#High Risk Behaviour

[senorboombastic]

Live Review: The Chats at Victoria Warehouse in Manchester 08 December 2024

Words: Andy Hughes Having opted for European city breaks for a number of years, it came as a surprise when my partner recently announced that she’d like to spend her birthday with The Chats. That is – as a punter watching them play the Victoria Warehouse in Manchester with her pals around her – rather than in their native Australia sharing a bottle of VB. It’s understandable though, following…

[journey-to-the-attic]

Holy shit that chronodae lore drop just made God so much more sinister. Why is he pretending to be an overseer? What did he do to the proto-angels? Is he FEEDING on the angels somehow?? What's his plan here?!?!?

hahaha.... well who knows :)

[landologged]

GG, Norris

Pairing: lando × gf!reader

Genre: graphic smut, oral sex (m → f) under a desk ;), semi‑public/twitch risk, brat‑taming, dom!lando & mouthy reader, humiliation kink, breeding talk, dirty talk, possessive behaviour, consensual power play, established relationship

Description: Lando’s been a gremlin all day—yanking your hoodie strings, tossing socks, and chirping over you every chance he gets. When he goes live, you crawl beneath the rig and silence him with your mouth while thousands watch none the wiser. He tries to keep composure; you dismantle it. Stream ends, revenge flips to punishment, and somewhere between the threats and the afterglow he whispers the kind of promise that could ruin you in the best way.

notes: im not sorry, word count is 5k

Lando’s been insufferable all day—mouthing off with that cocky little smirk like he doesn’t deserve to be dropkicked down a flight of stairs. He kept poking at you—tugging your hoodie drawstring when you were mid-sip of coffee, talking over you just to mimic your voice, tossing socks at you from across the room like some feral child. And now, the little shit’s live on Twitch, backlit in RGB glow like some overgrown gamer gremlin, laughing with Max like they’re both not moments away from divine punishment.

You slink past his racing rig and stupid ergonomic chair, a silent predator in sweats and a tank top that’s just a bit too tight. The headset muffles the rest of the world for him—he doesn’t notice the shift in weight behind his desk, doesn’t register the flicker of your eyes or the deliberate arch of your brow as you crawl under the desk like you own the fucking thing. 

Max is saying something idiotic through the tinny headset—Lando’s wheezing, practically giggling, “Nahhh mate, I’d still smoke you even if you had DRS in bed.”

Instead of answering, you let your hand drift down, slow and mean, gliding from your own knee across the dark stretch of space beneath the desk until your fingertips graze his leg. He doesn't flinch—yet—too caught up in his smug little monologue to clock the shift. But then your palm flattens against the inside of his thigh, deliberate, claiming. Warmth bleeds through the cotton like ink in water, slow and spreading, and you dig in just enough to let him know you’re not here to be cute.  The laughter catches in his throat mid-sentence. His voice jumps a full octave, cracking like a teenager's as he fumbles, tries to swallow the noise back before Max notices– which he fails.

Max pauses. “What was that?”

Lando’s legs stiffen beneath your hand. You feel the tension coil all the way up to his hip, a ripple of sheer panic trying to mask the unmistakable pulse already starting to throb under your fingers. His joggers do little to hide the way he’s swelling, thickening, betraying every ounce of self-control he thought he had.

“Uh—a hiccup.” Lando's laugh is sudden and high-pitched, edged with panic. His hand instinctively drops to his lap but stops short, unsure what to do with it. “I think I’m choking—on water. Gimme a sec.”

You hum, low and deliberate, a sound more vibration than voice, letting it roll up from your chest and sink straight into the fabric between his legs. Your mouth opens against the outline of him, plush lips parting just enough to press—not a kiss, not quite. Just heat. You drag your mouth along the length of him through his joggers, every inch a slow, possessive claim, like you’re mapping him out for future destruction. Tongue sliding flat, letting the fabric soak it up, just damp enough to cling to the shape of him.

His cock twitches, eager and betrayed, shifting under the thin material like it’s trying to reach you, to meet you halfway. You don’t speed up. Oh no, you slow down, mouthing him like he’s a lollipop you’re too mean to unwrap. Teeth graze, barely, just enough for nerves to spark awake and skin to goosebump beneath the cotton. The heat of your breath sinks in like a bruise, and when you do it again—open-mouthed, tongue curling under the head through the joggers like you’re licking sugar off the skin of an apple—he breaks. His breath punches out in a strangled hitch, hips jolting forward like the instinct’s not even his own. His legs tense around you, thighs stiffening against your shoulders, not to push you away, never that—but to brace, to survive whatever the fuck this is turning into.

You can feel the way he’s trying to keep still, failing spectacularly. The way his knees tremble just slightly, muscles locking like a man standing on the edge of something deep and slick and inevitable. And you haven’t even gotten his pants down yet.

“...You good?” Max again.

“Y-Yeah. Yeah, just—hydrate or die-drate, innit?” His accent falters on the last syllable as you tug his waistband down, just enough. Just enough for your nails to dig in a little, for your lips to ghost over skin that’s already twitching with anticipation.

You look up, watching his face from the shadows beneath the desk, the glow from the monitor painting him in sinful outlines—blue along his jaw, red flickering in his eyes like he’s caught fire from the inside. His lips are parted, plush and trembling, his tongue darting out to wet them like that’ll help him speak normally through the chaos boiling in his bloodstream. His eyes are glassy, lashes fluttering fast, and his jaw is clenched so tight you can see the tension twitch at the hinge, like he's physically holding himself together with spit and prayer.

He’s trying to look normal—like this is still just a stream, just banter, like he isn’t seconds from sliding out of his own skin. But he’s fucking awful at it. That smug little posture is gone, replaced with a boy unraveling in real time, held together by a desk and a prayer and your mouth hovering dangerously close to the one thing he absolutely cannot control.

He mutes himself with a frantic click of the hotkey.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” he hisses, voice low, shredded, already fraying at the edges. His breath fans hot over his mic. 

You smirk against him. “Keep playing, Norris.”

Then you sink your mouth around him, slow and possessive, and he keens—silent, jaw clenched hard as his head drops back against the chair.

Yeah. He’s not making it out of this stream alive.

You hollow your cheeks, tongue dragging slow and deliberate—like you’ve got all the time in the world and none of it belongs to him. Lando’s hips twitch, one foot knocking into the desk leg with a soft thud that rattles his fancy mic arm. Panic flashes across his face, barely contained, the kind that screams this is the best and worst idea we’ve ever had and I’m gonna cum in thirty seconds and Max is gonna hear it live.

“You alright, bro?” Max’s voice filters through the headset again, casual, cruelly unaware.

“Yup. Peachy.” Lando’s voice is an octave too high. “Just, stretching.”

“Sounded like your desk kicked back, mate.”

You almost laugh, the sound curling at the back of your throat, smothered by the weight of him on your tongue. He’s heavy, twitching, a pulse stuttering beneath the sensitive skin you're dragging your mouth along with surgical precision. But there's no room for giggles—not when he’s splintering in your hands like this, breaking down second by second.

His grip on the armrests is brutal, white-knuckled like the chair might fly off into orbit if he doesn’t anchor himself. Fingers twitching, veins standing out on the backs of his hands like cords about to snap. He looks like he’s bracing for a fucking crash landing, every muscle drawn tight, thighs trembling against your shoulders, breath locked high in his chest like he's afraid if he exhales, he’ll cum right there.

And his neck—oh, his fucking neck. It's flushed, blooming red like spilled wine, the color crawling up from beneath the loose collar of his hoodie and painting its way up the column of his throat to his jawline, delicate and obscene. Like someone hit him with shame and turned the heat to maximum. It’s arousal in high-def, the kind that leaves no mystery—just raw, visual confession. Every time your mouth moves, the flush deepens, his head tips back a little more, and you can see the exact moment he forgets what his own name is.

He unmutes for a second—rookie mistake. “So yeah, like, turn three’s actually—” inhale, hiss, muted again.

Your teeth graze just enough to make his whole body jolt. You can feel the curse bubbling in his throat but he swallows it back with the desperation of a man on the brink. He’s trying to look normal, trying to hold a conversation while his girlfriend is under the desk sucking the literal soul out of him. You feel the curse rise up in his throat, bubbling hot and mean behind clenched teeth. But he swallows it—forces it down with the kind of restraint that hurts to watch. He’s holding onto that last shred of composure like it’s a lifeline, trying to sit still, trying to keep talking, keep nodding, keep pretending this is just another stream.

You see it all—feel it all. The twitch of his stomach, the locked tension in his knees, the way his chest is rising faster than before like he’s run a lap with his mic still on. He’s dying. Glorious, twitching, overstimmed death-by-girlfriend, right there on Twitch dot TV.

Max is talking about tire strategies now. You could not care less.

Lando’s trembling like a leaf in a wind tunnel, one hand inching under the desk like maybe, maybe he can tap out, call a time-out, beg for mercy. But you swat his hand away, sink deeper onto him, and he fucking chokes.

You let up, just a little, lips slick, your voice hushed and syrupy sweet. “Something wrong, babe?”

“Y—You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You grin up at him. “Good. Maybe Max’ll do your eulogy.”

And then you go back down, faster this time, twisting your wrist just enough to make him arch off the chair like he’s been tasered. His breathing’s fucked—shallow, staccato, gasping like he’s drowning in it. Every exhale sounds like it costs him something, punched out in ragged little hiccups, broken up by the frantic clench of his abs as he tries—fails—to keep still. His thighs are shaking now, twitching against your shoulders, his hips stuttering forward helplessly every time your throat flexes around him.

You feel him throb against your tongue, thick and twitching, precum slicking the back of your throat as he tips further into sensory collapse. He’s close. Too close. He knows it. You know it. His body’s already betraying him, every nerve lighting up like someone tripped the emergency alarm.

He mutes again—fingers slapping the hotkey with blind desperation—and croaks out a whisper through clenched teeth, like he’s physically fighting his own orgasm just to speak. “You’re actually evil. You’re—fuck—this is—oh my god.”

Your nails dig into the skin above his knees. You want him to feel every inch of it. Humiliated. Helpless. Falling apart on stream with that good-boy face, talking strategy with Max while your mouth is swallowing his soul inch by inch. He wanted to be smug. Wanted to sass. So, he got what he deserved, streaming in front of thousands with that innocent little “I’m just gaming, guys” voice while his cock’s buried in your throat and his world’s turning to static.

Max keeps talking.

Lando continues spiraling. You, however, keep going, until his legs are trembling like Bambi’s on ice, until he clamps a fist over his own mouth and stifles a moan that might have gotten him permanently banned off Twitch.

“Fuck—fuck, I’m gonna—”

You don't stop. Of course you don't. His thighs are tensing around you like a vice, breath coming in ragged, clipped gasps, and all you do is suck harder—deeper. You flatten your tongue, hollow your cheeks, twist your wrist at the base just enough to grind against that sweet spot, right where your lips meet your hand, and that's it. 

His whole body seizes. One sharp inhale—then silence. His jaw drops open, eyes wide and glassy, pupils blown to hell, and the only sound he manages is this strangled, high-pitched gasp like his entire soul is getting yanked out through his dick.

He comes hard. Violently. No buildup left, no warning, no cool-off—just one catastrophic surge that hits so fast it nearly knocks his headset clean off. The mic light’s still blinking red, but it's not picking up anything coherent—just the wet, broken gasps of a man short-circuiting live on stream. His hips buck once, twice, a desperate, instinctive jerk that punches him further down your throat. His hand scrabbles at the edge of the desk like he's trying to grip onto reality. He doesn’t make a sound—and that silence is deafening.

You feel it—every pulse, every twitch, the thick, hot spurt flooding your mouth like his body’s trying to drain itself in one brutal release. You swallow around it, greedy and unrelenting, and he whimpers. Honest to god, a full-body shiver rips through him, like you just unplugged something vital and he’ll never reboot the same again.

When it's over, he slumps. Muted. Boneless. Useless.

“…You okay, Lando?” Max asks.

Lando clears his throat. “Just finished.”

There’s a pause.

“…The race?” Max says, confused.

Lando closes his eyes. “Yeah. That.”

You lick your lips and crawl back out from under the desk, smug as hell, like you didn’t just commit several crimes beneath the camera frame. You lean in, peck his cheek, and whisper, “Next time, don’t throw your sock at me.”

He exhales like he’s seen god. Or you. Same thing, really.

He shuts down the stream like he’s defusing a bomb—mouse click too loud, movements too stiff, the awkward silence after Max’s “alright, catch you later, bruv” hanging in the room like smoke. The second OBS fades out and the little red dot of "Live" disappears from the corner of his screen, Lando leans back in the chair with the slowness of someone trying very, very hard not to look like he just got soul-snatched under his own desk on the main stage of the internet.

His head rolls toward you.

That look of ungodly levels of boyish spite. The kind that comes from being publicly humbled in the most private way possible.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” he says, voice rough, lazy, dragging over gravel and sin. His eyes track you like you’re prey. “Think you’re clever, crawling under my desk like that, nearly got me banned.”

You smile. Innocent. Shrug like, what, me?

And that’s apparently the wrong answer. Lando stands up so fast his chair screeches against the floor, and you don’t even have time to register the chaos before his fingers are digging into your hips and he’s spinning you around, walking you back, back, back until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed and—

You drop like a rock.

He follows, covering you in one smooth motion like a storm front rolling in, all hot breath and twitchy hands and revenge written across his grin.

