#AND HE DARES TO PLEA NOT GUILTY???

[barneysbigstompers]

WHAT???

[kittsuneriyu]

For a while I really wanted to make my own designs for a "role swap" AU.

The idea is that characters change roles, not in between, they change sides but still have their own unique quirks to hunt or survive.

007n7 basically goes insane after losing both Noli and c00lkidd, turning back into his old hacker persona, he decides to make his sorrow into everyone's problem. 007n7's actions are way more destructive and reckless, with nothing else to lose, why should he fear getting hurt or punished? This mentality is what pushes him further into keep living to make hell break lose.

Elliot is still a worker on Builder Brother's Pizza's, the best as always. But sometimes you never felt like making some jerk pay for his actions? That's Elliot's mindset, using his freetime to hunt down anyone that dared to mistreat him or other employees. Having a twisted kind of satisfaction on making "justice" with his own hands. Of course, he would never let it affect the Pizzaria's service.

Chance is a thrill seeker, to achive it he always took the most risky choices. It lead him into involving himself with some shady people. Now working as some hitman, Chance uses this title to coerce his targets into gambling with him in change of their mercy. But somehow Chance always wins either way.

The rest of the survivors aren't as elaborated as those three.

Noob is just some generic killer, the kind that looks like an average person but later shows themselves as some maniac.

Guest 1337 as stated on the drawing works like Fliqpy, genuinely feeling guilty for hurting someone, his flight or fight reaction really blinds him when something triggers him.

Two Time achived a very high connection with the spawn after a bunch of sacrifice's. One life in change of a extra one, this allows them to insta-heal a deadly injury an keep going, of course it doesn't comes without consequences. Each scar and rebirth disfigure's Two Time's form further and further.

Builderman alongside Telamon started an iron fist moderation, punishing and banning anyone that broke rules or defied their ideals.

Builderman didn't changed much design wise, glasses to only focus on their ideals, headsets to not hear their pleas or opinions and a hardhat to protection of course.

Telamon never gave up on his hatred, some still spilled over his creation but most of it still with him.

Dusekkar never agreed with this nonsense, and the two Admins didn't took it lightly, now Duse doesn't mind that much, afterall he doesn't have a thinkng mind at all anymore.

Taph would do anything for builderman, so they hopped along with the two Admin's, Taph happened to mess up a few times but now that they got the message they're not going to fail Builderman anymore.

And of course we have our survivors.

"Poor kidd there's something about us people never really liked." Not sure about what happened to c00lkidd for him to disappear. Up to you I guess.

1x a vessel for the admin's experiment, nothing but that. And when falling purposeless they felt anger, a powerful need for revenge. 1x and 2x never happened to become sepparated entities.

John Doe a mere moderator, only wanting to ensure that robloxia's problems were solved, too good for his own sake. This was his ruin.

Noli since the start aspired that one day he would reach out the starts, but now that he has them in hands theres no one left to share their glimmer with.

Guest 666 was just some rebel, a trouble maker as people say. Unable to properly speak without an account, but also unnable to be properly punished. Not sure how his relation with Noob could go.

Azure was, alongside his partner, one out of the most faithful ones of their cult. This feat led him and Two Time into a huge sacrificial rabbit hole. After being killed Azure turned his back to anything related to spawn or cults in general.

[sylusbelovedart]

Sleeping

Sylus staying wide awake a bit more after MC falls asleep next to him in Grassland romance.

When he noticed her breathing slowing and becoming more steady, he didn’t even dare move let alone breathe. He even tried to match her breathing to help him calm down, his heart beating oh so fast. She looked so comfortable snuggled up next to him, in his arms.

And it brought him back so many heartbreaking memories, he almost teared up. He could finally hold her without her trying to run away from him or pushing him away, she willingly let herself be close to him and embrace him.

And everytime she mutters in her sleep or stirs up he would on high alert. You know when a cat sleep next to you or on you and they stir up and you start to panic ? Yeah that kind of panic. He would have the same expression like in his bd card bc he is concerned she might not sleep comfortably next to him. He is doing his best to be soft for her.

Oh sweet Sylus, if only he knew how amazing it is to fall asleep in his arms. How soft and warm and comfortable he feels. He is a safe place.

And if she wakes up he might lull her back to sleep like "shh. It’s okay. I’m right here" and he only feels relieved when she is at ease and sleeping once again.

And eveytime she moves in her sleep and curls up closer to him he is panicking but also incredibly happy. I’m pretty sure he makes a sounds between a whine and a silent plea. He begs for this night to never end. And he feels ever so guilty everytime he moves a little bc there is a high chance that she might wake up. But being in the same positions for hours kinda sores your muscles. And by moving, some of the blanket falls off and MC stirs up right at this moment "sylus ?" she asks in a sleepy and groggy voice "you’re not sleeping yet ?"

And without waiting for a response she takes the falling blanket and cover him with it and he swears everything around him stops for a second "tell me if you’re cold, i will give you more blanket" she adds before drifting back to sleep.

Or maybe he just fell asleep too and the devs called it a day. XD

[brunchable]

Ouch, My Face | Dad Bucky Barnes x f!reader x Bucky's daughter.

Pairings: Dad!Bucky Barnes x f!reader x daughter

Themes: Funny as in Bucky's reaction. Mentions of school teasing/bullying.

Summary: You and Bucky have been called to the Principal's office because your daughter Bianca hit another kid with her lunchbox.

A/N: I just feel like Bucky would do something like this 😂. . .

The tension in the principal’s office is almost suffocating, the kind that makes you shift uncomfortably in your seat and wonder just how far you can push the limits before someone snaps. But not little Bianca Barnes. No, she sits perched at the edge of her chair, feet swinging, hands folded primly in her lap like she wasn’t just hauled into the principal’s office for smacking another kid across the face with a metal lunchbox.

Principal Torres clears his throat, looking between the three of you with a wary expression. “Mr. and Mrs. Barnes, I called you both in because there was an...incident today during lunch.”

You part your lips, half-ready to apologize profusely, when Bianca cuts in, her tiny voice bursting with righteous indignation.

“She started it!” Bianca’s face flushes red as she leans forward, eyes blazing. “That big girl said I was dumb ‘cause I can’t read good. She said, ‘I bet you can’t read what’s on my hand!’” Bianca mimics the older girl’s mocking tone, raising a tiny fist as if to make the same gesture.

Principal Torres blinks, bemused. “And what was written on the other girl’s hand, Bianca?”

Bianca takes a deep breath, throwing her arms wide. “‘Ouch, my face.’” That’s definitely not what was written on the girl's hand.

There’s a giant pause in the room as everyone processes that declaration.

“She called me a liar,” Bianca continues, steamrolling on as if she hasn’t just declared the most absurd statement. “She said, ‘No way, that’s not what it says, you’re so dumb you can’t even read.’ But I didn’t back down, no way.”

She shakes her head furiously. “I just thought, what would Daddy do?”

You shoot Bucky a sharp look, one eyebrow lifting as you slowly turn your head toward him. Bianca’s voice fades into the background as your expression narrows into something suspicious, your lips slightly pursed, eyes boring into Bucky as if silently saying, Did you seriously tell our daughter to hit someone?

Bucky shifts in his seat. From the corner of your eye, you see him glance sideways at you, his face stiffening as if he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. His mouth twitches, the hint of a guilty smirk threatening to break through, but he tries his best to appear serious—innocent even. With a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head, he mouths, What?

You don’t blink, your suspicion growing stronger. Slowly, you turn your gaze back toward Bianca, who is still animatedly recounting her tale. Then, as if you share one brain, you and Bianca both turn back to Bucky, the same unimpressed look mirrored on both of your faces.

Bucky’s stiff expression melts into a defensive half-smile, a silent plea of Don’t look at me like that. He shifts again, looking more and more like a kid caught sneaking candy before dinner.

You cross your arms, gaze flicking up and down his form, as if daring him to deny his involvement. Bianca stops speaking mid-sentence, noticing the way you and Bucky stare each other down.

“What?” Bucky finally mutters, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in the ghost of a smile.

“Daddy said the lunchbox was the best weapon,” Bianca pipes up suddenly, blinking innocently between you and Bucky.

Your eyes widen a fraction, and you turn fully in your seat to face Bucky. The look you give him then is one for the books—one brow arched high, chin tilted in that knowing way that says, I knew it!

“Then I hit her with my lunchbox!” Bianca declares triumphantly, crossing her arms over her chest.

You turn back to your daughter, jaw hanging open. “Bianca—”

“But she didn’t fall down,” Bianca mutters, clearly displeased. “She just went, ‘Ouch, my face,’ like I knew she would.”

Another pause.

You turn your head again, slowly this time, fixing Bucky with a narrowed look, one that screams This is your fault. He shifts slightly, schooling his expression into one of feigned innocence.

“Don’t look at me,” he mouths, raising his hands just the slightest, the picture of a man who isn’t at all responsible for his daughter’s violent sense of justice.

But the guilt is all over him. You recognize the barely concealed pride lurking in the corners of his eyes, the twitch of his lips threatening to curve into a grin. You narrow your eyes at him, exhaling sharply through your nose.

Principal Torres clears his throat again, and you snap your head back, trying to hide your own incredulity. “Mrs. Barnes, I think we need to have a discussion about—”

“About what?” Bucky’s voice is a lazy drawl, but there’s an edge to it, protective and almost daring. “Bianca defended herself against a bully.”

You shoot him a look, a clear not helping expression that Bucky answers with another side-along glance that’s almost sheepish. Sorry, he mouths, but it’s clear he isn’t.

“Mr. Barnes,” Principal Torres begins, clearly exasperated. “We’re not encouraging physical altercations as the first response here.”

“Sure, sure,” Bucky says agreeably, nodding along. “Just tell your kids to keep their hands to themselves. Then mine won’t need to step in.”

You groan softly, burying your face in your hands. Bucky’s gaze flicks over to you, and you can feel his amusement.

When you finally peek through your fingers, Bianca is still going on, explaining in minute detail how she calculated the exact swing angle of her lunchbox. You shoot Bucky one last look, shaking your head slightly.

He just shrugs with a grin that could only be described as smug.

You can’t help the exasperated smile tugging at your lips. “Bianca, honey,” you murmur gently, drawing your daughter’s attention. “Next time, let’s use our words first, okay?”

Bianca beams, nodding enthusiastically. “Okay, Mommy. But only if the words are really, really strong ones.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, and Bucky chuckles softly. That’s his daughter alright. Parenthood is going to be a long, long road, especially with the two of you.

[cloudyluun]

Press play (p2) | boyfriend!harry

Summary: The first tape wasn’t enough. Harry’s obsessed. One camera? Not enough angles. One location? Not enough variety. One night? Not enough time. This time, he films her in every room, in every position, with every toy he owns—and makes sure she begs for more. Because this isn’t just about recording anymore. This is about pushing her to her absolute limit while the cameras catch every second. 

A/N: So… if the first fic was a little spicy, this one is hellfire levels of unholy. 🫠 Writing this felt like a crime, but a crime I would absolutely commit again. 🔥 Hope you’re hydrated and emotionally stable because this is a lot—and yes, before you ask, there will be a part tree. 😈

Also, if anyone asks why my search history includes “best high-sensitivity microphones for ASMR,” no, you don’t.

Word Count: 7,8k

Warnings: 

Heavy BDSM elements – Bondage, impact play, restraints, gagging, plugs, edging, overstimulation… Basically, if it belongs in a locked drawer, it’s in here.

Spit, deep-throating, gagging, face-fucking – Hydration is important, folks.

Filming/recording during sex (consensual) – Harry’s got a passion for cinematography. Scorsese could never.

Public teasing & humiliation – Sex shop, car ride, open windows… Someone revoke this man’s driver’s license and curtain privileges.

Rough sex – Choking, spanking, forced orgasms… the usual scheduled programming.

Dirty talk, degradation, praise kink – A poetic balance of “good girl” and “filthy little slut.”

Multiple orgasms, overstimulation, breath play – Hope you weren’t planning on walking after this.

Aftercare – Because Harry’s only a menace 98% of the time. The other 2%? He’s feeding you water and telling you how proud he is.

(if i missed any, dm me please!)

[part 1]

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

You can feel his eyes on you again.

It’s been happening for days—catching him watching you, smirking like he knows something you don’t. He isn’t even subtle about it. He’ll stretch out on the couch, legs spread wide, fingers lazily tapping against his thigh as the screen flickers, bathing his face in dim light. He watches you on repeat. Watches the way you fell apart for him the first time. The way you begged, the way you shook. He knows every second by heart, every moan, every filthy plea.

And the worst part? You don’t even blame him.

Because the few times you’ve dared to look—just a peek—you were just as wrecked as he claimed. Eyes glassy, mouth parted, body trembling under his touch. A perfect mess. His.

So when you catch him again, he doesn’t look guilty. Not even a little.

“Can’t help it, angel.” His voice is rough, thick with something dark. “You look so fucking good coming apart for me.”

Heat licks up your spine, your thighs pressing together on instinct. But he notices. Of course he notices.

He cocks his head, dragging his gaze over you, slow and heavy. Then, as if deciding something, he stands and holds out his hand. “Come on.”

You blink. “What?”

“We’re going out.”

He doesn’t give you a choice.

--

The electronics store is bright, all sleek displays and humming screens. It smells faintly of new plastic, and if you weren’t so hyper-aware of the man next to you—the way his hand rests low on your back, the way his thumb strokes slow circles against your hip—you might have actually paid attention to the endless rows of cameras.

But Harry is focused.

Not just on you—though you can feel the weight of his gaze every time you shift—but on the equipment. He moves with purpose, eyes scanning through specs, occasionally nodding like he’s mentally checking things off a list you aren’t privy to.

You watch as he picks up a high-end camera, testing the weight in his palm.

