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mechaknight-98 · 20 hours

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Kan’t relax (NSFW) FT Sakura Miyawaki

Author's note: I forgot how close I was to done with this fic…so here it is. Milf Mommy Sakura inbound You have been warned.

Heroes are captivating in fiction because they always arrive just in time and defeat the villain with unmatched skill and power. In reality, however, heroes are often ordinary people who rise to the occasion.

While out getting breakfast for Saki, Daigo was confronted by an old acquaintance named Reborn.

“I am so sorry, Daigo, but I need your help,” Reborn said. Before Daigo could respond, Reborn shot him in the face.

Ten years later, Daigo's eyes snapped open as the smoke dissipated around him. Reborn stood over him and reached out a hand to help him up.

“Where am I?” Daigo asked.

“The same cafe, just 10 years later.” Daigo’s heart sank.

“Where's Sakura?” he asked.

Reborn sighed. “She's leading the Miyawaki clan, but I don't think you're ready to see her.”

Daigo's reply was both defiant and despondent. “I don't care. That's my girl. Take me to her.”

Reborn sighed, knowing Daigo wouldn't relent. So they embarked on a journey to Japan, where Sakura was. They arrived at her "day job" as the head of an idol agency, where she and the girls were still making music and moving forward. As they entered the building, Sakura was headed out. She looked as radiant as ever, but a deep sadness and a dour expression were etched on her face.

“Kura, is that you?” Daigo said weakly. Sakura, having long abandoned that name, turned to Daigo, and their eyes met. A wordless exchange happened between them as they ran to each other. Daigo held her tight, and Sakura readily accepted his embrace.

“Please tell me this isn't a dream,” Sakura asked. Daigo shook his head. “No dream. I'm here for you,” he said. Sakura smiled, and the mask of Saki fell away.

“Why do you look so young though? You look like you're 26,” she asked, confused.

“Can we explain over tea?” Daigo asked. Sakura's eyes narrowed as she looked past Daigo and saw Reborn standing behind him. She flew into a rage.

“You!” Sakura growled at the hitman. “I should have known you had something to do with Daigo’s disappearance.” Her anger flared like a blaze, but Daigo, being the more level-headed, intervened.

“Wait, Kura. He brought me here,” he said. Despite the time and distance from Daigo, she still always deferred to him. She got serious.

“Okay, but when you're done with whatever you have to do today, come find me. I need my stud.”

“How would I find you? Everything is different now.”

“Daigo, you are the most resourceful person I know. You can do it. Otherwise, I'll find you and be forced to punish you,” Sakura said. Daigo wanted to submit to her then and there and let her run wild, but he had responsibilities.

“God, I love it when you punish me,” he said.

Sakura smiled. “I always knew you had a bit of a submissive streak. Don't worry, Mommy will take good care of you. All those competing thoughts, Mommy is going to erase them, so all you can think about is Mommy,” Sakura said. Daigo smiled at her before nodding and going to train with Reborn.

While training Daigo asks, “So who killed me in this timeline originally?”

“It was Tobirama Ozunu,” reborn says as he shows Daigo a picture he recognized as Tobi

“Of course,” Daigo replied to his trainer annoyed as he got back to work. The combat training continued til right before sunset. Daigo said goodbye to Reborn before setting out to find Kura. It took an hour but he made it to her penthouse right after sunset.

When he reached her door his cock was already unbearably hard, and several different emotions flowed through him. The weirdest one is this intense longing despite literally having just been in bed with her this morning. He opens the door to see Sakura very nude on her couch. She grins wolfishly at him and without command he strips for her. Her grin widens. Kura marvels at how hard his cock is for her despite her not touching it. She approaches Daigo and caresses his face. She smiles before saying,

“Do you want mommy to ruin you?” Daigo nods. Kura smiles. She starts by guiding him to the bedroom. Her arousal scent is already melting Daigo’s brain. Having aged like a fine wine in all facets Kura’s control over all facets of her body has been refined and nurtured. Her breasts are bigger her body is more plump, and her scent is now deadly.

Sakura pushes Daigo to the bed and she slowly approaches watching him wordlessly writhe and squirm for her. Sakura loved how needy Daigo was for her, but she needed him feral she needed him rough and raw. She inched to his face and kissed him instead of being fast and aggressive like how she would be when they were younger. Kira’s tongue was slow and deliberate. She knew her Stud’s body instinctively and knew how to send him over the edge. Her first trick was forcing him to swallow her saliva to the point he almost drowned in her kiss. When he came up for air she began to kiss around his body. Paying special attention to his ears, especially one of his known weaknesses. After she’s finished she notices a change in Daigo. His eyes have narrowed and her scent has done its job. Daigo gets up and grabs Kura who moans as he roughly throws her on the bed and without warning Daigo plugs her with his cock. Kura moans as she hasn’t been fucked in ten years.

“Ugh, I’ve needed this cock for ten years,” Sakura whined as a wave of familiar feelings overwhelmed her. Mainly her submission to her stud. It caused her to release more of her arousal and her pussy became a sodden mess as Daigo thrust in and out of her. Now no longer bound by her contracts or obligations since she owned all of Le Sserafim she could fully indulge in her needs.

“Fucking breed that milf pussy. I’ve waited so long,” Sakura said with an almost frightening level of conviction that sent Daigo over the edge and he bred her pussy. Sakura moaned as she reached her peak as well, but her mind broke and her body took control. Her instincts forced her to start fucking herself into Daigo’s cock so it couldn’t soften. Daigo’s mind was also broken as Kura’s fertile pussy invited him to fuck her again. He was overwhelmed by her scent and swept away by the need to breed his bitch. He grabbed Kura’s waist and slammed into her. Kura moaned loudly as Daigo began to thrust again. Animalistic groans came from them as their instincts overwhelmed their brains. Daigo never felt this way before but he needed Kura. He needed to have her more than he needed to breathe, and Sakura needed to be Daigo’s. So they gave in. Sakura’s pussy became little more than a sopping fleshlight for Daigo as his cock slipped into and out of her insatiable fuck hole. Sakura moaned like the bitch in heat she was. Their minds became fogged over by their thoughts that they couldn’t feel their orgasms coming and it hit them both like runaway trains. As Daigo filled Kura up again she leaned back into his body inviting her stud to claim her her again. Daigo grabbed her left tit and cupped her ass as he continued thrusting into her churning his cum inside her before biting her collarbone. Kura’s pussy clenched Daigo. Wordless encouragement to continue on.

“Fuck Mommy your pussy is so tight,” Daigo groaned as he continued thrusting into her Sakura moaned, and said

“Oh, I’m mommy? well then breed me and make me one.”

“Huh that breeding kink never went away did it?” Daigo inquired

“No, it didn’t now slap my ass say how good mommy’s pussy is, and creampie me.” She shot back. Daigo smiled at how much he loved this woman no matter what form she took or how old she was. He slapped her ass and marveled at how it rippled for him then grabbed both of her tits.

“Mommy’s pussy is so filthy. All mommy wants to do is be my breeding bitch doesn’t she. This is all mommy is good for huh? Dumping my children into her womb. Is that what mommy wants?” Daigo says and Sakura is overwhelmed by her lust cums again squirting all over Daigo’s cock, and trying to milk it. She succeeded and Daigo fills her again with cum, but their still horny for each other so they keep fucking until Sakura’s stomach growls.

Daigo laughs and looks at the clock. “Fuck it’s midnight already?” He says dazed by the fact they have been going at it for four hours.

Sakura smiles and says give me a minute let me order some food for us. While she’s on the call Daigo keeps fucking her. When she’s finished she glares at Daigo as he still thrust into her and then cums inside her. This causes the inner breeding cum slut that Sakura has been keeping at bay to fully cum out.

“Oh god yes. Fill me up again. I need your cum. Fuck keep me full.” Sakura said. Her words make Daigo even harder, 25 minutes later Sakura cums again, but before Daigo can reach his peak Sakura’s door rings and he has to pull out.

“I didn’t know you were holding out on me stud she said opening the door naked much to the surprise of the delivery woman who she winked at before going back to Daigo and starting their late-night meal. Daigo smiled and said

“Well it seems like you needed it, and I’d do anything for my breeding bitch.”

#kpop fanfic #fanfic #miyawaki sakura #lesserafim smut #izone sakura #sakura smut #miyawaki sakura smut

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itsonlydana · 2 days

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Hey hey, saw ur requests were open for Thranduil and knew I needed to submit something!

Could you do a Thranduil x fem human reader where she braids her hair without knowing the significance for elves? They both have feelings for each other but neither has said anything, supper fluffy ending y’know?

Thank you in advance and have a great day!! :))

Beautiful misunderstandings | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x fem human!reader 👑

You simply wanted to accept an invitation to a celebration, but something about you makes the elves literally drop at your feet. Can Thranduil resolve this misunderstanding, or will he be affected as well?

tags/warnings: just lots and lots of fluff, no warnings

word count: 3,6k

an: to be honest, most of what i wrote is my own headcanons because i did not find lots about hair culture with the elves.. so please: educate me! Are there some hcs in the fandom? :)

+ masterlist + rules + 🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

The forests of Greenwood greet you with open flames of torches licking up their hot tongues against the dark skies, coloring the path the horse trots along in their amber lights and the wooden smoke that fills the air. Evenly distributed along the pathway they light up just enough of Greenwood that it doesn't take away from the sight that awaits you at the end, where the trees give way to an equally decorated bridge and the foliage thins out enough for you to take in the tall arches framing the open doors of the Great Elvenking's halls.

You have already been a guest for many of Thranduil's festivities ever since he established trading relations with your small fisher town. Due to the bond that twirls around the two of you in some unfathomable and complex manner, you also know that nothing he ever does is anything but grande and imposing.

Still, you can't help but push your lower lip in between your teeth.

Not once have you gotten the impression of standing out more than the difference in race and status already marked as obvious factors, neither Thranduil nor his elves treated you like you felt right now:

Completely out of your known waters.

The elvish customs were far too many for you to know them all and you always try your best to consider all and everything that you've learned in the two summers you could consider yourself an acquaintance to Thranduil. Whatever form this acquaintanceship took on is another worry, or rather, another unknown that you can't exactly express to anyone.

It's nearly as confusing as the steps of the dance you studied in your room before you left this morning, a step forward and two back, Thranduil asking you to accompany him to his dances but never dancing with you.

Tonight, you want to change this predicament of always ending up in the arms of another elf while the one you yearned for watches from the sidelines! You didn't work this hard for the fabric that hugs your figure in a beautiful dress for nothing and even if the fabric isn't as shiny or light as the dresses the elves wear and the stitches marked your fingertips with the evidence of the labor and long nights, you are proud of the garment.

The wind plays in the hem as you emerge from the guarded forest and its thick and dense foliage and it winds itself around your legs after you dismount your horse. A quick kiss to his muzzle, followed by an exhale of warm, familiar breath and you hesitantly let a servant take him away, mumbling a soft "Thank you" while you stay where you are and watch until they disappear around a tree.

Nervously you start walking up to the bridge, the reckless water under it crashing against the stone walls and it goes along with the blood that pumps high and fast through your body and rushes in your ears. The atmosphere is loaded, sizzling under the nearly suffocating heat that's only bearable in the cool shadows of the palace in front of you so you don't waste another second.

You brush off the hood of your riding coat, smoothing out some fly-away hairs that escaped the braid you carefully weaved earlier this day as you duck your head in reverence to be allowed in these sacred halls.

Whispers catch up to you from outside, a breeze dancing through leaves.

When you lift your chin again, you find that it's not the air affecting nature but rather your presence halting nearly all the elves that gathered on the first bridge inside the caves.

They say elves are graceful and purposeful in their movements – the way dozens of eyes are locked onto you and lips move in not-so-silent murmurs defiles that claim though.

It's nothing you haven't encountered before, the talks behind your back that came along with Thranduil's attention shining down on you like the sun – hot, engulfing you completely and rendering you breathless as well as a bit sweaty at times whenever he looks at you, and you learned how to handle it. His attention brought forth a lot of awareness of his folk to the woman who visits Thranduil just as often as he rides into your town and becomes the topic of conversations for weeks. What's a girl to do except accept that a King never comes alone?

You're used to elves watching you, most of them in respect. Thranduil's authority radiates onto you, as well as the protection that he swore would lay upon you as long as he's there to give out orders.

The first elf whose eyes you questioningly meet drops to his knees in the same instant, barely a breath of time passing by.

A gasp leaves your throat.

Words do not follow. They remain echoing in your head, pushed back by the spectacle that spread before you like wildfire. Too fast, too much.

Within seconds of you entering, the buzz of lowered voices dies down as elf after elf either bows or completely meets the ground they are standing on. The spectacle is confusing and throws you completely off; this reaction is nowhere near what you've experienced before and you do the first thing that comes to mind to handle this totally unsuspected confrontation of elves bowing to you, a human from no known family and nothing to your name other than the weight it carries on Thranduil's tongue.

The only thing you manage to stammer is: "Good evening," and a high-pitched, "Thank you?" before you take your legs into your hand and dash over the bridge.

Thoughts as unstoppable as you run through your mind while you navigate the curving halls of the underground palace, the stonewalls not cool enough to diminish the heat that sits low in your neck, growing the longer you think about all that has happened between Thranduil and you and how it's not much more than nothing but a close alliance of human and elf.

One that you hope would take on a different turn, because some of the actions by Thranduil could be considered friendlier than one would treat an ally or friend. You think back to all the gifts you have received, the white gems for example that, barely bigger than your nails but woven into the upper part of your braid, reflect the light and throw silver dots against the walls that lead you to the point Thranduil had asked you to meet him in one of his many letters.

The route involves more encounters with more elves, some bow more subtly, their hands on their chest in a greeting that you do know, and some others, mostly those who've already fallen in barrels of wine and are less sophisticated in their movements in their drunken state who repeat the word "bereth" as if it's a prayer in a language that's far beyond you to make out right now.

At the end of the hallway, you make out the back of a familiar blonde and even from afar you notice the resemblance that Thranduil's silver circlet has to the silver ribbon you have woven into your hair in a similar way and height how his circlet would look placed on your head.

Is this what brought such uproar to the elves? Have you accidentally copied their king?

"Thranduil!" you call out, his name lacking any title though not out of disrespect. You have the highest respect for the King of the Elves and slip a "Your Majesty" rather often into conversations because you know how much he favors his name from your tongue and teasing him like that brings a joy to you that you can't explain anyway else then:

Hearing him laugh and smile or roll his eyes at your antics fuels the love you harbor for him.

Now is not the time for teasing chit-chat, you are desperate to find out if you have actually misstepped by presenting his gifts like this at a festival that's solely about him.

He turns at the sound of your voice and, oh lord, even his eyes widen as soon as they land on you and you want to perish rather than step any closer but the hurry in your legs and the nervousness in your stomach makes it impossible to do anything else but run to the one soul in this world that brings you comfort.

You arrive at a full stop, and your heels would have stirred up dust if you were a mare.

Now it's not only Thranduil's eyes that seem to have developed an inability to stray farther than your head; his mouth falls open as well and he makes no effort to close it again. The fact that this behavior is completely ungracious and ill-mannered has apparently not dawned on him yet. The longer you spend helplessly looking up at him, you swear you can see most of his thoughts visibly inching away behind that baffled expression.

At first, there's nothing.

Then some clarity returns into the blue eyes you love so much and Thranduil exhales a quiet: "Berio nin."

Now, that's Sindarin you've heard before – that the context he has said these words were moments when he playfully begged the Valar to aid him with you tormented him in some way throws you off your balance even more and you take a step back.

"I did not–" you start and raise a hand to wave it at all of you, "This, I had no idea. Did I offend you? Or the elves?"

"Offend?" Thranduil asks bewildered.

"Well, the way they reacted. I wasn't sure," you laugh distraught. Thranduil's eyebrows instantly furrow, and you're quick to follow up: "Not in a bad way!" you explain and he loosens up, "They, um, they bowed? And some may have fallen to the ground?"

"Ah," he chuckles and his reaction calms you a bit. He could've been screaming or throwing you out. If he's laughing this can't be that big of a serious misstep. Thranduil looks at you through lowered lashes and runs his tongue over his teeth, a smile threatening to break through the serious expression he tries to obtain. "I believe a conversation and education is in order. If you would follow me to have this conversation somewhere else," he says and holds out his arm for you to grab.

He leads you around a corner and another one, walking swiftly yet seemingly in no hurry until Thranduil opens a door and quickly pulls you inside the room.

Candles littered all around light up what you immediately understand to be his private chambers, the many robes you recognize, the colorful falcons with shimmering scented oils and shells full of jewelry, pearls, gems, and rings in gold and silver. There, right where Thranduil stops in front of you to block out your view, you take a peek at a giant bed behind flowy white curtains.

You blush.

Even more so when you see Thranduil blush as well. His eyes return to your hair again, just like he had on the short walk to these chambers; tilting his head down to you as if some magical force bound him to staring at you in a manner he hadn't done before.

"You are my guest so I see it to be my responsibility to clear up what may have been a–" he pauses and his eyelashes flutter as he thinks of a fitting word, "a misapprehension. Not that you could have possibly known the outcome of what you doubtlessly suspected to be a kind gesture."

You nervously cross your arms behind your back, intertwining your fingers so you do not meddle or ruffle the carefully layered fabrics of your dress. "I solemnly swear I was not up for any mockery."

His eyes widen again. "I would not have accused you of such!"

You tilt your head in confusion and bite down on your lip, ungraceful as well and a habit you should definitely quit, especially in the company of a King.

"What was it that startled the elves?" You think back to the way Thranduil had reacted, the wide-blown eyes, the pink lips formed to a delicate 'o' – "As well as you, Thranduil. You couldn't even get a word out except for a prayer." You let out a single laugh to cover up your embarrassment.

The elf lifts his chin higher as if that could prevent you from noticing the blush deepening, growing much more red than just a delicate pink that stands out from his ivory skin but not much that it couldn't be interpreted as a light intoxication of either wine or fresh air.

"I do not remember that," he lies with a dismissive voice. "Anyway, let me clarify the current dilemma instead of wasting time discussing the past."

"Definitely not that far back that you could count it as 'the past' but sure," you sigh and decide to ignore the glare he sends you as you confront his very unsubtle passive- aggressive change of topic from him to you. Thranduil had centuries of building up a thickheadedness to lead the Woodland Realm and you had mere months on your hands in trying to push a way through it.

"Well, the behavior my folk portrayed was simply said the respect they pay for any honorable and eminent," Thranduil says, not batting an eye over the unbelievable words that come out of his mouth.

"What?" Your voice is nothing but a high squeal, "Why would they do that? They know I'm just a human!"

Thranduil scoffs, "Just a human, she says. Do not dismiss yourself in any way and most definitely not as just a human. Humans are such fascinating creatures, all those feelings compressed into an ephemeral life and bodies that endure pain and even if you waste away to dust you try to mark down your existence into every stone that you touch." Before you can burst into tears at his rather sentimental and emotional view of your people, he continues in a tone more factual: "To answer your question– you conveyed that I was courting you and they simply knew there would be grave consequences if they did not respect my intended."

All the air left your body in a singular exhale, thus leaving you to grasp at the few thoughts that stayed through the cut-off of oxygen. Not that they were any good.

Courting you? Being his intended?

You can only stare at him aghast.

"But– courting? You weren't, we weren't– there was no courting!" you stammer.

The world is reeling.

Black spots dance in the corner of your sight.

It takes all your focus to stand still and not sway back and forth, giving in to the abrupt slide downward reality has suddenly become.

"No," Thranduil says.

A part of you withers at the finality of the statement because of course, he, Great Elvenking Thranduil, would never be caught courting a human. The absurdity of it must be why he was laughing earlier, praying to the Valar to become a witness of what must be your greatest humiliation.

"No, there was. I was simply waiting for your realization as well as acceptance to officially proclaim it."

Now it's your mouth that falls open without any strength left to prevent it.

Thranduil swallows, hard, his jaw set tightly and his eyes fixating on you. "All that I did, and thought to do, was in prospect of taking you as my betrothed," he states; the smallest of quivers underlining the massive impact this admission causes to him. He lifts one hand to his chest, pressing his knuckles against the fabric where underneath his heart lays. "I ache to love, treasure, and worship you. Every second of all the days I may have the pleasure of your company in my life or it shall be colorless from now on."

His eyes glitter, the endless blues of the sky, affection burning in them like the sun, broadening your horizon of what you believed love to be and there is no doubt in your mind that Thranduil's words are nothing but the truth. Confounding as that truth should be, it is that – certainty.

A smile breaks on your face, watery and wet as tears of pure happiness spill onto your cheeks and even if your heart has been on the tip of your tongue at every word you have ever said to him and in every glance that you have ever directed in his way, the need to validate his revelation.

You step carefully step closer and the hem of your dress brushes against his gowns as you close the bit of distance. Thranduil watches cautiously, leaving his hand against his heart, and only tips his chin down to follow you until you step into his personal space. The whole regal and stoic image he portrays even after confessing his love passionately mere seconds ago breaks as you feel his wavering breath and you swear you can hear the loud pounding of his battered-yet-strong heart.

"Is it my hair?" you ask quietly and catch him off-guard.

Thranduil smiles and his chest heaves in a deep inhale of air. "Yes," he laughs in an exhale, "Do you wish to know how you managed to completely dismantle me? Rob me of all powers?"

You nod once and one hand of his comes to rest on your shoulder from where he leads you to a silver basin standing in a corner decorated with more oils and vines climbing the stone walls.

The sight that the clear water inside it shows you, Thranduil standing behind you, more than slightly taller, brings a warmness to your cheeks. Even if the prospect of his image finding a constant in your life from now on is undeniable, you're not sure if you will ever get satiated by it.

Thranduil slowly reaches the elaborate braid you are so proud of despite the public tumult it had caused. "There are many things sacred to my folk and hair –" he starts and lets his fingers travel the length of free-falling hair, "holds the memories of our history, our connection to the Eldar and kemen – the earth. We do not cut it but rather let it grow to pay our respects to Eru for his creation, the natural and untouched world, flows in us all. It bears the marks of our ancestry though many cultures convey their personal history in many different ways."