“You wanna be a brat?” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded, already undoing the hoodie you stole from his closet like he’s got a personal vendetta against it. “Then you’re going to get treated like one.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you tease, breath hitching as he peels the hoodie off and tosses it somewhere across the room like it insulted his whole bloodline.

“I’m a victim, actually.” He pins your wrists down, pushes his knee between your thighs and forces them apart, slow and deliberate. “Live on camera. Absolutely violated. Twitch chat saw me ascend.”

“They only saw your face.”

“And you saw god. So now it’s your turn.”

You try to sass something back—I already did the work or you’re welcome or something equally stupid—but he cuts you off with a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, no finesse, just need—raw and immediate. He bites your bottom lip hard enough to make you gasp, then chases that sound into your mouth like he’s trying to steal it. It’s messy, greedy, spit-slicked and heady, full of consequences you feel before you even fully register them. His tongue slides against yours, fast, dirty, dominant, like he’s fucking your mouth just to shut you up.

Your thoughts scatter like coins dropped down a storm drain. You barely register the way his hands move until they’re already on you—fingers sliding down your arms in a slow drag that makes your skin light up, trailing heat to your wrists, your sides, your hips. Then he grips. Not gentle. Claiming. Thumbs digging in just above the curve of your ass, yanking you into place with an ease that makes your breath stutter.

He adjusts your body like you’re just a piece of the equation he’s solving. Angles your legs wider. Tilts your pelvis. Lines your hips with his like a weapon locking into its holster. Every motion says mine. Every shift says you’re not getting away.

“No escaping this one,” he mutters against your mouth, already rutting into you like the world’s ending and it’s somehow your fault. “Gonna make you fucking feel it.”

And then he’s rutting into you, grinding hard, slow, mean, the thick line of his cock dragging against you through too much fabric, not nearly enough friction. His hips roll like he’s trying to fuck the regret out of you before he’s even inside, like it’s your fault the world’s on fire and he’s the only one allowed to burn you down.

His hand slides down between you like he’s tuning a high-stakes radio, all intent and zero patience, fingers greedy as sin and twice as confident. He doesn’t hesitate, just slides them under the waistband like he owns the access, the privilege—and fuck, he finds it instantly. Wet. Soaked. You feel the shift in him the moment he registers it—his whole expression flickering into something darker, meaner, more satisfied.

“Ohhh,” he purrs, dragging the word out like he’s tasting it, that fucking grin spreading across his face like oil in water. A menace. A brat. A smug little demon who just found gold under your panties. “Look who’s not so innocent now, huh?”

You scowl up at him, even though it takes everything in you not to arch into the touch. Your breath catches the moment his fingers glide between your folds, slow and maddening, like he’s just checking inventory. Like he’s confirming, with smug fingers and a smirk, that you’re soaked through and so goddamn ready it’s embarrassing.

“I was innocent,” you snap, biting the inside of your cheek to hold composure, “until you started acting like a fucking gremlin all day.”

He doesn't even blink—just grins wider, proud and wicked. “I am a gremlin,” he says, dipping just the tip of one finger in, a slow, cruel tease that makes your thighs twitch. His eyes are locked on yours, watching every flicker of reaction with sick delight, like this is his favorite game and he’s already ten moves ahead. “But you—you crawled under the desk, babe. You woke the demon up. You knew what you were doing.”

“I was avenging myself. It was emotional warfare.”

He laughs—really laughs, head tossed back for a second before he looks down again, still grinning but now it's dark, calculated. “Yeah? We’ll see about that, darling.”

And then he pushes in—two fingers, deep and sudden, no warning, no teasing, just a hard, unapologetic thrust that knocks the air right out of your lungs. The stretch is immediate, obscene, that thick press opening you up so fast your body has no time to think, only react. You gasp, sharp and strangled, hips jerking up into his hand like you’ve been electrocuted. Your nails sink into his arm on instinct, clutching like he’s the only solid thing keeping you from short-circuiting completely. Muscles flutter around his fingers, slick and clenching, already threatening to pull him deeper, to take more, even as your brain tries to catch the fuck up.

“Oh—fuck—Lando—”

“That's the one.” He curls his fingers just so, smirking down at you like a man who just found nuclear launch codes in his back pocket. “You sound so much cuter when you’re not trying to be a little shit.”

You shoot him a glare, trying to form something savage and witty to bite back with, but all that comes out is a broken whimper as he starts pumping his fingers in and out, fast, obscene, squelching sounds already filling the room like he’s making a fucking smoothie with you. You slap a hand over your mouth, scandalized.

“Oh no you don’t,” he growls, grabbing your wrist and pinning it beside your head. “You made me suffer silently on stream. Now you’re gonna sing for me.”

“Y-You’re insane,” you pant, legs spreading wider without meaning to, traitorous body arching off the bed into his hand like a slutty heat-seeking missile.

“Yeah,” he agrees easily, thumb flicking your clit now in tight, fast circles, the way he knows makes you go from sassy to needing an exorcism in under thirty seconds. “You made me come so hard I hit a Windows error sound. You don’t get to talk shit.”

You try. You really try to keep up the banter, to sass something, anything—but he thrusts his fingers in deeper, and your voice cracks into a moan that embarrasses you on a spiritual level. Like the neighbors are gonna know kind of level.

“Thaaaat’s better,” he murmurs, face hovering just over yours, warm breath brushing your cheek. “That’s my good girl. What happened to all that backtalk, huh?”

You hiss through your teeth, grinding against his hand now like a bitch in heat, shameless. “Y-You’re cheating—using your—skills—”

He chuckles, so cocky it hurts. “Uh-huh.”

He pulls his fingers out just as your legs start shaking, cruel bastard that he is, and you let out a noise that could get you arrested in three countries. He sucks those fingers into his mouth, exaggerated, obscene, humming like you’re fine wine and he’s a connoisseur.

Then he’s sliding his boxers down, slow and casual like he’s got all the time in the world—like his cock isn’t flushed dark and aching, already rock fucking hard, already glistening at the tip with precome that beads thick and lazy along the curve of him. It bobs up against his stomach as the fabric clears it, twitching with every heartbeat, a full display of just how wrecked he still is and just how far from finished.

You can’t stop staring. Can’t help it. The way he’s thick and veiny, that curve you know too well, the flushed red of his tip already wet enough to make your mouth water—it’s mean, the way your body reacts without permission, clenching tight like it’s starving for him. Your thighs shift, instinctual and desperate, a slow rub for friction he hasn't even allowed yet.

“What?” he says, tone light, mock-innocent, voice still gravel from groaning your name minutes ago. His hand wraps around the base of his cock and gives it a lazy stroke, slow enough to show off, smearing his own slick over the shaft while his eyes dare you to break. “You gonna apologize yet?”

He punctuates it with a little flick of his wrist—just enough to make a drop of precome slide down the underside, thick and slow.

“Never,” you spit. “Die mad about it.”

Your voice is sharp, but your cunt is soaked, needy, betraying every ounce of sass with a slick heat that clings to him as he shifts closer. He just laughs—low, smug, dangerous—like he’s already decided you’ll be swallowing those words in moans.

Then he lines himself up. His hand wraps around the base of his cock, guiding it down between your thighs with excruciating slowness. The head drags along your folds, thick and pulsing, smearing you open with the kind of pressure that makes your back arch off the bed on reflex. It’s not even in yet—not really—but your whole body shudders, already anticipating the stretch, the slide, the ruin.

“Oh,” he grins, cockhead nudging your soaked entrance, hips rolling forward just enough to catch—not push, not yet, just press. That dangerous little tease of what's coming. “I plan to.”

And he grinds it there, circling slow, obscene, just enough to coat himself in you. Just enough to make your breath stutter and your legs fall open wider, helplessly, hungrily, like your body’s given up on pride entirely. Your clit’s aching from the friction, nerves lighting up with every teasing pass of his swollen tip.

He watches you squirm beneath him, his grin sharpening like a blade. “Hope you’re ready to scream that apology when I’m buried in your guts.”

And then—he pushes.

Slow.

So fucking slow. Not even a thrust—just pressure, the barest push of the head breaching you, thick and deliberate, like he’s forcing your body to recognize him all over again. Like he’s marking every nerve ending with the stretch. Your mouth drops open but nothing comes out—just breath. Just need.

He’s watching your face the whole time, drinking in every flicker of it—your brows twitching, lips parting, that helpless little tremble that crawls up your spine when your body realizes what’s happening. That he’s really doing this. Slow-fucking you like a punishment. Not to be kind. To hurt you in the best fucking way.

The head of his cock pops past the tight ring of resistance, and your whole body jolts like a live wire’s been jammed up your spine. He hisses through his teeth at the way you clench, how fucking wet you are, how you grip him like you don’t want him to leave.

“Ohhh, f-fuck—look at that,” he groans, barely able to speak through the pressure. “She’s pulling me in already. What a fucking slut.”

Then he sinks in another inch—slow, torturous, dragging the thick weight of him against walls already fluttering in anticipation. You gasp, toes curling, nails digging into the sheets like you can anchor yourself to something, anything, before he breaks you. Every ridge, every vein along his shaft feels like it’s scraping against your sanity in slow-motion.

“God, you're tight,” he growls, voice frayed at the edges, forehead resting against yours now, sweat already gathering at his hairline. “You feel that? Every inch, baby. You asked for this.”

And still—he doesn’t thrust.

He feeds it to you, inch by aching inch, until you're stretched wide, stuffed full, practically shaking beneath him. Your cunt spasms around him, greedy and desperate, and the noise you make—high, cracked, needy—goes straight to his fucking ego.

“Fuck, you’re gonna break,” he whispers, voice all grit and glory. “Should I make it worse?”

And then—he slams forward.

One brutal thrust, all the way in, balls flush against you, the sound of skin meeting skin loud and filthy as it echoes through the room. Your scream is instant. He grins like the devil who just cashed a bet.

“Good,” he growls, pulling back just enough before hammering in again, harder. “Let’s see how long you last.”

Your scream barely fades before he’s thrusting again, harder this time, fucking you with that brutal rhythm that says he’s not pacing himself—he’s taking you. His cock slams into you again and again, thick and slick and relentless, dragging a fresh cry out of your throat every time his hips smack against yours.

And he’s talking now—low, filthy, breathless filth right into your ear, every word rough and ragged and soaked in something feral.

“Fuck—you feel that?” he grits out, his hips stuttering just enough to grind that thick cockhead right up against your cervix. “You’re milking me. Gonna make me come in you like it’s fucking biological.”

You claw at his back, eyes rolling, mind fogged with nothing but sensation—his cock splitting you open, heavy balls smacking your ass, every thrust punching your thoughts out through your mouth in gasped curses and broken moans.

He grabs your jaw, forces your gaze back to him. Eyes locked.

“Nah—look at me,” he pants, sweat dripping from his temple, lips wet, voice shaking. “Gonna make you mine for real.”

Then his grip tightens, hand splayed wide over your lower belly like he’s feeling himself from the outside, like he wants to watch his cock bulge under your skin.

“Gonna breed you,” he snarls. “Fuck a baby into you. You hear me?”

You whimper, thighs locked around his hips, cunt spasming around him like your body’s already begging for it—please, fill me, mark me, ruin me.

“I’ll fucking marry you,” he groans, burying himself to the hilt, holding there, twitching deep inside you. “Swear to god. Put a ring on your finger and a kid in your belly.”

Then he pulls back and pounds in again—once, twice, three savage thrusts—wet, deep, loud—and you feel it, that telltale twitch, that low growl in his chest, the way his abs seize against your stomach.

He’s close.

“Gonna fucking fill you up,” he growls, voice raw, ragged, forehead pressed to yours. “You’ll feel it for days—my cum dripping down your thighs, stuck so deep inside you, it’s not going anywhere.”

And then—he breaks.

One final thrust, deep, forced so far into you your legs snap around him and your body locks down, clenching tight—

He roars your name, hips jerking, cock buried deep as he comes—thick, hot, endless. Spurting in waves, flooding your pussy with so much cum you feel it seeping out around him, warm and filthy and perfect.

“Fuckfuckfuck—take it, take all of it,” he groans, shivering against you, cock still twitching, still pumping as he rides it out, thrusting slow and shallow, like he’s grinding his claim into your womb.

His body trembles above yours, slick skin clinging, muscle taut then gone soft as he slumps forward, breath crashing into the crook of your neck. Not all the way gone, not yet—he gives one last lazy grind, a roll of his hips that makes you twitch and sigh against him, the pressure just enough to drag a whimper from your throat.

The comedown hits you both like a sucker punch made of glitter and gravity—one second he’s practically growling into your throat, the next he’s collapsed on top of you like a glorified space heater, sweaty, heavy, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like “fuckin’ deserved that, didn’t I…”

You wheeze under his weight. “You’re crushing me, Norris.”

“I’m post-orgasmic and vulnerable. Be gentle.”

“You just tried to breed me like a feral raccoon.”

“Yeah but emotionally?” he slurs, nuzzling his cheek into your collarbone like he’s recharging. “I’m a soft boy inside.”

You groan and reach up to push his sweat-damp curls out of his face. “Yeah, yeah, you are.”

[dailyglobalupdates]

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[fatherenthusiast]

holding hands isn’t enough. i want to drown in a swimming pool full of his .. genetic fluid.

