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niragisimp · 1 year

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The Pain Before (Niragi x Reader) Part Nine

(TW: Drunk sexual attempts, Non-con, Sexual Assault)

Part Eight, Series Masterlist, Part Ten

You didn't see Niragi for a while after that night. Maybe it was because you did what you were told, in a way. You thought of the looks people would've given you if you just walked around all day wearing Niragi's shirt, so you opted to wear it around your waist instead. It didn't help much, the looks were still just as persistent as you thought they would be. You did notice that whenever you got nervous or anxious, you found yourself holding onto the fabric, rubbing it between your fingertips. 'Maybe it's the softness,' you thought. It wouldn't take long before you realized you were wrong.

Kuina had been coming to your room more often to check up on you, bringing food along with her cheery self. You always accepted graciously, and today was no exception.

You grabbed the plate from her hands with both of yours, "Thanks, I was starving! Crazy to think how often you forget to eat here." You shot her a smile before digging into your fruit first. It was always canned food mostly, it stayed fresher for longer, but you didn't mind. Food was food, especially since game night was surely ahead of you.

"When I first got here, it was so crazy! Like, there was food, but it had already started molding! So gross," Kuina popped a pear slice in her mouth before continuing, "Honestly, I'm kinda thankful for Chishiya for bringing me here. Food is everywhere!" She made you chuckle.

You looked down at your plate, fiddling with your food as a natural smile crept up to your face, "You know, you bringing me food like this reminds me of when I first got here. I never got to really thank you for that, though." Kuina tilted her head questioningly, "What do you mean? I never brought you food."

You paused for a moment, your hand lingering in place, "Huh... Well, when I sprained my ankle, someone left plates of food outside my door. They were always gone before I could get to thank them, so I guess I always just assumed it was you, or Chishiya..."

Kuina laughed at the thought, "Chishiya isn't that kind of guy, trust me. Although I have to say that's kinda weird, maybe you have a friendly stalker?" Niragi immediately flashed through into your mind, shaking your head to rid the thought. "Y-yeah... Maybe." You changed the subject, bringing up Borderland life instead.

"Have you seen Hatter lately? He's not looking so good." Kuina did have her fair share of gossip, even in a death land. "I guess he's sending out people more frequently, Aguni's been on edge too. Maybe something's happening?" She thought out loud. You listened intently to her words, thinking them over.

"Isn't there one card nobody has seen yet? Maybe he's getting antsy about finding it." Kuina hummed in response, "Maybe. Either way, I heard from Chishiya there's gonna be another outing tonight. Even for those that have days left." You felt your heart drop. "Another one? It's barely been a day since I had my last game..."

Kuina gave you a sympathetic look, "Me too. Everyone but Executives have to go. I'm hoping Chishiya will get me into a good group." You sighed, bringing your plate up closer to your lips, "Ugh, I hope it's not another Spades game. I'm tired of them." Little did you realize, you might as well have just jinxed yourself. That night, put into a group of random Beachgoers, you had your worst game to date.

Niragi pushed through the door, his heart nearly beating out of his chest. His eyes landed on you immediately, the blood of others covering half your body from the waist up. He could see your eyes still not being able to quite focus in on him just yet. He approached silently, or as silently as he could, given his heavy breathing. He had drowned out all possible sense of clarity once he heard what state you returned in.

He pulled you into him, wrapping both his arms around you. Resting his chin on the top of your head, you stood there in silence together; him, relishing your scent, and you, taking in the softness of his shirt, the lingering smell of his cologne. He wanted, no, needed, words to come out. Words of comfort, perhaps. Words of scolding for going off without him, but his heart nagged at him. If you belonged to anyone, it certainly wasn't him. 'Not yet.'

Against his need to hold you, he pushed himself back, lifting your face to meet his, "Are you alright?" His voice reminded you of that day. Soft, almost gentle, in his own way. You looked into his onyx eyes, feeling the numbness in your body melt into them. The tears came unwillingly, spilling out before you could open your mouth to speak. Niragi just stared at you for a moment, seemingly lost in confusion. His hand dropped from your shoulder to grab your own, pulling you into the bathroom.

You wanted to resist, to crawl into a ball and drop off the face of whatever world this was. But you let him take you, sitting you on the floor as the water turned on. He contemplated for a moment before sighing heavily to himself. You couldn't tell if it was out of frustration or pity, but you couldn't gather yourself to figure it out. You sat silently as he dropped down to his knees, lifting up each limb carefully, and began to undress you. He was almost delicate in how he handled you, like a cracked doll about to break if he wasn't careful.

Maybe that's all you were to him. The way he dressed you, gave you food, made sure you stayed around so he could look at you. Almost like some sort of prize. It almost riled you up, until you recalled the foggy night in the back of your mind.

It was the first game you played together. Niragi kept you on his shoulders to reach the flag while others were pushed and shoved; literally fed to the wolves. But he held onto your thighs like you would float away if he didn't. He carried you to Ann, leaving without so much as a cocky remark. He left food when he knew you would have trouble with the stairs, even taking your plate while you talked with Chishiya and Kuina.

There was one night you still couldn't quite recall. You were a bit high on painkillers, whereas the day after you remember Chishiya telling you not to take too many. But you woke up after a horrid dream, your brain and body still a mess. There was a person sitting in your room that night, watching you. You remember how they towered over you on the bed, almost as if about to take advantage of you. But they didn't. Instead, they planted a soft kiss on your forehead, leaving without so much as a word.

Your focus came back to the present as the hot water enveloped you. You looked over, seeing Niragi's sleeves dripping wet as he scooped water onto your bruised body. He poured the water over your shoulders, his eyes focused on the blood covering your skin. Never would you have thought Niragi would even be this worried about someone, let alone yourself.

He stopped for a moment before taking a cloth from the towel rack, dipping it in the water and gently rubbing the blood from your arms. He was careful as he brushed against the cuts, constantly checking your face for any sign of discomfort. Soon your tears were all dried up, staining your face. Niragi stopped once he noticed, taking his free hand to wipe under your eyes. His hand lingered on your cheek, the warmth of his body spreading throughout your face.

Your eyes locked for a moment before he took his warmth away, holding himself on the bathtub. You could see his tongue pressed against his cheek, a quirk you've noticed that meant he was concentrating. The piercing stood out most of all as he licked his lips slowly. It wasn't in an aggressive or threatening way, almost like he was thinking deeply about something.

"(Y/N)," your head turned to face him, your eyes speaking for you. He watched you for a moment before continuing, "Do you... Remember me?" You forced a small smile as you croaked through a dry throat, "I didn't hit my head, Niragi." Noticing he didn't seem pleased with that answer, you scrunched your brow questioningly. "What do you mean?"

"Do you remember me? From... Before."

You sat up slowly in the tub, the realization that you were fully naked now just hitting you. "From... Before? I don't think we knew each--" You stopped for a moment, a particularly bad memory taking hold of you.

(TW: Drunk sexual attempts, Non-con, Sexual Assault ahead)

Haru was drunk. Very, very drunk. It was a Wednesday, no, a Thursday. You just transferred to your new school after moving out of your aunt's home. Your parents sent you away to an all-girls boarding school. Haru had convinced them you were a bad influence. Stealing, doing drugs, leaving alcohol and paraphilia scattered about your room. None of it was true of course, but that didn't stop them from taking his side completely. You thought they had accepted it was him all along. Spreading rumors and bullying others, getting older kids to buy him alcohol, and getting high behind convenience stores.

Almost everything he said you did, he was the true culprit. Your parents never once believed you, even after you came back. The only time they ever believed you was when you said the fire was an accident.

It was raining hard that day. It felt odd, to start at a new school at the end of the week. You imagined everyone had already been fed countless lies about you, with Haru being the way that he was. The day went by without incident, and you even managed to exchange numbers with a few other girls before you left. Haru must've seen, because they never spoke to you again after that day.

He held your body to the wall, his free hand still clutching his bottle of liquor. "You," he hiccuped, "Think you're so damn special." His body swayed, almost forcing you into the brick behind you. "H-Haru, please, I just wanna go home..." His face scrunched in anger, spitting out his words. "Home? Home?! You don't have a home you stupid whore!" His face was so close to yours that you could smell the alcohol on him.

"Please, let's just go--" You muffled a scream as the bottle struck your jaw, your once restrained arm now being free as he held the bottle to his lips once more. "You don't EVER tell me what the fuck to do, understand?!" He screamed at you. Maybe the rain truly was coming down too hard that nobody noticed, but even if they did, they didn't bother to help.

You shook your head in understanding, pursing your lips. You could taste the blood, internally hoping it wasn't visible. "There's nothing fucking special about you... I mean, look at you!" He hiccuped again, his feet steadying him. He looked you up and down, his eyes glazed over. His hand reached out at your top, ripping the first three buttons, exposing part of your chest. "Haru! Stop!" You cried out, pushing him away.

His face turned sour and he took another step towards you, leaning his body into you, "You don't fucking listen!" He grabbed your face violently, forcing you to look up at him, "You're nothing fucking special..." His eyes traveled up and down your body, your mind screaming at you to get away. But you couldn't, not under his weight. Not even when his hand began to slide itself up your thigh, under your skirt.

You don't like remembering what happened after that, but nobody believed you about that either, so it didn't really matter. You remember crying, the screams, and him telling you to shut up, followed by a quick knee to his groin. You pushed him as hard as you could and began sprinting. You didn't know the area as well as you did once, but it didn't matter. The faster you got away, the safer you'd be.

You could feel his eyes glaring into your back, your feet pounding on the cement sidewalk. You turned the corner, slamming into a young man. You knocked the both of you over, your lungs screaming for air as you hit the ground. It didn't take long for your vision to focus, looking at the young man, probably similar to your age, holding out his hand to you.

You remember his glasses, the concern on his face, thinking he actually looked kind of... Cute. Any other day, you would've gladly taken his hand. Perhaps it would've been the start of a friendship or even, a romance. But not today. Any day, but today.

Niragi's thumb gently wiped the side of your face, bringing your mind back. The water had gone cold, the ripples in the tub from your tears echoing in the silence like a leaking faucet. You could feel your heart in your chest beating loudly as you realized suddenly it was getting incredibly harder to breathe. You faced the cold red water covering your body as your body began to tremble.

His eyes widened as he watched you start to panic, Niragi pulling you from the tub forcefully. You let out a yelp, the cold air seemingly slamming against your bare body. You were left alone for a moment as Niragi dashed out of the bathroom, only coming back after with a familiar gold and black shirt. He draped it around your arms, coaxing you out of the bathroom and into your bed.

This Niragi was foreign to you. 'If I had gotten the chance to know him before the Borderlands, was this what he was like?' He pulled the blanket over you, seemingly sighing as he turned his back, beginning to leave. 'Was this a frustrated sigh, or one of pity?' You thought, not for the first time today. The words came out of you before you could think of how they would sound.

"Stay."

Niragi stopped where he stood, his back still towards you. His hand moved in the darkness, fidgeting with itself it seemed. He turned his head ever so slightly so he could look at you, your face stained and your body shivering. You could see his adam's apple move up and then down again before he walked over to the edge of the bed where he sat.

You stared at his back for what felt like forever before he knelt, untying his shoes and pulling himself up onto the bed fully. You felt relief when the warmth from his body spread throughout yours. Pulling his shirt around you more so than it was, you inched your way over to him.

Niragi licked his lips, his metal piercing gleaming in the moonlight from your window, "Don't expect me to be here in the morning."

You took his words with a grain of salt, even though it oddly made your heart hurt hearing it. "... I know," you meant to say more proudly, but it came out as more of a whisper than anything. You paused on your next words for a moment, pushing through your unease around the subject.

"I... I do remember... Thank you."

Those were the last words before your body was able to relax, the exhaustion catching up with you at only a moment's notice. As your eyes began to close, you could hear Niragi's breath hitch for just a moment as you lost consciousness against Niragi's arm.

Niragi looked at you for a moment, taking in your peacefulness. He moved to his side just a bit to try and get comfortable but was met with your tightening grip on his arm. You pulled his arm into you, readjusting your head to rest on his chest. He was taken in by the smell of your hair, though it still had blood crusted in it, it still smelled like you. He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, just like he did that first night. Niragi rested his cheek against your head, wrapping his other arm around your body.

He ignored everything he had fought to make a reality. His urge to kill, to toy with others, and to take whatever he wants when he wants it.

'I can be that again tomorrow,' Niragi thought, 'but for tonight... Maybe...'

"Sleep tight, (Y/N). I'll protect you." He whispered into your ear and he found a reason to rest for the day.

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kalims-pessimist-bestie · 1 year

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Valentine's Nonsense

Deuce Spade x GN!Reader

1.7k words

valentine's day is my favorite holiday, so naturally imma write something. this is basically a self insert for my oc, but i figured you guys would prefer an xreader.

AN: completely fluffy, nrc nonsense, reader hates trey, i have no real idea how a japanese private school works so i just chose whatever classmates i wanted

TW: mentions of trey

The day had dragged on and on, every class seeming more boring than usual. NRC wasn't big on celebrating Valentine's Day. A few of the boys would confess to someone every year, but it wasn't a spectacle like it would be at a co-ed school. So why was it a spectacle this year? Because so many of the NRC students became enamored with the mysterious Ramshackle prefect.

You had made chocolates for one boy in particular. They sat safely in your bag, away from prying eyes. You had asked headmaster Crowley if it was normal for this school to give chocolates, and he (so benevolently) dismissed it, saying that this was a prestigious school who's students didn't focus on foolish things like valentines. You assumed you didn't need to make any more than the ones for the sweet boy who was away at a track meet.

---

He was absent all day, and he was frustrated about it. He knew what day it was, and he actually wanted to give you chocolates. He didn't originally plan on it, but he heard that Ace was going to give you some, and he didn't want to be left out. He slumped into his seat on the bus (does NRC have buses for sports meets? let's pretend they do). Jack sat besides him, and peaked over into the duffle Deuce was digging through.

"Chocolates. I guess it is Valentine's Day." Jack said ever so nonchalantly. A pink blush creeped up onto Deuce's cheeks.

"I heard that Ace was going to give Y/N chocolates because he wanted to 'fluster' them." He opened the box to reveal some of the saddest looking chocolates. Jack didn't have the heart to tell him that.

"It's a kind gesture, Deuce. I'm sure the prefect will love them."

