Izen is horny and wakes you up for some slow, sensual sex. He takes the lead, his voice guiding you through the heat of the moment as he talks you through every unhurried touch.
°▪︎~1,328 words, extra scene from "Jupiter Love", smut/explicit sexual content(18+), condomless sex (wrap it), dirty talk, praise, doggy, sleepy sex, name-calling/pet names (e.g., ma/mama, baby), sweet stuff, etc▪︎°
°▪︎18+ 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓓𝓸 𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽 ▪︎°
The room is pitch black, the only light coming from the thin sliver of the moon cutting through the blinds, painting a silver stripe across the rumpled sheets. You were dead to the world, buried deep in a dreamless sleep, until you felt the heavy, unmistakable weight of him shifting behind you.
Izen doesn't wake you up with a whisper or a gentle touch. He wakes you up by dragging his large, calloused hand over your hip, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls your back flush against his chest. You moan, a low, groggy sound of protest, but it dies in your throat when you feel him—rock hard and scorching hot—pressing against the cleft of your ass.
“Wake up,” he rasps, his voice even deeper and more gravelly from sleep. His breath is hot against the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “I been layin' here watchin' you sleep for twenty minutes. Thinkin' 'bout how much I want to be inside you. I can’t take it no more.”
You try to turn, to blink the sleep from your eyes, but he doesn't let you. He flips you onto your stomach with a sudden, effortless strength that leaves your head spinning. Before you can even process the cool air hitting your skin, he’s grabbing your waist and hauling you back onto your knees. The movement is slow, heavy. He isn't in a rush; he wants to savor the way your body yields to him in this half-awake state.
“Izen... it’s so late,” you whisper, but you’re already arching your back, your body recognizing his touch before your mind can catch up. Your elbows are propped up on the pillows, your head hanging low as the sleep-heavy fog in your brain turns into a thick, pulsing heat between your thighs.
He stays behind you for a moment, just watching. He loves the way your skin looks in the moonlight, the way your ass is hiked up, waiting for him. He reaches down, his fingers finding your entrance and finding it already beginning to weep. He huffs a dark, satisfied laugh, his thumb circling your opening, smearing the slickness.
“You leakin' through, mama,” he murmurs, his brown eyes tracking the way his fingers get coated in your shine. “What were you dreamin' about? Was it me? You been waitin' for me even while you were out.”
He doesn't plunge in yet. He takes his thick length and drags it slowly up and down your pussy, painting himself with your mess. He watches the way your hole twitches and pouts, trying to swallow the head of him. Finally, he grips your hips, his thumbs digging into the dimples of your lower back, and slides in.
The entry is slow—excruciatingly so. He wants to feel every ripple of your walls as they stretch to accommodate his girth. You let out a long, broken moan into the pillow, your fingers bunching the fabric as he fills you to the absolute limit. He’s deeper like this, hitting that sensitive, bruised spot in your gut with a dull, heavy thud.
“Yeah, take it all,” he pants, his voice thick with a sleepy, horny grit.
He begins to move, a slow, rhythmic grind that makes the bed frame creak in the quiet room. He isn't hammering you yet; he’s just using you, enjoying the wet, squelching friction of his dick sliding in and out of your flushed, cream-coated folds. He leans forward, his chest pressing against your back, his locs falling over your shoulders like a heavy curtain. The gold charms catch the silver light as they brush against your skin.
“You feel so good,” he whispers, his lips grazing your ear. “So soft. So wet for me. Look at how you takin' it. Just a sleepy little thing, letting me do whatever I want.”
He reaches one hand around to trace the line of your throat, his thumb rubbing the side of your face as he watches the way your ass ripples and flexes with every slow, deep thrust. He loves the way your skin warms under his touch, the way you’re just a puddle of moans and broken gasps beneath him.
“Izen—umghn—please,” you whine, your head tossing from side to side. The slow pace is making the tension coil tighter and tighter in your belly. One of your hands moves to your heat, fingers find your clit and begin to trace heavy, rhythmic circles. You want him to break you, to pick up the speed and ruin you, but he remains cruelly consistent, forcing you to savor every spark of the slow burn.
“Shhh,” he hushes, his hand leaving your face to give your ass a wide-palmed slap. The sound is loud and sharp, the sting blooming across your skin. “Let me take my time... I want to feel every bit of you. I want to feel you cum before I even start to finish.”
He begins to pick up the pace, his hips snapping forward with a bit more urgency, but he stays deep. The sounds are filthy—the steady, wet thwack of his thighs against you, the sound of your shared wetness dripping onto the sheets. He watches the way his dick disappears into you and reappears glistening, dark and heavy.
"Fuuuck... look at you. You clenchin' so tight on me, ma. So damn perfect,” he groans, his voice a low-tide rasp that vibrates against your ear. You feel his breath, hot and smelling of the night, as he bottoms out against your g-spot. “I could stay buried in this pretty pussy all night and n-never get tired of it. You just want to be filled, don't you? Just want your man to stay right here.”
He drives his hips forward, a slow, heavy thrust that pins you to the mattress. “In your sleep, when you open your eyes in the mornin’... every minute in between. You mine. You hear me? This right here? It's all for me."