[stil-lindigo]

COMMUNITY SUPPORT IN GAZA

isr*el has finally "agreed" to a ceasefire agreement. we'll see whether they'll actually abide by the terms, as history shows that the general trend of behaviour is that they agree and then continue to escalate and terrorise innocents in Gaza and Lebanon. but in this moment i'd like to share a few community funds. as well as donating to escape funds, please consider donating to these groups that shoulder the burden of rebuilding gaza's community.

1. The Sameer Project

provides shelter and support to high risk families, special needs children and adults and those with war injuries + chronic diseases.

--

2. Translating Falasteen x Sameer Project collaboration

provides food, water, diapers, milk and medical aid in support of various families in Gaza. These funds help continue to keep this project afloat and capable of providing for the families who depend on them.

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3. The Zaynab Project

focused on providing food, water, cash aid, children's mental support and orphan sponsorship. They distribute winter clothing, hygiene kits, and free medical attention.

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4. Merciful Hands Doctors

a donations-based clinic started by a Palestinian doctor living in Gaza in Sept 2024 to provide free medical attention those who need it.

[lias36912]

DP x DC prompt

Danny the new (unintentional) Gotham Rogue

Because of college, university or maybe a job offer, Danny is moving to Gotham. What he hadn't thought of at the time, is the high levels of air pollution and smog that block the view of the sky at all hours of the day. But he needs to see the night sky to satisfy his space obsession and he doesn't always have time to leave the city and with all the bats and birds around, he can't just fly above the smog blanket, without risking being discovered.

So he goes to Sam. She knows a thing or two about activism and can give him tips.

And Danny begins small.

But nothing changes.

So he goes a little bigger. Not much. Just a little to get noticed.

But this is Gotham. Who cares about a little smog? It's been like this for as long as they remember and they really have bigger problems don't they?

And so Danny goes bigger and bigger and at some point he crosses the thin line between normal activism and what is considered a Rogue in the eyes of the Gothamites.

For Danny this is normal activism still. Amity Park is a little weird, a little extreme for outsiders. Being liminal or half ghost screws with your sense of normal and hey, Danny just wants to bring attention to the smog problem.

At some point he meets Pamela Isley. Someone who is all for less smog in Gotham. Especially since some plants really need more sunlight and she just wants to make the world a little greener, you know?

So yeah. Danny has no idea that what he sees as normal is borderline Rogue behaviour in Gotham, even though he would just like to see the stars on a regular basis. Please and thank you.

[crowttore]

Genshin characters as ways animals court and mate

Welcome to another round of (hopefully) the weirdest biology lessons you'll ever receive. Essentially a shitpost, someone should take away my writing privileges. There could be better suited animals out there, I just chose from the ones I know. Some are reposts from my old blog, some are new.

Characters: Wriothesley, Dehya, Venti, Keqing, Kaeya, Xiangling, Neuvillette, Pantalone

Not seeing your fav character? Find more here

Tags: nsfw in the way a national geographic documentary is, there are no graphic details but proceed at your own discretion

Wriothesley - Acinonyx jubatus (Cheetah)

Regrettably, Wriothesley doesn't have as much time to see you as he'd prefer, seeing as he spends most of his time in the fortress. As such, he can be somewhat of a passionate and at times eager lover when he gets his hands on you. He takes pride in his physique and thoroughly enjoys when you're visiting and goes down to watch him train. Better yet if you see him win a match. Once he has you alone, he wastes no time getting close, his voice low and sultry as he asks about all that has transpired since he saw you last. His hands roam along your body as you try to answer, knowing full well nothing you say makes sense, heart swelling at the look in his eyes. It's fine, he'll ask again later when you're both relaxing with a cup of tea. Cheetahs are actually very straight-forward when it comes to reproduction. Males living in coalitions will sometimes fight for the right to mate. Females use a combination of vocal signals and urination to attract a partner, the male might also use urination to indicate his location. Once the pair meet, the male produces a series of sounds called the 'stutter-bark' which triggers female hormonal cascades and induces ovulation so the female is in prime condition for mating. Wriothesley could make a lot of people ovulate with his voice alone let's be honest.

Dehya - Orcinus orca (orca / killer whale)

You first notice that things have changed when Dehya starts inviting you along (only on jobs that are low risk, of course). Then you notice how her touch begins to change, what used to be simply grabbing your wrist to pull you back before a sumpter beast could trample you turns into a lingering hand at the small of your back or a thumb rubbing circles along the back of your hand as she doesn't let go. She's always been talkative with you, but at this point, there are so many layers to your communication that an outsider would have trouble following a conversation. Next, you realise that several in the Corps of Thirty recognise you as "The Flame-Mane's partner", something that only makes her smile and wrap an arm around your shoulder when you bring it up. "You don't seem to mind it". From there, she's in Sumeru City more often, dedicating her time there to you - especially if she can convince you to let her dress you up. Orcas are incredibly intelligent and have a very high level of social organisation. Pods are tightly knit but can split for a few weeks to months depending on conditions. Courtship behaviour typically includes vocalisation specific to the dialect of that clan (one organisational level above pods), play-like behaviour such as breaching the surface, and non-sexual physical touch. "Coerced mating" does not seem to appear in orcas, with one observed instance of a male (with the aid of its mother) attempting to kill a female's offspring to mate with her resulting in the female severely wounding the male and thus dissuading further attempts. Orcas have also been observed to... dress up.... by placing dead fish on their heads and swimming around like that.

Venti - Sepia apama (Giant cuttlefish)

This little charmeur knows exactly how to play the mating game despite competition being fierce. Not exactly imposing, people merely scoff when he cozies up to you. Sure, he has his hands all over you and his head making a bee-line towards your lap. But he's drunk. And oddly endearing in how gently he touches you, like you're something precious, his eyes almost shining when he looks at you. Gotta remember he's a poet as well, a few of his sweet words and it's impossible to resist going home with him. Giant cuttlefish males are very competitive and aggressive, with the largest ones being able to secure females. BUT smaller males, sometimes referred to as 'sneaker males', will wait for the larger male to be distracted and sneak past to mate. They've also been observed to change their colouring and hide their hectocotylus (think of it as a specialised penis-arm) to resemble a female and better hide.

Keqing - Hippocampus hippocampus (Short-snouted seahorse)

The Yuheng of the Liyue Qixing is, unsurprisingly, a busy young lady. However, that doesn't mean there's no time for frivolities. It's just a matter of adjusting your schedules, nothing a bit of planning can't handle. She's fond of inviting you for early morning walks, preferably bringing breakfast for a brief stop at the outskirts of Liyue Harbour. Of course, you notice that she starts asking for your opinion on a multitude of topics, most curiously when you've joined her for shopping and any compliment from your lips has a faint blush dusting her cheeks. Despite how independent she is, the closer you two become, the more comfortable she gets with trusting you to lighten her load. Absolutely adores coming home to you being all domestic. Short-snouted seahorses are extremely faithful to each other once they're a pair, even syncronising their reproductive stages to be fertile at the same time. The first time every day a pair meet, they perform a 'greeting' that typically lasts more than five minutes and consists of moving around together. Like all other seahorses, they are ovoviviparous, meaning the female has an ovipositor that she uses to deposit eggs into a pouch on the male's abdomen. The male carries the eggs until they are fully developed, at which point he goes into labour. Interestingly, a male in a secure pair is ready to receive eggs mere hours after labour without any negative health impact.

Kaeya - Pavo muticus (Green peafowl)

Kaeya is impossible. Between being quite the flirt and keeping everyone at arm's length, you well and truly have no idea what's going on. You think he always dresses up a little more nicely when he knows in advance you'll be there. You think he tenses a little less when it's your hand that brushes against his skin. You think he sounds a little more sincere when he invites you home. But that's the frightening part, you think a lot of things, but you don't know anything. Not until the day he looks a little worse for wear, makes no move to undress you after sitting down on the bed. He brings your hand to his cheek, guides your fingers to push his eyepatch off. You don't praise the beauty, instead opting to press a kiss to his eyelid. That's when he confesses to having only sought out your company and how he doesn't want to continue with things as they are. He wants more, even if it scares him. Green peafowl sets itself apart from the more commonly known Indian peafowl by not displaying lek behaviour (a lek is a gathering of males where they 'perform' for the attention of females that roam around). In the wild, young males have been primarily observed maintaining a harem, but because of conflicting observations, it is believed that while juvenile birds can gather in a harem, older birds form monogamous pairs. While the tail of a peacock is traditionally considered an ornament for attracting females, it is now also considered "honest signalling of fitness". A longer tail makes flight more difficult, and evidence points towards investment in tail growth happening at the expense of immune function. A bit like some unhealthy things humans are prone to partake in to enhance appeal.

Xiangling - Blattella germanica (German cockroach)

It probably comes as no surprise that Xiangling likes to surprise you with treats and meals. She takes great pride in making sure you're provided for and makes certain there's never a dull moment for your tastebuds. Maybe it's a little overwhelming at first, but don't worry, she'll learn your preferences for flavour combinations quickly. But more than anything, Xiangling loves being in the kitchen with you and seeing you add your own personal touch. Sure, she has a penchant for running all over the place, but there's no place like home. Blattella germanica males produce a sugary substance that they secrete from their back, offering it to females to keep them still long enough for copulation. This penchant for glucose led producers of pest controls to include it as bait, but as nature tends to, this has prompted a rise of glucose-aversion and a shift towards the sugary substance produced containing more complex sugars to distinguish the taste. Experimental little chefs.

Neuvillette - Torquigener albomaculosus (white-spotted pufferfish)

The kind, thoughtful, compassionate, awkward Iudex of Fontaine is the picture of "he's a little confused, but he's got the spirit." Neuvillette has no idea what to do with himself the first time he feels his heart tighten at your smile. Unfortunately, he's not exactly subtle, various romance novels suddenly popping up around his office... He tries everything, consults Furina (not a good idea, too many sweets), the melusine (better but still not great, aquatic flowers aren't that appealing on dry land), gifts you pure spring water with a taste description matches your personality in his mind (Wriothesley begged him to just invite you for tea instead and Neuvillette should have listened). It gets especially bad endearing when he asks you to accompany him for a stroll. You're confused when he brings you out into shallow water, insisting you sit down while he proudly presents the partially submerged 'nest' so you will always have a safe place to return to. These pufferfish have some unique habits compared to other pufferfish. To impress a female and show that she will be well taken care of, the male creates a large nest on the seafloor, making big circles and pushing the sand around to get it just right. We're not exactly sure why they make these nest... And even less why they seemingly refuse to reuse them. It's believed that females pick a male based on how 'impressive' the design is and how fine the sand within the nest is - presumably for the safety of the eggs. If I were a pufferfish and a slightly different kind of pufferfish started showing off a nest, I'd be pretty confused.

Pantalone - Gerridae spp. (Water striders) OR Garrulus glandarius (Eurasian jay)

How Pantalone acts very much depends on who you are and how you behave. If you're simply a means to an end (his own release) then you can expect to be used, under threats of misfortune if you're uncooperative, and then discarded. But, if you've truly caught his attention as something worth keeping, then you can expect a well thought out, catered specifically to your tastes, display of his wealth and what he can offer you if you stick around. Gerridae males will mount the female while they're on the water surface and thrum his legs against the surface to attract predators (the female is more likely to be eaten since she is closer to the surface), only stopping once the female stops resisting. The eurasian jay has been observed to regularly give gifts, not only right before mating, and has displayed that conscious thought goes into picking what the female will appreciate the most, with often opting for bringing her something 'new and exciting'.

If you - for unknown reasons - would want me to assign your fav (from genshin or hsr) an animal, send me an ask (❁´◡`❁)

There's also a comprehensive guide on Dottore and mating

Genshin masterlist

[lassify]

[Spy x Family ch. 109 spoilers]

I just finished the chapter as of two minutes ago, and I have to tell you, I am having the best time getting to use whip out my psychology degree again.

Good people of tumblr, allow me to introduce to you:

Capgras delusion

It's interesting that Melinda disclosed that she was a patient of the hospital before. It is no small feat to be admitted into psychiatric care - especially in a hospitalised setting. Psychiatric hospitals typically deal with very high-risk disorders and behaviours, with many patients being admitted to hospital either for their own safety, or for the safety of those around them.

What has this got to do with capgras delusion?

Capgras delusion is a very serious psychiatric disorder in which a person believes that someone very close to them has been replaced with an impostor.

It is not uncommon for sufferers of capgras delusion to believe that their loved ones have been replaced by aliens, a doppelganger, or a clone.

It can be from many causes: psychosis, schizophrenia, brain damage, neurodegenerative disease. In very rare cases there have even been documented unexepcted triggers such as ketamine, diabetes, migraines, and urinary cystitis.

And, crucially; it is not unheard of for sufferers of capgras delusion to be physically agressive towards the perceived impostor.

(Is that why she was sent to psychiatry before? Is that why she is estranged from Donovan and the children? Is that why she is kept under very close watch? Or is there something more sinister going on?)

From this chapter alone, I wonder if we will see a link between Melinda's delusion, and her past experiences. If Endo chooses to take the scientific route, we may see a history of physical abuse that resulted in brain damage, or a history of psychological abuse that made Melinda vulnerable to psychosis.

I would be really interested to see if Melinda's current way of thinking may have originated from having an initially loving relationship with Donovan Desmond, but she saw a sudden change in behaviour in him to become the heartless warmonger we now know him to be, which could have pushed her into this delusional belief.