“This one?” you ask.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, tilting it slightly, examining the lens. “Good quality, but not enough angles.”

The words shouldn’t make your stomach flip.

You know what he’s planning. Know this isn’t just about upgrading. It’s about more. More angles, more footage, more ways to capture exactly how wrecked he can make you.

Your breath catches as he moves onto something else—a small, discreet device.

“Is that—”

“A hidden camera?” He smirks. “Yeah. Could put it anywhere. Get a nice little collection going.”

You swallow hard.

He keeps going. A high-sensitivity microphone. A ring light. A sleek little tripod. He handles them with the kind of ease that makes your knees weak, like he’s already imagining exactly where he’ll set them up.

The sales clerk approaches then, offering a polite, professional smile.

“Can I help you with anything?”

You barely hear the question before Harry shifts behind you, his body pressing up against yours, his lips grazing your ear. His voice is low, for you and only you.

“Could fuck you right here.”

Your entire body goes rigid.

“Harry—”

“Bend you over the counter,” he continues, voice thick with amusement. His fingers ghost up your thigh, barely there, but your skin burns all the same. “Let the security cameras catch everything.”

Your breath stutters, a choked gasp slipping out before you can stop it.

The sales clerk clears his throat. “Uh… I can walk you through some of the settings if you’d like?”

You try to nod, try to play it off, but Harry doesn’t move. He stays pressed against you as the clerk launches into a dry explanation, and it takes everything in you to stand still. To keep your composure while Harry’s fingers tease the hem of your skirt, inching higher, higher—

You nearly jump when the touch disappears.

“Thanks, mate,” Harry says smoothly, stepping back like nothing just happened. “We’ll take all of these.”

Your head spins.

All of them.

Three cameras, a microphone, a ring light. Enough to film you in every angle he wants, from every perspective, with every sound recorded crystal clear.

You don’t even realize you’re shaking until Harry’s fingers brush over your wrist, grounding you.

“One more stop, angel.” His voice is warm, teasing.

Your stomach twists.

You already know where he’s taking you.

--

The sex shop is discreet, tucked between two high-end boutiques. The windows are dark, the sign subtle, but the moment you step inside, you feel the shift—the heavy hush, the intimate displays, the slow thrum of something low and pulsing over the speakers.

Harry walks in like he’s been here before. Like he owns the place.

And in a way, he does.

You can feel it in the way he moves, the way his fingers trail along the shelves, occasionally plucking something up, rolling it between his fingers, considering. You barely have time to register what he’s holding before he makes a quiet noise of approval and adds it to the growing collection in his arms.

Nipple clamps. A flogger. Silk restraints. A plug set.

Your face burns as he turns to you, offering one of the smaller plugs in his palm.

“Go to the bathroom.”

You freeze.

His eyes don’t waver.

“Put them in.” His voice is calm, steady. “Now.”

You hesitate for half a second—just long enough to see the flicker of warning cross his features.

And then you obey.

The moment the door shuts behind you, your hands shake as you follow his command. The plug is smooth, easy, but it’s the panties that make you squirm—just the thought of them in public, the knowledge that Harry could turn them on at any moment.

When you return, he’s waiting.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches. Then, after a long pause—long enough for you to start fidgeting under his stare—he steps closer, brushing his lips over your temple.

“Good girl.”

The praise makes your knees nearly buckle.

He smirks. “Let’s go.”

--

The drive home is torture.

You should have known it would be.

Because the second Harry starts the car, his fingers flick something on his phone, and suddenly—

“Oh,” you gasp, your back arching slightly.

The vibrations are low, teasing, barely enough to do anything but make you ache.

Harry hums, casual. “You’re already soaked, aren’t you?”

Your cheeks burn, but you nod, breathless.

He turns the setting up. Just a little. Just enough to make you squirm.

Red light.

The car slows.

His hand drifts over your thigh.

“You can hold it, can’t you?”

You bite your lip, nodding again, your thighs pressing together.

Green light.

The vibrations ease slightly, but the pattern shifts, unpredictable.

It continues like this—slow torture, relentless teasing, each stoplight an opportunity for him to push you closer and closer to the edge.

By the time you pull into the garage, you’re shaking. Your fingers dig into the seat, your breathing uneven.

Harry watches, amused.

Then, just as he parks, he leans in, his voice silk-smooth against your ear.

“Come.”

Your breath stutters.

“Now,” he murmurs. “And don’t make a sound.”

The vibrations increase, sudden and sharp, and it takes everything in you not to cry out. Your entire body trembles as the orgasm washes over you, your fingers clutching the seat, your lips parted in a silent whimper.

Harry watches it all.

When it finally fades, your body slumping back against the leather, he exhales, slow and satisfied.

“That’s one, angel.”

His fingers trace your thigh, teasing.

“Hope you didn’t think we were done.”

His voice is warm, teasing, dripping with amusement, but there’s something darker beneath it. Something that makes your stomach tighten and your breath stutter. That look in his eyes—the one that tells you he’s not even close to satisfied.

Your skin is still buzzing, oversensitive from what he did to you in the car, but he doesn’t care.

He’s already moving.

He steps out, rounding the car without urgency, and when he opens your door, he doesn’t say a word—just waits. Expecting.

You step out on shaky legs.

The air outside is thick and warm, but the heat that lingers between your thighs is worse. You can still feel the echoes of pleasure from the first orgasm he ripped out of you, still feel the way your body clenched around nothing when he left you empty.

He knows it, too.

He watches you carefully, fingers ghosting over your hip as he leads you inside, through the dimly lit hallway, past the living room where you’ve already let him ruin you so many times before.

The moment the bedroom door shuts behind you, the shift is immediate.

Harry rolls his shoulders, tilting his head slightly, studying you.

Assessing.

Your pulse spikes.

The room is different.

You notice it instantly—the small but deliberate changes.

The cameras.

One on a tripod at the foot of the bed. Another placed carefully on the nightstand, positioned just right. The third—mounted directly above the mattress. Overhead shots.

Your stomach twists.

Then your eyes catch on the microphone.

It’s clipped beside the camera on the nightstand, small but powerful, capable of picking up every gasp, every moan, every tiny, desperate sound you make for him.

Your thighs squeeze together.

And on the sheets?

Silk.

Black silk ties, draped neatly across the mattress. Waiting.

Your breath catches.

He planned this.

Your skin prickles as you turn back toward him, but he’s already watching you, already smirking like he can hear the way your thoughts are racing.

His hand lifts, his fingers brushing along your jaw.

“Strip.”

One word.

No room for hesitation.

A slow, creeping shiver spreads down your spine, and your hands move before you can even think.

You reach for the hem of your dress, slipping it over your head in one slow motion. The fabric pools at your feet, leaving you bare—except for the lace panties he forced you into earlier and the plug still nestled between your cheeks.

Harry’s gaze darkens.

His tongue drags along his bottom lip, and he exhales slow, controlled, fingers flexing at his sides.

“On the bed.”

You shudder.

It’s not just a command—it’s a promise.

Your heart pounds as you move toward the mattress, sinking onto the soft sheets. The moment you do, Harry follows, climbing onto the bed with deliberate slowness, his toned body flexing as he hovers over you.

The silk restraints are still lying there. Waiting.

He picks one up, twirling it lazily between his fingers before tilting his head, green eyes locking onto yours.

“Let me tie you up, angel.”

It’s not a question.

It’s a test.

You swallow hard, feeling the last shred of control slipping away, and nod.

But he doesn’t move.

His smirk deepens.

“Say it.”

Your breath stutters. The words feel thick in your throat, but when they finally come, they’re barely more than a whisper.

“Tie me up, Harry.”

Something flickers in his eyes. A slow, satisfied smirk tugs at his lips, and then—

He moves.

Swift. Effortless. Expert.

He grabs your wrist, looping the silk around it, securing it to the headboard with a practiced ease that makes your stomach tighten. Then the other wrist—soft but firm, tight but not painful. You test the restraints. No give.

Your breathing is already uneven.

He shifts down, grabbing your ankle next.

You jerk instinctively, but it’s useless.

Harry likes you like this—helpless beneath him, vulnerable, completely at his mercy.

By the time he secures your other ankle, your body is already trembling. Spread wide. Exposed. Completely at his mercy.

You test the restraints again.

You can’t move.

The realization sends a sharp, dizzying pulse of heat straight between your legs.

Harry notices.

He always does.

He hums, pleased, dragging his knuckles along your inner thigh. His touch is featherlight, teasing, barely even there.

And then—

He reaches into his pocket.

Your breath hitches.

The remote.

Your stomach drops.

The plug.

He clicks it on.

The vibration is instant.

Low at first—deep, pulsing, sending sharp, concentrated pleasure straight through your core. Right where you need it most.

A helpless whimper rips from your throat. Your hips jerk automatically, body arching against the restraints, but there’s nowhere to go, no way to escape the relentless stimulation.

Harry watches every second of it.

The way your thighs tremble, the way your lips part in desperate little gasps, the way your stomach tightens.

And then—

He turns on the camera.

You freeze.

The red light blinks.

Recording.

Your stomach clenches, heat flooding your skin, because this moment—your wrists tied, your legs spread, your body already writhing from the toy still pulsing inside you—is being captured.

For him.

Forever.

Harry tilts his head, smirking.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, dragging his fingertips along your trembling thigh. His voice is low, smooth, hypnotic. “So fucking pretty like this.”

You let out a broken whimper.

His hand slides higher, teasing along the waistband of your panties. Not touching you where you need it most.

Not yet.

He licks his lips, watching you squirm.

“Think you can come like this, angel?”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly. You don’t answer. You can’t.

But Harry doesn’t need one.

He just turns up the vibration.

And watches.

The vibrations deepened.

Your breath hitched—sharp, desperate, a ragged little sound that barely even made it past your lips. The plug was already relentless, pulsing deep inside you, the sensation twisting tight in your stomach, coiling lower with each slow, calculated increase of the setting.

You were already trembling. Already aching. Already so close.

And Harry hadn’t even touched you yet.

He watched you squirm, wrists and ankles straining against the silk restraints, body arching involuntarily.

Completely at his mercy.

Completely his.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, his voice slow, measured, but dripping with hunger. His knuckles skimmed along your inner thigh, grazing just close enough to where you needed him—but never quite there. Just teasing. Just watching.

And the camera?

Still rolling.

Still capturing every little gasp, every tremor, every desperate little attempt to chase the pleasure he was holding just out of reach.

The red light blinked.

Recording.

His smirk deepened.

“Such a pretty mess, angel.” His voice was low, approving, hypnotic.

You whimpered, hips twitching, but the restraints left you helpless—spread wide, open, exposed, your body reacting instinctively to the overstimulation.

But Harry?

Harry was calm.

Patient.

He sat back, admiring his work—admiring you—as if he had all the time in the world.

And then, finally—finally—

His fingers traced over your panties.

A sharp gasp tore from your lips, your entire body jolting at the sudden touch. Even through the soaked lace, the warmth of his fingertips sent electricity crackling through your veins.

Harry hummed, pleased.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” His fingers pressed lightly, rubbing slow, teasing circles over the fabric. “Been like this all day, haven’t you?”

You nodded frantically, swallowing back a sob. “Y-Yes.”

He chuckled, dark and satisfied, rubbing just a little harder.

“Good girl.”

Your thighs quivered, muscles tensing, your wrists tugging at the restraints again. Every little movement sent shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through your body.

And then—

He ripped your panties.

A sharp tear, the lace splitting effortlessly beneath his fingers. The fabric vanished in an instant, and suddenly, there was nothing between you and him.

Nothing stopping him from touching you—truly touching you.

And he did.

Slow. Gentle at first. Just his fingertips, gliding over your drenched folds, exploring.

Spreading you open.

His thumb circled your clit, barely any pressure at all—but after everything? After the teasing, the buildup, the vibrations inside you?

It was too much.

A strangled, helpless sob ripped from your throat, your back arching clean off the mattress.

Harry’s breath caught.

He groaned—actually groaned—watching you break for him.

“Fuck. That sensitive, angel?” His tone was teasing, but there was something else there. Something hungry.

He dragged his fingers through your slick, slow, deliberate.

“Bet you could come just from this.” His voice was silk and sin, completely entranced by the way your body shuddered, twitched, begged.

Your head jerked frantically, desperate, pleading, already teetering on the edge.

“P-Please—”

But before you could even finish the sentence—

He slid two fingers inside you.

Your vision blurred.

The stretch—the depth—the angle—all of it was perfect.

The moment he curled his fingers, you screamed.

The sound punched out of your lungs, raw and wrecked, as he pressed against that perfect, devastating spot.

Harry cursed under his breath, watching every second of it.

The way your body clenched around his fingers, the way you writhed against the restraints, the way your chest heaved, nipples peaked and sensitive beneath the cool air—

Every. Little. Detail.

Captured.

The red light blinking.

Recording.

He moved faster, fingers stroking deep, precise, thumb circling your clit in tight, merciless patterns.

“Come for me,” he growled.

It wasn’t a request.

It was a command.

And you had no choice.

The pleasure slammed into you like a tidal wave, tearing through every nerve ending in your body. You came with a sob, a scream, a desperate, shattered cry, your body convulsing, legs shaking, clenching so hard around his fingers it was almost unbearable.

But he didn’t stop.

He kept fucking you through it, fingers relentless, dragging out every last tremor, milking every last drop of pleasure until you were shaking, sobbing, gasping for air.

And only then—

Only then—

Did he finally slow.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your wrists trembling against the silk. Your whole body felt like static—shattered, floating, buzzing.

And Harry?

Harry was grinning.

He kissed your knee, slow and lazy, as he finally pulled his fingers out of you.

“Such a good girl.”

Your lashes fluttered, vision still hazy, but you could barely even register his words. Your body was spent, ruined, completely undone.

