#and if you are repeating the same thing over and over again with the same (or similar) results no matter how much you love it

[prael]

Day 2: Covered

IVE An Yujin x male reader smut

words: 6,374 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

They said you could have been special; you would argue that you are.

Destined for greatness. A bright future. Whichever other way they wanted to express it.

The thing is, not everyone is cut out for the centre stage, and that's okay. You still get to do what you love, surrounded by people who share the same passion and work just as hard. Sometimes in life, you are the backup dancer in someone else's story. Sometimes, you literally are the backup dancer.

Yujin however, Yujin is the star. The one the world adores. The one that everyone around her seems to orbit.

You're just another face in her gravitational pull. You're on the stages and you're in the videos but no one remembers your name. There's probably an edit on Weverse somewhere with a sticker on your face. It's fine though. You've long made your peace with it.

You refuse to let that take away from the fact you spend so much time with An fucking Yujin. You've seen her in every single state, every emotion. She likes her 5 am coffee black and her mid-day one with ice. Yujin loves it when you massage her shoulders after practice and hates it when you play the same song twice in a row. However, the thing she loves above all else (and this can never go public) is having you on your knees—serving her like the queen you know her to be.

That's her secret. It's one you bear—one you're fine with keeping.

The final shoot is tomorrow, and today's practice is over but you know better than to follow everyone else out of the studio. You wait and you linger, and when the room clears out and you're sure everyone has left, you kneel and you wait. Sure enough, she notices and a smile creeps onto her face.

You don't bother to look up. Instead, you stay kneeling, waiting, knowing she's going to make her way over to you.

She does.

You hear her soft footsteps approaching and see the shadow fall over you as she stands there, looking down at you. You look up, slowly, eyes trailing up the length of her legs, over the expanse of her bare thighs and then just as you reach her hips, her fingers slip into your hair. She tightens her grip and yanks your head back so she can stare directly into your eyes.

"Did I say you could look at my legs?"

You gulp, feeling the tug on your hair and the way it makes your scalp burn. Your throat is dry, mouth parted and eyes wide. "No," you respond.

"Then what are you looking at?"

"I'm sorry," you quickly apologise, your hands clenching into fists and relaxing again as she tugs harder, her grip unrelenting.

"Sorry isn't good enough," she scoffs. "Why do I always have to teach you a lesson?"

You open your mouth to speak but the words die in your throat when she shoves you to the ground and kicks her leg out, planting her foot on your chest.

"Take off my shoes, don't talk."

You rush to comply, untying the laces of her sneaker before slipping it off. Yujin switches foot and you obediently repeat the action, putting the shoe beside the first one. You know that you can't allow your eyes to linger, but her bare legs are right over you and it takes all your self-control to look away.

"Socks," Yujin mutters.

You take a deep breath, knowing exactly what she wants you to do. You're slow to reach out, placing a hand on her ankle. She lets you, allowing you to gently lift her leg and slide her sock off, dropping it to the ground beside her. Your hand slides higher, caressing the soft skin of her calf, tracing the contours of her muscles. You're almost distracted until Yujin clears her throat, glaring down at you.

You nod, sliding the second sock off her foot and letting that join the first. You don't know where to look, her skin is right in front of you, begging to be kissed. Her eyes are boring into you, demanding all your attention.

"I don't know if you deserve it," she hums, lifting her foot. She drags her toes over your chest, the ball of her foot pressing down just beneath your collarbone.

"Deserve what?"

"To taste me," she laughs. "Don't think I didn't notice how distracted you were today. Don't think I didn't notice you staring at me."

"I wasn't—"

"Don't lie," she interrupts. "It's a bad habit."

You're so hopelessly disarmed. Lying underneath her on the hardwood floor of the studio with your body burning. She's so beautiful, and it's not fair. It's not fair how the universe created someone who can ruin you so easily and look so effortless doing it.

"You're lucky it's recording today tomorrow. You know what that means."

Like any other day before a big something, Yujin has a need for a release. It's a tradition at this point. The days leading up to something are so full of stress and excitement that it all gets too much and the only way for her to relieve herself is to use you.

You nod. You know exactly what it means.

She lowers her foot, and you feel her toes brush against the crotch of your shorts. You suck in a breath as she rubs up and down the fabric, pressing into you. She's watching your reaction, watching the way you bite your lip and clench your fists.

"You've been bad today. Distracted. Not focusing. Do you think you deserve this?"

"No," you shake your head.

"I don't think you do either." She removes her foot, stepping back.

It's torture. You clench your eyes as hard as your fists, desperate not to act out of turn.

"But you know what I want," she continues as you dare to open your eyes and look up. She's staring at you, hands on her hips. "You know what to do to get back on my good side."

You nod. Of course, you know. It's not the first time you've found yourself on the floor beneath her. You sit up on your knees and shuffle forwards. Her shorts are black and loose. Your fingers slip into the waistband and you tug them down slowly, sliding them over the curve of her ass, past the smooth, glowing skin of her thighs and down to her ankles.

You take a breath. You're so desperate. So hungry. She's wearing the laced panties you like. The ones you bought for her and left in her bag. They hug her so tightly that she seems to be straining against them. Her ass looks perfect, her thighs thick and inviting and her cunt...you can see the outline of her folds. The thin material barely covers her. She knows how much it affects you.

"You're staring again," she huffs, pushing her hand into your hair once more and tugging roughly.

"I can't help it," you whimper.

Her fingers twist and you feel the burn in your scalp once more as you wince in pain. Yujin's hand moves from your hair, dragging down the length of your neck and around to the front of your throat. Her hand squeezes gently, thumb and index finger digging in just below your jaw.

"You can. You will."

You gasp, her grip is tight and you can't breathe, your eyes watering with the pain and the pleasure that it brings. She leans forward, her breath hot against the shell of your ear, her grip tight. You're trembling, shaking with the effort of holding back.

"Beg me," she whispers.

"Let me taste you. Let me kiss you. Please, please let me—"

Her grip on your neck tightens, cutting you off. Your words dissolve into a whimpering mess and your eyes roll back in their sockets as your body melts into her. Her touch, her words, her everything has such an effect on you that it takes you to another world. The only thing that exists is the two of you.

"Pathetic," she scoffs, her lips brushing your ear. "You'll do anything, won't you?"

"Yes," you moan, and you mean it.

"Good," she says as she pushes you away and you collapse back against the ground. "Now make me feel good, will you? I'm sick of waiting."

Yujin steps over you, her legs on either side of you and she pulls the laced underwear to the side, lowering herself down until she's hovering just over your mouth.

She looks ethereal like this, the lights shining down on her. The goddess of your dreams, the star of your story.

"Please, let me—" You don't even need to finish your sentence, Yujin sinks down, pressing her pussy onto your lips and you open your mouth to lick at her. A mouth full of pussy, the taste of her arousal hitting your tongue. She grinds down, the soft skin of her thighs pressing in on either side of your face, trapping you. You lick again, tongue flat against her, licking up from her entrance and over her clit. She grunts and her hips buck forward, grinding her pussy down harder on your lips.

"More," she pants.

And you give it to her. Your tongue laps at her, teasing her clit. Her hips roll and you feel the slickness between her legs growing and it's all over you, coating your face as you desperately reach for her thighs. She slaps your hand away.

"Did I say you can touch?"

You struggle to shake your head between her legs.

"So keep them down."

Your hands go back to your side and she groans in approval, grinding harder and faster, using you like she knows she can. This is so Yujin, to use you like she's nothing but a toy for her to play with. You don't care, you'll do whatever she wants.

You're lost in the moment, your tongue licking, tasting and teasing as you desperately try and find the rhythm she's moving in. Her thighs tighten around your head, trapping you there. You cut shapes across her clit with your tongue and you feel the shuddering of her legs as she whines. She loves it when you write her name with your tongue. The letters spelling out An Yujin.

It's all it takes for you to be consumed by her. She's in your system and all you want to do is make her feel good.

Even the powerful, composed, elegant, Yujin has to succumb in some form to the pleasure. She's been riding you with so much poise and posture. Her back is slightly arched, so above you is just the beautiful expanse of her upper body—clung to by a sweat-soaked white shirt. She's running her hand across her chest, her fingers twisting a nipple as she works herself into a frenzy on you. Her head rolls, her hand moves to the base of her neck and she moans.

She basks in the light shining down on her, and it's a sight to behold. The way it glistens on her skin. The sweat runs down her chest. Her hair, her face. The way she looks when she's so completely in the moment.

"Fuck—" she gasps and her thighs tense around your head.

You're trapped and you're struggling. Your face is covered in slick and your mouth is filled with her taste. You feel like you're suffocating and all you can think is that this is how you want to die, with Yujin all over you. Yet you know there's more to come. She starts to crumble. The poise fades and she leans forward, slamming the palm of her hand against the floor.

She hunches as she rides harder. She's fucking down onto your face. Grinding her pussy on your lips and your chin, chasing the ecstasy that she needs. She's so close you can feel it in the way she trembles. You hear it in her moaning, her whines. She's there. Right there, on the cusp. 

And how you wish you could take hold of her. Grip her juicy ass in your hands and push your mouth against her cunt and fuck her with your tongue. You'd do it. You would. Your hands twitch at the thought. Your fingers curl into the floor instead. There will be no marks on Yujin's perfect skin from your fingers right now. You keep them clenched and do as you're told.

"Fuck—" She grunts, her thighs trembling. You can't move and you can barely breathe. All you can do is lick at her and let her ride you like a toy.

It's enough. Yujin cries out and her back arches, her head falling backwards. She comes and it's the most glorious sight, watching her body tense as her thighs tremble, clenching around your face. She grinds, rubbing against your tongue as she draws it out. It's messy and loud. She's panting, her chest heaving and she moans, rocking her hips and gasping.

It's like the tension washes out of her body and she sinks down, relaxing against you. She sits on your chest, looking down at you, a satisfied smirk on her face. You try to smile back but all you can manage is a dopey grin as you struggle to catch your breath. She's beautiful like this. Her eyes shine bright, the light behind them twinkling. Her skin glows and she looks like a work of art. A masterpiece.

"You did well," she praises, reaching out to touch your face, stroking her fingers across your cheeks, "you always do well for me, don't you?"

You nod. "I'd do anything for you," you say, and you mean it.

"I know you will." She shifts her hips, her thighs clamping down around your face again, restricting your air. Yujin laughs. "You'd let me suffocate you if I told you to."

And you would. You really would.

"But, I still have use for you," she tells you as she dismounts. Yujin relaxes on the floor next to you, her head propped up on her elbow.

You take a breath and roll over to look at her, still gasping for air. She smiles, reaching out and cupping your face with her hand, thumbing the wetness of her from your cheeks. You're a mess, covered in her, and her eyes tell you how much she loves that sight. How much she enjoys the power of having you like that.

Yujin leans over, her lips grazing over yours. The kiss is so light it makes you shiver. A complete contrast to what you've just experienced. She walks this balance so perfectly. The rough and the gentle, the affection and the torment. She's the best at both and she plays with them like an instrument.

"Do you like me?" Yujin blinks innocent eyes and it's a trap that you fall right into.

"Yes. You know that I do. I like you a lot."

Yujin grins. "Do you like my body?" She shuffles closer, looking down at you a little more. "Do you want to fuck me?"

You gulp, your mouth watering as your eyes wander over the curves of her figure, the way her nipples press against her shirt, the way the hem of it has risen, exposing her midriff and how she plays with the lace of her panties on her hip. You're so hard that you're aching and she knows that. You want her, you need her, you'd give anything to feel her.

"Yujin," you whimper. "Please."

"Do you deserve to fuck me? After being so bad today?"

"I can make up for it. I'll do anything—"

"I bet you would," she hums. Her hand reaches out, sliding over your shorts, her fingers grazing over the obvious bulge. "You want it that badly?"

You nod and you're desperate.

"You want to be inside me?"

"Please, Yujin," you whimper.

She grins, tugging at the waist of your shorts and slipping her fingers under the waist. "You want to grab my ass while I ride you like the toy that you are? Do you want me to bounce on your dick, hm? The one that belongs to me?"

You bite your lip as you nod fervently, watching the way her eyes shine and the corners of her lips twist. Yujin lets out a soft laugh at your desperation.

"Then worship me." She pulls her hand away from your crotch and places it on her hip to pose. "Show me how much you like my body."

Yujin rolls onto her back, throws her hands above her head and bends a knee as her other leg stretches out. She looks so perfect, so inviting. So you climb to your knees, looking over her as she relaxes. There's a natural arch to her body between her shoulders and her ass that leaves a sliver of light between the small of her back and the floor. She's an art piece. Like a statue carved from stone, sculpted and designed to be admired. A creation so beautiful and elegant.

And you're on your knees for her, kissing up her outstretched leg. Your hand traces over her thigh. You're slow, taking your time. The skin beneath your lips is so soft, so smooth, so delicate. You don't deserve her. Your lips press into the path your hand paves up her body. Gentle kisses of appreciation on the thigh you adore so much.

"Yujin—" you breathe the words hot onto her skin. A lick, to taste the sweat from her body, a kiss, to mark the spot. A honey-laced laugh rings in the air. "You're so beautiful," you murmur.

Your mouth presses against her hip, tongue trailing over her skin. Your fingers lip up under her tight-fitted shirt. She's so warm. Her body feels like it's burning and her breaths are heavy.

She looks down the length of her body to watch you as your hand slides up, pushing her shirt with it. Your lips graze over your stomach, tongue teasing and tracing over the defined lines. You're in awe of her. She's perfect, and she knows it, but you still want her to know that she's appreciated. That she's worshipped, admired, adored, lusted for, and wanted.

"I know I am," she laughs, "but tell me more."

"An Yujin," you breathe the name into her skin as you kiss your way to her chest, your hand sliding further up her body until the palm of your hand rests on the softness of her breast. "No one is like you," you whisper as you squeeze the mound in your hand, feeling her body beneath you, feeling the way it moves when your hand does. "You're so flawless."

She moans softly when your fingers pinch her nipple. "Keep going," Yujin hums.

"You're stunning," you continue, looking up at her face as you kiss across her chest to the other breast, your hand still fondling. Your mouth hovers over her nipple and your eyes flicker up to meet hers as you lick over it. She gasps and you lick again, teasing and flicking over it. "You're the most decadent, alluring thing I have ever laid eyes on."

"I'm your fantasy?" Her hands move to the top of your head, her fingers twisting into the strands of your hair as you lick, sucking her into your mouth again, teasing her with the flat of your tongue. You suck and she lets out a sharp hiss of a moan.

"My fantasy," you breathe the words against her chest. "You're my dream."

Her hips lift, pushing against you and the growing ache of your erection. The friction, the heat, the feeling of her—it's so good. She grinds, rolling her hips and rubbing against your cock, smirking at the way you whine, your eyes fluttering.

"You want to cum," she taunts. "Don't you?"

"Yujin," you moan her name again as her fingers twist tighter in your hair. Your hips roll down to meet the grind of her body and your mouth finds the crook of her neck. You inhale the scent of her. You're surrounded by Yujin. It's dizzying. She's everywhere. The smell of her, the taste of her on your tongue and lips, the feeling of her skin on your hands, under your body, the sight of her, the sound of her voice. Everything is Yujin, and you can't think of a better world to live in. "I want you," you tell her. "I want to be inside you, I need you."

"I know what you need," she hums. Yujin's hands tug on your shirt and you sit back and pull it off. Her palms press against your chest, pushing you to lie back on the floor. You watch her and the grace with which she moves, kneeling over your waist as she peels her own shirt over her head and tosses it to the side.