You listen intently, trying not to get distracted by Thranduil's hands smoothing your hair and the deep rumble of his voice wrapping around his language that pulls you into a trance.

"Among us Sindar, we wave our customs into the very strands of this sacred hair. Our warriors, for instance, adorn themselves with tightly woven braids, serving not only as protection in battle but as a testament to their strength and unwavering discipline."

"The intricate and jeweled braids you wear," Thranduil's fingers glide along the white gems, thus nudging them against your head, "they speak volumes of noble heritage and high standing. Even if you do not have royal blood in your family, a braid like this will be more convincing to the contrary."

You blush as you realize how you unknowingly changed your entire status.

"By adorning your hair with the jewels I bestowed upon you, you declare to all my claim upon you," Thranduil chuckles and meets your eyes in the water, "Braids are the essence of our heritage, denoting rank and occupation, and they speak volumes in courtship."

"Oh," you say, "I knew Elves court through gifts. Would I have known this…"

Thranduil shakes his head, smiling widely as he continues playing with your hair, "You say that but not once have you realized all that I have given to you were of my pursuit."

"Well, I– this wasn't… I thought you were being nice," you sputter and grow even redder in the face.

"Unbelievably rude and ungracious to consider me ni–" he interrupts himself and shivers, "No I will not speak in such obscene language." Thranduil raises an eyebrow before returning his attention to the lesson in courting, "Through these intricate weavings, we convey our intentions and the profound depth of our bonds. While dalliances are not uncommon, my folk only marry once in their life."

"Love is eternal and unwavering, and each twist in our braids declares the union of our souls. By weaving your hopes and pleas for reciprocation into your hair, you speak a silent yet powerful language. The braid you chose, resembling my crown and adorned with my jewels and a silver ribbon akin to my own hair, could not have delivered a clearer message."

"So I basically lied to your elves," you pull a face in shame, "Great."

"You may call it a lie," Thranduil says slowly and his hands travel to rest on your shoulders. You lean into the gentle pull and let him turn you around so that you are face-to-face again. There is a dedication in his eyes, a look of hunger and yearning, "Or," his voice sounds even deeper and reverberates through your entire body, zipping up your spine that you automatically straighten, "You allow me to present our courtship openly if a deeper connection is what you desire to form between us."

Your heart thumps in your chest, double the tempo that one would call normal and it only speeds up when Thranduil cups your face in his hand and his fingertips graze the silver ribbon that sits tightly against your head.

"Allow me," he repeats, quieter.

"Your word and the world will know you are mine," he pleads.

You waste not a second to ponder over what your heart already decided. "I allow it."

©itsonlydana 2024, character art by MiracleAna on Devianart

#📁files: thranduil fanfics #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x reader #thranduil oropherion #thranduil x you #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit x you #king thranduil

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pettyprocrastination · 1 year

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The way I kept thinking of your Saturn, Inverted!Frankie while watching Joel… viciously protective father who would do, would have done, anything for his girl…

okay but the moment he showed up on screen i was like 'thats frankie and katie. oh my god' and immediately went to screeching about it with @joel-mlller because the actress for sarah is also how I imagine katie to look when she was younger!!!

I'm so happy that you remember that story <3

#ask #asks #i love family dynamics in horror its my bread n butter babeyyy #katie kat core #im still waiting back to hear from the lit journal i submitted the story to and itll take like another two months for them to #let me know if ive been accepted or not and im biting my nails over it lmao #i kinda just want them to send me the rejection letter now to get it over with lmaoo the anticipation is the hardest part #but i keep rewatching the beginning of the episode because..that frankie and katie #and i also like. cant stop thinking about what could have been #had sarah survived. she joel and tommy navigating this new cruel world with one another #where a little girl has to see and accept this new side of her father that shes never seen before but he'll do everything in his power #to keep her safe #i just really want to read about sarah not dying lmao

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unproduciblesmackdown · 2 years

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truly thinking of like Just Being Yourself as a supposed matter of being More spontaneous and not being caught up in your own head about it or whatever, but then the nd perspective (and really potentially anyone who’s Being Themself isn’t sufficiently of the “normal”) wherein it’s like, the more everyday / usual approach is of course to filter oneself / mask, but you don’t even know that until you learn of it and then like, think through it re: yourself, and then doing Less of that and figuring out what you do when you’re not masking Is like, added effort and a conscious process. and how things can involve not just tamping down xyz but adding in various behaviors for others’ sake, or just that like, things you haven’t Yet tamped down at all b/c you think they’re things you’re doing Right or Have To Do / i.e. would be covered under masking anyways if you didn’t do them “enough” already, but then it’s like, maybe this is generally a waste of my energy at best if not also effectively punished lmao and even if i’d “naturally” do it, again it can be matter of consciously Choosing not to, not b/c it’s not being yourself, but just b/c of using that awareness to like, i’m not going to do that in the majority of situations but i know it’s because of other people’s nonsense. that’s me and like, [talking] lately lol

and certainly it’s like. oh haven’t found yourself in time for college, better go to a house party or something elevated and conveniently more interesting to look at than a scene in a high school hallway, y.a. protagonist, and follow your increasing rate of impulsive decisions to the core of Your Truth like a geiger counter lmao, quick....i mean not like anyone has to have their life figured out by eighteen b/c that’s just not how it works anyways, or like you either have your secret realest self under lock and key to just be let out eventually here or like yeah better find it on one especial occasion, and that occasion should be about cutting loose & shit, like oh well if you just max out the volume on everything you’re feeling by elevating it all enough you’ll overhear your realest self and everyone who matters will be like oh hell yeah, in recognition of the authenticity of that drama lol....like oh believe me my Real Self has spontaneity and vivacity and passion and elevation, of the kind nt people will like, only ascribe and relate to a context of romance or some shit, like that’s a wednesday maybe b/c of having fun with xyz, couldn’t be me but i guess have fun with when like, people just like don’t have the humor or theatricality (or ability to have exchanges with other people that aren’t competitions / an issued challenge or threat) where it’s like oh someone could only be being fun or playful or energetic if they’re a bit fucked up actually, i.e. drunk surely. like well no that can just be personality & choices, including being what you think is a bit fucked up b/c being nd is surely incorrect & certainly abnormal, which is incorrect, so same difference....but anyways it can be its own choice all the time to actually share all those supposedly properly Elevated [being oneself] properties around anyone else, and even then of course it’s like, results vary with who likes it vs thinks it’s clearly doing too much / nobody doing that could Really be being themself, bring out that normaller you who must exist, or it can maybe be entertaining so long as you just do it on your own and nobody has to figure out how to have an interaction about it b/c [the concept of how to interact w/other ppl on their terms???]

honorary addendum for truly how “performative” might generally be used in some negative context but it’s like, we are all performing every day lol, congrats to the people who again think oh i’m Just being Normal, you just learned that particular performance and don’t have to be conscious about what you might be doing wrong or how to act differently b/c it wasn’t relevant for you to Have to....its being like more genuine than anything to of course be consciously performing in some way / to some degree while other people in turn consciously recognize this, vs when people think they’re being Genuine / Acting Natural but it’s just a particular performance they learned that they can’t even switch out of b/c they don’t know it’s a performance and/or can’t/won’t acknowledge there’s other modes of expression/communication that are no less real, performance has its purposes and it’s not all like well people are just trying to Trick you into thinking that’s how they really are / the only way they can be; how can anyone Really act like that, any affectation should be dropped, can’t believe everyone isn’t Just Being Normal as hard as i am, b/c i get to encounter all these other people who Get Me and/or i sure don’t encounter obstacles / pushback over what seems to be nothing / my just behaving naturally and neutrally, so i must be the expert on the rightest way to be, f for everyone who’s clearly like being too weird or rude or thoughtless and etc

#the difference too between like. using whatever Emotional / Elevated Impulse as handy momentum to do what you already know you'd want to #vs. to just be like well this is for doing what i'd just never even choose / intend to do otherwise....dunno about that one lol #not that anyone has to submit like either Peak Elevation / Passion or else Peak Stoicism / Sobriety as the Truest Way Guiding Light either #but engaging in whatever various modes / approaches across the spectrum of experiences and routes can sure be Conscious either way....#when it comes to taking some approach and/or to just keeping tabs on how it's going along the way / afterwards...#Just Being Yourself as this very like cerebral(tm) conscious deliberate process when as soon as you first ever tried that it's been rejected #so eventually after getting a lot of information and turning it over for eons you probably have to push Against emotional reflexes to like #be more yourself / be more unfiltered/not attuned to what other people might want or tbh accept without more rejection / punishment #and of course just that like. probably your Realer Self just isn't something everyone should get to interact with #b/c it goes right back to the original problem of like that social rejection / punishment having started immediately and not stopped #so that it's difficult to go ''oh maybe i'm nd'' rather than just having it internalized that smthing's wrong w/you / you just suck or smthg #like well it's still gonna continue even as you're in the process of being more conscious of everything going on there / not blaming oneself #like i love to talk actually and i will continue to v rarely talk b/c that's really just a For My Own Sake choice lol

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getvalentined · 11 months

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An open letter to @staff

I already submitted this to Support under "Feedback," but I'm sharing it here too as I don't expect it to get a response, and I feel like putting in out in public may be more effective than sending it off into the void.

The recent post on the Staff blog about changing tumblr to an algorithmic feed features a large amount of misinformation that I feel staff needs to address, openly and honestly, with information on where this data was sourced at the very least.

Claim 1: Algorithms help small creators.

This is false, as algorithms are designed to push content that gets engagement in order to get it more engagement, thereby assuring that the popular remain popular and the small remain small except in instances of extreme luck.

This can already be seen on the tumblr radar, which is a combination of staff picks (usually the same half-dozen fandoms or niche special interests like Lego photography) which already have a ton of engagement, or posts that are getting enough engagement to hit the radar organically. Tumblr has an algorithm that runs like every other socmed algorithm on the planet, and it will decimate the reach of small creators just like every other platform before it.

Claim 2: Only a small portion of users utilize the chronological feed.

You can find a poll by user @darkwood-sleddog here that at the time of writing this, sits at over 40 THOUSAND responses showing that over 96 percent of them use the chronological feed*. Claiming otherwise isn't just a misstatement, it's a lie. You are lying to your core userbase and expecting them to accept it as fact. It's not just unethical, it's insulting to people who have been supporting your platform for over a decade.

Claim 3: Tumblr is not easy to use.

This is also 100% false and you ABSOLUTELY know it. Tumblr is EXTREMELY easy to use, the issue is that the documentation, the explanations of features, and often even the stability of the service is subpar. All of this would be very easy for staff to fix, if they would invest in the creation of walkthroughs and clear explanations of how various site features work, as well as finally fixing the search function. Your inability to explain how your service works should not result in completely ignoring the needs and wants of your core long-term userbase. The fact that you're more willing to invest in the very systems that have made every other form of social media so horrifically toxic than in trying to make it easier for people to use the service AS IT WORKS NOW and fixing the parts that don't work as well speaks volumes toward what tumblr staff actually cares about.

You will not get a paycheck if your platform becomes defunct, and the thing that makes it special right now is that it is the ONLY large-scale socmed platform on THE ENTIRE INTERNET with a true chronological feed and no aggressive algorithmic content serving. The recent post from staff indicates that you are going to kill that, and are insisting that it's what we want. It is not. I'd hazard to guess that most of the dev team knows it isn't what we want, but I assume the money people don't care. The user base isn't relevant, just how much money they can bring in.

The CEO stated he wanted this to remain as sort of the last bastion of the Old Internet, and yet here we are, watching you declare you intend to burn it to the ground.

You can do so much better than this.

Response to the Update

Under the cut for readability, because everything said above still applies.

I already said this in a reblog on the post itself, but I'm adding it to this one for easy access: people read it that way because that's what you said.

Staff considers the main feed as it exists to be "outdated," to the point that you literally used that word to describe it, and the main goals expressed in this announcement is to figure out what makes "high-quality content" and serve that to users moving forward.

People read it that way because that is what you said.

*The final results of the poll, after 24 hours:

136,635 votes breaks down thusly:

An algorithm based feed where I get "the best of tumblr." @ 1.3% (roughly 1,776 votes)

Chronological feed that only features blogs I follow. @ 95.2% (roughly 130,077 votes)

This doesn't affect me personally. @ 3.5% (roughly 4,782 votes)

#tumblr dot com #tumblr staff

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fairytale-poll · 10 months

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Im already expecting thr answer to be no, but could I submit a fanfic version of a character? The one I'm talking about specifically is a very plausible Canon divergence fic where a guy accidentally becomes red riding hood. It's that he became red instead of someone else. I think that he probably wouldn't qualify but I figured I'd ask anyways.

I was thinking on how to answer this. At first I thought "Sure, as long as you got permission from the original author" or "Maybe if it's a popular fanfic I'll accept it" but then realized that it would be too complicated.

So, sorry, but like you thought the answer will be no.

#one person did submit a undertale fangame character and i was still of two minds if i wanted to accept it #but since only that one person did and there's so many other more popular submission it probably would have been left behind either way #ask #not a poll

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luminiamore · 28 days

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yoga instructer choso x black man-eater reader

a/n: this is heavily inspired by jennifer’s body (・_・ヾ

also 1000 followers WHATT? (つ✧ω✧)つ

no branding included in this fic actually, so yk what that means. part two in the future asf (ﾉ´ з `)ノ

warnings: murder, reader is a succubus who eats boys & the girls she sleeps with (not choso), reader has fangs, big dick choso, he’s shy, he do be eating ass though, sloppy eater, whiny choso, pussydrunk cho, breeding asf, soft dom choso but like (￣ω￣;) subby, he makes reader submit, just nasty, also frens with satosugu

masterlist

man-eater

Noun

man-eater (plural man-eaters)

An animal that attacks and kills humans for food, such as certain tigers or sharks; any animal that consumes human flesh. quotations

A cannibal; a human that eats other humans. quotations

(by extension, slang) A seductive dangerous woman, often readily taking and discarding male romantic partners.

One thing you loved about the 21st century is that there was never a shortage of people. They were everywhere. Crawling around like little ants and fucking rapidly like rabbits. You never ran out of your source of food, your source of life.

Your species have been around for a long time. You don’t remember how you came to be, but when you first opened your eyes, you were in the center of hot molten rock from the middle of the northwest Pacific Ocean. Tamu Massif, the world’s massive underwater volcano, just 1,600 km east of Japan, was your home.

Your first feeding, your first kill, happened off the coast on the Seychelles beaches about two days after you were awakened. Your brown body was paling by then, but you didn’t know why. At first, you didn’t know what you were, but you knew you were weak and physically unable to move at some point. While still beautiful, your eyes lacked any life in them. You needed energy.

In your defense, they came to you. The wife did, more specifically. You were under the sun a lot; it was the only thing that could at least give you some life. You suspected she and the buff man with her were here as tourists, a honeymoon vacation spot perhaps. But, even after just being introduced to this world, you knew what you preferred. You were selective.

Her husband wasn’t all that interesting to break, but her...

She was gorgeous, downright angelic. And you had such a strong desire to fuck her. And weirdly enough, your mouth started savoring at the thought of eating her.

It seems you hadn’t known just how insatiable you can be, just how powerful you really are. It wasn’t on purpose; you swear it wasn’t. But you know what they say about firsts. She was addicting. How soft she was, how perfect her body fit with yours. She taught you how to feel, how to let go. You were so high on pleasure.

So, you can imagine your distress when you wake up to her unmoving body on top of your naked one. When you shift your eyes to the left, you notice her neck, specifically the missing chunk of it. You lick your lips and immediately grimace at the saltiness. You pushed her body towards your side with a huff.

At first, you felt quite hysterical. You ran toward the mirror and saw something that caused you to gasp.

Was that blood?

Red spots were all over your face, and your mouth area was even more adorned. Your locs are messy, cascading down past your hips. It wasn’t difficult to figure out what occurred while you were intoxicated with pleasure.

Your face is grim as you grasp onto the skin of your forehead, groaning. Flashes start to appear in your mind. A glimpse of her face, body, her pussy. Flashes of you leaning into her neck, flashes of her neck being torn apart, and flashes of her body shaky under your firm hold.

Oh.

After about ten seconds had passed of your staring in the mirror, you accepted that this woman was now dead. You had killed her.

But.. you weren’t overwhelmed by dread. Not upset or guilty that you completely depleted this woman’s life force. A strong feeling coursed through every nook and cranny in your veins, and you felt rejuvenated. The eye bags that had formed beneath your wispy eyelashes were absent, you could tell that much despite the amount of blood splattered on your face.

You had a liking for this feeling. Your strength was apparent, and your skin was brighter and clearer. You experienced such a state of euphoria. And well, you would die if you didn’t get more. Literally and figuratively.

You didn’t make an effort to conceal the body; you felt no need to. You felt compelled to go somewhere, but when you looked in that direction, all you could see was the moving water. You escaped into the ocean at the exact moment, moving as fast as you could away from the small island and following the intense pressure calling out to you.

Since that incident, you’ve stayed in Japan. A black woman with unnatural beauty stalked through the night, undeniably being the center of attention. You were the talk of everywhere you went; people often compared you to a witch, a vampire was the funniest one you’ve heard. You were unusual and feared a little by the public. Although you were beautiful, every step you took was infused with a sense of danger and mystery. Death, even.

It’s common for people who left with you to never be seen again. In the event that they were, they weren’t the same. People had this inexhaustible attraction towards you. They wanted to know more, they tried to discover the secrets you held. But unless you choose them, all people could potentially get out of you was a meaningless glance.

The more you kill, the stronger you become. You became aware of this shortly after your second kill, and you could soon hold off on feeding for weeks if you needed to. Though you’ve grown to realize that you’re superior to a particular breed, you were never the type to go crazy with power. Many of your species, you could tell, were famous and had the most influence on the public.

Take the city’s most well-known billionaires, such as Suguru Geto and Satoru Gojo. Their ownership of many corporations and businesses allowed them to have multiple connections with dangerous parts of Japan, such as the Yakuza. However, they also contribute significant amounts of income to the city annually. Their support of the most popular things in the population was indisputable, making it impossible not to like them. It wasn’t because they wanted to; they weren’t that generous, but because they loved power.

Passing them on your stroll, you could tell they were similar to you. Their scent was unlike that of humans, and their energy and absolute pheromones were ridiculous. They were looking for prey that night, you could tell by how potent it was. And perhaps if you were human, you would have fallen for their charm when they called out for you.

They had plans to make you their meal for the night, but unfortunately, their hypnotic effect on humans didn’t work on you. That’s when they realized that you were like them, and well, they were both amused.

“Aw, how cute,”

“Bet you would’ve tasted real good too.”

To this day, you don’t know if Suguru was talking about eating you or your pussy. Even so, you became a close friend of the pair from that moment forward. There were days when they would pop up to your apartment unannounced and grace you with their antics. It was more of a domestic setting, not sexual, but they enjoyed being around someone who deeply understood them.

Today was one of those days. Your peaceful nap ended when they entered your bedroom and plopped down on your bed, discussing the last feeding they had. Satoru’s voice reaches an enthusiastic pitch,

“She was so bendy, Suguru! She bent over backwards, and she was still taking my dick,”

The long-haired man shifts his eyes carelessly towards his best friend, who is resting on your thighs and intensely focused on something on his phone. You were oblivious to the words spewed out by Satoru, fighting against the sleep you had gotten before they arrived. The latter raises a brow,

“Hmm,”

“She told me she takes something called yoga classes? It’s a shame she’s dead now, she was fu- Wait! Hey, Y/n?”

Your response is a hum as he shifts his head to your face and speaks with a sly smile on his lips,

“Do you take yoga classes?”

You were not very fond of modern activities, so you rarely indulged in them. You rarely attempt to learn about human life and what they do for fun or work due to that knowledge. Their values never weighed down on you, and as a result, you lived a peaceful life. When you glanced down at piercing ice eyes, the confusion was evident on your face,

“What’s..yoga?”

Suguru gave a response instead, knowing that Satoru would give you a misleading description of the exercise,

“It’s just an activity humans do to calm the mind and stretch the body.”

“I see. Does it bring pleasure?”

“Maybe, they seem to be very satisfied afterwards.”

You twist your head in thought, interesting. Satoru pokes at your shoulder, and when you glance down, he shows you his phone screen. Plentiful pictures of women in various positions, very flexible..positions. Was she holding herself up on her forearms?

“Where can I find this? I’d like to.. learn.” Your own words caused you to startle yourself, and now you’re completely awake.

Since when?

You hear a breathy laugh coming from beneath you. “Oh yeah? Didn’t peg you as the type to like playing with your food.” His fingers move to find the nearest yoga studio by your building, despite his taunting, and he feels internally happy when he discovers it’s one he knows.

You flick his head, giggling while he grunts a bit. “It’s interesting. I didn’t know the body could shape itself like that.” In all honesty, he presented you with some pictures that made you grimace a little.

“There’s a place called Kamo’s Zen Sanctuary a few blocks from here. Of course, Suguru and I are friends with the owner.”

The mentioned man hums in assurance,

“We can send a car to take you tomorrow afternoon if you’re up for it.” He wiggles his brows as he waits for your response.

As always, they kept their word without fail. Before the car arrived the next day, a large package was delivered to your door with a flimsy note that said, ‘You’re welcome.’

It’s probable that you only needed one yoga set, but your friends wanted to give you a wide array of choices to pick from. Ultimately, you opted for a lightweight black set. When you looked in the mirror, you really saw how the clothing accentuated your body, especially your ass. Oh, you liked this.

Stopping outside the studio, your mind suddenly became well aware that you didn’t know how human establishments operated. You took pleasure in the decorative pieces that this place had. Cold air, a Buddha statue spilling water steadily in a bowl, and soothing violin music immediately welcomed you upon arrival.

Despite not being familiar with the environment, you still entered it with grace. You would have left if it weren’t for the tall, handsome gentleman who sneaked up on you from behind. His silent demeanor made it impossible to hear him, and when you saw his face, you indeed weren’t disappointed.

“Do you need help, miss?”