But Harry wasn’t finished.

Because then—

He licked his fingers.

Your stomach plummeted.

He hummed low in his throat, savoring, before grinning.

And then—

He reached for the camera.

Still rolling.

Still capturing everything.

And he smirked.

“Hope you didn’t think we were done.”

Your pulse was still pounding in your ears.

Your body was wrecked, trembling, every nerve ending overstimulated and raw from the orgasm that had just torn through you.

And yet—

Harry still wasn’t done.

He loomed over you, tall, broad, completely in control, the red recording light casting a soft glow over the sharp lines of his jaw. His eyes devoured you, taking in every little detail—

The way your chest heaved. The way your thighs still trembled against the sheets. The way your wrists flexed instinctively against the silk, as if you could stop him.

You couldn’t.

And you didn’t want to.

The bed dipped as he climbed over you, the heat of his bare skin searing against yours.

His cock—hard, leaking, thick and aching—dragged against your swollen folds, notching at your entrance, but not pushing in.

Not yet.

You whimpered, body arching instinctively, desperate for him, but he just chuckled—low, deep, indulgent.

“Mm. Look at you.” His voice was warm honey, slow and deliberate, each word sinking deep into your bones. “So pretty when you beg, angel.”

You bit your lip, hips shifting, trying to chase him.

He smirked.

And then—

The first inch.

You gasped, eyes flying open, head tilting back against the pillows.

He was thick, stretching you open so slowly that it almost burned.

But Harry didn’t give you time to adjust.

Didn’t give you time to think.

Because then—

Another inch.

And another.

Until he was halfway inside you, filling you, the intrusion both devastating and perfect.

Your nails dug into your palms, your body trying to take more—needing more.

And then, Harry reached for the camera.

Still recording.

He angled it down, making sure to capture the way your body was taking him, stretching around him.

His cock twitched.

And then, his voice—low, thick, wrecked:

“Fuck, angel. Look at this.”

You tried to, tried to open your eyes, tried to focus, but then—

He pushed all the way in.

The breath punched out of your lungs.

A sharp, desperate gasp—loud, needy, broken—tore from your throat as he bottomed out, pressing so deep you could feel him everywhere.

Your body clenched around him, still too sensitive, still feeling everything from before.

But Harry just groaned, deep and guttural, hips rolling in the slowest, most devastating grind.

Your toes curled, pleasure sparking white-hot under your skin.

You were still tied up. Still helpless. Still completely his.

And now, you were full.

So full you could barely breathe.

Harry pulled out—slow, deliberate—before thrusting back in just as slow, pushing you open all over again.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, watching you, watching the camera, watching everything.

Your body twitched, squirmed, begged.

He just smirked.

And then—

He set the pace.

Deep, slow strokes, hitting every spot just right, dragging against the oversensitive nerves he’d already ruined.

Your mouth fell open, pleasure crashing over you with every slow thrust.

Every inch of him pressing deep, stretching you so perfectly it hurt.

The camera blinked.

Recording.

Capturing the way your body was shuddering, the way your fists clenched the silk, the way your lips trembled around the moans he was pulling from you.

He leaned down, breath hot against your ear.

“Gonna give me another one, angel?” His voice was taunting, dripping with amusement. “Think you can come for me again?”

You shook your head wildly, chest heaving, eyes glazed over.

“I— I can’t—”

Harry just hummed, lips brushing your temple.

“Yes, you can.”

And then—

He fucked you deeper.

Your back arched instantly, wrists straining, a sob ripping through your throat.

The pleasure was blinding, white-hot, unbearable.

“Harry—”

His teeth scraped against your jaw, his voice gravel and smoke.

“Say it.”

Your breath hitched, nails digging into your palms, body trembling from the sheer force of it.

“Y-Yours,” you gasped.

His hips snapped harder, cock grinding against that devastating spot over and over—relentless, unforgiving.

“Again.”

A strangled sob.

“Yours—fuck—I’m yours.”

His groan was low, wrecked, dangerous.

“Good girl.”

And then—

His hand dropped to your clit.

Your vision blurred.

A sharp, overwhelming cry ripped from your chest, your body jerking violently, pleasure spiraling out of control.

You were gonna come. You were gonna fall apart for him again. You couldn’t stop it.

Harry knew it.

He wanted it.

He fucking needed it.

His fingers worked your clit in tight, ruthless circles, hips grinding deep, pushing you further, further, further—

And then he stopped.

Your body shuddered violently, the cruel absence of release ripping through you in an aching pulse. Your wrists strained against the restraints, fingers curling into fists as if grasping at the pleasure he had just stolen from you.

“No—Harry, please—” Your voice was wrecked, trembling, broken.

He only chuckled, slow and dark, as he withdrew from you completely, leaving you empty and throbbing.

“You were about to come, weren’t you?” he murmured, running a single finger up the slick seam of your cunt.

Your thighs twitched, trying to chase the friction, but the spreader bar kept you locked open, helpless. A desperate whimper crawled up your throat.

“Y-yes, I was—”

Harry tsked, tracing idle circles around your entrance, not giving you what you needed. “Shouldn’t have done that, angel. Didn’t I tell you? You come when I say.”

Tears of frustration burned behind your blindfold. “I c-can’t take anymore—”

A sharp slap landed between your legs, a quick sting against your soaked, sensitive cunt. You gasped, jerking at the impact.

“Oh, you can take more,” Harry said smoothly, rubbing the heated skin where he had just spanked you. “And you will.”

Your whole body quivered as he slid his fingers down, pressing them against the plug still nestled inside you. A strangled sound escaped your lips when he pushed it deeper, rocking it in place.

“Wanna stretch you out properly, baby,” he mused, voice thick with something dangerous. “But first—”

You heard the rustling of fabric, the creak of leather as he stood from the bed.

“Up.”

You barely had the strength to move, but you forced yourself to obey, arms shaking as you struggled against the restraints. The blindfold remained in place, leaving you vulnerable as you listened to him unbuckle something, the unmistakable sound of a belt sliding free from its loops.

Then—his hands were on you again, untying your wrists, removing the spreader bar. Your legs instantly trembled, weak from the overwhelming denial.

“Good girl,” Harry murmured, massaging the sore skin where the restraints had been. “Now, come with me.”

He grasped your chin, tilting your face up as he pulled the blindfold away. Your eyes blinked open, pupils blown wide as you took in the wicked smirk on his lips, the lust-darkened green of his gaze.

Before you could catch your breath, he scooped you into his arms. You barely had time to register the movement before he was carrying you out of the bedroom, past the cameras still recording every second.

The bathroom door swung open. Steam clung to the air as he stepped inside, turning the shower knob until hot water cascaded down, filling the room with a thick, humid heat.

Your back hit the cold tile a second later. You barely had time to react before he pressed his palm against your sternum, urging you down, down, down until your knees met the wet floor.

He grabbed the camera from the counter, flipping the screen toward him. The red recording light glowed as he aimed the lens at you, already kneeling and dripping with arousal.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered, his voice a slow drag of filth.

Your breath hitched.

You obeyed.

The second your lips parted, Harry’s smirk deepened. He took his time, letting the camera capture every little detail—the way your tongue flicked out, the way your breath came in short, desperate little pants, the way your lips glistened from the mix of your own arousal and the steam filling the room.

“Fuck, angel,” he murmured, palming his cock, stroking himself right in front of you. “You look so pretty like this.”

He tilted the camera slightly, making sure it caught the way you were already trembling, still wrecked from everything he’d put you through in the bedroom. He hadn’t even touched you yet, but your body was still in pieces, still aching, still on the brink.

He tapped the head of his cock against your bottom lip. “Go on. Take it.”

You leaned forward instantly, eager, desperate to please, desperate to have some part of him back inside you. Your tongue darted out, licking the swollen tip before wrapping your lips around it.

The deep groan he let out sent a shiver straight down your spine.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he praised, one hand still holding the camera, the other coming to the back of your head. “Messy, baby. I want to see spit dripping all over that pretty face.”

You hollowed your cheeks, sucking him in deeper, bobbing your head as your hands found purchase on his thighs. The hot water pounded against your skin, the steam thick, making the whole room feel like a fever dream.

The camera shifted in his grip, the angle catching the way your lips stretched wide around him, the way your throat fluttered as he pushed deeper.

“Shit—” He exhaled sharply, fingers tightening in your hair. “Keep going, angel. Take it all.”

You did. You let him guide you, let him control the pace, let him push further and further until the tip of his cock nudged against the back of your throat. You gagged around him, eyes watering, but you didn’t stop.

Harry groaned, low and wrecked. “Fuck, you’re so good for me.”

He pulled back, just enough to let you breathe, before pushing in again—this time rougher, faster, with more force. You moaned around him, the vibrations making his hips jerk forward. Spit dribbled down your chin, mixing with the hot water that streamed over your face, but you didn’t care.

“That’s it, baby. Get it all wet for me.”

He adjusted the camera again, angling it downward, capturing the way your lips were red and swollen, the way his cock disappeared between them over and over again. He licked his lips, voice dropping to something even darker.

“Gonna fuck your throat now, angel. You ready for that?”

You could barely nod, but you did, blinking up at him with big, watery eyes.

Harry growled.

“Good girl.”

Then he snapped his hips forward, holding your head in place as he started fucking your mouth.

The force made your throat tighten, made your gag reflex threaten to fight back, but you took it. His cock dragged against the back of your tongue, thick and heavy, every thrust sending you further into the haze of pleasure and submission.

Tears spilled down your cheeks. Drool dripped from the corners of your mouth. Your nails dug into his thighs as he used you, each thrust more relentless than the last.

“Fuck—look at you.” His voice was wrecked, barely holding on. “Gonna come down your throat, angel. Gonna fill you up nice and fucking full.”

You moaned, the sound muffled around him, but he understood.

“Yeah? You want that?”

You nodded desperately, tears spilling freely now.

Harry cursed, deep and rough, before pulling out just enough to let you breathe—then pushing in one last time, shoving himself as deep as you could take.

With a low, guttural groan, he came, hot and thick down your throat.

“Don’t swallow,” he panted, pulling back just enough to see the mess he’d left on your tongue. He angled the camera, zooming in on your wrecked, ruined expression.

“Show the camera, baby.”

You opened your mouth wider, letting him see everything—the cum pooling on your tongue, the spit clinging to your lips, the way you were completely, utterly wrecked for him.

Harry groaned. “Fuck.”

He smirked down at you, lowering the camera slightly, his thumb tracing the edge of your mouth.

“Now swallow.”

You did.

His gaze darkened even more.

“Good girl.”

The moment your lips closed around the last drop, Harry grabbed your chin, tilting your face up toward him. His thumb swiped over the corner of your mouth, catching the mix of spit and cum before pressing it back against your tongue.

“Still so fucking messy, angel,” he murmured, his voice rough, raw. “I should make you lick it off my fingers.”

Your tongue flicked out before he could even tell you to, taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking obediently. Harry groaned, his free hand fisting in your damp hair as he tilted the camera, capturing the way you looked up at him—wrecked, desperate, willing.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth with a pop, gripping your jaw tight before hauling you to your feet.

“Not done with you yet,” he muttered, voice dripping with something dangerous. “C’mon.”

He dragged you out of the bathroom, still naked, your legs barely steady after everything he’d put you through. The cameras in the bedroom were still recording, red lights blinking as he led you straight through and into the living room.

The moment your bare feet hit the cool hardwood floor, your stomach flipped.

The windows.

The massive, floor-to-ceiling windows, wide open, stretching across the entire room.

Anyone could see.

Your breath caught as Harry maneuvered you toward the couch, his grip firm, unyielding. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t even give you a moment to protest before pushing you down, bending you over the armrest, pressing your chest into the soft fabric.

“Stay.”

A shiver rolled through you.

You didn’t dare move.

Behind you, you heard him shifting, placing the camera down, adjusting it for the best angle. Then—his hands. Rough and warm as they skimmed over your hips, down the backs of your thighs. His palms kneaded your ass before spreading you open, exposing every inch of you to both him and the camera.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Look at you.”

Heat flooded your body. You squirmed under his touch, your thighs already sticky, already aching.

He didn’t like that.

His palm cracked against your ass, sharp and sudden.

You gasped, jolting forward.

“Be still,” he ordered. “Wanna make sure the camera gets a good look.”

You bit your lip, your body thrumming with anticipation as his fingers slid between your legs, teasing, testing. You were still soaked—already wrecked from the way he’d used you in the bedroom, the bathroom, every fucking room he wanted.

And yet, you still wanted more.

He chuckled darkly.

“So fucking needy,” he murmured, rubbing slow circles against your clit before pulling away.

You whined softly.

“Patience, angel,” he said, his tone taunting.

He reached for something—a bottle of lube, cold as he drizzled it between your cheeks. His fingers smoothed it over your skin, teasing your hole, making you twitch beneath him.

“One day,” he murmured, leaning in, voice just for you. “One day, baby, I’m gonna fuck you here too. Gonna stretch you out nice and slow.”

You whimpered, fingers curling into the couch.

“But not tonight.”

Instead, he pushed inside your pussy in one hard, punishing thrust.

You cried out, your body arching at the overwhelming sensation. He was still thick, still hard, still relentless. Your walls clenched around him instinctively, but he didn’t give you a second to adjust—his hands gripped your hips, holding you still as he set a brutal pace.

The wet sounds of skin against skin filled the room, mixing with your gasps, your whimpers, the deep groans spilling from his lips.

The camera was still recording.

Harry reached for it, lifting it with one hand, angling it down to catch everything—the way he filled you, the way you took him so fucking well, the way your body trembled beneath him.

He smirked, never slowing down.