---

You were hoping to give your chocolates to Deuce in class, but that was going to have to wait. You sat back in your chair for first period, and a little white box was slapped down on your desk. You looked up at Ace, the dumbass looking away to avoid eye contact.

"I figured no one else would give you chocolates, so I took the liberty to make you feel a bit better." He still couldn't meet your gaze.

"Headmaster Crowley told me that this school doesn't really do chocolates. If I had known, I would’ve made some for you too." You opened the box and looked at the three little truffles that were made.

"Yeah, well I guess I can forgive you this time for forgetting about me. It was mostly Trey-kun that made them anyways." You hesitated for a moment before picking on up and popping it into your mouth.

"I still don't trust Trey at all, but he did a really good job on these." You wanted to keep chatting with Ace, but Professor Trein began class and you weren't ready to risk detention.

---

On the way to your next class, you tucked the chocolates from Ace into your bag with the one's for Deuce. You desperately hoped that he liked them. It took you a whole week's worth of Crowley allowance to afford the materials. Lost in your budgeting thoughts, you didn't hear the distant sounds of someone screaming for their shrimpy.

"SHRIMPY!" Floyd's loud voice echoed in your ears as he wrapped his arms around you for a squeeze. He was tailed by Jade and Azul.

"Hey guys, what's up?" you casually remove Floyd's arms. Azul looked at you and adjusted his glasses while the tips of his ears turned red.

"Well, on behalf of the Monstro Lounge, we'd like to give you these chocolates." He extended his hand and gave you a little purple box with three chocolates. One was shaped like an octopus, and the others like eels.

"Considered it repayment for all the help with the Lounge and Azul's mental health." Jade said with an uncomfortably normal smile. Azul couldn't bear looking you in the eyes.

"Yeah, 'Zul basically begged us to help him make chocolates for you."

"Okay that's enough. I think we've taken up plenty of Y/N's time." Azul was still avoiding eye contact, but he gave a friendly smile and thanked you for your time. You watched the octotrio walk away before adding their chocolates to your collection in your bag.

---

You prepped for you alchemy class since the bell hadn't rung yet. You kept eyeing the door, waiting for your lab partners to arrive. When they did finally arrive, it was with a box of chocolate each.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Y/N. Kalim couldn't decide on which box to give you." Jamil put on his lab coat and handed the other one to Kalim.

"I wanted to give you all of them, but Jamil said it was 'overkill' to give someone 30 boxes of chocolate on Valentine's Day. So I went through and picked out the biggest and most pretty looking box." He shoved the large, gold, heart shaped box into your arms. The chocolates inside were adorned with gold and other fancy looking chocolate toppers.

"Kalim, it's beautiful!" You gave the bouncy Scarabia housewarden a hug and popped a chocolate into your mouth.

"Mine aren't as fancy as Kalim's, but I made them myself with Scalding Sand's spices." He held out a little red box. His gaze appeared very genuine as you accepted the other box, popping one of those chocolates into your mouth too.

"You guys are so sweet. I have some awesome lab partners!" You beamed and both of the boy's faces had a light blush on them. Once you added new additions of chocolate to your collection, you began your alchemy lab.

---

While warming up for PE, you wondered why Headmaster Crowley had lied about Valentine's Day to you. You felt so bad for not making everyone chocolate, especially because everyone seemed to have made some for you. Silver and Sebek had stopped you in the hallway earlier to hand you chocolate, and you weren't going to lie, your bag was getting full.

"Oi, herbivore," you heard the lazy lion call your name. Ruggie was next to him holding to boxes of chocolate.

"Leona here told me to buy whatever chocolates I thought you'd like with his money, so they're both technically from him, but one is from me I promise, shishishi." He handed you the two boxes with the same chocolates. One of them had a chocolate missing, and you giggled as you saw a tiny speck of chocolate on Ruggie's lip.

"Thank you guy's. I don't have any chocolates for you guys, but I'll make it up to you."

"I don't want anything from you, herbivore." Leona pretended like he wasn't a little disappointed to not receive anything from you.

"You can just buy me lunch one of these days, shishishi." You smiled at the hyena's laugh.

---

Once back from his track meet, Deuce ran to Ramshackle dorm, knowing classes were over and that's where you'd probably be. One of the ghosts answered the door when he knocked, breaking the news to him that you left a little while ago. They didn't know where you were or when you'd get back.

A little disheartened, Deuce made his way to Heartslabyul. He was going to go straight to his room and rest, but he wasn't in the mood to talk to Ace. Instead, he took a walk in the rose gardens. There was one little undisturbed corner he liked to retreat to when he just wanted to think. Only one other person knew about his little spot, and they were already waiting there for him.

"Y/N?" his eyes brightened when he saw you sitting on the bench.

"Hi, Deuce." You don't know why you suddenly felt so shy. It was just Deuce, and you two hung out alone all the time. He sat down next to you, your knees bumping lightly. He started digging around in his duffle, only to pull out a small pink box.

"I'm not sure if you like this kind of thing, but I know Ace was making you some and I didn't want to feel left out and-" he stopped when he felt you take the box. His heart was racing and his whole face was red, but something about the way you smiled made all of this anxiety worth it. You reached into your own bag to grab the chocolates for him, only for all the other boxes to come spilling out too. He eyed all of the boxes dejectedly. How could his compare to everyone else's.

"Crowley told me that nobody celebrates Valentine's Day here, but he was clearly a liar." You finally pulled out the box for Deuce. His eyes widened, however that didn't calm the aching feeling in his heart from seeing all those boxes.

"Well, you're very popular, so I can see why everyone gave you chocolate..." he opened the box and saw the sweetest little heart shaped truffles.

"I felt so bad though, because I hadn't made anyone else chocolate."

"But you made me chocolate?" his heart rate sped up.

"I wanted to make you some, Deuce. You're always beside me, ready to help. You were the only person that really deserved them." You opened the chocolates Deuce gave you, only to see how disturbing they actually were. No matter, you loved them because they were from him.

"I know they're not perfect, and that you deserve perfect, but I put my whole heart into making them!" He would've kept defending them if you hadn't laid your head on his shoulder.

"They're perfect, loosey Deucey." Your hand reached for his in the quiet rose garden, they only thing filling both of your ears was his heartbeat. A gentle kiss fell on your head before both of you succumbed to the exhaustion from today.

---

"What's this? Two lovebirds taking a small nap in the rose garden?" a hushed voice spoke to avoid waking them. "And look at all this chocolate. Looks like someone received sweets from the Ramshackle prefect after all. The school will want to see this." Cater snapped a quick picture and posted it to MagicCam. #happyvalentinesday #prefectanddeucey #whowouldvethought

AN: i'm almost so sorry if this sucked, but i did put my heart and soul into making it, kinda like deuce and his chocolate

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #disney twst #twst deuce #deuce spade #twst x reader #twst valentines #twst fluff

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talentforlying · 7 months

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@ofmusicandprayers: ♬!!! — SONGS I LOVE

de selby pt.2 - hozier! first of all, the music video fucks beyond belief. second of all, domhnall gleeson my beloved, one of my initial fc options for constantine. third, i simply goddamn love this song, and finally, the cyclical nature of hellblazer! dissociation and the need to run as fast and as hard as you can to outpace your fate, whatever it takes! the symbolic killing & burying of one version of yourself to start over and begin anew, but it's still you in that body, and all the choices you made before will be made again! despair and exhaustion with the knowing of this, and yet still you start the cycle again in the hopes that this time it'll be different! that's motherfucking john constantine right there!! like:

what you're given, what you live in / darlin', it finds a way to live in you

he was dealt the hand he has, he didn't choose it, but he's still the one who picks up the spade and digs himself a deeper hole, every fucking time. he's given and takes the option to start with a fresh slate over and over again, but he still makes the choices that put him back where he used to be, and i flatly ignore the idea that his dead twin was manipulating events the whole time, that was all constantine. every failure, every grinding himself back down into sharp angles, every time something went wrong, was him being unable to break the cycle. he never needed any supernatural intervention to fail. he does that to himself, because there's no real separating line between john constantine and the hellblazer:

i don't need to know where we begin and end / i'd still know you, not being shown you / i only need the workin' of my hands

also, the way the narrator detaches himself from being the cause of his own failings is very reminiscent of constantine's habit to wallow in his grief as a victim, trying to find penance in the reliving of his pain instead of in making any effort to change his behavior so it won't happen again:

(if i was any closer) if i was any closer / (i could only lose me) i could be lost / (if i fade away, let me fade away) no more than i was

i also really love the reference to the third policeman, because de selby is described as someone whose initial works were lost, and is provided with sparse, mostly-contextual detail; reminds me a lot of constantine and how his legend has spread, through word-of-mouth and context. if you met him on a day he saved your life, he's as good as a god; if you met him on a day he failed, he's cruel and capricious. the principal de selby theory being that human existence is "a succession of static experiences each infinitely brief" feels very much like a description of comics as a whole, and a summary of constantine's life through that lens!

+ song for sandalphon: gonna switch it up with a classical piece, violin concerto "distant light" cadenza iii - finnish radio symphony orchestra, because i can see him playing this at the vatican by himself, full orchestra kind of filling itself in through sheer force of skill, and it just feels right? like the dissonance that still feels like a single note very much gives me 'angel amongst humans' vibes, something old and experienced and more layered than you could possibly imagine right underneath the surface. the part at 3:10 has biblical-angel-of-many-eyes energy to me and it's fascinating to imagine some of that coming out when he plays, and then the final lead into a waltz also feels right.

#ofmusicandprayers #WHOOF this got long. i have Thoughts about de selby and constantine ok #( ooc. ) OUT OF CIGS.#( answered. ) THIS IS JOHN CONSTANTINE. FUCK OFF.

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writingsofhubris · 2 years

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Drabbles - Ch. 18

Ch. 18 - Otto Octavius [AO3] [Ch. 17] [Ch. 19] Rating: E WC: 536 Tags: Thanksgiving, bathroom sex, overwhelmed, Ship: Otto Octavius /Reader Disc: Thanksgiving sucked. A lot. And you were in the bathroom to calm down for a few minuets, before Otto slipped in with you, only to slip into you.

Your trousers were wrestled down your thighs, along with your underwear, providing him all the access he needed go skip his fingers into you, looking at your reflection in the mirror.

"Let me help you work out some of this stress," he murmured, slowly starting to stretch you out.

"It's just so much," you responded, letting your eyes close, sighing softly. Your elbows met the countertop. "Everyones so loud, so annoying. So many questions."

"It's almost over, I promise you we've almost made it though."

"Come on. We don't have much time." His fingers pulled out of you, only to grab onto your hips, and his zipper drew down, loud in the small space.

Otto filling you always brought a way of relaxation, every bit if tension falling from your body. He sighed with you, each hand moving to your hips. Otto guided your movements, rubbing just right in you on each thrust.

Your hands were tight on the edge of the counter, eyes glued to the mirror.

Otto’s sweater was rucked up just enough to show the bottom of his stomach, allowing just that little bit of space to keep his outfit clean. His hips snapped forward, driving his cock back into your pussy again. His lower lip caught between his teeth, trying to hold back the groan.

From beyond the door, a plate clinked against something, and a spill of laughter filtered through. You both froze for just a moment, waiting to see if someone would look for you both. Nothing came, and Otto once again started, his hand reaching around your torso to rub at your chest, pinching at your nipples and making it so very hard to keep your lips sealed.

When your eyes met his in the mirror, it hit you just what you both were doing. Shoved into the bathroom with an excuse for just ten minutes and you’d be back at dinner. Now? Otto was railing you into the sink in the bathroom, the nails on his hand digging into your hips.

“Come on, pet,” he whispered, hand slipping between your legs to circle your clit, urging your climax to flood you as quickly as he could manage. "Jusy another hour or two and we'll leave. I promise." A whine was only just barely caught in your throat. That seemed almost an unmanageable amount of a time.

"We've nearly made it through, can you do this for me?"

"I can," you responded, catching his eyes in the mirror. For him, you could do anything.

"Cmon then. Finish for me, we gotta go back." The threat of getting caught was racing through you, and with his fingers moving just how you liked them, you tumbled over the edge.

His thrusts were hard before he finished in you, his groan ringing in your ear.

Otto kissed your shoulder, looking at you again in the mirror.

"Can you make it this last bit for me tonight?" He watched you nod, and pulled put of you. He fixed your clothes for you, and rested his hands on your hips, his head against yours. "I'll make it up to you in spades, I promise." His lips pressed against your neck again.

"We've got this."

#sorry for bad formatting #ill be cleaning it up later #.W

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elizababie · 1 year

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J-J-J-J-June Day 01: Treasure

Collab with the beautiful and endlessly talented @just-get-fucking-lost

Jade Manath. Maeve Blackwood. Fluffy F x F.

Special thanks to @cecilebutcher for the prompt list that we shamelessly appropriated-slash-appreciated. So sorry, so much love.

Jade Manath buries bird bones.

She buries bird bones and a sachet of small, round river stones and a bundle of sweet-smelling twigs. She's digging a hole at the fourth corner of her property, the most important corner, the last corner, the one that will offer the most protection, when it becomes apparent that she was not fast enough.

A shadow falls across her path.

She has a guest.

Jade breathes in and in and in through her nose then out, once, sharply through her mouth.

"What can I do for you?" Jade asks. Her words are icily polite even while every syllable of her tone screams, 'what the fuck do you want?'

"What does anyone want these days?" A female voice responds, pedantic and falsely inquisitive. "Money, wealth, fame, someone to spend forever with." Maeve. She whispers into Jade's ear. Even though Maeve isn't in view, her curls are; fiery red and orange strands, curled and sticking what seems to be every which way. The scent of charcoal and birch trees floats forward and wraps itself around Jade's head, a gentle pressure with a slight warning of suffocation. "Trying to hide, little bird?" she asks softly, the smile on her lips audible in her voice.

"Some people," Jade says very slowly, very carefully. "Only want solitude."

She sits back on her heels and puts an imperceptible distance between Maeve and herself. It's not enough. It's not enough by far.

Maeve stands out starkly against the landscape around her. Jade is a product of her environment, dusty brown skin and hair and eyes that match the pale earth, the newly sprouting stalks of wheat, the livestock Jade surrounds herself with. Maeve is a fire blazing in the center of Jade's carefully planted, grown, and protected oasis.