Smooth was how his words came across. When you faced him, his face was smooth, too. Your body vibrated, your fingertips were slightly twitching, and your mind was reeling in the fact that you were suddenly very, very hungry. Although it’s been a week since you last had anything to eat, you’ve already found your next prey.

Him. The quite pale man with a pair of beautiful, solemn eyes. The dark line across his face is a perfect fit for him, and it’s hard not to notice. His plum lips are almost puckered, but they look so soft you want to sink your teeth into them. You want him.

You eye his exposed biceps in the black shirt clinging onto his pale skin, “Yes, I want to learn yoga. How can I?”

Even as his ears flush, he maintains a steady tone and unbothered expression when addressing you, barely making eye contact, “I can get you started with that. My name is Choso. I’m an instructor here. Come with me, miss.”

You nodded without reason because the man had already turned and started walking to a different room. You’re staring at him, more so the way his muscles ripple with every step he takes. There’s an intangible desire on your part to fuck this man, bite every inch of his body until he was withering in pleasure.

Choso seemed shy, but you liked that he was nervous and fidgety around you as you faced him in a larger room with a mirror covering both ends. There were no lights on, only candles surrounding the black walls. The echo from the fish swimming in the small pond could be heard throughout the space.

His back could be seen through the clear glass. As you looked around, you also noticed red mats and..blocks? This place was strange. You lick your lips when he speaks again,

“This is where we do the practice. I sense that you’re new to this. Do you want to start with a small stretch first?” His hand reaches behind him to pick up a thin mat, his low purple eyes flickering between the object and you.

“Of course, Choso.”

Choso has a sweet scent, almost like a bakery. The moment you walked inside, his scent infiltrated your nostrils. The sheer proximity of his body when he guided you into what he said was the downward dog position made you feel like you were floating. You felt hot, even on fire, when he touched you. The fabric you wore was so tightly held onto your body that it felt like he was touching your bare skin.

He was exerting pressure on your lower thighs, making them conform to the position. When you glanced in the mirror, he seemed so focused on what he was doing. You swear your pussy had a heartbeat. His gaze catches yours,

“Head down, miss.”

You listen wordlessly, your locs making small thumping sounds when they hit the red surface. Maybe Choso could feel the heat and craving radiating off of your body. Maybe he couldn’t. It’s impossible to read his thoughts, no matter which way you look at it. His face remains blank after he says ‘good job’ for maintaining the position after a minute. If he can feel your body heating up like you can, his expression doesn’t make it known.

His body, however, does. More so, how red he gets, as if he’s heating up too as if he’s experiencing the same shit you are. Could he be?

Choso tells you about the next position he’s going to put you in,

“You’re a little tense on your outer hips, so we’re gonna do something called the Pigeon pose.”

You’re almost about to ask, ‘What’s that?’ but he shows you before you can even part your lips. Your right leg is flat against the floor, twisted in front of you almost perfectly, while your left leg elongates towards the back. Choso observes the difficulty of your arms in holding you up, so he goes in front of you to help. The firmness of his hands on your hips reflects his strength, especially when he presses down slightly to stretch the area.

“It’s okay. Your legs are supporting you. You can relax a bit.” Can you, though? With the way, he’s pressing on an area that’s suddenly very sore to you. His voice is scratching some primal part of your brain. You think it’s impossible.

“Am I supposed to be doing something while in this position?” You intentionally lower your voice to make him look at you. He does, just not in the way you want. That stupid, blank expression is still on his face. You rub your lower body on the mat, shivering a little as it barely touches your clit through the fabric.

“You’re supposed to breathe. Just be.” He speaks softly against your face. You were fond of his closeness, the sensation of his breath being directly on your skin.

“When will this feel pleasurable?” You exhale. You honestly weren’t seeing any interest in human activities again. You were only getting a slight burn on your legs, and that was due to the grip Choso still had on you.

You don’t know what it is you said, but you watch Choso intensely. You can see his eyes widen for a split second before returning to their original state.

“Pleasurable? You came here.. for pleasure?”

There was a slight hiccup in his voice at the end of his question. You got him, you think. It shouldn’t be much to get him under you now. He taps his long fingers on your hip twice twice in an attempt to make you shift to the other leg, causing you to jump.

A wince escapes your lips as he releases his grip on you, “I hear that this practice can give that. Is it true?”

You finally caught Choso’s eye on you. In fact, his gaze remains on you even after he observes your body shift its position. You believe that you like his eyes on you. He lowers himself to your level to help you still your body.

“I suppose it depends on what kind of pleasure you’re looking for, miss.”

You hum softly as you breathe him in once more today when his palms rest against you once again. What did he mean by that?

You reply, but your gaze never leaves his, “What kind of pleasure can you give me, Choso?”

Choso was quiet, reserved from the public, and honestly tried his best to avoid any eye contact with you during your entire time in his studio. But he only has so much self-control, as did you. The only conversation was a series of intense squelching sounds as Choso sucked on your pink bud obscenely.

“Oh fuck- Just like that, Cho!”

He moaned fervently against your brown lips, pulling your hips against his face and keeping your cheeks apart with his large grip. You were on your knees, back shaped into a perfect arch. He was not letting go, squeezing his tongue down your wet pussy lips. Your body shakes as his tongue licks a stripe through your folds, circles all over your puckered hole, and drool slips onto the thin mat.

“Ah-!”

Your cries made Choso even more red in the ears. He thought he was pretty dull, not exciting or engaging to talk to. He didn’t pay much attention to his looks, girls always found him too.. weird. It wasn’t something he expected to happen on his day. He knew who you were before you came in, Satoru had the pleasure of letting him know you were on your way. But the minute you came into his place of work, he found it very hard to resist you. That’s why he didn’t make any eye contact.

The truth is, Choso was deeply attracted to you and found it terrifying.

Choso’s pretty head was puzzled by the fact that he was responsible for the angelic sounds that emerged from your plump lips. He couldn’t fathom that he was on his knees licking the most sensitive parts of your body. But, he welcomed it, letting himself sink into the essence of you with a feeling of overwhelming desperation.

“Want more. Come on, miss. Give m-me more, please.”

How much more can you give him? He already has his face deep inside of you. You understand what he is trying to say when he inserts two fingers into your wet mound, dragging them in and out and carefully grazing the spongy spot that makes you thrash around. You immediately clench at the intrusion, feeling the overwhelming pleasure burn in the pit of your stomach.

Choso is eager to pay attention to all parts of you but doesn’t know where to focus. Every part of you tastes so celestial, he wanted you to give him everything at the same time. His finger-fucking is swift, and your mind is entirely absent when the man pushes his tongue into and out of your ass simultaneously. Choso was so turned on that his precum was making a stain on his shorts from how much he was leaking.

His moans vibrated against your lower lips, and you swore in all your existence that you had never been eaten so nasty like this. He was going to make you cum so fast that you couldn’t even be mad about it.

He can feel it. The fatness of your pussy is pressing against Choso’s two big fingers, forcing him to use more strength to maintain his rapid pace. Your wetness creates a beautiful clear puddle under his attack, and he can feel it. Could you also do that on his dick? Milk his cock over and over and over again until he couldn’t cum anymore? Choso has been an atheist his entire life, but he almost prayed for this one favor.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Ouuu fuck! I’m g-gonna-”

The man doesn’t respond at first, only presses into your G-spot harder and more forcefully, as if he has a point to prove. He circles at your clit, wrapping the twitching bud around his lips, and sucks hard. What does it for you is the drunk whispers vibrating against your core of ‘Please, give it to me. Just cum. Fuck, it’s so wet.’

Your stomach tightens, your hands grip the carpeted floor in front of you, and your mouth releases pornographic moaning as cream pours out of you and onto his waiting tongue. Choso is clamoring for your taste, and as a result, he moans out with you. You have a strong desire for him, but for some inexplicable reason, your body is unwilling to eat him. Instead, you never wanted to fuck a person so badly in your life.

Choso’s close proximity makes him ignore your little whimpers while rubbing his blushing, leaking tip up and down your sloppy cunt. When did he even pull his dick out?

“Bet it’s so w-warm inside. Ah-” When his flushed tip accidentally slips in, and he gets a taste of the warmth you bring, his breathy voice cracks. You’re whining now. Pushing back on Choso, sucking his wide cock in your greedy hole, feeling impatient to force him down far enough to rip your pussy.

Choso has the most beautiful moans you’ve ever heard. His voice is deep, but his tone gets so high in pitch when he’s like this. It’s so whiny it makes you cream. Literally. His voice cracks, just like his resolve does when you slide all 7.8 inches of him in so that your hips are flush against his pelvis. The feeling of his dick inside of you is so good that you’re so close to begging.

He thought he could have some self-control, but he barely kept it together when he was just eating you out. Your drooling pussy convulsing and contracting against Choso, against his cock, is a sign that his soul has reached a part of heaven. He couldn’t stop himself, really. He couldn’t do anything but relentlessly fuck you at an inhuman pace.

“So good. So good. Pussy’s so fucking-” He cuts himself off with a loud groan when he witnesses your soft brown cheeks being spread apart for him, revealing a magnificent view of your pussy being stretched beyond their limits. Giving him a beautiful view of your messy pussy creaming the more his dick repeatedly punches your g-spot again and again and again.

You’re wailing. You’re trying to find something to hold onto that can bring your mind back to reality. Choso makes it so hard. He is becoming more and more clingy to your liquids, and his hips are vibrating violently against yours, making you believe he might be bruising your cervix. You love it. You love every speck of pleasure flowing and rippling through your body. You love everything he’s giving your body at this moment.

“I-I know what you- Oh fuck. W-what you are,”

Huh?

The thought is almost pushed out of your head when he angles his hips to get deeper inside of you. Wet and dirty sounds of his balls hitting your clit are filling the air of the stretch room. Choso is rambling now. Your pretty pussy’s attempt to milk his cock until there was nothing is making him feel delirious. It just feels so good, so safe, so wet. God, you were so fucking wet for him. He continues his fucked out declaration,

“A-And I can tell y-you don’t like c-commitment, but please. Please let me k-keep you satisfied for all e-eternity.” His rough and insatiable pounding sends your mind to distant places while he pleads.

With whatever coherent part of your brain is still there, you cower away at the proposition. Shaking your head rapidly in a ‘no’ motion. His harsh thrusts are practically felt in your womb, pushing your hips away when you scramble to grab something stable to hold you on the floor.

Of course, Choso doesn’t let you run away like that. He quickly brings your waist back against him, making sure that his cock is nestled in the deepest parts of your warmth for a moment before starting to thrust again. You’re forced to take it all, and he doesn’t even need to say a word to prevent you from trying that shit again.

Still, you whimper out,

“Chooo baby, I can’t- Ahhh! Can’t l-let you do that.”

Choso only frowns at the evident lie on your lips and pushes your entire body harder onto the mat. A loud gasp escapes your lips when you unexpectedly squirt all over the thin object due to the sudden pressure you feel on your cervix. He was so deep.

Choso doesn’t slow down; he only moans with staggering moans when your pussy sprays its juices on him. In fact, he goes faster.

“P-Please, miss. I can make you feel this g-good whenever you want. I can- Fuckk. I promise I c-can always fuck you deep like t-this. I’ll worship you. I’d do anything you- anything you ask, just please. L-Let me.”

It seems that Choso understood precisely what you needed, a bit of prodding and persuading. He’s sure that if someone happens to walk into the lobby, they’ll hear exactly what’s going on due to the loud squelching you both are making. But why does he want that? Why does he want everyone to know that he is the one making you cry out so pretty as if he were your god? Despite your brief resolve, you give the handsome man exactly what he asks. You.

“Yes! Oh fuck yes! M’all yours, Cho! M’cumming- Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m-”

The sounds you both made at the same time were too much for your lovemaking to drown out. With your dam breaking, your pussy twitching open and closed, and your tight pussy covering his heavy cock with splashes of clear liquid and your sweet, sweet cream, Choso gets a taste of heaven. He cums with you. His hand grips the sides of your hips so hard, even through your dark skin, that it might leave bruises. Your perfect pussy squeezing a heavy load out of the man so much that he was shaking when he felt it overfill your cunt. Fuck, you’re too much.

Heavy breathing and a light pap sound coming from his cum dripping out of your poor pussy could barely be heard by both of you. Choso was in such a headspace that his mind needed to take a breather to gather what the fuck he was going to say to you in a few minutes, his dick softening inside you. You were feeling the after-effects of being fucked so good, buzzing in your right ear, spasming on a cock that’s still buried deep inside of you, and aches on your lower body.

You start to pull off of him, thinking that’s what he wants, but he immediately grabs your hips and keeps you still, still not getting over the euphoric feeling of your pussy on him. Choso realizes something, and at this moment, he feels the most embarrassed he has ever felt. He managed to get a girl's commitment without even knowing her name.

“Um.. miss?”

You barely let out a whisper, “Yes, Cho?”

“… What’s your name?”

There’s a beat of silence. Please don’t hate me. Please don’t hate me. Please don’t hate me. Choso is pleading that you won’t hate him.

His thoughts were disrupted by a melodic laugh and a honey voice, “It’s Y/n, cutie.”

Y/n? He finds that name so.. pretty. Almost as pretty as your body. Almost as pretty as the sight of your tight pussy creaming up and-

Well, now he’s hard again. You won’t mind if he pleases you a little more, right? After all, he made a promise, and Choso is never known for breaking his promises.

@hatake05

@thickbihhwitdagapp

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arthur-r · 2 years

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[stupid college vent under cut i’m sorry]

so fucking stressed because tonight is the final deadline for all admissions materials including my stupid letter of recommendation and it’s likely not been received by the institution so that’s literally it and if they didn’t fucking get it then that’s fucking it and i’m not even getting considered for early action and if i’m not early action then they don’t WANT me i’m not fucking good enough for this college and i’m terrified and the most stupid terrible tiny little mistakes are making it all not even be able to happen!!!! i am going to burst!!!!!!!!

#fighting with my mom right now because she said everything will be perfectly fine and that the college won’t care #but i talked to the person on the phone and she said they fucking care. she said i won’t be early action if they don’t get it by 2AM tonight #and there’s nothing i can fucking do and no one i’m emailing is getting back to me because it’s election day!!#who put the application deadline the day after halloween and the materials deadline on election day. this is so stupid #anyway my teacher uploaded my letter of rec on friday (late) and didn’t hit the submit button (naviance is stupid and doesn’t make sense)#so i fixed that on monday morning with help from a counselor but it doesn’t fucking matter because it still takes time to process #and they don’t fucking have it yet so that’s just it!!!! i am literally just blindly hoping for time to work in my favor #and i’m going to cry #that’s actually a lie i’m already crying i’ve been crying the entire time i’m writing this. i’m just so scared #and this is the college that i care about more than anywhere else that i’ve looked at and it’s not fucking fair that they don’t care about #me and they aren’t going to get my stupid application and they’re not going to fucking care about me and i’m so tired #and if they don’t get it in time then none of this was worth it and i’ve spent months in a constant state of stress for a deadline that #wont even matter anymore and they don’t care that i did every single piece of the application on time because the one part that wasn’t in my #control arrived too late and i literally have absolutely no fucking time to fix it!!!! by the time i’m at school it’s too late #and tomorrow is picture retake day and i have scabs all over because i’m stressed and my old picture is bad but so will be my new one #anyway i’m upset and scared and sad and i don’t know what to do. and this won’t help anything but i just kind of needed to fall apart #my entire family is upset with me for bringing down the mood and i’m fucking sorry but my entire life trajectory is on the line here #madison is cheaper than any other college that’s paid attention to me even when you include the scholarships of the other places #and it’s a better school in general and one that i care about a lot. i would really like to be accepted #but my grade average is too low for them and if i’m not early action i just don’t think they’re going to care about me. and i need them to #and so yeah. and this is stupid and terrible and i’m upset. and that’s all. sorry for being in this way. i hope everyone is well #me. my post. mine.#delete later #vent tw #college talk

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wndaswife · 8 months

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(fic request) pls write this w nun!wanda (if you want) 😵😵😵

to worship and submit | wanda maximoff & fem!reader

Being the daughter of the man that leads the church choir means attending the services when you run out of excuses to be anywhere else, but a young woman who's recently joined the parish to become a nun has begun to make your time there worthwhile.

Word count: 7419

Tags: smut, fluff, humour, sacrilege, quite literally fucking in front of a crucifix, even i feel slightly guilty for writing it, strap-ons, rough sex, spanking, slapping, spitting, degradation, praise, daddy kink, mentions of masturbation, sub!wanda maximoff, dom!reader | MINORS DNI

A/N: SO... i did do some research for this fic... but only SOME... meaning some of the info may be incorrect fyi!!!

gif credit to evilly

Every Sunday since your dad joined the church as their choir leader, you’d been making yourself busy in advance just in case he’d ask if you wanted to come to the services.

You were proud of your dad — really, you were — because he loved music and loved the community the church brought him, and the church was closeby to where your mom worked as an elementary school teacher, so your parents were able to work together when there were community events that involved both the school and the church.

Though, being happy for your dad didn’t mean you also had to be happy when he invited you to the services.

Sometimes you’d attend special occasions like Easter and other holidays and church events wherein your dad prepared his own assortment of music and such for the choir to play, but only because you were there to support him and what he was passionate about — music and community and his family.

Such events were big deals at the church he volunteered at because it was well-known for its large community; the church itself was closely connected to a nearby convent where it had close ties to the nunnery there, as well as having one of if not the most ornate architecture all preserved within a historically-significant religious landmark.

But for the last few weeks, he hadn’t asked you to go with him because he was so busy with the new influx of students joining from the Catholic elementary school your mom worked at; they were all there singing on the weekends for their volunteer hours, but at the very least, your dad said they were still enthusiastic and friendly kids.

So on the morning of one of the very rare occasions in which you hadn’t had anything planned for the Sunday because you weren’t expecting him to invite you as he hadn’t for the last while, your dad invited you to the service.

You could’ve truly made up an excuse and flat-out lied about being busy, but it’d been a while since he asked and you knew he’d been working hard with the new students in his group, so you supposed it wasn’t so much trouble to accept his offer, even if you did groan it out in a superficial fit about having to get out of bed earlier.

It wasn’t that you not being religious had anything major to do with avoiding going to church, because you didn’t entirely mind when your religious parents brought you to the services for special occasions, but rather because you didn’t very much have the patience or sufficient concern for the readings and worship to attend the nearly-two-hour services.

That was truly your most pressing issue with attending the Sunday services with your dad, but today was different, with an unexpected experience to make you dread going even more than you did previously.

“Excuse me?” a timid, unfamiliar voice chirped from behind you.

You turned to see a young woman standing by the doorway of the back hall where the entrance to the choir balcony was.

Typically, you sat around there when your dad was conducting because you weren’t very involved in the church enough to sit at the pews nor were you part of the choir.

But from where you were sitting, you weren’t entirely uninvolved as you could still see and hear the services — it was the perfect spot.

“You aren’t allowed to sit here,” the young woman told you, running the pads of her two fingers along the edge of her sleeve.

Her dark brown hair was neatly pulled back into a conservative bun and she was wearing a black plain dress with a modest plain scoop neckline to show the buttons and collar of the crisply-ironed long-sleeved white blouse underneath that all of the church’s nuns wore, but the simplicity of her outfit and the uncovering of her hair meant to you that she was presently studying at the church to become a nun.

“I’m the choir dude’s daughter,” you said with a polite smile and looked away, expecting for your response to be all the elaboration she needed.

In a way that was subtle with the intention not to be offensive but in that very manner was offensive in itself because of how irritating her caution was, the woman cleared her throat.

“I-I know,” she pressed, “but this area isn’t open for seating. For anyone.”

When you didn’t answer for a moment as you stared at her, she quickly said, “I’m sorry. They told me to tell you.”

“I’ll find a spot in the pews,” you answered and collected your things.

From the corner of your eye, it seemed that she wanted to offer a seating alternative just to make up for what she was forced to tell you, but there wasn’t very much else she could offer.

That Thursday, you were back at the church to pick up an ironed uniform for your dad; it was for a special event set for the upcoming Sunday, and the church pressed it for him and everything.

It was a nice gesture.

They were nice people.

On Thursdays, there were only morning services and events for children in another spacious room where they could colour and play with the church’s team leaders and nuns.

But in the afternoon — which it now was — there wasn’t anything going on.

When you arrived, the church was still and warm with gentle sunlight shining through the stained glass windows and casting a myriad of colours against the pews.

You looked over your dad’s text again and walked through the directions he told you to take to get to the back halls of the church, just a few turns from the stairway that led up to the choir balcony.

The room where you were to pick up the uniform was as pretty as the rest of the church; it was a small prayer room with a pedestal and stained windows and red carpeting, but it was much cozier and probably hadn’t been used for prayer for the group size it was designed for in a little while.

You could see through the glass door the folded uniform for your dad on the windowsill behind the pedestal with a name tag placed on top of it ready for pick-up along with a few other clothes for some other church volunteers.

Upon entry, you closed the door quietly behind you and stepped into the room where you could now see a small table by the window and a familiar young woman sitting with a notebook, jotting a few things down from what looked like a leather-bound book.

“Can I just get my dad’s uniform from there, or do I need to sign it off or something?” you asked, announcing your presence.

She looked up from the notebook and at you then to the uniforms on the windowsill.

“Oh, you’re…” She paused and thought for a moment. “The choir conductor’s daughter?”

“Yeah.”

“I can sign it off for you,” she replied and smiled.

She stood from the table and walked around it to the uniforms, where a piece of paper was set beside the line of neatly-folded clothes.

You watched as she jotted down a few things onto the paper with a pen before carefully picking up the packaged uniform and turning to hand it to you.

“Thank you,” you answered.

“Of course. Have a good day,” she replied and bid you a goodbye before heading back to the table by the window.

You were on the way to leave the room, but you couldn’t, for some odd reason, take your eyes away from the way she lowered herself into her seat and resumed her notetaking.

She didn’t notice when you changed your direction and walked towards the table she was sitting at until you were perhaps just a metre away from her, when she then looked up from her notes and up at you.

“Did I give you the wrong uniform?” she asked, worried and now standing up from her chair.

“No,” you answered quickly and waved your hand.