“Wave, baby,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. “Let them see how good you take it.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, a sharp spike of humiliation cutting through the pleasure. You could feel the heat of the camera on you, the weight of his stare, the way he watched you through the lens, utterly transfixed.

Your fingers gripped the couch tighter, your body burning with the mix of overstimulation and the sheer, undeniable thrill of it all.

“Go on,” he murmured, his voice a dangerous purr. “Be good for me.”

Shame curled in your chest, but the need to obey—to give him exactly what he wanted—was so much stronger.

You lifted one trembling hand from the couch and waved.

Harry groaned. “Fuck, look at you.”

He rewarded you with a brutal thrust, his cock slamming so deep it knocked the breath from your lungs. Your arm dropped, a broken sound slipping from your lips as he kept going, his grip tightening on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin.

The angle was devastating—his cock hitting deep, rubbing against every sensitive spot inside you, his pace merciless. The obscene sound of your slick filled the space, your body taking everything he gave without resistance, already so fucking ruined for him.

The camera was still rolling.

He moved it slightly, shifting to get a better angle, then pressed it close to where your bodies met, capturing the way he disappeared inside you over and over again.

“See that, angel?” he taunted. “See how fucking good you take me?”

You couldn’t even form words, your forehead pressing into the couch, your entire body trembling.

He leaned down, his chest flush against your back, the camera still in his hand. His breath was hot against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“You were made for this,” he whispered. “Made for me.”

Your walls clenched at the words, your body betraying you completely.

Harry groaned, his hips stuttering for just a second before he caught himself, before he pulled back and gave you a particularly sharp thrust—one that had you gasping, your hands gripping the couch for dear life.

His free hand snaked between your legs, finding your clit, rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles.

Your whole body tensed, the pressure inside you coiling tighter, tighter, so close to snapping—

And then he stopped.

You sobbed, your body shaking, your walls fluttering helplessly around nothing as he pulled out of you completely.

You felt him shift behind you, setting the camera back down, letting it capture the way your body trembled, the way your thighs clenched, desperate for more.

Then his hands were on you again, flipping you over, pressing your back against the couch cushions. His weight caged you in, his gaze dark, predatory.

“Not done with you yet, angel,” he murmured, dragging his thumb across your swollen lips, watching the way you panted beneath him.

The camera was still rolling.

His hand slipped between your legs again, teasing your slick entrance, rubbing the head of his cock against your overstimulated clit just to watch you squirm.

“You want more?” he asked, voice rough, teasing.

You nodded frantically, too wrecked to form words.

He smirked.

“Then get on the counter.”

Your legs barely worked as you scrambled up, body still trembling, overstimulated and desperate as you obeyed his command. The moment your feet hit the floor, Harry grabbed you by the waist, guiding you toward the kitchen with effortless control.

The counter was cold against your burning skin as he lifted you onto it, positioning you exactly where he wanted. Your thighs fell open instinctively, the evidence of everything he’d done to you glistening between them, your body still slick, still aching.

Harry groaned at the sight.

“Fuck, angel. Look at you.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he reached down, grabbing something from the bag on the counter. Your stomach flipped as he held it up.

The large plug.

Your breath hitched, anticipation and overstimulation clashing in a way that made you shiver.

“Color?” he murmured, his voice softer now, more serious.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe past the haze of it all. “Green.”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face before he smirked, trailing his fingers up the inside of your thigh, teasing.

“That’s my girl.”

He kissed you then—hot and deep, his tongue sliding against yours, stealing the air from your lungs. His free hand worked between your legs, rubbing slow, lazy circles against your clit, making you whimper against his lips.

Then, without warning, he pressed the plug against your entrance, pushing it in.

Your whole body tensed, a broken gasp spilling from your lips as the stretch burned for just a second—before the pleasure hit. The fullness, the pressure, the way it made everything more intense.

Harry pulled back, watching your face, drinking in every reaction.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured. “Taking it so fucking well.”

The praise sent another shiver down your spine. You clenched around the plug instinctively, and Harry groaned at the sight, gripping your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he taunted. “How much better it makes everything?”

You nodded weakly, barely able to breathe.

But he wasn’t done.

Reaching down, he clicked a button—and vibrations pulsed deep inside you.

A strangled moan tore from your throat, your body jolting against the counter as the sudden stimulation hit all at once.

Harry just chuckled, watching you squirm.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Already falling apart for me.”

He didn’t give you time to adjust, to catch your breath—his hands were already on you again, pushing your legs wider, lining himself up.

“Just one more, angel,” he whispered. “Just one more.”

Then he thrust inside you.

You choked on a gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as the sensations overwhelmed you. The vibrations, the stretch, the way his cock filled you so perfectly—

It was too much.

And yet, not enough.

Harry grunted, his grip on your hips bruising as he set a punishing pace, fucking into you deep, fast, relentless. His free hand shot up to your throat, his fingers curling around the column of your neck, squeezing just enough to make your pulse race.

Your vision blurred at the edges, your body trembling beneath him.

“S’this how you wanted it?” he growled. “Getting fucked so hard you can’t even think?”

Tears streamed down your face, your body wracked with pleasure, every nerve alight, every inch of you burning with overstimulation.

Harry groaned at the sight, leaning down to capture your lips in a messy, desperate kiss. His pace never faltered, his thrusts deep and brutal, fucking you through it, dragging it out.

Your walls clenched around him, the vibrations pushing you closer, closer—

And then you shattered.

Your entire body convulsed, pleasure slamming into you like a freight train, the orgasm ripping through you so violently you nearly sobbed. Your nails raked down his back, your thighs squeezing tight around his hips as he fucked you through it, chasing his own release.

Harry cursed under his breath, his movements growing erratic, rougher. He pulled out at the last second, groaning as he spilled across your stomach, his chest heaving, his body tense.

For a moment, the only sound in the kitchen was your ragged breathing.

Then, slowly, Harry reached for the camera—lifting it, angling it down, capturing the absolute wreckage of you.

“Fuck,” he murmured, tracing a hand down your trembling thigh. “You look so pretty like this.”

The camera clicked off.

And then, he lifted you into his arms, carrying you straight back to bed.

The sheets were cool against your overheated skin as Harry laid you down, his grip still firm but gentle. Your body felt weightless, trembling, drained from everything he had put you through—but he wasn’t finished.

Not yet.

He reached for a towel, wiping the mess from your stomach, his touch softer now, deliberate, taking his time as he cleaned you up. You shivered under his hands, your body still sensitive, overstimulated beyond belief.

Harry hummed, low and satisfied. “You did so fucking good for me, angel.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as he brushed damp hair from your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The shift in him was stark, a complete contrast from the dominant force he had been just minutes ago. Now, he was patient. Tender.

He grabbed a water bottle from the nightstand, twisting the cap off before bringing it to your lips. “Drink.”

You obeyed, swallowing the cool liquid, letting it soothe your raw throat. Harry watched you carefully, thumb stroking over your jaw.

“There you go,” he murmured. “That’s my good girl.”

Your heart squeezed at the praise, warmth curling in your chest. Even now, with your limbs weak and body wrecked, you craved it.

Harry must have seen it on your face, because he smirked, setting the bottle aside before slipping into bed beside you. His arm curled around your waist, pulling you in, pressing you flush against him.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, running his palm up and down your back, soothing, grounding.

You sighed into the touch, relaxing against him, sinking into his warmth.

His lips ghosted along your shoulder, pressing soft kisses up your neck, along your jaw. He traced every mark he had left on you, his tongue flicking out to soothe the sensitive skin.

A deep, contented sound rumbled from his chest as he held you close, his fingers lazily tracing patterns along your hip. “Proud of you, angel. Took everything so well for me.”

A sleepy hum slipped past your lips. You barely had the energy to respond, too far gone, your body melting into his.

Harry chuckled, the sound low and raspy.

Then, you felt it—his fingers reaching for the remote, grabbing it from the nightstand.

A moment later, the TV flickered to life.

Your stomach flipped.

You didn’t need to look to know what he was playing.

Heat crept up your neck as the sounds of your own moans filled the room, the unmistakable echo of skin on skin, the filthy words he had murmured against your lips now playing back in crisp, high-definition audio.

Your breath hitched.

Harry smirked, tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, hungry, still burning despite everything.

“Look at you,” he murmured, watching the replay, his hand trailing down, fingertips ghosting over your still-sensitive core. “So fucking wrecked. So perfect.”

Your cheeks burned, embarrassment and arousal clashing, twisting deep in your stomach.

Harry chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We’re keeping all of this,” he whispered against your skin. “Our own little collection.”

You barely had the strength to respond, your body too heavy, your brain too foggy.

But just before sleep claimed you, you heard him murmur one last thing—

“Hope you know… there’s going to be a part three.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

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[mini-ism]

#— HEDONE.

pairings: lighter lorenz x afab!gn!reader [MDNI]

words: 3,443

synopsis: hedone (hēdonē), an ancient greek word that describes "pleasure.” after the girls leave, it’s just you and lighter. would you let him hold your hand if it gave him pleasure, if it gave him the answers he’s always sought? would you let him fuck you?

warnings: p in v, semi-clothed, hand job, choking, reader gropes lighter, accidental erection, daydreaming/fantasizing, fingering, he’s just a guy who wants to h*ld h*nds, unprotected intercourse, afab reader (gender neutral, no pronouns/feminine terms) 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

notes: crossposted to AO3, lighter is bae

the throttle of motorcycles and bikes were a sound you’ve grown accustomed to.

a lot of things in life can be chalked up to the philosophy, the belief, of chasing pleasure. why would you do something you hate if it reaps no reward you enjoy? why would you do something if you don’t like it?

that very same idea can be considered the reason people do anything, generally. subjecting yourself to pain is undesirable to many, the most masochistic of people have their limits too.

the roar of engines grew quieter, replaced by the heavy click of boots against hardwood flooring. it was smart to wear boots around, the wooden flooring was splintered, worn from years of trampling and stomping. a gloved hand landed on your shoulder, taking you out of your trance-like state.

“you good?” the hand on your shoulder drifted down to your upper back, rubbing circles, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. his voice was deep, a handsome sort of rumble. it took some effort to peel your eyes away from the scratched up window.

“yeah, i’m okay.” you brought your gaze up to lighter’s, whose was concealed by his beloved aviators, tinted so dark you wondered if he could even see at times. he stood behind you, to your side, his touch still lingering in circles, inferior to your lower neck.

his demeanor seemed stoic as always, keeping to himself, staying “low-key” as he put it. “the girls are all gone,” he murmured, the hum of their bikes so distant it couldn’t be heard anymore, “just us now.”

lighter’s eyes were glued to the environment outside the window, seemingly entranced, lulled into the same kind of deep thought you were in.

would one derive satisfaction from thought? what is pleasure? how much chasing would someone do for that rush, the release of ecstasy?

lighter’s gloved hand moved lower, to the small of your back, his touch growing into a gentle, almost ghostly, caress. you looked out the window, observing the tan, dusky dirt and sand, the orange hue of the evening sky, the constructs of blazewood, the few little pebbles and rocks scattered around.

your eyes trailed back to him, his gaze now focused on you, still hidden by those fucking sunglasses. his brows had a small indent in them, creased by their furrowing, lips slightly pursed. his gloved touch had since stopped rubbing circles on the superior base of your spine, fingers daring to go lower.

you let out a soft, confused noise, his lips parting slightly. the crease deepened a bit more. how far is someone willing push the limits to fulfill their own desires for satisfaction? depends on who they are.

lighter’s face was contorted into a strained, almost guilty look. his lower lip glistened with a thin and awkward sheen of saliva, expression taut with a shameful tension. how apt is someone to escape pain by indulgence? his fingers crept to your side, clutching it tightly.

you didn’t pull away, not at all.

internally, lighter was warring with himself, telling himself he shouldn’t, he couldn’t. he knew that was a damn lie. it’s not like you're anybody’s personal property, not like you’re pulling away, not like you're running from him. it really isn’t like that, not like you’re touching up on him too, not like you’re more than friends. it scared him, the uncertainty, but he just can’t help himself. you’re irresistible, every part of you.

was pleasure worth the risk of pain? what is pleasure without pain? to perceive one means the other must exist. his grip pulled you flush to his side, pressing you to his body, hold unrelenting. he could really get lost in those eyes, he was already tumbling over himself just staring at you.

you stayed flush against him, even pressing your cheek to his chest. could you hear his heart hammering? it was already thrumming in his ears, blood rushing harder, faster, further, everywhere.

everywhere.

he could only hope you could ignore the raging boner tenting his pants, standing quite proud. his tight pants really don’t help, they felt even more like a barrier than before. his breathing grew heavier, clawing at the last remnants of composure. he was a man that prided himself on his ability to keep it together, always level-headed, despite the circumstances. wouldn’t it be good to let that go? just for a little, just for a while.

his gloved fingers dug even further into your flesh, the sensation grounding, yet intoxicating at the same time. your body was so pliant against his, he was desperately seeking any other thought that didn’t involve pinning you underneath him, getting you bent over and compromised. his resolve was wavering with each second, you’re gonna drive him mad.

lighter’s insistently demanding cock kept stirring, retaliating with each needy twitch. every physical reaction of his spurred his dirty thoughts on further, lewd images of you under, beside, on top of him, his shaft buried as far as it could go inside of you. a particularly vivid picture of you, one leg up on top of his shoulder, leaned upright against a countertop beckoned him deeper into his fantasies. you keened as he shoved himself further inside you, drinking in every noise you made. your eyes were glassy with desire, with need, with… love. his grip on your thigh was tight, grunting with satisfaction as he slid in and out of your warm cunt with aided ease. god, you’d get so fucking wet…

a sharp inhale brought him back to reality. he didn’t realize just how tight his hold on your waist had gotten. “sorry, really, uh…”

instead of wriggling away or whining, you curled closer to him, body melting into his for some semblance of comfort or relief. whichever one was galloping through your motives. the air was tense, he was sure you could feel how hard he is through the fabric of his pants, you’re terribly close. not that that’s a problem, unless you don’t want to be poked in the thigh by his touch-starved cock.