Jade wants to hate her for that. Jade also wants to hate herself for her all-too-human desire to keep warm.

She holds her spade in one hand and the leather bound journal she came here to bury in the other. She's going to have to do something dramatic after this. She's going to have to bury her mother's gleaming gold grandfather clock in the creek. She might even have to find some other, more powerful, treasure and some other, more powerful, spot to bury it in.

If Jade litters the earth with trinkets, they will grow into a force that is equal parts magnificent and impenetrable. They will keep her safe. Jade will sow the earth until she is the only thing that could possibly sprout up out of it.

First, though, Jade has to purge her land of the intruder imposing upon it.

"Why are you here?" Jade asks. She stands and brushes dirt off on her pants. She asks one thing and means another, what she wants to know is how she was found.

What she really wants to know is how she can be lost again.

She doesn't get her answer before muscle memory kicks in. Jade starts back towards her cottage and waves Maeve along after her. "Tea?"

Maeve never stops smiling but follows after Jade. The world around them is painted in dusty, neutral tones and, as always, Maeve makes sure to shine bright right in the middle of it. Maybe one day Jade will see that even plants need to burn every once in a while to start off fresh.

"Why wouldn't I be here? It's not like you're hiding or anything," Maeve says. They cross the threshold into the kitchen together. Jade keeps going, deeper into the guts of the room. "You offered me tea, people who hide from me don't offer me tea." Maeve leans across the doorway and watches Jade work. "Why are you here?"

Jade sets the kettle out to boil and collects herbs. She gathers teacups and thinks about strychnine. A corpse would be a powerful talisman to bury.

Jade has done it before.

"Hiding," Jade says. "Not from you, don't flatter yourself. Just in general. I'm tired. Tired of everything, of all of it." Jade waves her hand vaguely through the air.

ALL OF IT: the Manath druids, her clan starving for leadership, her brother sitting at the helm.

ALL OF IT: Jasper's endless needs. His endless demands. “Sister, we're moving camp! Where should we go?” and “Sister, I ruined everything again! Clean up after me!” and “Sister, mother is dead! Bury her while I fuck around!” and-and-fucking-and

ALL OF IT: eyes and ears, always on her. So many fingers, always pointing.

Jade got sick of it, of taking all of the blame for none of the credit. She never wanted that life anyway. She has never wanted to be a leader. Jade Manath just wants to watch her crops grow.

"Here." Jade sets Maeve's tea down at the table. She left of the strychnine. If Jade is remembering correctly, Maeve is too smart for her own good, she's most definitely told someone where she was going. If she doesn't come back there will be more visitors. Corpses take a long time to bury, Jade can only give them so much of her time without neglecting her other trinkets.

Maeve glances down at the cup and picks it up with both hands, She maintains eye contact and drinks the entire glass.

"Hide away with all your treasures, here at the end of the earth," Maeve says, setting her empty cup down and finally seating herself. Her presence alone makes the room feel warmer, brighter. Doesn't Jade know you need a little sunlight to grow? "Sit on your porch at the end of the day and admire your work, not anyone else's." She smirks, brushing some of her curls back. "I guess deep down we all just want a simple life, solid rewards for the effort put in." Maeve rests her hands on the table, her nails are painted a deep, olive green—But why should that matter?

Maeve pushes her cup towards Jade and nods slightly. "Delicious as always. May I have some more?"

Jade looks at Maeve. She looks back at Maeve's nails. They don't match Maeve's eyes the way they always used to. They don't accent her hair. They're the color of Jade's tea cups. They're the color of the ivy that climbs the walls. They're the color of all the things Jade suspects might be buried down deep inside of her.

HER: Jade.

HER: Maeve?

Jade tucks her hair behind her ears. She is not the person she was the last time they sat across a table from each other like this.

SHE: Jade.

SHE: Maeve?

“No,” Jade says. She tucks her spade into her back pocket and heads for the door. “Come with me. Bring that.” She doesn’t specify what that is. Maeve’s choice is her own. They all have their own secrets to hide from and their own protections to build. Maeve grabs the porcelain cup in front of her and stands, following after Jade without question.

Jade doesn’t mean to smile but it sprouts up anyway: dandelions growing between cracks in the sidewalk. Determined. Improbable. She's silent as she leads Maeve to the most powerful spot in the farm, the beginning, it’s heart.

ONCE UPON A TIME Jade Manath ran away. She ran away from her home, her family, the responsibilities that were not hers but ended up in her lap anyway. She ran away right to the end of the world and then she sat down, she built a fire, she decided that this was far enough.

Everything else sprouted up after that, veins connected to a still-beating heart. That’s where she leads Maeve. They walk to the memory of that first fire. It’s been years-years-years but Jade thinks the ashes might still be warm. The sacred and the holy have that effect sometimes, they live forever.

Jade passes Maeve her spade and keeps her silence. If she says anything the spell will break. If Maeve needs to be told what to do then maybe she does not belong here after all.

Maeve kneels and she digs. She digs and she gently places the teacup into the hole and, using her well-manicured hands, she scoops the dirt back in, gently patting the surface down before she stands and dusts her pants off.

Jade takes her spade back and digs a second hole directly beside the teacup. She sets the spade into its bed and gently tucks it in. She thinks that she's not going to be needing it after all. Maybe nothing needs to be buried in the creek. Maybe her new life is perfectly protected after all.

Jade's mind is made up. She nods resolutely at a job well done and stands shoulder to shoulder with Maeve.

"Come on," Jade says. "Let's go home."

#writing #J-J-J-J-June 2023 #June challenge #Surprising everybody: Jowan was not my first pull for this #Wild I know #saved writing

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satashiiwrites · 1 year

Text

Snippet Sunday

Still working on Suspicions. Hoping to have it done this week. Tagging whoever wants to play along on this rainy Sunday morning.

Graphic by the ever-talented @radio-chatter

Title: Suspicions, part of the Firefigher!Derek AU series of one-shots

Fandom: Teen Wolf but borrows a few people from 911 Lonestar

Pairing: the series will eventually be Sterek. No overt relationship this part other than Noah Stillinski instantly pegging Derek as his son’s type.

Fic summary:

Noah had his suspicions about the Hale fire. With Laura Hale dead and animal attacks increasing exponentially, he knows that Derek is not the problem but possibly an answer to the question of what is going on in Beacon Hills.

Tags/warnings: Hale fire aftermath, Laura dies off screen right before the start of this fic. Traumatized Derek Hale (isn't he always?), first draft. Noah Stillinski POV. Timeline what timeline applies here in spades. Angsty. Derek’s feelings of needing to atone and feeling responsible. Stiles is a menace. Scott is an in-love idiot.

“What do you want, Sheriff?” Derek asks, getting right to the point and exuding anxiety.

Noah feels old. He hates giving bad news. “Your sister Laura was found two days ago.” Derek flinches and Noah almost stops but he needs for Derek to hear this from him officially. “She’s dead.”

The pained whine that escapes Dereks’ throat reminds him of a wounded animal and he hunches in on himself, eyes closed and expression pained. Derek’s shoulders shake with suppressed sobs and he again flinches when Noah tries to touch his shoulder so he lets his hand fall uselessly back to the table.

Thirty seconds later, Derek straightens just a bit and opens his eyes. The devastating loss in them convinces Noah that Derek would do anything for his sister and did not kill her. He knows something but won’t tell Noah.

Or at least, won’t tell Noah yet because he doesn’t trust him and that’s breaking Noah’s heart. Derek’s had a lot of tragedy in his life but someone did something to make him not trust people. How recent Noah doesn’t know but he suspects that it happened either right before the fire or immediately after.

Derek’s eyes are red rimmed, his skin pale and washed out. There’s a few days worth of stubble along his jaw and he looks like he’s been through the wringer before being informed of Laura’s death. Noah just has confirmed what Derek already knew—either that or something bad had happened at home that Derek wasn’t telling him.

“How did you find her?” The words are soft but Derek doesn’t flinch this time, even if the words are bitten off at the end like he can hardly say them. He’s braver than Noah would be in his situation.

There’s no gentle way to tell Derek how they found his sister. “She was torn in half. We’re still looking for the other half and I’ll need you to officially identify her with the coroner.”

“Do you have any leads?” Derek’s beginning to look numb, his fingers loose around the cup of coffee in front of him and the muffin untouched. Noah worries that he won’t eat, that the loss of his sister will be too much.

“We’re still investigating,” Noah deflects.

“So that’s a no.” Derek’s tone isn’t sharp but it still feels like a dagger digging in deep. Noah hates to not have answers for the families of crime victims.

“It’s a not yet,” Noah corrects out of habit. “Can you tell me why Laura came back?”

Derek shrugs. “She said that she got called by the hospital. That she needed to check on Uncle Peter.”

“Did she say why?” Noah is unaware of any change in Peter Hale’s condition. Melissa would have mentioned it in their regular chats given she knew that it was Laura Hale that had been found in the woods. Noah has been depending on her to keep half an eye on Stiles when he’s with Scott for the last week.

“No… and I didn’t ask,” Derek answers his follow up question before he can ask it.

Noah doesn’t have more questions because he doesn’t know what to ask yet. “Had she said how long she was going to be in Beacon Hills?”

“Just a few days. She has finals tomorrow… had finals tomorrow.” Derek’s face falls as he corrects himself to past tense. The pain ages him but Noah is still fighting his instincts that scream at him to comfort Derek as he’s a secondary victim to this crime and possibly others. The amount of damage and death done to the Hale family would make anyone break down and the kid—young man, he corrects himself—is holding up better than most.

Then again, Noah supposes Derek has experience in terrible loses.

“What was she studying?”

“Pre-med. Laura wasn’t sure if she wanted to be a doctor or a nurse but she was getting her general credits done.”

A healer. Laura had been studying to be a healer. Noah felt like that little bit of information somehow just made her death even worse.

#suspicions #teen wolf #teen wolf fic #firefighter derek au #firefighter!derek #pre-sterek #sheriff stilinski #noah stillinski pov #Snippet sunday #first draft #grief/mourning

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gra-sonas · 4 years

Note

I haven’t been following the BTS of season 3 of Roswell but I just saw the comments under your post about Carina’s insta stories that you guys already see the difference in writing etc. Can you elaborate on that? What do you feel is different now?

There’s obviously no way for us to know whether there’s going to be a difference in the writing of the show, we won’t be able to judge that until we get to watch S3.

There are things that are already different tho (or at least they feel different imo).

CAM’s always come across as extremely controlling. Everything (down to what kind of underwear actors would wear in a scene) had to be decided and approved by her. I guess other people had input on things, but overall it’d always be her who’d make the final decision.

The THR article indicated, that she used to rewrite scripts [others wrote], often on short notice. She’s claimed that the article didn’t tell the truth, but going by her behavior and what she’s said and how she’s talked about things in IG stories or in interviews, I believe that it’s actually true - it fits the pattern tbh.

She’s also been the one who decided on the final cut of episodes - meaning she made decisions which scenes to include and which to cut. She very much shaped 26 episodes of a show that she technically ran with a co-showrunner and co-developed/wrote with a group of writers, to her very specific personal liking. And while it’s not necessarily a bad thing when show runners do that, the RNM “end product” left a lot to be desired (mainly S2). IDK, imo it’s usually better when there’s not just one person making all the decisions.

While we only know very little about Chris Hollier so far, they’ve said in interviews they’re pretty much polar opposites (I think they said sth like he’s the Yin to her Yang in one interview). Where she thrives on 90s high school trope driven drama and misery, he’s a romantic who likes scifi, but I assume that’s not the only difference between them. For one: he doesn’t come across as a control freak.

Not based on truly “provable facts”, it just feels like things have already shifted a bit, like there’s (finally) room for the show to breathe. IDK, maybe we’re completely wrong about this, maybe Chris is a terrible show runner, maybe S3 will totally suck - personally I just don’t believe that’s going to be the case.

Going by the few Hollier interviews that exist, he comes across as a super nice dude (and I mean that in the best possible way), apparently he has a knack for sci-fi, but is also a big fan of romance - the two things the show should actually be about. CAM’s always said that she’s not really interested in scifi (which shows tbh...), and going by what we’ve seen on the show so far, she thrives more on drama, miscommunication and queer trauma than romance.

Hollier co-wrote 1x04, 1x07, 1x12, 2x04, 2x08 and 2x13 - 1x12 and 2x04 in particular had some of the best Malex scenes. He’s been able to co-run the show and compromise with a VERY demanding and headstrong partner for up to 3 years (all the kudos tbh). He knows all the writers, he knows the cast and crew, and according to Jeanine and Vlamis, they all love him.

I hope with him running the show, things will be much more collaborative, I also hope he’ll put more faith in other people doing their jobs without him having to control every single detail. The RNM writers room seems to be quite diverse, I hope that the voices of these writers will get louder and clearer (and they won’t be overruled/rewritten by one “mostly straight" white person at the top).

I hope that Jeanine - who’s made it pretty clear in the interview with AbnormallyAdam that she wasn’t very happy with S2 - gets to be heard more, and that her pushing for more Indigenous and Afro-Latina stories will come to fruition, I also hope that Tyler’s input regarding how a queer love story could and should be handled, will be taken into consideration, and so on.

The show will likely not be able to deliver on everything we’d like to see (they only have 13 episode after all), it will probably fail sometimes, but overall I feel much more hopeful and optimistic about S3 than I did until CAM announced her departure.

Ngl, while she was still in the picture, I was dreading S3 (bc I expected more misery, heartbreak and trauma for Malex). That feeling has vanished. It’s wonderful that there’s next to no input from her on her social media anymore, no retroactive “rewriting” of scenes, and the fact that she now confirmed that A LOT of what she’d outlined for S3 with the writers room has already been changed, and that even the final script she wrote for the S3 premiere has been changed? Music to my ears, it gives me hope that Chris and the writers have taken over control of the narrative and

Again, none of this is a guarantee that everything’s going to be amazing from now on, but we have an incredible cast, diverse and talented writers, and a showrunner who seems to be a kind and warm-hearted man - if this combination provides us with alien-themed scifi entertainment, mostly coherent stories, decent character development for the entire core cast and Malex getting together, I’ll be more than happy.

#nonnie asks #the bar is so unbelievably low #someone hand me a spade so i can dig it up #rnm speculation

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unexpectedstormy · 7 months

Text

Avalanche Rescue pt 3

Whumptober Day 25 continued

TW: broken bone, dislocated joint, hypothermia

****** (1082 words)

Wolfie run run run run run uphill once more, but slowed.

