#and I feel like there's something here to dig out

[nanamisweetgirl]

ᓚᘏᗢ ⦂ satoru gojo trying to remember what it feels like to be loved again, and by loved again, he means skin to skin with you.

you’re barely moving anymore.

your body is worn thin, pressed against his like you’re afraid if you let go, you’ll disappear. and maybe you would. maybe he’s the only thing keeping you here—sitting in his lap, your thighs trembling, arms wound tight around his shoulders while he rocks up into you, slow and unrelenting.

he’s inside you like he belongs there.

like you belong to him.

your chest is flush to his, skin tacky with sweat, your forehead resting against his temple. his breath moves across your cheek with every soft grunt, every low murmur, every exhale that sounds like want. and you can’t even moan properly anymore, just small, broken sounds that get caught in your throat.

you breathe out his name like a secret.

“satoru…”

he stills.

not completely but just for a second. just enough to let the moment hang between you like a truth neither of you are ready to speak.

his hand slides up your back, steady and warm, the kind of touch that says i’ve got you, even when his voice doesn’t.

“say it again,” he murmurs, barely audible.

your lips graze his jaw. “satoru…”

he groans low, deep in his chest and his arms tighten around you like he needs you closer. as if that’s even possible. as if you aren’t already pressed into him like you’re trying to climb into his body, to hide inside the rhythm of your hips moving together.

he guides you again, both hands on your waist, thumbs digging in gently, and this time you let go. let your weight fall into him completely. you’re not riding him anymore because it’s him who’s pulling you along, moving your hips close to him then stops, keeping you.

and every time your hips sink down, every time you feel him drag so deep inside it knocks the breath out of your lungs, you whisper it again. not because he asked.

because it’s the only thing that feels real.

“satoru…”

he kisses your neck like he’s trying not to break. like something about hearing you say his name like that is too much.

“you feel what you’re doing to me?” he says against your skin. “fuck—every time you say it, i wanna keep you like this, i’m so fuckin’ serious.”

his voice cracks a little at the edges, like he’s coming apart too, just slower than you. your fingers dig into his hair, pulling him closer, and you whisper again, this time into his ear, voice trembling.

“satoru…”

he shudders.

you clench around him, overwhelmed, overstimulated, your whole body bracing against his as that aching pressure builds again in your core. it’s hot, helpless, inevitable.

he presses his forehead to yours. breathing hard, his eyes open, watching every twitch of your eyebrows, watching your swollen lips he couldn’t stop kissing.

“don’t stop saying it,” he murmurs. “not like this. not when you feel this good.”

and when you finally fall apart quiet, wrecked, coming hard against him with a soft cry muffled against his throat. it’s his name you cling to. not the sound. not the pleasure. him.

“satoru…”

and he holds you, still inside you, like he’s never letting you go.

[linkcharacter]

I've never done an art breakdown with my own art, so I wanted to try to put the ideas into words and also some (a bunch of) related ramblings. There isn't a lot of details in this piece specifically but I have thoughts about it.

Talking about the idea first, I wanted to imitate the posters Anya has on her corkboard combined with something you'd see on a product package like the item packets.

Anya herself in the illustration is meant to appear plastic-y and flat so I though the lineless graphic style fits. I added highlights and kept textures and details to a minimum, her pose is intended to feel performative and stiff, like a plastic doll. I tried to make her look more mascot-like. And she's holding the Psych Eval sheet.

"WE ARE HERE FOR YOU" is the poster that hangs on Anya's corkboard. In itself it's a questionable choice to hang it in a medical room due to the design's colors being Black and Red. Red is not a recommended color for any hospital setting. Black in abundance is menacing. It all can stress out patients and this one is a bright red on a purely black background which immediately looks sinister and threatening so honestly, any other color choice would've been better. The text reads to me as a showing of how the medical staff are treated as property of PE for workers which comprise the other crew members. "WE" speaking impersonally as if the nurses are a collective that is serving you never as an Individual who takes care of you, because they are only a service that is provided, never a human being. Nurses are always thought of as something FOR someone and never for themselves, the nurses are only here because of the need to have healthcare for the crew in space. I just think it's interesting how the medical staff have their own PE informational poster addressing the other crew as if the nurses are singled out and align closer to PE than other roles.

Also, Anya in my eyes, pinned the poster thinking it's something to put up trying to be approachable by pinning something positive she associates with her job, but it ends up coming off as feeding into the corporate facade which dehumanizes her and also looks fucking ugly and doesn't help with the patients' stress. Anya girl please rip that thing off I'm begging-

I tried to incorporate the black background into the art but it wasn't working out and ended up looking ugly so I scrapped it in favor of cohesiveness. I just wanted to talk about that fucking poster mb.