She stayed standing, curious as to why you walked back.

“Hard at work?” you asked, pointing at her notebook.

Confused for a moment, perhaps by your curiosity in speaking with her, she looked over to her notebook and then back at you with a friendly smile, “Yes, a little. They gave me something to study from. I’m just taking notes.”

Carefully, you reached forward and spun her notebook around so you could read it.

Her curiosity seemed to spike when you leaned forward to read her notes, and she looked at you with a small smile.

“Um,” she started awkwardly. “I want to apologise for earlier this week. For making you move seats.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you replied and looked up from her notes to smile at her reassuringly. “I know they just made you tell me because you’re new.”

The young woman seemed reassured, her shoulders even relaxing a bit when you said it.

“You’re still… What do you call it? Like, you’re studying to be a nun here? Not fully one yet?”

She shook her head.

“Yes, I’m in the study period before becoming a novitiate,” she answered.

Your fingers ran over her delicate handwriting, feeling the indentations of her pen against the paper.

“To worship and submit,” you read aloud from the notebook. “Fascinating.”

She caught onto your twinge of sarcasm but approached it with humour, laughing a little and conceding, “It is a bit medieval, but an important quality, I’d presume.”

Reflecting suddenly on how young the woman seemed much younger than the other nuns, you asked her, “How old are you?”

“Twenty-four.”

She was a bit older than you, but still quite young.

Her hair was down now, though still neatly brushed and free of frizz and tucked behind her ears. She was wearing a white long-sleeved shirt and an ankle-length black skirt patterned lightly with gardenias.

“How did you get into wanting to be a nun, anyhow?” you asked and moved your attention away from the notebook and towards her. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“I-I don’t?” she inquired, almost sounding nervous at the implication that she wasn’t training herself properly.

“I mean, pious and submissive — sure,” you said, referring to her notes, which made her seem a bit flustered, “but not like a nun.”

She questioned curiously, “More like…?”

After humming aloud in thought, you turned to her with your hip laying against the edge of the table and suggested, “Elementary school teacher. Vet. I don’t know, something like that.”

She was pretty — truly.

Cute, even.

“When I was younger, I wanted to be a vet,” she told you, smiling sweetly.

“Changed your mind?”

“Younger as in quite young, perhaps around ten,” she recalled. “My parents are both rather religious and ever since I turned fourteen it’s always been their intention to have me join a congregation.”

Interest piqued, you asked, “And your intention for yourself was…?”

“For myself?” she repeated as if taken by surprise.

You nodded once.

She paused for a moment to hum thoughtfully before saying, “I was happy to follow whichever path my parents intended for me.”

“You find passion in nunnery?” you asked. “Genuine question — not judging.”

“Of course,” she answered.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you quickly checked it to see that your dad had messaged asking if you were able to pick up his uniform.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been holding you back from something,” the woman apologised and stepped to the side to allow you to leave.

Sliding your phone back into your pocket and adjusting your dad’s uniform in your hand, you replied, “No, not at all. My dad’s just impatient. I should get going now though, since here’s a few errands I have to run before noon.”

She nodded in understanding.

“It was nice being able to talk with you,” she then said. “I haven’t been able to talk with very many people since I came here. It’s all just been about studying and the church.”

Before you left, you made sure to ask for her name, to which she replied telling you it was ‘Wanda.’

Cute name.

It’d been quite a while since you ever attended the services two weeks in a row. The last you did was during the last half of August the first year your dad started conducting the church choir, during which you had nothing else to do but wait for classes to start — so you went to the services.

This time, because the church was celebrating something special, your dad asked both you and your mother to attend the service because he’d been working on preparing a set of songs for the occasion.

Under the guise of being a supportive daughter, your parents didn’t second guess why you were so willing to attend the service this week, nor did they ask if there was a certain individual you were perhaps a bit excited to see again.

Truthfully, you couldn’t stop thinking of Wanda since you last saw her a few days ago. There was much to her you felt laid dormant and sleeping, awakened only just in the slightest during the conversation you had with her. She was kind and curious, but also painfully naive.

She was a few years older than you but knew far less about the truth of her own ambitions and strayed perhaps not even a foot’s distance away from behind her parents’ shadows.

Wanda was interesting, but intrigued you for far too long for her to be only that. Though you couldn’t very well figure out what it was about her that made her bounce around in your head like a pinball until an unassuming evening.

It was sincerely an unrelated act when you first started, travelling your hand down between your legs in the silence of the evening to relieve yourself of the pent-up stress from classes that’d come over you during the last few days.

Truly, it was completely unrelated to Wanda and anything and everything about her when you started, and even during, until you reached your peak of release and found your imagination flashing with curiosities about what she looked like under her garments, how she’d squeal if you spanked her ass and if she’d like it, or how she’d cry out in sheer pleasure if you forced her down and made her take her spankings regardless.

For a moment afterwards there was guilt, but every day onwards there was curiosity, wondering for hours about what you’d seen when you reached that point of pleasure during which Wanda was your only muse.

You’d like to tell yourself it was only that curiosity that guided your willingness to attend the service with your parents, but it was something else entirely too — something completely carnal.

For the first hour of the service, Wanda was still nowhere to be seen. Because of the church’s connections with its convent, the nuns had a large role in some of the day-to-day happenings, but mostly during important church events like what you were presently attending.

Wanda wasn’t a nun yet; she was yet to be even a novitiate as she had mentioned, and so perhaps she just didn’t get to attend events like these.

Though you personally found that counter-productive, you weren't one to complain about the convent’s decisions, but you did wish you got to see Wanda.

If she wasn’t one to be able to attend such events, when would you see her next?

After coming to the realisation that you probably just weren’t going to see her today or perhaps even for a little while, you excused yourself after having been present for nearly all of your dad’s song arrangements and with enough time to be able to be back from the washroom with well-enough time to catch the rest of his songs.

To your surprise, you saw the very woman who’d been on your mind for the last hour was sitting in the hall by the stairway that led up to the choir balcony. She was wearing the same outfit as she had been the first time you met her, with her hair done up in the same way too.

“Excuse me, but you aren’t allowed to sit here,” you teased, approaching from the right and walking into the hallway.

She quickly swiped at her eyes and began to apologise before she raised her head and saw it was you who had spoken to her, and you who now stood beside the bench she was sitting on.

Though she smiled and seemed relieved and happy to see you, you could tell that she’d just been crying — alone in this hallway away from the service and the nuns and sitting at the far end of the bench so as not to be seen by the people attending the mass.

Wanda stood, running her palms down the sides of her dress with a friendly smile while saying, “You’re here.”

“Yeah,” you answered distractedly as you focused on the slight redness of her eyes and the tip of her nose.

You then asked once you were sure she’d been crying, “Are you okay?”

Suddenly feeling self-conscious after realising it must've been obvious that she’d been crying, Wanda carefully wiped under her eyes again and even tried making herself seem less dishevelled by tucking her hair behind her ears before you took her hands away from her face and made her stop fidgeting with her appearance.

“Seriously, what’s wrong?” you pressed.

Dismissively as to not bring any more attention to herself, she told you, “It’s really nothing. It’s nothing to bother you with.”

“I wanna be bothered,” you answered lightheartedly. “Come on.”

Wanda smiled at your gaiety and you urged her to tell you what was wrong once more before she finally exhaled in surrender though she didn’t sit down before speaking, implying that in spite of the fact of giving in to you, she wasn’t very well planning on delving too deep into what had been bothering her.

“Earlier today, I had accidentally misplaced the leather book I’d been studying from — the one you saw me with a few days prior, if you can remember,” she said. “And I was scolded terribly for it. It was quite deserving as it was an important collection of notes and such, so I do not question from where my scolding had come, but it seems to me that all I’ve done since I started here is get myself in trouble with the other nuns.”

Here, you tried taking her hand and urging her to sit down, but she wouldn’t, and slipped her fingers out of your hold.

“They found the book in one of the small prayer rooms I’d been studying in, so at the very least it was not a mistake of ruining the integrity of the book by losing it completely, but rather the very principle of having been given something so important and misplacing it,” she continued.

Wanda swallowed and seemed to be contemplating whether to go into more detail, and you could tell that there was something else that had been bothering her that didn’t exactly have to do with misplacing the book.

Before she had the chance to make a decision, there was a passerby who came from the service in search of the restrooms, which interrupted Wanda’s train of thought as she and the man exchanged a brief hello.

“We can go somewhere else,” you offered, taking her hand and heading down the hallway with her. She didn’t take her hand away from you this time, but instead told you that she only needed time to be on her own and that she was fine now.

The only other place you knew was the prayer room you picked your dad’s uniform up in, and fortunately it was unlocked.

You ushered Wanda into the room and she smiled at you from behind and you led her forward to one of the front seats in front of the altar, regarding you with admiration for the effort you put into wanting to express your concern for her and make sure she felt heard.

The early morning beams of light shone through the stained glass like they had that afternoon you’d come here a few days prior, but the room was far less stuffy now, familiar and almost reminiscent of something nostalgic.

The feeling could easily be because of the fact that you’d been envisioning what you could remember from it nearly every hour since that past Thursday, with the room in the background of your mental portrait of Wanda.

She settled down in the seat beside you, feeling encouraged more so because she wanted now to be closer to you rather than solely to sit and talk about what had been bothering her.

But she could partake in the latter if that was what you asked of her — and it was.

“I know that I hardly know you, but I’ve been here for nearly a whole month and you are the person I feel closest to,” she confessed.

You felt flattered, though you knew telling you that she felt close to you wasn’t exactly the point of why she said that.

Wanda further reflected aloud, “I’m getting nowhere I’m supposed to, not finding the call to God like both my parents and the nuns told me about though I have even given it plenty of time. I studied English in college and yet can find not even a little interest in my religious readings.”

While she thought in silence for a moment, you didn’t interrupt her.

When she found the words to verbalise what she’d been meaning to say, she began with a question: “Do you remember when you asked what my own intentions were for myself? On Thursday?”

You nodded.

“It’s ridiculous, but I can’t even recall the last time I sincerely asked that to myself, but perhaps in shallower terms, such as wondering where I might be in a few years or what I might do with my time in the convent.

“But never what I wanted — never who I wanted to be.”

After a moment, when you were sure she wasn’t trying to find words to express herself nor contemplating whether to say something, you asked, “And do you know who you want to be?”

For a brief moment — half of one, really — Wanda looked thoughtful, and then she said and gestured to her clothing and the prayer room, “Not this.”

“So then, what?” you inquired further.

You teased, “A vet?”

Wanda giggled and sat back a bit in her seat. “Perhaps if I were ten,” she said.

Then more seriously, she added, “But now, I’m not very sure.”

“How did you come to realise what you were interested in?” Wanda asked. “For example, your studies. What are you studying?”

She was talking fast, obviously very invested in your conversation together and also rather curious about you.

You thought that was cute; you liked Wanda.

“I’m studying philosophy,” you told her to which she straightened and was eager to hear more about. “But with studies, it’s different, because you’re talking about more personal matters. Academics are far different from personal paths.”

Wanda seemed a bit disappointed because she was looking for a definite answer, but what you explained certainly made sense to her.

She pondered about something then instead asked, “So about personal matters, then. What about those?”

“What about them?”

“Give me a principle to follow,” she sought. “Something I might be able to apply here. Something as general as you’d like it to be, but applicable.”

Her steadily growing smile made it clear that though she was certainly looking for advice, she also thoroughly enjoyed exchanging quips with you and exploring more about you.

In a way, she was as eager to learn about you than how to help herself, if not more so.

You hummed thoughtfully and Wanda watched as you were deep in thought.

“A principle for you,” you said, “could easily be that it’s okay to be selfish, to think only of yourself when you’ve spent so long doing anything else.”

Wanda asked, slightly amused but far more curious, “You recommend hedonism?”

“To you?”

She nodded.

You replied, “Indubitably.”

If you hadn’t already been thinking of Wanda in painfully great amounts before that morning, then you certainly were afterwards.

The third week came around and by then Wanda was banging against every square inch of your skull like an intruder, necessitating the need to be seen and thought of every other minute in any way you could.

Perhaps the relationship you developed with her thus far was one of friendship and nothing more, yet her persistence that never strayed too far from your mind seemed to you that she had become reminiscent of something greater than a platonic figure.

In any case, you had to muster the ability to ask your dad in the most nonchalant manner you could if it were possible for you attend Sunday’s service.

You did it in a way that did not make it seem to him that you were about to become a familiar face in the church, but rather that someone had simply happened to ask you for help during the last service and wondered if you might be able to attend the next — which is quite literally what you told him.

It wasn’t a lie.

Not even when you said that it was a young woman who was studying to become a novitiate at the convent that was curious about the choir and the other volunteers and had asked you about it last week, because Wanda did truly ask about the choir and the other people who volunteered at the church once.

But that wasn’t at all the reason why you wanted to attend the service that Sunday.

“Y/N,” a voice called in a hushed tone when you passed the hallway leading up to the choir stairway where your dad had already walked up towards.

You slipped away from the people filing into the pews and quickly came to Wanda’s side.

“Don’t you have places to be aside from fraternising with the guests?” you teased as she took your wrist and led you towards the room you both seemed to like talking in the most.

“After last week’s ordeal with the book, I’ve been put on some kind of probation from participating in the services so I have more time to study independently,” she told you, not seeming particularly worried.

She added, “On Sundays, the convent is rather empty, so they wouldn’t notice that I’m off not studying. Though I could very well say I chose to study in one of the extra prayer rooms here.”

“And I’m sure they remember how much you love the prayer rooms here,” you said, wiggling your eyebrows at your reference to her having lost the book in one of them.

Wanda faked a laugh in the driest manner you’d ever heard and you nudged her arm to which she told you to stop joking around with her so she could tell you something important.

She closed the prayer room door and sat you down beside her.

From a small bag on the chair to her left, she pulled out a small dictionary.

Here, you were tempted to make fun of her and ask why she was carrying around a dictionary so tiny, but you recalled that she had wanted to ask you about something serious.

She flipped open to a page she had bookmarked.

“Hedonism,” she read aloud. “In philosophy, the belief that pleasure and the absence of pain is the most important principle in determining the morality of an action.”

Wanda looked up at you from the dictionary. “This is what you meant?” she asked.

You nodded.

Curiously, you inquired, “Do you agree with it?”

She looked back down to the page in which had written three definitions of hedonism, the third being the one defined by philosophy.

The first two you could not quite read upside down.

“I have never heard of it in such detail before the time you mentioned it last week,” she said, running her eyes over the words in contemplation, “but it’s interesting.”

“What would be your first endeavour to pleasure, if you had to make a guess?” you asked her.

Wanda ran over the words of the definition again with her eyes, perhaps still deep in thought about it or absently doing so while she contemplated an answer to your question.

“My first?” she repeated.

You looked down at the dictionary page now that she was holding it at a slightly different angle that oriented the letters better for you.

The first definition read, ‘Pursuit of pleasure.’

And the second — you had to tip your head to the side a bit to decipher it — read, ‘Sensual self-indulgence.’

During your deep concentration, Wanda had come to an answer to your question, and it wasn’t until she leaned forward and kissed your unsuspecting lips that you realised she had even stopped looking at the page.

It was the uttering of her muffled words against your lips that triggered something deep within you, perhaps equally as restrained as her own.

An unfinished sentence, but one on its own nonetheless.

‘I want…’ she had uttered, breathless and with one hand cupping your cheek and feeling with the pads of her fingers the softness of your skin.

With that, you hastily reached forward and grasped at her ass, lifting her from her seat and stripping her down so she was in nothing but her undergarments.

The paths of your nails streaked red against her pale skin while you devoured her every step of the way, your lips following every inch of skin that became exposed to you while your hands made quick work of unzipping her dress and unbuttoning her blouse.

She sighed when you kissed her breasts and squeezed your hands around her waist and hips, taking her selfishly and finally spreading her legs and sitting her down in your lap.

“Are you…” you began between breaths, pausing to figure out your wording and sitting back in your seat to look at her. “Have you had sex?”

Wanda giggled, finding your question amusing. “Of course I have,” she replied and took your hands and placed them on her hips again.

“Cocky,” you jested, hooking your thumb under the clasp of her bra and releasing it so it snapped against her back, causing her to arch her body into you with a soft gasp. “Thought you might’ve been abstinent or something.”

“I don’t mean to be cocky,” she said in a low voice. “But I am certainly not abstinent.”

“Should I be jealous?”

“Only if you choose to be.”

“I choose to be,” you said with conviction. “So for whom should I be jealous, then?”

“College students.”

You gasped superficially.

“You fuck college students? Exclusively?”

“No!” she laughed. “I mean I haven’t been very active since my time in college.”

“Haven’t had sex since college?”

She corrected, “I didn’t mean that either.”

“So what did you mean?”

“This conversation is like pulling teeth.”

“Why? You want me to fuck you hard against this floor right now, baby?” you asked. The very crudeness of your words, albeit teasing, made Wanda’s breath hitch, and so within that reaction you found her first tell. “No foreplay or anything?”

“This isn’t foreplay?”

“Hardly.”

“Then what is?” she asked though sounding slightly pouty about it.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re all turned on and impatient from just that. Teasing gets you off?” you pressed. “Didn’t even have to be told how I wanna see your gorgeous ass bruise when I fuck your cunt from behind like you’re my sick little fucktoy whore?”

Her hips twitched.

“Y/N…” she muttered, perhaps out of impatience or forewarning for how you were teasing her, either way you could not tell and weren’t very rushed in trying to figure it out.

You pulled her bra down and released one of her breasts, slapping it lightly with your fingers and causing her to gasp before pinching one of her sensitive pink buds.

There would be no indulging her past what you were willing to indulge; you were careful not to touch her more than what was intentional.

You bucked your hips up under the guise of adjusting your seating, grinding your stiff cock against the soaking panties which were now beginning to soak your pants.

Her cunt was sensitive beyond the thin fabric, causing the strap to rub her perfectly through her soft, swollen folds; you could practically hear how sticky she was without even looking.

“What is that?” she quickly asked, looking down between her thighs. She tried moving back to get a better look, but you quickly held onto her hip with your other hand and pulled her harshly back to her original position, making her throbbing clit rub directly onto your cock.

A strangled yelp was breathed past her lips.

“Don’t move unless I tell you to, you understand?” you told her.

She nodded.

“Everywhere else in this building, there is only one God, but here in this room, I am yours. You will listen to what I tell you and take what I give you, even if it hurts. You’ll be grateful that I make you hurt as much as you will when I give you pleasure.”

In spite of everything, Wanda repressed a tiny smile and said, “You’re scary when you’re authoritative with me.”

You laughed through your nose and replied, “I can get scarier.”

Her smile widened into a grin and Wanda’s hand came to the back of your neck when you leaned forward and kissed her, one arm circling around her waist and carefully slipping her off your lap as you stood from your seat.

“We’ll get caught,” she voiced concern against your lips.

“Then be the lookout.”

You made sure she didn’t trip on her way up to the podium, and soon you had her chest laid flat against the lectern and facing the front doors, the shadow of the large crucifix behind the both of you casted against the red carpet from the morning sun shining from behind the stained glass.

Wanda listened as you unzipped your pants and when she made an attempt to turn her head and look at what you were doing, you put your other hand against her upper back and pressed her back down, reducing her line of sight to your face and shoulder and nothing else.

Her clothed cunt was prodded at, the stiff tip of your strap finding her hole through her panties and nudging at it teasingly. She groaned impatiently and reached back to take hold of your hand, to grab onto anything and urge you forward.

In response, you spanked her harshly and made Wanda yelp out in surprise and wince.

“You dirty, impatient slut,” you spat.

She immediately whimpered, “I’m sorry, daddy.”

That satisfied something in you that you hadn’t even known you wanted, and you were more than happy to share in that satisfaction.

You hummed and tucked a finger under the waistband of Wanda’s panties, making her twitch impatiently while also doing her best to listen to her orders. Then you laid your hand flat against her lower back, rubbing her supportively and making a warm flush form across her face.

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you, Wanda?” you asked, looking up her bent-over half-naked body to the back of her head.

She nodded.

“Good girl,” she confirmed with a nod.

Gently, you squeezed her ass and danced your fingers up to the waistband of her panties that you finally pulled down, exposing her gorgeous, glistening cunt.

It took just as much resistance from you not to shove your cock right into her as much as it took Wanda to not thrust her hips back and grind her clit against your strap.

“Why don’t you tell me all you’ve been studying about the last little while?” you said, running a hand down her ass and sliding a thumb into her pussy, feeling heaps of pride with the way you slipped inside with no resistance.

She was incredibly wet and so, so warm.

Distracted by the way your thumb probed shallowly at her hole, giving her just enough pleasure to make her throb but just short of enough to satisfy her entirely, it took Wanda a few moments to regain her focus before she finally asked, “S-Studying? About what?”

“You’re a smart girl, Wanda,” you encouraged, slowly sliding your thumb out and grazing the pad of it lightly over her swollen slit and across the hood of her clit. “Methods on how to be a proper nun. For example, swear yourself to the Lord, abstain from sex, so on and so forth.”

Wanda swallowed and tried her best to focus with the way your thumb began spreading her cunt out, revealing to you the glistening folds of her pussy. She began stuttering and finally squeezed her eyes shut hard enough to be able to recall some of her studies.

“Um, there was…” she uttered and ran her fingers along the edge of the wooden lectern, “living in modesty; not showing off one’s body in any crude manner, not partaking in pleasures of the flesh.”

Three of your fingers began rubbing slow circles against Wanda’s hole, squelching against her dripping cunt and making her tremble and moan shakily.

“And what next?” you asked.

“I-I can’t… Can’t focus…” she told you helplessly.

Your thumb flicked at her clit and Wanda’s body jerked forward.

“One more,” you urged. “Come on. Give me one more good one and I’ll fuck you with my cock. You want that, don’t you?”

Intentionally, you began to focus on her clit now, having your index finger graze it as your middle and ring finger slowly began delving in and out of her sticky hole, purposefully making it even more difficult for Wanda to find the words for herself.

“I want… I want that,” she shuddered, hanging her head and squeezed her eyes shut again.

“So, then, give me one more.”