Legs tired. Breathing tired. Walk walk walk walk walk. Eyes hurt, snow too bright. Nose hurt, scratched by snow. But can't stop. Pack still separated, pups still in trouble. Wolfie pushed onward.

Run run run run run run run run run run run run

“You're back!” Hyrule exclaimed.

“Hello!” Wolfie greeted. “You okay?”

Battle pup's head and back and arms unburied. Quick sniff--fresh breath, pain, wet clothes, wet fur. Quick lick Battle pup's face. Too cold, but he blinked up at Wolfie, awake.

“Be careful, Wolfie, his shoulder is dislocated,” Hyrule cautioned, putting and hand on Wolfie's back.

“You're hurt! You're too cold! You're still buried!” Wolfie whined.

“Don’t worry about me,” Warriors sighed. “You saved my life. Thank you.” He petted Wolfie's hand with his uninjured hand.

“Where's Time? Where's everyone else?” Wind asked. “Are they okay?”

“Will be soon!” Wolfie yipped. “You keep digging! I help Sky Pup!” Wolfie turned and ran once more.

“Hey wait! Aren't you going to help us dig?” Hyrule called after him.

Run run run trot trot trot sniff sniff trot trot--there was Sky pup! Half unburied and laying down!

“What’s wrong?! You okay?!” Wolfie whined on the approach. Sky pup opened eyes, looked at him.

“Wolfie! You’re back!”

Quick sniff--pain, fear, wet clothes, ozone. Sky pup sat up, his knees down still trapped.

“Where did you go?” Sky asked. “Where is everyone?” He was not happy and did not smile.

“Sorry! Lots of trouble!” Wolfie barked. “I stay to help!”

Dig dig dig dig dig dig dig—

“Wolfie, it’s okay, I have a digging mitt. I just needed a break for a moment.”

Dig dig dig--nip paw! Sky pup no dig. Only Wolfie dig. Dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig--Sky pup's knees free! Dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig--Sky pup's ankles free! Sky pup wriggle feet and pull out of snow! Sky pup free!

“Thank you Wolfie,” Sky pup patted Wolfie’s head. Wolfie wagged his tail.

“Show me where the other are?”

“This way! Downhill!” Trot trot trot pause…

“What is it?” Sky asked.

“Change! Go this way!” Wolfie instructed and switched directions. Go to Wander, Battle, and Baby pups. Maybe Wander pup heal Sky pup. Then all dig dig dig dig dig up Battle pup.

“Wolfie slow down! I can't go that fast!”

Wolfie stopped, turned around. Sky pup huffed and made pain face. Even though pup walked on back two paws, broken front paw still hurt from walking.

“Sorry! I go slow! Follow me!”

Wolfie slowed, plowed a trail through the snow with body instead of leaping and bounding over. Made legs even more tired and sore, but helpful for Sky pup.

“Wolfie! Sky!” Wind called as soon as he could see them coming over the drift. Wolfie ran.

“We’re here!” Wolfie announced. Sky stepped up onto the harder snowpack and hurried to join the group.

“Sky?! Are you alright?” Hyrule asked standing up. He dropped the small hand spade he had been using.

“Have you seen anyone else?” Wind asked.

“Sorry... give me... a second... ow,” Sky huffed breathing hard, clutching his arm to his chest.

Wolfie checked on Battle pup. Legs buried, but head, torso and arms freed.

“Hey Wolfie,” Warriors reached his right arm over and offered his hand to Wolfie. Quick sniff--wet fur, wet clothes, spit, fresh breath. Wolfie licked fingers. So cold!

“You're hurt!” Hyrule exclaimed dismayed.

“My arm's broken,” Sky replied. “Is Wars--”

“I'm alright,” Warriors answered, but voice quiet. Weak. Cold. Like Smallest pup.

Time to dig. Other pups not help, only talked. Dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig--

“Here,” Sky held out his digging mitts to Hyrule. “These will help you dig him up.”

“Why don't you fix his arm so he can help too?” Wind suggested.

“Uhh... his arm needs setting...” Hyrule said. “I'm not sure...I've never done it on someone else before.”

“You can do it,” Warriors said. “You know what to do. You've seen me do it enough times.”

“I know but... what if I mess it up?”

“Who else can do it?” Wind asked. “Warriors can't, he needs his own arm set. Time hasn't come back yet, we don't know where the others are, and I don't know how to do it--You're the only one who can.”

“Do it!“ Wolfie barked. ”Battle pup buried deep. Need all help to dig.”

“See? Wolfie thinks you can do it!” Wind said.

“Is it okay if I try?” Hyrule asked Sky hesitantly.

“If you think you can do it, then yes.” Sky said. “What do you need from me?”

“Lay down,” Hyrule instructed. “Wind I'll need you to help hold his arm still.”

Wolfie stopped digging, backed out of hole. Laid on top of Sky pup. Keep warm, keep still, comfort.

“H-hey Wolfie.” Quick sniff--Sky pup scared, pain.

“Will be okay,” Wolfie whined. Licked his face.

“Ready?” Hyrule asked.

“Ready here,” Wind said grasping Sky's arm above the elbow.

“As I'll ever be,” Sky said through his teeth.

“Do it!” Wolfie wffed.

Hyrule jerked Sky's arm. Sky pup cried out and writhed underneath Wolfie.

“Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!” Hyrule shouted.

Sky pup stilled but tense, eyes closed, breathing fast.

“Did he faint?” Wind asked.

“I think I got it!“ Hyrule said holding Sky's arm with his eyes closed. ”I think it's set.”

“Well hurry up and heal him!” Wind snapped.

“Working on it!”

Arm soaked in healing light, Sky pup relaxed, took a deep breath. Eyes stayed closed. Wolfie licked face.

“You okay?” He whined. “Sky pup wake up!”

“There! It's done.” Hyrule let go, sat back.

Licked Sky pup face. Licked face and neck all over.

“Wolfie, stop it. Wolfie, I'm okay,” Sky pup waved healed paw. Wolfie got up off of Sky pup. Sky up sat up held up healed arm.

“How does it feel?” Hyrule asked anxiously.

“Fine. Normal,” Sky said. “You did a good job. Thank you.”

“Dig time!” Wolfie barked. “Battle pup still buried!”

Didn't wait for an answer, Wolfie went back to digging.

Dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig...

******

To be continued soon!

#linked universe #lu wolfie #lu sky #lu warriors #lu wind #lu hyrule #whumptober 2023 #scheduled post #this is my second attempt to schedule this #tumblr ate it the first time

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mysteryshoptls · 2 years

Text

SR Malleus Draconia Apprentice Chef Personal Story: Part 2

"Master Chef"

(Part 1) Part 2

[Kitchen]

Master Chef ー Malleus Version ～Let's Make Soufflé Omelette 2～

Ghost Chef: And hey, it's hard to whisk by hand. So, if your arm gets tired…

Malleus: Your worry is unnecessary. Sit there and watch.

[loud, fast, mixing noises!!!]

Ghost Chef: EH… EEEEEEEEHHHHHHH!?!?

Ghost Chef: What sheer power… The eggs were all whisked in an instant…!

Malleus: For someone like me, this is no trouble at all.

Ghost Chef: B-But, Malleus-kun. At this rate… you'll have whisked it too much.

Malleus: What?

Ghost Chef: When you lift the whisk up, the egg doesn't fall at all, right?

Ghost Chef: Optimally, it should slowly droop off of the whisk. If you stir too much, then the consistency'll be bad.

Malleus: I see… So, whisking thoroughly is not necessarily a boon.

Ghost Chef: Yep. So maybe we should try a hand mixer this time. Let's try it this way.

Malleus: A hand mixer? I can't say I'm familiar with that term.

Ghost Chef: It's an automatic mixing tool. This might be easier for you to adjust your whisking strength to, instead of mixing by hand.

Malleus: Interesting, so a machine can be utilized to avoid excessive whisking. How convenient.

Ghost Chef: Uh…Usually it's the other way around, but…

Ghost Chef: Once all the eggs have been broken again, lay a cloth on the counter and place the bowl on top of it.

Ghost Chef: Then we'll use the beater―that's the whisk-looking piece―to stir it up.

Malleus: These buttons operate the machine, I see. Should I start with the slower speed first?

Ghost Chef: That's correct! If you gradually increase the speed little by little, you'll get a better result, and you'll be able to keep the eggs from splashing everywhere.

[whirrrrrrrrrrrr!]

Malleus: …

Ghost Chef: Yeah, just like that!

Malleus: The whole mixture is starting to turn white.

Malleus: …Chef, does this seem to be enough? If you could confirm, that would be appreciated.

Ghost Chef: Let me see… This looks pretty good, but it's still not completely blended. You should keep going a little bit more.

Malleus: Understood.

Ghost Chef: (…And there he goes just following the instructions without a fuss. I can't tell what he's feeling at all!)

Ghost Chef: (Other students will get excited at their successes, frustrated with their failures, or react in some way or another…)

Ghost Chef: (Well, since he's following the recipe properly and using the right ingredients, I can't say I have an issue with it, though.)

Malleus: I do believe I was able to create a finer foam in this attempt, what are your thoughts?

Ghost Chef: It's perfect, well done! So next, it's time to cook it in the heated pan!

Malleus: You stated earlier that the secret to the soufflé omelette's consistency was this foam.

Malleus: Thus, I presume it would be ideal to pour this batter into the pan with great care, so as to not dampen the volume of the froth.

Ghost Chef: Yeah, that's about right! One you pour it in, cover the pan with a lid, and let it simmer over low heat.

Ghost Chef: Pay attention to how the edges of the batter changes color. Once it starts to get a nice brown color, fold it in half, and you're done!

Malleus: Oh, are we finished already? The result seems better than I assumed it would be… I am curious how the judge will score this.

[Cafeteria – Judging Venue]

Deuce: I'm starving…! I can't wait for the soufflé omelette. I wonder who's making it?

Malleus: Oho, so my judge is Spade.

Deuce: Eh, Draconia-senpai!?!? You were taking this class!?

Malleus: Indeed. This was my first attempt at cooking. No need to fret. You may assess my dish with candor.

Deuce: Th-This is Draconia-senpai's hand-made cooking…!

Deuce: (I really can't imagine him cooking… It looks alright, but I wonder if the taste's gonna be okay…?)

Malleus: What ails you, Spade? You should make quick work of it. It will start to deflate after some time.

Deuce: Right!! Then, I'll dig right in!!

Deuce: (I feel like I'm gonna be too nervous to taste any flavors when he's standing there watching me eat… But here I go!)

[bite]

[chew, chew] …

Malleus: …

Deuce: Oh, it's good.

Deuce: As soon as I took a bite, it felt like it'd melt away almost instantly.

[bite, chew, chew. bite, chew, chew]

Malleus: Good, good, what an appetite. You should eat as much as you like.

Malleus: Based on his reaction, it does not seem as though Spade was lying when he said it was delicious.

Malleus: Hm… This has become even more of a conundrum…

Malleus: I joined this course with absolutely no knowledge of cooking, yet the Chef's explanations were able to help me understand most of my queries.

Malleus: I may have had minor missteps during the whole process, however thanks to the Chef's advice, those were quickly mitigated.

Malleus: And yet…

Malleus: Even though Lilia cooks frequently, how is it that he constantly produces dishes that cannot possibly be considered edible?

Malleus: I understand now the process required for cooking... Though I do not believe that will enlighten this other mystery any.

(Part 1) Part 2

#twisted wonderland #twst #malleus draconia #deuce spade #twst malleus #twst deuce #twst translation #twst masterchef #mention: lilia

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holdontwstistakingovermymind · 2 years

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Heartslabyul Boys React to Poly!MC Getting Hit On

I'm back at it again with the Hearts boy cast.

Anyways, I did this reaction on my Obey Me! Blog. Felt like it'd be fun to go at again with this cast. Hope you like it! Mc is polyamorous, so keep that in mind!

Riddle Rosehearts

He's a bit too shocked to speak at first.

That clears up pretty quick though, and before you know it you have a red faced Riddle on your hands.

Best course of action: get him some place he can calm down before he does anything too over the top.

Tbh it's not like he's trying to be possessive over you. He just really doesn't like it when people don't respect boundaries, which definitely ties into his feelings on rules.

Thankfully he doesn't ever get on strangers for this behavior (Not like they know you're dating... If you made it clear you're not interested though it's a completely different story).

That being said he won't allow people to think they can pull a fast one on him by hitting on his partner.

It's disrespectful to him, and it's immensely disrespectful to you.

He will not allow that to become common treatment of his partner.

Trey Clover

He's very great at diffusing these type of situations and playing off other people's comments.

So usually it isn't a big deal if someone comes over and hits on you because Trey can shake them off in such a charming way that people don't even know they're being told off.

Also King of "Let's not tell Riddle about this"

Really just wants peace, that's his whole goal in life.

(^It's definitly the big brother energy poking through)

He's not above holding his status over people's heads though, especially not when someone really pisses him off.

Cater Diamond

Cater is just as charming as Trey, except he tends to be a bit more mischievous.

He can and will insult people, except he makes sure that it's not too obvious. Truth be told, he likes to avoid conflict as much as possible, but Cater still has the desire to get a good dig in.

(It's a lot like how he managed to get you, Ace, and Deuce to paint all those roses with no payment that one time. Except he won't apologize for this.)

He won't do much else, but if this becomes a reoccurance, he's eager to hand the reigns over to Riddle.

Might make passive-aggressive posts about it on his socials though.

Deuce Spade

He holds himself back fairly well at first. Mostly for your sake.

^And so Riddle doesn't collar him again.

But all bets are off once it becomes a reoccuring issue or he notices how uncomfortable it makes you.

That delinquent in him isn't afraid to appear and scare off whatever idiot decided to cross your boundaries.

You might have to stop him from going too far though.

It's hard to stop once he gets going, especially when you're the main topic at hand.

Ace Trappola

He isn't really going to think before he goes off on the guy.

Ace is rather impulsive, listening more to his heart and immediate thoughts rather then proper reasoning. This is one of the factors as to why he gets into trouble so often... and probably why he's the worst to handle the situation.

He makes things personal, and his insults always hit hard.

Will definitely whine when you end up apologizing to the guy.

"Ace he's literally a new student give him a break."

