpted body. You would have loved him even if he wasn’t a shapeshifting beast, but damn, the muscles that came with were such a nice bonus. And they weren’t just for show. You never told him this, but whenever he picked you up so easily or carried you around or pushed you up against a wall, you got beyond turned on. You always wondered what it would be like to have him actually get rough with you, but that would be for another time. 

Once Seth thought your boobs had been shown enough attention, he slid his hand back down to your stomach, and then lower. He fiddled with the waistband of your jeans before popping the button at the front and dragging the zipper down torturously slow. You felt so hot at this point that you thought you would climb out of your skin if he didn’t touch you properly soon. You raised your hips in a silent signal for him to take them off, but he was too distracted by the feeling of your soft skin to notice. 

“Seth,” you whispered. He looked up at you, hand already stilling in case you wanted to stop. 

“What’s wrong?” he panicked. 

“Nothing is wrong. Can you help me take these off?” His eyes widened at this, and then he smiled. He sat up on his knees, gripping the waistband of your jeans on either side of you, and you raised your hips as he pulled them down slowly, admiring your legs as each inch of them was revealed. His breath caught in his throat as he took in the lacey g-string you were wearing, which you had bought specially for this moment. You never really cared about wearing cute underwear before since it would always end up on the floor anyways, but this was a big day. At least you hoped it would be. So you wanted to wear something cute, and boy did Seth appreciate it. 

Once your jeans were all the way off, he gave a low whistle and said, “damn. My girlfriend is the most beautiful woman alive. How did I get so lucky?” 

You hit his shoulder and looked away blushing at this. And then… oh, then. 

Your sexy werewolf boyfriend lay down on his stomach in between your thighs, lifting your legs onto his shoulders, and gave you a smirk that could only be described as savagely canine. He kissed the insides of your thighs, nipping here and there before soothing with his tongue, inching closer and closer to where you really wanted him to be. He liked to take his time with this part. He flattened his tongue and gave your center a broad lick over your panties, eliciting a small gasp. He did this several more times until your hips were writhing and grinding, desperate for more friction. He reached under you, gripping the fabric of your underwear before all but ripping them off you. 

“Hey, easy. Those were expensive,” you haphazardly pointed, too lost in the moment to really care. 

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he spoke lowly into your center right before diving in and wrapping his lips around you, sucking and kneading with his tongue. You gave a small moan, fingers once again tangling in his hair. He kept this up, alternating between firm licks and small sucks, his tongue constantly flicking that perfect spot. Seth heard in Paul’s head through the mind link once that porn wasn’t accurate at all to what women actually got off on. You were supposed to pick 2, maybe 3 key moves and do those until she was close, and then just keep doing exactly that until she came. Women are about consistency and rhythm, so if you change it up, they have to start all over. This advice had not failed him yet. Had not failed either of you, and you could have kissed Paul if you found out that that’s where Seth had gotten this tip. Fifteen delicious minutes later and you were teetering on the edge. You used to be insecure about how long you took to finish, but Seth had always reassured you that he just wanted you to feel good, and he would spend all day between your legs if he could. You were right there, legs shaking and eyes screwed shut, but couldn’t quite get that knot in your stomach to unravel. Seth pulled away, sensing your impatience, and knew you needed a little push. He got up and opened your bedside table, pulling out the large bottle of lube that you used for dilating, slathering his middle finger in it, and laid back down between your legs. 

You knew what he was going to do, and trusted him enough to be careful, so you lie back and relax, knowing he would get you there no matter what. He dove back in with his lips, tongue flicking and rubbing for another few seconds before positioning his finger at your entrance, swirling it around to distribute the lube. He looked up at you, knowing you liked to guide his hand at first to make sure you were comfortable. You grabbed his hand, sliding his finger in slowly, inch by inch. You were pretty worked up at this point, so it didn’t take very long before his finger way fully inside you. He stilled his hand, waiting for you to give the all-clear, still sucking at your clit like a starving man. You tugged at his hair, shifting your hips against his hand, which he knew to be the cue to start moving. You didn’t much like the in-out feeling of being fingered. You preferred the pressure of him pressing on certain spots. He twisted his finger slowly so that his palm was facing upward, and began to stroke your top wall, making you shudder. 

This was going to push you over that edge. Several minutes of consistency, pressure, and suction had you cumming hard, grinding on his face and moaning his name loudly. When you came down, Seth was still going, though more gently since he knew how sensitive you got post-orgasm. You had to whine and tug on his hair to get him to take his mouth off you, his finger stilling but remaining inside. 