yeah, you definitely knew. “are you hard?”

no point in hiding whatever is in very, very plain sight, “uh… yeah, my bad.”

with the simple brush of your hand by his crotch, he bit back a particularly low groan, stifling it as a throaty noise. did you intend to do that? did you intend to rub up against him like that, get him even harder than before? as if that could be possible, it was. his face was strained, cheeks dusted a faint pink, becoming immersed in his fantasies again.

his breaths came in shallow, slight heaves. they sounded like soft gasps, periodic and frantic. fuck, what he wouldn’t give to hear you croon underneath him. you’d look so hot pinned to the bed by your wrists, kissing you until you panted for air, just as needy and depraved as he is for your touch. your tongue would feel so good, swiping against his own, licking down his neck, down his shaft. those darling lips would fit so perfectly around his cock, tongue milking every drop of sweet pleasure out of him. pleasure that belonged in you, hips bucking like a crazed man, drunken and starved, experiencing what it means to feel for the first time.

lighter’s eyes trailed down to his crotch, your hand lingered, ghosting just over the raised clothing over his persistent, weeping cock. he could feel pre-cum seep from the head, dampening his boxers, demanding in tempo with the beat of his heart. the color of lighter’s face darkened, hips involuntarily grinding against your palm. lighter drew in a particularly sharp breath at the much desired friction.

you gave him a knowing look as you continued to palm the prominent bulge in his pants. lighter’s fingers stayed glued to your side, his eyes wide behind the dark lenses, partially in disbelief and in welcome bewilderment. his tongue darted out to moisten his lips, mouth slightly agape. at a loss for words, he let a deep grumble out, his gaze still stuck on your hand. your grip was now entirely on his dick, pressing against the outline, moving from base to tip and back through his pants. “ah, fuck…”

he let out a deep breath, the air held in by his wound muscles, unbeknownst to him. his body relaxed slightly under your gentle touch, slipping back into the comforting coax of his daydream. damn, your hand, it feels way too good. would you let him hold it if he could? hold it while he fucks you, while he guides you, while he walks in stride with you? will you let him interlace his bare fingers with yours? will you kiss each of the scars on his knuckles, wrap your own delicate hand around his aching shaft instead of his own?

would you instinctively reach for him? in a crowded area, would you look for him the way he’d look for you? could he seek every answer in you the way you’d look to him? would you let him fuck it out of you, kiss you until you spoke every word he wanted to hear? merely the satisfied twinkle in your eye soothes his soul. he could satisfy you the way nobody else ever can and will, accept every answer in the way you speak, laugh, cry, scream, and moan… every little gasp and mewl, nobody would take you like he could.

take you from behind, from the side, below and above him, take you as you are, take every word and lack of one. take every good with the bad, every soothe with the familiar burn and sting, if it meant you understood him the way he understands you. he would kiss you the way you like, fuck you ten times over if he knew you loved it, hold your hand tight enough if it meant anything to you. seems like you’re struggling with his belt.

“need a bit of help? i know it can be a pain sometimes. here, i got you.” he put his hand over yours, guiding it towards the overly complicated buckle, unclasping it just enough, loosening it with his own hand grasping yours until you could manage to unzip his pants. “you got it, keep going. i promise i’ll make it worth your while.

you didn’t need it to be ‘worth your while,’ having him in your grasp was already enough. you couldn’t be bothered to move from the window, hand already snaking down his boxers to grab his bare, attention-deprived cock. lighter hummed softly at the feverish contact, feeling your thumb collect the thick bead of pre-cum oozing from his cockhead. as you coated his shaft in his own pre, his head grew slightly dizzy, the sensation overwhelming, yet comforting knowing it was you.

“ah, shit, yeah…” your hand started moving faster as lighter let out a mumbled string of curses. with each passing stroke, he could feel the heat in his body burn hotter, the familiar pool of desperation in his lower gut forming, pleasure soaking into every single cell of his body. all his coherent, ‘normal person’ thoughts were melting away at the mercy of your slick stroke.

with a whispered groan, lighter leaned in, “that feels amazing, but i can’t take another minute without my dick in you.”

hesitantly, you released lighter’s cock, pulling your hand out of the waistband of his boxers. lighter pulled you away from the view of the window, just far enough from prying eyes. within the building was a lounge space and a small kitchenette. lighter cornered you inside the kitchenette, wasting no time to put his lips on yours. his kiss was firm but careful, giving you a moment to melt into his lips, your arm hooking around his neck to pull him further closer. his tongue eventually slipped between your lips, the sweet taste of your mouth mingling with his, eagerly swapping his spit with yours. lighter’s kiss grew heated and intense, exploring every inch of your mouth, his lips searing and nearly bruising. he groaned as your fingers tangled with his dark locks, his glove-clad hands coming to grip the counter on each side of you.

reluctantly, he pulled away, lips still proximal to yours, huffing for breath. lighter’s eyes burned bright with passion, staring you down as if he needed you more than the air that kept him alive. you nearly quivered under his scrutiny, the attractive green hue of his eyes keeping yours. your panties were stuck to your cunt with dampness. your hips rocked into his, heat collecting in the fabric as your cunt leaked, contracting around nothing. “do me a favor? turn the other way for me.”

you did as lighter asked, squirming around so your ass was in direct contact with his hard-on. instinctively, his hips rolled against your ass, the tantalizing swell mocking him. lighter eased your pants and underwear down your thighs and legs, letting them pool against the floor, managing to get his right glove off pretty quickly. the pads of his fingers prodded against your heated pussy, collecting the wetness between your thighs, rubbing your clit a few times from behind.

“you feel that, huh? that’s nothing compared to this dick.” seemingly on cue, his index and middle fingers slipped into your heated cunt, stretching your pussy out wonderfully. you let out a soft moan, feeling the two digits slide in and out with adept ease. each moan was punctuated by his fingers working their way back inside of you, deep within your cunt, the slap of his knuckles on your ass. lighter’s fingers curled just enough to make you croon and let your neck loll downwards, forehead dangerously close to thunking against the counter. your hands gripped at the edge of the countertop, knuckles white as lighter’s other hand spread your pussy to the side. his fingers made an abrupt exit.

you mewled at the loss, trembling weakly at the absence of something inside you, of him. the coil in your gut loosened, knees weak and palms creased by the rigid edge of the kitchenette’s counter. lighter brought his fingers to his lips, sucking on them nearly exaggeratedly, savoring the taste of you. he let out a satisfied “mmm,” licking the webbing between the digits, lapping up any remaining slick on his fingers. his left hand fell to his boxers, letting his cock spring free as his right hand got you to arch just right against the cold marble slate, spreading your cunt just enough again to let him take a good look.

“you’re gonna look so good taking my dick.”

lighter slapped the heavy tip of his cock against your slit, the rounded head dragging on your clit, the friction driving you wild. you could feel the excitement inside you build, anticipating the lethal stretch. fuck, you were soaked, the wetness coating his tip thickly, threatening to drip all the way down your thighs and onto the floor below you. he pressed his palm down on your lower back, forcing you to intake a sharp breath, his cock accompanying the newly inhaled air. after the tip got lost inside your heat, your cunt squeezed him tight, lungs immediately letting go of your breath. “that’s it, take it good, just like that.”

you moaned weakly, the thickest part of his cock being the shaft immediately below the tip. it felt so good, being split open by him, even with how wet you are. every fiber of lighter’s being was resisting the urge to snap his hips into yours, bury himself into you with force. your cunt wouldn't take much more, lighter opting to pull out a little to sink deeper inside. as he withdrew, you cried out, lighter hushing you with a soft “shh,” his hips moving forwards into yours again. you let out a string of soft babbles, the addictive stretch over as the rest of his shaft took.

“that’s right, fuuuuck.” he gasped, your pussy immediately gushing around him, clamping down on his length like a vice. after a few merciful moments, lighter dragged his hips back, rocking them into you again. you brokenly moaned, feeling his cock slowly drawl in and out of you a few more times, each movement followed up with a loud, needy moan. fuck, you looked so hot, sexier than he could imagine taking his dick from behind. “let me hear you, come on.” he urged gently.

his right hand pinned the back of your neck down to the cold marble, his hand large enough to wrap around the blood vessels on the lateral sides of your neck. his grip was tight, not entirely brutal, picking up the pace with each drag of his hips. the heat in your tummy flared, a thick sheen of your slick coating his dick, the lubricant creating a mess of his boxers and hem of his jacket. his tight hold on the sides of your neck furthered your high, body arching into his, brain fuzzy with pleasure and disconnected from reality. his cock slammed into you, his own pleasure indicated with a guttural groan. he sounded so hot when he felt good.

“you like it when i fuck you? you like this dick?”

you could offer a broken moan as a response, pussy tightening at his deep, horribly sexy, laugh. “yeah, i know, fuuuck.”

lighter bent lower, his voice ringing in your ears, brain barely processing his words, “you close? you just wont let me go, feels amazing.” your strangled moan told him everything he needed to know. you were closer than you could understand.

the heat of your orgasm pooled deep within you, winding all your muscles tight with tension and desire. with a few harsh thrusts, you let out a cry louder than you anticipated, your neck suddenly free from his hold. lighter bullied himself as deep as he could, watching you come undone. though you couldn’t see as you rode your climax out, he had a smug, proud look on his face.

lighter pulled out of you with an effort, resisting the urge to fuck himself using you. his hand came up to the front part of your throat, where your trachea was, pulling you upwards and putting your backside flush to his chest with a gentle force. “i got you, don’t worry.”

before you knew it, lighter was leaned back on the couch, sinking you onto his cock again, your legs parted as you straddled him. your hands came to rest on his shoulders as he half sat up and half laid back, squealing in pleasure as he buried himself to the hilt again. “knew you could handle it, feels so good.”

didn’t matter what he did with your clothes, now that you were naked on top of him, his signature sunglasses sitting aside on the other cushion. his scarred hands came to rest on your hips, moving you up and down, bouncing you on his cock. he threw his head back, gasping with each oversensitive movement along your walls.

an uncharacteristically high noise left his lips, his eyes focused on the bounce of your tits as he lifted you up and down on his ever-demanding cock. fuck, you looked so good, sweaty and tuckered out, yet still taking him so well. your tits are just the cutest, the way they jiggle with every motion. lighter’s hips rocked upwards, bucking wildly as the high crept onto him, your nails digging into the skin and scar tissue littering his shoulders like a mosaic through his leather jacket. lighter’s control became frantic, guiding your body brutally, the sensitive waves of your previous orgasm washing into this one. lighter grit his teeth, groaning heavily as the coil tightened even more, the intensity of his climax terribly foreign. every muscle in both your bodies ached and wildly tightened with desperation as ecstasy washed over you both.

as you rode out your familiar pleasure, lighter rocked his hips, bucking them, milking out every bit of sensation he could from inside you. lighter covered his face with one hand, peeping one eye out of the gap between his fingers, as the other hand’s nails dug into your bare flesh. “fucking hell, oh, shit…”

you don’t think you’ve ever heard lighter say such vulgar things, especially not swear that much in a minute. as his grip on your waist and hip loosened, it immediately sought out your hand, prying your dominant hand away from his shoulder and interlacing your fingers with his as he heaved. “fuck, you think you’ll let me do this again? as many times as i want?”

[softsunnyy]

https://www.tumblr.com/softsunnyy/784465136523034624/im-having-ideas-for-some-willmack

SPILL U DONT KNKW HOW BAD I NEED IT

I WROTE THIS SO FAST, HON

sorry, i'm a horny bug rn, i need to talk about my boys.

🚨 pure smut, will x fem! reader, mack x fem! reader, kinda cheating, sub Mack, Will loves to watch, kinda mean! you, overstimulation, cumming inside you, Will wants to compete 🚨

you can feel him sliding in and out of your pussy fast and hard, as you bounce on his cock like it´s the last time, grasping at his shoulders, and listening to his broken and pathetic moans against your ear.

his legs are cramping, spasming, and his cock aches, sticky with his own cum, with a white ring forming at the base from so many orgasms (he lost count of how many).

Mack isn't even careful anymore; he just moans loudly, tears brimming at the edges of his eyes, wanting to roll down his cheeks as he begs you for mercy, to move a little slower.

and he looks at you, his cheeks flushed, his eyes shining, but you don't feel guilty; the sight alone makes you want to kiss his face, and you do, continuing to bounce, to expand your walls with his cock.

you're addicted, addicted to how big he is, to how incredibly sensitive your sweet boyfriend is. You're addicted to his tears, his pleas, to how easily he comes inside you, filling you up, staining your walls white, making the only thing you can hear in the room be your moans and the sound of your bodies colliding, so sticky, wet, and obscene.

now, you've come too, your clit swollen and sensitive, but you can't stop, not when it feels so good, when he opens you up and hits your cervix without much effort, abusing your pussy, making you feel dizzy and on cloud nine. You can only keep going, biting his skin, leaving hickeys and bites along his pale skin, feeling your tits smack against his chest, and your hard nipples rub against his skin again and again, making you arch your back and move faster.

it's then that you feel a gaze, and you know who it is.

of course you know.

he's always there, watching, admiring from the darkness of the doorway how you take over his friend's body, feral, with brutality, dominance, making it impossible for his eyes to tear themselves away from your body, nor his hand from his cock.