#twst trey #twisted wonderland cater #twst riddle #twst wonderland #twst x reader #twst deuce #twst ace #twisted wonderland deuce #twisted wonderland riddle #twisted wonderland ace #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader

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wri0thesley · 3 years

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I'd love to request more Naoya smut with him and a now pregnant!reader from that breeding fic because him busting a nut thinking about how good they'll look knocked up really made me feel some type of way!!! maybe reader-chan will even finally get a smooch from this HORRIBLE man. If you are not into doing continuations on requests no worries tho and thank you for your incredible writing as always, Nat!

reader can have a little smooch. as a treat. don’t let naoya hear you say he’s not a good husband <3

Expecting - Naoya x Fem!Reader (3.3k)

Both of you got what you wanted. Naoya got more than he bargained for. sequel to covet.

warnings: not sfw, minors dni! afab reader, fem pronouns. pregnancy sex, light lactation, misogyny, power imbalance, breeding kink, mentions of alcohol, naoya perhaps having some Feelings???.

[comments/reblogs are much appreciated! // my jjk masterlist]

Naoya catches you every so often for the next month and you easily roll onto your back for him, helpless under the brush of his fingers and the snap of his hips. He smirks at you when he passes you in the corridor, but you have nothing to show for all of the times you’ve warmed his bed – yet.

When you do, though – when a month and a half passes, and you are beginning to feel sick in a morning, and your monthly bleed has still not made itself known – you go to Naoya with deference in your eye. Once a servant, always a servant – and you are not stupid. You know that what you carry inside you is a bargaining chip.

Naoya wants someone who will submit, and you want an end to the life of drudgery and roughened hands and back-breaking work, of being ignored or reviled or mocked for having the misfortune to not be born with Zenin as a surname. Naoya takes you to a private, discreet physician with an iron grip on your arm and his light eyes sharp.

It’s amazing, how quickly a man like Naoya Zenin can set things in motion – when it’s not simply confirmed that you’re carrying his child, but that you’re carrying his son. His heir.

It’s so easy for him.

Suddenly you are no longer a maid, but Naoya’s betrothed – and though the other members of the household look at you in disgust, knowing that you spread your legs for the title, none of them dare risk Naoya’s ire by being outright rude to you. He and his family spin it like silk; not that Naoya took advantage of a servant, but that you have been part of some grand, beautiful Cinderella story – that Naoya is in love with you.

(It’s probably for the better that the Zenins prefer servants who can see cursed spirits, at the very least – if you had not had any kind of talent for jujutsu, who knows what would have happened to you? Naoya would not have risked his son being born utterly ordinary).

And then you are Naoya’s wife. It wouldn’t do, of course, for the future head of the family to have his heir and son born out of wedlock, even if society have progressed enough that you falling pregnant with said son was before the betrothal. The latter is a disgrace; the former is a laugh over a cup of sake in the dark, a toast to Naoya’s virility, a wink-wink-nudge-nudge at how lucky Naoya is to have found someone who gives themselves up so utterly and completely and easily, including their virtue--

You know that Naoya is not in love with you. You are fairly certain that the only thing Naoya loves is his name, and the power imbued therein. Still. You share a bed with him, and you’re given silken kimonos and pretty hair ornaments and anything that you ask for, and you are . . .

Respected is not quite the right word. Not for a woman who is Naoya’s. Certainly, he does not respect you.

But you are not reviled, not ignored, not beholden to the demands of your betters. Now, you are one of the betters, and if your fellow servants are frustrated that they have to bow to you in deference, they do not dare show it knowing that if you asked Naoya, he would have them punished for the transgression.

You had perhaps thought that once you were bearing his child, Naoya would lose interest in you. You know as well as anyone that nobody would bat an eyelid at Naoya seeking his pleasure somewhere else; it’s almost expected of him to have a mistress, a concubine, to go and sow his wild oats just in case the one he has placed inside of you does not yield the crop expected--

But he doesn’t.

Naoya hates you out of his sight. He is always touching you; hands sliding over your hips, cupping where your bump has become soft and round and pronounced, snapping servants to attention if he thinks you look tired or wan or pale. You accompany him almost everywhere. He looks up from speaking to his father to seek you out, as if to reassure himself that you are still there – and some tension in his shoulders seems to drain away.

He is still Naoya, of course.

You are still swiftly reprimanded by him if you speak out of turn, he still gets servants to do anything for you so he doesn’t have to do it himself, you still walk three steps behind him with your head bowed unless he bids you to do something else – but as time goes on, and your hips widen and your stomach grows and you feel the baby kick, something in him softens.

And something else hardens.

His desire on your flesh, on your form, does not wane. You grow used to the feeling of tangled silken bedsheets below you, of Naoya’s handsome face above you, of the groan and the whine as he spills himself inside of you for the third time that night. And you would be lying if you said you didn’t like it.

That initial thrill, of being wanted by someone like Naoya, doesn’t fade at all, even though you too are now bowed to in the corridors and the people below you have to jump at your command. And Naoya is not cruel for no reason. Despite the arrogance in his tone, the condescension that drips off of his slow, drawling words, the particular way he has of raising one eyebrow and letting his gaze crawl over you – you have come to enjoy being his.

You did not want equality, after all. You knew your place.

You just wanted better – and Naoya has provided you that in spades.

He’s got his arms spread out over the pillows, his shoulders strong, his eyes hungry as he watches you strip off the kimono you have been wearing today. Your wardrobe now is the height of luxury; all beautiful embroidery, delicate colours, fabrics that cost more than your former monthly salary. Kimono are not made to cling to your body; though people can tell that you are pregnant, it does not over-emphasise your hips or the newly swollen, heavy breast, or the curve of your stomach. Those are things that Naoya never tires of seeing, as the fabric pools around your ankles and the hadajuban is discarded and so are your underwear, and you stand before him utterly bare and unmistakably carrying his child.

“Stay there,” he says, “let me look at you.”

You are a good, well-trained, obedient thing. You stand there as Naoya’s gaze roves over you, straying over and over again to where your hips have filled out even more, where your stomach is curved – where your breasts have begun to droop a little from how heavy and swollen with milk they are. He sighs as he looks you over, and it is the sigh of a man who is indeed very pleased with his work.

“You can move,” he says. He moves the covers off of him, and you are not surprised to see that he is bare; that his cock is already stirring, heavy and thick between his thighs. “Come.” He crooks a finger at you, and you are grateful to be able to move, to take the weight off your ankles as you’re permitted to sit on the bed beside him. His arms wrap around you – they are strong, and certain, and he holds you like you are his property.

Which you suppose you are. Your head lolls back onto his shoulder and he makes a soft huff of amusement, but doesn’t say anything about how brazen you are. You are permitted some special favours, now that you are Naoya’s, and now that you are fulfilling your purpose so beautifully.

Naoya’s lips brush your ear, his tongue lapping at the curve of your neck, the joint between throat and shoulder. You sigh prettily, the warmth of his mouth on you making you shiver. One of his hands curls around your breast, enjoying the heavy weight of you in his hand. Thumb and forefinger gently pinch your nipple.

He was rough with you the first time, but now he treats you like porcelain – and the idea that you are precious to Naoya Zenin sets your stomach aflame, makes your breath stick in your throat. He tugs at it softly, coaxing you to sigh, a drop of liquid leaking from the sensitive nub as you squirm backwards into his lap. His tone is lightly warning as he says;

“Come on, be good. It’s a good sign, sweetheart.”

He calls you sweetheart in front of other people and the ones who have bought this rags-to-riches Cinderella story exchange looks that say ‘isn’t she lucky?’. You hear the light edge in it, the smirk, the loftiness – but it always seems to break into something that’s almost fond, when he’s inside you and touching you and his teeth bite into your neck.

“Just that your body is doing what it’s supposed to do,” your other nipple is subjected to the same treatment, and you feel Naoya’s breath hitch, his cock stir behind you and dig into the small of your back. “I think the moment he’s in his nursery I’m going to fuck another son into you, dearest.”

“Mm?” You say, a little breathless as his hand goes lower. He sweeps his palm over the curve of your stomach, pausing where the skin is tight and swollen. His cock twitches once more at the reminder of how utterly his you are, and how wonderfully you are doing your purpose. How lucky he is, to have found someone submissive and well-trained and obedient and sweet, who looks so luscious full of him.

You drive him to distraction even when you don’t realise he’s looking at you.

“Thighs apart,” he grunts, into your ear, and you comply with the docile nature of someone raised to serve. He loves that about you. Loves, too, when he dips his fingers between your legs and your slick coats his digits, a soft whine catching in the back of your throat as he circles your clit and little shocks spark all through you, making you almost clamp your thighs back around his hand.

You do not, though. You are well-behaved. And you and Naoya have played this game enough times that you know that this is leading to relief for both of you.

One of his long fingers slides inside of you and you widen your thighs more, your soft whimper breaking and pitching – it’s such a servile, sweet little noise that Naoya cannot help but crook his finger, let it rub against the textured spot on your inner walls that has you clenching and gasping.

Since your pregnancy, you have become so sensitive. Naoya is the kind of man who hates working to pleasure a woman – who considers your orgasm a choice, and his a foregone conclusion. But with you swollen and full with his seed, he is slow and indulgent – and it is so easy, now that a brush of his palm makes you shiver and a tug of his teeth on your earlobe makes you gasp.

The finger is pulled out of you, and Naoya raises it to your lips, hooking his finger inside so you open your mouth and let him press your own slick onto your tongue.

Your tongue gently suckling at his finger reminds him of the insistent pounding of need inside of him; the stiff cock, leaking pre-come. He’d gotten so distracted touching you and enjoying you he’d almost forgotten about his own pleasure, and he sighs as he props himself up on pillows and reaches for you.

“Get comfortable,” he tells you.

His preference is to have you beneath him; that, he thinks, is his wife’s proper place. But it has begun to be difficult, with your stomach so distended – and he is nothing, he thinks to himself with more than a touch of smugness, if not an indulgent provider. A good husband.

(That’s what he thinks, anyway. You are not hurt. You get pretty things, and him in your bed, and the estate’s servants at your beck and call, an expensive wedding ring on your finger and the honour of his name affixed to yours, and his seed taking root inside of you. What else could you ask of him?)

So you are permitted to spread your knees, to climb on top of him – to gently sink your tight, wet, heat about his cock and seat yourself comfortably on the muscle of his thighs and the flat planes of his stomach.

“If you had my view,” he says, teasingly. “Mm, you were really made as breeding stock, weren’t you?” The words make heat rush to your face as he cups your hips in his hand again, squeezing the new covering of plush flesh that you’ve acquired since your pregnancy. “My wife.”

The words send a quiet thrill through you. You sigh as he bottoms out, as your body meets his entirely; your hands splaying on his shoulders. He is not flat against the bed – that position is too weak, not fitting for a man of his stature. But he is propped up with pillows behind him, so that he can admire how you look as your teeth bite into your plump bottom lip and you lift yourself just a little off his straining cock, before letting yourself fall back down.

He lets you set the pace. If you are to be permitted to ride him, he thinks, you may as well be the one doing all of the work. Part of him, too, is afraid of touching you too much – of hurting you, when you have something so precious inside of you. He would not admit that to himself – that’s not a thought process befitting of someone of his stature. But . . . it nibbles at the corners of his consciousness.

He cares about you. He does not want to hurt you. He does not want you to be uncomfortable – not when you are doing such a good job, when you are so lovely for him, when he is so grateful to have found you--

It’s no more than I deserve, he reminds himself.

And to brush back thoughts that are not proper for his elevation station in life, he lets himself watch the bounce of your breasts. Lets his fingers dig into the even softer, rounder thighs. Enjoys the sight of your mound bouncing on his cock, the feel of your slick walls clinging to his cock.

You are so beautiful, swollen with his child.

It is the first time he has ever looked at a woman and saw power in them. There is, he thinks, a power in what you have – in the glow about your skin, the brightness of your eyes, the curves and roundness and soft, supple flesh. The thought almost frightens him – but then, you push up again and your eyes meet his own for just a moment and he remembers that you are swollen with his child and have the power of him inside of you, and it becomes comforting.

Without him, you’d be nothing.

So he watches you with hungry eyes as you move your hips on his cock; as his length sinks inside of you, as you angle yourself just so – so that every stroke of your hips makes his cock rub against the place inside you that earlier had you seeing stars. Your breath is getting faster and faster, your fingers on his shoulders flexing as the tight string of your release is wound inexorably closer and closer.

Naoya allows himself a groan; a light thrust of his hips, in time with your own. The chase of your warm, tight walls as you try and pull away. He lets his gaze wander to how his cock is coated in your slick, all wet and shining in the light of the bedroom – and he is once more reassured. This is his. You are his. This wetness, this need – this is all for him. The way your body has changed is because of him.

His own release is creeping up on him.

Today, though, he decides he will be merciful – he reaches forward , curving his fingers just so, so that he can toy with your clit as you continue to fuck him. He rolls the bud with the pad of his fingers (soft; he wields just one weapon, and most people do not get to see it. Most of his harder work is done with his technique, and you have seen him apply expensive hand cream to keep himself handsome), knowing your body as well as he knows his own.

He prides himself on that, and you have spent enough nights in his bed that it is second nature to him. Women are predictable, he thinks, smirk on his face as your channel clenches around his hard cock and you come, whimpering out his name--

(In bed, he prefers Naoya-sama, and you are a good wife. Your tone is servile, soft, obedient – and in return, Naoya is almost sweet to you.)

He thrusts his hips roughly up into you, chasing his own release as your body spasms and trembles about him. You are still so tight; so hot and taut where the aftershocks are making you tremble. It’s the sight of your body, quivering under your release, that does it in the end.

Your hips and stomach and breasts and thighs, all rounded with the miracle of bearing life. All softened and plump; meek and pliant, a perfect little wife. His perfect little wife.

As he feels the tension inside of him snap, one of his hands winds about the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

Naoya’s grunt of pleasure is lost in the kiss, his mouth against yours hard and hungry. He is not willing to give up his dominance even here – but . . .

He has not kissed you so intimately before.

He has always avoided your mouth, preferring his lips on your chest or neck – turning your face away if it had seemed you might go for his mouth (later on, he had not bothered – he knows you well enough now to know that you would not dare.)