Wanda’s breathing deepened as she tried her hardest to focus.

With every intention to make it more difficult for her, you reached up with your other hand and pulled her bra down, allowing you access to knead her breast and feel her nipple harden against the palm of your hand.

She whimpered into her arm and bit down on her bottom lip.

You stepped forward and removed your fingers from her cunt to rub the length of your strap through her pussy, wet fingers taking hold of its base and running it through her swollen folds.

“A-Ah, Y/N, please…” she mewled, though neither of you were quite sure whether she was begging for you to stop and allow her to think thoroughly or for you to have mercy on her completely and just fuck her.

“One more,” you reiterated and aligned the tip of your cock with her entrance.

You placed both hands on her hips and began pulling her backwards, fucking her shallowly and watching her pussy take your cock with just as much anticipation as Wanda was struggling to withhold.

She hugged around you beautifully and it was truly only the tip; you couldn’t wait another moment to fuck her until she was begging for you to fuck her until it hurt.

“A-Another,” she finally trembled out, “is to be, by nature, a woman of submission, to worship your God and seek no amount of personal domination over–”

Fully satisfied with her answer and terribly impatient yourself, your fingernails dug into Wanda’s hips and you jerked her ass back against you, forcing her to take your entire cock in one swift movement.

She cried out and you wrapped a hand around her waist, running your nails down her side and feeling an inexplicable need to mark her, to cause her pain, to reduce her to a whimpering trembling, bruised mess so cock-drunk that all she’d feel for the next three days is the aftermath of being rough-fucked like a slut.

“Hit me, please, daddy,” she begged, wrapping her fingers around the edge of the lectern and arching her back.

So you did — repeatedly.

You spanked Wanda over and over, having the sound of your palm meeting her ass echo through the room and only reiterating to the both of you how she was much less of a nun or a student or any reflection of purity, but a braindead nympho whore good for nothing but getting her pussy fucked raw.

She was a loud fuck, crying out in whimpers and moans and other strings of partially-comprehensible words telling you how good your cock felt and how much she loved getting fucked by you.

The playing organs and belting choir playing during the service muffled Wanda out, but Jesus Christ, if any of them out there had been able to hear her getting fucked down the hallway, they might just think for a moment that it was the calling of an angel or at least something in some way divine.

But none of them would ever know what it looked like to fuck Wanda from behind, pulling her up with their hand around her neck so you had access to slap her face and spit into her mouth like you could, pinching her clit and fucking her through to her third orgasm.

How beautiful she looked, sweaty and a mess with her long brown hair fanned out and stuck in strands against her back, crying out in equal parts pain and pleasure and finding herself incredibly pleased by being used like a filthy object.

And you’d make sure no one else could get the chance to see the sight but you.

“I’m gonna come again, Y/N,” she cried, breasts pressed against the cold wood of the lectern and arms pressed against her back. “This is my last, please, I can’t take anymore.”

You let go of her wrists and wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her from the lectern. She was arched at a slight angle so your arm could assist in continuing to fuck her, but she was now much closer, and she was now able to loll her head back against your shoulder.

“This is the closest thing a slut like you will ever get to heaven, angel,” you told her, kissing her temple. “Make your God proud and come on my cock, filthy bitch.”

Wanda reached back and held onto you for support while her eyes squeezed shut, her lips parting as a silent cry escaped her, her third and final orgasm coming over her without mercy.

You squeezed at her breast and leaned your head down and bit at her shoulder and up the back of her neck, getting in as many markings of your ownership as you could.

She sighed out and uttered your name, to which you ran your hands up her stomach, one hand moving up to her face and gently tilting her head over so you could kiss her lips.

Her knees buckled out and you carefully set her down on the floor before sitting down beside her. Wanda panted heavily into your chest, one hand on your knee and the other arm wrapped around your shoulder.

You had your arms around her waist, rubbing her back supportively and whispering in her ear words upon words of how beautiful she looked, how good she’d been for you, then soon confessing how much you’d been thinking of her over the last few weeks, how much of your mind she occupied and how much of your time you spent thinking of her.

Wanda liked hearing that last part most, but she particularly enjoyed when you told her how it felt to masturbate to her, to imagine her looking up at you and choking on your cock at your final point of release, and how really being with her was plenty more enjoyable and, quite frankly, more beautiful than you ever could’ve fantasised about on your own.

The both of you were on your knees, sweaty with the labour of sex and kneeling in each other’s arms at the foot of the towering crucifix, whispering and giggling to each other all the equally sweet and dirty confessions you could exchange before the service was over.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut #elizabeth olsen #heliumknife

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feeder86 · 2 months

Text

Aaron's Empire

“Yes?” Aaron asked abruptly, seeing that Kirk was calling him yet again.

“He says he’s full already,” Kirk replied. “He’s only had three doughnuts and now he just wants to sit and watch a movie.”

Aaron sighed. As one of his newest recruits, Kirk was more than a little needy when it came to applying the skills that Aaron had tried to instil in him. Every year it seemed like there were more and more guys moving to the city with a kink for fattening up. Although Aaron hadn’t liked it, it had always been necessary for him to outsource to other feeders when he became overrun. He simply did not have the time to tackle all the boys who got in contact with him, desperate to be fattened and submit to him.

“Did you try the trigger words?” Aaron asked. “I made a list of the nicknames Jay gets the most aroused by. They’re all on the file I sent you: ‘Fatso’, ‘Piggy’… I think he even got pretty hard at ‘Lardass’ as well,” he rambled on, trying to recall his observations from the initial feed he had done himself with Jay, three months back.

“I tried them,” Kirk shot back. “Can you come over? I really don’t know what else to do.”

Sighing in frustration, Aaron ended the call. On paper, Kirk looked set to be an awesome feeder: good looking, athletic and masculine-looking. He was one of the star players in the college football team and seemed to have that natural air of authority about him. Feeding a short, little chub like Jay should have been simple. But this was the fourth time he’d got in contact, wanting more support. Perhaps he would make a good feeder one day, but that still seemed like a long way off.

“Thanks for coming,” Kirk smiled, opening the door to Jay’s apartment and seeing that Aaron had picked up a couple of pizzas along the way. He was whispering, having not told Jay that he had needed to get Aaron over to help him.

“Is that what you’re wearing tonight?” Aaron asked, indignantly, seeing the feeder’s attire. “What is with that sweater?” “It’s cold out tonight,” Kirk mumbled back.

“So?” Aaron grumbled, taking his own shirt and pants off as soon as he was through the door. “If you want these fatties to eat, you sell them the fantasy,” he pointed at his own staggeringly built and athletic body. “They don’t need the wholesome ‘boy next door’ look putting them off,” he sighed, still amazed by how average such a sexy guy could look in something so ill-fitting. “And would it kill you to put some product in your hair?” he continued, noticing that Kirk must have come straight from the showers after his football training.

Kirk nodded, seeming to agree that he hadn’t made enough effort. He followed Aaron’s lead, removing the offending sweater and taking off his pants, despite the slight chill in the apartment. Then he went to the tap and brushed some warm water through his hair to fluff it up a little.

“Hello there, Fatso!” Aaron smiled, leading the way into the lounge area with the pizza boxes.

“I didn’t know you were coming tonight as well!” Jay smiled, actually getting up from his chair. Back when Aaron had been feeding the guy himself, the chub had been well trained to stay sitting on his blubbery glutes the entire time he was there. His shirt wasn’t even off and he was wearing actual slippers on his feet, like an old man. Had Kirk really tried to initiate a kinky feeding session when the pig wasn’t even stripped? Just how many other rules like this had the boy been letting slide?

Aaron pulled Jay into a passionate kiss. He allowed both of their hands to roam freely, and by the time they came out of it, Aaron had successfully removed both Jay’s shirt and pants. “You’re looking so big now!” Aaron smiled, taking in Jay’s fattened physique: 350 lbs of tits, belly rolls and blubber.

“I’ve gained another 2 lbs since I saw you last!” Jay boasted, grinning with pride.

Aaron smiled, despite the irritation he felt. Two pounds in an entire month? Did he really think that was acceptable? Did Kirk not challenge him on such mediocre gains? After all the hours Aaron had put in training up the guy’s appetite, back when he was little more than a twink, a two pound gain should have been just a normal part of life for him now.

“Kirk tells me you’ve not got much of an appetite tonight?” Aaron went on, sitting the fat boy back down in his chair, where he belonged. “Is there any reason why?”

Jay looked a little awkward, but smiled as he saw Kirk coming to stand beside Aaron; his toned athlete’s body now on show. “The truth is,” Jay mumbled, “I’ve got my dad and step-mom coming to stay with me this weekend. My dad’s always been somewhat critical of me since I started getting fat. I guess it sort of dampens the appetite,” he sighed.

Aaron nodded sympathetically. “I understand,” he smiled sweetly. “Thank you for being so open with me. It must be incredibly hard for you. As kinky as it is to get this fat, explaining it to your family is never easy.”

“That’s it,” Jay agreed, visibly relaxing now he had shared his concerns aloud. He sat back a little more in his chair and rubbed his tummy. “It’s hard to eat tonight when I know my dad is going to be even more disappointed in me.”

Again, Aaron smiled. He tapped Kirk’s tight butt, silently ordering him into his position, behind Jay’s chair. The next movement was about to begin.

“I really do understand,” Aaron offered lovingly. “As you can imagine, I see it time and time again with all my boys.”

Jay smiled back, with little comprehension of how many guys across the city were actually fattening up under Aaron’s watchful eye.

“But, do you know who doesn’t care?” Aaron asked next, slipping off his underwear and letting his erection spring out. “This guy here,” he pointed at his already pulsing hardness. “He couldn't give a shit about all that sort of crap. The fat boys whinge about how full they are, or how none of their clothes fit. They bitch about their families, their friends not being supportive. They talk about how much they sweat now, how out of breath they get…” Aaron went on, rubbing his boner and seeing that Jay simply could not take his eyes off it. “But this guy…” Aaron emphasised again, “...he just couldn’t give a fuck! He actually gets off on it; their complaints and genuine concerns. He just wants to see them eat and grow, fatter and fatter every single day.”

Aaron nodded to Kirk, letting him know that it was time to tap the newly aroused fatty on the head, ordering him to start sucking. Then, only a few seconds later, Jay’s mouth enveloped as much of Aaron’s dick as possible, moaning with lust as he did so.

Kirk, who was now rubbing Jay’s back encouragingly, looked across at Aaron, clearly impressed at how quickly he had turned the situation around. However, Aaron merely stared back at him in annoyance. It wasn’t just the fact that Jay had always been so pathetically weak at giving blow jobs, but why hadn’t Kirk done this? How many times had he been told these strategies to get the pigs eating when they were less keen? Sometimes their mouths just needed a little warm up; a little lubricating. “Go get the pizzas,” he ordered sternly, about to begin yet another demonstration of how to stuff a pig to his absolute limit.

After that evening, Aaron assigned Jay to another of his feeders, hoping that Jay was simply a poor fit for him. In his place, he gave Kirk a new and highly motivated second year college student who had impressed him a lot when he’d interviewed him about why he wanted to be fattened up. Perhaps seeing the fattening process from scratch might give Kirk the kick up the ass that he needed.

“Five pounds?” Aaron asked, feeling exasperated. “You’ve had three months and that;s all you’ve done to him? He’ll lose that in no time now he’s gone home for the summer!”

“He had exams and stuff, though,” Kirk tried. “I didn’t want to get in the way.”

“Oh, come on, Kirk! How many times have I talked to you about stress eating? You missed a golden opportunity to really push some weight onto him there! He also tells me he’s working on a farm over the summer. How the hell did you let that happen? You know that’s too much exercise!”

“I didn’t really think it was my place to say anything…” Kirk mumbled, realising that he had messed up yet again.

“You’re the fucking feeder!” Aaron shouted, finally letting his frustration get the better of him. “Of course it’s your place to say these things to the pigs!”

Kirk sighed, disappointed with himself. “I’ll do better when I see him next. I promise.”

Aaron shook his head in disappointment yet again. He liked Kirk, he really did. He had all the hallmarks of a good feeder, with a pretty face that made everyone stop and stare. He had the sex appeal to make a guy eat if he really wanted them to. But his application of the basic feeder principles and training were utterly lost on him.

“Look, let’s just take this time as a little breather,” Aaron suggested. “I have some time off at the end of this month. You can come over to my place and we’ll do some little role plays and scenarios; stuff that should help you when your pig gets back for the new semester.”

Kirk nodded gratefully, knowing that he still had so much to learn.

“So, what is a feeder’s main objective?” Aaron asked a couple of weeks later as he led Kirk into his apartment.

The question clearly caught the football player off guard and a long pause followed before he finally answered. “That the pig eats everything we give them,” he offered, seeming confident.

Aaron shook his head. “You’re thinking too short term,” he shot back. “A feeder’s goal is, and always will be, the results: the tight pants, the fat gains, the number on the scales. That’s all that really matters. There are different ways to get there: meal plans, submission, dominance, you name it. But the feeder’s goal is always in the blubber he can pack onto his prey. Is that clear?”

Kirk nodded.

“That means that it really doesn’t matter if you never even use some of the strategies we’re going to revise today. As long as you get the results, that’s all I care about.”

“Okay. That makes sense,” Kirk agreed.

“Feeding is a sensual exercise,” Aaron began, taking his shirt off and removing his pants; still pumped from his gym workout that morning. “You’re never going to feed a pig to his full capacity unless you get the support you need. So where do you find that support?”

Kirk, who had been following Aaron’s lead and undressing, sat himself down in the guy’s feeding chair and pondered the question. “You mean I should call you?” he asked.

Again, Aaron sighed. None of this information should have been new to him. “No, Kirk! The best feeder a pig’s ever going to have is always right between his legs.” He reached out, holding the football player’s semi. “It’s the reason he first fell into gaining and it’s the thing that led him straight to you, so always make sure that you use it in the most effective way that you can,” he explained, rubbing Kirk’s dick until it stood firm and erect. “If fatty stops eating or starts slowing down, give some attention to this thing and you’ll soon see him getting hungry again.”

“Should I suck it?” Kirk asked keenly.

Aaron frowned at the silly question. “It’s entirely up to you. Just…get it hard and keep it that way. That’s all you need to worry about.”

Kirk settled a little more into his chair, enjoying this training more than the other sessions he had had with Aaron. He’d always done better with practical exercises, rather than trying to memorise the theory behind principles.

“Now, most of the time, your pig will buy his own food that he wants you to feed him. But, if ever you’re doing it, you’ve got to choose it all very carefully, thinking about the feeder’s goal… which is?” he quickly questioned.

“The results!” Kirk parroted back to him, pleased that he had remembered something at last.

“Exactly,” Aaron nodded, now pointing to the vast selection of food he had set up on the coffee table for his date with a long-term fatty who was coming over later. “Everything here is from the list I sent you back when you first started. These particular brands are all staggeringly high in calories and quickly digested.” He looked at Kirk’s blank face. “I’ll email the list over to you again then,” he simply stated, deciding not to pull Kirk up on his lack of studiousness.

“What would you start with?” Kirk asked, seeing it all spread out and presented so nicely.

“Well, that depends on your fatty’s preference. You should know what his favourites are; the things that are best to get him started. For example, what is it that catches your eye the most?”

“The cream cakes,” Kirk replied instantly.

“Very well,” Aaron smiled, picking one up. “Before I start, I look down. Is his dick hard? Yes. Are his eyes fixed on the food? Can I make him salivate?”

At that moment, Kirk swallowed a build up of saliva in his mouth.

“Pigs love to be played with. And, at the start, that’s fine. You can waft it under his nose,” he demonstrated comically. “You can dip your finger in the cream and tap it on his piggy little snout,” he joked, doing just that with Kirk. “But when the time comes to feed, you let them know that you’re serious,” he stated sternly. “Because this isn’t a game, is it? And you can’t let the fat boy treat it like one.”

Kirk slowly nodded his head.

“You get their eyes fixed on you now,” Aaron continued, ensuring that Kirk was doing just that. “They realise, you are the feeder. You are the one they are doing this for. During this time, only the two of you exist in the entire world. Pleasure and greed are the only things that have any consequence now. Nothing else.”

Kirk was absolutely silent, taking all of the information in like never before. He looked entirely fixed within the mindset of the boys he would someday feed. Out of a simple curiosity, Aaron brought the cake a little closer to the guy’s mouth, hardly believing that the jock’s jaws were unhinging. His mouth gaping open, Aaron pushed the cake beyond the point of no return, until it squished and fell upon Kirk’s tongue.

Suddenly Kirk was chewing, with his cheeks filled with cream. Had the guy completely misunderstood the concept of role-playing? Sure, the boy was always prettier than he was intelligent, but feeders didn’t do this. This food wasn’t for him. Yet his hardness throbbed every bit as much as the countless others Aaron had done this to in the past.

“Now you praise your pig,” Aaron explained, deciding to take the strange turn all in his stride and act like this was as he had planned. “You tell him how greedy he’s being; how large and fat this will all make him; how he’s going to struggle to get into his pants tomorrow.”

Kirk moaned with pleasure as the last of the cake was pushed into his mouth. He licked Aaron’s fingers clean; his greedy eyes now turning to the other items on the table. Intuitively, Aaron reached across and found the next item, holding it until it was ready and then pushing it deep inside the athletic boy’s mouth.

“Your pig is going to get thirsty pretty quickly, so you need your drinks to hand. These need to be equally high in calories,” he smiled, cracking open a can of soda. “Not too cold,” he stated cautiously. “Everything should flow. We hit them hard and fast while they’re in the zone.”

Kirk took the can of soda and chugged it in one.

Still determined not to show even the slightest bit of surprise, Aaron simply continued his tuition. “Don’t be tempted to just feed the pig what he likes,” he cautioned, seeing that Kirk’s eyes had fallen back onto the cream cakes. “We want to keep mixing up those flavours and textures, pouring in the liquid calories and making the pig wait for those favourites.”

Kirk nodded, accepting whatever was fed into his mouth.

“Always, ALWAYS keep an eye on his dick,” Aaron insisted, taking his hand to Kirk’s hardness and rubbing it for short, gentle periods. “He’s going to want to climax, but it’s your job to make him wait. You do not let him touch himself! His dick belongs to you. You call the shots. And the pig isn’t getting his pleasure until he’s completely stuffed.”

At this, Kirk seemed to redouble his efforts, eating faster and greedier than even before. He’d slipped perfectly into the role; indistinguishable in his apparent lust to feed. His stomach was bloating up, yet still he feasted.

“By this point, your pig is going to be completely disoriented. He’s lost track of what he’s eaten and he has no idea what’s coming next. He’s already massively overdosed on calories, but because of the speed you’re delivering it all to him, his brain hasn’t caught up yet. This is the stuffing ‘window of opportunity’, and you’ve got to push the fatty hard until it closes.”

The food on the table was quickly disappearing. It had been a few months since Aaron had fed a young athlete of Kirk’s stature; almost forgetting how much boys like this could gorge.

“You’ll know when it’s time to stop. The pace slows and they wince at the stretch. But any sign of heaving and you’ve already taken it too far,” Aaron stated. “You make them look you in the eyes again as you take their dick in your hand. You make them say ‘thank you’ for doing this to them, even though they might, even now, be starting to regret how much they have eaten. You tell them what a greedy pig they have been; what all those calories are going to do to their body.”

Kirk was already pulling a face as he felt his orgasm building.

“Now you make them rub their big ol’ tummy,” Aaron ordered, grabbing at Kirk’s limp wrist and placing the boy’s large hand on the top, and most swollen part, of his bloated stomach.

Immediately, the jock’s hand began to explore that new, tightly-packed and solid shape; all so beautifully timed as his pleasure was about to peak.

“And as tough as it is to admit… this moment… the fatty’s actual climax; it’s really not about the feeder,” Aaron whispered now. “It’s about the pig realising what he’s done to HIMSELF; how completely fucked he is for getting so turned on, eating like he has for you.”

Kirk’s breathing was so erratic, with short, squeaking moans escaping from his lips every couple of seconds.

“You make the fat boy look you in the eye. Do what you want inbetween. You can make him promise to get fatter for you, make him oink like a pig, or force a final doughnut into his greedy little mouth; it really doesn’t matter,” he breathed, holding Kirk’s stare with a vice-like grip. “Just let the pig know that you see him for exactly what he is; that he can’t hide it anymore. That he is, and will always be, your greedy hog.”

A massive jet released from Kirk’s crotch, followed by several others, until an almost unfathomable amount of the boy’s excitement had covered his chest and splashed itself all over Aaron’s feeding chair. Yet more stains that would never come out.

Kirk’s charge was assigned a new feeder when he returned to college after the summer. Aaron had made the decision that the boy, who had been so keen to fatten up when Aaron had interviewed him, had been messed around enough by an inadequate feeder. In fact, Aaron had come to realise that Kirk wasn’t even that. Sure, Aaron had flipped feeders into gainers in the past. He even joked that most feeders came with an expiry date, when it would all become too much for them and they’d long for the blubber to be added to their bodies instead. But, Kirk was such a simple boy. Did he even realise yet that he was destined to become a fatty?

“I’m guessing you’ve played some good football in your time,” remarked Kirk’s football coach, heading over to speak to Aaron after he had seen the guy watching his boys play.

“Is it that obvious?” Aaron smiled, knowing that most people assumed he was some sort of football player, given his statuesque height and build. He shook hands with the guy, knowing just how to handle men like these, immediately inventing a backstory for himself in the game that would give him a lot more credibility with the coach. He folded his arms in the same way as him, mimicking the body language and slowly engaging the man enough so that he visibly relaxed more in his company; believing every word he said.

“So just one little broken ankle and that was your entire future NFL career gone?” the coach asked, full of sympathy.

“I think about it every single day,” Aaron lied, shaking his head bitterly. “But you’ve got some decent talent on the field here,” he smiled, pointing to the spot where all the young guys had last stood before heading in to shower.

“They’re okay,” the coach agreed, sounding unconvinced. “We’ve certainly had stronger teams in the past.”

Aaron nodded, as if he knew what he was talking about. “There was one who really caught my eye; the really tall one who spent most of the time over there,” he pointed.