The small text is the Positive Affirmations Anya has on her corkboard. Positive affirmations can be a comfort that will lift your mood, give you assurance but when repeated over and over they tend to lose meaning. They turn into empty words that never dig deeper into the issues a person is having but merely plastering optimism and positivity on top. Especially if it's not accompanied by some pretty illustration of a flower and just written out with punctuation in a row, the statements really start to blend together and become nagging phrases. At least that's what my thought process was.

All of this label text is taken from the water packaging except First aid and health protection, which are quotes from "Going Places" (1948) propaganda cartoon played on the TV in the cargo. They're listed as one of the 'benefits' for workers while working for a corporation. By putting these in the same list as the water packet labels I thought would be a neat way to connect the item packaging as products provided by PE (or Dragonbreath, who are the manufacturers) with the medical staff being marketed in a similar manner. You need water is a the same way you need healthcare as it is a baseline for survival and it's something even scummy companies like PE can't go without providing. However it doesn't mean they won't cut corners anywhere they can. Packaged water is the only safe source of hydration on the ship, it intrinsically would make the crew me more conservative with consuming it. Medical supplies are limited, the nurses are barely trained and all expenses will be punishing on the crew's pay package, the obligations like Psych Evals which nurses are obligated to do are more of a checklist for formalities rather than something of genuine help. It's the bare minimum but marketed as a benefit.

It's funny seeing "CONSUMPTION SAFE" and "95% BACTERIA FREE" right next to each other, but of course the "safety assurance" comes first. It's a label that's there because it's a tactic for making the consumer believe that the product is more ethically palatable. It's performative and pointless that's only meant to give you a peace of mind.

"Tastes like warm plastic." is the item description for the water packet while playing as Curly. I believe all the packet item descriptions at the birthday party are a combination of reflections of Curly's subconscious cynical view of each of the crew members and the meta themes of characters whose color the packet is associated with, water being blue for Anya. I made the shape of the paper taped onto the posted resembling the speech bubbles I use for Curly's dialogue in my comics to draw a clearer connection suggesting who put up the note.

The taste of plastic is implies artificiality, something trying to imitate genuineness. Anya as the nurse is in charge of Psych Evals which are supposedly meant for gauging the mental well being of the crew, but in reality it's a checklist you can easily give all the 'right' responses to. She's not someone he confides in for his own issues because PE doesn't actually care if you're mentally well, and Anya as the person conducting the Eval simply follows protocol. Even if Anya does wish that Curly would "open up", there simply isn't an opportunity to do so when it's under the guise of Psych Evaluations, so all her concerns sound hollow. Combine that with the contents of her corkboard and all the surface-level 'optimism' which doesn't seem like a welcome environment for opening up with the stress and insomnia, as well as implied dissociative and suicidal tendencies Curly displays, because it's all issues more serious than any underqualified go-lucky nurse with an Evaluation sheet can help with. It makes it all seem so performative.

And warm, to me as if something stale, mild, stuffy, not the worst but there's really nothing special about it. Comfort can be found in warmth as well, that safety of it not being extreme or different, just warm. But mixed in with the "plastic" it gives an impression of a mild disingenuousness that you're used to. Their relationship is warm, but it's based on playful pleasantries which unfortunately Curly keeps up even in the face of Anya's attempts to have a heart-to-heart.

Ok that's about it. Might do more if this was legible to read as I'm not very good at writing.

Tastes like warm plastic.

[dollyfiles]

giving pogue!jj head in the back of your car

cw: smut, oral (m. receiving), handjob, cum swallowing, explicit language, kook!reader, rafe’s!ex!reader

your back hit the trunk of the tree, digging into your shoulder blades as jj pressed into you, one hand placed above your head, the other at your hip. his mouth found yours in the dark again, hot and urgent, like he hadn’t kissed you in years, even though it had only been seconds.

“you’re not supposed to want this,” you whispered against his lips, teasing. jj chuckled, low and rough, his nose brushing yours. “since when do i care what i’m supposed to want?”

you bit your lip, eyes locked on his blue ones. that was typical jj, reckless, mouthy, never followed a rule in his life before. and that’s what you liked about him. way too much.

“you’re a walking bad idea, jay” you murmured, your hand slipping under the edge of his shirt. his smile turned dangerous then. “and you’ve been staring at this bad idea for months, baby.”

your cheeks grew hot, but you didn’t deny it. because it was true. you were kook royalty, glitter on your collarbones, and yet something mischievous behind every flirtatious smile.

people expected you to end up with someone like rafe, not the wild, golden-haired boy who’s father was an alcoholic and who started fist fights at the beach. but jj had this pull, this particular heat, that made everything else feel boring.

he leaned in, lips brushing your jaw, his voice a whisper. “you��ve got no idea, how long i’ve wanted this.” your fingers fisted in his shirt, music from the party buzzing in the background. “then stop holding back.”