“Wow,” you breathed, eyes closed in a haze.

“Wow yourself, Gorgeous,” he winked at you. You made a move to reach down and grab him through his sweatpants, but Seth was quick to pull your hand away. “This is about you tonight,” he said with total sincerity. You wanted to argue that it was about both of you, but you knew he had his mind set on taking care of you, so you decided to let him. “You ready to try, baby?” 

“Hell yes,” you laughed, sitting up. “Maybe I could start on top? That’s how I dilate and I could control it better that way.” 

“I was just about to say the same thing,” he teased back. He moved to lie back against the headboard after taking his pants off as you kneeled on the edge of the bed, grabbing the bottle of lube. While you were turned away from him, he brought his hand to a cheeky slap on your ass, catching you by surprise. 

“Hey!” You squealed and then giggled, turning to give him a playful glare. 

“I couldn’t resist! It was right there,” He said, holding his hands up in surrender. 

You simply rolled your eyes at this, grabbing a condom from the bedside table as well. You turned to him, still kneeling, and handed him the condom, which he ripped open with his teeth (and it was so hot). He slowly rolled it onto his rock hard dick, keeping a hand around the base as he looked up at you. “You absolutely sure about this?” he questioned. 

“Yes Seth. I really want to.” 

With this, you climbed up to straddle his lap, squirting generous amounts of lube onto him and spreading it around with your hand. You knelt up, positioning him at your entrance after throwing the lube on the floor. He sat straight up, hands going around your waist, one reaching up behind you to cradle your head. He gave you a passionate kiss as you lowered slightly, letting the tip of him find its way in. You stopped here, doing some deep breathing as Seth stared intently at your face, looking for any signs of discomfort. Seth was slightly smaller than your largest dilator, but what had you slightly concerned was the friction. The in-out-in-out factor usually caused you pain when you tried bouncing on your dilators. You would just have to keep the lube on stand-by and remember to breathe with your stomach. 

When you were sure you would be ok, you lowered more, sinking down an inch with every exhale. Seth lovingly rubbed your back, hand petting your hair as he waited patiently for you to adjust. You felt unbelievable around him, but he didn’t want to express too much pleasure, fearful that you would put up with any pain for his benefit. He settled for nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck, holding you as close as he physically could. You lightly scratched at his shoulders, holding on for dear life. You had to stop for a moment at the half-way point, trying your best to control your pelvic muscles and picturing a flower bud opening in your mind. Slowly, you lowered another inch, and then another, and another, until you could feel his thighs touch you. At this, you sat down fully on his lap, his cock sheathed fully inside of you. 

I need a minute you thought. This was a lot. Silicone dilators were one thing, but to have your boyfriend inside you like this was completely different. He was warm, hot even, and you could feel his pulse, feel the throb in his veins. The twitch of him deep inside you. 

“Fuck,” Seth gasped quietly, as if he didn’t want you to hear. 

“Feels good?” you questioned. 

“Mm-hmm. Are you okay?” He asked right back, face still buried in your neck. 

“I think so. Just give me a second.” 

“Take all the time you need, baby. Do you want me to touch you?” His hand came over from your back and he grazed your lower stomach with his knuckles. 

“No. Too much,” was all the answer he needed before he wrapped his arm around your back once again, massaging your skin soothingly. This was going on too long, you thought. Seth was probably dying right now. You didn’t want him to suffer, so you lifted your hips a couple inches, sinking back down on him. You felt a stinging sensation at your entrance, but ignored it. Before you could lift your hips again, Seth grabbed your waist in a vice-like grip, still holding you against him but stopping all movement. 

“Don’t you dare,” he spoke softly yet firmly. “I can feel how tense your muscles are right now. Relax and then you can try again.” You wanted to cry at this. He was getting frustrated. He was going to break up with you! But you silenced those negative comments and realized he was right. So you took some deep breaths again, focusing on the pressure of his tip deep in your walls, the feel of his fingers grazing your back, his other hand playing with your hair. You closed your eyes and focused only on the sensations. “There you go, Sweetheart,” he said as he felt you relax around him. Instead of going straight up and down this time, you ground your hips against his, making circles on top of him. And it felt… good? Jesus. For the first time in your life, sex wasn’t hurting. It still felt a little tight and stiff, but it didn’t hurt. So you kept at it. Your breathing picked up at the sensation, along with the exertion of kneeling for so long. Seth pulled his face out of your neck and used the hand that was petting your hair to pull you into a passionate kiss. You guys made out as you continued to circle your hips, both of your breathing labored. Seth gripped your ass in one of his hands, helping control your movements as your legs began to shake. 