“Kirk?” the coach asked. “Yeah, he’s a good player. Not necessarily the brightest guy I’ve ever come across. He’s quite versatile and plays in a variety of positions. I wouldn’t say he exactly excels in any of them though.”

“Have you ever thought about playing him as an offensive tackle?” Aaron asked. “From what I saw today, he looks more suited to that than anything.”

At this, the coach winced. “You should see some of the guys from the other teams in our league who play in that position. Kirk may be tall and strong, but he’d be dwarfed if he had to go up against them.”

“Bulk him up then,” Aaron shrugged, deciding to lift his arm and show off his bicep. “It’s what my coach did for me. It was the best thing that ever happened for my career. Before the ankle…” he added.

The two men discussed the idea for a little while longer, but Aaron had no intention of hanging around just in case Kirk came out and came over, giving the game away that they knew each other. Instead, he simply planted the seed and left it there to grow.

“When am I getting a new pig?” Kirk asked a couple of weeks later, settling into Aaron’s feeding chair.

“When I think you’re ready,” Aaron lied. “Which reminds me,” he smiled, pulling out his phone and playing a video to the football hunk. “Your last assignment’s new feeder sent me this. He’s getting great results with your old pig. Look at the blubber in that tummy now. His six pack is completely gone!”

“He looks completely different!” Kirk marvelled.

“That’s not even the best part,” Aaron chuckled, waiting for the section in the video when the pig turned and bounced his butt cheeks. “His new feeder says he’s never seen anything like it. It’s like the muscle just completely vanished and been replaced by pure blubber. Look at those thighs too! He’s going to be so bottom heavy!”

“That can’t be the same guy,” Kirk protested. “He didn’t gain like that for me.”

“Well, it’s all about finding the right technique that works for your pig,” Aaron explained, undressing himself and grabbing the supplies from the kitchen.

Kirk had followed his lead, kicking his shirt, sweatpants and underwear to the side and sitting himself back down again. An obvious coating and ring of light blubber sat around his middle from all the sessions Aaron had conducted with him in the last few weeks, but it wasn’t time to acknowledge that with him just yet.

“This is the shake and suck technique,” Aaron went on. “It’s the method that helped your old pig get that huge ass of his. I made this shake up this morning, so it’s had plenty of time to lose the chill.” Aaron heaved, lifting a huge gallon container of thick liquid and putting it on the coffee table with a bump. “You’ve had it plenty of times before. You know what’s in it,” he smirked.

“Yeah, but…” Kirk mumbled, looking at the size of the container. “I’ve only had the odd flask of it when we’ve been training. No one could drink that much of it.”

“That’s where this funnel comes in so handy,” the feeder smiled, lifting it up for Kirk to see. “It stops the pig from ending the chug the moment he starts to feel a little uncomfortable, and so it gives us a lot more control over how much we want the fat boy to take down.”

Kirk’s erection had returned. His legs twitched and he looked down suggestively at it. “What about the sucking part of this method?” he asked, knowing that no one gave a blow job like Aaron.

“It’s called the ‘shake and suck’ technique,” Aaron laughed. “As in… one BEFORE the other!” he teased, noting that Kirk appeared aroused enough to begin. “All you need to do is hold this flask, like this,” he instructed, resting Kirk’s head backwards into the chair at the same time. “Then just, chug away until the funnel is emptied.”

From his position, standing behind the feeding chair and looking over Kirk, Aaron could fully appreciate the gentle loss of definition in the boy’s stomach muscles. Today’s session was going to do so much more serious damage! He lifted the container and let it glug outwards, filling the funnel held steady by the athlete underneath. Just as instructed, the naive boy began swallowing it all up, even as Aaron continued to pour; never letting it get below half-way.

At the first break, Kirk moaned loudly, rubbing his enlarged stomach. Then he burped, long and coarsely, until he at last felt more comfortable. “Fuck!” he sighed. “How much of that stuff did you just pour in? I thought it was never going to end!”

“There’s plenty more, don’t you worry!” Aaron laughed, turning so that he could feed his own erection into Kirk’s mouth. “This is something you can only do at the start of this technique,” Aaron explained. “And you’ve got to go gentle. You can’t be making your pig gag when there’s all that fattening liquid in his stomach.”

Aaron could tell that Kirk was at last starting to learn some of the blow job skills he’d been taught in recent weeks. Aaron exhaled and felt his eyes widen. Shit, this guy was actually pretty good!

“And that’s enough of that,” Aaron smiled, pulling out before he lost his composure. “Back to business!” he ordered, placing the funnel back into Kirk’s hands. “This second chug has to be shorter, and the next one will be shorter again,” he explained, already pouring from the now considerably lighter container and looking down to check that Kirk’s hardness wasn’t faltering.

At the end of the second chug, Kirk moaned once more and gave off a long fog-horn like burp. However, this time his stomach was so rounded and stretched, actually resembling a belly for the first time. Without even prompting, Kirk’s hands began exploring it as Aaron engaged in a gentle first suck in his crotch. Not that Aaron would ever have told him, but already over two thirds of the gallon of gainer shake was gone.

“Depending on your pig, this method can take all day. And that’s fine,” Aaron nodded. “The main thing is, we want that shake inside them.”

Automatically, Kirk rested his head back again the moment he felt ready. The third session began and Kirk was soon enjoying the rewards of having Aaron’s lips around his erection once more.

“A pretty effective technique, huh?” Aaron laughed, just stopping as Kirk seemed about to climax.

“Let’s finish this thing!” Kirk grunted, throwing his head back and knowing that the end was near. Fuck the consequences. He needed that orgasm soon.

“You want me to take on another pig?” asked Jack, one of Aaron’s most capable feeders, a few weeks later. “That’s two in the last six weeks!”

Aaron nodded apologetically. “I know. I would do it myself, but I just don’t have the time. His name’s Peter; twenty-two, already chubby; great little appetite when I interviewed him. He wants pushing hard, and he’s kinky as fuck. I think you’ll have a lot of fun with him,” he summarised, showing Jack a picture before sending over the contact details.

“Cute!” Jack smiled. “Are you sure you’re okay with letting me have all the fun?”

“I just know you’ll do a great job,” Aaron chuckled, slapping the guy on his back.

Jack simply smiled back knowingly. “I bumped into Kirk the other day. He told me you haven’t given him a pig in months.”

Aaron raised his eyebrows. “Well, there are reasons for that.”

“You’re flipping him, aren’t you?” Jack pressed. “Kirk tried to tell me that his coach is bulking him up to play a new position on the field, but there’s no denying your handiwork on that little paunch of his. That’s where most of your time is going these days, isn’t it?”

“Possibly,” Aaron smirked, liking how direct Jack could be at times. “I’m throwing everything at him and I’ve yet to find a single one of my moves that doesn’t work on him.”

“Does he realise?” Jack asked.

“What do you think?” Aaron laughed, knowing that he didn’t need to hide his wicked side with a guy like Jack. “I’ve even got him writing up an assignment for me on the ‘feeder training’ he’s had in the last few weeks! He’s coming round this evening for the ‘Funnel, Fuck and Flip’ exercise.”

Jack chuckled. He’d only met Kirk a handful of times, so could hardly pity the guy if he had fallen into one of Aaron’s typical games. “So when are you going to make your move on him?” he asked.

“Soon,” Aaron smiled. “He’s almost ready now… Just one last little push!”

Later that evening, Kirk bent himself against the table with his legs stretched. His stomach was hard and swollen with gainer shake, drooping down as his head was held only inches above a decadent three-layered chocolate cake.

“Not many guys can hold an erection like I can,” Aaron explained, having pushed himself inside Kirk’s tight butt hole with a lot less wincing from the athlete than in previous weeks. “So don’t worry if you struggle with this move when you’re feeding a fatty this way.”

“Okay,” Kirk mumbled back, breathing deeply as his body tried to get used to the sheer size of Aaron’s thick hardness inside of him. “I think I’ll be ready in a second,” he whispered.

“Good,” Aaron replied, trying not to laugh. He leaned a little more over Kirk’s broad back. “Now, messy pigs adore this one. All I’m going to do is gently lower your head into the cake before I start fucking you.”

“So the pig has to try and eat whilst he’s getting pounded?” Kirk asked.

“That’s the idea,” Aaron smirked.

“Is that even possible?” Kirk asked again.

“I guess you’ll soon find out,” Aaron chuckled, checking that Kirk was ready and then pushing his head gently into the cake so that his entire face was covered in frosting. “Good Piggy!” he called out, already starting to fuck him. Despite the many fatties he’d worked on over the years, few were ever as thrilling as this!

A few weeks later, Kirk had arrived at Aaron’s in a somewhat distracted mood. “Coach says I’ve put on too much fat in my bulk, and that it’s affected my performance on the field.”

“Of course you have,” Aaron shrugged, getting himself undressed as Kirk did the same. “How else am I supposed to teach you about how to tease a fat ass properly? You can’t make an omelette without cracking a few eggs.”

Kirk seemed to consider this.

“Now is the time when you can really get to grips with your pig’s trigger words. Some of them love being called out on being a pig, whereas others are not keen. Some don’t even like teasing at all.”

“So you ask them what words they like to be called?” Kirk asked.

“No,” Aaron sighed, wondering how he ever thought that Kirk could make a good feeder. He simply had no intuition at all. “You try the words out and see what works best. Which ones suit them? Which ones get them the hardest? That’s the way I figured out yours.”

“I have trigger words?” Kirk shot back in surprise.

“Of course you do. All FAT BOYS do,” Aaron smiled, poking Kirk in his doughy middle, making the guy’s hardness bounce. “‘Fat Boy’: the name works on you every time. I never could have got you to complete that pot of whipping cream last week without it.”

“Fuck!” Kirk marvelled, perhaps realising for the first time just how much Aaron had actually burrowed into his head. “Are there more?”

“Of course there are,” Aaron nodded. “There are movements too. Like when I cup your glutes and give them a little bounce,” he demonstrated, giving Kirk’s butt cheek the lightest of wobbles. “See?” he asked, nodding down at Kirk’s weeping erection. “You’ve been so firm and athletic your whole life, this is a completely new experience for you. The feeling of fresh fat invading your body. It’s why being called a ‘fat ass’ works so well on you too.”

Aaron kissed him deeply as he continued to jiggle the boy’s glutes. Kirk’s breathing was hot and heavy; more aroused than ever he had been so early into their sessions. This was new and exciting.

“Few people would spot it in you; partly because you're so broad and muscular. But you’re also a very submissive boy,” Aaron continued.

“I am?” Kirk asked. “I thought feeders had to be mostly dominant?”

At this Aaron sniggered. “Oh, come on, Kirk!” he smiled, still bouncing the soft glutes. “You’re no feeder.”

Kirk closed his eyes to appreciate the feeling of his jiggling butt cheeks. “What am I then?” he whispered, sounding like he was finally ready to hear the truth.

Aaron placed his mouth right next to Kirk’s ear and whispered back, deploying the boy’s ultimate trigger word.

“You’re my big, fat HOG!”

Just like that, Kirk moaned like he had been shattered into a thousand pieces. He pulled Aaron into him and kissed him with more passion than ever before.

“You’re going to quit football for me,” Aaron demanded, immediately seizing the moment as Kirk had surrendered himself; a part of him released and fully conscious for the first time.

“I’ll do anything!” Kirk agreed, allowing himself to be pushed into the feeding chair; another stuffing about to commence.

“Good!” Aaron grinned. “Because you’re moving in here with me too. I’m taking a six month sabbatical from the other fatties. I want to see what I can do when I just devote myself to one little hog, twenty four hours a day. How far can I take them?”

Kirk looked down at his stout little belly and his eyes filled with lust. “I’m all yours!”

#gainer stories #gainerstory #gayfeedee #gayfeeder #gainer story #gainerstories #gainerfic #gainer fiction #gainer fic #gay feedee

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itadorey · 10 months

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𝐒𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆

pairing: gojo satoru x reader summary: becoming a jujutsu sorcerer was never part of your plans, and neither was falling in love with gojo satoru. genre: angst, not-quite-lovers to exes notes/warnings: spoilers for hidden inventory, introspection, mentions of blood, canon-typical violence, arguments, there's some moral dilemmas but like no more than usual, reader throws up bc of news they receive (non graphic, literally just says "emptied your stomach".) wc: ~4.6k song inspo ♫: so young by portugal. the man

You never planned on becoming a jujutsu sorcerer.

Being a jujutsu sorcerer was something your parents had trained you for, but you always seemed to be more enamored by the thought of living a safe, normal life. In fact, the thought of attending the Tokyo Jujutsu High had never crossed your mind until the day your family sat you down and begged you to consider spending the next four years of your life there. You had reluctantly met with the school's administration, and your family was enthusiastic to find out you had been accepted immediately.

You weren’t as excited.

Truthfully, you shouldn't have been surprised that you were accepted. You had a powerful cursed technique that guaranteed your spot as a Grade 1 sorcerer as soon as you enrolled into Jujutsu Tech, but the thought of going through with the training made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

As soon as you arrived at Jujutsu Tech, you had immediately asked your teacher, Yaga Masamichi, to meet and discuss your standing. It was in the teacher’s lounge that you came clean to him about not wanting to be a part of the class before politely asking them if there was a behind-the-scenes role you could fill, getting nothing but a surprised look in return. He had stayed silent for a few seconds before pouring you a cup of tea and motioning for you to take a seat on one of the couches.

Yaga wasted no time before he began to explain to you why you had been placed accepted in the first place. In addition to your cursed technique, you hailed from a small, yet respectable family of sorcerers. You would be a great asset to your classmates and the jujutsu world as a whole, especially because you seemed to think rationally even in the heat of danger. You couldn't deny that Yaga's words had given you a sense of purpose.

But no matter what they said, you still couldn’t help but long for a sense of normalcy.

Yaga was able to sense your unchanging feelings and after a few minutes of contemplation, he made a deal with you. If you agreed to stay and hone your skills for at least a year and still decided you wanted to leave after that, he would let you do so with no complaints. After a few minutes of contemplation on your end, you agreed.

Falling in love with the boy you sat next to had never been part of the plan, but then again, you supposed that your plan had been thrown out the moment you submitted your application to Jujutsu Tech.

Gojo Satoru was an annoyance to many of his classmates, but not to you. No one knew how, but over the course of a few months, the two of you had managed to break down each other’s walls and become closer than anyone expected. In your presence, Gojo seemed to appear more good-natured, his teasing remarks toned down as he slung an arm around your shoulders. In return, he managed to bring you out of your shell, helping you form solid friendships with Geto and Shoko.

Perhaps it was because the two of you truly understood each other; just two students who were thrust into the jujutsu world, forced to become sorcerers due to the power that flowed through your veins. Or maybe it was because your seemingly apathetic nature helped you get along well with the loud boy. Whatever it was, it made Yaga happy. As long as you remained close with Gojo, he knew that the chances of you dropping out or simply disappearing were slim.

Of course, there were still times when you regretted accepting Yaga’s proposal. Too many bad things had happened over the course of a few months for you to truly appreciate the fact that you were training in order to be able to help people. The incident that had caused your apprehension to grow the most had been one where you had been sent on a solo mission, assigned to take care of a grade 1 curse that had been residing in an abandoned apartment building.

The curse had been mislabeled, and you had found yourself fighting for your life against a special grade. In a moment of panic and desperation, your cursed energy had flared up more than usual, causing devastation to both the curse and the neighborhood surrounding you. It was only then that Gojo and Geto had burst in, having been sent by Yaga as back-up just in case. The curse had been disposed of by then, and Geto had barely managed to approach you just in time to catch your unconscious body.

The image of you, limp in Geto's arms, had remained seared in everyone's minds for months.

It was after that incident that the higher-ups had started to take closer note of you, and you found yourself retreating from your friends in an attempt to make yourself seem unimportant. You spent more time with the underclassmen, hiding away with Nanami and Haibara and listening to their stories about their classes and missions. You found Haibara's energy endearing, and it was always entertaining to watch him interact with the more stoic Nanami. It was only when Gojo started showing up outside your bedroom door that you finally returned to classes, his never-ending stream of questions about your cursed technique and abilities annoying you until you could no longer stand to be in the same room as him.

It was hard to ignore the way your eyes lit up at the sight of Gojo, regardless of how annoyed your expression seemed. It was also hard to ignore the way that Gojo would sneak glances at you over his glasses, breathless laughter leaving his lips whenever you pushed him out of your way. Geto and Shoko would always exchange knowing glances when you'd hang out all together, the two of them often going ignored as Gojo poked and prodded at your cheeks in an attempt to get your attention.

Yaga had also taken it upon himself to start assigning you missions once again. What had originally been a team of made up of you and Geto eventually grew to include Gojo, simply because he followed Yaga around and complained about how bored he was without you around. Geto had given you a look you had chosen to ignore when the two of you overheard Gojo say that.

The three of you turned out to be a dream team, especially once you had spent more time training with your cursed technique instead of ignoring it. The cursed energy you had displayed against the special grade curse was something that had always been at your disposal to use, you had just never concerned yourself with learning about it.

Everything seemed to be working out for you once in your life, especially with Gojo by your side to help motivate your growth.

But it all changed when the three of you met Amanai Riko.

At first, the mission had been a piece of cake.

Amanai Riko wasn't difficult to locate, and the people that were after her hadn't been hard to deal with either. It had been an easy mission, especially considering that the three of you were some of the best that the jujutsu world had to offer.

You had grown to quite like Riko, and your time with her in Okinawa had only helped you come to terms with your role as a sorcerer to a greater extent. For once, you felt like you belonged. You had a clearer purpose, and you were determined to succeed in every aspect of your life if it meant getting to keep living such a rewarding life.

And then Fushiguro Toji struck.

All you remember is seeing Riko get killed right in front of your eyes, your distress and panic immediately being pushed down in favor of facing the new threat. You barely processed the conversation between Geto and Toji, only catching bits and pieces but feeling your heart drop and stomach twist when he declared that Gojo Satoru was dead.

After that, everything was a blur. You remember fighting alongside Geto, the two of you in sync as you tried your best to survive. You could remember choking on your fear, the situation much more severe than facing that special grade curse a couple of months ago. You remember closing your eyes for a brief moment, your lips moving as you said a silent goodbye to Shoko, Haibara, Nanami, and Yaga. You remember watching Geto get struck down, leaving you alone to face Fushiguro Toji.

There was a determined glint in his eyes when he stared at you, and you did your best to push down the bile crawling its way up your throat as you studied him. It was a tense fight, and you had managed to land a solid hit on Toji, catching him by surprise. You used that moment to your advantage, but no matter how hard you tried, you were overwhelmed by his physical strength as he flung you out across the courtyard.

It was then, with him towering over you and ready to deal the final blow as you looked up at him in defiance, that Gojo Satoru reappeared.

There was something different about him as he looked at you, his eyes a little more focused than usual as he turned to face Toji. You had only caught bits and pieces of what he was saying, and you had scrambled to Geto's side in an attempt to reassure yourself that everything would be okay. By the time you had regained your composure and looked behind you, Fushiguro Toji was no more and Gojo was ambling towards you.

That was when you truly realized just how much power Gojo Satoru truly held.

His eyes had been wide and bright, hands trembling with leftover adrenaline from his fight as he knelt down beside you to cup your face in his hands. You could feel the warm blood on his fingers streaking your face as he scanned you from head to toe, his face breaking out into a grin when he realized you were relatively unharmed.

"You and I," he had said, leaning forwards to press his forehead against yours. His stare was intense, and you found yourself shutting your eyes in an attempt to avoid it. "We're gonna live forever. I swear it."

His words rang in your head even as he pulled away, a weak groan from Geto drawing Gojo's attention away from you. You were on autopilot from that moment on, repeating the incident in your head up until you were back at Jujutsu Tech being treated by Shoko.

You fell into a slump after that, wanting nothing more than to leave Jujutsu Tech behind until you bumped into Geto one evening. All it took was one glance at him to realize that he understood you better than anyone, and the two of you spent many a late night sitting in the dark with a cup of tea in hand. There was never much talking done during these times, and occasionally you would find yourself sitting close to him, hands intertwined as the two of you sought out some comfort.

Gojo continued to grow at an incredible rate, and no matter how much you wanted to be by his side and support him, you couldn't forget about the day that Riko died.

So while Gojo flourished, you and Geto withered. You rarely showed up to class, sitting alone in the corner when you did. Gojo joined you whenever he wasn't off on a mission, which meant you spent a lot more time without him than you'd like. You also grew paranoid, refusing to go on missions and spending all your free time either training in hand-to-hand combat or laying in bed. The rest of your time was spent with Geto, and you found yourself admitting to him that you had never wanted to become a sorcerer in the first place but had been asked to stay by Yaga.

You had hit him when he had absentmindedly commented that you had also stayed for Gojo.

Whenever Gojo wasn't on a mission, it was almost certain the two of you would be together, your heart aching as he tried his best to be there for you despite your dull demeanor. You would often find sweets hidden in your sweaters and bag, and you would occasionally get to your room to find a basket of your favorite snacks waiting outside your door. He understood that you needed space, but seeing you so lifeless, with dark circles carved underneath your eyes, just made his concern grow even more. The thing that eventually pushed him to finally confront you was Shoko's incessant nagging.

And Geto's betrayal.

The news came as a mild shock to you.

Geto, the person who had quickly become your closest friend and the only person in the world who truly understood you, had become a curse-user.

It was silent for a minute after Yaga told you the news, and within an instant, you found yourself sprinting to the nearest bathroom before emptying the contents of your stomach. You shut your eyes tightly as you leaned your head against the wall, trying to ignore everything that was happening.

First, Haibara had been killed due to a mission going wrong, leaving Nanami as the only first year at Jujutsu Tech. Now, Geto had gone rogue and left without telling anyone. You felt another wave of nausea wash over you and leaned back over the toilet, flinching when you felt a warm hand rubbing your back. You turned your head to see Gojo kneeling next to you.

Sobs overtook you and you let him cradle you against his chest, feeling his fingers weaving through your hair as he held you close. You remember being silent as you eventually unwound yourself from him, walking over to the sink and brushing your teeth before letting him guide you towards his room. He followed you like a shadow, silent but close as he tried to hide his concerned expression. He took a seat on his bed, leaning back on his palms before glancing at you and patting the spot next to him.