Your eyes are all over her body. Yujin's hands run over the softness of her skin, and she cups her tits in her hands, rolling her thumbs over her nipples, her eyes locked on yours as you watch. Her body is a wonderland. There's no part of it that you haven't seen. No inch of her skin you haven't touched or tasted. You know every crevice of it, every mark and blemish, every imperfection. You know them all and you love them. They're the most perfect imperfections you've ever seen.

She knows the power that her body has over you, the control it gives her. Yujin knows how to wield that weapon, how to make it into the sharpest sword, and how to cut you with it.

"Fuck me," you plead, the words escaping your lips in desperation. "Yujin, please."

"You beg so beautifully for me," she smiles, her fingers sliding under the waistband of your shorts. "Lift your hips."

And you obey, lifting them from the floor. Yujin's fingers tug at the fabric, pulling them down your thighs. She smiles at the sight of you, hard and leaking. Yujin's hands slide over your bare thighs. You're exposed, and the feeling of the cool air hitting your skin sends a chill up your spine. Her palms slide up until she wraps one around the base of your cock and her touch sends a shiver through your body. Yujin strokes up, slowly, twisting her hand on the upstroke. Your hips buck at her touch and she grins at the way your cock twitches, the precum leaking across the back of her hand as she reaches the top.

"You're so needy," she says as her hand glides back down. Your eyes are wide, watching every move she makes as if your life depended on it. "I like it," she tells you.

"I'd do anything—"

"I know you would," Yujin laughs, cutting you off. She shuffles forward on her knees until her thighs press on either side of your waist, caging you between her. The way she towers over you, with that look in her eyes that says you belong to her. "You're my toy, aren't you?"

"I'm your toy."

"That's right." Her hand squeezes tighter around the base of your cock as she lifts her hips, hovering just over you. You don't know how long she's going to keep you waiting, you never do. It could be seconds, it could be minutes. She has a sadistic streak that you've never understood and it's always a game of how desperate can she make you before giving in to your begging. "And who does this belong to?" she asks.

"You. Yujin. It belongs to you," you breathe the words, your fingers curling into the palms of your hands.

"That's right, it belongs to me. This cock," she strokes up again. "It's mine. Isn't it?" Yujin's fingers trace up, circling your tip.

"It's yours," you whimper. The desperation has you whining.

"It is," she laughs, and it's a sound that makes your stomach twist into knots. She squeezes you and lifts her hips just a little, enough for you to feel the heat of her body. You feel her thighs squeeze against you as she grinds her pussy on the underside of your cock, dragging the length of you through her folds and over her clit.

Instinct dictates that you bring your hand to her hip, but you know you can't just take hold of her, not unless she's given the go-ahead. You clench your hands tighter, biting your lip to hold in your frustration, your desperation.

Yujin's hips rock against you again, grinding down and using your cock to get herself off. You can feel the slickness between her legs. You can hear the wet sound it makes. She's using you, and she's loving every second. It's the sound you know too well. She's getting herself off. The feeling of her is intoxicating, and your cock is throbbing, twitching as it slides against her pussy, hitting her clit. The moans from Yujin's lips tell you exactly what it's doing to her. How much she loves the way it makes her feel.

You can't touch. You can't take control. All you can do is lie back, your head tipped back against the floor as your fingers grip in vain at the floor, struggling to keep them from reaching out for her. Yujin's body moves like silk in the wind, and you know she's so close. The sound of her, the feeling of her. She's riding the edge, grinding down, the tip of your cock catching on her entrance as she teases you with every move.

"Yujin—" you beg her name as your head falls to the side, eyes clenched closed.

"What?" Her voice is thick with lust and you feel her hand on your chin, gripping your jaw, her nails biting into your cheeks. She turns your face and forces your eyes open to watch the way she moves. "You want to be inside me?"

You can only nod in reply, feeling her fingers tighten around you, squeezing. She grins, leaning over and you feel the breath of her laughter on your neck. Her lips brush your skin. Her teeth nip, biting down on your shoulder, making you wince. Yujin's hips roll forward, and the tip of your cock catches on her entrance. She holds there for a moment, a silent torment of anticipation as your mind swirls and your stomach flips. And then you feel the heat, her warmth as she slowly pushes herself onto your cock. You watch with a hitched breath, your heart hammering in your chest. You feel her. She feels you.

The breath you'd held rushes out, a gasping moan, the feeling of being enveloped by her body. The tight warmth as Yujin sinks all the way down. Her pussy grips your length, squeezing tight and you can feel the way it flutters, the way it grips, the way it clenches around you. Your eyes meet hers, and you can see how much she enjoys having this effect on you. How she loves the way you react, the sounds she forces you to make, the way you squirm and gasp beneath her. She owns you. Completely. Utterly. Irrevocably.

Her hands press down on your chest, and she starts to move, rolling her hips, circling, lifting up just enough that she can feel you slide in and out of her. You can feel it all, you're aware of every movement she makes. How she grinds her clit against your body on the downstroke, the way her hips tilt to find the right spot, the way she moans when she hits the perfect angle. The way she moves when she finds the right pace, the perfect rhythm. It's everything and all at once.

"You feel so good inside me," Yujin purrs. She leans back, placing a hand on the top of your thigh. Her body is open to you. She's exposed. The panties she still wears are pulled to the side, her breasts bouncing with every move of her body, her stomach tightening, the soft skin pulled taut as her abs clench. She's a sight, a beauty to behold and a treasure to worship.

"Yujin, please," you breathe the word into the space between the two of you. It's not enough, you need to touch. You have to. But you're trapped and she's in charge. "Let me touch you."

"No." It's simple, the way she says it. It's like she's not even thinking about the effect she's having on you like she doesn't even realise what she's doing to your sanity. She rides you like a toy, her hips moving, grinding down, her thighs squeezing and relaxing as she works. You can only whine, lying back against the ground. You watch as she takes what she needs from you, her hand slipping down her stomach and to her clit, circling quickly as her moans fill the room. "This is my cock," she breathes, "and I'll do what I like with it."

"Yes," you hiss as your hips push upwards, your hands balled into fists at your sides. You're so hard it hurts. It aches and it throbs, and all you can do is lie back, trapped beneath Yujin and her powerful thighs. "Yujin—" you breathe, but the words stick in your throat.

Her eyes are dark, the lust-filled pools staring down at you as you lie back, completely helpless and at her mercy. Your cock twitches and she gasps, her hand on her clit, rubbing furiously, chasing her release. She's getting closer and closer with each passing second and it shows in her face. Her brow creasing, lips parted and eyes fluttering.

She's fucking herself on your dick. Yujin is using you to get herself off and you love every second of it. The feeling of her walls gripping you tight, squeezing, her body clenching around you. The way her thighs tense and shake as she moves. Her moans, her gasps. Her eyes are on you, watching you watch her.

Yujin gasps and her body shudders, her pace quickening, her fingers circling faster, rubbing frantically at her clit as she chases her orgasm. You know how close she is, and all you can do is watch her face as she gets closer and closer. Her body is shaking, trembling as the wave builds inside her. Her moans get louder, and more intense. Her fingers work harder, and you feel her tightening, the walls of her pussy squeezing down, and then she cries out, her head tipping back, her body arching, her chest pushing out as she rides the waves of her orgasm.

It's beautiful. The way her body reacts to it all, the way she looks when she comes undone. Yujin moans your name and it sends shivers up and down your spine. She looks ethereal like this. A deity to be admired. A queen on her throne.

She's beautiful. She's breathtaking. She's Yujin.

When the waves stop crashing, Yujin collapses onto you, her body limp and spent. The warmth of her body pressed against you feels like heaven and your cock is still inside her, pulsing, aching, begging for its own release.

"I don't know if I should let you cum," Yujin pants in a whisper, her face pressed against your shoulder, the hot breath on your skin sending shivers down your spine. "Could just leave you here like this. All hard and frustrated. Aching. You'd probably go home and get yourself off thinking about me."

She's right. Of course, she's right. You would.

"Or maybe you can show me just how much you appreciate me," she breathes, pushing herself up, hands on either side of your head. "Would you like that?"

"Anything," you tell her. Your hands twitch, desperate to reach up to her. "You know I would."

"I know." She smirks and sits up. Her hips lift until you feel your cock slipping out of her, her wetness dripping onto you. Yujin's fingers trace over the mess she's left, smearing it on her fingertips before bringing it to your lips. You know what she wants. She doesn't even need to ask.

Your mouth opens and she pushes her fingers between your parted lips, letting you lick them clean. You suck her fingers and her eyes watch you, a glint of something dangerous shining. She pulls them out slowly, dragging the tips over your bottom lip. "Good," Yujin breathes the word as she climbs off of you and turns around.

The curve of her ass is a beautiful thing to see. It's soft, smooth, plump. She catches a glance at you staring, a smirk tugging on her lips. She plants her hand against her ass (a harsh reminder that feeling it yourself requires her permission) and squeezes the flesh before letting out a laugh. It's all a game to her.

"You're going to show me, by cumming for me. Cumming on me." She settles back onto the floor, gracefully lying back into a pose. "You have two minutes. Two minutes to show me how much you love my body." She runs a hand from her chest all the way to her hips and you watch, entranced by every movement she makes. Yujin laughs again. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

The words kick you into action and you scramble to your knees and shuffle towards her. She laughs at the sweet, sweet honey sound that makes you melt. Your hand wraps around the base of your cock, the wetness from Yujin's pussy coating it, slick and smooth as you slowly stroke your length. You stare at her, watching the way her chest rises and falls with each breath, the way her fingers trace up and down the skin of her thigh, the way her tongue darts out to wet her lips.

It's intoxicating. You're drunk on Yujin, high off of her beauty, and you're addicted. There's no going back. You're hers, completely. Your fist tightens around your length and your strokes quicken. The feeling of it is so good and your cock is still throbbing from being trapped inside her. You can feel the lingering heat of her body on your skin. The scent of her, the taste, the sound. It's everywhere. Surrounding you. Enveloping you. Engulfing you. Consuming you.

"Two minutes," she hums the reminder, her fingers sliding between her thighs. Yujin's fingers slide over the panties she still wears. "Two minutes to make yourself cum for me. To make a mess of my body."

"Yujin," you whimper her name like it's a prayer. The sound of her voice, the sight of her body. The knowledge of what you've done, of what you've experienced. You've been inside her. You've had the taste of her on your tongue, the sound of her in your ears. Her pussy is still dripping and her thighs glistening. You're still so hard that you're aching, and all you can do is stroke yourself. All you can do is pump your hand and feel your fingers glide up and down your shaft.

Your eyes flicker from the smooth, warm, inviting skin of her chest to her pussy and back. You've tasted her. You've felt her. You've felt the way she grips and clenches, the way she feels. The sound of her when she cums.

"I don't know if you can do it. I don't know if you can cum." Yujin teases and she knows how to play you. "One minute."

"Yujin," you moan her name again and again as you feel it building. The pressure. The heat. Your cock twitches in your hand as you stroke. The sensation of the wet heat, the friction, the knowledge that Yujin is beneath you, but you're hers to command, to control. It's too much and it's everything. You feel it in your core, a twisting, coiling, winding tension that's threatening to snap.

"Do you want to cum on me?" Her voice breaks through the fog. "Do you want to mark my body with your cum? Make a mess of me?"

She throws her hands above her head, stretching out her body and presenting herself for your load. "Thirty seconds," Yujin warns, the hint of danger on the tip of her tongue.

"Yujin—" You can only whisper her name as you stroke. Hard and fast, gripping and twisting. You're so close. Right there, standing on the precipice.

"That's it. Be a good boy for me," she praises. "Show me how much you adore me."

"I—I—" Your words die in your throat, a gasping, breathless moan. You're cumming, the tension snaps and it's all too much. The pleasure rushes over you like a wave. You're drowning in it. You're suffocating. Your hips stutter, thrusting into your fist, pumping your length as you feel the hot spurts of your cum painting over Yujin's perfect, beautiful skin. The first spurt splashes across her breasts, the second spattering across her stomach and chest. Her laughter fills the room. She loves this, seeing the way she's ruined you.

Your body shakes, your hand slowing as the final drops fall from your cock to the expanse of Yujin's body. Your mind swims as you struggle to breathe. Your head spins and your vision is blurry. She's laughing, her fingers swiping through the cum, rubbing it into her skin. Her hands roam all over her body and you're entranced. Your body feels like jelly as you collapse, slumped onto your side on the floor beside her.

"Good boy," Yujin purrs, her hand sliding over her stomach and down between her legs, rubbing at her clit with your cum. She's smearing it everywhere, all over her pussy, her fingers slipping between her folds and then back to her clit. It runs over her chest, dripping down the side of her tit. Her breath hitches and you watch, mesmerised by her. "Such a good boy."

"Yujin," her name falls from your lips as if you've lost all other words, the way a prayer is uttered, reverently and devotedly. "I—"

She laughs again. It's light and playful. "I know. I'm the best, right? You're so lucky."

"Yes." It's the only thing you can think of to say. You are lucky. So unbelievably lucky.

[yeagersss]

Sukuna x f!Reader

In which Sukuna brings home child Uraume — 2

<— previous

It was your scream piercing through the forest that had Sukuna dropping everything and speeding up his steps.

He was coming back from a hunt while you and Uraume were walking through the woods, foraging for ingredients.

It's been a few weeks since Uraume joined you both and since then, you had showered them with nothing but love and affection. Like the child you always wanted.

Sukuna, on the other hand, was teaching the kid how to properly control their technique. It wasn't something he would ever do for anyone but he has grown to... have a soft spot for Uraume.

But when he dashed through the woods and arrived at the scene, Sukuna would never admit the way his heart sank at what he saw.

Ice.

Ice everywhere.

With you slumped against a tree, shaking uncontrollably while Uraume was next to you in tears, screaming and crying as they apologised profusely. Half of your body was covered in ice.

"No! No! My lady, please! I—I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do this! It was an accident—!" The child wailed. Memories of the frozen corpses of their parents rushing through their head.

It was just like that time.

"What have you done?" Sukuna's angered voice had Uraume backing away in fear as he got closer.

Your husband was by you in an instant, taking you in his arms. His eyes raked over your body to assess the damage. He quickly used his RCT to heal you. His heart was in his throat and he didn't stop until color returned to your face and your breathing was even.

You were going to be okay.

You were going to be okay but Sukuna was not going to let this go so easily. You... His everything... was harmed. Had almost brushed against the brink of death.

But when he looked up at Uraume with a rage of a furious storm, he paused.

The child was bowing deeply against the forest ground, body uncontrollably shaking from sobs and their little fists digging into the dirt as they repeated the same thing over again.

"I'm sorry! Please forgive me! I didn't mean—I-I didn't mean to hurt her—!"

And those words stirred something inside Sukuna. A memory. A memory he had buried deep into his mind and vowed to never look back upon ever again.

Of a small, deformed child who had just discovered his dangerous technique.

"How could you do this?!"

"Please, I'm sorry!"

"Do you think sorry will fix this?! Will fix the damage you caused?!"

"I didn't mean to! Mother, I swear—"

"Stay away from me, you wretched thing!"

"Monster!"

"Four eyed demon!"

"He'll bring a curse upon our village!"

"Kill that deformed thing! Kill it—"

"Enough. Stand up and let's go."

"B-But my lady is—"

"She's fine."

The walk back to home was quiet. Uraume had expected their punishment the moment they stepped into the house. But after Sukuna had gently laid you on the futon, the punishment never came.

Instead, the King of Curses placed his large hand on top of the child's head and scowled disapprovingly.

"Brat, did you not get what I taught you? Focus on a single damn point and breathe. That way you'll be able to control your technique. Now—"

Sukuna lead Uraume outside again and stopped a few feet away from a deer and a fawn.