“You getting tired, baby?” he questioned, even though he could see that you were. You just nodded, slowing down a little. “Do you want to try a different position? Maybe one where I could do some work?” You wanted to, but were nervous. The trust you had for Seth was absolute, but what other position could work? 

“Like what?” you questioned hesitantly.

He thought for a moment, hands stilling your hips, before he cracked a smile. “I have an idea. Here,” he spoke as he shifted you both further down the bed and laid back so he was flat on his back, you still on top of him. He brought you down so you were stomach to stomach, hands going to the small of your back, and planted his feet on the bed. He held you close as he lightly thrusted up into you. 

“Oh,” you breathed a moan. This felt really good. Being on top and controlling the movement had been good to adjust, but having Seth fuck up into you like this was another level of pleasure. He barely thrusted, but still hit the right spots. And you could still easily lift your hips to pull away if it started to hurt. 

“Good?” he whispered.

“Mm-hmm. Oh my God,” you whispered to yourself, reaching up with one hand to grab the headboard. You thought you heard him breath a laugh, but were too lost in the moment to pay much attention to anything but Seth’s movements. He kept a steady pace of small thrusts, going slowly, never questioning the pace or pushing your limits. After a while, you started to push your hips back against his as he went into you. 

“You want to try going a little faster, Sweetheart?” he questioned gently. 

“Yes,” you said with half-lidded eyes as you looked right into Seth’s coffee-colored irises. 

He brought himself out a little further at this, pushing back into you slightly faster than before, and hitting that perfect soft spot inside you that had your toes curl. You released a real moan this time, and Seth swore he could have cum from that sound alone. He kept this pace up, not daring to go any faster since you both were already enjoying it so much and he didn’t want to risk ruining the moment with pain. For the first time in your life, you felt actual pleasure from penetration, and you wanted more. You wanted to cum, and you felt like you actually could. With this realization, you brought one of your hands down to your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles on it that had your moans go up in pitch. 

Seth grabbed your hand, putting it back on his chest as he reached down and began rubbing you with his own fingers and cockily stating, “That’s my job.” You felt your eyes roll back in your head at this, and it was the hottest thing Seth had ever seen. You felt a knot begin to form in your stomach, tightening faster than it ever had before. After just a couple more minutes of this, you moan “Oh, Seth. I think I’m gonna cum.” Of course this only spurred him on to keep going. Consistency, he reminded himself. Don’t change a thing. And he didn’t, not until you were seeing stars, trembling on top of him and screaming his name as your climax crashed into you like a wave. You had to rip his hand off your dripping center when the sensations became too much, and he stilled inside of you. 

“Did you finish?” you questioned him once you came down, confused. If he had, it had sure been subtle. 

“No, but I didn’t know if you were okay to keep going. You seem pretty sensitive right now.” 

“Seth, I want you to cum too. Just… do you think you could like, not take a while? Like, could you finish in the next couple minutes? I’m okay now but I don’t want to push it.” 

“Baby, I can finish in the next 30 seconds after looking at your face while you came like that.” You blushed deeply at this, breath picking back up again as he continued to gently thrust into you. He screwed his eyes shut after a couple thrusts, losing rhythm in his hips as he spilled into the condom with a growl and relaxed underneath you. “Fuck,” was all he said. 

You laughed. “Yeah, fuck.” 

He let you sit up and pull off of him at your own pace before dismounting and moving to walk to the bathroom. 

“Wait! Wait,” he almost yelled, startling you half to death as he sat up, removed and tied off the condom, and hopped off the bed to throw it away. “This is the part where you let me clean you up and take care of you.” 

“You just did take care of me, Seth,” which made him giggle. 

“Not like that silly goose! Just stay there.” He joked as he made his way into the bathroom, coming out with a damp towel. “Spread ‘em,” he motioned towards your legs. You laughed deeply, obliging. He was ultra gentle as he wiped the lube off the insides of your thighs, kissing your knees as he finished. Then, he threw the towel into the hamper and retrieved his softest sweatshirt and placed it over your head as you moved your arms into the sleeves. “And now, we cuddle.” He looked so damn pleased with himself. 

You laid your head on Seth’s warm chest, his arms coming to wrap around your waist. You two stayed like this for a while, just soaking in the details of what just happened. You did it. You had sex with your boyfriend. Actual penetrative sex, and it didn’t hurt. 

As if reading your mind, Seth spoke. “I’m so proud of you.” 