He tastes like wine. Like fancy, expensive sweets; the kind that you could have never afforded before you were his, but he has had at his disposal for his whole life. Like a cross between freedom and a prison--

He groans as he fills you up; his cock twitching, shooting out thick ropes of his come to land thick and heavy in your insides. Your whimper at the sensation is lost in his mouth, but Naoya fails to miss it – the fingers around the nape of your neck stroke through your hair, almost comforting, as he pulls back from you.

His lips are shiny, full and pretty. The grin that he gives you is crooked – and though you know it should not, though you know you should hate him for being arrogant and cruel and considering you lesser than him, the grin sends a rush of affection all through you.

If you were sentimental, you would say that the affection is mirrored in his own pale eyes.

(Naoya is glad you are not; you cannot see, beneath the triumph that you are claimed and carrying his heir and the hunger for your body and the pleasure that you are exactly the kind of wife that he wanted, that perhaps he does care about you.)

“My little wife,” he says, and he brushes his thumb over your cheek, hot with the rush of blood. “You’re so good for me.”

And you’ll carry on being so.

You’re so lovely when you’re expecting.

#naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya x you #naoya smut #jjk x reader #naoya zenin smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #not sfw #afab reader #fem pronouns #pregnancy for ts #breeding kink for ts #misogyny for ts #Anonymous

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yeojaa · 3 years

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come over, pt. i

pairing. jjk x f!reader. rating. explicit. tags. this is pwp. smut in the forms of: kissing, oral (m/f), fingering, deepthroating, hickeys, protected sex. use of the pet name shy girl. wc. 6.2k. beta reader. @hobi-gif and @snackhobi aka the loves of my tiny life. author note. this is an adaption of an rp with my beloved @velvetwicebang. while the writing is all my own, i owe so much to loma for inspiring me and being such a wonderful partner. 💛 if you enjoy this, feedback goes a long way. tysm for reading! (and yes, there will be a second part.)

You’ve been friends for thirteen months, classmates for another three before that. You’ve worked on countless projects together, watched him fall off a roof, and have had to bail him out of campus security’s grubby little hands. Your friendship is easy, based on mutual suffering in Professor Kim’s class and long study dates spent in the library. He smuggled you chocolates in his pockets and you brought iced coffee to the 8 a.m. lecture you shared.

You’re not sure why you’re riddled with uncertainty now then, every nerve ending shot, lit up bright like the still-up mini Christmas tree sitting in the corner of your dorm room. (You know you should take it down but it’s so cute, slouched ever with a tiny gold star-shaped bell hanging from the end.).

Spending time with Jungkook was normal - a part of your weekly routine - but then again, you hadn’t somehow developed a weird little crush on him until recently.

(If you think hard, you could probably pinpoint it to a night a few weeks ago when he looked particularly good, fluffy powder puff of hair stripped of shadow and gleaming gold beneath the warm lecture lights. You’d never had a thing for blonds but he made it look good - surprising you when he’d dropped into his seat beside you and winked in response to your surprise.)

(It’s something you can't tear your thoughts from now, that infuriatingly charming smile burnt into your retinas. It sits at the forefront of your mind, stealing your attention from the movie that's playing on the television hung across from your bed. One of those blockbuster flicks, because who didn’t love gratuitous action and lens flares?)

A hand reaches for the chip bowl propped between you - homemade chex mix, because you’ve been obsessed with the recipe since discovering it a few weeks ago - and you flinch away when it brushes the hand that's already in there.

"Sorry!" You squeak before coughing, a quick-witted (but not altogether believable) attempt at hiding the sudden heat that flares across your cheeks. The same hand disappears between your knees, fingers curling into the soft throw laid over your legs. You tell yourself to relax at least three times before speaking, peeking at your companion from beneath a fringe of sleep-tousled strands. “Stop stealing all my chips.”

The boy beside you only grins, tosses that lazy smile in your direction before turning his attention back to the explosion on the screen, entire expression lit up by the fireworks that explode in flashes of colour.

You think you’ve gotten away with it - that he hasn’t noticed - and then he’s speaking again, pointedly staring forward, seemingly unbothered. (You know better though. Jungkook’s infuriating like that, picking up on all the little things despite the fact that he’s a dumb boy, too good at reading between the lines when he barely studies.)

“You’re blushing.”

The callout is, well, uncalled for.

You choose to ignore him at first, opting to shove two chocolates past your lips. They’re unbearably sweet, minty and cold - your favourite - and the richness spills across your tongue, eliciting a soft hum as your teeth buzz from the sugar. (Note to self: thank Jungkook for the chocolate later.)

“You’re blushing,” you retort once you’ve swallowed, cheeks puffed out and a dent gathering between your brows. “I’m just—“ Hand waves wildly - nearly hits him in the face with how wobbly it is - and you pretend-glare at him, faux affront laid in spades. “—hot.”

It comes snappier than you mean it to, spoken in something close to a pout. You aren’t actually. The campus is notorious for having garbage heating, floorboards more akin to packed snow in the dead of winter. It’s just annoying. You refuse to be another one of those girls.

(Not that there’s anything wrong with said girls. It’s more an issue with Jungkook, stupidly handsome and charming and far too popular for his own good. People already told you all about Jungkook’s escapades - even though you often heard them from him firsthand and in gruelling detail. One of the downsides to being friends with someone who, for all intents and purposes, carried the title of campus heartthrob.)

“Pay attention to the movie.” The same hand reaches for the mix again, careful to avoid brushing his this time. You think you’ve succeeded, snatching up a piece of pretzel, morsel halfway to your mouth when it drops to your lap.

The same lap that suddenly has a hand on it, palm warm over your knee.

If you’d thought your nerve endings were shot, now you knew they were. Every inch of skin was on fire - heat shooting up your spine and over your neck the moment his hand comes in contact with bare skin. Damn your need for comfort, damn your choice to wear shorts, damn his freaking hot tattooed hands—

You almost yell at him. The sound’s on the tip of your tongue when you bite down, stare trained wholly on the movie and the blood that splatters across the screen..

Really, you shouldn't be surprised. You’ve known Jungkook for nearly two years - okay, not quite. You’ve heard all the rumours about him, the whispered words that sound something like playboy and flirt and be careful. You know and yet you’ve found yourself in this situation, desperately trying to figure out what the hell is going through his mind as you stare straight ahead, refusing to move a muscle.

His profile is picture perfect from your periphery; he's focused too, acting like he's done nothing wrong. Sly as a fox, as always.

“Still blushing,” he repeats conversationally, as if he’s commenting on the colour of the sky or how cold it is in your room. Not as if he’s got a hand where it shouldn’t be, ink spilling over his skin in pretty patterns, burning the shape of it where he touches.

"I didn't blush.” It’s a retort made for only argument’s sake and even then, without weight. Feather soft and feeble in an attempt to keep your voice level. It's hard when you’re burning up, a livewire settled where you feel him. "I'm not blushing."

It's a lie - you can feel the flush, embarrassment flooding from your cheeks all the way down over your chest. It’s an inferno beneath your skin, lava coursing through your veins.

It spreads further and further, blooms somewhere new when his hand drifts lower, tracking across the soft inner of your thigh. Doesn’t cease even when his hand does, palm firm over your leg, the ghost of a touch passing so close to your core you can’t help but jolt. It’s as if he’s rearranged your pieces, mixed them all up. A brush of his finger over your clothed entrance feels like it hits you right in the chest, snaps your heart to attention. It roars to life, thundering madly, pulse erratic when he repeats the gesture, with that much more pressure.

You’re dripping, you realise to your horror, cotton of your thong sticking to your skin, grey of your shorts made darker by the arousal that spills over the one not-so-innocent digit.

A part of you wants to run from the room. Nearly do, heart hammering in your chest when Jungkook's face is suddenly too close, the warmth of his breath stifling against your neck. It feels good, anticipation and desire fizzing in your stomach like fountain pop. (The movie theatre kind, that’s somehow flat and too bubbly all at once.)

"Kook." You mean to say it reproachfully, with a hand pushing his wrist away. Instead it comes out like a whisper, a soft sigh of his name that sounds almost needy, laced with worry and anticipation that makes you want to tear your own hair out. Fingers remain locked around bone, other hand digging into the blanket and the linen beneath it, searching desperately for some form of composure beneath the material.

For the first time, you hazard a glance - know it’ll be bad for your own well-being - dropping your stare to where his hand rests. (You have to admit - you like the sight of those tattoos, a stark contrast to the unblemished softness.)

Like it almost as much as his kisses, the first of which lands exactly where you want it most. Delicate, polite, right on the junction of your jaw. A sigh escapes before you can help it. "Shy girl,” he coos, teasing in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

“I’m not shy,” you huff - try to, anyway, around the kaleidoscope of butterflies that are threatening to choke you. "We're watching a movie." You’re trying to redirect his attention, even as you’re desperate for it, even as you think you’d give your whole heart for it.

You’re this close to combusting, eyes widening the moment he extracts his hand and tucks it back into the bowl of chips. A part of you wants to yell at him - for starting this in the first place but mainly for leaving you high and dry, turned on and soaking through your underwear.

(It’s not fair, but then again, you’d never expected them to be. You’ve seen the rules Jungkook plays by - namely those of his own creation. Term paper due the next morning? He’d somehow pull it out of his ass that night. Break something at a house party? He’d be let off with a smile and a wave, those doe eyes of his utterly lethal when paired with his pout.)

“Watch the movie then.” He sounds almost bored, utterly unbothered as he seamlessly slips back into the proper role of friend, classmate, study partner.

"Let's." Without tossing another glance in his direction, you stare straight ahead, own hand delving for snacks. So what if you very purposely brush your fingers against the pieces he's just touched, popping the pieces into your mouth before slotting your thumb against your tongue, cheeks hollowing around to suck the last bits of salt and butter off.

Despite your nerves - you’re hoping he's watching - you readjust, bringing knees up, crossing legs until one is resting atop his own thick thigh. The full of your bottom lip disappears between your teeth, worried to within an inch of its life as you shift beside him, seemingly manoeuvring your shorts into their rightful position.

(You’re not. They’re hitched higher than they were, barely worthy of the title of shorts, more akin to a belt. So revealing it’s almost uncomfortable, wet of your arousal sticking them to your skin.)

(Two could play this game.)

(Maybe him better than you, but still.)

You know what you’re doing and yet you’re somehow surprised when he’s suddenly disappeared from your side and situated himself in front of you, eating up too much of the space on your small double bed. “What’re you—“ The question disappears in the same moment he does, unable to track his movements when Jungkook slips forward, pressing his mouth over yours.

You’ve kissed a lot of people. (Okay, not a lot, but enough.) You were a senior in college, where kissing was like talking and fucking happened more often than dating.

You’ve never kissed Jungkook before.

Why hadn’t you?

His lips are terribly soft, pink and pouted, slanting across yours as if he’s trying to devour you. There’s no semblance of delicacy, nothing gentle and sweet like those brushes against your neck. They’re forceful, demanding payment in full when his tongue glides over the seam, seeking entrance despite the fact that you think he might’ve slipped in anyway.

There’s not a single wall he couldn’t break down, not a lock he couldn’t pick. Not with how he moves, purposeful and reassured, tongue sliding over yours, sucking it into his mouth as if it’s something he does every day. (Which it very well could be - just not with you.)

“Shy girl,” he repeats with a mouth filled with affection, praise that pours over you honey sweet and sticky. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

The thing is, you’re not pretending. You’re half-afraid this entire moment is going to explode into a thousand pieces, a dream shattered by reality. You hope it doesn’t. Couldn’t bear it when he feels so nice, hand spanning your waist, tucked beneath the safety of your shirt and the fleece blanket between you.

“I’m not.”

“Oh?” There’s something in his eyes, something that coils heat in the pit of your stomach. You swear you can see the devil sitting on his shoulder, gleeful little smile rearranging his features. “Do I make you nervous, ____?”

Did he? Of course he did. Had, even before you’d known him.

(You’d grown comfortable, though. Found a way to separate the popular heartthrob from your friend.)

But you’ve lost your marbles, gone certifiably insane when you make a noise that sounds nothing like you. Because you’re once again far too interested in the way Jungkook’s touching you, manhandling you as if you’re some sort of puppet. It really shouldn’t turn you on so much, slick coating your bare thighs when he guides you onto your back, pushes you back against your too many pillows.

He’s your friend and he’s told you all about the way he fucks girls until they can’t walk.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want the same treatment, though.

The moment Jungkook’s mouth finds your skin - sensitive and soft and so close to your soaked core - you keen, hands immediately flying into his silky head of hair. It threads between your fingers like fine silk, filaments of gold overlaid in colour by the movie that still plays.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, entire body arching off the back of the bed in an effort to bring some form of relief. You can’t help the heat that burns your cheeks or how you sound, begging and pleading as you tug gently at his blond roots. “Don’t tease me.”

You’re not asking very nicely but you figure Jungkook will give in. It’s his fault, after all.

His fault - which you don’t mind when he hooks fabric aside and drags his tongue across your slit, the flat of his tongue arching your back from the bed. Can’t mind when he does it again, rounded nose bumping against your clit. You’re trying to stay just a little bit decent, moans soft and caught between your teeth. You’re practically biting a hole through your lip in an effort to stay quiet, hands curled into fists. Gold spills between them and you imagine it hurts but he doesn’t stop, only works harder to drive you crazy.

Of course he’s good at this. Too good, if you’re being honest.

You’re dripping, legs trembling in his firm, unyielding grip. There's molten heat building in your stomach, creeping up your spine, and with each pass of his tongue over your sensitive core, it only expands. You want more - need it - and almost beg when he catches your clit between his teeth. A breathy baby spills out on accident when your eyes meet, gaze half-lidded.

It’s bad for your health, how good he looks right now, chin slick, lips rubied and pretty like jewels. “Shy girl sounds so pretty.”

There's something about his praise that completely ruins you, the words dragging a delighted, sexpot moan off your tongue. You want him to tell you how pretty you are now and later, over and over.

You want to be his pretty girl.

"I want you. I need more," you whine, hips rutting desperately, slick messy across your thighs and shining across Jungkook's mouth. He smiles then - brighter than the sun, utterly radiant, so devastatingly handsome you swear your brain short circuits - and then he’s doing exactly as you’ve asked.

He eats you out like it’s an art form, flicking his tongue over your clit with practiced precision, sucking the pearl between his lips. When he grazes his teeth over it - just the lightest pressure - you jolt, the feeling of a finger sliding into you stealing the breath from your lungs.