"Kill the fawn and only the fawn." The man ordered.

Uraume was in disbelief. They had fully expected a punishment for what they did but when they looked at Sukuna, there was no malice in his eyes. Instead, impatience clouded those bloodied rubies as he tapped his large foot on the ground, waiting for the moment the child would do something.

With an impossibly warmed heart Uraume turned to the fawn with a smile and followed the malevolent king's instruction.

--

You awoke a few hours later, eyes blinking up at the ceiling as memories of what happened slowly came back. Your heart sank and you tried to get up.

You had to find Uraume. The poor child!

But then you felt small cold arms secured tightly around you. Uraume was curled next you as they slept.

You calmed down and smiled tenderly, running your fingers across their snowy locks.

"They refuse to leave your side."

You looked over to see your husband leaning against the door frame. Your smile widened and you reached out to him.

Sukuna didn't hesitate, pushing himself off and walking over to you. He sat down next to you on the floor and took your delicate hand in his large one.

"I'm surprised they're even at my side."

Sukuna grunted. "They can control their technique now. So expect the brat to be glued to you more often."

You laughed softly. "Oh? And does that have something to do with you, my lovely husband?"

Of course it did because he simply refused to look at you and gave you a mere shrug. He was embarrassed. You could tell.

"My lady...?"

You turned your focus to a sleepy Uraume, gazing at you with an apologetic look.

"My lady, I'm sorry..."

You shushed them, stroking their hair affectionately. "Hush now, little one. It wasn't your fault. Sleep, okay? I'm here..."

Sukuna looked on at you and Uraume quietly. You, his beautiful wife, whispering soothing words to the child who, moments ago, was nothing but terrified of who they were.

And then he thought back to the little deformed boy with four eyes and arms running away with a tear streaked face from a mother who begged the villagers to kill him.

He knew that boy was at peace now.

<— previous

[nothing-in-particular-blog-hey]

omg you people are going to drive me crazy. EVERYONE is saying the same thing, without checking the notes/comments to see the previous responses.

So, ONCE AND FOR ALL: this meme isn't supposed to be interpreted in a "in-universe" way, it is supposed to interpreted in a "out-of-universe" way.

It is COMPLETELY WORTHLESS that Kira is wearing a "bajoran uniform", because BAJORANS ARE MADE UP. THE UNIFORMS THEY WEAR ARE MADE UP. IT IS A TV SHOW.

It is just a godforsaken catsuit, specifically designed to make her look sexy and appealing to the male gaze. It is not bad in S1 but it gets feminized during the seasons.

If nobody else is wearing that tight catsuit in that strong and "sexy" red colour then it is COMPLETELY WORTHLESS that the name they chose to give to the tight red catsuit is "bajoran uniform". IT IS ALL MADE UP.

This is a post about how happy I am when the "hot female officer" is wearing the same uniform that LITERALLY ANYONE ELSE EXCEPT HER WEARS.

This is the case for Deanna, this is the case for T'pol, this is the case for Seven of Nine and this IS ALSO the case for Kira.

If you guys are so much in love with terminology that you lose reading comprehension, then substitute "regulation uniform" for "THE SAME DAMNED OUTFIT THAT EVERYONE ELSE IS WEARING" (But you'll have to admit that it doesn't have the same ring to it).

SORRY about this reaction, this was supposed to be a happy post, I'm just tired of everyone repeating the same thing over and over again.

However, no hard feelings, love ya, happy holidays!

Women wearing regulation uniforms. Women wearing regulation uniforms my beloved. 😍

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Daryl stopped beside you in the doorway and wrapped his arm around your back, his hand landing lightly on your hip. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he looked out on the same scene you were drinking in.

Judith and RJ were collapsed on the floor beside Dog in their pajamas, bathed in the faint glow of the lights on the Christmas tree. A few books were scattered around them and RJ was snuggled under his favorite blanket, tucked in by his big sister.

"Do you think we should move them to their bed or just... let them be?" you asked softly, unable to tear your eyes away from that precious scene in front of you.

Daryl paused thoughtfully for a moment and then answered. "Nah, we better move 'em. Otherwise, how's Santa gonna come get all them presents in under the tree?" he said, glancing at you.

You gave him a curious look. "All the presents?" you asked. "I only have a few things for everyone. It'd be easy to sneak them under the tree," you said, giving him a curious look.

He tipped his head back up the hall and you followed him to the unassuming closet beside the bathroom. You nearly gasped aloud when Daryl pulled open the door. The shelves were filled with packages wrapped in various bits of brown crinkled paper and scraps of old wallpaper, tied with bits of string and bright ribbons. You looked over at him, completely stunned. "W—what is all this?" you breathed, a smile growing on your face.

Daryl shrugged. "Ah, s'nothin'. I just—kept my eyes open this year," he drawled, ducking his head as if that wasn't the most magical thing you'd ever heard—not to mention a tremendous effort during a zombie apocalypse.

"This year?" you repeated, stars in your eyes as you looked up at him. "You've been planning all this for the whole year? Daryl—" You were nearly speechless.

"Well, yeah," he said, shaking his hair out of his eyes. "It's—it's our first real Christmas all together, ya know? As a—as a family. I wanted it to be... special."

You reached out and touched a tag that had your name scrawled on it in his handwriting. You could see several more, not to mention the many for the kids. "I feel extremely under-prepared. I only got you one little thing," you said. It was definitely something special, but you felt it paled in comparison to his effort.

He smiled at you and looped his arms around you again. "Nah, c'mon. Yer my Christmas present," he said, giving you a warm smile. "Besides, ya give me the gift of puttin' up with my ass every day. And that ain't no easy feat."

You chewed on your bottom lip and then laughed lightly. "That is true..." you joked, resting your hands on his strong chest.

"Now, let's get the kids in their bed," Daryl said. "Cuz I've been lookin' forward to unwrappin' my Christmas present all damn day," he drawled, giving you a mischievous look.

You laughed and leaned into his touch. "You don't get to open your presents early!"

"Not all of 'em. Just the one," he said, leaning in and kissing your neck.

"I don't know... Might have to move you to the naughty list..."

"Oh, 'm definitely on the naughty list," he whispered against your skin, kissing along your jaw.

You sighed and shut your eyes. "Shush! The kids," you whispered back.

With a great effort, he pulled back with a sigh. "Yeah. Alrigh'. I'll go get 'em in bed. And I'll meet ya in ours in a few." He kissed your cheek and then your forehead, and left you grinning.

You must be the luckiest damn person in the whole world. A/N: Merry Christmas Eve! <3 I should have a special fic (or maybe 2, dare I say...) out for you tomorrow! Happy Holidays!

[acid-ixx]

— masterlist !

every time i think about my series (again &. again), and the reader's fear towards the color green (or anything associated with damian, their half brother), i think about just how more painful it would be if you share the same features with him that he shares with bruce that amps up the angst element.

it doesn't have to be any major features, it could be small, but noticeable. something that has you reeling in yourself.

maybe it's the shape of your fingers or your brows, the plump of your cheeks, or maybe how your skin flushes the same way his does. maybe it's the way your eyebrows furrow like him, or the quirk of your lips whenever you smile a shadow of his smirk.

it doesn't matter because the more you look, the more you notice.

and the more you remember his glinting, green eyes standing by the arch of your doorway, menacingly watching over your shifting, paranoid body; ready to strike at you like you're prey, ready to eliminate your undeserving presence in the manor.

and of course, it's not a big deal, but for an overthinker like you, someone who's always trying to overcorrect, forcing yourself to not be associated by your family— cutting off every interest, or object, any damn thing that reminds you of them; sharing similarities with appearances, something so intimate, something that could've been just yours, with your youngest brother no less, your tormentor, just makes you want to rip that part of your body to seams.

it inadvertently makes you wish you were never bruce's child, too.

just so you could never see damian in yourself, just so your heart doesn't hasten every time you look in the mirror and find yourself staring at those features for hours. until the image of yourself twists into him, until you're the exact copy of the assassin, of the demon child, of the boy you have to unfortunately call your brother.

and every time you do so, there's a haze fogging inside your head, there's this sickening urge to hurt yourself, to change your appearance even if it's a part of your that cherishes the image of your mother too— if it means taking away the unwanted stems that remind yourself too much of him.

the truth is, you don't hate him, or rather you can't bring yourself to, out of pure, convoluted fear.

you despise the way he makes it feel like there's spiders crawling in the back of your throat, or how your body automatically locks up at the slight mention of his name.

even if you see him as just that, a young boy raised to be corrupted; his youth doesn't disregard the fact that he is the incarnate of danger, the same boy who threatened to end your life at first meeting. whose words cut sharper than blades, whose sword is perched on his back; an unspoken promise to cut more than the skin of your neck if you dare try to fight back.

that even though he's significantly younger, he still holds too much power, enough to destroy your life for something you couldn't even control— your inability to be like them.

you don't hate him, you can't.

but it's easier to hate yourself for it instead.

because if it's so hard to despise him, then it's better to blame yourself for your shortcomings. if you fear looking at yourself, the shadow of your features distorting into damian, then you deserve to feel it.

if your hands find themselves ripping at your hair (the strands, god, the ends of your hair reminds you of the spikes of his, you want to die), then let it hurt you, let it destroy your being until you're nothing but dim, sunken eyes and blood-soaked clothes. let the hatred fester to the point your body transforms into an alien-like appearance just to forget him.

it doesn't register within you just how much you're subjecting yourself to the same tortures you were forced upon in that putrid manor.

the same way you let the torment living in that cage repeat like a cycle, again and again, never truly moving on from your past; a sick narrative you're never escaping from.

after all, you can never run away from the past. it bites you back, with the same, or even stronger force, until all that controls you is fear.

fear that forces you to look in the mirror, stare at yourself, nitpicking every notable feature in your face, in your body, that reminds you of them. fear that's enough to turn you emotional in all your good days, that ruins a happiness you haven't felt for a decade, even more.

fear will always control.

damian will always have control over you, he'll always have the upper-hand.

sometimes, the innocent, young boy you try to find behind the exterior of hatred turns out to be a hideous monster all throughout.

unfortunately, you see that monster in you, too.

a/n: we love complicated relationship dynamics!!! i just woke up and was like, "wait, i have an idea." LMAO. idk half of what i wrote, did i eat with this drabble? maybe. ignore my sudden disappearance sometimes, in another life i'm a hermit crab who hides in its shell probably.

— if i wrote damian here to be too "evil," it's because it's written in the perspective of the reader and their trauma. i don't want him to be this one-dimensional character, he's one of my favorites after all, but i need to establish the relationships and writing drabbles like these help a lot in portraying how they see each other. damian sees you in a different light (you make him weak), and you do too— but both see each other in some twisted perspective of loving each other because you're both still siblings at the end of the day (i'm gonna write more about this too).

[starboye]

starring: biker!bf x male reader

request: Biker bf that is out of our house in the middle of the night and call us to take us in a long night drive, ending in a secluded place where things get freaky 😋

warnings: smut, deepthroat, sorta public sex

it was a night like any other one, completely boring with nothing to do, so you tell you boyfriend and in minutes he's at your front door "wanna take a ride" he asks you and you're out the door, wind blowing through your hair as you drive down the empty roads and tightly holding on to his waist.

soon after a bit of riding he pulls over into an alley and stops the motorcycle "why stop here" you ask as he gets up and takes off his helmet and you doing the same "because i wanted to admire you" he says pulling you into a kiss "and plus i have a boner" he adds in between the lovely kisses making you laugh a bit.

"of course you do" you chuckle "well wanna help me with it" he asks groping his bulge and moving his kisses down to your neck to persuade you some more "fine" you huff and he does a silent celebration as your back turns to him, leaning against the wall and pulling his pants down along with his under wear as you get on your knees in front of him.

whipping his dick out and watching your eyes marvel at it although you've seen it hundreds of times by now but it's like it just gets bigger every time, with no hesitation you sink your mouth on to him, going all the way down to the base before pulling your head back and repeating.

"fuck baby just like that" he moans dropping his head onto the wall and gripping the back of your head with his hand to control your pace, your tongue running back and forth across the bottom of his cock making him shudder a little and with every time you go all the way to the base you flick his balls with your tongue a little.

your gagging fills the empty alley with sound as you get sloppier and sloppier, his balls smacking the bottom of your chin and his tip abusing the back of your throat more and more as his cock slid down your throat.

"m'close" he grunted through shut teeth and with that you started slobbering all over his dick, your tongue licking every inch of it until you could feel him shaking above you before pulling out and replacing your mouth with his hand "let's decorate that pretty face" he says before spurting his load all over you.

tapping his tip across your cum stained lips before getting you back to your feet and kissing you, but you finish it off by wiping the cum from your face and licking it up which gets him started again, you might be out all night at this rate but at least you're not bored anymore.

taglist:@mailmango @spermeboy @ghostking4m @gayaristocrat @addictedtomalepits @staarb0y @crispysoup318 @its-ares @gargoylesworld09 @znerac

[novaursa]

Legacy (of bloodline)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: dragonstone

- Next part: castle black

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal

- A/N: Merry Christmas! 🎄❤️

The sun was beginning its descent over the jagged peaks of Dragonstone, casting long shadows across the courtyard. The salty tang of the Narrow Sea lingered in the air, mingling with the faint scent of smoke from the distant forges. You sat on a stone bench beneath the arch of an ancient alcove, your gaze fixed on the rolling waves beyond the castle walls. Damon played nearby, toddling around with a carved wooden dragon in his chubby hands, his laughter ringing out like a melody against the stillness of the evening.

Standing a short distance away, Ser Barristan Selmy, clad in his gleaming white armor, observed you with the same vigilance he had honed over decades. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword, though his demeanor was calm, almost contemplative.

"You’ve been awfully quiet, Ser Barristan," you said softly, not turning to look at him. "I’m used to you offering wisdom, not silence."

The old knight allowed a faint smile, though his eyes remained watchful. "It’s not often I find myself with nothing to say, my lady," he replied. "But watching over you and your son has reminded me of… other times."

You glanced at him, curiosity flickering in your violet eyes. "Other times? Do you mean my father?"

Ser Barristan hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. "Your father, yes," he said finally. "But also your brother. And your house. I’ve served many Targaryens, my lady, each of you unique."

You nodded faintly, folding your hands in your lap. "And how do we compare to them?"

He chuckled softly, a rare sound. "It’s not a comparison, my lady. It’s a legacy. One that you carry with grace… and fire."

"Fire," you repeated, your voice tinged with a mixture of amusement and solemnity. "That seems to be all anyone sees in us. Fire and blood."

"That is your house’s motto," he said gently. "But it is also its truth. You wield both with wisdom, my lady. Not many can claim the same."

Your gaze drifted back to Damon, who was now crouched in the dirt, intently examining a line of ants. His innocence, his unbridled joy in the simplest of things, made your heart ache with both love and fear. "Sometimes, I wonder if that fire will consume us all," you said quietly.

Ser Barristan stepped closer, his tone firm but kind. "Fire, when tamed, can be a tool. A light in the darkness. It is only when it is left unchecked that it becomes destructive."

You met his gaze, searching for the wisdom behind his words. "Do you believe my fire can be tamed?"

He hesitated again, his expression thoughtful. "I believe it already has been," he said finally. "By your love for your son. And by the choices you make each day."

A soft smile touched your lips as you looked back at Damon, who was now holding up his wooden dragon as though it could truly fly. "He is my world," you admitted softly. "Everything I do is for him."

"As it should be," Ser Barristan said, his voice warm with approval. "You are a mother before anything else, my lady. That is a strength few can match."