You sat down next to him, closing your eyes as he reached for your trembling hand. It was awful how something so gentle could remind you of Geto, and you found yourself pulling your hand to your chest as you tried to control your breathing.

"I never thought this would happen," Gojo muttered quietly, watching you closely as he let his hand rest next to your thigh. You shook your head as you opened your eyes, giving him a distressed look before kicking off your shoes and bringing your legs up.

"I did," you replied hoarsely, sniffling as Gojo gave you a bewildered look.

"What?"

"We had this conversation after everything that happened with... Fushiguro and Riko," you admitted. The names were whispered, and Gojo found himself realizing just how big of an effect the incident had truly had on you and Geto. "He spoke with Yuki as well."

"Tsukumo? The other special grade?" Gojo asked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. You nodded in response.

"There was this hypothetical scenario," you began, pausing to collect your thoughts. Gojo couldn't help but notice the way you tensed, and his fingers twitched with the urge to pull you close. "We spoke about how non-sorcerers release cursed energy at a higher rate than everyone else, and how that contributes to the essentially all the problems we have to face as sorcerers. I didn't know where I was going with that theory. Education, maybe, spreading knowledge about cursed energy in an attempt to contain it. But after Geto's conversation with Yuki, he mentioned getting rid of non-sorcerers as the best option in the long run."

You avoided Gojo's gaze, blinking rapidly as you tried to keep your train of thought. You felt Gojo's fingers brush tentatively against yours once more, and you resisted the urge to take his hand in yours.

"The notion was so ridiculous that we never entertained it," you whispered, freezing slightly before continuing. "Or at least, I didn't."

There was a heavy pause as you finally looked up, meeting Gojo's stare with one of your own. He blinked slowly, trying to read all the emotions in your eyes as they flitted past one by one.

"I knew, Gojo," you whispered, your eyes haunted as you reached over to tug at his sleeve. Your actions were frantic, rushed in an attempt to make him try to fully understand you. He gave you a questioning look, and you pressed yourself a bit closer to him as you grabbed a hold of his shoulders. "I knew that Geto wasn't doing well. Hell, neither of us were, but he was coping even worse than I was and I didn't do shit but sit with him and hold his hand and occasionally listen to him vent. I could've done more. I could've stopped him."

"This isn't your fault," Gojo said firmly, reaching up to grab your arms. He pulled them upwards, settling them behind his neck before letting his hands trail down to your waist to pull you closer. You end up half in his lap, face tucked into the crook of his neck as he pressed you into him. He could feel your breath against his neck, and he held you more tightly as he reminded himself that you were still here with him.

"Yes it is," you mumbled, drawing your arms back to your sides. You made no effort to move away from him. "If I wasn't so caught up in my own fucking wallowing, I would've been able to catch it."

Gojo sighed softly before tucking his fingers under your chin, angling your head up to make you look at him. You felt your heart jump up into your throat, and you swallowed harshly as you reminded yourself that this wasn't the time nor the place for you to be getting all moony-eyed over your friend.

"Your feelings are valid too," he said softly, leaning forward to place his forehead against yours. His eyes remain bright and you find yourself reminded of that horrible day and the words he had spoken to you back then: "You and I, we're gonna live forever." You closed your eyes before ducking down to tuck your head against his collarbone, the thumping of his heart calming you down.

"The two of you were dealing with things I can't even begin to imagine," Gojo continues, unaware of the way you tensed up in his arms. His words just helped to remind you of just how much fundamentally better Gojo was at being a jujutsu sorcerer. "I wish you would've come to me."

There was a moment of silence during which you tried to control your racing thoughts. You thought back to Fushiguro Toji, to Haibara, to Riko, to the special grade curse you had fought way back when, and even to the deal you had made about a year ago with Yaga. Life hadn’t been fair, especially not to someone as young as you were. Gojo looked down at you when you finally went limp, and he found himself studying you worriedly before opening his mouth to speak.

"I'm leaving."

Your whisper sounded a lot louder than it was in the silence of your small room. Gojo's hands tightened around you as he processed your words, and you refused to look at him no matter how hard he tried to catch your eye. "What?"

"Look, I never even wanted to be a sorcerer in the first place," you admitted, taking note of Gojo's confused expression out of the corner of your eye. He didn't respond, and you took the opportunity to elaborate further. "I only enrolled because my parents were afraid of letting my cursed technique go to waste, and I only stayed because I struck a deal with Yaga."

"What was the deal?" Gojo asked uncertainly, his heart feeling a lot heavier than it had mere minutes ago.

"That'd I'd train for a year. And that if I still wanted to leave after, I'd be allowed to. No questions asked."

"No," Gojo stated, squaring his jaw as he took a deep breath. "No, no, you can't leave. You have to stay."

There was desperation hidden in his words, his fingers tensing against your skin as he looked at you imploringly.

"No, I don't," you said, your tone equally as firm as his. There was no hesitance or reluctance hidden in your words, and Gojo felt his stomach twist as he choked on his breath. "I don't want to be here anymore. I didn't even want to be here to begin with, Gojo! My life here has been nothing but pain and grief and utter despair and it's only gotten worse! I'm speaking with Yaga first thing tomorrow morning and transferring out."

"You can't," Gojo responded immediately, his words strangled and heavy with desperation. "You can't leave me, or Shoko. There's so much more left to do, are you really going to give up? It's just you and me and—"

"And what?" you snarled, eyes narrowing as you finally met his gaze head on. "We're gonna have a happy life? Grow up, Satoru. Riko's dead, Haibara's dead, Nanami is falling apart, and Geto is gone. There is nothing here for me anymore and honestly, sometimes I wish Fushiguro Toji had just finished it all before you arrived. You think you're the strongest and maybe you are, but you can't save everyone. We can't save everyone, clearly."

You paused briefly, a bitter laugh leaving your lips as you took in Gojo's wide-eyed stare. "The jujutsu world is a joke. And I want no part of it."

"You can't leave," he repeated, taking one last shaky breath.

"Yes. I can."

"You can't leave me," Gojo breathed, his eyes uncharacteristically soft. "I know you're in love with me."

"Well, you're wrong," you said quietly, your words getting caught in your throat as you took a deep, rattling breath. “I didn’t come to Jujutsu Tech to find friends, much less a lover.”

"I'm in love with you too," he declared in a loud voice, leaving no room for skepticism. You could feel your heart pounding in your ears, and you found yourself conflicted as you finally heard the words you had wished to hear since the moment you had met Gojo Satoru.

"Frankly, I don't care," you said after a moment of silence, pushing yourself away from him and crawling out of his lap. You took a couple of steps away from him, looking out your window in an attempt to avoid looking at him.

"You're lying," Gojo said confidently, standing up and getting closer to you. You jerked away from him, gasping when you felt his hand reach out and pull you toward him. He wasted no time before reaching up to cup your face, causing you to breathe in sharply as you screwed your eyes shut, all the fight leaving your body as you leaned into him. "I'm going to be by your side no matter what. It's you and I."

"We're gonna live forever?" you asked softly, receiving a nod from him in return.

"Exactly," he said, grinning widely as he studied your face. There was a moment of hesitation before he looked down, fingers tensing against your face. "Can I kiss you?"

There was silence as you opened your eyes to stare at him, hesitance in your eyes as you studied him for a few seconds before giving him a weak nod. He wasted no time before leaning in, capturing your lips in a soft kiss. It ended with a soft laugh from you, dissipating into sniffles as tears welled up in your eyes.

"Hey, hey, don't cry," Gojo mumbled, wiping your tears away as they fell. "Everything will be fine, I promise. You have me, and Shoko, and Nanami, and we're going to be okay. We'll get through everything together, okay?"

There was another soft nod from you, and Gojo finally let go of your face to intertwine his hand with yours. Within seconds he was pulling you down into his bed alongside him, pulling the covers over the both of you before reaching out to tuck you under his chin. His fingers ran soothingly over your spine, the tension in your body dissipating as your breathing evened out. It was when you were on the verge of passing out that he spoke once more, his voice soft and tender as stroked your hair.

"I'll never leave your side, I swear it."

You closed your eyes.

The early morning sun woke Gojo up, bright rays of light shining directly into his eyes.

He shuffled uncomfortably, realizing that the two of you had fallen asleep in your school uniforms the previous day. He reached out with a groan, eyes shooting open when he realized that he was alone in his bed. He sat up, leaning on his elbows as he glanced around, seeing no sign that you had even been in his room in the first place.

The first pair of shoes he was able to locate were his slippers, and he found himself wandering through the halls of the school as he made his way to your room. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Yaga standing outside your door, hand rubbing the bridge of his nose as he turned away.

"Satoru," Yaga greeted, turning to face Gojo when he heard his footsteps. "Good morning. What are you doing here?"

"I was looking for—"

His words died down as he looked behind Yaga, being met with an empty room. There was no trace of you having ever been there, and if he hadn't known better, he would've thought that it had always been empty. Gojo swallowed harshly, his throat unnaturally dry as he looked back at Yaga.

"Where is—"

"Gone," Yaga interrupted, shaking his head and scoffing lightly. "They left this morning. I trust you knew about our deal?"

Gojo nodded.

"They said it was time for me to hold up my end of the bargain."

He waved vaguely at your room, stepping aside to give Gojo more space. A loud sigh brought Gojo's attention to Yaga, and he raised an eyebrow as his teacher looked up at the ceiling. "I'm going to go finish their transfer paperwork."

He left Gojo with a nod, hesitating slightly before lowering his head and walking away. It was silent as Gojo walked into your room, eyes taking in the empty walls and naked bed. He perched on the edge of it, his fingers running over the bare mattress as he tried to control his breathing.

"Gojo?"

A quiet call of his name had him looking up to see Shoko, and he found himself holding back tears as she shuffled closer. She was holding out her arm, a white envelope clasped in her hand as she reached out towards him.

"They uh, they left this for you before they, y'know."

Gojo took the envelope from Shoko with trembling hands, his fingers running over the seam of it before he crumpled it in his fist, his emotions getting the best of him as Shoko gave him a concerned look.

You had given Shoko the envelope before leaving. You had seen and said goodbye to Shoko before leaving.

"You know, they really—"

"Don't."

Gojo's voice was hoarse as he interrupted Shoko, and he briefly shut his eyes as he felt them burn with unshed tears.

It was only then, with Shoko giving him a sympathetic stare, that he realized that although he promised to never leave your side, all he had received from you was silence.

reblogs are appreciated <3 ty for reading!!

#gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojou x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk imagine #gojo imagine #gojou imagine #satoru x reader #gojo satoru imagine #jjk angst #gojo angst #gojou angst #gojo satoru angst #jujutsu kaisen imagine #gojo imagines #jujutsu kaisen angst

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bonny-kookoo · 4 months

Note

I’m obsessed with my princess. I’ll take a late night snack if you have one 🥹👉🏻👈🏻

Since I've been yelled at to make more brat tamer kook content: Here you go, some sweet tension!

Jungkook has come to learn that you know very well how to get under his skin by now.

And you also, not just on occasion, make it a fun game for yourself to see how much you can annoy him before he snaps. Maybe because he's been pretty lenient with you compared to how he would normally like to go at it. He can't really do much about it either- his wolfblood constantly telling him to put you back into your proper place in the pack.

A pack he doesn't have, but that doesn't mean his instincts know that too.

Jungkook doesn't have many canine hybrids as friends, except maybe Yoongi. But since he's bonded to his own partner, Jungkook doesn't really feel any sort of need to care for him like he does with you- though he's not too sure why he's starting to get so attached to you either.

You're just friends- and even that would technically be a stretch to say. He doesn't know you, and you don't know him either.

But he can't deny the fact that he really.. enjoys this game of push and pull you two constantly seem to engage in, every bark sent into your direction only momentarily causing you to follow his word. Maybe you're instinctively able to really figure out if he's being genuinely angry or upset at you, or if he leaves room for you to try and test him on his threats, because otherwise, he'd not be too sure as to why you're just so good at walking that line with him.

And sometimes he has to admit, his fingers are itching.

Just like today, where you're just constantly annoying him by either repeating his words for no reason, or by making his job absolutely impossible. Though, taking care of you at your apartment and making sure you're getting the hang of normal everyday life-tasks wasn't really in his job description, to be fair. He's not even getting paid extra for this.

Why is he doing this again?

He's not sure, but he also can't really think about it for much longer, because right now, you've overstepped the line. There's no way you don't know what you're doing, and no one can blame him for physically acting on this, because how dare you.

You just bit him.

And he's reacting accordingly, at least if someone was to ask his instincts in that moment, a hand on the back of your neck pressing you down into your couch, while you growl to yourself. And the second he realizes what he's doing, he wants to apologize-

when he notices your tail wagging. Even this right now, is still a fucking game to you.

"Don't tell me you're pissed just cause I nipped your arm there." You laugh, probably sensing that he's not serious yet. "Boo-hoo. Now lemme go, I wanna watch TV-" You start to struggle, successfully slipping out of his grip- but he's not done yet.

He can't let this stand.

So just as you're ready to slip off the couch, he grabs you by your waist, just to pull you back, his body entirely covering yours, keeping you in place while he bites your neck.

Scruffs you, like the spoiled, unmannered pup you are.

And the reaction is almost instantaneous- compared to how on other occasions you've simply accepted and reluctantly agreed to his scolding, right now, you're fully submitting, tail between your legs underneath him, a soft whine coming from you. And it's now that he realizes, he's never had the upper hand over you, never had you under control at all.

You've always simply let him win.

Once he lets go of you, ready to apologize for acting so harshly, you instead crawl onto his lap, clinging to him, quietly. Visibly in need for his comfort again, desperate to get back on his good side.

Oddly how he remembers himself acting when he was younger, and scolded by his own parents.

Suddenly, you're not all that bold anymore, not even apologizing, simply leaning into him, rubbing your cheek against his clothes whenever he stops holding you. It all happened so quickly that he doesn't even process it that much right now, but all he knows is that whatever happened definitely got the message across for you.

"I'll never bite again.." You mumble into his shoulder, hiding away from him, and he laughs, running a hand up and down your back.

"No, it's fine. It just caught me off guard." He explains himself. "I'm a wolfdog mix, so I apologize I reacted like that. I couldn't really help it." He offers you, and you nod.

"No, I was being mean." You defend him. "Can I continue cuddling you? Or do you want to leave?" You ask, giving him the genuine option to go- and he knows, he probably should.

But instead, he shakes his head, and sits a bit more comfortably.

Holding you until you fall asleep, while he watches some random TV channel in your apartment.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #hybrid imagine #bts jungkook fanfic

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mulansaucey · 4 months

Text

Drunk Words, Sober Thoughts.

Azriel x Reader

Prompt: Rita has a new supply of Moonshine and gives a jar to the IC. This creates a blacked out drunk Azriel.

Warnings: alcohol use, flirting, suggestive, mentions of sex, drunken behavior. Let me know if I left anything out.

Note: Literally sitting in bed when I had this idea. This is just for fun and I hope you enjoy!

Music playing in the halls of Rita’s surrounds the Inner Circle as well as laughter. Shot glasses banging against their table, squeals of joy from seeing the glasses of those pretty cocktails that Feyre and Mor like so much, and the beautiful smile that graces my mates face. Tonight is for fun and bonding.

Azriel has been on a month long mission just returning to me a few days ago where we cooped up in our cozy home, enjoying the song of our mating bond before returning to society. When he’s gone, there’s a hole in my chest. Color, music, art becomes void. Life is not as exciting without him by my side. Even after decades of being married and mated the bond is still alive and thriving as if it was still the night he took a bite out of that meal I made him to accept him as my mate.

I’m an accomplished fae. I’ve strategized wars, wrote countless books on the plant life of Prythian that has helped healers cultivate new medicines, and have helped the Inner Circle for almost two centuries now. When he’s away, I keep myself occupied and have my job to thank for that but that aching feeling doesn’t go away.

That’s the strength of a mating bond, it brings males to their knees. It brought Azriel to his. Our souls submitting to one another and refusing to settle for anything less than each other.

“What’s so interesting, love?” Azriel teases as I can’t my eyes off him. Those hazel eyes trail over me, even in the haze of faelights it feels like he can see every inch of me. He bites his lip as if he’s recalling just a few hours ago when he was biting the meat of my thighs. I know I am. Heat rises in my cheeks as he laughs and leans down to the leg of my chair and pulls me closer to him. The bond between thrums with satisfaction that our beings are even closer now. His hand finds the back of my neck and he caresses.

“You, my heart. I can’t seem to take my eyes off of you.” I tease him back.

The shots making my mind looser and my flirty tendencies arise. I’m a horny drunk when it comes to this male. Who wouldn’t?

Azriel raises his brows and smirks. He leans down to press a sweet kiss then pulls back.

“You are lovely in this dress. I can’t wait to rip it off you tonight.” He says as he presses sweet kisses along my cheek and jaw.

“Azriel you better not! It’s embarrassing having to keep going to the tailor because you have no self control.”

“Self control? We’ll see how much self control I have later, you’ll begging for me I promise you that.” He laughs.

Suddenly a heavy presence can be felt behind us. I don’t even have to turn to know it’s Cassian.

He slaps the back of Azriel’s chair and loudly yells, “Stop the heavy petting and come to the bar, Rita just got a new drink called ‘Moonshine’ it’s apparently a lot stronger than any wine or whiskey.”

Cassian doesn’t wait for an answer and picks me up while yelling over his shoulder, “If you want her, Az you gotta come get her!” We leave a trail of giggles as my grumpy mate follows.

Azriel trusts his brother and knows Cassian just missed him and wants to have fun. It’s why he doesn’t cut off his hands for touching my body.

Cassian drops me on a bar stool and leans over to drop a sloppy kiss to Nesta’s cheek as she bats him. From the corner of my eye though I can see her pulling him back to her to give him a proper kiss. I’m happy for my friends as they had a very tumultuous start to their mate ship. As I’m trying not to be nosy in my friends business Azriel comes to stand behind me, strategically blocking me from any other males or females view. Azriel is selfish when it comes to me. I can’t blame him, he’s waited centuries for me. And I him.

Rita walks up to us with a jar of clear liquid. It looks innocent, like water, but knowing her that liquid will make you regret ever being born. But that’s the appeal to Rita. She knows how to have fun and has quality supply.

“Alright ladies and gentlebats this is Moonshine. It’s technically whiskey but its process makes the alcohol stronger and you drunker quicker. I will give you a shot, on the house, if you like it I’ll sell a jar to you. This stuff is no joke and illegal in some courts. More recently our High Lord and Lady gave me the okay to produce it.” Rita winks to Feyre and Rhys.

We all look over them and Rhys shrugs, “Feyre wanted to try it, I couldn’t say no.”

We all laugh at the lack of ability our friend has to say no to his wife. I see Feyre eye the glass with excitement.

“Feyre you do the honors of first shot!” I yell out as she takes the glass and downs it in one gulp.

She freezes and we wait on bated breath. Her eye twitches and she gives a full body shiver. We break in laughter at her funny reaction as she immediately takes her fruity cocktail from Rhys, who was mid sip, and takes a few gulps.

Feyre’s face twist in disgust as she tells us, “That’ll definitely get you fucked up, I feel like I’ve grown chest hair.”

Laughter fills our area again. Rhys presses a kiss against Feyre’s head as he reaches for his own shot glass. Each of us besides Amren and Varian, who are currently in Summer, reach for our own. I clank my shot glass against Azriel’s and down my shot. I immediately regret this decision as pure alcohol burns my throat. It’s worse than the tonics Madja gives us. At least we get some what rewarded for that. I put my glass down and look over at my mate. His free hand softly rubbing my upper back, he downs the shot and smack his lips.

“It’s definitely strong but I don’t mind it.” Azriel says to the group.

I pout at him and say, “Of course it doesn’t bother you, Shadowsinger.” He rolls his eyes and moves his hand from the back of my neck to the front. Slowly moving my head back so far I have no choice but to look at him and only him.

“It’s Shadowsinger now is it?” He smirks down at me. Before I can reply peanuts that Rita supplies generously across her bar are being pelted at us. Azriel loosens his hold on me as we both turn to our family.

“You two are like bunnies, I feel like I need to spray you two with a bottle of water.” Nesta says.

I gasp and laugh out, “Like you have any room to talk! The House of Wind is contaminated with you and Cassian’s fluids.” All I get is more peanuts being thrown at me. The two of us dissolve into giggles as I throw them back at her. Cassian and Azriel having to take it away.

Cassian then turns his attention to Rita watching us in amusement.

“We’ll take a jar please, you always know how to make me feel good.” He winks at her. Rita rolls her eyes and passes him the jar.

“I’m charging you extra for that little stunt.” She says back to him.

“Oh c’mon that was a compliment! You’ve got the best stuff in the city.” He argues as Nesta shushes him. Nesta opted out of drinking, instead preferring to smoke mirthroot.

We all go back to our designated booth empty shit glasses in tow. We decide to play truth or drink. Azriel being the secretive person he is rather take the shot then tell the truth. I have a feeling he just wants to indulge the rare drink. I don’t blame him, he works hard for his court and he’s allowed to drop his inhibitions. Ever since we’ve gotten together I’ve taught him about self care and allowing one self to enjoy the moment. The centuries of training and spy work are still instilled in him, something even I can’t take away. But with the love of his mate and family he’s allowed himself to be happy.

I didn’t like the moonshine so I stuck to my cocktails then water, as I had a feeling someone needed to be more sober than the others. Azriel takes his eighth shot when he freezes. I still, looking around to see if anything was amiss. When I look back at him I see him smiling.

“You are a rare jewel.” He says so casually. Looking at me like I’m the only person in the world. He reaches over to brush my hair out of my eyes when instead he pokes me. This clumsy move tells me, he’s drunk. He giggles as I jump back slightly from a literal finger poking my eye.

“I’m so sorry love. Wow your skin is so soft.” Azriel starts touching my face in fascination. He then pulls me into his strong embrace. The awkward is angle but he just sighs constantly. Happy to be holding me. He starts petting my hair as if I’m a cute kitten.