“been thinking about you for months, y/n. you smile at me like that again, i swear—” you cut him off with another messy kiss. his hand slid along your thigh, just under the hem of your dress, and your breath hitched.

just then—

“y/n?” someone called out. loud and already too close. jj froze and you stiffened. “that’s fucking topper.” jj tilted his head, listening. the sound of crunching sand and footsteps growing closer. “shit,” you hissed, already pulling back.

then tooper called out again, like some annoying security guard. “saw you duck over here, rafe’s not around, you know?” jj’s expression went from cautious to confused. “he’s still trying to babysit you?”

“he’s a loyal bitch to rafe. but i’m not his problem anymore,” you muttered, grabbing the blonde’s hand. “come on.” you dragged him out from the trees, staying low and laughing quietly as you both bolted past a stack of coolers, and towards the parking lot.

the door of your car slammed shut behind you. your back hit the backseat, chest rising and falling like you couldn’t catch your breath. jj’s hand was still in yours, both of you wide-eyed, high off the rush of nearly getting caught.

“that was fucking close,” you whispered, grinning, your cheeks burning up from the run. jj was leaning over you then, chest against yours, breath fanning across your plump lips. “topper’s really got the worst timing,” he muttered, voice low and wrecked.

“he desperately needs to get laid,” you said, rolling your eyes, but your voice dropped soft at the end, eyes flicking to his mouth. “i don’t belong to anyone anymore.”

“no,” jj said, jaw clenched, staring at you like you were the only thing that mattered. “you don’t.” and then he kissed you again. hard.

it was weeks of tension exploding between you, mouths colliding, hands fumbling, teeth scraping lips. his fingers slid into your hair, tugging gently, making you sigh into his mouth.

you hooked your legs around his waist without thinking, dragging him into the space between your thighs. his hips immediately rolled down, grinding against your center, and you both groaned, already losing every ounce of control.

“fuck,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, grinding against you again, slower now. “you’re driving me insane.” you could feel how hard he was through his cargos, pressing right against your soaked panties, dress bunched up around your hips.

“good,” you whispered, moaning softly when he did it again. his hand slid under your dress, fingers exploring every inch of bare thigh, teasing you just enough to make you squirm. you rutted up against him, both of you dry humping like you couldn’t help yourselves, gasping every time you lined up just right.

jj’s mouth was on your neck, sucking a bruise just below your ear, one hand gripping the back of the seat, the other sliding under your panties, cupping you over the thin fabric.

“you’re soaked, mama” he said, voice wrecked. you whimpered, biting your bottom lip, grinding harder against his cock, trapped tight in his shorts. he groaned, deep and breathy, and dropped his head to your shoulder, shuddering as your hips rolled up to meet him again.

“y/n,” he panted, “i’m gonna fuckin’ lose it if you keep doing that.” you pulled back just enough to look up at him then, eyes dark and pupils fully blown, lips already swollen. “then let me take care of you.”

jj blinked, stunned, as you slid your hands down to the waistband of his jeans, fingers undoing the button slow and teasing. “wait—what are you—” he started, but his voice caught as you slipped out of his grip and pushed him into the seat. one of his hands braced on the window, the other hanging limp at his side like he’d forgotten how to move.

sliding onto your knees you looked up at him with this wicked little smirk, eyes locked on his while you pulled his jeans down just enough. his cock sprang free, thick and already leaking. and you didn’t waste any time, just wrapped your hand around him, fingers barely able to circle him completely.

you then gave him one slow and teasing stroke, your tongue poking out to lick a long stripe up the underside of his hard cock, tracing his vein, which made his whole body twitch.

“jesus christ,” he hissed, head falling back against the headrest. he twitched in your grip, already so sensitive, breath catching every time your tongue hit just the spot. then you wrapped your lips around the tip and sucked. soft at first, all gentle, just enough to make him gasp.

the next second you took him into your mouth like you meant it, stretching your lips around him inch by inch. sliding down until your throat was full of him, the tip of your nose touching his skin.

he looked down at you with blown pupils and parted lips, as he couldn’t believe this was really happening. “you’re fucking insane,” he breathed, chest heaving. “you feel—god—so fucking good.”

you bobbed your head slowly at first, tongue teasing the tip every time you pulled back, your other hand sliding up under his shirt to scratch your nails across his toned stomach.

with that combination jj was a mess in seconds. breathing hard, hands gripping the seat, and his hips twitching toward your mouth. “fuck, that’s—fuck, baby—don’t stop.” and you didn’t.

you picked up the pace, moaning around him just to feel the way it made him curse. drool slipped down your chin, messy and perfect, while your eyes never left his face, watching him fall apart. his hand was tangled in your hair but not pushing, just holding on like he never wanted to let go.

you pulled back to suck on just the tip, circling it with your tongue like it was candy, then took him deep again, over and over, moaning softly as he lost control above you.