After all, how could the man she fell in love with (conjecture), have turned into such a monster? The only explanation must be that Donovan Desmond is not the Donovan she knew, and just an impostor, right?

....Right?

[novascharms]

teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe

reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.

word count — 1.8 chapter index — next chap. masterlist

one

thursday, january 9th

go where the wind takes me. it’s a phrase you’d heard countless times over the years. it eased people, gave them perspective, helped them loosen up. but you? no, it did the opposite. it made you do what you did best—research. what kind of research? the top 100 most successful people and whether they’d ever "gone with the wind." the answer was no. not a single one. going with the wind doesn’t make anyone successful. it leads to dead ends, wrong turns, wasted time—and time was the one thing no one could afford to squander.

the importance of planning everything as meticulously as possible was something that you'd ingrained in your mind at a young age and it had led you exactly where you were. it was the foundation of everything you’d achieved: top of your class, surrounded by like-minded peers, ready for a prestigious summer program, and just a year away from the university of your dreams. everything you’d worked for was at your fingertips. nothing could get in your way now.

"hi, sandy," you greeted the office secretary who watched you struggling to balance a precarious stack of papers in your arms.

"good morning, sweetheart. need help with that?" sandy asked with a warm smile.

"nope, i’ve got it," you replied, setting the stack on the counter with a satisfying thud. carefully, you aligned the papers before placing your palms on top to steady them.

"these are the documents for the student body audit next week. i printed an extra copy for principal oakley, complete with annotations, just in case there’s any confusion."

"always so thorough," sandy remarked with a grin. the compliment made your entire week.

"ah, just who i needed to see." a familiar voice sounded behind you and you twirled around to see principal oakley walking into the office. "oh, good morning, principal oakley." you said, your tone as polished as ever. you barely glanced at the boy trailing behind him before falling into step with the principal.

and yes, following him into his office was a tad unconventional but someone with as much determination and drive as you rarely let things like "innaproriate behaviour" get in your way.

"you are just who i wanted to see too. i know the holidays just ended but i did want to just follow up on my recommendation letter which you'd think about writing, remember?" you fixed your bag on your shoulder as principal oakley sat at his desk and briefly glanced behind you.

"y/n—" the principal tried to interrupt.

you didn't stop talking. "and i know you don't write recommendation letters for your students to keep things fair and whatnot but i—" principal oakley tried to interrupt again but didn't have the chance before you continued rattling. "—hope you reconsidered because i just know that having your letter under my belt will make me stand out to the admissions board and who am i if not representation for our fine school?"

principal oakley cleared his throat and this time you noticed the brief glance behind you. you slowly followed his gaze to see rafe cameron leaning against the doorframe.

your mental file on him loaded instantly: soccer player, tall, messy, and in your opinion, a bit… ran through. still contemporary philosophy like utilitarianism says the morality of having multiple partners depends on whether it increases overall happiness and minimizes harm so you were in no position to shame anyone just trying to increase their own happiness. you suppose.

"oh, was this a bad time?" you asked sheepishly, stepping aside. "not at all," the principal replied. "in fact, this concerns you as well. please, have a seat—and refrain from going into rants until i'm finished speaking." principal oakley says.

frowning in confusion, you complied. sitting beside rafe, you tried to mask your unease. what could he have to discuss with both you and rafe cameron? you weren't very good with uncertainty so sitting still was becoming a challenge as principal oakley rummaged through his desk.

you had to focus on something to stop yourself from panicking so you focused on him. very discreetly. he was so very..unruly. like something hard to contain, just spilling over the edges with his messy hair, that sweater that was not ironed, the shirt under the sweater that was untucked in that untidy way, that smell—woody with a faint hint of vanilla. you liked that smell.

you looked down at your own clothes—a powder blue ruffle top from khaite that you saved for for months and gifted yourself over winter break, off-white pants that were perfectly ironed and fresh from the laundry, hair in a neat french twist. from first sight, you and him were polar opposites.

"alright, y/n," principal oakley finally sat back down, his gaze steady as you watched him attentively. "you know rafe, right?" he asked, gesturing slightly toward the boy seated across from you. your eyes flicked to rafe, who was already staring at you, his expression unreadable.

"uh-huh," you murmured, turning your focus back to the principal.

"well, rafe here has a little problem." principal oakley slid a paper across the desk, and your curiosity spiked as you glanced down. it was rafe's report card.

it was disastrous.

you gasped softly, and rafe let out a noise of protest. "shit, it's not that bad," he muttered, leaning in close to peer over your shoulder at his own grades. the sudden proximity sent a ripple of awareness through you. despite your best efforts to stay indifferent, the intoxicating mix of his scent and the startling lack of male attention in your life was doing a number on your self-control.

"language, mr. cameron. and yes, it really is that bad," principal oakley said firmly. "which is why we need your help, y/n."

you tried to focus, though every nerve in your body screamed for you to stay perfectly still, afraid rafe would pull back. your intrusive thoughts—chief among them being the absolutely insane urge to bury your head in his neck—were becoming harder to suppress. quickly, you straightened and fixed your attention on the principal.

"my help?" you asked, the words laced with genuine confusion.

"the athletic board won’t let rafe play next season if he doesn’t pass at least one of his failing classes. we’ve discussed it with his teachers, and they believe algebra is his best shot. mr. coleman specifically suggested you for the job. he said your grasp of the material is exceptional, sometimes even surpassing his. your work ethic, dedication, and knowledge are exactly what rafe needs to bring his grade up to a satisfactory six—or, with hope, even a seven or seven and a half."

principal oakley's words hung in the air as you processed them. finally, you blinked slowly. "you want me…" you began cautiously, "to take him from a two-point-five to a seven-point-five in five months?"

"that’s like 150 days," rafe interjected, his tone unexpectedly eager. "we can do this! i’ll be the best student, i swear."

we?

"and on which planet is that 150 days, rafe?" you turned to him, your voice tinged with disbelief. "five months is about 150 days, sure. but i don’t know about you, mr. cameron, but i have class every day from eight to three. we have over 15 assignments a month, tests, midterms in march. i’m student body president. i’m organizing spring fling, pajama day, color war, the bake sale, and the car wash fundraiser—where, by the way, i expect the soccer team’s full, enthusiastic participation in semi-nude form for maximum profit. there’s also valentine’s day card exchanges, college fairs, and, oh, right—i have a life. i need to eat, study, and spend enough time with my friends and family to avoid being accused of neglecting them." you folded your arms. "so tell me, rafe, where in that mess do you see time for this?"

rafe stared at you, slightly wide-eyed.

"exactly," you concluded, crossing your legs. "nowhere."

you turned back to principal oakley. "maybe someone could contact the board and ask for len—"

"y/n, this is their leniency. usually, a two-point-five is an automatic cutoff." principal oakley cut you off, his voice calm but insistent. "i wouldn’t be asking if i didn’t believe in you."

the praise softened you momentarily. "principal oakley," you began, reaching into your bag and pulling out your life planner with a flourish. its heft rattled the pens on his desk. "this is my schedule." flipping to the last pages, you tapped a line with a manicured nail. "rafe, read this."

he leaned in, eyebrows raised. "january 20th, 2056: be sworn in as the 59th president of the country."

you smiled, all proud like you'd already achieved it which you technically had since everything that belonged to you was already yours.

"now, as you can imagine, i have a very rigorous plan in place to achieving my final goal and unfortunately, my schedule is just..airtight until.." you grimaced, "atleast 2061, maybe 2065." you were still debating the second term.

rafe chuckled quietly, and you shot him a glare before principal oakley interrupted.

"i assume my recommendation letter holds a significant place in your 30-year plan."

you hesitated. "…it does."

"well, helping your fellow student would demonstrate the leadership and dedication your university looks for. i could write you a glowing recommendation and even personally contact the dean’s office if you agree to tutor mr. cameron."

you froze, your mind flashing with possibilities. the thought of the dean knowing your name—of shaving years off your plan—was too good to pass up.

"fine," you said at last, exhaling. "but i expect nothing short of perfection in that letter. and the dean better invite me for tea when you’re done."

turning to rafe, you leveled him with a sharp look. "every tuesday and sunday at four. take this seriously, or you’ll see how hostile i can get. and read the chapters beforehand. i’ll text you my address."

you strode toward the door.

"you don’t have my number!" rafe called after you, amusement clear in his voice.

"i practically live in this office, rafe!" you shot back over your shoulder. "i have everyone’s number!"

chapter index — next chap. masterlist

[yandere-daze]

I thought it was high time that I finally wrote something for this man and this idea was stuck in my head for days. I hope you enjoy! <3

gn reader

2.3k words

cw yandere, obsessive behaviour, hypnotizing siren song, manipulation

Yandere! Siren! Sunday x Sailor! Reader

You weren´t supposed to be anything more than an easy prey. A human led astray by his enchanting tunes like any other, only to be torn apart once within reach.

You were a simple sailor sailing the deep waters of the ocean with your small crew. For what purpose? Sunday wasn´t quite sure and he didn´t really care to know. All he yearned for was sinking his claws into your vulnerable flesh as he dragged you to the bottom of the ocean.

You see, Sunday was a siren, a hunter in the image of a beautiful young man with grey hair and enchanting golden eyes. Were it not for his singing voice, a deep gaze into his radiant eyes would be enough to tempt any poor fool into his waiting arms. Yet his voice, oh his voice, its heavenly sound masking his dark intentions.

Within his lifetime, Sunday has lured many unfortunate sailors to their demise though, in recent times, fewer and fewer boats have delved through the waters he called his home. From what he had witnessed being whispered onboard, tales of cunning and vicious sirens roaming these waters have reached the mainland, causing many to steer clear and avoid this place.

This naturally annoyed Sunday, for the flesh of humans was what he sustained himself with. This fact only increased his determination when after quite a long while of waiting for a sign of life, a boat had finally lost its way into his domain again. Sunday had been hungry for way too long now, he couldn´t let this stroke of luck go to waste.

So certain that he would finally claim his prey again, he decided to first spy on the passengers of the boat before making his move. It was important for him to know the routines and habits of the sailors if he wanted to catch them alone to entice them to run into their doom.

As a siren, Sunday was more powerful than an average human but even he wouldn´t be able to fight off several sailors if he were to try and hypnotize someone in broad daylight. He couldn´t risk the crew becoming aware of his presence and leaving, he couldn´t go on without another meal again.

And so, he secretly started spying on the passengers of the small boat, staring at them from behind a rock and making sure to keep his tail concealed within the water. He watched everyone go along with their days on board the ship when something unexpected happened.

He saw you, stepping away from the rest of the crew to stand near the edge of the boat, a smile on your face as you let the sun shine on your face. Without even realizing it, you had stepped close to where Sunday had gone to hide. You were so close, almost within arm´s reach. For a moment, Sunday deliberated if this was his chance to strike.

With you separated from the rest of the crew like this, it would be a simple thing indeed to lure you into the waters where you would disappear forever.

But just as he thought this, he stopped in his tracks as he watched your carefree smile, suddenly becoming enchanted by the way the light of the sun rained upon your skin. For lack of a better word, your presence at that very moment was mesmerizing and Sunday felt warm inside as if the rays of the sun were descending on him instead.

And then, for a moment, Sunday almost felt his heart stop for then you opened your mouth and started, he almost couldn´t believe it, singing.

There you were, practically within the jaws of a predator, and letting your soul rejoice in song so carelessly. And yet, within your naivety, Sunday couldn´t help but feel at peace. Your song rang out across the lonely waters, unaware that your secret audience was becoming more and more enchanted by you by the second.

Your singing, Sunday couldn´t quite describe it. It sounded nothing like his own singing, which was beautiful and yet felt intrinsically wrong somehow. Your song was nothing like that. It might have not been as pretty or practiced as his own singing, but yet it managed to ring true within his heart. Your song felt earnest and real, untainted and uncorrupted by malice. Within seconds, you had captured his attention and heart, yet you were completely unaware that he was even present.

In an ironic twist of fate, Sunday felt himself being pulled towards you as if touched by magic, an ardent longing for you deep within his chest. It was as if you were the siren calling out to him, beckoning him closer like a lovesick sailor lost at sea, yet Sunday was sure that instead of a sudden demise, he would find true salvation within your arms. With the way you were holding out your arms, he could almost imagine you wrapping them around his body in a lover´s embrace, pulling him so close as if you would never let go of him again.

Because he knows that´s what he would do if he finally had his beloved in his arms. For only a fool would ever let go of the person they want to spend the rest of their life with. It filled him all at once, this desire to have you for his own, to make you his dearest mate.

You were radiant and joyful in a way he had never seen before and he couldn´t bear the thought of letting you slip away from him.

And from the desperate yearning he could so clearly hear in your song dedicated to just him, he knew that you must feel the same way. You were just waiting, begging to be taken away by him. Why else would you walk so close to him, all on your own and profess all of your feelings like this? Sunday now knew that this meeting was fated to happen and he would be sure not to waste it.

He had been watching you closely for the past few days along with the other sailors aboard the ship and he saw how the other crew members acted around you. He had thought nothing of it back then but now boiling jealousy filled his being as he remembered how chummy they had been acting with you. How they had laughed and joked around with you so easily, how they had thrown their arms around you and sang cheery tunes beneath the starry sky.

He especially detested that one scoundrel that had dared to kiss your cheek so invasively. How dare they treat you like this? How dare they lay their filthy hands on you when your beauty was meant for solely him to treasure? But not to worry, Sunday would finally bring you home and keep you safe.