The confused yet amused looks across the table have me pulling back from my mates embrace when he loudly says, “Noooooo, don’t leave me. I was so comfortable.”

I can hear and see Rhys and Cass laughing and clutching each other. Azriel RARELY gets drunk. I feel bad, maybe I should’ve limited how much he could drink since it’s not his usual stuff. Azriel has a fairly high tolerance for his usual whiskey or beer. Eight shots of his regular choice of drink would be nothing but him drinking moonshine has him reacting differently. I feel a little guilty but Azriel has carried me home and taken care of me plenty of times. Tonight I promise myself to return the favor.

“I know my heart, but I need a glass of water and so do you. I’ll be right back, I promise.” I caress his face and he looks at me with so much love I almost don’t want to go even if it’s a few minutes.

“Okay, hurry back. Take a shadow.” He says with a pout. A shadow always sticks with me regardless of his command or not. I shove my love down our bond for his thoughtfulness. Azriel gives me a goofy grin and pushes his love down to me.

“I need a drink, c’mon. Lover boy will be just fine.” Feyre says as she drags me away from my mate.

His eyes trailing after me until Cass and Rhys grab his shoulders to get his attention. Knowing my mate is in safe hands has me turning to Feyre. We talk a little about her art studio and Nyx. She confesses to having a bit of Mom guilt when she goes out. The alcohol making her a bit weepy from missing her son. I distract her by dragging her to the dance floor, after checking to make sure Azriel was still with the boys and has a glass of water.

After a few songs Mor and Nesta join us. I still keep an eye on my mate, making sure he’s okay and having fun. The next time I turn my eyes to him he’s gone. Panic fills my chest as I look around the bar for him. When I look up to the second floor I see him and his brother attempting to climb the rail. At that moment I decide it’s time to go home. I grab the girls and haul their asses the second floor before any of our mates cracks their skull open. The boys had way more moonshine than we did.

We successfully get them away from the railing, I grab Azriel’s face and he gently shoves me off of him. I frown at him, water lining my eyes at his rejection towards me. I go to ask him what’s wrong but before I do he tells me, “I am a mated male! You can not touch me.”

He sways a little grabbing onto Rhys for support. Rhys is already getting yelled at by his High Lady but she stops to turn to Azriel in amusement.

“What did he just say?” Feyre says to me. I stay silent for a moment realizing the situation. I slightly smile at my mates loyalty even though it is me who is touching him. I tell Feyre to grab Rhys and I can handle Azriel.

“Azriel, my heart. It’s me, I’m your mate.” I tell him gently helping him find his balance.

“I don’t want to go home with you. I want my mate. She will take care of me. I don’t need you.” As he’s still struggling to walk. I ignore him and help him down the stairs all the while he’s protesting insisting he has a wife and mate waiting for him at home. I roll my eyes fondly. Knowing it’s going to a rough walk home. He insists that I only touch his arm.

“I am a gentleman and my wife would be mad I let you walk home alone but I am not sharing a bed with you. She is only one I share my bed with. I love her.” He says to me, total seriousness.

I take a look at him noting his shirt is wrinkled from Cassian constantly grabbing onto him, his hair is wild, and his walk is staggered. I make a mental note to never let him drink Moonshine again. He trips slightly making me grab onto his back and front. He looks at me weirdly and takes my hands off his body.

“I don’t know youuuu. My body is reserved for my wife, I am fine with walking on my own.” His words are sloppy and he trips again. Laughing at him I ignore his protests and guide him to our shared home. The walk is a struggle as he keeps tripping yet insisting I keep my hands off him. I shove my love down the bond hoping he’ll recognize me that way. I feel more assured that even if I wasn’t with him and he was drunk he’d always come home to me. I hear him sigh with content and he lazily slaps his chest.

“This here, in my heart, she’s calling to me. I need to go home to her. I can feel her. I want to go home.” He pouts.

“Okay big guy, I’m gonna get you home to her. I’m sure she misses you.” I say, playing along. If I play along I’m hoping it’ll make him more amiable.

“She does! I can feel her even when I’m miles and miles away. I miss her too. Sometimes when I’m in the same room as her, I miss her. I just want her all to my self.” He confesses, I notice he’s started to slowly relax letting me guide him home. The thought of seeing me being his motivator. My heart is fluttering seeing him like this. Azriel is usually so smooth and calculated. His words to me sound like poetry, like a crafted song made just for me to hear. Now he’s confessing his love to, how he perceives, a stranger. Apart of me knows that he must know it’s me. Even if it’s deep down. But I can’t help but feel so special to him.

I finally spot our home, the sight of our porch makes me let an out a sound of relief.

Azriel looks to what I see and goes, “How do you know where I live? I don’t remember telling you. I wouldn’t have told you! I told you that I don’t want to go home with you.” He pushes himself away from me stumbling to our small gate. He struggled to unlock and me being exhausted from helping a 6’5 Illryian male slap his hands away and move to open it. He rubs his hand where I slapped and looks at me with a pout.

“Oh you’re okay! Stop being a baby and come inside please.” I tell him, laughing lightly at him. He moves to walk past me but turns before I can even take a step on the porch.

“This is as far as you can go. My wife will not be disrespected by having another female in our home.” He says with a serious face. The message isn’t as threatening since he’s still swaying and eyes glossed over. I smile at him and make a move to walk around him but he pushes his arms out, clumsily I might add, and repeats what he just said. I hold my arms up in surrender to this ridiculous statement.

“Azriel, my heart. I am your wife, you are mated to me. And I want to be in our bed and snuggle. Don’t you?” I ask giving him my best puppy dog eye. I don’t even know if it’ll work if the liquor made him forget who I was entirely. He goes to reply when he bends over to his side and pukes. I rush to his side and rub his back. He stand up again and leans against a pillar on our porch. His face smushed against it I can faintly hear.

“I want my mate…I’m not going home with you.” I roll eyes, trying not to get upset with him because it isn’t his fault and I know I’m not a doll to be around when I’m drunk. I walk towards our door, it unlocks automatically due to the ward Azriel insisted on placing. I try to gently push him inside. His wings knocking over a vase I was gifted from a past High Lord of Summer, I grimace as the antique lays broken on the floor. He looks around for what made the loud sound and he gasps loudly as if I was the one broken on the floor.

“My wife is going to kill me! Fuck, fuck, shit. Oh my gods I need to go to summer now! I need to go before she notices it’s broken.” He says making a move for the door. I immediately put a stop to that and drag him to our bedroom. I think he’s exhausted himself and flops down on the bed. Not making any moves. I start unlacing his boot and once I’ve got them off I go for his pants.

He slaps my hands away and goes, “I can undress myself. You have no right to touch me there! Go home before my wife finds you, she’ll kill you. My mate is verrrry possessive of me. She won’t like youuuu.” He sings at me.

He starts giggling and taking off his pants and shirt while moving to grab my pillow and holds onto it like it’s the answer of all his prayers.

“I miss her so much. I’m in bed but she isn’t here. It smells like her, I never want to smell anything again. Only her.” I make a face at him, I didn’t see how that makes sense but he’s drunk so I don’t question it. I make sure he has a glass of water and is tucked into bed before I make my move to join him. As soon as I start to move the cover he jolts back up, still clutching my pillow.

“Thank you for taking me home but I insist you take the couch. I will never share a bed with another female. I will not have our marriage bed tainted by a stranger.” He says eyeing me like I’m the King of Hybern resurrected.

“Enough, sweetheart. Tonight has been really funny and sweet but I want to sleep. Don’t you want to cuddle?” I say, I glance at the clock noting the late hour. He doesn’t make a move and stays silent. Giving me the answer I needed.

“As I stated you can take the couch as thank you but you have to leave before my WIFE comes home.” Azriel states, emphasizing the wife part as if I’m the drunken one.

“Okay I give up, I’m sleeping on the couch. Goodnight my love.” I say stealing a quick kiss from him that leaves him stuttering and blushing.

“Y-you just kissed me! That’s so rude, that’s-“ I close the door cutting off his rant. I go down the hall for our closet where we keep the extra blankets and pillows. I settle in our large and comfy couch that Azriel insisted on getting when we moved in. I’m now thankful he insisted. I start laughing recalling the night. Tonight was stressful but has shown me how loved I am. I have a male who’s loyal and kind. Even when he thought I was a stranger he wanted to walk me home so I wasn’t alone. I’m thankful to call him mine. I’m thankful to be his. I drift off to sleep with a soft smile, excited to tease him to no end in the morning for this stunt he pulled tonight.

——

Sunlight enters my home, the warmth of it caressing my cheek. I nuzzle closer to the warmth when I realize it’s Azriel’s hand. He’s sitting on the floor, his hair is a mess and he’s laying his head down close to mine. His eyes look groggy and I can tell he didn’t have a good sleep.

“Where were you last night? I couldn’t sleep without you.” He whispers gently, as if the sound of his own voice made his head ache.

I start laughing loudly, Azriel flinching back and rubbing his head. I start laughing so hard I start crying. My mate looks at me unamused.

“I’m sorry my love. But you literally kicked me out of our bed and made me sleep here. You insisted.” I tell him, laughter seeping through my words.

His mouth drops down in shock. He’s still rubbing his head and I feel bad so I start massaging his scalp the way I know he likes. I gets himself up off the floor and into my awaiting arms. Azriel secretly loves being the small spoon so I baby him and rub down his back and up into his scalp. The mating bond compelling me to make sure he’s okay and loved.

I start recalling the night for him. Apparently after that eighth shot he completely blacked out. He doesn’t remember a single thing from last night past that point. He grumbles and hides his face in my neck. His words coming out muffled.

“I’m so sorry. I hate not being in control like that. I’m sorry for treating you like that.” He says while pressing kisses on my neck and he squeezes me even tighter.

“It’s okay, you’ve taken care of me plenty of times when I’m drunk. I’m glad you were having fun and it was really sweet of you to defend my honor and our bond even if it was me. I love you so much for it.” I tell him making sure his eyes were on me. I cradled his face, caressing the scars and stubble that reside there. He leans down to give me soft kiss once, twice, three times before he nuzzles his nose against mine.

Azriel may be hard to read, stoic, and cold to everyone else but here, in the privacy and intimacy of our home he’s lovable and soft. A privilege to be able to see this of side. The decades of trust and memories helping him become a more loving person.

“How are you feeling though?” I ask him, he groans and lays his head down.

“I feel like absolute death. Actually death would be more merciful than what I’m feeling now.” My mate, the dramatic. I go to move to make him some tea and a light meal for his tummy but he just holds me tighter.

“Just stay for a little longer, I finally feel better now that I’m with you.”

Who am I to resist and say no? So I settle in and relishbeing with my mate and husband. Enjoying a quiet morning after such a loud night.

#azriel acosf #azriel fluff #azriel imagines #acotar funny #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel being drunk #inner circle #azriel acotar

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cashmoneyyysstuff · 5 months

Text

♡ chronicle #1 : routine ♡

wc : 2544

somehow, you’ve gotten used to living with the dragon man.

the man, you later found it his name is bakugou (after some prying, the guy’s annoyingly stubborn) had been living with you for about three weeks now and has seemingly started warming up to you, you say seemingly because you’re still not so sure.

he adapts to the human lifestyle quite quickly. he ditched his tattered old clothes and you've offered him your biggest set of clothes for the time being until you’d go out shopping some other day.

you have to admit it’s entertaining to watch him interact with your household items, like your utensils, glasses, books and plants, even if they are fake.

he likes watching tv but acts like he doesn’t, claiming that human entertainment was beneath him. but you catch how he always seems to be laser focused on the tv whenever you have some kind of drama tv show on, despite him saying he’s only watching ‘to kill time.’ he’s gotten used to technology rather quickly though. he likes listening to music and choosing songs when you connect your phone to your little bluetooth speaker.

you also note he likes cooking, or he likes watching you cook. you wouldn’t have guessed by the way he pointedly glares at you but you notice he’s less focused on you than he is on the food your making. you’ve let him try using the knife more lately when you were sure he wouldn’t use it to kill you in your sleep. he’s good at cutting stuff up, (maybe from experience?) and you were pleasantly surprised to see he was actually a really good cook. pleasantly surprised, definitely not a little jealous of his ability to watch one cooking show and replicate the dish perfectly. not at all.

in a way, it’s like having a roommate..that just so happens to be a dragon.

except it’s not because he acts more like a big cat rather than a roommate or a fearsome dragon.

for some reason he’s decided to make his stay- until-he’s-fully-healed-deal insufferable for you.

he nabs your food from your plate whenever you order takeout, despite you letting him pick out what he wants from the menu every time. he growls and nips at your fingers whenever you try and reach back for your food and he snarls at you whenever you try to take your food away from his grubby grasp.

he still sticks to calling you human despite you having told him your name multiple times, all he does is stick his nose up and scoff at you. he’s also, despite his rather large presence and size, really good at sneaking around. meaning he sneaks up on you regularly and scares you shitless. he likes to pretend you’re overdramatic too, calling you a scaredy-cat for getting startled so easily though he makes no effort to hide that shit eating grin on his face whenever he’s spooked you.

he doesn’t seem to understand the concept of having job, making fun if you for 'submitting to another puny human'. you’ve tried to explain how the puny human in question is the reason you get payed and the reason he gets to eat that yakiniku he seems to love. he merely scoffs and claims he would’ve just beat the shit outta your boss. "have him know his place."

you find out through light coaxing that bakugou is a dragon shifter, they posses human forms but have the blood of great, ancient dragons coursing through their veins, is what he says. they seem quite incredible from what he’s told you and he himself seems pretty damn proud of his heritage. they age the same way humans do but their strength, stamina and quite literally everything else surpasses them greatly.

you were curious, how could you not be when a dragon man was in your house with answers to all of the fantasy questions you’d accepted would never be answered forever ago?! you ask and ask and bakugou answers, some of your questions have him scoffing offendedly ( like you asking if he uses his fire breathing as a barbecue tool, the answer is unfortunately no) some questions have him snorting and smirking to himself and some questions take a little while of thinking before he provides an answer. you notice his long, scaly red tail raises upwards the slightest little bit when you hum excitedly whenever he answers your questions, as much as he huffs about them. you decide not to comment on it.

“ what about your parents ? are they dragon shifters too ?" he stiffens at your question and you feel the vibe has changed from the one before, you don’t like it.

he lowers his head and his eyebrows furrow a little harder, you’re about to tell him he doesn’t have to divulge private information about himself but then he speaks up and claims it’s none of your business.

he’s right, it really isn’t, but you foolishly believed you’d get to know each other a bit better. you know you don’t technically need to, but you thought— you don’t really know what you thought. all you can say is that as annoying as he is, you can’t deny your intrigue of this man.

you decide to blame it on the fact that he’s a dragon for now and leave it at that.

you have more you want to ask him, but he doesn’t seem to want to talk about this subject anymore. you don’t want the conversation to end yet.

and then you remember.

“hey !” you suddenly start, causing him to raise an eyebrow at you “ how exactly did you end up blasting through my wall ? you were injured too, i never asked you about it, must’ve slipped my mind.” when he registers your question, it has him tightening his jaw in anger. fists clenched and veins popping “that fuckin’ bastard..” he growls.

“who ?”

he regains as much of his composure as he can but he still looks very pissed off.

“nothin’. it doesn’t matter.” he shrugs, looking away from you before deciding to step off your kitchen chair to flop onto the couch unceremoniously.

“wha- the reason you blasted through my wall doesn’t matter?!” you splutter, staring at him dumbfounded but he either doesn’t see you or doesn’t pay you any mind. he’s already scrolling through channels on your tv and replies with a simple “nope”.

and just like that, the conversation ends.

lately though, you’ve established somewhat of a routine with the dragon man.

he seems to enjoy binge watching tv shows rather than watching movies, you realized he was hooked on your favorite show when he growled and threatened you when you turned it off to head to bed. you didn’t mind watching your favorite show for the 50000th time and it’s always nice to see other people’s —dragons, in this case—reactions to your favorite moments.

despite his bravado, he’s ridiculously expressive. he glares and growls and groans whenever characters do something he deems stupid. he doesn’t say much when romantic moments happen, but he huffs proudly, almost like everything went according to his plan. frankly, you found it quite cute.

every time you come back from work, you chow down on some take out and watch your favorite show toghether, mixed with bakugou occasionally commenting every once in a while.

today though, you're back late.

today had been more grueling than usually, work seemed to drag on longer and it seemed that the clock in your office was frozen or broken. that, or you were stuck in some type of time vortex.

it's about 10pm when you step foot into your apartment. you instantly feel more at ease, it's warm and you smell the donburi leftovers that were confined to the fridge yesterday. you blink, then look up at your dragon roommate.

his head is perked up, the tip of his tail standing at attention, his eyes narrow into slits when he sees it's you and his shoulders sag. he huffs and a barely there pout forms on his lips.

"you're late." he grumbles. he takes another fierce bite of his donburi and shoves it in his mouth, as if to simulate biting you for the irreperable act you've commited. you hold back a snort at how ridiculous he looks trying to be intimidating with his cheeks all puffed out.

"yeah, sorry" you sigh "work ran till late" you kick off your shoes and you hear him scoffs, muttering something along the lines of why you don't just have your boss burnt to a crisp. "don't talk with your mouth full" you joke. you scold him like he's a child and he responds like one when he simply growls at you.

you're opening the frigde to grab your portion when he beats you to it " 'ts in the microwave ! " he calls loud enough for you to hear. and sure enough, you find you're bowl in the microwave waiting for you, you'd have to heat it up a bit, but not as long. you smile to yourself and turn to him, he glances at you then pointedly looks away, scoffing to himself. you're too far away to see how his ears prickle and burn as they turn a light shade of pink.

you plop yourself down next to him on the couch, food in hand,and start eating. bakugou jumps into motion. he snatches the remote without even giving you a chance to glance at it and switches to netflix like he's been living here forever. you find you don't really mind that, for some reason.

he mutters a "fuckin' finally" when he hears the iconic 'du-duummm" and the show starts where you left off yesterday. this is the episode you left off on yesterday. then it clicks.

you blink at him " you haven't watched episode 15 yet ?" you questioned. he rolls his eyes like you had asked him a stupid question "course not..." he sniffs. he wants to cut himself off but decides against it "you weren't back yet." his eyes are fixed to the tv.

you feel yourself flush involuntarily, it's such a miniscule, frankly stupid thing to be embarrassed about but you've learned to not take the dragon man's kindness (if you can call it that most of the time) for granted.

"oh" you gasp, he refuses to look at you. your eyes dart from him to the tv then back to him, and back to the tv to hide your embarrassement.

"you could've started without me, i wouldn't have minded." you whisper bashfully, you're quiet over the sound of the tv, but you know he hears you cus he scoffs at you.

"shut up." he grunts, his arm flexes where he has it draped on the back of your couch as he shuffles to sit more comfortably. " i can't do that." then, as if trying to save face, he splutters "you'd get all pissy about it..it's annoyin'".

"i wouldn't have gotten 'pissy' " you mocked hotly.

"ya did when i blasted your wall."

"that's because you blasted my wall ! "

"tch."

your banter ends there as you both quietly watch the show, you let out a few yawns and rub at your eyes, trying your hardest to fight off sleep but you feel like your losing. until bakugou speaks up again.

"you..." he starts. you lazily roll your head back from where it's propped up on the couch to blink at him sleepily, he meets your eye for a moment, only for a moment, then looks out towars your balcony window. you hum to try and coax him to continue speaking.

"you..wanted to know about my folks, right ?" he asks gruffly.

you're using the last of the strenght your sleep-riddled body has to sit up a little straighter and nod quickly, eyes slightly wider. he looks at you for a moment longer than before. a beat passes and neither of you say anything, finally he sighs for the umpteenth time today and speaks up.

“my ma’s a shifter, my old man’s a human." he confesses. you’re eyes widen, you sit up straighter “woah really ?!" you bleated. he grunts in response.

" wow, so you’re half human..?"

“all of us are, shitty human.”

" cut that out, i’ve told you my name a thousand times !"

he simply rolls his eyes at you.

"you're a human, a shitty one at that, that's all i need to know about you." he smirks when you lay down onto the couch just to kick him in the shoulder. he smiles wickedly and grabs your leg, shoving it back towards your torso. you yelp, kicking your other leg up but he's faster. he's got you in his grasp, like a hunter catching its prey. his sharp teeth on display with that nasty little grin he has on his stupidly handsome face, a mischievious glint shines in his eyes and it has your stomach tying itself into knots.

"c-cut it !" you whinge. he smiles wider at your complaints, leaning over you a little bit more until your socked feet are pressed to his chest, you try to push at him, but you stop when you feel like you'll damn near break your legs trying to cause any damage to that huge chiseled chest of his, your head spins. you resort to trying to push at him with your hands, but it feels like you're trying to push a fucking wall at this rate.

"you started it, shitty human" he cackles, pressing against you harder "gotta pay for it, now."

"y-you'll crush me, you b-big lizard !" you wheeze.

"big lizard, huh?" he guffaws, smirking down at you "got some guts talkin to me like that, human."

despite rapidly losing your breath, you find the strenght to glare up at him, puffing out your cheeks. he snickers and finally relents, pushing himself away so you can finally breathe "fine, fine" he concedes "you prey animals are all so weak, barely touched you and you almost died"

"you-!" you sit up quickly, sputtering as you catch your breath "you just tried to kill me ! how's that barely touching me?!" you shot. he simply rolls his eyes at you and you think this is the longest you've seen him with a smile on his face, albeit at the expense of your poor lungs.

" relax." he answers easily, you feel like strangling him "wasn't trying to kill ya," a dangerously mischievious glint glows in his deep carmine eyes again when he looks at you " if i was, you'd know." you can't help the chill running down your spine, you mask it with a cough and turn away from him to continue watching your neglected show, turning your nose up at him. you hear his deep chuckle in response, you want to punch him.

but there's a part of you that can't help but feel a little giddy, you've learned a little more about your dragon...co-habitant. even if it's just a little bit, you feel like he's opening up to you more, very, very slowly but surely. you smile softly to yourself.

somehow, you've gotten used to living with bakugou.

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