“i’m gonna—” he gasped, trying to hold it back, thighs shaking. you didn’t slow down though. you wanted it, wanted him to fall apart for you, here, in the dark safety of your car, like he’d been waiting for this just as long as you had.

then his whole body tensed, abs flexing as he came hard into your mouth, choking out your name with a broken moan. you didn’t flinch though, you just kept sucking.

he watched you swallow every last drop. you moaned like it tasted sweet, while your hands were still working him through it until he was completely ruined.

when you finally pulled off, lips red and swollen, wiping the corner of your mouth with your fingers teasingly, jj was wrecked. his shirt was sticking to his chest, blond locks wild and eyes glassy.

“holy fuck,” he breathed, voice raw. “that was the best fucking head i’ve had in my life.” you smirked, climbing back into his lap, kissing him soft and lazy. “that was just the beginning.”

tags: @ribbonbiter @soangelbaby @bradshawed @sugaredbambi @rotapathetic @rafessecret @inspiredangel @et6rnalsun @st8rkey @acklesangel @nemesyaaa @rafekisser @littlelamy @st6ined @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lacyydollette @maybanksbaby

[screamlet]

reunion cuddles? 👉👈 (also yay you're working on layla and bailey)

a happy one!!! my god!! in this economy!! (and layla and bailey are chugging along, can you believe difficult conversations are difficult to write? surprised the hell out of me) anyway: 850ish words of post s8 fix-it. inspired by @rcmclachlan's recurring tag "a three-minute conversation could fix them." this is like. idk. seven to eight minutes max.

---

As Buck and Tommy unpack their flea market and garage sale findings, Buck looks around his new apartment. He's been here a month and a half and it already looks so much like a home, a place where he wants to spend his time.

He knows in his gut that's because he can see so many pieces of Tommy here. The dark teal vase he said looked better than a navy one. A pair of framed sketches of backyard bugs, where Buck had found one and Tommy had dug around for its match, finally found it for him.

And there's the most obvious: Tommy standing in his kitchen gently cleaning a new vintage serving dish they'd found that Buck can't wait to cook in. Fuck, this is—it's what he wants.

Buck has been thinking and staring long enough that Tommy's finished drying off the dish. He catches Buck's eye and smiles. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, kinda." Buck moves into the kitchen and stands across from him on the other side of the island. "Can we talk about something?"

He can see the way Tommy's shoulders immediately tense. "Yeah, of course. You can tell me anything."

"I know, but as I want this to go both ways," Buck says. He waits until Tommy's done drying the dish and Tommy's done when he realizes Buck isn't talking until he is.

"So what's up?" He looks so terrified already that Buck wants to back off; he doesn't want to be responsible for putting that expression on his face. But the only way out is through, and Buck has to get this thing moving.

"I want to try again. Us. Being together. Dating." Buck doesn't look away. "Would you want that?"

Tommy looks at him like there's a catch and, honestly, he's right to do it. There's lots of catches, Buck's going to make sure of that. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

They say it in unison: "What's the catch?" Tommy rolls his eyes, smiling, and Buck can't help tilting his head to follow his smile.

"We have to talk to each other," Buck says slowly. "I want to know you, Tommy. All of you. I mean it."

He can tell that a dozen self-deprecating jokes want to punch their way out of Tommy's mouth, but he's holding them back. He's digging. They might actually do this. Buck really hopes so.

"I think," Tommy says, "that when you scratch past all this, you're gonna find a whole lot of nothing."

"Yeah, well. Let me decide, would you?" Buck tries his best not to look away. "Maybe what you call nothing means more to me than everyone else's something."

Tommy nods, still unconvinced. Buck asks, "What do you want? What do you need? I want you to stay with me. What can we do to make that happen?"

The silence stretches out and Buck lets it. He can do this—he can make space for Tommy. He's just relieved that Tommy's trying. He's trying to try. He's digging and that's all Buck wants. He wants more Tommy.