You turned back to him, a question lingering in your eyes. "And yet, there are those who would see that as weakness. Who would take it and twist it against me."

Ser Barristan’s expression hardened slightly, his hand tightening on his sword hilt. "Let them try," he said simply. "They will find no weakness in you, only resolve."

You let out a quiet laugh, though it carried a note of gratitude. "You always know what to say, Ser Barristan."

"It is my duty to protect you, my lady," he said, bowing his head slightly. "Not just with my sword, but with my counsel."

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the only sounds Damon’s laughter and the distant crash of waves against the cliffs. Finally, you spoke again, your voice quieter now.

"Do you ever wonder if my father saw any of this coming?" you asked. "The dragons returning, the battles for power, the… uncertainty of it all?"

Ser Barristan’s face grew somber, his gaze distant. "Your father… saw many things, my lady. Some of them real, others… the product of his mind’s decline. But I do believe he knew that the Targaryen fire would one day burn brightly again. Perhaps he saw it in you."

You nodded slowly, absorbing his words. "Perhaps," you murmured. "Or perhaps he simply wanted to believe it, even as the fire consumed him."

Ser Barristan said nothing, his silence a quiet acknowledgment of the truth in your words. But as the sun set lower, casting the courtyard in warm hues, you felt a flicker of hope amid the uncertainty.

For now, at least, you were not alone. And with Damon’s laughter filling the air and Ser Barristan’s steadfast presence by your side, you felt ready to face whatever the future held.

The courtyard of Dragonstone was filled with the sounds of clinking steel and the rhythmic stomp of boots as a few soldiers sparred near the barracks. The volcanic rock beneath their feet radiated a faint warmth even in the cool sea breeze, a constant reminder of the island’s fiery heart. The castle’s dark spires loomed overhead, their ancient stone stark against the pale sky.

Tywin Lannister stood at the edge of the courtyard, his posture rigid, hands clasped behind his back. His pale green eyes surveyed the activity below with his usual air of authority, though his expression betrayed no particular interest in the proceedings.

Beside him, Jaime Lannister, clad in his gilded armor, leaned against the stone parapet, a faint smirk playing on his lips. He tilted his head slightly, watching the men train as the sea wind ruffled his hair.

“Still feels strange,” Jaime said, breaking the silence.

Tywin’s gaze didn’t waver. “What does?”

“This,” Jaime replied, gesturing broadly to the castle around them. “A Lannister living here, ruling Dragonstone. If you’d told me a few years ago, I’d have laughed.”

Tywin turned his head slightly, fixing Jaime with a cool stare. “And yet, here we are. You’d do well to adjust.”

Jaime chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Oh, I’ve adjusted, Father. Believe me. It’s just surreal, that’s all. The House of the Lion, sitting comfortably in the lair of dragons.” He glanced at Tywin, his smirk widening. “You have to admit, it’s not exactly what anyone expected.”

Tywin’s lips tightened, though his tone remained measured. “The unexpected often proves the most valuable, provided one knows how to use it.”

Jaime turned back to the sparring men, his tone turning more reflective. “And what of Damon? One day, all of this will be his—Dragonstone, Casterly Rock. It’s a lot for a boy who hasn’t yet seen his second name day.”

Tywin’s gaze flickered toward the horizon, his expression unreadable. “He is my son. He will learn.”

Jaime raised a brow, his voice tinged with amusement. “You sound confident.”

“I am,” Tywin said simply. “Damon is young, but he carries the blood of two powerful houses. He has his mother’s intelligence, and he will have my discipline. He will be prepared.”

Jaime nodded thoughtfully, though his tone remained light. “And what if he doesn’t want all this? What if he grows up and decides he’d rather ride away from all this and live a simple life?”

Tywin’s gaze snapped to Jaime, his eyes sharp. “A Lannister does not have the luxury of simplicity. Damon will understand his duty, just as you were meant to.”

Jaime held up his golden hand in mock surrender, though his smirk didn’t falter. “Relax, Father. I’m not questioning your plans. I’m just… imagining.”

Tywin’s expression softened slightly—though only slightly—as he returned his gaze to the courtyard. “Damon’s future will not be left to imagination. He will have what is his by right, and he will rule it with strength.”

Jaime studied his father for a moment, his smirk fading. “You care for him, don’t you? I mean, really care for him.”

Tywin didn’t answer immediately, his eyes fixed on the sparring men below. “I care for my family. And Damon is the future of that family.”

Jaime nodded slowly, his tone quieter now. “He’s lucky, you know. To have you here.”

Tywin glanced at Jaime, his expression softening imperceptibly. “He will need more than luck, Jaime. The world is not kind to those who inherit power. It will test him, as it tests us all.”

Jaime said nothing for a moment, his gaze drifting to the distant sea. Finally, he let out a quiet chuckle. “Well, if nothing else, at least he’ll have the Rock and this�� charming fortress of Y/N’s. A lion ruling a dragon’s lair. It has a certain poetry to it, doesn’t it?”

Tywin allowed himself the faintest of smiles, though it vanished as quickly as it appeared. “Poetry has no place in politics, Jaime. This is about legacy.”

“And Damon is that legacy,” Jaime said, his tone laced with a rare sincerity.

Tywin inclined his head slightly, his gaze returning to the courtyard below. “Indeed. And I will see that he is ready for it.”

The two men stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their conversation hanging in the air. The distant crash of waves against the cliffs echoed through the courtyard, a reminder of the unyielding strength of Dragonstone and the family now tied to its destiny.

The evening air on was heavy with the scent of salt and the faint metallic tang of volcanic rock. Outside, the sea crashed rhythmically against the cliffs, the sound both soothing and ominous in the quiet of the night.

You sat in a high-backed chair near the fire, your hands loosely clasped in your lap. The soft fabric of your gown pooled around your feet, and the golden glow of the flames danced across your silver hair. Tywin Lannister stood at the window, his silhouette sharp against the moonlight as he gazed out at the endless expanse of water. His presence filled the room as it always did, commanding even in stillness.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence between you was not uncomfortable, but weighted with the thoughts each of you carried. Finally, you broke the quiet, your voice steady but soft. “Tywin.”

He turned to look at you, his green eyes reflecting the firelight. “Yes?”

You hesitated for a moment, gathering your thoughts. “I’ve been thinking… about what we discussed last week.”

He raised a brow, his expression curious but guarded. “And?”

You shifted slightly in your seat, your fingers brushing the edge of the armrest. “About having another child,” you said quietly. “I’ve thought about it—truly—and I’ve decided… I’m willing.”

Tywin’s gaze sharpened, though he did not immediately respond. He stepped away from the window, crossing the room with measured steps until he stood before you. “You’ve made up your mind?” he asked, his tone calm but probing.

You nodded, meeting his gaze. “I have. Damon is a blessing, Tywin, and he deserves a sibling. Someone to share his duty with. And I… I want this.”

For a moment, Tywin said nothing, his expression unreadable as he studied you. Then, he reached out, his hand brushing lightly against your cheek before resting beneath your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. “You’re certain?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

“I am,” you replied firmly, your violet eyes unwavering. “It’s not just for Damon, or for the legacy. It’s for us.”

A flicker of something softer passed through Tywin’s eyes, though his composure remained steady. He nodded slowly, his hand lingering for a moment before he stepped back. “You’ve always understood the weight of what we carry,” he said, his tone laced with something resembling approval. “This is no small decision.”

“I know,” you said softly, standing to face him. “But it’s the right one. And it’s one I want to make with you.”

Tywin’s expression softened—just barely—as he reached for your hand, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. “You’ve always been strong, Y/N,” he said, his voice carrying an edge of rare affection. “Stronger than most realize. Perhaps stronger than I deserve.”

You smiled faintly, squeezing his hand. “You deserve more than you allow yourself to believe, Tywin. And you will be a father worthy of both our children.”

For a moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift, leaving only the quiet intimacy of the room and the connection between you. Tywin leaned forward, his lips brushing softly against your forehead before resting his hand at the small of your back.

“We’ll do this,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “For Damon. For our family.”

You rested your head against his chest, closing your eyes as the steady rhythm of his heartbeat filled the silence. In that moment, there was no fire, no blood, no legacy weighing you down—only the promise of the future and the strength you found in each other.

Ten moons later

The chambers within Dragonstone were low lit, the heavy drapes pulled to block out the rising storm outside. The air was thick with the mingled scents of burning herbs, seawater carried in by the howling winds, and the faint metallic tang of blood. The hearth blazed brightly, its warmth doing little to stave off the tension in the room.

You lay propped against a mound of pillows on a sturdy birthing bed, your silver hair damp and clinging to your flushed skin. The midwives bustled around you, their soft murmurs blending with the distant rumble of thunder. A damp cloth dabbed at your forehead, its coolness providing brief relief against the heat building within you.

Nearby, Tywin Lannister stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his gaze locked on you. He was a looming figure of composure, though the slight tightening of his jaw betrayed the concern he refused to voice.

“You’re certain you won’t allow the maester?” one of the midwives asked tentatively, her hands wringing a clean linen cloth. Her voice was calm but edged with worry.

Your gaze flickered toward her, and despite the pain gripping your body, your tone was firm. “I’ve told you already—no maesters. I trust you, not their potions and knives.”

The midwife bowed her head, murmuring, “Of course, my lady.”

Tywin’s gaze narrowed slightly as he stepped closer to the bedside. “You’ve always been stubborn,” he said, his voice low but carrying its usual authority. “But if this becomes difficult, you will reconsider.”

You turned your head slightly to look at him, a faint smile tugging at your lips despite the beads of sweat on your brow. “If I endured Damon’s birth without them, I can endure this.”

“This child may be different,” Tywin countered, his tone measured but edged with concern.

“Every birth is different,” one of the midwives interjected gently, glancing nervously between the two of you. “But Lady Y/N is strong, my lord. She’ll manage.”

“I always do,” you whispered, though your words were cut off by a sharp gasp as another wave of pain gripped your body.

Your fingers tightened around the edge of the sheets, but you refused to scream. The sound that escaped your lips was more of a muffled yelp, barely audible over the crackling of the fire. The midwives exchanged worried glances but continued their work, checking the progress of the birth with practiced hands.

Tywin’s jaw clenched as he watched you, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You don’t need to swallow your pain,” he said quietly, his tone softer than usual. “There’s no shame in it.”

You shook your head weakly, your breath coming in shallow pants. “It’s not… shame,” you managed to say, your voice strained but determined. “It’s control. I won’t let this… defeat me.”

His gaze softened fractionally, though his face remained impassive. “Stubborn, as always.”

You let out a faint chuckle, though it turned into a sharp inhale as another contraction rolled through your body. One of the midwives stepped forward, adjusting the pillows behind you and murmuring soothing words you barely registered.

“How far along?” Tywin asked the head midwife, his voice calm but clipped.

“Still early, my lord,” she replied cautiously, wiping her hands on her apron. “It may take some time yet.”

Tywin nodded curtly, his gaze returning to you. “I’m staying,” he said, leaving no room for argument.

You glanced at him, your lips twitching into a faint smirk despite the pain. “I didn’t expect otherwise.”

The storm outside grew louder, the wind howling like a dragon’s roar as rain lashed against the windows. Inside the chamber, the anxiety was at a high, every movement and sound magnified by the weight of the moment.

You gritted your teeth as another contraction built, your hands gripping the edge of the bed. The midwives hovered nearby, their voices low but reassuring, as they prepared for what was to come.

The storm outside raged on, its fury mirrored in the intensity of the final moments of your labor. Thunder rolled across Dragonstone, shaking the ancient walls as rain lashed against the windows in unrelenting torrents. 

You gripped the edges of the birthing bed, your knuckles white with effort. The midwives hovered around you, their voices calm but firm, guiding you through each agonizing moment. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, your hair plastered to your forehead as the tension in the room built to a crescendo.

“Almost there, my lady,” the head midwife said, her tone both encouraging and resolute. “Just one more push.”

You nodded weakly, summoning the last reserves of your strength. With a guttural sound that was more force than scream, you bore down, your body trembling with the effort. The pain was blinding, searing through every nerve, but then, like the breaking of a storm, there was release.

A sharp cry pierced the air—a new life taking its first breath.

The midwives moved quickly, their hands gentle yet practiced as they swaddled the infant in clean linen. The head midwife turned to you with a wide smile, her face flushed with relief and joy. “It’s a boy, my lady.”

You let out a shaky breath, your body sinking back into the pillows as the weight of the moment washed over you. Your heart pounded in your chest, but a sense of overwhelming relief and love began to fill the void left by the pain.

Tywin, who had remained a steady presence by your side, stepped closer, his attention fixed on the squirming bundle in the midwife’s arms. His expression was unreadable, though his gaze softened as the midwife handed him the child.

“Here, my lord,” she said, bowing her head slightly as she placed the infant into Tywin’s arms.

For a moment, Tywin stood perfectly still, his strong hands cradling the newborn with a gentleness that seemed almost uncharacteristic. The child’s tiny fists waved in the air, his cries strong and fierce, as though already asserting himself in the world.

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze unwavering as he studied his son. “He’s strong,” he said quietly, his voice carrying an edge of approval.

You watched the scene through half-lidded eyes, exhaustion pulling at you even as a faint smile graced your lips. “What will you name him?” you asked softly, your voice hoarse from the effort of labor.

Tywin’s gaze shifted to you, his expression briefly unreadable before he looked back down at the infant. He was silent for a long moment, the weight of his decision felt in the room.

“Maelor,” he said finally, his voice firm and deliberate. “Maelor Lannister.”

The name hung in the air, resonating with strength and tradition. It was a name that carried the weight of both Targaryen and Lannister heritage—another bridge between fire and gold.

The midwives exchanged glances, murmuring their approval as they began tidying the room. One of them approached to take the child from Tywin, but he held up a hand, his gaze fixed on his son.

“I’ll take him to his mother,” Tywin said, his tone brooking no argument.

The midwife hesitated, then stepped back with a nod. Tywin moved to your side, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed as he gently placed Maelor into your arms. The baby’s cries softened as he settled against you, his tiny face scrunching in curiosity as he opened his violet eyes for the first time.

You gazed down at him, tears welling in your eyes as you ran a finger gently over his cheek. “Maelor,” you whispered, tasting the name as though it were a gift.

Tywin’s hand rested on your shoulder, a rare gesture of affection that spoke volumes. “He will be strong,” he said quietly. “Like his mother.”

You glanced up at him, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “And cunning, like his father.”

For the first time in what felt like ages, Tywin allowed a small, almost imperceptible smile to cross his lips. “A good combination,” he said simply.

The storm outside began to subside, the thunder growing distant as the rain softened to a steady patter. Inside the chamber, the atmosphere shifted, the anxiety giving way to a quiet, shared sense of triumph.

The great hall of Dragonstone was alive with subdued activity, the ancient volcanic stone echoing with the murmurs of lords, knights, and attendants who had gathered to await word. Despite the flickering firelight from the massive hearth, a chill hung in the air—an notion born of expectation. Large banners, emblazoned with both the lion of House Lannister and the sigil of House Targaryen, adorned the walls, their contrasting colors a stark reminder of the union that had shaped the future of this hall.

At the far end of the chamber, Tywin Lannister appeared, his stride purposeful as he descended the steps from the private corridors that led to the birthing chambers. His crimson cloak, lined with gold, swept the floor behind him, and his eyes were sharp, commanding the attention of everyone present. The room quieted instantly, a silence falling like the weight of a drawn blade.

Tywin paused at the head of the hall, his gaze sweeping over the crowd with the precision of a general surveying his troops. Without preamble, his voice rang out, strong and steady.