He understood your surprise when he finally emerged from his hiding spot and started swimming towards you. You looked so pitiful with your body shaking and your eyes growing wide when you saw his shimmering white mermaid tail. You poor thing must be frightened out of your mind because of all these stories you were told about his kind but do not be afraid! Sunday would never hurt you like this.

You were special to him, you just needed to allow him to show you that. You backing away from the railing, backing away from him, just wouldn´t do.

"Darling, there is no reason to be afraid, I´m not here to hurt you, do not let their horrid tales corrupt your thoughts. I am here to finally take you home!" He reached out his hands to you, wishing for you to jump into them and accept his love willingly yet he could only click his tongue in disappointment when instead, you took another step back.

"D-don´t come any closer!", you shouted out, breaking the poor siren´s heart in the process. How it hurt him to see you so frightened that you would turn your soulmate away. But no matter, he was prepared to take matters into his own hands and nudge you towards your own happy ending. You just needed a little bit of convincing.

"My darling, please listen to me! You and me, I know we were meant to be! So please don´t resist this, alright?", he hummed gently, his voice almost pitiful while begging you to hear him out.

You would have even felt sympathy for him if you weren´t acutely aware that you were facing a dangerous predator. There was no doubt in your mind that this was a siren and you needed to get away from there fast.

But unfortunately for you, you weren´t quick enough for as soon as you had gathered your resolve, Sunday´s ethereal singing voice had swiftly broken it down.

Suddenly, all your previous thoughts about him being a danger to stay away from evaporated, leaving you confused as to why you ever wanted to run away from him. There was nothing dangerous about him, was there?

Instead, your mind was now being filled with pleasant images of you and the siren spending time together, of him holding you close protectively, of him swearing his eternal love and kissing you. All of a sudden, you felt warm all over as you gazed deep into Sunday´s eyes and you knew that he was the one that was meant for you.

Slowly, one step at a time, you walked closer to the edge of the boat again, where Sunday was happily holding out his hands for you to take, eagerly grasping at air as if to usher you even closer.

And you were all too eager to follow his demands as a sugary sweet melody droned on and on in your ears, overwhelming you with feelings of everlasting love and devotion.

"That´s it, darling. Come closer. It´s only a few more steps.", he urged you on, almost desperately as you almost came into touching range. It was only a few more moments until he could finally have you in his arms. And once he did, he would never allow you to leave him again. Not that you would be able to underwater.

Voices were picking up in the background, quickly getting closer and Sunday realized that your crew must have picked up on what was happening.

"Come here quickly, darling!", he shouted, his voice growing more urgent and desperate the closer the booming voices got.

And you did as he said, quickening your steps towards him with a lovesick smile on your face.

"I´m almost there, my love", you said and Sunday´s heart almost burst at the sweet tone you took with him. He knew you were currently under the influence of his siren song but he strongly wanted to believe that the love you felt for him was real. Why else would you too be looking at him so full of yearning?

"Someone, quick! Grab on to them! That siren is trying to lead them to their death!", a gruff voice yells from the back with several more footsteps scrambling quickly behind. They were advancing on you fast and Sunday knew he was almost out of time as one quickly ran up to you.

"No, no, no! Don´t touch them! They´re mine! Don´t ruin this for me!", he yelled out in anger, his eyes a furious storm as they glared at the person trying to get a hold of you. He couldn´t fail so close to the end. How dare they accuse him of trying to harm you?!

"Please, you need to come to your senses!", the sailors try to reason with you but it´s almost like you can´t even register what they say.

" I need to meet with my love, he´s waiting for me.", you say, still smiling as you step to the very edge of the boat, looking down at a Sunday growing more and more manic by the second.

"Jump into my arms, darling! Accept my love and be mine forever!", the siren calls out to you as a crew member grabs into your arms, trying to pull you back.

"Don´t listen to him! Please, don´t do as he says!"

You struggle violently against the hold, kicking and screaming, demanding to be let go.

"No, you can´t separate me from my love, let me go! I need to be by his side!", you scream and with an especially harsh kick, the sailor lets go of you for a moment, leaving you with enough time to take the final step and jump right into your demise.

Sunday gently catches you in his arms, a lovesick smile on his face as he finally gets to hold you like he wanted to. You´re finally all his and there´s nothing that can be done about it anymore.

"I´m so happy you chose me, darling. We´re going to be so happy together. I´ll take such good care of you. No one else is ever going to touch you again.", he whispers into your ear and you can´t help but giggle joyfully at the prospect, your mind singing with affection, drowning out the growing panic within you.

But what is there to be afraid of? You´re finally united with the love of your life and nothing will ever separate you again.

Sunday holds you firmly as he quickly swims away from the boat, leaving your panicked crewmates behind.

Now that he finally has you, he will make sure that you´ll grow to love him even without his song. He knows that deep down, you love him just as much as he does you, you´ll just need a little bit of time to adjust to your new life underwater. He knows of a very beautiful underwater cave that he can keep you in until you grow more accustomed to your new life with him. Down there, you´ll never be able to escape his grasp again.

You will be his forever, for that is the consequence of putting him under a spell like you has.

And then he takes you with him to the very depths of the sea, never to be seen again.

[herpsandbirds]

DNA metabarcoding improves understanding of the diet and foraging of a critically endangered grassland bird: the Plains-wanderer, Pedionomus torquatus

Daniel T. Nugent, Erin Hill, Nick Murphy & John W. Morgan

ABSTRACT

Effective conservation of threatened cryptic bird species is often inhibited by limited knowledge about their diet and foraging ecology. The critically endangered and taxonomically-unique Plains-wanderer (Pedionomus torquatus) is a small, mostly terrestrial bird that occurs on treeless plains across parts of eastern Australia. The species is highly cryptic and rarely observed foraging. Consequently, most aspects of its diet and foraging habits are poorly understood. Here, we used DNA metabarcoding to analyse faecal samples and identify important food types and seasonal food preferences of Plains-wanderers in native grasslands of the Northern Plains of Victoria, Australia. Here, we also used miniature GPS units to track movements of birds and assess the influence of food availability on habitat selection at patch-scale. We found pronounced seasonal variation in the dietary content of Plains-wanderers, indicating differences in foraging behaviour across seasons. In spring, diet was characterised by plant groups (likely seeds) including Asteraceae, Crassula and Oxalis, and invertebrates from the genus Philobota, comprising concealer moths. In autumn, diet was characterised by material from the plant genus Atriplex (saltbush). Our tracking data suggest that Plains-wanderers displayed selectivity towards native grassland patches with a higher abundance and diversity of invertebrates and seeds. Our findings highlight the flexibility of Plains-wanderer diet, including the ability to exploit native and exotic foods. We discuss the implications of these findings for habitat management and broader conservation efforts for this species, which is of significant global concern because of its high risk of extinction and evolutionary distinctiveness.

Read more:

Full article: DNA metabarcoding improves understanding of the diet and foraging of a critically endangered grassland bird: the Plains-wanderer Pedionomus torquatus

[miabebe]

The Intruder's Eye (CSC)

Was it really love if it didn't include just a little madness? What was love if it didn't cross the line? And how was it love if it didn't make one want to keep an eye at all times?

Pairing - Afab!reader x Choi Seungcheol

Word count - 6K (I failed the below 5k challenge T.T)

Genre - Oof buckle up my friends. This is a halloween special so I tried not hold back - its a psycho-thriller, there's smut and a whole lot of pyscho-ness whelp Warnings under the cut!

A/n - It's the week leading up to Halloween folks! Unfortunately I'm not the biggest fan of clowns and ghosts and vampires etc, but I do love me a good dose of psychos (who I think are scarier btw) so here you goooo! You can also check out Jeonghan's and Joshua's!

Again @tusswrites and @tomodachiii - what would I do without y'all 🫂 this piece is basically all you guys!

warnings - intruder in the house, mentions of stalking, medications, deranged characters, triggering descriptions of a home intrusion, smut, homemade porn (lol), bondage (mouth and hands), blowjobs, cum eating, riding, rough sex, mentions of toys and anal, manhandling, psycho behaviour, please forgive me I can only allow myself to be this unhinged during spooky season

It was the soft pitter patter of the rain against the car window that woke you up. 

Slowly fluttering your eyes open, you looked out down the dark, lonely road on the other side, at the street lights were still obscured by the downpour. It's not as torrential as it was when you stepped out of the grocery store a while ago. It was too heavy for you to even drive then so you settled in your car for a while, waiting for the rain to get less harsh. You didn't realise when you fell asleep. 

Looking at the 8pm flashing on your phone screen and the way darkness had engulfed everything around, a strange panic rose in you. You weren't really afraid of staying out too late but given the things that had been happening around you recently - you didn't want to take the risk. 

Turning on the engine and shifting the gears, you took a deep breath, and started driving  towards home. 

The street was empty for the most part - not many cars were on the road given the warnings for the incoming storm earlier that day. You didn't have a choice but to leave - you were suddenly running low on supplies, the shopping list in your hand was almost a page long. You glanced at the groceries at the backseat with a satisfied sigh - guess the newfound cardio routine was doing a good job in working up your appetite. 

As you neared your house, the streets became more illuminated, much to your relief. Unlike the rest of the town, your neighbourhood was a much safer space - there were streetlights, surveillance cameras and disguised cops always patrolling the area. Most people who resided here didn't know but many of the inhabitants of these row houses were in fact people placed on witness protection. You knew because you were one of them. 

One year ago, your testimony in a high profile case had led to some very bad people finding themselves behind bars. In exchange, you were promised protection, leading to your identity being morphed and your life being relocated to this locality. You were promised that nothing would happen to you here, that you would be very safe. You believed it then, but not so much now - not when you turned into your street and noticed the camera at the end of it was short circuited. Perhaps the storms over the last few days had a hand in it. 

You didn’t think much of it.

But maybe you should.

Because as you grabbed your groceries and ran to the door, fishing for your keys, you realised you didn't need them. The door was not locked. 

You racked your brains to remember if you had locked the door before you left or if you were in too much of a hurry to beat the incoming rain. Your memory is a little fuzzy, it has been like that for awhile, but you were too cold and aching to just get inside to give it any further thought.

 You must've forgotten to lock it - what other explanation could there possibly be? 

Balancing the bags in one hand, you slowly pushed the door open as you stepped in, flipping the switches with bated breath. 

Everything seemed fine, nothing felt out of place. Releasing a breath you tell yourself that everything is fine - you were clearly overthinking things. Paranoia had been a part of your life ever since the proceedings of that case - you were always wary, always suspicious, always scared. Though, you shouldn't be feeling that way anymore, you had taken your medication - you should be fine.

But how were you supposed to feel fine when every small thing made the hair on your skin stand. Like the curtains in the living room being open for example. You never kept the curtains open, especially not since your new neighbour moved in a few months ago. 

He called himself Choi Seungcheolwhen he knocked on the door to offer an introduction. You didn't know if that was his real name or the one the cops had given him as a part of the programme. Either way you didn't ask him lest he might ask you yours in return - you didn't need your identity compromised, not when the gang of those convicts was still actively looking for you. You had simply nodded and shut the door. 

Since then, you’ve always had the curtains closed. You had to, because somehow every time you looked out, Seungcheol was by his window, watching you. If you were being honest, Seungcheol was hot as fuck and a year ago, if a man like that was interested in you, you wouldn't have let him go. But things were different now - you couldn't trust anyone anymore.

Walking up to the window, you stumbled over the dumbbell in the way as you glanced at the neighbouring house. The two of your houses were the only ones on the street that weren't covered in Halloween decorations. It made sense - you were both single and did not have to deal with whining, crying, demanding children so there was no need for this facade. 

But you weren’t that lackluster, you did buy and keep some candy for the trick or treaters though you wouldn’t know if Seungcheol had done the same - he didn't seem too particularly fond of children. He never let them near the house. In fact he never let anyone into his house. You had never seen a woman or a friendly face from town or even a family member step into his place - he pretty much always kept to himself. It’s not like anyone else in this neighborhood had the luxury for such anyway.

At present, there was no sight of him or even his silhouette, with how the curtains of his house were drawn but all the lights were still on. Sighing a little in relief, you do the same, shutting the blinds. Still feeling the weight of the dumbbell against your foot, you pushed it out of the way, wondering how it had displaced itself from the rest of the workout equipment in the first place. You hadn’t even used those in a while now. 

Still lost in thought, you walked into the kitchen and as you turned the lights on, a shiver ran down your spine. 

Something was off, something did not seem right. 

At first glance everything seemed fine, but looking again carefully–nothing seemed right. The apron wasn't in its usual place by the spice rack, you don’t recall leaving out a glass of water on the counter, or leaving a packet of corn chips open. You never leave things out when you leave, you always put them away.

But things like this had been happening ever since you started your medication. You were more forgetful, and that was inconvenient but without your daily dosage it was like a fight between your nerves and caution - anything that moved invoked fear in you, every small sound made you shiver. There was no choice but to take those pills everyday. It was the only think keeping you sane. 

Shaking your head, you organized everything back in place again. Everything was fine. You had taken an extra dosage right before you left the house, you were just a little fazed from all the chemicals. Surely it was just your imagination, it wasn't like anyone could have entered the house in your absence….right? 

But there was a half eaten bowl of cereal in the sink and you… you were lactose intolerant, you didn't drink milk - that couldn't be yours. Hands shaking, you took a step back. 