He’s always had nice hands, big broad palms and long fingers. They reach places you could never hope to, stretching you deliciously when he sinks another in alongside the first, exploring you with ease. The sting is slight, the fullness overriding any pain, further dulled by the suction of his mouth on your clit.

He even hums when he finds the spot he’s been looking for, hooking his fingers against it and pressing. (You swear you see stars; you know you feel him smile, lips spread like butter over your skin when you sob.)

You can’t help yourself, writhing and moaning, trying to ride his face with a desperation that has your chest heaving. It feels so good to have him between your legs. You almost miss the appearance of his other hand - in view for but a moment before it disappears past the waistband of his sweats. Dark as they are, pitch black like most of his clothing, it’s impossible to miss the way he touches himself. It has you even needier, pussy clenching at the thought of him fisting his own hard cock.

“Do you want a hand?” You ask as if you’re doing him a favour and not salivating at the prospect, eyes wide, blinking down at him from behind thick lashes.

“Fuck.” He’s sin incarnate, undeniable when he sheds his sweats, kicks them off with just one hand, other still slotted snug against your pussy. He never ceases his movements, fucking you on his fingers even as he sits upright, leaned back on his calves. “You want a taste? Shy girl wants a big fat cock in her mouth?”

There's something about hearing him so turned on, the expletive shooting a dizzying bolt of desire straight between yours legs. You’ve seen Jungkook worked up - he was awfully competitive, after all, dominating most intramural sports, breaking PR records in the gym - but it's something else completely when he's making you drip cum all over his hand.

"Wow.”

Jungkook's cock is pretty, flushed and glossy from the pre-cum he spreads with his thumb, massaging over the tip like it owes him something.

You want to taste it.

A contented hum rolls off your tongue at his question, though you don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. His ego's big enough without it and you’re much more interested in stroking something else. Still, you lean into his palm, nuzzling your cheek against the warmth of it when he threads his hand through your hair, gathering it in his fist.

Then without looking away, your mouth falls open, tongue peeking past your lips to lick a fat stripe up the length of his cock, from base to tip. It's hot and heavy on your tongue, the salty taste of his pre-cum better than candy. You hum again, swirling your tongue around the head, and keep your gaze locked with Jungkook's, almost smirking when you drag your tongue over his fingers, gently grazing the edge of your teeth against the pad of his thumb.

“Please.” You’re usually far more reserved, not the kind to ask for more until you’re three months into dating and certain of where you stand. You simply can’t help yourself now, the feeling of your own wetness painting your skin, making you clench around nothing. "I need it."

The groan that comes sounds more like Christmas, a gift given by Santa Claus himself. It filters into your ears and has you grinning up at him, not even bothering to hide the pride that flutters your lashes and has you pursing your lips around the head of his cock.

When he speaks again, it’s dangerously quiet, low in his throat, laced with whatever same emotion that seems to shackle your limbs. “Open up, ____,” he instructs, though he offers little time to adjust, guiding his cock forward, stuffing your mouth full. “Show me how bad.”

You don’t mind. If you were to speak, it’d practically be a prayer, tongue tracing the veins that run the length. A chorus of yes please more when he takes just as much as he gives. You love the power that comes with Jungkook speaking so filthily, drunk on it when he continues, spewing filth in time with each rock of his hips.

Lips seal around the swollen head each time he withdraws, cheeks hollowing around the tip. Tongue passes over his fingers again before your hand rises, fingers curling around his wrist to pull his own away. (You probably shouldn't - it's too romantic - but thread your fingers through his in the same instant you sink down upon his cock, taking him halfway before pulling off with a pop!)

"Do you think you'll last long enough to fuck me?" You’re pushing his buttons on purpose, just like he had yours during the movie.

Something close to a snarl comes, a growl that reverberates out of that big cavernous chest of his, and he grips your hair tighter, tries to hold you still as he grins down at you. The expression is so at odds with the warmth in his eyes, the boyish tilt of his head.

You repeat the motion again and again, taking him a little bit deeper until the head brushes the back of your throat, reflexively swallowing around the intrusion. He's still so long and thick you haven’t even taken him all, drooling around his length, breathing through your nose and pushing past the desire to gag. Then you relax your jaw just a little more, humming when your nose brushes the neatly groomed patch of hair at his base.

Your free hand slinks across his thigh, nails digging into the meat, delighted by the flex of muscle and sinew beneath your hand. He's so hard, both on your tongue and beneath your touch. It prompts you to shift forward just a bit more - you can feel the slick on your thighs, dripping down onto the sheets with each movement - and trace across his thigh to gently palm his balls.

If you could speak, you’d probably ask for more. For Jungkook to use and abuse your throat as much as he wants. As it stands, you can only moan around him, spit and his pre-cum smeared over your lips.

“Look at you.” He’s talking to himself, lost in his own world as he fucks into your mouth, soothes the pad of his thumb over your cheek. You adore the way he sounds now, dazed and a little messed up. “Look so pretty with my cock in your mouth, ____.”

You can’t do much more than look up at him, batting your lashes when he compliments you, dragging your tongue everywhere you can reach as the head of his cock batters the back of your throat. It's not an easy feat, drool all the way down your chin, trailing down your neck and staining the silk of your camisole.

At some point, you’ll need to pull off - get a proper breath of air - but not now. Instead, you swallow around him, savouring the feeling of him filling your mouth, and squeeze gently at his balls. When you wink up at him, it's half-hearted and with moisture in your eyes, lining lashes in the form of little gemstones.

You do it again and again, moaning lewdly around his cock before it gets too much, pulling off of him with a gasping breath and tears down your cheeks. “Is it my turn yet?” You’re only half-joking, made needier by the soreness in your throat, the same you want to feel so desperately between your legs. Pressing a sweet, chaste peck to his head, tongue dipping into his slit to gather the pre-cum that leaks out, you offer the sweetest smile you can, saccharine sweet and soft.

“Your turn?” The way Jungkook snorts is derisive, playful. It pulls straight off his tongue - which finds yours, swapping spit as he guides you back to the bed. Teeth collide, lips grown swollen by the intensity of your kiss, and you startle when he nips hard at the bottom petal. “I thought you were shy.”

“I am,” you retort, returning the gesture, biting into the curve of his jaw with surprising repose. Colour blooms beneath the edge of enamel, a smattering of colour that makes you smile, eager to leave more.

Which you would do, if Jungkook weren’t stripping before you, peeling his shirt from his front, tugging it over his head in that weirdly hot way that somehow all boys did. It reveals skin in a single fluid pull, clothing discarded to the side before he levels you with a smile of his own, one that stirs to life the dimple in his cheek, eyes squinting with the intensity of his delight. He looks deceptively sweet this way, nothing like the demon who’d just stuffed his cock down your throat.

You’re not sure which version of him you like best.

Seeing him now, dressed in nothing but that absurd, devilishly handsome grin of his, you’re not prepared. You’re unsure where to look, gaze bouncing between the tattoos that crawl up his arms and span over his left pec, down the neatly defined ridges of his abs, and all the way back to his swollen, shiny cock.

“You’re drooling.” Of course it’s something he’d say - because he always knows what to say, plucking perfect words from thin air. The casual banter calms the rattle in your chest and refocuses it on his face that’s too close, looming over yours as his hands make quick work of your clothes, shedding the fabric from your form with deft, measured movements.

You’re ready to say something teasing - anything to distract from the fact that you’re still ogling him - when he catches you in another kiss, softer this time, infinitely sweeter. Suddenly, you’re shy - which really makes no sense, given what’s transpired.

"Don't make fun of me," you mumble, as bashful as you were during the movie, embarrassment burning across your cheeks. Arms rise to cover what little of your chest you can, folding around his broad palms that encompass them whole, tweaking at the straining buds.

“I’m not,” Jungkook reassures against your lips, face dropping into the crook of your neck. He nuzzles against you, sucking affection into the column of your throat, shamelessly laying a wreath of lust into the delicate skin. You wonder whether he can hear the stutter of your pulse, the reaction his next words elicit. “You’re pretty when you do it.”

You can’t quite pull your eyes away from his face, shrouded in lemon tart, so good-looking it’s unfair; his broad back and the muscle that threads it, undulating with each movement; or the way his thighs flex between your spread knees. You’re dragged through heaven and hell by the brush of his lips, each glide overstimulating your senses to the point of no return. You’re still burning up, all the foreplay leaving your legs like jelly, cunt dripping with need. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

Probably not the best thing to say with the position you’re in but the reality of the situation is hitting you and you’re feeling a little vulnerable. Want an answer that’ll soften the sharp edges of his teeth, the intoxicating glint in his stare.

“No, just you.” Whether it’s true or not, you can’t say for certain. You hope it is - wish upon a star for it, laying all your hopes and dreams into the constellations in his eyes. They’re lovely, winking down at you from the darkest depths, guiding you home.

You don’t mean to scoff - really, you don’t. It comes of its own accord, spilling forth like a glass too full.

“You don’t believe me?” He sounds almost offended, the picture of innocence when he reaches down, hand scrambling about for pooled black fabric. Comes back up with a packet between his index and middle finger, held aloft like a prize.

How can you when he’s ready to devour you whole, primed to feast as he rolls the condom over his length, stroking himself once, twice, gaze never wavering from where it rests between your legs.

“Always prepared.” It’s scathing but somehow tender, too mesmerised by the way he fucks into his loose fist. You’d say more - maybe make a flippant comment about his reputation - but can’t find the words when he’s teasing you, swollen head tapping teasingly over your core. It feels like too much, leaves you breathless when he hikes your legs up and nearly folds you in half.

When he presses into you, the sound you make is sinful, a moan you can’t help. Jungkook’s so fucking big you’re sure you’re about to split in half, pussy clenching tight around the sudden intrusion. “Oh my god,” you whine, hands coiling into his hair, trying desperately to relax, the sting of the stretch battling the pressure that builds as he sinks further in. “You’re so big. I c-can’t—” You’re starting to babble nonsense and he hasn’t even begun moving yet, lips hot over the sweat-slick column of his throat when he bows, burning his presence into the grace of your neck. A hickey of your own creation blooms right where your mouth is, right over his shoulder. The salt of his skin distracts you, makes it easier to accommodate the fullness. “You feel so good, Kook.” You rock experimentally beneath him, clenching tight as if to draw him deeper. “Please, move,” you beg, aiming to form another bruise beneath his skin.

The first thrust chases all the breath from your lungs, a gasp ricocheting off your tongue and into the minimal space between you. He's absurdly big, stretching you out so well that every stroke feels like heaven. When he pushes back in, snaps his hips in that easy, effortless motion of his, you’re making the most obscene noises, words lost to his hair as he lavishes your tits with attention.

B-big! is all you manage to squeak out. It sounds like that, anyway. With how he's filling you, it's hard to speak coherently; you can practically feel him in your throat. (Or maybe that's just from choking on him earlier. You’re not really sure.)

Hands find their way around his neck, over his shoulders, periwinkle-painted nails leaving light etchings in their wake. They bloom colour over his back - not too hard, careful still, motor skills barely functioning - before you tangle your fingers in his hair, holding him recklessly close as the pressure builds and builds, flooding your abdomen in heat.

There’s slick all across your thighs. You can hear the wet sounds each time Jungkook slips almost all the way out and then rocks back in. It's terribly messy and so hot but you’re greedy, drunk off the feeling of having this Adonis break you in half. "Harder, p-please." Eyes wide, you tug gently at the soft strands at the nape of his neck, meeting his with a flutter of your lashes. "Please?"

He acquiesces without hesitation, fucks you harder, deeper, like an animal in a rut. Grinds against you with each thrust, pushing you to your limits. Even has the audacity to push further, until the strain in your hips conflicts with the pleasure skipping up your spine, melting you into a boneless mass.

You’ve never felt like this, stretched out and used. You’re used to gentle lovers, sweet - if not boring - lovemaking. The way Jungkook's pounding into you is unheard of and you’re loving it, his name whimpered on a feedback loop. A steady Kook, Kook, Kook that twinkles in your ears, inarticulate and pleading as you rock shamelessly against him.

“You like that, ____?” It’s a question for his own ego, something he knows but asks anyway. (It’d be impossible not to know the answer when your cunt’s sucking him in, coating his cock in a pretty sheen.)

You’re nodding dumbly, breathless, eager to meet him each time he snaps forward. (It’s not easy like this, practically prone beneath him, twisted into a pretzel.) "Like it so m-much. Feels so good.” You can’t stop smoothing open mouthed kisses over his fluffy hair, basking in the sunshine that radiates off him.

There's an ache starting between your legs, pussy swollen around his thick length. You’re grateful for your natural flexibility, the hot yoga sessions you’d entertained on-and-off for years. You’re sure you’d feel it in your legs too, knees pushed all the way up by your ears, if not for that.

But still, you’re defenceless, made to experience each and every thing he has to offer: every vein and ridge, the head of his cock reaching so deep it's almost too much. With each stroke, Jungkook’s brushing against the sensitive spot that has pleasure skyrocketing, blossoming like a rose garden in spring. "R-right there," you manage, rolling your hips purposefully, nearly crying each time he brushes against your g-spot.

“Right there?” He parrots it back, infuriating and adorable, the teasing tenor dripping over you like raindrops. They settle beneath your skin, sinking into your bones as he rears back just enough, enough to steal a kiss that’s far more tongue than it needs to be.

It’s almost as if he’s trying to drown you, sink you beneath high tide.

Spit descends down your chin, trails over your neck and it’s a little gross but you don’t care. The attention he’s giving is shameless, passed over your cheeks, your throat, your breasts. He gives and gives, both with his lips and the praise that comes unfettered. “Perfect,” he hums, sucking your nipple into his mouth, worrying the bud until it’s straining and puffy, too sensitive when he kisses you again and your own thigh brushes against it. You whimper at the feeling, pulling softly at his hair, unsure whether you want less or need more. “So sensitive. Such a shy girl. Such a pretty girl.”

Every word of praise has you beaming, nearly purring with delight despite the pain that comes when he puts you through the same once more, laving over the other bud with abandon. He's sweat-slick, beads of it running down his neck, over the mosaic of bruises you’ve left behind. It's almost embarrassing how dark his throat is coloured, a dozen reminders left all over his skin.