“My wife has given birth to a son,” he declared, his words echoing through the vast space. “He is healthy and strong. His name is Maelor Lannister.”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the hall, the gathered lords and knights exchanging nods and whispers of approval. Tywin allowed the moment to settle before continuing, his tone brooking no dissent.

“Let the celebrations proceed,” he commanded. “But with restraint. The child’s health and my wife’s recovery take precedence. Keep your revelry within reason.”

The hall erupted in a wave of applause and cheers, though they were tempered, as if even the joy of the occasion bowed to Tywin’s authority. Goblets were raised, and servants scurried to ensure the wine flowed freely.

At the edge of the hall, Ser Barristan Selmy, ever vigilant, lingered near the entrance to the private chambers. His armor caught the flickering firelight as he stood with one hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword. His watchful eyes scanned the crowd, noting every movement and face with the precision of a seasoned knight.

It was then that he spotted Varys, the spymaster’s unmistakable figure leaning casually against a column. Varys’s hands were folded neatly in front of him, his silken robes flowing as he inclined his head in greeting toward Ser Barristan. His smile was subtle, yet unmistakable—a smile that spoke of secrets known and yet to be revealed.

Ser Barristan frowned slightly, his expression hardening as he straightened. “You seem… pleased,” he said, his tone careful but edged with suspicion.

Varys’s smile widened faintly as he stepped closer, his soft footsteps barely audible against the stone. “It is always a joy to witness the continuation of a noble bloodline,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying the practiced calm of a man accustomed to intrigue. “And what a bloodline it is, Ser Barristan. Another son born of lion and dragon. A moment worthy of the histories.”

Barristan’s hand remained steady on his sword. “And what role do you imagine yourself playing in this history, Lord Varys?”

Varys chuckled softly, his gaze flitting briefly toward Tywin at the head of the hall. “Why, none at all. I am but an observer, Ser Barristan. A humble servant of the realm, as ever.”

The knight’s gaze didn’t waver. “Some would call your humility suspect.”

“Some would,” Varys admitted, his smile never faltering. “But we each have our roles to play, do we not?”

Before Barristan could respond, Jaime Lannister approached his father, he strode through the crowd with his characteristic ease. His golden hand rested casually at his side, his expression equal parts curious and amused.

“Father,” Jaime said, his voice cutting through the murmurs around them as he came to stand beside Tywin. “So, another lion to the den. You must be pleased.”

Tywin turned to face Jaime, his expression as impassive as ever. “I am,” he said simply. “Maelor will strengthen our family’s future.”

Jaime smirked faintly, tilting his head. “You’ve always been about the future. What about the present? Will we be allowed to see him, or is he to remain cloistered with his mother for the next year?”

Tywin’s gaze narrowed slightly, his tone sharp. “Your new brother is with his mother, where he belongs. You’ll see him in due time.”

Jaime raised a brow, his smirk widening. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to disrupt the carefully laid plans.”

Tywin didn’t rise to the bait, his focus returning to the hall. “This is not the time for your flippancy, Jaime. This is a moment for the family, and for the legacy we build.”

Jaime glanced toward the gathered lords and ladies, raising his golden hand in mock surrender. “Far be it from me to interrupt the legacy.”

Nearby, Varys’s gaze lingered on the Lannisters, his expression thoughtful as the celebration continued. Ser Barristan kept his eyes on the spymaster, his unease unspoken but palpable.

As the wine flowed and the hall buzzed with muted revelry, the weight of the evening hung heavy in the air. The birth of Maelor Lannister was not just a moment of joy—it was a statement, a promise, and a warning to all who dared to challenge the combined strength of lion and dragon.

And though the great hall was filled with warmth and light, shadows loomed at the edges, whispering of the challenges yet to come.

[1425fivefive]

lestappen forced fem + humiliation

(love u, families r weird)

some lestappen forced feminization + humilitation for you for christmas (hopefully it's still christmas where you are!!) (for the kink prompt asks)

“God,” Charles murmurs, tracing a finger over the edge of Max’s panties, marveling at the acres of Max’s pale skin, the matching bra and panties Charles picked out for him highlighting his soft curves. “You’re so pretty.”

Max whimpers, squirming on the bed, but he glares up at Charles. “Shut the fuck up, Charles.”

“Max,” Charles says, smiling indulgently. “Why would you wear such pretty things if you did not want me to call you pretty?”

Max flushes, his face going a gorgeous, indignant pink. “You made me wear them.”

Charles rolls his eyes. He hadn’t made Max do anything. He’d ordered the lingerie online and had it shipped to Max’s apartment, told Max that if he wanted Charles to fuck him again, he’d have to wear it, make himself all pretty and sweet for Charles.

And here Max is, laid out in bed, dressed in nothing but a lacy bra and panties, still acting like he doesn’t want any of this. They both know it’s a lie. Charles can see Max's sweet little cock through the lace, the way the fabric’s starting to stick to him from how much he’s leaking. Max has trouble getting hard but Charles doesn’t care, loves the way Max is always small and soft and pink for him, so easy to fit in his mouth. Plus, Max never has any trouble coming and Charles can’t get over how wet Max always gets. Like a girl, Charles thinks, a flash of heat rushing through him.

“I think you like this,” Charles says softly, trailing his finger up to Max’s cock, dragging over the wet spot on the fabric. “Look how wet you are.”

“I’m not wet,” Max snaps, but Charles notices the hitch in Max’s breathing, the way the flush is starting to spread down his neck.

“No?” Charles brings his finger to his mouth, sucking the taste of Max off it.

Max lets out a desperate moan but he clamps his jaw shut, turning his head away to stare at the wall.

Charles doesn’t understand why Max can’t let himself have this. Why Max can’t see how much he wants Charles to treat him like a pretty girl Charles has brought home to fuck—play with his tits, eat him out, make him fall apart on Charles’s cock.

Charles bends down, pressing a soft kiss to Max’s stomach. He trails a line of them down Max’s belly, watches as Max’s breathing stutters as Charles gets closer and closer to the waistband of his panties.

But Charles stays just above the waistband, brushing his lips back and forth over the soft skin of Max’s stomach, watching as Max starts to squirm, hands clenching into fists by his side like he’s trying to stop himself from grabbing Charles’s hair and dragging Charles to his cock.

When Charles starts sucking a mark into Max’s stomach, Max moans, hips hitching.

Charles pulls off, smirking. “Ask me, Max.”

Max lets out a choked whimper, tilting his head to look at Charles with a desperate expression.

“Ask me,” Charles repeats.

Max whimpers again, but he glares at Charles and says, “Suck my cock,” in a bossy little tone. The same tone Max uses on the radio sometimes, the tone that makes Charles want to put Max over his knee.

Charles snorts. “You won’t get anywhere with that.” He goes back to sucking bruises into Max’s skin, leaving little marks of himself. Reminding Max exactly who owns him.

“Suck my cock, please,” Max tries.

“Better,” Charles says. “But I do not think cock is the word I am looking for.”

Max moans, squeezing his eyes shut. “Suck my—” Max breaks off, taking a shaky breath. Finally, he says, voice so soft it’s almost a whisper, “Suck my clit, please.”

“Fuck,” Charles groans, planting a soft kiss to Max’s skin, right above the waistband of his panties. “Good girl,” he breathes, right against Max’s spit-slick skin.

Max keens, tipping his head against the pillows, back arching off the bed, shoving his little cock toward Charles’s mouth.

“Charles,” Max pleads, squirming against the sheets. “Charles, please, I don’t—Charles.”

Charles just laughs softly and tugs Max’s panties down in his legs.

“Oh my god,” Charles breathes, staring in shock at the smooth, pink skin around Max’s dick and balls. “You shaved.”

Max whimpers, clearly humiliated, but he spreads his legs a bit, showing off his hole, as hairless as the rest of him. “I waxed,” Max whispers. “Went to—found a woman who could come to my flat, no one—no one saw.”

“Fuck,” Charles moans, bringing a hand up to brush over the soft skin above Max’s cock. “God, Max.” Charles can’t stop touching him, watching the way his mostly-soft cock blurts more pre-come with every pass of Charles’s thumb, like just the promise of Charles’s touch is enough to have Max making a mess of himself. “You did this for me?” Charles asks.

Max makes a devastated noise and flings an arm over his eyes, like he can’t bear to look at himself, at Charles. But he nods, once.

Charles feels like the wind’s been knocked out of him. The thought of Max laying on his back, letting someone wax his dick, his balls, his hole, all so he could look pretty for Charles.

“Such a good girl, Max,” Charles says, voice strained, and before Max can say anything more, Charles is shuffling down the bed and sprawling on his stomach, sucking Max’s cock into his mouth.

Max cries out like he’s been shocked, body twisting against the sheets like the feeling’s too much, like he’s trying to escape the pleasure he feels. Charles just throws an arm over Max’s stomach, pressing him down against the bed.

Charles moans around Max’s cock, sucking and licking, whining at the taste of Max’s pre-come flooding his mouth. When Charles swirls his tongue over the head, Max gasps Charles’s name and lets the arm covering his eyes drop to the bed, staring down at Charles with an awed expression.

Charles pulls off, just enough to ask, “Do you like watching me lick your pretty clit, Max?”

“Yes,” Max whimpers, flushing pink down to his stomach. “Yes, I—please.”

Heat flares in Charles’s belly hearing Max admit he likes it, admit he likes it enough that he wants to watch, wants to see exactly what Charles is doing to him.

“Good girl,” Charles murmurs, ducking down to drag his tongue over Max.

It doesn’t take long before Max is squirming and whining, babbling about how good Charles’s mouth feels, how Charles is going to make him come. Max always fights Charles on the way down, but the second he’s under it’s like he can’t think about anything other than how good he feels, desperate to chase every ounce of pleasure. When Charles brings a hand up to press against the plug in Max’s ass, the one Charles had told him to put in before Charles arrived, Max comes with a shocked moan, his mostly soft dick spilling lazy ropes of come into Charles’s mouth, Max trembling and whining above him, letting out little gasps of Charles’s name.

Charles tugs the plug free the moment Max is done coming, sitting up and shuffling forward to drag the head of his cock around Max’s hole, teasing but never pressing in.

“Please, Charles,” Max moans, bringing a hand up to play with his nipple through his bra. “Want you to.”

“What, Max?” Charles murmurs, staring at where his cock is pressing against Max’s rim, already puffy and open. Charles wonders how long Max had the plug in, whether he was sitting around his flat with it in, imagining Charles filling him.

“Fuck me,” Max whimpers, looking up at Charles with an agonized expression.

Charles presses against Max’s hole, making Max feel the threat of him. “Where do you want my cock, Max?”

Max moans, little dick twitching, spilling more pre-come. “In my arse.”

“Cute,” Charles says, mocking, and slaps the inside of Max’s thigh, hard enough to sting. “Where do you want my cock?”

Max whimpers, hand squeezing roughly at his tit, cock desperately trying to harden. “In my pussy.”

“Fuck,” Charles moans, pushing in in one, smooth slide. “That’s it, baby. Good girl.”

“Charles,” Max gasps, going so tight around Charles that Charles has to squeeze his eyes shut to keep from coming immediately.

When Charles finally has himself under control, he laughs. “God, Max.” He starts to move, pushing little panting breaths out of Max with each thrust of his hips. “I always forget how tight your pussy is.”

“Fucking—Charles,” Max moans, bringing both hands up to squeeze and pinch at his tits, his soft dick bouncing with each thrust of Charles’s hips.

“That’s it, baby,” Charles murmurs. “Play with your tits for me.”

Max turns his face to the side, trying to hide against the pillow, but he listens, pinching and rubbing his nipples through the lace.

“God, Max,” Charles moans, fucking Max hard and deep, grinding against Max’s prostate. “You were made for this.”

Max moans and Charles thinks he’ll whimper, nod, say something like, Yes, Charles, made to take your cock.

But Max glares up at Charles, clearly still not as down as Charles would like him to be, and says, “I’m not—”

“No?” Charles asks. “Look at yourself, Max.”

Max whimpers, shakes his head, even as he grinds back to meet Charles’s thrusts.

“Oh, you think you should be the one doing the fucking?” Charles lets out a short laugh, mean and mocking. “Look at this, Max.” Charles reaches down, cupping Max’s dick. It fits easily in his palm, covered completely. “It’s not even really a dick, is it?”

Max makes a miserable sound, dick blurting against Charles’s fingers, but he says, “I’m not—I’m not a girl.”

Charles smirks, rubbing his palm in steady circles over the head of Max’s dick. “No?” Charles asks. “Then why do you come like one?”

Max’s mouth drops open in a perfect little o, eyes going wide, and his dick squirts against Charles’s hand, rim fluttering rapidly around Charles’s cock.

“God, Max,” Charles moans, stunned, awed, keeping up the steady circles over Max’s dick, fucking him through his orgasm.

“Charles,” Max moans, half-whine, half-scream. “Charles, I can’t—" Max breaks off on a whimper as another wave runs through him.

“Good girl,” Charles murmurs, working Max through it, watching Max gasp and whine on his cock, Max’s perfect tits bouncing, Max’s little dick twitching and spurting against Charles’s hand. “My good girl,” Charles breathes.

[hxnbi]

hi!! I love your writing :). I wanted to request an angst to fluff scenario where reader likes the boy and confesses to him but he turns her down, but then he later regrets it and comes back?? and they live happily ever after??? i don’t really have any specific preferences other than that but im such a sucker for rejecting and regretting/she falls first he falls harder scenarios!! im using her/she to refer to the reader rn but i dont have any preference, just not sure how else to write it haha id love if you could include suo, togame, and umemiya but totally up to you :).

hey so thanks sm for your request! i loved writing this and with these boys, tho umemiya's does end on a pretty angsty note with how i was initially drafting it. i hope thats okay ♡

confessions, rejections, and regrets

⸻ °♡⃘ . you confess to the boy you liked, only to be rejected. or so you think, as, unbeknownst to you, he was battling his own feelings, too afraid to admit his love, up until he finally finds the courage to stand before you once again. but this time, it was him who would be begging for your heart.

⸝⸝ 𑅛𑅫 Suo Hayato

Tears. All you could feel dripping from your face and down your cheeks was the salty aftermath of your own tears. And standing before you, the boy who had just rejected you.

"I'm sorry, I just don't see you in that light," Suo, with his hands firmly placed in front of the other, repeated, further breaking your heart into a million pieces.

Pitifully, you laughed—but little humour was found in the dreary quiet of your heart. "I know," you whispered, choking down the ache that was your confession to the person you'd grown to admire and love.

The pain lingered with every thought—that Suo was simply just too good for you, but so did your respect for him. Even if you tried your hardest to do so, you just couldn't find it in yourself to dislike him. 

Suo had always been kind, even as he rejected you.

That was part of why you liked him so much in the first place. Even if it hurt, you couldn't blame him for having such feelings about you that just weren't the same. You couldn't continue to be selfish.

"I know. Just, thank you, for hearing me out," you said, your voice becoming surprisingly steady, slowly accepting what you heard. "That's just the kind of person you are."

And then you walked away. You refused to let him see the fresh tears welling up in your eyes. You respected his choice. If he didn't reciprocate your feelings, you couldn't force it. It had to be mutual—or nothing at all.

Days turned into weeks, and though you still felt the ache of his rejection, like with most things, you had to move on and push forward. You treated Suo the same way you treated everyone else. Although, you couldn't deny that it was rather awkward after Suo saw you well up with tears dripping down your face like a waterfall. And it didn't help that you both were friends with the Furin first years, like Kiryu and Nirei, whom you were very close to.

So, time and time again, you would avoid Suo like the plague; all the while, he seemed to watch from afar, unsure of how to bridge the gap. You were always respectful, never bitter, never clinging. It was difficult, but you refused to let your emotions tarnish your friendship or make things awkward. 