Someone was in this house. 

Quickly opening the drawer, you grabbed a knife, gripping the handle hard and tight. The only question was, were they still in the house? 

Wiping the sweat off your face, you took a small careful step out of the kitchen. 

It was quiet, deadly quiet, there was not a sound to be heard, but the hum of the electrical appliances and the soft patter of the rain outside. Then you heard it, ears sharp and sensitive to the sound of water dripping. Slowly you moved towards the washroom, holding your weapon out, breath shaking. 

When you cautiously pushed the door open you noticed the floor was wet, water leaking from the shower head, drop after drop. You've never had this problem before, did you have a plumbing issue?

Stepping in, you tried to fix the faucet with your free hand. But no matter how many times you adjusted the hardware, water continued to drip, rendering you unsuccessful in your attempts. It felt like a really strong hand had broken the tap which was silly because you were definitely careful with how you handled your things? Neither could have broken this nor clearly, could you fix it. Annoyed by your failure and the thought of calling maintenance, you stepped out of the shower, catching sight of yourself in the mirror. 

There was a strange tiredness etched all over your features, hiding a stranger something behind it. Your eyes had sunken further into their sockets, thin wisps of hair framing your face - You’ve definitely had better days and was… was that a knife in your hand? 

You glanced at it quizzically. Why did you step into the shower with a knife? 

Softly smacking your head at your silliness, you walked back into the living room, leaving the tap for another day. Half yawning with tiredness were ready to retire for the night when your eyes fell on the grocery bags still waiting for you on the table - you had forgotten about it. Groaning at the thought of having to put everything away, you set the knife on the dining table and grabbed your purchases instead, taking them into the pantry. Perhaps it was because you were too deeply immersed in your organisation, but your otherwise sharp ears missed the rustling of the leaves outside, crunching under someone’s footsteps.

Going through the grocery checklist scribbled in horrible handwriting to make sure you had gotten everything, you swiftly began putting them all in their place. The pastas in the jars, the fruits in the baskets, the sauces in the tray. The heaviest thing you bought was perhaps those huge jars of protein powder. You weren't really sure why you decided to buy it - sure your doctor said you were too weak and needed to exercise to build strength but you didn't need to buy all of the products the Internet recommended to you. 

Telling yourself you'll find use for it later, you pushed them onto the shelves and turned to the meat instead, throwing them into the fridge. You didn't really know how to cook meat too well but you wanted to try. Seungcheol had once grilled some meat in his backyard and came over to offer you a few bites. When you tried to take it from him at the door, he pulled his hand back and cocked his head. 

“Are you not going to invite me inside?” 

He was always trying to make a move on you like that. You knew what he wanted, you knew what he had his eyes on but the answer was, no. You could take the deliciously cooked meat from him but couldn't let him into the house. It was too soon to trust him. 

But Seungcheol was relentless. 

It was evident with how he was the only one in town who turned up at the video store where you worked. And he came everyday. Normal people didn't borrow a new movie everyday, right? Clearly he was flirting with you. Or at least he was trying to. You only ever behaved professionally with him . Except sometimes, when he asked for movie recommendations of a very specific genre. You didn't really know many serial killer documentaries or crime podcasts to suggest, so you would simply ask a colleague to take over. Over the days, you watched him consume every last bit of thrillers available in the store and distantly wondered if he had a life outside of this consumption. 

Perhaps not. Seungcheol seemed a bit odd like that. 

He talked to everyone in town but didn't really seem to have any friends. He wasn't home for days together sometimes - you didn't really know the nature of his job so you couldn't tell why his absence was so frequent. He always drove that tiny pickup truck of his with some weird boxes and bags hidden under big blue plastic sheets in the trunk. . 

The whole deal about him was just not right. You knew something about him was not right. Even though he was incredibly pleasant on the eye, you had to be wary of him. 

You had to be wary of everything. . 

But maybe you weren't always as alert as you should be. Because it  was only as you were putting away the last of the snacks that you heard that sound - the thumping. 

It seemed like it was coming from outside…. Or was it upstairs? It felt like it was coming from right above, like the sound of someone's feet. 

And just like that,, you remembered the intruder again - the one who might still be in your home. 

Quickly you rushed to grab the knife from the table once more and held it out in defense. Whoever came to the house was most definitely still here, you could feel it in your bones. 

As you slowly made your way towards the stairs, trying to maintain a soft footfall to avoid the creaking of the stairs, another sound took you aback. 

No, not your racing heart - The doorbell. 

Turning sharply, you glanced at the door with wide eyes. Who could it possibly be?  At this late hour?

The ringing only became more persistent, morphing into knocks while you inched towards the door, grip on the knife tightening. 

As you slowly pressed down the handle and slightly opened the door, you were met with cheerful voices, much to your relief. 

“Happy Halloween!” 

Before you was a tiny ghost, a pirate, a couple of princesses and a buzz lightyear, all half your height, looking at you surprised. 

“Ms. L/n!” 

“Hey kiddos.” 

“Where's Mr. Choi?” The pirate pouted. “We thought we could finally get him to be nice to us, hand us some treats.” 

“Aw.” You pinched his cheek with your free hand. The one that was not hiding the knife behind the door. “Mr. Choi isn't in town sadly.” 

The little kid looked at you quizzically. “Then what are you doing in his house?” 

.

.

.

Oh. 

You blinked at him while he looked up at you expectantly. 

Then your lips split into a sweet, saccharine smile. 

“He asked me to look after it while he was gone.”

“When will Mr. Choi be back?” 

You glanced at the inquisitive little ghost, fiddling with the knife in your hand. 

Please, please don't make me use this. 

“Do you want an answer or candy?” You cocked your head cheekily. “I'm only giving out one.” 

“Candy!” They screamed as you laughed and reached for the packet you had just bought, ripping it open with the knife.

They watched excitedly as you dropped handfuls of chocolate into their little baskets and plastic pumpkins. With a scream of “Ms. L/N is the best!” they scurried away to their next target of the night. And so did you, tossing the knife onto the table once again.

You clutched your head and released a low hiss of irritation at the dull throb.Those stupid medicines were really getting to your head now, you were forgetting too many important things. Thank fuck for the children, otherwise you would have never remembered what really had to be done. 

Locking the door behind you, you quickly made your way up the stairs. There was no need to head softly - the stairs had a tendency to creak in your house, not in Seungcheol’s. 

The thumping from earlier was more pronounced now as your senses slowly cleared up, much like how the light flooded from underneath the bedroom door. The soft thumps are getting louder and louder as you neared it. With a twist of the knob and swing of the door, you tilt  your head with a smile. 

Light flooded from underneath the bedroom door, the soft thumping sound getting louder and louder as you neared it. Opening it wide, you cocked your head with a smile. 

There he was. 

Sitting on a chair in the middle of the room, Seungcheol was looking gorgeous as ever. He was dressed in just his grey sweatpants, the thick muscles of his shoulders and pecs bared before you. His biceps too were popping on either side thanks to the fact that his hands were tied at the back of the chair. Oh and his mouth was gagged shut, his words turning into muffled whimpers as he looked at you wide eyed, halting the stomping of his feet.

“I know, I know, I'm sorry.” You raised your hands apologetically. “I meant to be back soon but you know how I am, forgetful little me. I'm sorry baby.” You neared him, walking around his chair, bending to whisper in his ear. “But I see you're having your fun.” 

Your eyes flickered from the tent in his pants to the laptop you left on for his entertainment, right in the line of his vision. You see yourself on the screen, dressed in the hottest lingerie you owned, looking right in the camera with the vibrator held just where you needed him and only one name spilling from your mouth - Seungcheol. 

This wasn't the video you played from him before you left for the grocery store - perhaps they were auto playing, lucky him. You had hours of such footage of yourself - in all kinds of positions, with every possible toy, in role play costumes, in every possible color of lingerie, you had an unmatchable variety. The only thing common among all of them was his name. Choi Seungcheol. 

Could you be blamed? The man was unbelievably attractive. It wasn't like you didn't try to avoid him, to repel all that magnetism. You were well aware of your nature - it hadn't been long since you had gotten a chance to start afresh and you didn't want to spiral again. You really really didn't. 

But Seungcheol was persistent. He wouldn't stop flirting with you at any given chance, he kept trying to invite himself home, he was consistently intrusive. You kept him at bay for the longest time, at least until the day you had to return the box he had left with you, the one in which he gave you the grilled meat. 

You didn't expect him to open the door with his shirt off, slick with sweat, flushed and half panting. When you caught sight of the dumbbells behind him,  could tell he was working out but somehow you couldn't help but think this was probably how he looked when he fucked and god did that make your mouth water. 

That day he shouldn't have invited you in. Then you wouldn't have found your resolve crumbling so weakly. You wouldn't have found yourself under him being pounded like there was no tomorrow. You wouldn't have crossed the line like this. 

What started that day set off a cascade of events. Sleeping with Seungcheol became quite a regular act - there was no part of you that he had left unexplored, untouched. He was in every crevice, every cell, you were entirely consumed by him. When you were at work, all you could think about was how well he fucked you the day before. When you were on the way home, all you could think about was how well he was going fuck you today. Even after you reached, you always made it a point to immediately wash up, wear your nicest underwear and knock on his door. You always did it at his house. 

He did try to come to your place a couple of times but you consistently steered the two of you back to his house somehow. It was one thing to let him cum in you but to come into your house? You couldn’t have that happening, he’d ask too many questions - why do you never use the garage Y/n? Why was it always locked Y/n? Why did you have a ridiculous number of gardening tools in your house when you don’t even grow any plants Y/n? You knew the questions wouldn't seize and the answers weren’t good for him. They weren't good for anyone who's heard them all these years. 

Another reason you didn't want him home was because you didn't want to ruin the surprise. 

Now, Seungcheol was a self-sufficient man. He was happy with himself, his life, his home, his solitude. It was evident all he was looking for in you was a good fuck - afterall, he would never ask you to stay the night or to be his girlfriend even though you'd been seeing each other for months. You were okay with that….. for now. The two of you were still exploring, still understanding each other's bodies and limits. You didn't mind him taking his time, you needed your time as well. 

You see, Seungcheol loved his home. He loved every piece of furniture, every bowl, every mat - he was incredibly fond of his space, taking all the time and effort in the world to curate it. You, on the other hand, didn't really care much for your house. As long as it could fulfill basic needs and keep you safe, you were good - it wasn't like you stayed for long in one place anyways. But your heart knew that you wanted to stay with Seungcheol for the rest of your life. There was something dark about him too that told you he belonged with you the way you belonged to him. You wanted him to feel like he belonged to you too, you wanted him to feel at home with you. You wanted to be his home. 

That's why you took months together to design and turn your house into an identical replica of Seungcheol’s. 

And when you say replica you mean down to the T. Everything was the same. You made sure it was the same. All those times he was away for days together thanks to his job, you found yourself slipping into his house taking detailed notes of every object, every piece. You would only see, not touch or take anything away. Come on, you were no thief, thieves are bad people.. 

After that you had spent all your time online or going from store to store, finding originals and duplicates of his belongings. Given that he loved to have really exclusive pieces in his house they were not easy to procure but with a little sweet talk, a little threatening and a little unspeakable things, you had somehow managed to bring them all home. To the home you were making for him. 

Earlier this week, you had gotten hold of the last piece of the jigsaw puzzle - a childhood photo of Seungcheol's family, framed and hung on the wall. It was the hardest thing to get your hands on. His estranged sister would not leave her house for long enough - it took a major occupational accident at her husband's construction site to finally get her moving. 

With everything finally in place today, just as the sun began to set, you went over to Seungcheol's house to bring him over at last, to show him what you had done for him. Seeing how his front door was unlocked you stepped in, curiously looking around for him. But that feeling evaporated the moment you heard that sound - the sound of a woman moaning. 

It felt like the ground under your feet had slipped. Perhaps that was why you grabbed the baseball bat leaning against the wall, to give your shaking hands something to hold on to as you made your way to his bedroom…. He didn't even bother to shut the door. 

There he was, sitting on the bed with his laptop open before him, frantically getting himself off to the video of some pizza delivery girl getting her “payment”. 

Porn. He was watching porn. 

The moment his eyes fell on you by the door, he quickly tucked his length into his sweats and jumped off the bed, looking at you like you were crazy. Oh no Choi Seungcheol. He didn't just do that. He shouldn't have. Maybe then you wouldn't have swung the bat and knocked him out cold. Maybe he wouldn't have found himself in the middle of the room all tied up when he came around. 

You just couldn't understand him. What was the need for him to look at other women or even think of one when you were right there? Was he bored of you? Were you not enough? You did everything you could to keep him - every depraved fantasy, every humiliating act, every time he was rough to bruise you for days together, you took it all, you begged for more. Then why was he doing this? 

When he finally opened his eyes, he didn't answer your questions, he was simply screaming to set free. Well of course the only thing you could do was to shut his mouth in some way and with him unable to speak, you had to find other ways to get answers. You needed to find out if Seungcheol was just not attracted to you anymore. 

That's why you brought out your video collection, little films you had taken of yourself back when you were still pushing him away, all while wondering what it was like to get fucked by him. His mouth may say whatever but anatomy couldn't lie right? There was something else that could stand up and answer you. 