You’re shaking now, your legs beginning to give way as the stimulation reaches a breaking point. The friction is white-hot, a stinging, beautiful agony. You can feel your orgasm building—a tidal wave of pressure that’s about to shatter you.
“Izen, I’m—I’m gonna—”
“Do it,” he commands, his voice near-unhinged. He doubles down, his thrusts turning shallower and faster, a relentless, punishing vibration. “Cum on my dick, baby. Let me feel it. Suck me dry.”
You moan, a long, wrecked sound that’s muffled by the pillows. Your pussy clenches down on him with a crushing, rhythmic strength, your internal walls pulsing in violent spasms that milk him. You’re twitching, your head buried in the linens as the pleasure turns into a paralyzing, shuddering stasis.
A heartbeat later, Izen lets out a low, guttural moan. He thrusts one last time, buried to the hilt, his whole body tensing as his muscles turn to corded steel. He locks his hips against you and erupts. You feel the heat—thick, pulsing ropes of his release flooding you, a searing warmth that leaks out to coat your inner thighs.
He collapses on top of you, his heavy, panting body pinning you into the mattress. He stays there for a long time, his forehead resting against the back of your head, his heart still hammering a frantic rhythm against your shoulder blades. The room is silent again, save for the sound of your shared, ragged breathing.
When he finally pulls out, the sound is wet and heavy. He rolls you over, pulling your shaking, spent body into his large, tattooed arms and tucking your head under his chin. The smell of him—his skin, eucalyptus soap, the faint hint of the shared blunt, and the musk of sex—is the most comforting thing in the world.
“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs, his voice thick with exhaustion and a rough, possessive affection. He kisses the top of your head, his hand resting heavy and warm on your hip. “You did so good, ma. Thank you.”
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𓂃 notes: bf!shinsou, not beta read so mistakes are all mine, and author's note at the bottom!
“shinsou, no.”
shinsou had this goofy grin on his face, while leaning against his brand-new motorcycle.
it was pretty, you’ll give him that. it was black ducati with purple leds across the body. the moonlight above made it look like the bike was glowing.
shinsou : “come on, baby, please, I promise i’ll go slow.
you : “absolutely not. that's thing is a death trap.”
shinsou : “it’s a short ride, and i have a helmet for you.”
he pushes off the motorcycle and walks up to you.
“Please, for me?” holding out the helmet to you, eyes soft.
you sigh before grabbing the helmet out of his hands. a playful smile taking up your face.
you : “let’s go before i change my mind.”
shinsou smiles widely, kissing of your cheek quickly.
shinsou helps you climb onto the bike, making sure that you’re comfortable before hopping on and wrapping your hands around his waist.
as soon as he knew you were good, he turned on the bike. a low hum follows after he turns on the bike.
“hold on real tight.” shinsou says before you hear him rev up the bike, and, before you know it, you feel the wind blow around you.
you squeeze shinsou tighter, and felt his body shake like it does when he laughs.
author's note: I've been sitting on this for about 2 weeks now, collecting dust in the drafts as one would say... hope you guys enjoy and if you have any rqs let me know!!!
I'm so fucking cold but all I can think about is a scene I most likely wouldn't write and post after the series is over.
Regulus and his neverending itch to break out of the confines of a house, a room, an enclosed space. The need to abandon it just to make sure he can.
Except he does it once when it's just snowed all night. And he has the baby with him because of course, he does. He's barefoot in the snow with the baby and James knows the man wouldn't listen to reason if he sees a person approaching him in this state, cajoling him to get back inside.
So prongs trots over to the still, panicked man, who's standing in the snow in nothing but a flimsy jumper and holding a fussy baby. And prongs knows to lower himself on the ground, let Regulus lean against him, huddle against the heavy coat for warmth. Not saying anything. And prongs would be so fucking worried because they're in the snow and Reggie hates being sick and the baby shouldn't be taking on the wintery wind and hail like that.
Draco and Harry watch from the porch, aware that this is not the first time, won't be the last, but watching it still anyway. And it's Harry who sets off to their yard with a heavy blanket in his arms. His father recognises him in that state, he always does, he's just... Hard to convince. Harry has his ways.
Prongs appreciates it. And on the way back to the house, after Draco joins them on the trek towards the porch Regulus brushes him off and calls him 'Cissy' by accident. No one corrects him because it doesn't happen every day. Only on the bad days, which can't be inherently bad, but the family decides that they are.
Giving moral values to the concept of time feels easier than blaming something on Regulus that could never be his fault.
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Shen Qingqiu was anxiously vibrating. This disciple selection was not just any selection, it was THE disciple selection.
He had prepared for this since he first transmigrated!
Then, why was this happening???
"What do you mean that Luo Binghe doesn’t exist???? What is PIDW without the protagonist?!"
Shen Qingqiu scanned the njmerous children digging holes with a focus that could rival a doctor in a delicate operation. He still could not find anything.
[System is analizing data, please stand by.]
"Useless piece of-!"
"Qingqiu-shidi, is everything sll right?"