"I listen to you, Evan," Tommy says, "and I think you're used to letting your words roll off people's backs. I'm not like that. I hear you. I take you seriously, so you have to watch what you say. You have to think about what you're saying before you say them to me. And if you promise to do that, then I'll promise to stay. I just—" Tommy drums his fingers nervously on the counter. "If I show you my feelings, I don't want them to get hurt. So don't hurt me with things you don't mean."

Buck nods. "Okay. Okay, I can try to do that."

"Okay." He's going to drum the kitchen island to pieces at this point. "And you have to give me time. Like." Tommy laughs and motions to himself. "The excavation process here? It's a long one. A long one. So just. Let me." Tommy smiles. "Like you're doing now. Like this."

"Okay. I can do that." Buck smiles back. "I like hearing things about you. I can listen, Tommy. I want to hear you. So talk to me."

"And we have to talk," Tommy says. "I don't want to bury things because I think you'll leave. I don't want to leave because I think you want me to bury things."

Buck nods, then grins. "I'm getting a notepad. We should write this down."

Tommy laughs. "Really? You can't remember this?"

"Now? Yeah. When we need it, in the moment? Maybe not! So: terms and conditions."

The only paper Buck has is a 5×5" notepad with a crate of vegetables printed in the corner. Tommy shakes his head as Buck comes around with a pen. "Okay, so."

"Come here," Tommy interrupts. He hugs Buck, his hand resting at the nape of Buck's neck. "We're doing this?" he asks quietly.

Buck hugs him back tight, pen and paper in one hand as he sways in his arms. "Yeah, we are. As soon as we finalize our contract."

Tommy hugs him tighter. Buck sighs with relief, the newest piece of his new life finally in place, exactly where he wants him to be.

[fiendsgf]

Soulbound

II. Familiar Stranger

sylus x reader, rafayel x reader

Summary: You wake up in Onychinus. Alive, somehow. Sylus is real, and he has questions. Faced with suspicion and a loaded gun, you do the only thing you can: tell the truth. About the game. About him. About her.

content: non!mc reader, angst if you squint, isekai, love triangle(ish) coming! shady raf (soon)

pt 1. here!

Black fades to grey as your senses begin to trickle back in. You’re no longer lying on concrete, there’s something soft beneath you now. Your limbs are heavy. Your breath shallow. Overhead, an unfamiliar ceiling stares back.

Two things settle like lead in your chest:

This isn’t a dream.

And you didn’t arrive as the girl you’ve been playing as.

You lift your head, slow and aching. Across the room, Sylus sits in a leather chair, methodically polishing the same gun he’d aimed at your skull not long ago.

“Where am I?” Your voice is scratchy but stronger, though anyone could still hear the shake beneath it.

Sylus hardly spares a glance at you as his signature smirk graces his lips.

“Don't you already know?’ There’s a taunt in his tone. It shouldn’t sting the way it does. But it does. The man you’ve held so dear, spent so much time trying to understand, is ready to assume the worst of you.

“What?” You sound dazed, unsure. Your thoughts are still a tangle of disbelief and panic. Processing the situation has you slow on your feet, leaving much to be desired with the responses you’re able to spit out. You’d be embarrassed if you had the capacity.

“You know who I am. You knew about the Aether Core in my eye. So tell me—where do you think you are?”

“We’re in Onychinus’s base, right?”

“Correct.” 

He places the gun down with care, finally looking at you, his eyes hard.

“Would you like to share how you managed to enter now? Surely you didn’t come for a tour of my garden.” There’s a glint of amusement under the steel in his voice. You might’ve laughed, if you weren’t still expecting to be shot.

“I told you already. I don’t know how I got here.” Your voice steadies, even as your stomach turns. You sound annoyed, agitated. You’re scared, the grip on your emotions slipping through your fingers like sand.

Cautiously, you murmur “Didn’t your eye… confirm that?”

“My eye found that you are very familiar with me, yet I know nothing of you. You appear out of nowhere, claiming a name that does not belong to you, bearing a striking resemblance to someone important to me.”

He leans in, quiet and deliberate.

“What exactly am I supposed to make of that?”

Well. He’s got you there. 

What is he supposed to make of that? Sure, you could explain. Tell him you’re so familiar with him because he’s your favorite love interest in a video game. Who would believe that? Every idea feels like a shovel that will only aid in digging your grave deeper.

“I… listen. I could explain why I’m familiar with you, but I need you to take me seriously.” The dread is clawing at your throat like thornes at this point. Even if he does believe you, what then?

“Bold,” he murmurs. “Making requests as an intruder.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just– I know I’m going to sound crazy and you probably won’t believe me, but if you do it might be… tough to digest?” You want to crawl out of your own skin, rambling like this.

His eyes narrow, dark and stormy. His gaze is challenging.

“Try me.”