You had meant to stay and watch, afterall, you were proud of the quality of your content but the flashes of thunder outside told you that perhaps it was wiser for you to go to the store first. You knew whatever was going to transpire wouldn't be over any time soon, you had to stock up before the storm locked you in. Besides, it was Halloween night, all the cute little kids would be coming around for candy, you didn't want to miss out on that. 

You didn't and thanks to them, you didn't succumb to your forgetfulness and miss out on this either. 

“There there.” You cooed, removing his gag and he coughed, unable to regain his ability to speak just yet. You waited for him to come around, walking back to sit on the edge of the bed as he looked at you meekly. 

“Water.” He whispered, voice just a little horse. 

You raised your eyebrow. How did he manage to sound so sexy all the time? 

“Thirsty are we?” You smiled. “I thought my gift might have helped.”

“Y/n please.” He groaned. “What kind of sick joke is this?” 

Oh. He thinks it's a joke. A little Halloween scare perhaps. A prank gone overboard. Oh he has no idea.

“I think it's me who you take for a joke.” You glanced down at his raging boner. “Or not, considering how excited you are.”

You got up, leaning over him, hand gripping the back of his chair. 

“I'll help you.” You licked your lips. “Either I'll untie you, take my little collection and get out of here. Or I'll help with your not so little predicament with any and every hole I have…. Pick your poison.” 

Seungcheol looked at you wide eyed. His breath was shaking, lips were quivering and a hundred and one things seemed to be running behind those pretty eyes. 

Slowly gulping, his Adams apple moving with a bob, he shut his eyes. 

“It's unbearable.” He mumbled. “It's just…. Please help me.” 

And you knew exactly what he wanted you to do.

Sliding off the bed, you got on your knees, crawling up to him, slotting yourself between his legs. Seungcheol’s eyes flew open when your hands found his thigh, a soft sigh tumbling out of his mouth. He loved to fuck your mouth. He loved how eager to please you always were, always trying to take in more of him, always trying to do better. God he loved it.

He watched as you pulled his sweats down the best you could and wrapped your tiny hand around his dick. He was raging hard, the tip flushed in an angry red, precum smeared all over. You were lucky he was in your control now. If he were allowed to have his way, he might just break you. 

Stroking him agonisingly slowly, you inched closer to place a small kiss on his tip, the softest interaction that had ever happened between the two of you. Before Seungcheol could even relish that moment you wrapped your lips around his length and took him all the way in. Fucking hell. Seungcheol thought he was going to pass out with how intensely you were blowing him. He wished you'd untie his hands. He'd go anything to just push your head down his dick and feel himself in your throat. That was a sureshot at making him come, these shallow and fast bobs of your head were only aggravating him. 

Maybe that's what you wanted. Because the moment he let out his tell tale groan, letting you know he was close, you pulled away with a pop and wrapped your hand around his cock instead. Before he could complain about losing the warmth of your mouth you began stroking him fast thanks to the wetness of your spit and before you knew it, he felt himself reaching that high, meaningless words leaving his mouth. With a few more jerks, he came all over himself in spurts, ropes of white coating his abdomen. 

As he tried to battle his feelings of relief after finding a much needed release, disappointment for not coming in your mouth, and slight fear, not understanding what the hell was going on, you slowly let him go, wiping your hand on his sweats. Looking straight into his eyes, you leaned forward, gathering the cum all over his skin with your tongue and showing it to him before you swallowed it. Fuck, Seungcheol felt the blood rushing down there again. He was far from done tonight. 

Getting up you looked at him questioningly though you were well aware of the answer. 

“Do you need more?”

Unable to do anything else, he nodded slowly, whispering please. 

Smirking, you quickly stripped yourself out of your clothes. You would have made a show out of it, tease him slowly but you were equally desperate to fuck him so you quickly abandoned that idea. Throwing your garments somewhere, you clambered onto his lap, aligning yourself over his dick. You didn't need any prep or lube, you were practically dripping from just blowing him. 

Slowly sinking onto his length you threw your head back, finally feeling full. Seungcheol moaned too, burying his face between your boobs as you bottomed out, your grip like a vice. Holding onto his shoulders you began fucking yourself on his length, snapping your hips relentlessly. You could tell the feeling was too much for Seungcheol too as he bit on the soft skin of your breasts. It stung painfully but you let him - you always let him do whatever he wanted to you anyways. 

“Tired?” He looked up at you with a triumphant smirk as your pace began to falter thanks to the not so comfortable position of your legs. “Are you finally going to ask me for help?”

You shook your head. You didn't want him to have the upper hand anymore.

“Don't be stubborn, doll. You know it's better when I have my hands on you.” He ran his tongue along your breast, relishing the sweet and salty taste of you. “Untie my hands and we can make this better y/n. I know how much you love my fingers up your ass, and how much you like the grip on my hands all over you and how much you want me . Come on baby, untie me.”

You didn't want to, you really didn't want to but a part of you knew he was right. He could make you feel so good. 

Reaching over you pulled on the knot holding his hands together and in a flash his hands gripped the bottom on your thighs and with the sheer strength of his that you loved, he got up, lifting you along with him. Immediately pinning you to the wall, he began thrusting into you, drawing out the most exquisite moans from you as he hit the spot again and again and again. When unable to hold it anymore, you came around him, he tossed you onto the bed, pounding into you mercilessly, making you cum around him one more time before he painted your ass and back with his own release. Even then the night was far from over. 

After that he fucked you almost till dawn, pushing you to the limit as he made you cum so many times, you couldn't even keep count anymore. All you knew was that every bit of your body was screaming and creaming in pleasure - it was confirmed, you had to have Seungcheol for life, you had to do whatever it took to keep this insane man forever. You didn't know how but you could think about that later. For now, as day break approached, the two of you passed out in his bed. 

Seungcheol looked at you under the afternoon sun streaming into his room. You were fast asleep - he tried waking you up a couple of times but you just would not budge. Finally giving up he resorted to just staring at you. 

Last night was…. better than Seungcheol’s wildest dreams. He always knew he was a bit of a freak, but he didn't think he'd find someone to match it in this quiet town he had been reluctant to relocate to. Even when he first met you, he thought you'd be one sweet love making session at most but you took him completely by surprise. You were as wild as he was - you were down for anything he asked, you never said no and most importantly, you enjoyed it all. Seungcheol thought he had hit the jackpot with you. 

But yesterday was most definitely not normal. At that time he was thinking with his dick because all the blood in his body was clearly there but as he looked back at what happened, nothing about it was right. You had knocked him out, tied and gagged him up before you left him. You had hours of footage of you pleasuring yourself to the thought of him… 

Seungcheol had noticed the dates. It was way before the two of you had begun your little arrangement and he didn't know what to think about that. There were tiny sirens going off in his head telling him to run as fast as he could but Seungcheol couldn't stop staring at you. You were ridiculously beautiful and he just had the best sex of his life last night. 

When you whined softly and turned over in your sleep, Seungcheol finally rolled off the bed and dressed himself. Finding your scattered clothes on the floor he gathered them, looking at them with a frown. He couldn't have you wear these again and his clothes were far too big for your tiny frame. Maybe it was time to start making room in his closet for a few of your clothes.

Knowing how tired you must be given last night's events, he silently fished out the keys from the pocket of your pants and decided to bring you a fresh pair from your house. 

He shouldn't have gone over. He never should have stepped into your house. Maybe then the tiny sirens in his head wouldn't have become a full blown ringing. 

If he had never discovered the truth of your house, if he wasn’t staring at an exact replica of his space, maybe he would've never come to terms that last night was indeed extremely abnormal. 

You were not normal. 

Something was very very wrong with you, the dozens of medications on the dining table were a testament of that. Seungcheol knew he had to go. He had to leave you and that house and this town. He needed to run away from this madness.

But when he turned to leave, he felt his heart stop just for a second. 

There you were, right at the door, dressed in yesterday's clothes, looking at him expressionlessly. Your eyes ran over his face as he felt the hair on his skin stand. 

He had to go, he had to get the hell out of here. 

“Oh baby.” 

You cocked your head at him, leaning against the frame with a small smile. 

This was an expression you had never seen on Seungcheol's face before - a mix of shock and fear and repulsion. You could tell he wanted to run. You knew he would end things now, you knew it was over but alas, it was too late to let him go. 

You couldn't let him go. 

Taking a step ahead, you slowly closed the door behind you, inching closer to him, yesterday’s knife stashed safely in the back pocket of your pants.

“Do you want to see what's in my garage?” 

A/n - As usual, comments and reblogs are much appreciated - I'd love to hear your thoughts, it really helps :) You can also read Jeonghan's and Joshua's :)

[queerum]

aspec person:kinda fucked up that some queer people think aspecs aren't queer unprompted allo person: oh but what they mean is that you're not in danger because you're still basically cis/straight. They're right but you're still part of the community

even ignoring the casual aphobia of saying aspecs are cishet-lite, i'm tired of those kind of exchanges so let's be for fucking real right now:

Proof that aspecs go through conversion therapy:

The “A” Is Not for Ally: The Continued Pathologization of Asexual People in Modern Mental Health Practices

Better understanding of the scope and nature of LGBTQA+ religious conversion practices will support recovery

Proof that aspec have high rates of suicidality and self-harm:

Intersectional Impact of Allosexism Experiences on Non‐Suicidal Self‐Injury Among Asexual Youth

An Intersectional Exploration of Outness, Encountered Discrimination and Violence, and Non-Suicidal Self-Injury among Asexual Youth across Gender Identities

Variations in suicidality across multiple social identities in asexual people: An intersectionality analysis

Comparing Asexual and Non-Asexual Sexual Minority Adolescents and Young Adults: Stressors, Suicidality, and Mental and Behavioural Health Risk Outcomes

Proof that aspecs go through corrective rape and assault:

Sexual Violence Against the Asexual Community

A quantitative examination of the role of relationship status in asexual college students’ sexual victimization

Battling Asexual Discrimination, Sexual Violence And 'Corrective' Rape

and that list of reputable sources took less than 20 minutes of research. you just don't want to recognize it.

[mullermilkshake]

The capture.

Part 1 <- Part 2 -> ?

There's no escaping when the dog see's you running.

Illumi Zoldyck x Wife!reader x Hisoka DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT,Non con,Manipulation,Voyeurism,Restraints,Slut shaming,Multiple orgasms,Vaginal fingering,Cunnilingus,Forced orgasm

You refused. 

Refused to allow Hisoka to touch you. You had more dignity in your reserves left than to let Illumi bully you into submission because he was acting like a child who threw a tantrum. 

If you gave in now, he would know that his behaviour was something he could get away with. It was paramount to hold some of the little ground you had left in that bed in the motel room. You reminded yourself at the painstakingly obvious difference in power between you and the aura of the two men in front of you, yet you made it known just who was in the wrong in the room.

It was Illumi. “I won’t do this; I won’t play your fucked up games.” Yet your body did not move.

“Very well. Of course you have a choice, how unbecoming of me…” Illumi paused which added a crude suspense you hated. “But what if you didn’t have the capacity to make that choice?” 

“What?” 

From his pocket, he pulled out another brass pin. This one was special with a reddish hue on the head of it, one that you hoped he’d never try and use on you but you reserved the right to have no surprise if he did. 

It made no difference, you were still surprised and shocked he would resort to this to prove a point anyway. “You dare use that on me Illumi-“

“What will you do? Run? Everybody in this room knows what happens when you run, there’s nowhere for you to go so tell me what would happen if I did use this on you?” 

Hisoka was close to you, but he was on pause, all fours like he was waiting for orders that never came yet. You weren’t sure if it was loyalty to Illumi, or his cocky persona pushed him to see how this played out. Either way, you didn’t want him near you at all. 

You shifted away a little, masking it as getting comfy or smoothing the linen on the bed out. “I’ll make a scene and everyone will know what you’re doing.” 

Hisoka let out a snicker under his breath to which it could have been mistaken. “Dear, a scene is what I intend to create with you with Illumi’s permission, ‘making a scene’ isn’t actually the deterrent you think it is.”

You hadn’t thought your rebellion through, stuck in a motel desolate and terrible that wasn’t even on the maps properly, that’s why you picked the place. The risks were high with an even higher reward. Shit. Who were you kidding? You knew the risks and took it anyway knowing what could go wrong. This was wrong. Illumi knew it too, he must have but the sadist in him grew too addictive in hurting you. 

A whore, that was what he reduced you to and you were still resisting.

“That doesn’t matter.” You said, pushing forth an ounce of courage. “I’ll make a scene anyway, things will get incredibly difficult.”

“You’re only giving me more reasons to use this pin on you…” The pin weaved in and out of his finger tips, swirling motion to highlight the moons glow and how dangerously effective it was. 

Illumi’s pins were nothing to be coy about when learning what they could do, collectively and more impressively individually. A fucking mind numbed monster with all willpower thrown out of the window alongside the bone chilling reason he used them. Not to mention painful, a pin sticking out of your head with no chance you’d ever get back to your normal self.

How terrifying. His hunger for control was disturbing.

It could have been a bluff but you wouldn’t risk it, not with an indefinite verbal threat on the table. Illumi loved his verbal tactics and manipulative ways… just like his mother. 

“You poor thing, are you really contemplating whether the fight is worth it?” Did Hisoka’s words always drip with sarcasm?

You were contemplating it. Already at a disadvantage with two on one, not to mention you were practically choking on the aura and blatant bloodlust. There wasn’t a chance in hell you would beat even one of them let alone the two. But you still thought about it despite how unrealistic it would be. They’d have you pinned in a second flat, on the bed without any wiggle room. A stuffed hog ready for slaughter in an abattoir and an injured mammal being circled by sharks as they sensed chum in the water. 