Shen Qingqiu quickly raised his fan to hide his (enraged? Scared? Completely barking mad???) expression.
"There is nothing, Zhangmen-shixiong. This shidi was merely wondering if his peak will remain with its current number of disciples."
Nothing his ass! He was at the disciple selection. He had a young Ning Yingying, wide-eyed and begging for a new shidi. He had all the intentions of stretching his ooc lock to his limits.
But he had no protagonist!!! What the fuck?!
Shang Qinghua was pale and sneaking glances at him all the while, but honestly Shen Qingqiu was too busy having a crisis over here to care.
[System has finished analysis. System has found no inconsistencies.]
"The-! How can there be no protagonist in this scene and still no inconsistencies??? Tell me what good is your analysis if you can't say why!"
[System has encountered temporal threads that explain the protagonist’s absence from this introductory scene. Does user wish to reveal data?]
"Temporal threads...?"
Wait, is that like time travel?
Shit. Damn. He was in such trouble.
"Reveal data then! I need to know the size of the problem."
[WARNING! Temporal thread may unravel hidden information and displacements may occur if data is revealed!
Does user still wish to proceed?]
From the side, Liu Qingge gave him a concerned glance. Yue Qingyuan was already subtly moving towards Mu Qingfang.
Shang Qinghua was biting his nails from the stress.
But Shen Qingqiu noticed none of this.
"What?! What does that even mean???
[User's hidden information and mental displacement may occur. Do you wish to proceed?]
"Hidden information? Of course i would like to see that! But what is mental dis-"
[Downloading temporal threads data!]
Shen Qingqiu got a headache.
Then he got nausea.
He raised his fan higher to hide how affected he was. Maybe it hadnt been such a good idea to ask the system for that info when he was stabding in the middle of an important sect-wide event.
[ERROR!!! PROTAGONIST STATUS HAS OVERRIDEN SYSTEM'S DOWNLOAD!
Retry?]
The nausea intensified.
With a tremendous amount of willpower, Shen Qingqiu breathed in and out once, before willing the yes button to click.
[Downloading temporal threads data!
ERROR!!! PROTAGONIST STATUS HAS OVERRIDEN SYSTEM'S DOWNLOAD!
Retry?]
What was happening with this thing???
"As many times as necessary!"
Oh shit. His head.
His eyes got blurry with tears of pain while the system tried once and twice and ten times.
[Downlowad successful! Installing complete!]
Shen Qingqiu’s knees buckled.
He fell.
The other peak lords cried out in alarm.
But he didn't hear them. He didn't see them.
He was seeing a future, another and another...several futures in which Luo Binghe came back from the abyss, imprisoned him, tried to reason with him, and failed to save him from differentways of death. Then, his blackened lotus lost himself , and in hid madness, tried turn back, turn back, turn back...
He emptied the contents of his stomach as he physically and emotionally felt his self-destruction, his throat being slit by Lao Gongzhu, his body being eroded under Xin Mo's poisonous power, his body being burnt by acid in the water prison, rotting under the sower's influence. His body being impaled and his organs pierced by something big and -!!!
He was too busy regaining memory after memory after memory to realize he was convulsing and bleeding from his seven orifices. He couldn't hear how Shang Qinghua mumbled to himself or how most of his martial siblings were screaming or talking in various levels of volume, he couldn’t see their white faces, the healer's serious and frightened visage, or Shang Qinghua's round round eyes as he (seemingly) stared into space. He couldn't feel Yue Qingyuan's trembling fingers as he pulled his hair away from his face, or Mu Qingfang's cool qi trying to stabilise the rampaging energy insie him.
He remembered, finally, a soft smile in his disciple's face.
"It seems that my existence only brings pain to Shizun, if i erase it, maybe Shizun will live happily in peace?"
Shen Qingqiu gasped. Tears mixing with blood on his face as he understood finally why Luo Binghe was not here.
He never was.
Shen Qingqiu closed his eyes, and then everything went dark.
I'm on the train right now, utterly pissed because I lost the train before this one, and I will arrive at my house late, but I remember I made some funny edits of my bestie Jason because it's his birthday. If I was in Gotham, I would ask him what are his other placements and be buddy-buddy with him because we are both fire signs. If he has something in Sagittarius, I would scream.
She winces. For this is the part in which she gains the power. The ability to destroy. She knows this part well, for her part in the universe has and forever been to destroy.
She looks at his eyes. Through his cosmic force and with trembling hands reach out to touch this creature.
He sighs at her touch and begins to bend and mold toward her.
She recoils quickly and steps back, petrified of going closer.
The warmth from his skin still tingles her cold hands of ice.
Every fiber of her existence was for pain.
He is soft and tense, confused by her sudden withdrawal.
How do I tell him? She looks to the heavens out of rage and frustration as agony fills her.
How does she tell him she's incapable of what he desires.
Her path has never been of magics written in love. For the olden tongue does not exist for love.
They balance the good and the bad. They watch life as it passes with analysis.
Their search is for power. For knowledge.
But they do not love.
A curse she never would have thought would condemn her until this day.
But my the way he lit her insides on fire with that one look.