You take a deep breath. Where do you even start? 

“I know you from… a video game. It’s called Love and Deepspace. There are five love interests including you. I share a name and resemblance to the girl I assume you’re referring to because I created her. She’s the character we play as and experience the story through.” You put on your best PR voice and pray he’s feeling open minded.

Silence. Heavy and absolute.

Sylus doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. His expression is impassive, but something sharp flickers behind his eyes.

Whatever he was expecting, that was outside the realm of possibilities. Frustrating, for a man like him. 

“I know how insane that sounds. But it’s true. You can use your eye again!” Your words are dripping with desperation.

Sylus stares at you a while longer before finally breaking the silence.

“A video game.” A huff.

“So, I’m supposed to believe I’m just a character? In a game?” The disbelief in his tone sends a pang of guilt through your chest.

“Well not necessarily… I– You seem real to me. The world, it feels real. Maybe in my world, it's just a game? But still real?” You can’t help but scramble to find some explanation that might satisfy him. You can only imagine the spiral or potential consequences of a video game character becoming self aware. Your efforts feel pointless though, you don’t even know what’s going on yourself.

“Right. And what is this world exactly?” 

“Well it’s still earth. The game… it’s futuristic. In my world it’s only 2025, and there’s no… deepspace stuff.”

“I see.”

The urge to explain, to ask if he believes you, bites at your throat. Before you can open your mouth, a sudden buzz cuts through the air.

Sylus pulls his phone from his pocket and you catch a glimpse of the name on his screen.

Kitten.

Fuck.

Panic sets in for the millionth time that night, as you pray her sudden call doesn’t indicate her arrival at the base. What if she sees you? Telling Sylus has already left you unbearably guilty, how the hell are you supposed to tell this poor girl you created her? What kind of mental break would that cause? You do not want to find out.

Sylus' voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts.

“Sorry sweetie, I’m afraid I’m a bit busy tonight. I can send Mephisto your way however.”

His words are a balm to your nerves, at least you can assume he’s on the same page of keeping her away for now.

His call ends, and he looks at you again.

“Tell me more about your world.”

You do. Earth in 2025. Cities. Screens. No deepspace tunnels, no wanderers, no evols.

He asks a few questions about you and your own life, trying to surmise what kind of person has stumbled into his hands. Eventually, a silence falls between you two.

“Your explanations are… vivid. Your fear seems genuine. Maybe there was a spatial anomaly in the deepspace tunnel.” A pause. “For now, you’ll stay here.”

Sylus appears done with the conversation as he begins to stand.

“Wait! Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Sylus stills.

“What? You don’t want to?”

“I just… I don’t want to run into her. The girl I–” you falter, “—created. I can’t imagine what seeing me would do to her. And… I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do here.”

Sylus pauses. Something shifts – not pity, but recognition. Like he hadn’t expected you to care about that.

“I’ll make sure you don’t cross paths.” He reassures. “You’ll lie low. Until we find a way to send you back.”

Your breath catches. “You think that’s possible?”

He turns to glance over his shoulder. “You want to go back, don’t you?”

“Yes! Of course I do.”

That earns a small, dry sound from him, somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh.

“Then follow me.”

Sylus leads you into an elevator. It ascends smoothly, quietly, until it reaches the highest floor of the base. When the doors part, you step into a world that once existed only in flat images and dialogue boxes.

Now it breathes around you.

Familiar decor lines the halls. Black walls, withered flowers, golden fixtures. You find yourself staring, overwhelmed, watching the world you once knew as pixels come to life with depth and gravity.

The two of you walk in silence until Sylus stops before an ornate black door.

“You’ll stay in here,” he says. “Luke and Kieran will bring you a change of clothes soon. Rest. You look like you need it.”

You would be offended, if your body didn’t feel like it was made of wet cement. The adrenaline crash has hit you full force. Your chest is heavy. Your eyes sting. You don’t even have the energy to argue. You nod wordlessly and step through the door.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Sylus watches you disappear into the guest room.

Only when the door clicks shut does he turn and make his way to his study.

The space is quiet, too quiet. He settles into the chair behind his desk, rests his elbows on the wood, and presses his fingers together.

The reality of it finally settles in.

A video game character?

He thinks back to when he first used his Aether Core on you. You hadn’t seen his reaction, he didn’t let it show, but what he saw…

It unsettled him deeply.

He saw his own life through your eyes. Moments he’d never shared. Moments no one had witnessed. Except her.

But what disturbed him wasn’t just the now.

It was the past.

The datura field. Taurus City. Fleeting images that no stranger should know. And yet… they were seen through you. Remembered by you.