Upon thinking, you hadn’t realised just how close Hisoka was until the sweet smelling scent filled your nose. Rose petals. 

“Nothing to say?” He said. “Nothing at all? But you were so vocal just a moment ago.” 

“Don’t toy with her that way Hisoka.” Illumi wandered past the bed and took up residence in the chair in the corner. 

That way, did he mean verbally? Of course, that was only reserved for Illumi wasn’t it? “Just have at it with her and be done. I’d rather not spend much time in this drab town longer than I have to.”

He turned his attention away from you to Illumi “You really are a delight aren’t you? No wonder she’s running away if you’re this uptight in any place besides that fancy estate of yours-“

Illumi’s aura shifted and mutilated itself into something far more ghastly that stopped you in your tracks that you didn’t dare to breathe. Much more vicious then before. “I asked you here because I wanted to teach her a lesson Hisoka. Not to play with me.”

The aura flickered like roaring flames and was once again as dense as cement. Illumi’s fists clenched which made his knuckles fade to ceramic white strangling the air in between. 

Hisoka didn’t react, not in the slightest. But he did turn to you and looked you dead in the eye as is he was showing off. “Another joke, you really are an easy one to tease aren’t you?”

“Get on with it then. I don’t have all day.” 

If you didn’t do as you were told, he’d use the pin. If you did as he expected of you, he wouldn’t let you live this down and you’d have the memories of another man against you for the rest of your life. What could you do; what would be possible in order to slip away? To get out of this fucked up rock and hard place to more level ground?

You could run of course. Illumi made it clear you couldn’t actually run away from him and it would only spur Hisoka on wouldn’t it? You wouldn’t run from a dog, a four legged animal to get away, you’d back away slowly. 

So that’s what you did. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Off the bed. On two feet. “Away from here.” 

Hisoka was so quick taking a hold of your wrist and pulled you close to him. “Oh little bird, you’ve been caged already. What makes you think you can just fly away with those clipped wings? Illumi gave me permission to have you and I haven’t been this turned on for quite some time.” 

You may as well have been struggling against stone and rock. “Let go of me-“

“Struggling will do nothing though I prefer you did so.” He didn’t move no matter how much you struggled or pulled away like he was radioactive, but it did make his pupils dilate so much you noticed that even in the poor light. 

Illumi’s presence stifled you, threatened to put you out and it was clear and obvious that this was affecting him more than you assumed it would. But he didn’t yield. “Like I said before, you can be a whore…” That pause. “and then no one will want you.”

In a blink, that’s all it was and you couldn’t move no matter how much you tried to. Hisoka backed away didn’t have his hands on you anymore, a ghost of nothing held you in place and defied logic like an invisible rope you could feel but not see with your bare eyes. 

“You can feel my bungee gum now? Took you long enough. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt you… but it will hold you still so just try to relax; or don’t it doesn’t really matter to me.” 

“Remember the rules Hisoka.”

“Of course. No touching the face and nothing inside her, I remember.” 

Inside? The invisible restraints squeezed, tightened to the point it pinched, burned against your skin so white hot it brought tears to your eyes. You and Illumi had never practised traditional intercourse yet. 

That rule alone confused the fuck out of you.

“Get me out of this-“ One hand over your mouth. 

Not Hisoka’s. 

“Be quiet and just let it happen. Maybe then you’ll appreciate the life I made for you.” His expression was not angry, furious or disgusted. 

More like sad. 

But he was still a horrible person. 

That’s what you told yourself that night when Hisoka touched you, pleasured you no matter how much you tried to ignore the seeping sensations inside you. Your body acted differently to how your mind ran, sprinting away from the room in an attempt to hide everything in the present. To get away from Illumi’s expression each time you came in the presence of charismatic coo’s and hungry gazes lapping you up and spitting you out.

The restraints were reactive which loosened and then constricted periodically depending on what mood Hisoka was in. He pleasured himself and whenever he came all over you, that was when they were at their most catastrophic. 

“Look at you.” Hisoka had said, right over you while he cooed and stroked your hair. “All bark and no bite… I thought she was a fighter Illumi? I was hoping she’d struggle at least, this is just depressing.”

It didn’t stop him from doing everything and even pushing the boundaries that Illumi had set. There was a time more than once where you had a finger inside you just a little, jutting in and out whenever Illumi made direct eye contact with you so he didn't notice. 

The first time your head shot down to see Hisoka’s smirk behind his eyes and a tongue over your clit until you came. 

But after that you didn’t respond to his cockiness, his finger gently edging inside you closer until it seemed like someone who actually cared for you, but of course they did not care for you. They treated you like an object. 

Like... a whore.

For just one moment, Illumi got what he wanted, you wished to leave the motel and crawl back to the Zoldyck estate with your tail between your legs, to leave this… shit show and Illumi was the ticket out. It would have stayed that way too had you been someone with a more fail state of mind. 

“Do you have another in you? Want to go over the edge or should I stop it all and let you suffer?” 

Multiple orgasms but not before horrid edging and close calls. Hisoka worked your body out extraordinarily fast and you wondered if Illumi had filled him in, even with his minimal knowledge and experience with you himself. There were things that he did to you that you had not done in the company of your own husband. 

Illumi didn’t even touch himself as he watched. It was all Hisoka. You couldn't stand the test of time during the duration of the night. Legs shaking, skin on fire and trembling full of goosebumps with every touch and brush of wet tongue against you. 

“Such a naughty girl… You’ve relaxed so much someone could mistake you for enjoying this.”

You would have marks that lasted a lifetime you were certain and Illumi, though despite how uncomfortable he looked himself, did nothing and just reminded you why he was doing this. A lesson and to make a point. A lesson for what exactly you still weren’t sure of, not really, but the only real lesson you took from it was to be sneakier and more careful the next time you would inevitably run away. 

That was a promise you made to yourself. 

A promise to get away for good.

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[formulafanfics13]

Carlos and the reader are coworkers, but he discovers that she has a tattoo on her back and can't stop thinking about her. He sees her in a bikini and loses his mind.

All Inked Up - CS55 🔥

Masterlist

Summary: During summer break, you're training at the same gym as Carlos Sainz, where he becomes fixated on the delicate tattoo between your shoulder blades. Tension brews for days, until you wear a tiny bikini at the pool — putting your tattoo and curves on full display. Carlos snaps. Pulls you into the pool house. Fucks you against the wall like he’s been fantasising for weeks. He makes you come on his mouth, then fucks you rough from behind, finishing on your tattoo while whispering that he's obsessed with you. By nightfall, he's already planning round two.

Warnings: Public sex, dirty talk, obsession kink, breeding kink undertones, praise and degradation, rough sex, oral (f receiving), light spanking, spit kink implied, exhibitionism risk, possessive behaviour, choking/hair pulling, impact play, cum play, mention of poetry kink (Neruda), emotional intensity.

It starts in the gym. Because of course it does. You're both training at the same facility just outside Madrid, booked out by a handful of the teams during the summer break. Low-profile. Quiet. Private enough that the Ferrari boys and the Williams duo can both be there without PR chaos.

Which is good. Because the chaos right now? It’s Carlos. Not the media version. Not the one who smiles for the cameras or does awkward TikToks with Charles. No, this version is different. Realer. The one you’ve been lowkey obsessed with since Bahrain. The one who watched your debut race from the pit wall and told Logan, completely straight-faced, "She's going to fuck us all up."

You’ve been competitive ever since. The teasing started small. Banter over lap times. Training stats. Nutrition choices. The occasional smug smile across the garage when you went purple in Sector 2. But today? Today is different.

You’re training shirtless. Sports bra and leggings. Hair tied up. And when you reach up to grab a resistance band off the shelf, your shirt lifts just enough for him to see it.

The tattoo. Black ink, delicate and sharp, high between your shoulder blades. Not huge. Not flashy. But it’s there. And it destroys him.

Carlos freezes mid-rep. Stares. That curve of ink. The placement. The way your muscles shift beneath it when you twist or lean or stretch. It short-circuits something in him. He’s not subtle about it.

You catch him looking a second later, and smirk. “You good, Sainz?”

He clears his throat. “What’s the tattoo?”

You raise a brow. “You been staring at it that long and still don’t know?”

He flushes. Shrugs. “Can’t really see it properly.”

You grab your water bottle, take a sip, and lean against the wall like you’re not deliberately toying with him. “Maybe if you ask nicely.”

His eyes darken. You leave it there. Because what’s the point of summer break if not to torture a little?

You don’t think about it again. Not until three days later. You’re staying at the same coastal cabin-style resort. Some Ferrari, Mercedes, Haas and Williams pre-season bonding crap someone booked without realising how fucking unhinged the combo would be. Logan’s already tried to fight Charles over who makes the better espresso.

You walk down to the pool after lunch. Book in hand. Bikini under your oversized linen shirt. Your sunglasses are perched on your nose. You feel relaxed. Sun-warm and smug and mostly unaware of the war you’re about to start.

Because when you drop your shirt on the lounger and stretch out in your bikini? Carlos fucking chokes.

He’s on the other side of the pool with Charles, sipping something fruity and probably alcoholic. And he sees you. Lying on your stomach. Bikini tied at the back in a neat little bow. Tattoo on full display.

He stares like you just murdered someone in front of him. His drink lowers. His sunglasses come off. His jaw clenches. Charles doesn’t even look up. Just mutters, “Jesus Christ, you’re so obvious.”

Carlos ignores him.

Because your tattoo’s not the only problem now. It’s the curve of your ass. The dip of your spine. The way your bikini bottoms barely qualify as legal swimwear. And your legs. Your legs. Tan and long and stretched out like you don’t even know you’re making him suffer. You do know. You flip over, arms over your head, adjusting your sunglasses.

Carlos stands. Charles sighs like he’s seen this movie before. “Tell her you like her before your brain melts.”

Carlos doesn’t answer. Just walks. You see him before he says anything. Shadow falling across your lounger. You tilt your head. “Hey.”

His eyes drag down your body. “You're doing this on purpose.”

You blink. “What?”

“The bikini. The tattoo. You’re fucking with me.”

You grin. “I think you’re overestimating how much I think about you, Sainz.”

He leans down, voice low, Spanish accent thick with tension. “Then stop looking at me like you want me to bend you over the nearest sunbed.”

Your breath catches. The air shifts. You hold his gaze. Slow. Deliberate. “Then stop talking to me like you’re going to actually do it.”

He growls. Actually growls. And grabs your wrist. Pulls you off the lounger. Leads you straight into the pool house like it’s nothing.

The moment the door shuts? He snaps.

Mouth on yours. Hands on your hips. Pushing you back until your spine hits the cool tile wall, your legs part instinctively and he fits between them like it’s where he’s always belonged.

“Tell me what it is,” he mutters, lips dragging down your throat. “The tattoo.”

You gasp as his mouth moves lower. “Why?”

“Because I’ve been jerking off thinking about it for three nights straight.”

You whimper. “It’s a line from a poem.”

“What poem?”

“Pablo Neruda.”

Carlos groans like you knew that would ruin him. “Fuck. Of course it is.” He slides one hand beneath your bikini top, grabs your breast, pinches hard. “You're trying to kill me.”

“You deserve it.”

“You have no idea what I deserve.”

He drops to his knees. Drags your bikini bottoms down. Lifts your leg over his shoulder. And buries his face in your cunt. It’s filthy. Desperate. Tongue-fucking you like he’s starved. Moaning against you. Gripping your ass with both hands as he devours you against the pool house wall.

You come once, too fast, too hard. He doesn’t stop. “Carlos-”

“I’m not done,” he growls, standing, undoing his shorts. “Turn around.”

You hesitate.

“Now.”

You obey. Hands on the wall. Bikini top still clinging on. Ass bare and aching. He grabs your hips and thrusts into you with no warning. You scream. He fills you completely. Big. Thick. Stretching you wide as he slams into you again, again, again.

“You think I didn’t notice?” he pants. “The way you always look at me? Pretending you’re not soaking wet every time we argue?”

You’re gasping. “I didn’t-oh fuck-didn’t think you liked me.”

“Stupid girl,” he snarls, fucking you harder. “I’m obsessed with you.”

His hand tangles in your hair, yanks your head back, mouth at your ear. “Say it.”

“Say what-fuck-”

“Say who owns this pussy.”

“You do.”

“Again.”

“You do, Carlos-fuck, you do-”

He rubs your clit and you come again, this time sobbing, legs shaking, nails clawing at the tile. He fucks you through it, hips brutal, chasing his own release. “Where do you want it?” he grits out.

“My back,” you gasp, “the tattoo-come on it-”

He pulls out with a groan and spills across your lower back, groaning your name like it’s holy. Silence. Then the sound of him breathing. Deep. Controlled. Then? A kiss. Right below the tattoo. Soft. Slow. “I want to read it,” he whispers.

You turn to him, breathless. Smiling. “I’ll show you the whole poem. But only if you fuck me again after dinner.”

He grins. “Deal.” And he does. Twice. Once before dessert. Once with your thighs over his shoulders while the ocean wind rattles the shutters.

You never go back to teasing after that. Not because it stops being fun. But because he stops letting you leave the room without a hand on your ass and a promise in his pocket.

You’re inked. And now? So is he. Stamped all over your skin.