Will knows it's wrong, that you're Mack's girlfriend. He knows he's invading both of your privacy, but he can't stop, not when he sees your ass bouncing, your thighs tensing, trembling, and your mouth open to whimper so sweetly.

and he imagines, he imagines so many things.

he imagines putting his hands on your tits, squeezing your nipples while his cock slides into your soaked pussy, expanding your walls, making them mold to his size, getting you used to him, to receive only him.

and it pisses him off to know that Mack is the one who always has to get the best, and he wants to show you how good he can be for you. God, if you'd let him, he'd put his cock inside you and make you cry, cumming over and over again as you screamed his name, crying hard, squeezing your eyes shut as you let him dominate you for once; letting him use his strength on you, letting him show you that he can be the best.

but he doesn't do anything about it, never does. Not even when you caught him the first time, opening your eyes wide as you scratched your boyfriend's back, feeling him move, trying to please you.

Will didn't dare move, just stared into your eyes, his cock hard as a rock, as you came, not looking away, moaning loudly.

for him.

and so you both have continued, in this weird game where Will gets increasingly cocky, bold, being able to free his cock from his clothes, touching himself in front of you, feeling your gaze on his body, on his hand, on how he moves, wanting to imagine that it´s your pussy. Although he doesn't dare to do anything more than that.

and now it's no different, because he looks at you, because he touches himself again, wanting to be in his friend's place, thinking of all the things he would do differently, how he would last longer, how he would be the one having you crying, weak, grabbing the sheets tightly to try to regain a little strength.

how can he not imagine it?

and you look at him, your eyes watering, whimpering, feeling the knot form inside your belly once more, until it explodes, cumming hard, and making Mack whimper, cumming once more inside you, unable to move anywhere else, feeling like he's about to faint, incredibly sensitive.

but this time you didn't cum for your boyfriend. No.

you came for his friend, the one who doesn't dare, but who fantasizes.

and you can't deny it, you fantasize too, wishing you could lick and swallow all his wasted cum now dripping onto his hand.

and it wasn't like this before, but there's something about Will... something you can't understand.

and you wanna see, you wanna see how long it will take him to do something about it. How long it will take him to make you his.

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ You are found guilty

(Neuvillette sentences you for your horrible crimes. That's it. sfw)

“It saddens me to announce this… But you leave me with no choice. I shall render the final verdict.” 

The Iudex of Fontaine stood before you, tall and regal with his imposing gaze of impartiality. With a solemn clearing of his throat, he prepared to deliver the ultimate decision. “In light of the evidence provided, and the gravity of your actions, I shall announce the final judgment.”

“N-no… Your honor, Please,” - you whispered, shaking your head in disbelief at what will come. Your hands came clasping together, a silent plea for mercy.

“According to the judgment of Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale…”

“I beg you, d-don’t.”

“... The court finds the defendant guilty.” 

The court fell silent, as the words of the Chief Justice echoed throughout the hall. The silent witnesses of your case were immobile, and no one was here to defend your sins. You clenched your fists, your gaze searching Neuvillette’s despairing one. 

“But monsieur, I am telling you, I am innocent. Look, I have a child!”

Another silence bestowed upon the room. Neuvillette cleared his throat and in the same eloquent tone of formality interjected. Although it took him a great deal not to break out of character - “My dear. For the last time, a four-foot Otter plushie cannot constitute adequate evidence of being a child.” 

You sulked. Had this been a true courthouse, the onlookers would have shaken their heads in disbelief at your feeble attempt to feign innocence. But there were no living spectators in this courthouse. In fact, you and your beloved were not even in the Opera Epiclese. In reality, it was the sanctuary of your home, and the so-called eyewitnesses were your countless pillows or plushies that blocked Neuvillette from hugging you at night when you monopolized the bed with them.

“After careful and thorough consideration, the court has determined that you shall be sentenced to... “ - Neuvillette paused for the dramatics. “An eternity of cuddles and kisses provided by the Iudex himself.”

“Have mercy on me, Neuvi. I used the Otter plushie as a pillow and fell asleep once, it’s not like I forgot to give you a goodnight kiss on purpose, honey.” 

But of course, your beloved would not let such deeds go unpunished. That’s how your life was with him, along with the endless ‘legal jokes’. Neuvillette's professional life demanded impartiality and severity in accordance with the law, but at home, in the comfort of your arms, all formality dissipated. For his sanity, he relished returning home where his need to physically bury his face onto your chest was systematic. All you need to do is either caress his silver hair, embrace him in bed, or give him a loving kiss - it doesn’t matter, he is already a puddle of a dragon in your arms.

However, dare to forget your nightly cuddles and it will rain heavily outside out of the blue.  

“I am afraid the decision is final, dear. No chance of parole, either.” - He sat beside you, arms warped around your form to envelop your face in much-needed kisses. He peppers gentle pecks on your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, anything to reach the quota of the skipped smooches you neglected him. 

“Aw, man. Not even on good behavior?”

“Absolutely not. The court renounces your plushie rights for the upcoming nights.”

It appears that if one yearned for a large Otter to embrace, they may have had one right by their side all along.

[zablife]

Hello darling! For your requests I found this prompt, would you give it a try? 🔥 😇

"Come on, don't just undress me with your eyes." - For Tommy

Thanks for the lovely inspo, Mar! I do love this GIF 😍

Tommy x female reader

Undress Me

"You can't be serious," you scoffed with an indignant toss of your head.

Tommy only stared into his glass, finishing off the last of his whiskey as he waited for the footsteps in the hall to fade into the distance.

"We discussed this," he mumbled, dispassionately rising to refill his glass.

"You never mentioned Finn," you reminded him.

As he passed before you, you grabbed onto his shirt sleeve. "I can't marry him," you insisted.

Tommy turned slowly, eyes falling to where your fingers dug into his forearm with disappointment. "Why not?" he asked in genuine confusion.

Because you wanted to marry me once, you thought before turning your bitterness to insults. "He's a fucking child you can't trust with a simple task!"

He rolled his eyes before producing a check from his pocket. Only then did he meet your insistent gaze. "Not even for this?" he asked, the steep arch of his brow demanding an answer. "Said you wanted security and a good life for your family, didn't ya?"

With the haunting memory of your original plea for help echoing in your ears, you eyed the check warily. "If he's the brother you've chosen for me, I want more," you replied, chin held high with what little pride you had left.

"Overplay your hand and see where it gets you," he warned with a sharp tug of his arm.

You staggered forward, feeling the acute loss of him. When had this all turned sour? you wondered.

He turned his back to you as he reached for the crystal decanter and you filled your lungs with a courageous breath. You'd need strength to keep going, but you were accustomed to it. Unlacing the front of your gown in anticipation, you waited for him to face you.

He did a poor job of concealing the hunger in his eyes, especially when his pupils dilated in such a way. "Come on, don't just undress me with your eyes," you beckoned in your sweetest voice.

Raising an accusing finger toward you he warned, "I know what this is."

"What?" you shrugged with practiced nonchalance.

"You're young and full of promise, don't waste it on me, love," he said with sadness tingeing his voice.

"So that's why you chose Finn for me?" you asked, wanting to understand his reasoning.

Tommy nodded slowly. "Has his whole life before him. Mine faded long ago."

"That's not true," you swore to him, taking a few tentative steps in his direction. "Come back to me, Tom," you gently urged, fingers tracing his rugged jawline.

He closed his eyes to your touch and you knew he could still be yours. Leaning in to swipe your full lips against his, you begged him to take you then and there. And he did, giving into his desire fully the moment his self control snapped.

You'd never felt so possessed by him, hands gripping you tightly to him as though you were his last breath. His mouth sucking a bruise into the delicate flesh of your neck to mark you for all to see. There was a blind devotion to his actions that didn't make you feel guilty for tugging him closer when he came inside you.

If you'd timed it correctly, you'd be with child before the cursed wedding day. Tommy wouldn't dare deny you then, taking you for his bride instead. You sighed contentedly at the prospect as his heart hammered against yours.

--------------

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[llolianarchives]

The Prefect and The Draconia

A short overview of the Ramshackle prefect and their strange (but kind) horned fellow friend: as seen through the eyes of outsiders.

(A/N: #Malleyuu notes with an OC but feel free to project. We're all delulu here ╮⁠(⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)⁠╭ )

His Henchman is crazy.

Or at least, that's what Grim thinks when he's woken up at sunrise to Yue's bizarre ramblings. Something about the time being 1 AM, then fireflies at night, and a tall, horned figure – is what he takes from their babble amidst his own groans and pleas to return to sleep. He'd think them delirious from slumber, mumbling about another dream, if it weren't for the way Yue's eyes sparkled with genuine interest. Grim yields, in the end, for one of the many things he's learned about his reliable servant is that they can be awfully enthusiastic when it comes to this world's curiosities.

“He told me to call him whatever I want,” Yue continues, ruffling Grim's fur dry with a clean rag. Before he could insert magnificent ideas of his own, they beat him to it with a soft smile on their lips.

“I'm thinking of naming him Nyx: the personification of the night. What do you think?”

“What? Because he only shows up at night?” Like some wacky cryptid.

“Yup.”

He hears his henchman forgo the brush, letting it clatter loudly against the table.

“Hm... Nyx, huh...” Grim falls into thought, testing the name on his tongue like premium quality tuna. He doesn't even notice how Yue ties the striped ribbon around his neck. Triumphant, he turns to them with a grin.

“That's not half-bad, Henchman! It's cool and mysterious. Not as cool and mysterious as me, of course, but I'd say it's a close second!”

“Naturally. I wouldn't dare bestow a name mightier than the Great Grim's.”

Despite the stream of praise his henchman delivers (which he pleasantly basks in), Yue eventually derails, returning to speak of the horned man yet again. What Grim's superior brain gathers is this: One, this Nyx guy is super weird. Two, Yue's interest has been piqued like no other before.

He'll demand some omurice as payment for his counsel later on.

. . .

Malleus has made a friend.

The news was dropped onto Lilia's lap rather unceremoniously when one night, the Young Lord—having just returned from another evening excursion, went to sit with him in the Diasomnia lounge. This time, however, the quaintest of smiles adorned his face... It was an unusual sight but certainly not unwelcome. And much like any doting parent, his curiosity led him to ask.

Malleus had replied with a question of his own.

"Lilia, do you know of the Prefect that resides in Ramshackle Dorm?"

"Yue? Why yes, of course. I've spoken to them once or twice. They made quite a show during the Ceremony."

Yue— Lilia soon comes to learn— is completely unaware of Malleus's identity as a prince and a figure of authority, of power. As such, they bear no fear for him, even going so far as to bestow him a pet name, of all things.

(“Nyx? As in the night spirit? How fitting.")

Thus began the pattern of Lilia covering for Malleus's nighttime absence, not daring to ask nor scold when the prince would return in strange and stranger states.

When he would return to the dormitory partially caked with dirt and mud (a consequence of helping the prefect with their little garden of life.) Or when he would return with a box of homemade cake, a pretty stone from their walks, a drawing of him supposedly made by the prefect's beast, and with inquiries of the complexities of human nature.

Sometimes, Lilia can't help but feel a bit guilty, constantly boring witness to Silver and Sebek's searches into the night.

Yet that sliver of guilt fades, in the end, when Malleus smiles more often than before, when he approaches Lilia in the winter with the request of delivering a Holiday Card.

As he watches the magicless human rush into their abode, card in hand, ghosts and Grim awaiting their entrance...

he has never felt prouder and more grateful for fate.

. . .

From a distance, Vil watches.

He watches as the feared Briar Prince lets a small, feeble human talk his ear off, calm and unresisting, a hand on his chin as he ponders along Yue's barrage of words. He gives the prefect full reign of the conversation. He lets himself be taken away by their stories and details. He lets them speak, which they do.

Just after the horrors, highs, lows, and thrills of the VDC, the two chat as if nothing even happened. The onslaught of it all feels like a fever dream to Vil. First, the mental toll of overblotting, then their loss to RSA's nursery rhyme performance, and now the shocking reveal of Yue (innocent, bold, mundane little Yue) and Malleus Draconia's relationship.

He isn't even sure what to make of it. They're clearly friends, yet Vil can't bring himself to chalk it up to just that. His years and years of showbiz cinema has taught him the ins and outs of body language. He watches. He sees:

There's the smiles on both their faces; cheeks raised taut, dimples carved with genuine laughter. There's that glimmer in Yue's eyes and the odd tenderness of Malleus's own, both gazes locked onto one another with an undisturbed focus. There's the fact that Yue had given him an invitation to the VDC, or that Malleus had fixed the stage partially to show off to the magicless human, or that their hands are currently mere centimeters away from each other.

In the end, Vil averts his gaze, weariness crashing into him all at once and he feels a pair of hands grasp onto his shoulders, keeping him standing. Rook smiles, gentle, knowing, annoying. Vil resigns to his whims and lets his Huntsman guide him back to the Pomefiore Dorm, the chatter of Yue and Malleus and everyone else fading away.

[dark-and-kawaii]

Okay but what are some HCs for Zevlor Raphael and Haarlep and what they like in bed 👉👈

୨♡୧ What They Enjoy ୨♡୧

18+

Zevlor - Haarlep - Raphael

⋆˙⟡♡ Notes: I could go on for hours about this because honestly it depends on all their moods!! But here’s what I have today!!

⋆˙⟡♡ Choking | Love | Toys | Breeding | Bed Breaking

Zevlor

The tiefling gives off switch vibes. Zevlor is ready to fulfill your every plea whether it be him on top doming you or being a soft bottom. It's always about you, as Zevlor's main goal is to make you happy.

However, on those rare occasions when it's about him, it's usually because he's feeling a bit frustrated. But oh boy, once he takes full control over you, you better be prepared for a wild ride that will leave your bed in dire need of replacement. And don't be surprised if you find a delightful tail shaped bruise on your thigh or wrists, evidence of his firm grasp on you to keep you in place.