Had all that suffering really been nothing more than someone else’s entertainment? Lines of code? A narrative?

No. It felt too real. All of it. Too vivid. Too painful. If anything, your so-called game must be a window, not fiction. 

But the memories weren’t what shook him the most.

It was the feeling.

There had been warmth. Fluttering affection. The kind that blooms in the chest, soft but undeniable. You’d felt something for him. Something kind. Familiar.

Something that, couldn’t possibly form from behind a screen.

He remembers his reunion with her. The only time he’d let himself feel guilt. He had been cold. Harsh. Desperate for clarity. He swore to never face her that way again.

So why does it feel like he just relived that moment?

You didn’t mention what he was. You didn’t even realize he believed you weren’t a threat before you’d woken up. Your scrambled explanations had almost… amused him.

No, not amused. Endeared.

There’s a quiet fire in you. Determined. Honest in your fear, but unflinching. He doesn’t know what you are, or how you got here – but he knows what you’re not.

You’re not a threat.

He leans back in his chair and exhales slowly, eyes narrowing as he reaches for his datapad. If the deepspace tunnel is responsible, there may be traces of disruption in the last recorded cycle.

He begins his search. But a thought lingers.

Why did she end up here… with me?

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The door clicks shut behind you with a finality that echoes in your chest. You lean against it for a second, taking in the silence. The room is dimly lit, spare but elegant. The kind of decor you’ve only ever seen in screenshots, background renders, where the world felt more like a set than a space.

But this room is tangible.

You move slowly, heart still pounding as you cross the floor. There’s a plush armchair near the wall, a small vanity, and a bed you desperately want to collapse into. Instead, you stand still. Your thoughts won’t let you rest.

The conversation replays in your mind. His tone. The way he looked at you. That call from her. Her name in his phone. Kitten. You, once upon a time.

You sink onto the edge of the bed, running a hand through your hair. You need to think. You need to calm down.

You need a shower.

The attached bathroom is minimal and sleek, like something out of a luxury hotel. The kind of detail you never noticed during gameplay because the story didn’t linger here. You step in and twist the faucet on, steam rising like mist as the water heats. It fogs the mirror in front of you almost immediately.

And maybe that’s why you don’t notice it at first.

You’re already stripping off your clothes, your mind a blur of disbelief and denial, when you glance up.

Then freeze.

The mirror’s fog clears in a slow sweep. Just enough to show your face.

And it’s you.

But not you, exactly.

There’s no screen-glow softening the edges. No model slider tweaking jawlines and eye shapes. You’re not her. Not the MC you customized, but you’re close. Too close. A high-resolution, tangible version of what you were never quite able to recreate.

Same eyes. Different slant. Same hair color. Styled how you like. Same mouth. But fuller, real.

It’s your face. But it’s hers too. And it makes your blood run cold.

Your hands grip the sink, knuckles white.

If you look like this to you, how do you look to them?

The thought hits hard – Rafayel. Zayne. Xavier. Caleb.

If they saw you...

No. No, no, no.

You can’t let that happen.

A sick wave of guilt rolls through your gut. She doesn’t know about you. She can’t. And the others? What would they think? Would they mistake you for her? Would they sense something was off? Or worse, would they believe something isn’t?

You stare into the mirror, water still running behind you. This was supposed to be a fantasy. A story. You were never meant to be in it.

You swallow hard and pull away from the glass, blinking quickly to push the sting behind your eyes back down.

This is temporary. It has to be temporary.

Sylus said he’d find a way to send you back. You’ll lie low, keep your head down, and avoid the others. That’s the best way to protect her. To protect you.

You’re not here to rewrite a story.

You’re just passing through.

Right?

a/n: decided to combine chap 2&3 since chap 1 was so short. what dewww we think is going on here? also, i want to say MC will not be a villain in this, thats my girl (but she is still kinda getting done dirty, sorry diva everyone will suffer here) raf debut probably coming chap 4? 5 at the latest?

lmk if you want to join the taglist!

🏷️: @paper--angel @leftpoetrymoon @istolepeanuts @rjreins @freeprincesslove @3fg7 @mariahuchiha90 @beaconsxd

[mofuguru]

sweet enough ╱ toji . 18+

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:〝 toji has always been the gruff, broad-shouldered single dad next door. You were never supposed to get involved. But when he shows up at your door late at night asking for sugar, you both know that’s not what he really came for. 〞

pairing: toji x fem!reader

genre: smut, neighbour!au ; wc: 1.9k

warnings: unprotected sex, dirty talk, dilf!toji, mild size kink, light roughness, breeding talk, toji in grey sweatpants (a warning itself)

You hear the knock at exactly 10:07 PM. Three slow taps. The same way he always knocks.