Suo, however, found himself unable to stay away. He'd initially assumed your feelings for him were just surface-level, a kind of shallow attraction to his looks, but that couldn't have been further from the truth. He only realized this when he peeled back the layers of who you were—a kind, genuine individual so far removed from the superficial affection he had imagined. And as time passed, he began to notice more—the way you treated everyone around you with the same kindness and consideration.

But over time, Suo would see you purposely trying to hide from him, all the while pretending everything was okay and nothing changed. It was saddening, in a way, how your laughter grew quieter, your gaze avoiding his, and the fun and games you two once shared together seemed to slip through his fingers like grains of sand.

But you couldn't hide from Suo forever. 

"He just doesn't like me, Nirei.”

Taking a walk around the neighbourhood that evening, following his typical routine, Suo had unknowingly overheard you talking to Nirei. And unlike his straightforward character, he continued to hide behind the wall and listen, his heart aching with every word he caught from your lips.

"It’s not that I don’t care…" you said softly to Nirei, who had asked about what had happened between you and Suo. "He rejected me, and I have to respect that. You can't have a relationship if both sides don't feel the same."

"I see... B-But do you still like him?" Nirei finally asked, twiddling his own thumbs. 

You hesitated for a moment before answering, "I do."

That conversation was what really hit him hard. That you still liked him. That maybe... he wasn't too late to come around.

"Nirei, not knowing what to say to a person who seemingly still had feelings for one of his closest friends, winced, "He'll... he'll come around," not necessarily finding the right words, but you didn't appear to mind it. Rather, you were too distracted with your own feelings.

And Suo, hidden from view, felt his chest tighten. He wasn't sure why he'd been hiding in the first place, but suddenly, he couldn't bear to listen any longer. He shouldn't even be here, listening to your conversation and very obviously intruding on your privacy. 

But just before he could slip away, though, very conveniently, Sakura popped out from behind the corner. "The hell are you doing back here?" loud enough for both you and Nirei to hear and turn your heads to meet the noise—and Suo, right before your very eyes. 

Your eyes went wide in shock as you spotted Suo standing right there, seemingly who had heard everything.

"S-Suo, what are you—"

Back-and-forth looks were exchanged, and so too was the silence. Nirei and Sakura gave brief, knowing glances, and with a single look, Nirei left you two alone, much to your dismay and humiliation. 

You stood frozen, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts, none of which managed to form coherent words to say to the boy who had basically just heard you confess your feelings to him once again. Nervous and fidgeting, you finally let out a sigh. "Hayat– Suo, I'm really sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I promise that I'm not going to bother you anymore. I really—"

But your words and apologies were left on deaf ears—cut off mid-sentence before Suo suddenly reached for you, his hand gently pulling you toward him. Before you could even process what was happening, you found yourself wrapped in his arms, your head resting against his chest.

"I was wrong."

"…H-Huh?"

"I was so, so wrong," he muttered, grasping at the edge of your sleeve even tighter than just a second ago. "I thought you only liked me for shallow reasons, but... I've realized that I like you too. More than I ever let myself admit. And I apologize for making you wait."

You blinked, your brain going haywire, trying to comprehend every word that left his lips, but Suo only held you tighter, his chin resting on the top of your head. When you didn't answer, he went on—whether that was for your or his own reassurance that you wouldn't be the one rejecting him this time was unclear.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to see it, but I don't want to let this go," he murmured. "I don't want to lose you." He regretted every moment of him rejecting you since that day. And if you were to be the one rejecting him this time… 

Your breath hitched at the base of your throat, disbelief seeping into your every thought. Was he serious…? The boy who had rejected you, who had caused you so much heartache, was now confessing to the very feelings you had once longed to hear.

'You make it so unfair…' you muttered. 

Part of you wanted to reject him, to make him feel how you felt after he rejected you. But deep down, you knew you couldn't find it in yourself to throw away this chance. And neither could Suo.

"I… I still like you, too."

Your voice was hardly audible, but Suo heard it loud and clear. He pulled away just enough to meet your eyes, his expression soft and vulnerable. "Then let's start over."

Your lips trembled into a small smile. "Alright."

Suo leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, until Suo suddenly grabbed your hand, making you jump slightly. "Come on," he said, tugging you gently. "Let's go grab something to eat. I know of a good spot that just opened that serves your favourite food."

"W-Wait, Hayato, I thought you were on a diet?" you stammered, completely caught off guard by his change in behaviour. He had always been strict about his routine—always so disciplined, so focused. But now, he seemed different. Lighter, somehow. But that was Suo for you.

He smiled, softer this time, his eyes lovingly meeting yours. "I can't miss this opportunity to spend time with a special someone. You can't keep avoiding me forever," making your face flush crimson as his words sunk in.

⸝⸝ 𑅛𑅫 Togame Jo

Shit… he shouldn't have said that.

Togame's words had slipped out before he could stop them, and the second he did, he knew he had fucked up. He cursed from under his breath, his hands already reaching out toward you as your face crumpled with hurt.

You stood there, staring at him—processing every snide word that left Togame's mouth—your chest rising and falling as if you were struggling even to breathe. He didn't mean it. He knew he didn't mean it, and he was pretty sure you knew that, too. But the damage was done, and he could see it in your eyes, the way he could see the shimmering of unshed tears ready to drip down your flushed cheeks..

"I'm sorry," Togame said immediately, his voice softening as he pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you like a protective barrier. He could feel you stiffen in his hold, your hands pushing weakly against his chest, but he wasn't about to let go, not on that horrible note. 

"Let go, Jo," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "You made your decision. You've... I've already said enough."

But Togame wasn't listening. Not with what he just had done and said that only left him with regrets. He couldn't take it anymore. Not the sadness in your voice, not the way you tried to pull away from him like he was a stranger. No, he wasn't letting you walk away like this, not after everything you had shared. And certainly not after everything he just spat at you.

"I didn't mean it, okay?" His words were rushed, almost desperate. Togame's grip on you only tightened with time, refusing to let go even an inch. "I was stupid. I-I'm sorry, I didn't know what I was saying, but I promise you, I'll fix this. I can't stand seeing you like this."

Your heart hurt at his words. You were utterly torn between wanting to believe him and protecting yourself from further hurt. After all, he had already said plenty… "You don't get just to say something like that and then take it back, Jo. It doesn't work like that..."

Togame's breath hitched as your words sliced the air and, in turn, his heart. His mind and body froze

That wasn't it. Not at all. He liked you. He loved you.

His rejection was but a projection of his own insecurities—that he wouldn’t be the right person for you.

But never did he think that he too didn’t want anyone else in your life, that it made his heart ache just thinking about it, the idea of someone else seeing your smile, hearing your laugh and holding the piece of your heart he so desperately longed for—that he previously had thrown away. 

He hated himself for it—hated that he’d let his fears dictate his actions, that he’d hurt the one person who made his world feel less empty.

But he couldn’t let this end here. Not like this.

"I know. But— fuck…" he said quietly, his voice breaking, cracking into incomprehensible pieces of a heartbroken sentence. His shoulders trembled as he finally loosened his rough grip on you. Although his hands still rested hesitantly on your shoulders. “I know I can’t undo what I said, but I need you to know... I was wrong. I’m so damn wrong, and I’m so sorry.”

Scrunching your face, you shook your head, gaze fixed on the ground as you tried to will away the tears that had long streamed down your face. “Why, Jo?”

Why. A simple explanation as to his stupid, idiotic, impulsive mistake was all that you wanted from him. 

His heart clenched at your words. Pure guilt tore him apart. He wished he could go back and rewind time to the moment before his insecurities took over. But he couldn’t. All he had now was this moment to make things right.

“Because I’m a coward!” 

His confession all tumbled out in a rush, unfiltered. “I’m a fucking coward.” Every word was a weight being lifted from his chest, all in hopes that you might understand might hear him out, even if it wouldn’t completely change things.  “I thought... I thought you deserved someone better. Someone who wouldn’t screw things up like I always do. Someone who could make you happy without dragging you into all my mess.”

Your eyes flickered up to meet his, for once, the honesty in his voice catching you heavily off guard. He appeared to be so unusually vulnerable, completely stripped of the bravado he usually wore like armour on his fists.

“But I can’t stop thinking about you,” he continued, his hands sliding down your arms as if needing a sense of reassurance that you were still with him and by his side and not a figment of his imagination. Hesitant but hopeful. “Every time I tried to push you away, it just made me want you more. And I was a complete idiot for thinking I could ever be okay without you.”

“Togame...”

“And I get it if you hate me for this,” he interrupted, all the words tumbling out of his mouth before he lost his nerve. “But I need you to know... I’m not asking for a second chanc—” he paused his sentence, before he could lose his resolve completely.“I love you. I’ve loved you all along, even when I was too scared to admit it.”

Your chest tightened. You oh-so-wanted to stay angry, to hold onto the pain, but his confession was undoing every wall you had tried to build.

“I'll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. Just... don't walk away from me. Please. Not like this."

“.....”

“...Do you mean that?” 

Your voice was hardly audible as you looked up at him.

“More than anything.” 

Togame cupped your smaller face in his callous hands, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had escaped down your cheek, kissing the pain away.  “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you if that’s what it takes.”

For the slightest moment, neither of you spoke. You could hardly hear a thing other than the sound of your breathing and the beat of his heart pressed tightly against yours. You felt his arms around you, warm and safe, and despite everything, a part of you wanted to stay right there, to believe that things could be okay. 

Then, slowly, you nodded, the smallest of smiles breaking through your tears. “I hate that you’re so good at making me believe you,” you said softly, for the first time all day, a small laugh escaped your lips. And it was heavenly. It was what he loved so much about you. 

Togame’s lips quirked up in a tentative grimace. “Does that mean… I get another shot?”

“Don’t make me regret it,” you murmured, but your voice was warm, filled with the hope that maybe—just maybe—this time things could be different. "I'm not going anywhere," you finally said. "But you have to mean it this time, Jo."

He nodded, his forehead resting against yours. "I do. I promise."

So, just like that, you let it go. Slowly, you relaxed in his arms, letting the weight of your sadness slip away, if only for a moment. Togame didn't let go, and neither did you.

And in that moment, wrapped in his arms, you allowed yourself to believe him. For now, that was enough.

⸝⸝ 𑅛𑅫 Umemiya Hajime

"But we can still be friends!" Umemiya's voice rang out, almost too cheerful for the conversation you'd just had. He flashed you that familiar smile, oblivious to how his words felt like a punch to your chest. 

"Oh! There's actually an event at Furin soon. I know you like a good barbecue. You should join us! It'll be fun!"

You stared at him, nonblinking, and for a brief second, you couldn't believe he was serious. How could he be so, casual? He must be playing you, right...? But no, that was just how Umemiya was, as you've found him for years.

You had just poured your entire heart into him, and in return, he offered you friendship—a friendship that you already had with him for years—as if it were a consolation prize. 

But your heart ached so much, desperate for any kind of connection to him, that even the slightest bit of attention, however hollow, felt like a lifeline. So you nodded, forcing a polite smile across your face. "Yeah... sure, I'll come."

And just like that, you became that of a shadow, a close friend who laughed at his jokes, stayed by his side when he needed someone, and cheered for him during the times when you both would play video games. You were nothing more than a mere member of his Furin family. All the times you would talk and laugh together with them were great,  and even the occasional late-night hangouts. But it wasn't enough. It was never fully enough. 

Staying close to Umemyia only made you want him more, and that fact haunted you. Being so close to him yet knowing you couldn't have him the way you wanted was agony. The more time you spent around him, the more you craved his attention, but not as a friend, no, but as something more. It gnawed at you, that longing, and with each passing day, it became harder and harder to pretend. 

It wasn't just unfair to you—it was unfair to him, too. He deserved someone who wouldn't secretly hope for something more, who wouldn't keep pushing the boundary between friendship and something deeper. You knew this arrangement couldn't go on, not without tearing you apart.

So, one night, after finally gathering the courage, you decided to put an end to it. But unbeknownst to you, Umemiya wasn't doing any better either. 

Before, he never considered you more than a friend—someone who'd been there through all the ups and downs, always supportive, always kind, always you.

He never questioned the ease with which he could talk to you or the way your laughter seemed to brighten the atmosphere of any room you were in. 

So when you finally confessed to him that very day—that your feelings toward him were more than what he thought—he hadn't thought much of it beyond friendship. He didn't think it was deeper than that… not until after he turned you down.

At first, Umemiya was convinced it was the right thing to do. He told himself he didn't feel the same way. But as the days passed, those same thoughts weighed differently on him. The way you still smiled at him, still treated him the same even after his rejection—it gnawed at him. 

He started seeing the little things he hadn't noticed before. The way you always knew exactly what to say to cheer him up after a bad day, the way your eyes lingered on him for just a second too long, the way your laugh sounded like it was just for him. 

And suddenly, it wasn't just about friendship anymore.

At night, alone with his thoughts, he realized he had been wrong. So, so wrong. The feelings he'd dismissed as just a fleeting affection had grown—almost insidiously—into something he couldn't ignore. It became a constant. An ache of longing to be near you, but this time, not just as a friend, but as someone who could hold you, kiss you, call you his own. 

So when you suddenly asked for him to, and you meet up together alone after the barbeque, Umemiya's heart jumped in his chest. This was it. This was his chance to fix everything and correct his mistake, to tell you the truth, to apologize for being so dense. He was ignorant, blatant even, to one of the dearest people in the world to him. 

Tonight, he was going to do it. He was going to make it up to you by apologizing and asking for forgiveness. He was excited, hopeful even, imagining the moment when he'd pour out his heart and beg for your forgiveness. You were kind, after all. You'd understand. You had to.

He could barely contain his nerves as he waited for you, replaying his apology speech over and over in his mind. 

But when you arrived, something felt off. But Umemyia merely brushed it off as mere nerves. But then you spoke.

"I can't do this anymore."

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, Umemiya's heart stopped. He forced a laugh, trying to shake off the unease creeping into his chest. "What do you mean? O-Oh! If you're talking about how Sakura was acting earlier, hah, he doesn't mean it! You know how he is, just messing around."

But you didn't smile. You didn't laugh. Your expression remained serious, and it made his stomach drop. No, it couldn't be, right?

"Umemiya, I can't do this anymore," you repeated once again, your voice breaking, trembling in a way he had never heard before. "I can't just act like nothing happened anymore. I thought that I could continue being your friend. I really tried. But... it hurts too much. Please, I—"

His heart clenched. No, no, no—this wasn't right. This wasn't how tonight was supposed to go. He was supposed to apologize, to tell you how he felt, to fix things. But now, seeing you like this, so hurt, it paralyzed him.

"Don't say it."

"Hajime, please. Don't make this any harder than it has to be."

No, he couldn't let you walk away. Not like this. Not when everything had finally clicked for him. Before he could stop himself, the words spilled out, desperate and unplanned.

"—BUT I LOVE YOU!!"

And he said it.

The moment those words escaped his lips, everything seemed to freeze, and the silence that followed was unbearable. He watched you, waiting for some sign, some reaction that would let him know he wasn't too late. But your eyes... they were filled with so much pain, it made his heart ache even more.

You didn't speak right away, and the longer the silence stretched, the more regret began to claw at him. Why hadn't he seen it sooner? Why did he wait until now, when you were standing here, on the verge of walking away, to realize how much you meant to him? His own foolishness, his blindness—it was too much to bear.

"Why now?" you finally asked. Your voice was soft, barely audible, as if you were afraid of the answer he was giving. It wasn't angry, but it wasn't hopeful either. It was aching, that desperate part of you. "Why... after everything?"