Prepare yourself for a shower of pet names and praise from Zevlor. You're his whole world, and he loves showering you with the sweetest of endearments. He'll worship your body like it's his personal temple, tracing his thumb over any imperfections on your flesh before expressing his deep appreciation for your beauty (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)

Choking. He takes pleasure in lightly grabbing your neck, and sometimes his tail acts on its own, gently wrapping around your neck while you go down on him. And guess what? He absolutely adores it when you use his neck as leverage as you grind down onto his beautiful cock. It's a vulnerable position that he would never allow anyone else to put him in, but he trusts you with his life!

Now, if you're looking for Zevlor to be mean and degrading, you better buckle up because it'll take quite a bit of convincing. We're talking a lot of convincing here. But hey, if you push Aradin in front of Zevlor, that might just be enough to ignite that side of the tiefling and have him fulfill your desires for some deliciously mean treatment. In the moment he loves it, but afterwards he’ll always feel bad and express it on his face.

Zevlor's heart yearns for slow, passionate sex that ends with him creamping you. He wants to savor every moment with you, to truly feel and appreciate your connection before filling you with his potent seed.

When it comes to punishment, Zevlor is more of a gentle spanker. He can't bring himself to hurt you, as he cherishes your well being and wants to maintain a loving dynamic.

Biting and leaving small marks are Zevlor's guilty pleasures though! Will always leave them in places where you can easily hide them. He secretly loves the possessiveness and connection that comes with marking you as his lover.

Zevlor's fantasy involves engaging in intimate acts in semi-public places, the risk of potential discovery adding an extra layer of excitement for both of you.

And let's not forget Zevlor's deep need for a family. He absolutely has a breeding kink and dreams of building a future with you. Perhaps it's time to consider giving him what he’s been dreaming of *wink*!

Haarlep

Haarlep is a hardcore dom with an insatiable desire for control. It's just in their nature, but oh, how they adore it when that spark ignites within you and you take charge. The way you pleasure yourself to their body sends a thrilling chill up their spine, and you can always tell when Haarlep is happy by the telltale sign of their tail.

Now, i think we all know this but Haarlep is a true sadist. They derive pleasure from witnessing your tears, pushing you to the point of crying, begging, and whining. Your tears are a delectable treat for them, and they take delight in licking your messy face clean, relishing the taste of your salty tears against their tongue.

Edging and the use of degenerate names are Haarlep's specialties. They enjoy teasing you to the brink of release, denying you until you're a quivering mess beneath or atop of them. And when it comes to punishment, my dear, if you dare to challenge or provoke them, don't expect to find release that night. Haarlep knows how to discipline a brat and keep them in line.

Haarlep will degrade you until you’ve earned their praise, my dear *Winks*!

Haarlep absolutely loves fucking you in places where the risk of being caught is high. The scandal of the all powerful tav fucking a lowly incubus is so fun for Haarlep.

Toys, my dear, hold a special place in Haarlep's heart. They enjoy using anything they can find on you, pushing you to new limits. Love watching your stomach bulge with their tail.

Bondage, chains, gags, and the use of their tail are a must for them.

Choking, uh yeah! Prepare yourself because your neck will bear the marks of their hands and tail. The sight of your eyes rolling back and your mouth hanging open for precious air always sends Haarlep over the edge further, it’s intoxicating.

An ownership dynamic is something that Haarlep finds alluring. You’re theirs, right? No one else’s. Haarlep will always finds way to make this known.

Despite all this though, Haarlep does enjoy connection with you if you’re their little dove. Will pull you into their chest, entwine their fingers with yous, their tail curling around so limb of yours simply because you are theirs and they refuse to let you go.

Raphael

Switch, but he rather you do the work/ warm his cock and ride him while he’s sitting writing out a new contract/writing in his diary. He’s a man that enjoys a good performance after all.

Blood play & knife play. He has a fascination with your blood, finding it sexually arousing. Will use a gold dagger to create controlled cuts -especially on your inner thigh- before dragging his tongue against the wounds he inflicted. Period sex is totally fine with him.

Breeding kink. The devil is lonely, you’re his little mouse and he’ll make sure you remember this and make damn sure you’re stuck with him. Besides, having a little him around house hope doesn’t seem all that bad considering he can shape the little thing into a copy of him.

Possessive, scratching and bruising you gives him satisfaction. The devil is possessive by nature so marking you is a must no matter what. Enjoys scratching and bruising you till you’re begging him to stop, leaving visible reminders of his control and ownership.

Sadist as well as humiliation. Raphael fully embraces his sadistic nature, finding immense joy in inflicting pain on you. He takes delight in your suffering and is always satisfied with your reactions. Loves to humiliate you, has taken you in front of the souls that are trapped within his home, loves grabbing you by the hair forcing you to look at them while he degrades you.

Master & slave dynamic along with dumbification. Enjoys the concept of dumbification, reducing his little mouse’s intellectual capabilities and turning you into a submissive and obedient cock sleeve.

Raphael likes controlling your orgasms, loves having power over you, denying or prolonging your release. He gets off in edging you, pushing you to the brink of climax and then denying you the satisfaction of release.

Exhibitionism, enjoys watching and feeling Haarlep use you like some rag doll, won’t allow the incubus to ever finish- Raphael will take over when he’s good and ready.

[constantly0lost]

Okay I haven't written in literal months, but i was inspired by the little blurb about otter harvey at the bottom of @sashiavi 's goat Harvey post, so enjoy a ramble. Alot of my sleep tired brain escaped into this, sorry for how sloppy this is, i just wanted to vocalize my thoughts or my head would have exploded. I would carry 19 of Harvey's children if asked, peace.

CW: bit of a breeding kink, i reimagined/softened the mannerisms of otters during sex cause MAN, male otters SUCK, other otter things (harveys hydrophobic hair), lactation kink, me being a simp for this man, UHHh, shitty writing :)

Otter Harvey who gives you special things that made him think of you. From rocks to acorns to mushrooms to flowers to leave and so on, and being so blushy when he gives them to you, because its just acorns but it means so much to him. And he swoons when he finds out you kept them all.

Otter Harvey who holds your hand while y'all sleep, even though you're as close as two people can physically be without fusing together. He knows logically that you can't go anywhere, and even if you did, you'd be right back in his arms, but it feels so nice to have his hand on yours.

Otter harvey who eats sea urchins in secret, not because of someone finding out he eats them, but because he has to yank one out of Vincents mouth after he saw Harvey eating them, and he didn't want to cause anyone any extra undue stress.

Otter Harvey who has to take showers with slightly more intense temperatures so that he can actually wash his hair, otherwise it rolls right off of his hair. The only time he won't is when you take a shower with him, because he doesn't want you to be uncomfortable because of him, and even then, after you get out he'll change the temperature so he can actually get clean.

Otter Harvey who, if you end up having kids, is the best fucking dad. He teaches them literally anything and everything, and sits at the table responding to their toddler gibberish with full blown sentences. He takes them to school, plays anything they want, and is a total pushover sap for them, no matter what happens. (He is also 110% a girl dad)

Otter Harvey who bites higher up on you than he probably should, but he can't help it when you make him feel such mind numbing pleasure. So now you have hickeys on your cheeks, lovebites around your nose and mouth, along with all the marks he leaves along your body.

Otter Harvey who has such a rampant breeding kink that on "bad" days, he'd fuck you over and over until he's so drained he's lightheaded and overwhelmed, and he feels guilty for fucking you like that, even though he's still inside of your puffy cunt.

Otter Harvey who can't help but moan and whimper as he fucks into you, digging his nails into your hips as your pussy seems to suck him deeper, your walls clenching around him in a downright mean way as he bites and sucks anywhere he can get his mouth to.

Otter Harvey who often and loudly verbalizes how he wants to stuff you full right as he's about to cum, drilling the head of his cock harder into your spongy walls.

Otter Harvey who, when he gets jealous, will hold you down by your neck, or might even just hold you down by your hair, as he drills into you, harder than he normally would dare. His mouth turns downright filthy, spewing the nastiest words you'll ever hear in your life, as he hefts your leg over his shoulder.

Otter Harvey who can, will, and has spent hours buried with his face between your legs, looking up at you with those pretty eyes in search of your approval. He wants you to pull on his hair to guide him, wants you to pull until his scalp burns.

Otter Harvey who whines so damn pretty when you ride him, his cock kicking on your hand as he eyes roll back, his nails digging into your thighs. He mumbles whispered gibberish, which could almost be pleas, but are too garbled to fully make out.

Otter Harvey who will suck on your tits until you produce a few beads of milk, which he gratefully laps up and swallows like it's heaven on earth. Of course afterwards he gets anxious, wanting to make sure it's not galactorrhea, and wanting to make sure you're healthy.

Otter Harvey who would bend over backwards to make sure your happy, who would wait on your hand and foot so that you feel properly appreciated. He loves you, and knowing you love him back is all he needs.

FUCKING OTTER HARVEY IM GONNA RIDE HIM IN MY DREAMS TONIGHT AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

[haifoct]

Happy two months anniversary to Zhuo Yichen & Li Lun sex scene choke episode!

I wish I could say I was exaggerating or joking when I describe episode 23 of Fangs of Fortune as a sex scene between Zhuo Yichen and Li Lun.

And yet. 

No other moment in the series comes close to the sheer intimacy and strange sexual tension of the brutal, unapologetic beating Li Lun puts Zhuo Yichen through.

You’re filled with worry, awe, and guilty excitement as you watch it all unfold; they ensure that hurricane of conflicting emotions sets in motion inside your tight chest because they build it up almost the same way cdramas build up their kissing scenes sex scenes.

To truly appreciate the beauty of episode 23, we need to revisit episodes 6, 16, and 19. Each of these episodes offers an attempt at a fight just the tip and a promise.

"But first, I need to kill you, an even more evil thing."

"I choose for you to die."

Our precious rabid puppy Zhuo Yichen never misses a chance to jump Li Lun like his life depends on it (perhaps it does). He has so much tempter, especially when it comes to Li Lun. Meanwhile, our precious Li Lun meets that aggression with… well? 

In episode 6, Li Lun never truly fights Zhuo Yichen. Instead, he uses Ran Yi as both his blade and his shield before happily escaping, leaving everyone in shambles.

In episode 16, Li Lun mostly dodges Zhuo Yichen’s attacks. First, he stops Zhuo Yichen’s sword with just his fingers, then he seems determined to kill Pei Sijing right on the spot until Zhuo Yichen joins the fight to protect her. Li Lun’s usual cold and calm rage shifts into a cheeky smile, and another flirtatious promise leaps from his tongue.

"Zhuo Yichen, don’t forget. At the final moment, your Cloud Light Sword can kill him."

In episode 19… I have so much to say about this episode, actually, but almost none of it involves Zhuo Yichen and Li Lun. That said, I really enjoy Zhuo Yichen’s decision to stay after casting a glance at Li Lun’s domineering presence.

I just think they’re very pretty, look at them.

Zhu Yan and Zhuo Yichen barely let Li Lun breathe. Attack after attack, and yet none of the blades directed at him hurt as much as the words that pierce his heart. Zhu Yan sets Li Lun on fire again—normal people things—and the last words Li Lun utters before forever losing the human form he developed are a desperate promise and a plea.

"You will kill him one day. Kill Zhao Yuanzhou."

(Quick off topic, I love how troubled Zhuo Yichen looks when he learns about Li Lun literally burning alive, lol) 

All those beautiful moments leading up to episode 23 shows us that Li Lun never wanted to kill or hurt Zhuo Yichen. He wanted Zhuo Yichen. As his companion in revenge against the one person who hurt them both.

Then episode 23 happens.

For happy shippers like myself, it literally starts with Wen Xiao losing her shit over Li Lun possessing Zhuo Yichen, with Li Lun's theme playing during Zhuo Yichen's entrance, and with Tian Jiarui speaking in the voice that Yan An is using for Li Lun. Truly a feast! But that’s not what we’re discussing here.

That damn fight, that damn sex scene.

The only way for me to describe it, it's so personal, and they don’t even know each other long enough to be personal. 

Li Lun promises to Zhuo Yichen while also taunting him, so annoyed by this loud human screaming for Bai Jiu. Makes sure Zhuo Yichen knows it’s him, Li Lun who is s pinning him down into the ground, towering over his body, topping him, with hand on his throat.  

"So noisy. Look closely. I'm not your Xiao Jiu. I'm Li Lun."

What the hell do I know about whether it was a spiteful remark, mirroring Zhuo Yichen’s promises, mocking him, provoking him, or if it was Li Lun’s cold and calm rage speaking, a grievance and pain within him, because this human he had been nothing but kind to dared to help Zhu Yan set him on fire again. Perhaps it was both; perhaps he meant it; perhaps he changed his mind later in the episode and refused to kill unconscious Zhuo Yichen, walking off and letting fate decide whether Zhuo Yichen lives. Perhaps he didn't, simply wanted Zhuo Yichen alive. (*turns him into a demon <3 bc fate can go and fuck itself i guess, Li Lun is fate.*)

The second Truth Eyes hit Zhuo Yichen’s, round, big, and determined eyes, he jumps Li Lun again like a rabid puppy, not a single fuck given about the simplest of truths that if he hurt’s Li Lun, he will hurt Xiao Jiu. 

I cannot lie here. Despite my heart ripping itself apart for Zhuo Yichen, when his dearest friend, his dearest light, his dearest Cloud Light Sword gets broken—over and over again on each rewatch—there’s something so satisfying about watching Li Lun take this fight more seriously than in any of their previous encounters.

It is a gesture of goodwill to keep Zhuo Yichen alive. All those times before. This time? He will show this human his place, and make his pants creamy.

Li Lun not only physically tortures Zhuo Yichen but also psychologically when he breaks Cloud Light Sword in half with needles Bai Jiu carries around (Wouldn’t it be fun if those needles remained from the time when Bai Jiu was supposed to seal Zhu Yan’s touch?)