#twilight #twilight smut #seth clearwater #seth clearwater x reader #seth x reader #vaginismus #dilating #booboo stewart #paul lahote #embry call #wolf pack #sam uley #jacob black #jared cameron

[a-weird-writer]

Can I get one of X and Jewel going through a scenario like the one we were talking about? Nothing R rated, like they're cuddling after the events of MMX 7 and he DOES have that curiosity. ^^

(The particular scenario: being squished by boobies while cuddling XD. So, boob warning. -Weirdo)

Accidentally Boob Squished

Mega Man X

X

It started as cuddling…

It was like any normal day; brimmed of stopping crime, arresting Mavericks, and discussing solutions with close allies. X's heart ever hardens after every foiled Sigma plot, unmoved; he always looks forward to leaning on the supportive soul of his S/O, coming home to a refresher makes a long day of work worth it. His hope, his belief in a better future, his reason for being. His S/O. X can never go out and return from a mission without something to long for, without pleasant reassurances, and not only for his friends. A goodbye till the next hello-and a hello till the next goodbye after that. A lingering promise, given in earnest, some form of gentle comfort and contact from a beloved to look forward to in his returning call. Missing every touch just as the last parts, his core sours at the causes for your absentee even if he doesn't mean too. It was supposed to end like a normal day. His beloved's embrace cures his exhaustion after a chaotic day of support in the Maverick Hunter sidelines and teaching Axl some of the basic ropes of being a Hunter. Out of work for the time being, all he wants is to faint dead in your welcoming arms like a fairytale prince's dramatic princess when he enters home. Home sweet home. X doesn't think when he enthusiastically reaches forward, desperate for your warmth. Practically swimming toward you, a fish hungry for bait, defeated by his desire to become lost in the beating of your center, sweet and serene. He was so glad to see you, it's been mere weeks although it felt like years.

…but then, suddenly breasts!

Bewildered. The first second he is locked in the chasm shaped as your boobs there is a short-lived silence, its eternity. In the next, in the many won battles he fought, you never saw him move so fast. X suffocates within not only your pulp meats, but also in deep embarrassment, swelling head to toe. The moment his head moon lands in your bosom he rockets his head into space the instant his body allows it, it's almost scary how quickly his head yeeted from your chest as quickly as it dropped in. You don't know what's worse, the fact you were completely comfortable-albeit surprised- your super mature and typically observant boyfriend paid an unexpected visit to the empty valley in-between your breasts or that you found it less embarrassing and more hysterical (Maybe both.) than what X clearly felt in his blatant panic of random gibberish. Mouth curled downward, his shocked green robotic dots tightening, surprise turned a horrified grimace. Which then turns into nervous but determined, composing speech. Stammering, nonexistent words, overlapping sentences voiced in energized emotions, occupied by meaningful apologies, meanwhile he tries calming himself. His body isn't shaking, though his fingers tremble, waving them side to side in his assertion; explaining he didn't mean to fall into your breasts! Promise! Difficulty lessens when you finally assure him you aren't hurt, nor are you going to break it off with him.

Accidents happen, such is life, even to advanced Reploids. But he was so nervous his slip up was going to cost your relationship, be the final deal breaker from his mess of a life. You weren't going to rip his head off, you would rather perish than hurt your lover unprovoked, but his anxiety just suddenly spiked! Relief showers, raining gentle dew over him, blissful weather. He still seems skeptical, he probably will laugh at himself later, getting overworked by something so utterly stupid. X sticks to being 4 feet apart from you, he insists till he actually forgives himself for something that absolutely wasn't his fault, he just doesn't want another accident happening! It would be an accident you would welcome in all honesty. Your discomfort is a big no-no in his book, he would strike down any man or robot who dares alike. X maintains no memory of his child self's younger days, but he can guess he wasn't the brightest bulb, despite Dr. Light's hologram insisting the exact opposite. With that in mind, if you ever opened your breasts up whether exposed or not, well... If you offered that means you don't mind if he laid on them, right? He's checking to be sure is all! Yep, this day could've been grimmer, but at least you have him in your arms yet again. All he wants to do is rest, he wants that much. No Maverick attacks, no important missions, no anything. Just your universe, population you and X. You comfort him in your peaceful hug, hands buried in his hair, your love lighting the last few stars in your shared sky. Holding him close, hands intertwined, hearts melting together, like they always do. As you always will.

#kitgirl91 #megaman #megaman x #megaman x reader #x x reader #x #request #writing #my writing #writing request #megaman x x reader #tw breasts