Umemiya couldn’t answer. He didn't have a good reason. He just knew that he loved you now, that he couldn't imagine his life without you in it. But he also knew that might not be enough.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his hands trembling at his sides. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize... I didn't know until it was too late."

The tears in your eyes broke him. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He thought he'd be able to fix things, to make everything right, but now it felt like everything was slipping through his fingers.

And much to his horror, you shook your head slowly, stepping back, the distance between you growing—both physically and emotionally. "It's not fair, Hajime. You can't just say that now... not after everything."

For the first time in his life, Umemiya Hajime didn’t know what to say. He stood there, stunned, the words he wanted to say lodged in his throat because, deep down, he already knew.

He didn’t have the right to ask for more when he had rejected the very thing he now realized he couldn’t live without. He had turned you away, convinced it was for the best, only to understand far too late just how much he had thrown away. His indecision—his cowardice—had led to this moment. And now, it wasn’t just his heart breaking; it was yours, too.

He opened his mouth, tried to reach for you, but his arms fell back to his sides. He couldn’t keep making excuses. He couldn’t selfishly try to pull you back, not when his own fickleness had caused you so much pain.

So he let it happen. Right before his very eyes, he watched you take another step back, your face etched with a hurt he knew he had no way of easing. And when you turned, it felt as though the entire world had slipped out of his grasp.

The streets around him blurred as he stared at the spot where you had just stood, his mind and body going through the realization that he might just never get the chance to fix this.

“Wait...” he whispered hoarsely, hand unconsciously reaching forward, but the word fell into the silence, unheard and unanswered.

And with that, you were gone, leaving him behind—alone, with but the cold remnants of his mistakes.

lol i also noticed how each just gets slowly more bittersweet to straight up angsty in umemiya's

©hxnbi. comments, reblogs and likes are always appreciated ♡

[buttercuparry]

There is just so much dissonance in seeing the world light up around me, while knowing that there are thousands of people in Gaza who won't be able to celebrate the New Year. There is nothing to celebrate when you are living in a tent and have to spend the cold winter nights out in the open, there is no joy when you and your loved ones have not had a proper meal in almost a year. I have been talking to my friend Alaa Amsse ( @alaa-mari-hamza ) and she said that her little children, Maria and Hamza, are very fond of chocolates and possibly during the New Year's Eve, she would have bought them some sort of treat to celebrate. But right now, when people cannot even buy sugar, a piece of chocolate is a luxury. This is not how Alaa ever imagined her children's life would be. No one in Gaza ever imagined living under an accelerated genocide.

I have no words left to say. There is no way to repeat the same things over and over again to however many people who maybe following the tags here. I only request you to keep talking about Palestine; to keep boycotting, and protesting and please, please keep boosting and donating to Alaa.

Verification by @/90-ghost

[ghost-proofbaby]

Something my family always did was qe would open presents very carefully because we had to reuse wrapping paper (we were poor) and reuse bows. We didn't get much st Christmas but it always meant something to me as a kid. There were times my parents got nothing just so me and my sister could have something.

I can see Eddie being raised the same by Wayne

i absolutely agree with this. it was harder in my household since we always bought such cheap paper that ripped if we even breathed on it, but bows? always reuse. name tags? save them. any sort of gift bags? don't even think about throwing those away.

and i just... it's nice to think about Eddie being raised that way as well? like a sense of comfort in knowing he wouldn't give us a weird glance when we still do it, even if now we're not in the same position of necessity.

also, i can so clearly picture the first christmas where wayne does this, only his second christmas with eddie. and he's just downright scared. which is weird, because why is the weight in his chest turning so heavy at the thought of letting his nephew down? just this thirteen year old boy who's gone through hell, whose standards might just be six feet under. but it's all he can think about, all he can worry about, as he's wrapping up that damn guitar so carefully. eddie's only gift that year - the only item he'd even brought up in the last six months. and wayne had spent his entire check on it, no room left for frivolous wrapping or shiny new bows. wayne is reusing last year's paper, using an insane amount of tape he'd borrowed from a neighbor to patch up any and all tears his shaking hands make in his rush to wrap the guitar in time.

and you know what? eddie would notice.

make a small comment, saying "is this last year's paper?". and i can feel wayne's heart dropping as he waits for eddie to be upset but then the boy does this easy thing, something wayne watches him do many more times over the years, where he turns it into something positive.

"sick," he'd say, with a toothy grin and buzzed head, eyes genuinely shining as he looks up at wayne, "this paper is sick. i'm so glad you found it again this year."

wayne doesn't have to tell him to carefully unwrap the gift. because eddie wasn't stupid at thirteen, and he knew had to still his shaking hands just long enough to not leave a single extra tear in that paper, just in case wayne needs it next year. he doesn't mind - he's just glad to be celebrating the holidays again with someone who cares.

but it's all over when eddie sees that guitar. wayne expected shrieking or yelping or just... he doesn't really know, just anything. but all he sees is some kid with hair that's a little bit longer this year, shoulders a little less slumped, and tears pouring down.

"son-" he'd start, not even sure how to comfort the boy but needing to.

eddie does the last thing wayne had expected. the boy had been distant since showing up at the trailer, keeping to himself quite a bit, flinching away from touch. but for the first time in over a year, eddie doesn't flinch away.

he launches himself at wayne.

hugs him through his tears, just babbling out his thanks on repeat. they both agree to never talk about it again after the tears dry, and wayne even sheds a few of his own. but something melts that night for them - jokes happen easier, awkward side hugs and messing of eddie's blooming curls as wayne leaves for his shifts are more frequent. every damn day he hears him playing on that damn guitar, even without an amp. the next christmas wayne gets him the amp, another lonely present, wrapped in the same paper (probably for the final time -- it's seen far better days and he's pretty sure eddie could see the gift through one of the torn corners two days before christmas even came) and eddie once again makes a comment about how lucky it is wayne can still find that paper in stores. they both know the truth, and neither really care.

eddie keeps that guitar for the rest of his days, adorned with the nickname of Sweetheart. and they keep reusing paper, both knowing it was more than some bit but deciding to make jokes all the same as if they were actively choosing to do so. it makes it all a bit easier.

eddie doesn't care if wayne never has another dime to spend on another present for him, or can ever wrap another gift. he'll take his damn christmas presents in paper bags if it came down to it, cause the love is there, and god, he had missed that.

[rhiannonsknife]

⋆₊❅. — have yourself a merry little christmas

angst & hurt/comfort. secret relationship. gn!reader.

you find shauna by the windowsill, the bright morning light filtering through the frost-covered glass casting soft shadows across her face. her arms are wrapped tightly around herself, her gaze distant as she stares out at the snow-covered woods that surround the cabin. the place is unusually quiet, with most of the others still asleep, their breaths mingling in the cold air.

for a moment, you hesitate. she looks so oddly small, so lost that it stirs something deep inside you: memories of the life you shared back home. you were hers once, in secret: shared kisses in the backseat of her car, fingers brushing during practice, the quiet nights when it was just the two of you. you hadn’t officially ended things when the plane went down, the wilderness had done it for you. between the secrets, the fear, and everything else this place demanded, you’d drifted apart without a word without ever talking things through.

“shauna,” you say softly before you can overthink it, slowly stepping closer. she doesn’t flinch and her eyes flicker toward you.

you sit down beside her, careful to keep enough distance so she doesn’t feel cornered, but close enough that she knows you’re there. “it’s christmas,” you tell her gently, your breath visible in the chill of the cabin as you get straight to the point, half expecting shauna to barely acknowledge it at all.

instead, her brows knit together, a flash of confusion crossing her face. “what?”

“today,” you say again. “it’s december 25th. christmas day!”

shauna blinks, her lips parting slightly as if she’s about to say something, but no words come. “i’ve been keeping track,” you explain, pulling a small, makeshift calendar from your pocket. the paper is torn from scraps you’ve found over the months, but the marks are precise, each day carefully counted. “i didn’t want us to forget. birthdays, holidays, anything important. i just…thought maybe it would help, you know?”

for all the time you’ve spent together back home, shauna feels like a stranger now, just the ghost of the girl you fell in love with.

“you’ve been doing this the whole time?” she asks then, her voice barely above a whisper.

you nod, nervously fidgeting with the edge of the paper. “yeah. i thought it mattered. especially today.”

“christmas,” shauna repeats, the word sounding almost foreign on her tongue, like it belongs to another world entirely.

“it’s still christmas,” you tell her softly, bracing to be met with her usual rejection. “even here,”

to your surprise, shauna turns toward you, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “it doesn’t feel like it,” she admits, her voice trembling. “nothing feels like it used to…”

you heart aches at her words. you remember the way things used to be: the way she’d sneak out to meet you, the way her hand would linger on yours just a second too long when no one was watching too closely. you wonder if she ever thinks about it, or if the wilderness has swallowed those memories whole, the same way it has taken so much else from you both.

“it doesn’t,” you agree quietly, reaching out to gently touch her arm. “but maybe it can still mean something? even if it’s not the same?”

shauna looks down at your hand before she slowly intertwines her fingers with yours. her grip is hesitant at first, but it tightens after a moment.

“we used to talk about christmas,” she says after a long pause. it’s the first time she brings up the way things used to be. you could listen to her for hours if she’d speak of it more often, curl up in the warmth of her voice and the memories of what was before. “back home. what it would be like when…when we didn’t have to sneak around anymore,”

“i remember,” you say quietly. “i remember everything.”

her breath hitches, and for the first time, the walls she’s been holding up seem to crumble. without warning, she leans into you, her head resting on your shoulder, her body trembling with barely restrained sobs. instinctively, likes she’s never left your arms at all, you pull her into your embrace.

“i miss her,” shauna whispers. “i miss jackie i miss home. i miss…everything”

you don’t know what to say to that, so you just wrap your arm around her, holding her closer as her tears soak into your shirt. “i know,” you murmur, your hand gently stroking her hair. “i miss it all too.”

after a moment, shauna pulls back just enough to look up at you, her cheeks flushed and tear streaked. there’s a moment of hesitation, a question lingering, before she finally leans in and presses a trembling kiss to your lips. it’s hesitant at first, but deepens, once you fall back into the way things used to be.

when she pulls away, her forehead rests against yours, her breath warm against your skin. “thank you,” she whispers. “for remembering. for being here”

“always” you promise when shauna falls back into your arms, allowing you to hold her while the others sleep.

i wrote this while being overstimulated at the christmas function, so enjoy 🤗🤗

[kawoala]

DRIVEN BY ADRENALINE suna rintarou. chapter 004 ; jailbird.

২ 𓂅 ࣪ ೨ ; 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 (1,033)

২ 𓂅 ࣪ ೨ ; 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 (bailing someone out of jail, runa being upset but only bc she loves her cousin, flirty! suna AGAIN, tiny bit of arguing, kind of also a filler :/)

There are many perks of having a roommate. For example, you’re no longer alone. Now, when you stay up late, there is someone keeping you company, making you laugh and swapping war stories with you.

Just as there are perks, there are bad things as well. For example, you can hear everything that goes on. Including when Runa gets a phone call in the middle of the night, despite her phone being silent.

“Hello?” Her voice groggy, sleep still coating her throat. She pauses, then clears her throat. “Rin? What are—“ she stops talking, or she’s cut off. You roll over in bed and face her. “Oh, okay, yeah. Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute. Okay, yeah, love you too.”

She glances at you and, even in the dark, she can see your eyes open. “Sorry,” she apologizes in a whisper. “Rin called me. He, um, got arrested. Again.”

You blink a couple times, your tiredness suddenly gone. You sit up at the same time she does. “Again?” You repeat. You watch her slip on her shoes, forgetting about even needing socks. “Are you going to bail him out?”

“Yeah,” she says, standing up and rushing to put a coat on. “I’m sorry I woke you up. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Um, wait.” She stops, but you can see the urgency in her eyes. “Can I go with you? I don’t mean to be codependent, or whatever, but, um.”

She sighs, pressing the palm of her hand against her forehead, then nods. “Yeah,” she says, nodding. “Yeah, you can come. Just, uh, hurry up. Please.”

Suddenly, all the years of people calling you weird for sleeping in socks are thrown out the window. All you have to do is slip on some shoes. Thanks to the extremely cold AC in your building, you’re already in a hoodie and sweatpants.

The streets are practically empty as Runa drives down them. That’s to be expected, though, since it’s nearly three o’clock in the morning on a Tuesday. She opts out of playing music. Her knuckles are white as they grip the steering wheel. You wonder how many times she’s done this before. 

You’ve never been to a police station. Actually, that’s a lie. You went on a field trip in middle school— the first and last time you’d ever been inside one. You don’t know how bailing someone out works, either, but Runa looks familiar with the process, so you just follow her.

The police station is quiet— unexpectedly so. You spent years of your childhood watching police shows, so you expected it to be a little more rowdy than a homeless man and a sobbing teenage girl. It’s colder than you expected, too. Even though you’re wearing a hoodie, you still have to wrap your arms around yourself.

The woman at the front desk seems familiar with Runa. They talk in hushed voices for a minute or two, and then Runa gestures for you to follow her. You glance back at the desk woman, but she’s typing away at her computer once again, seemingly honed in on whatever.

You follow Runa to what you assume is the back of the station. There are jail cells lined up against the wall, but most of them are empty. You stop at the last one and a quiet gasp leaves your mouth at the sight.

It’s Rin, but he’s hunched over, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. His knuckles are visibly bruised and you think there might be blood staining his shirt. He looks up at the absence of further footsteps. His eyes are red.

“You’re an idiot,” Runa says, crossing her arms over her chest.

His eyes flicker from her to you and you wave. “Hi, Rin.”

“I mean—“ She scoffs. “This is, what, the third time in as many months? Get it together, Rin! Like, what were you thinking? You know how much this costs me?”

“Costs you?” Rin repeats, scoffing as he now stands up. “I pay you back every time, don’t even.”

She clamps her jaw shut, and you know it’s because she’s too angry to speak. She glances back and waves her hand. The next thing you know, Rin is standing next to you and Runa.

You’re quiet, because what else are you supposed to do? Runa and Rin keep glaring at each other and, for a brief moment, you think they’re communicating telepathically. Rin looks at you, a small smirk on his face, and you look away.

This was a bad idea.

When you finally leave, something occurs to you. Where are you supposed to sit now? The front seat or the back seat? Rin is her cousin, but she’s mad at him, so maybe she’ll make him sit in the back? Your feet seem to stutter and you trip a bit, catching yourself before you can hit the ground. Rin and Runa look back, brows furrowed, but you clear your throat and shrug.

And then Runa solves all your problems by getting in the passenger seat. Rin is driving, got it. You get in the backseat and sit behind Rin.

This is ridiculous. The car ride is quiet. You can practically see steam coming off of Runa. Rin is driving with one hand. Your head is swimming. You stare out the window and look at the houses as you pass them.

Rin drives to his house and, before he leaves, he walks over to your side of the car and leans down into the window. “You came with her.”

You shrug, wringing your fingers in your lap. “I’ve never been to a police station before.” It’s an excuse, you know he knows. “And I was bored.”

“You were sleeping,” he hums out. “I think,” he leans closer, now whispering, “you just wanted to see me.”

“What?” Your face heats up, eyes widening a bit. “That’s— I didn’t— Runa was just—“

He laughs and smacks the roof of the car. “I’ll see you guys later, yeah?” He looks at Runa and stops laughing. “I’m sorry, Runie. I’ll pay you back tomorrow.”

“Yeah, whatever.” She rolls her eyes. She puts the car in drive and drives off.