They're so gorgeous, what the hell?

What a fun human to toy with.

My thoughts get way too explicit after this, and I genuinely can’t find any heterosexual explanation for this.

I see your vision, insane director.

Make sure you kiss your knuckles before you punch me in the face.

I guess Li Lun likes to take Zhuo Yichen from behind.

and watch him struggle at the mercy of his hands as Zhuo Yichen desperately grabs onto them, while Li Lun is unable to resist looking at that unfairly pretty face, luxuriating in every change of emotion he chokes out of him. How beautiful Zhuo Yichen looks then, fighting for his and his dearest friend's life?

What sound does that divine statue make being knocked down, trampled, and trapped in dust? This desperate, fun human, will he get himself up? For his friend that believes in him, trusts him?

"Don't waste your effort. My inner core has been inside Bai Jiu's body for many days. My soul has already solidified, making it much stronger than Bai Jiu's. His soul is nothing but a weak ant compared to mine, which can be easily crushed by me."

I guess Li Lun, then, likes to turn all of Zhuo Yichen to look at his face, again; to have Zhuo Yichen look at him. So Zhuo Yichen comes knowing exactly who fucked him, or whatever Li Lun promised him earlier. 

Listen.

There's a BTS clip of that iconic shot: of Li Lun hiding from those big, round, unyielding, and unafraid eyes by covering Zhuo Yichen's face with his giant hand, eclipsing the light; of Zhuo Yichen biting him, we all know it. And all I can do is wildly gesture at it, at their hands, and rest my case here.

I love Zhuo Yichen and Bai Jiu both biting into the wood to free themselves too much to not mention it again. 

That hopeless wish to save Bai Jiu is the only thing that keeps encouraging Zhuo Yichen to fight against that demonic strength, that so very human body.

"Give Xiao Jiu back to me!"

"No. <3"

Humans and ants and divine statues are so amusing when they try to stand up as you crush them.

Letting Zhuo Yichen pierce his heart wasn’t even remotely part of Li Lun’s plans. What’s really fun to me here is disbelief and shock on both their faces. One offended, confused, and "How dare you kick Miette? Jail!"; the other confused, unwavering, hopeful. 

By episode 23, have surely learned two things that cannot be argued with:

If you bite Li Lun, he will bite harder.

Li Lun doesn't want Zhuo Yichen dead.

That punch in the throat made me audibly gasp the first time I watched this episode. Then I held my breath and released a relieved sigh. Li Lun was satisfied with simply toying with that awfully loyal and fascinating human. Perhaps all Li Lun ever wanted from that fight was a chance to touch that divine statue.

Obviously, I must remind you that the sex scene fight between Zhuo Yichen and Li Lun, unfolds as Wen Xiao and Zhao Yuanzhou share their own adorable almost-kiss scene, full of 300 years of yearning. Just saying, FoF is a perfect C-drama formula with a main couple and a second couple.

Cannot wait for insane director to make some bitter and hilarious references, much like how he ridiculed those supporting Gong Shangjue and Shangguan Qian by making a satire on them in Fangs of Fortune. But this time in Veil of Shadows.

GJM kicks his feet and giggles like Wang Xingyue as he makes Yan An and Tian Jiarui hold hands on the set of Veil of Shadows. His ship has sailed.

And so has mine.

Happy lunchen sex scene day, yay!

[kombuuuu]

Thinking ab Miles (42) going to his uncle’s place specifically when him n his s/o aren’t on good terms because his first reaction is going to be to blame himself and his room is just gonna remind him of how guilty he is

“Call them, man.”

“…”

“Miles.”

“Hm?”

“It’s been hours. Don’t you dare let them go to bed without being absolutely positive they aren’t questioning your love for them.”

“But-”

“No buts. The worst thing you can do is go to bed upset with each other.”

“Hey Ma…”

“Miles.”

The sudden cracking of his phone speaker dragged his gaze upward, looking to the skies through fogging windows in seek of solace, strength.

It was quiet, now. The conversation hadn’t even started before a pause halted it into null. He was nervous. And he didn’t know what to do about. And the goddamn skies weren’t answering.

“I—.. I don’t know how to—,” His voice cracked and broke, thick hurt coating his throat. ‘Don’t swallow honey, it’ll get stuck.’

“Miles, please.”

You called out to him, and he swears to the very Moon he’s begging to that he could hear that plea without the speakers. That if you were to ever say his name in such a way, he wouldn’t need the phone to hear it. He’d know—, and he’d run to you like he wished to now.

“Come home.”

Your sullen voice trembled, and he could almost see the tears paint your cheeks. The image of you, in pain of his causing — it was enough to bring a man to his knees. To shred him of his dignity and make him beg for forgiveness.

A dignity he never quite had. He has been begging for you since he first met your eye.

“I will, baby, I will.”

“Please, Miles. I don’t wann’ be alone.”

“Oh, Chiquita.”

He’d make it up to you. He’d buy you enough flowers to last you a lifetime, to outlive your beating heart and flourish along the grave your lifeless body rest in. He’d ruin you for any other man. Raise your standards so high maybe you’d leave him for someone better than him.

And yet, he’d already seared his initials into the space in your heart. Made himself comfortable resting against your lungs and lulling himself to sleep with the breaths you took in.

Maybe you’d leave him for a better man —,

But no man would be better for you than him.

“I’m coming home. Just wait for me, yeah?”

“Yeah..” You mumbled, and he could hear the exhaustion in your voice, the promise of sleep and sound of his comfort creating a calmness after the storm.

He grabbed his keys, basically jogging to the exit and all but ripping the door open. Making eye contact with Aaron, the man gave a curt nod and reassuring smile, something that Miles returned, before he was out the door and halfway down the steps.

“I’ll be there soon, baby, okay?”

“Don’t hang up?”

lI won’t, promise.”

[vividiana]

chapter 4

a/n: here it is, The Lore Chapter 👀 I couldn’t figure out how to make the formatting work on tumblr, so this post only includes the first scene (below the cut because of major spoilers) and you can read the rest on AO3 🧡

pairing: Astarion x f!Durge · word count: 4.8k

rating: M for now, will change to E (18+)

tags: modern AU, witness protection, strangers to friends to lovers (see AO3 for a more exhaustive list)

summary: It’s been over a year since Eve had to uproot her life and assume a new identity—anything to distance herself from the past she wishes she could forget. When an erratic, if oddly charming, newcomer stumbles into her place of work, she recognizes something familiar within him and the two can’t seem to stay away from each other. But Eve is not the only one running from her past.

An alternative, modern take on the Dark Urge x Astarion romance, filled with friendship, secrets, healing, and ABBA.

chapter-specific cw: nightmares, flashbacks, mentions of past domestic violence, mentions of murder, victim blaming, hate comments

previous chapter · read on AO3 · dividers

The judge clears his throat before addressing the defendant:

“Enver Gortash, the jury having found you guilty of murder in the first degree, trafficking in firearms, forced labor…”

Eve’s throat tightens as she listens to the list of charges, wondering how much shorter it could have been, had she found the courage to act sooner. Had she not been a coward, a mad dog adoring the hand yanking at its leash.

She is safe now, or so they keep telling her. Tucked away in a different building, her back aching against the plastic chair as she watches the proceedings through a livestream.

But despite the physical distance between them, she still feels Enver’s grip on her, as if at any moment he could reach through the screen and drag her right back to rock bottom.

Eve feels outside herself, the judge’s monotonous voice fading into the background. She doesn’t want to focus on the charges, doesn’t want to think about how many of them she was complicit in, how many she could have prevented. Instead, she fixates on the blurry silhouette of the man she fell in love with all those years ago—the first person who made her feel understood. 

The first person who made her feel disposable.

The judge eventually reaches the end of the list, his tone assuming a finality that snaps Eve back to the present.

“...I hereby remand you to the custody of the Metropolitan Correctional Center where you will be held, pending sentencing.”

She watches, transfixed, as two officers approach Enver, prompting him to stand up before closing a pair of metal handcuffs around his wrists—a sight she is sure she’ll be replaying in her mind for years. But before Eve can begin to parse the disarray of emotions that surge in her chest like a tidal wave, Enver’s manic laughter tears forcefully through her thoughts. He struggles against the guards, barking out a plea that feels more like a command:

“Let me talk to her. Let me fucking talk to her.”

Eve grasps her thigh, nails sinking into the flesh as her eyes trace his movements in the courtroom, not daring to blink.

As they escort him away, he spots the camera and looks straight into it, the sinking feeling gripping at Eve’s chest suddenly unbearable. 

He is close now, so close that despite the low video quality, she can see the umber of his eyes, the thin line of the tattoo running down his throat. She swallows hard, reaching up to tug at her turtleneck, pulling it up higher.

“I know you’re watching this.” There is a sick sort of fondness in his tone as he addresses her directly. “After everything I’ve done for you, everything we’ve built together, you can’t even look me in the eye when you fuck me over?”

Gavel against wood. 

“Silence!” 

A commotion.

The guards manage to drag him away from the camera, but there is nothing they can do to stop the vitriol spewing from his lips.

“You think you have the moral high ground, sweetheart? We both know what you’ve done. You might have fooled them all, but you can’t fool yourself, can you? I hope it eats away at you, you conniving little bitch!”

Eve gasps hard as she jolts awake.

Her chest rising and falling frantically, she sits up and looks around the room, noticing the details that begin to ground her. 

Instead of the hard plastic chair she feels the softness of the mattress, the bedding gentle against her skin. Her eyes trace the swirling shapes of wildflowers that adorn her comforter as she takes a deep breath.

She is here. Now.

The trial is long over. It’s Saturday morning and she’s working the closing shift. There was a party last night and–

Fuck.

Eve groans lightly as she remembers driving Astarion home, and the subsequent state of her car. She needs to deal with that as soon as possible, before the heat rises back again after the night. She gets out of bed, the lingering spectre of her dream drowned out by the urgency of the task ahead.

(read the rest on AO3)

taglist: @roguishcat @arzen9 @nerdalmighty ✨ (lmk if you'd like to be added!)

next chapter · my masterlist

[waitingandwishing]

arcane viktor x reader/oc???

little blurb for something i've been writing???

“Let’s go over it again,” Grayson said firmly, her sharp eyes scanning the cluttered room. She adjusted her posture, her authoritative demeanor unwavering despite the disarray.

“You have to believe me. I didn’t do this,” Jayce pleaded, his voice cracking slightly as he gestured helplessly at the mess around him. His desperation was palpable, a raw plea that hung in the charged air.

Grayson folded her arms, her brows knitting together in a frown. “Relax, kid. We know it was a break-in, but that doesn’t explain this.” Her gaze swept over the piles of unregistered items and mechanisms that didn’t belong in an ordinary lab. “There’s a lot of restricted items here, and I don’t see any permits. You wanna tell me how you got them?”

“Hey, hey! Be careful with that, please,” Jayce shouted suddenly, his panic redirected toward an enforcer who carelessly lifted a wooden beam off one of the blue crystals. The beam teetered dangerously before the officer set it aside, eliciting a sigh of relief from Jayce.

“I believe someone should have said that earlier,” Viktor commented dryly, his soft yet deliberate accent cutting through the tension as he turned away from the chalkboard. 

The chalk dust on his hands contrasted with his dark attire, and his sharp eyes swept the room. “What happened here?”

Jayce let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to ward off a headache. “Science, I guess,” he muttered, his tone both defensive and resigned.

“Last time I checked, science didn’t require illegal equipment,” Grayson shot back, her tone laced with skepticism. She pointed toward a particularly ominous-looking device nestled among the rubble.

“Nor was this approved by the Academy,” Viktor added, stepping closer. His limp was noticeable, but it didn’t diminish the air of authority he carried. “Who authorized your research?”

“It was an independent study… Who are you anyway?” Jayce asked, his tone shifting to irritation as he stared at the thin, pale man before him.

“I’m assistant to the Dean of the Academy,” Viktor replied coolly, his golden-brown eyes narrowing slightly, “Who it may serve you to remember is also head of the Council.” He leaned on his cane as he delivered the reminder. “He sent me here to ensure that anything dangerous is removed safely… Which, according to my list, includes you.”

“What?!” Jayce’s eyes widened in disbelief. “How am I dangerous?”

“Uh, that’s for the Council to decide,” Viktor said with a slight shrug, gesturing to an enforcer to move in. 

As the officer approached, Viktor’s attention shifted, his analytical gaze locking onto the chaos surrounding them. Something had caught his eye—a glint of metal among the debris.

Limping toward it, Viktor bent down as best he could, his thin fingers brushing against the cold surface of a small object. His breath hitched as he lifted it. ‘It can’t be…’

In his hands was a pocket watch, its metallic casing adorned with intricate filigree details. The center of the watch face displayed a celestial design, the deep blue background shimmering under the dim light. A radiant sun and crescent moon were etched delicately, their delicate rays intertwined in perfect harmony.

‘You’re like the moon, and I’m like the sun! Whenever I shine, everyone loves me! And whenever you shine, everyone thinks you’re beautiful!’ Viktor’s hand trembled slightly as he stared at the watch, memories flooding back. 

‘Old friend... It’s been years since I last saw you…’ His lips pressed into a thin line as he fought to suppress the emotions threatening to surface. ‘I wonder how you’ve been doing, mojí drahoušek…’

Sure, she'd had been known for stealing things. In fact, the whole reason she and Viktor met was because she had stolen something from a few people! But… Would she really dare to steal from Piltover?

Was it fate that they’d meet again? Viktor wasn’t sure if he should be happy or guilty for the fact that they might meet again.

Straightening as much as his body allowed, Viktor pocketed the watch carefully. His expression was unreadable, but his mind was racing, consumed by the past and the implications of finding such a thing here.

part 2 ig