(You wonder how long they’ll last, how many days will pass as the colour shifts, changing like autumn leaves. Whether they’ll still be there at your next lecture, if he’ll wear them with pride or cover up beneath one of his big baggy sweaters.)

(You hope it’s the latter.)

(Maybe he’ll let you give him more.)

(Maybe he—)

There’s a change of pace and you’re crying out, hiccupping with each thrust, the head of his cock finding your g-spot with unbearable, unrelenting precision. Clawing at his arms, long nails digging into the firm muscle of his biceps, something between a sob and a plea rolls off your tongue, over and over. "So big. It's too m-much.” And yet you don’t want him to stop, punch drunk from the way he reaches deep and pulls you tighter against him, hips risen off the bed.

You’re begging again, eyes rolled so far back in your head you can hardly focus, the coil in your stomach pulled so tight you know it's about to snap. When Jungkook laughs - a sweet giggle that proves his duality - you clench almost painfully, tears finally spilling over.

One last brush against your most sensitive spot, one last thrust of that monster cock, and you’re peaking, coming so intensely you feel as if you’re soaring. Everything's suddenly so much more wet, release soaking into the linens beneath you, coating your thighs and his legs and dripping between you.

You’ve never come like this before, without some sort of direct stimulation on your clit. It’s pleasurable in a different way, severing all your sensibilities, explosive in its magnitude. It tingles beneath your skin, flooding all your senses.

"Kook—please—come for me.” You’re rocking up, forward - trying to, at least, folded as you are - singing his name, pleading for him to fuck his cum into you (momentarily ignorant to the fact that you’ve been responsible, a thin wall of latex separating you from your fucked out fantasy).

Despite the sensitivity, you’re clenching around him, eager to bring him to his own high. You want to feel him come apart above you, eroded into a mess like you are.

He’s just as pretty reaching his peak as he is at any other time, handsome face screwed up as if he’s reached nirvana, bliss slacking his features the longer he rides it out, bucking into you as he fills the condom and still doesn’t stop. It’s almost unbearable, oversensitivity spilling into pleasure until he leisurely grinds to a halt, stops the inconsistent pressure against your bundle of nerves, the assault on your fluttering walls.

When he collapses against you, whole face squished between the valley of your breasts, you can’t help but laugh, the sound breathless and endeared. “Are you okay?” You don’t mind where he is, weight comforting, skin sticky on yours. He’s unbelievably warm - a blanket fresh from the wash and yet so much better, lulling you into a sense of security.

“Better than okay,” he murmurs against your chest, smothering open-mouthed kisses over skin, snickering when you jolt at the feel of his teeth over your nipple one last time. “You’re welcome.” It’s an indulgent, facetious expression of gratitude, one that you haven’t asked for. You laugh all the same, ducking your head into the crown of spun gold atop his head.

“You too.”

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @codeinebelle

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sl-ut · 2 years

Text

brutal

CHAPTER FOUR

pairing: glenn rhee x reader, oc!alexander x reader (siblings), various x reader

description: jim can't stop digging, and he can't remember why until it's too late

warnings: graphic violence, death, swearing

words: 2.5K

date posted: 28/02/22

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Beyond the treeline, the group came upon Jim as he drove a spade into the dirt of the open field repeatedly, creating deep holes in the earth. Y/n watched him with furrowed brows as he ignored Shane's pleading for him to stop, or at the very least, take a break from his position in the direct sunlight. Next to her, Amy clutched at her arm as she watched the man work himself into a heavy sweat.

"Just give me a second here, please."

"What do you want?" Jim finally paused his labour, breathing heavily as he held eye contact with the Deputy in front of him.

"We're just concerned, that's all."

"Dale says you've been out here for hours." Morales called out from behind Shane.

"So?"

"So why are you digging? You headed to China, Jim?"

Under normal circumstances, Y/n may have snorted at the comment, though she had found herself becoming less susceptible to the effects of humour. She couldn't exactly decipher if it was due to the situation in general, or perhaps it was due to worry for her brother as he went off in search of Merle Dixon.

"What does it matter? I'm not hurting anyone."

"Yeah, except maybe yourself. It's a hundred degrees out here, you can't keep this up."

"Sure I can. Watch me."

"Jim, they're not gonna say it so I will. You're scaring people. You're scaring my son and Carol's daughter." Lori stepped forward.

"They got nothing to be scared of. I mean, what the hell, people? I'm out here by myself. Why don't you all just go and leave me the hell alone?"

"We think that you need to take a break, okay? Why don't you go and get yourself in the shade? Some food maybe. I'll tell you what... maybe in a little bit I'll come out here and help you myself. Jim, just tell me what it's about. Why don't you just go ahead and give me that shovel?" Shane negotiated.

"Or what?" Jim challenged.

"There is no 'or what'. I'm asking you. I'm coming to you and I'm asking you, please. I don't wanna have to take it from you."

"And if I don't, then what? Then you're gonna beat my face in like Ed Peletier, aren't you? Y'all seen his face, huh? What's left of it. See, now that's what happens when someone crosses you."

Carol visibly stiffened from her place next to Y/n. The teenager placed a meek hand on the woman's arm in comfort as she hugged her daughter to her chest.

"You weren't there," Amy defended Shane, "Ed was out of control, he was hurting his wife."

"That is their marriage," He roared, rage flooding his veins, "Not his, he is not judge and jury. Who voted you king boss, huh?"

"Jim, just give me the shovel. I'm not here to argue with you."

In a scuffle, Shane snatched the shovel and began to wrestle it from the man. Once it was out of Jim's grasp, Shane tossed it to the ground and forced Jim into the dirt, confining his movements.

"You got no right!" Jim chanted like a prayer, though he was visibly relaxing in Shane's grip, losing his fight by the second.

"Jim, Jim," Shane soothed, "Nobody's gonna hurt you. You hear me?"

Jim sobbed loudly at Shane's words, "That's a lie. That's the biggest lie there is. I told that to my wife and my two boys. I said it 100 times. It didn't matter. They came out of nowhere. There were dozens of 'em. Just pulled 'em right out of my hands.

Y/n closed her eyes at his choked words, reminded of the fact that others had not come out of the apocalypse quite as fortunate as her. Sure, her mom was in a different country, but there still stood a chance that she was still alive, and she had her brother to protect her in a world where she had no idea how to protect herself.

"You know, the only reason I got away was 'cause the dead were too busy eating my family."

***

The search and rescue party had been gone longer than anticipated. After dealing with Jim’s intense side effects of sunstroke, the camp had gone back to a relative sense of normal. Or as normal as they could be while they anxiously awaited the return of their fellow survivors. The longer they waited, the more unsettled that Y/n was rapidly becoming.

The day had come to a close, and the group was left to prepare themselves for nighttime. The bass that Andrea and Amy had managed to catch was roasted over the fire and served with a side of mushrooms. Y/n’s plate was empty within minutes of it being filled. It had been the biggest meal she had eaten in days, not to mention the tastiest. She had never been a very big fan of fish nor mushrooms, in fact they would never normally be a part of her diet, but she would consider anything to be better than a lukewarm can of kidney beans. She smirked, picturing how annoyed Alex would be that he was missing such a treat.

Despite the few who were missing and the drama that had ensued over the past two days, the remainder of the group seemed to be in fairly good morale. They swapped stories and jokes over the fire, retelling their lives before they had all come together under these… unprecedented circumstances. Y/n watched on quietly, occasionally laughing along when someone made a particularly funny comment.

“I’ve got to ask you something, man,” Morales chuckled, “It’s been driving me crazy.”

“What?” Dale tilted his head.

“That watch.”

“What’s wrong with my watch?”

“I see you every day, the same time, winding that thing like a village priest saying mass.”

“I’ve wondered this myself.” Jacqui mused.

“I’m missing the point.”

“Unless I’ve misread the signs, the world seems to have come to an end. Or at least hit a speed bump for a good, long while.” Jacqui explained.

“But there’s you, everyday, winding that stupid watch.” Morales finished.

“Time… it's important to keep track, isn't it? The days at least. Don't you think, Andrea? Back me up here.” Dale glanced at the blonde woman, who only shrugged to prompt him to continue, “I like… I like what, um, a father said to son when he gave him a watch that had been handed down through generations. He said, ‘I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire, which will fit your individual needs no better than it did mine or my father's before me; I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you may forget it for a moment now and then and not spend all of your breath trying to conquer it’.”

Y/n shared a look with Amy across the fire as silence overcame the congregation that had gathered around the bonfire, only broken by the crackling of the logs and Amy as she scoffed a laugh.

“You are so weird.”

The others broke into laughter, each sending a comforting smile Dale’s way as he leaned further into his lawn chair and threw his hands up in surrender. If it weren’t for the small smile that grew on his own face, Y/n may have mistaken his reaction for blatant annoyance, but Dale had certainly taken quite a liking to the Harrison sisters.

“Hey, where are you going?” Andrea turned to catch her younger sister as she stood and moved towards the RV.

Amy glared down at her with wide eyes, “I have to pee. Geez, you try to be discreet around here.”

“Oh,” Y/n set her plate on the ground in front of the firepit as she stood from her own seat, “I have to go too.”

Amy nodded, slowing her pace to wait for the younger girl to catch up. She glanced over her shoulder as they approached the camper, bumping her shoulder into Y/n’s with a smirk as they grew further away.

“So?”

Y/n furrowed her brows, “So, what?”

Amy groaned as she held the door open for Y/n, “So, how’s Glenn?”

Y/n sighed, “Do you ever get tired of talking about that?”

“Hmm, no, not really.” Amy shrugged, “Hey, the world ended. I’ll take whatever kind of drama I can get.”

“I wouldn’t call it drama.”

“So there is an ‘it’.” Amy pressed. “I knew it. You were both acting weird this morning before he left. So are you going to tell me, or do I have to torture it out of you?”

Y/n snorted, pulling out her best Russian accent, “I’ll never talk.”

Amy giggled, pushing Y/n’s shoulder as she sat at the table, motioning for Y/n to use the bathroom first, though she did not relent on the interrogation now that Y/n could not escape her questions. Y/n cursed herself for allowing Amy to trap her in the small bathroom.

“Did he profess his love for you?”

“No.”

“Did you profess your love for him?”

“I don’t love him, Amy.”

“Did you hook up?”

“Amy.”

“Sorry, sorry,” She laughed, feigning innocence, “So you just made out, then?”

Y/n’s lips parted, silent for only a moment before Amy’s shriek broke through the door.

“Oh my God, you made out with Glenn?”

Y/n forced the door open, an icy glare in her eyes as she stalked towards the older girl, “No, I did not make out with Glenn. We just, you know, kissed.”

Amy grinned widely at her, “I knew you two would get together. In a world of zombies, you two are definitely endgame. This is all just like a movie or something.”

The teenager shrugged, hugging herself tightly, “Amy, it was just a kiss. And I’m not even sure if I liked it that much, you know? I mean, he’s the only guy close to my age around here, what if I’m only feeling this way because he’s just there?”

“I mean, it’s definitely possible,” Amy pursed her lips, “Or, maybe you should just go for it? Realistically, we could all be dead by morning, so what’s the point in just beating around the bush?”

Amy stood to strut past Y/n, but halted in the doorway of the bathroom before turning back with a wild fury in her eyes, “You used all of the toilet paper?”

Y/n laughed as she shrugged, amazed at how quickly her emotions had shifted, “There was only one piece left!”

Amy scoffed as she moved to the door of the RV, “Yeah, real nice. I play therapist and you can’t even repay me by leaving the last bit of toilet paper for me?” She pushed the door open, calling to the others at the campfire, “We’re out of toilet paper?”

Y/n watched in slow motion at a dark claw grasped at Amy’s arm, a look of surprise crossing her features before a scream of terror ripped through her as the walker sunk it’s teeth into her arm.

Those who were still sitting at the campfire leapt into action, children being guarded by their parents as the few who were armed began taking out the walkers as they approached, but like a hydra, two more took the place of each fallen geek.

For a moment, Y/n considered closing the door of the RV. She was unfit to defend herself, let alone anyone else, and would be completely protected from the walkers. Then, she thought of the others, how they would be killed, and that if she had secluded herself, she would still die in a matter of days from hunger. Instead, she snatched the largest screwdriver from Dale’s toolbox and lunged forward, plunging it through the temple of the zombie that had continued attacking Amy with a loud cry, though she was unable to protect her from the second walker that snuck up behind her before it took a large chunk out of her neck.

Andrea was at her sister’s side in a moment, killing the walker and helping her to lay in the dirt as she sobbed, screaming for her sister to get up and keep going.

She had managed to take out another handful of walking corpses before her choice of weapon finally failed her. The tool became caught in the skull of one walker, leaving her defenceless against the others who were quickly advancing on her. Y/n tugged on the handle of the screwdriver with the entirety of her strength, closing her eyes as she began to accept her fate; The sinking of their rotting teeth into her flesh, the roughness of their decaying skin scratching against her own as they clawed her apart. But it never came.

One by one, the walkers who had surrounded her began dropping to the earth, round bullet holes marking their foreheads as black blood and chunks of brain and flesh began splattering onto her face. Glancing up, her eyes met those of Glenn, who ran to her side as soon as the dead assailants had fallen.

“Are you okay?” He asked, “You’re not bit?”

She stared down at the corpses at her feet before looking back up at him with red-rimmed eyes, voice caught in her throat, “No, I don’t think so.”

Y/n peeked over to where Andrea continued to kneel over her sister’s body, wailing as the final few walkers were killed. She whimpered as she eyed the large puddle of blood that had formed on the ground around her body. Glenn gulped as he followed her line of vision, quickly pulling her into his embrace to protect her from looking at it any longer.

“Amy,” She whispered quietly, tears beginning to dribble down her cheeks to stain his t-shirt as sobs began to wrack her body.

“I know,” His voice cracked as he cradled the back of her neck gently, pressing her face into his shoulder.

“Y/n!” Alex sprinted towards the pair, tearing his sister away from Glenn and into his own hold. “Oh my God, you’re okay.”

Y/n leaned further into her brother’s chest, muffling her increasingly loud sobs. In the mess of events that had occured in the past few minutes, her concern about the wellbeing of her brother had all but left her mind, which only upset her even further.

The safety that they had created for themselves had collapsed. Their camp was no longer safe, and over half of those who had once been survivors had been killed. Unsure of how to go on from there, the remainder of the campers wept quietly as they listened to the eerie, harrowing wails of Andrea Harrison.

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