@sahrii , @cherrysurf , @heartmaddie , @jpegarchives , @massacremars

@vertejay , @tiramizuloz , @gumims , @mybelovedvi , @chaotic-neutral-ig

@usbrous , @iheartamora , @iluv-ace , @xavlyzn , @velvetreds

@mysticstrawberryballoon , @h0n3y-l3m0n05 , @aethersluvrr , @smiithys , @rriwyu

@twiishaa , @kissingkzuha

[marimayscarlett]

Hi I’m back back, back again! With more questions!

The fandom calls Paul and Richard guitars husbands right? But to help a relationship status to married you have to gradually progress through the stages of like: pining, mutual pining, dating, boyfriends and then finally married.

I was wondering what pictures or gifs/videos represent those stages for our dearest guitarists?

If I forgot one feel free to add one or remove one if it doesn’t have any fitting content! 😌 🖤

Hello dear, and thank you for your ask! 😊

I have to admit, though, I found this ask a bit tricky to answer at first. I kept going back and forth, trying to establish a clear timeline for Paul and Richard’s, let’s call it loosely, “relationship.” In some ways, that’s possible. At the start of the band’s history, we have a popular example of looks exchanged that could definitely be interpreted as “pining” or “longing”:

(GIFs by @ukulelette)

Later on, there were repeated moments on stage where they looked for closeness or looked out for each other:

Nowadays, there are wonderful moments on stage filled with cheekiness, emotions, joy, and surely also some kind of love between two people who’ve worked together for 30 years, experienced so many life situations together, endured a lot in the band's life and in general..:

(first gif by @sechsherzen)

And yet... the story between Paul and Richard always seems incredibly dynamic to me. They started out as young musicians who discovered a lot of common ground in their musical visions (I think I recall Richard saying something along the lines of “he completes me”). At the same time, they were also musical rivals in some ways, given they played the same instrument. Two people with strong opinions and firm points of views in things, who sometimes wouldn’t accept any other viewpoint but their own. They are so similar, yet have their struggles, especially to see that they're so similar it seems.

But they always manage to come back together, no matter how difficult working together might be - even going as far as seeking help for their communication (Olsen Involtini apparently played a big role in ensuring that harmony was quickly restored, as mentioned here). They maybe do it simply because they see the bigger picture. They see that enduring personal differences is worth it for the good of the band. They share the same drive to make things happen and, over the years, have learned to listen to one another and give each other space to express themselves.

If we indulge in the “Paulchard” fantasy, we can find moments of connection (body contact or just looking out for each other) at various points in the band’s history. It’s difficult for me to identify a clear chronology here - whether it’s the 90s, the challenging Mutter era, or the MiG tour...:

Of course, their warmth towards each other has exponentially increased in recent years! Longing, hugs, kisses, comforting each other, or just being there for one another.... And sometimes really taking their time with each other during these interactions, like in Frankfurt for the plane watching 🥹.

It feels like they can express these things more freely now, in their more mature years, after all their shared experiences - or at least it appears that way. And for that, I’m very happy.

(first gif by @mrsfitzgerald)

So, yes. Paulchard interactions are varied, dynamic, and ever-changing, just as most likely a relationship between people is. 🤍

And for people who like to see the Paulchard wedding with their own two eyes, there's always lovely edits 😄

(some more picture sources: x x)

[the-diary-of-a-moody-teenager]

Okay so after 1 day processing (lies i processed nothing) and listening to " will you fall in love with me again " on repeat

I have thoughts A LOT OF THEM

I loveeee how Penelope's RAGE is showcased in the song and especially in the livestream ( @gigizetz you absolutely GOAT ) , because it's her husband in front of her after 20 goddamn years and he has the GAL to say if you knew the things (i absolutely love the background showing all the animatics of the things he has done and how he has changed ) I have done (not blaming ody here he has a totally vaild perspective) , could she bring herself to love him again, and SHE IS PISSED , but she knows he husband very well so instead of shouting, she asks him for a simple favour, to move the wedding bed (and i love how it's adapted from the Odyssey, Penelope instead of proving herself that's her husband, proves ody that he's still her husband) , and ody is pissed( bro brings out the electric guitar and all 💀) and is like how could you ask me to do that , it's a symbol of everlasting love , and PENELOPE is like WELL ONLY MY HUSBAND KNEW THAT SO I GET THAT MAKES HIM YOU (you can hear the rage in her voice, ask stupid questions get stupid answers ), and ody is shooketh , his falabers are gasted , and then we get "I will fall in love with you , Over and over again, I don’t care how, where, or when, No matter how long it’s been

You’re mine ( how dare you insinuate that you AREN'T MINE , YOU ARE MY HUSBAND AND I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU , ALL THE VERSION OF YOU AND NOTHING IS GOING TO CHANGE THAT )

Don’t tell me you’re not the same person, You’re always my husband, And I’ve been waiting, waiting , Waiting, waiting , Waiting, waiting,Waiting, oh!, For you..." ( and then we get the montage of how hard the 20 years have been for her too and how she has changed too, and it's in her voice ahahaha)

AND THEN THE INSTRUMENTALS OF "JUST A MAN " START PLAYING AND JUST KILL ME AT THIS POINT , it would hurt less (he's finally HOME GUYSSS , OUR BOY IS HOME )

And ending it with "I love u's " was the best decision EVER

So basically I guess what i wanted to say was OdyPen are the standard and we should expect nothing less , no other will ever come close to them and i WILL MISS THEM IMMENSELY

[towriteloveontheirarms]

Cigarettes after sex (modern!Criston Cole x Reader)

synopsis: Christmas is the season of giving and even though neither Criston nor you really celebrates the holiday, who are you not to give each other something.

warnings: drug use (smoking weed), making out, smut, pwp, fingering, 69, oral sex (m and f receiving), afab reader

word count: 2.3k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @urmomsgirlfriend1 @bucknastysbabe

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

Dividers by @strangergraphics

The holidays had been a rather lonely time until a couple of years ago. When you had met Criston, you soon developed the tradition that for any holiday you would spend the time together, getting high off your minds and forgetting the rest of the world. Which led you to this day. While everyone is busy spending time with their families, the two of you had just put on a random Christmas movie that's cringe enough to make fun of and lit up the second round of joints since dinner. Leading to this moment.

This moment is what heaven must feel like. At least you are pretty sure of it as the smell of weed fills the air, shrouding the room in thick clouds. Its source rests between Criston's fingers. He has his eyes closed comfortably, breathing calm and deep, situated half lying between your spread legs resting his back against your front. Both of your eyes are trained on the TV, yet the movie doesn't register in either of your brains. Neither of you had the energy to make any comments about the main characters on screen. The fairy lights in the corner of your eyes have stopped distracting you long ago as well. The only thing that doesn't go past you in fact, is the feel of his raven hair between your fingers. Smooth like the finest silk, the dishevelled locks glide through the digits like a dark river. Curling it around your fingers before letting it go again only to repeat it in a different strand until his hair was just a bit curlier than before.

Your eyes, already half close as well, shut even further until it is barely distinguishable if they are open at all or not. In your lap Criston has begun to make a sound as humanly close as possible to a purr. A low rumbling breathing from his steadily rising chest as your nails run over his scalp. A sigh escapes your parted lips and is immediately met by one from his. Followed by the sofa and the two of you being shaken by a coughing fit wracking his body.

Once Criston settles back down, your hands immediately go back to his head. Nestled comfortably between your legs, so the two of you can go back to watching the tv. Distracted ever so often by the sight of the shorter, dark hair that covered his chest down to the waistband of the grey sweatpants that covered what lay below.

The strength to keep your eyes open much longer wanes with the calm moment and they fall close on their own. Just as they do, you feel the man on top of you shift again. This time to turn, laying on his stomach, hands holding your hips and chin resting just above the apex between your legs. Looking down to meet his gaze, you can see in the sparkle of his eyes that he wants to say something. However, it quickly gets pushed to the back of both your heads as you notice just where the warmth on your stomach comes from. Fanning right from his nose is his breath, warming the space where your shirt had ridden up to expose just a bit of midriff. Goosebumps spread over the skin there immediately and your stomach stutters under the motion of exhaling a shuddering breath. One of his large hands runs up and down on your thigh. Inching closer to its apex with every stroke. There are no words spoken between the two of you. In fact, you are sure that if you tried to speak the words would get devoured by the thick tension before they could reach the others ears.

“You look so hot right now.” Criston whispers huskily.

“I want you so much.” You reply in the same tone, slightly tugging at his hair again.

The action makes his eyes flutter shut and elicits a low groan from him.

In the blink of an eye Criston all but pounces on you. Crashing your lips together in a borderline aggressive with need kiss. It is all teeth and tongue, hands desperately wandering over the other's body. Grabbing at every bit they can. Matched perfectly until the two of you calm down and your hands find their place. One on his neck and one back in his hair, while his wander under your shirt to rest just underneath the hem of your sports bra at your sides. Even then the feeling of warm skin against warm skin and tongues lapping against each other have him whimpering.

However, the full extent of it only reveals itself to you when you part from him. Your eyes flutter open after a few moments, to see him looking at you with pulled together eyebrows already. His surprisingly soft lips parted ever so slightly, silently asking for more. Waiting for when you are ready to continue. The hand you had previously buried in his hair, lets loose of the strands to caress over his cheek bones and beard to lastly swipe over his lower lip.

At the same time, deft fingers push up your shirt, then hook into the waistband of your pants and pull them down along with the panties underneath. As soon as the clothes are discarded and you are spread out before him, to gaze at without being hindered by any fabric, his hands start to ghost over your entire body. Running over your breasts and teasing your nipples, down your sides over your soft skin and diving back between your legs. Pushing them apart a little more, he rubs circles into your thighs, only ever teasing your already wet centre with his fingertips.

“Criston, please stop teasing already.” You whine after a while and chase his fingers with your hips.

“I want to enjoy you thoroughly.” He whispers against the skin of your collar bones.

His hands continue their explanation further upwards, circling just around your slit. His other hand holds you down by the hips, to keep you from shifting too much. Making your back arch off the bed ever so slightly as two of his thick fingers finally enter your cunt with a twist of his wrist. Curling inside to brush against the spongy spot inside you and pumping in and out at a torturously slow pace. The sensation gets accompanied by the tingling his lips leave behind wherever they touch your skin to leave behind the marks of wet open-mouthed kisses. Wandering all over your collar bones and up your neck to the sensitive spots behind your ears. The stubble on his chin only adds to the exhilarating sensation.

“Fuck, Criston… Feels so good…” you mewl, running your fingernails up and down his back.

“You're doing so good for me.” He praises you breathily.

With a flick of his wrist, Criston changes the angle and pace his fingers thrust into you for his thumb to circle tight circles over your clit. He revels in your enthusiastic response of louder moans and more writhing, letting the warmth of the validation for his actions fill his chest. Just then you begin to clench around his fingers harder. Approaching the edge to your climax rapidly.

“I'm so close.” You whine, moving your hips to fuck yourself on his fingers to get that last bit of stimulation that tips you over the edge that Criston had kept you on.

“Just a bit longer. You look so breathtaking fucking yourself on my fingers.” He almost pleads in a husky voice.

Your legs come together to keep his hand right where it is. Moaning and crying out as ripples of pleasure run through your trembling body. Crying out at the empty feeling as the nimble digits pull out of your quivering core.

Your eyes meet and you can't hold back a huff of a satisfied chuckle. Watching closely as he sucks his fingers clean, moaning as the taste hits his tongue.

Once he deems his fingers clean, you get pinned under his weight.

“I think we should take this to the bedroom. Now.” You suggest in a breathy whisper.

“I think your right.” Criston agrees in the same tone.

Taking off the rest of your clothes and throwing them somewhere before he stands up. Pulling you along with him by the hands. In the same breath he pulls you into another kiss. Blindly the two of you stumble from the living room area to your bedroom. One hand outstretched as to keep you from running into every single piece of furniture you possess. Meanwhile, your other hand, with the help of one of his, leaves a trail of his Criston´s pants and boxershorts on the floor.

He lets himself fall onto the mattress once you reach your destination. Sliding upwards until he is situated comfortably. Then, with one hand at the back of your upper thigh he urges you to climb over him until your core is aligned with Criston´s face. There is not a single moment wasted until you feel his fingers part your folds and his tongue laps at your wet cunt. A shock is sent straight through your body from your clit when the tip of his tongue grazes the sensitive bud. The force of it sends you to prop yourself up on his thighs, not holding back any of the moans and whimpers that get pulled from your lungs as your head falls back loosely even further. Instinctively your nails dig into the muscular legs. The resulting groan sends more ripples of heat through you as the vibrations of the sound hit your body. The way Criston eats you like your cunt is his last meal on death row makes your brain go hazy with lust. Reeling even further at the way the wet muscle fucks into you. Still affected by the last orgasms you are on the edge again before you know it. Wetting Criston´s chin with your release soon after.

Your whole body heaves as you try to catch your breath. You tremble and your arms buckle underneath you, yet you are not given the chance to calm down as the dark-haired man underneath you continues to eat you as if he is starved. His glazed over eyes never leaving your own.

“Please. Criston, please.” You beg repeatedly, even though you aren´t sure what you are begging for.

“Use your words. I know you can do it.” He encourages you, though it is hard for him to keep his mind together in the face of the pleasure he is both giving and getting from seeing your reaction to his actions.

“I want to suck your cock so bad. Please.” It takes all but too much concentration to get out your wish.

Still your need is met instantaneously, by Criston guiding you to turn around and still hover over his face. With his hard length now accessible, you don´t waste any time either. Wrapping one hand around it to tug at it in the same rhythm he had reverted to eating you out to. Revelling in the whines and whimpers as your tongue darts out to tease the tip with kitten licks and tiny kisses.

“Who is teasing now, huh?” He stammers against your folds, licking a broad stripe through them.

So, you wrap your lips around the thick arousal, lightly sucking on it. A little more with every time you bob your head up and down until it is fully nestled inside of your warm mouth.

“Fuck your mouth feels so good.” He groans.

As your hand begins to play with his balls, one finger not so accidentally ends up running between his cheeks and teasing the puckered ring of muscles, he begins to suck at your clit with renewed vigour. His tongue diving deeper into your clenching hole and his whines become more desperate.

You can feel the erection twitch. Encouraging you to go just a bit faster, as you roll his balls in your hand, your eyes rolling into the back of your head and more mewling moans escaping around the thick cock as the twitching grows more frequent. You can feel that you are close again by the tight coil in your lower stomach and you know you can´t hold back until he spills himself into you. The previous two peaks have made you too sensitive, too overstimulated. Yet you still try to hold back just a little longer, which only makes the pleasure more intense.

The waves of your peak pull you under with a force you haven´t experienced before. Ripping almost indistinguishable cries from your chest, your legs struggling to keep you up so you don´t suffocate the man below you with your thighs. It rips through you so hard that you only realise that Criston had also reached his peak when he had already spilled himself down your throat. Stuttering breathing and sensitive whines coming from behind you as he tries to pull away from your mouth, but the mattress won´t let him pull back far enough. For a split second you have half a mind to overstimulate him but quickly decide against it as you feel tiredness sink into your own body.

Rolling off his equally trembling form, you lay down beside Criston. Giving the two of you a second to catch your breath and collect your thoughts.

Once the two of have calmed down enough to expel the fog of lust lingering in your brain, you cuddle up next to each other. You look over to see a sheen of sweat cover Criston´s tan skin and giving him a glow that only makes him more beautiful in your eyes.

In the other room, the credits of the movie begin rolling. Looking at each other you bite back a laugh and dressed in nothing, on still wobbly legs, go back to the sofa. Turning off the tv and lighting a cigarette.