You open the door, already knowing who it is.

Toji stands there, shirtless—just grey sweatpants slung low on his hips, a faint line of sweat still clinging to his collarbone. “Didn’t mean to bother you,” he says. “But… you got sugar?”

You arch a brow. “Sugar.”

“Megumi wanted pancakes tomorrow.” His voice is gravel and sleep. “I was halfway into bed and remembered I used the last of it.”

“Sure,” you reply, stepping aside. “Come in.”

You expect him to wait at the door. He doesn’t. He walks in like he always does—big, broad, filling the room with his presence like gravity. The smell of sandalwood and something smokier follows him, something warm. Familiar.

You grab the sugar from your pantry. “Here.”

He takes it from your hands but doesn’t leave. He sets the bag on your counter instead and leans back, palms braced on the edge, flexing those thick arms just a little too easily.

“What’s the real reason you came over?” you ask quietly.

His mouth twitches into a smirk. “Knew you were smart.”

You wait. You don’t trust your voice if you speak too soon.

Toji’s eyes flick over your figure, lazy and deliberate. “Megumi’s asleep. House is quiet. I just… I get restless sometimes.” His voice drops. “And I kept thinkin’ about you.”

You swallow.

He steps closer. Just one step, but it’s enough.

“You keep answering the door lookin’ like that,” he murmurs, eyes on the loose sleep shirt clinging to your curves, “and I’m gonna start thinking you want something.”

“Maybe I do,” you say, breath hitching.

He’s on you before you finish the sentence.

Mouth crashing down on yours, one hand gripping your waist, the other sliding up the back of your neck. His kiss is all heat—messy, deep, and desperate. He tastes like peppermint and something darker. Hunger.

You clutch at his back, nails digging into skin. He groans, low in his chest.

“Fuck,” he breathes, lips dragging along your jaw. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

He walks you backward, lifting you up onto the counter. You gasp as the cold marble hits your thighs.

“I won’t be gentle,” he warns, eyes dark. “You okay with that?”

“God, yes.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

His hand is under your shorts in seconds, fingers slipping past your underwear, finding you soaked. “This all for me?” he growls, voice gone rough.

“Yes—fuck—”

He sinks two fingers inside, curling deep, thumb rubbing circles over your clit with practiced precision. You fall forward, forehead against his shoulder, moaning into his skin.

He pulls his fingers out, licking them slow. “You taste good. Wanna feel you ‘round my cock.”

He tugs your shorts down and turns you on the counter, bending you over. Your cheek hits the cool marble as he slides his sweatpants low, cock already thick and hard, tip leaking.

“No time for condoms,” he mutters, lining himself up. “Been clean. You?”

“Yes. I’m on the pill—”

That’s all he needs to hear.

He pushes in with one deep thrust, groaning as your walls stretch around him. You cry out—he’s big, the stretch delicious and brutal at once.

“Shit,” he pants. “Tight little pussy. Gonna ruin you.”

He fucks into you slow, then hard—deep, punishing thrusts that make your legs tremble. Your hands scrabble for purchase on the counter. He grabs your hips, yanking you back to meet every thrust.

“So pretty like this,” he grunts. “Bent over, takin’ it all for me. This what you wanted, huh? Every time you smiled at me over the fence, dressed like that?”

You whimper.

He slides a hand under you, fingers back on your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel you.”

You shatter around him, body trembling, crying out his name. Your orgasm drags him over the edge—he curses, grip bruising your hips as he pumps into you one last time, spilling deep inside.

You both stay there, catching your breath, skin slick with sweat.

After a minute, he presses a kiss to your shoulder. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, dazed and wrecked.

He pulls out gently, tucks himself back into his sweats, and smirks. “Might need to ‘borrow’ more sugar next week.”

You roll your eyes, breathless. “Pancakes again?”

He grins. “Nah. You.”

© 2025. mofuguru ─── all rights reserved. do not repost or translate.

[yintual]

 ㅤ( 🍀 ) ㅤ O7.O9PM; ㅤ𝗹𝗶𝗯𝗿𝗮𝗿𝘆

jungwon thinks you need a break from studying 𖹭 749% > ﹏ <。 𝗰𝘄 # kisses ﾟ glasses bf ! won +PHYSICS mentioned

if there’s one singular flaw you have, yang jungwon finds himself thinking, it’s that you study a tad bit too much.

from his seat directly across you, he’s been watching you mumble about physics formulae for close to 3 hours. the library, too, is now almost completely empty save for the two of you. 

it’s not that he wants you to stop—jungwon’s more than aware of how important the assignment you’re working on is. so of course he wants to be supportive. which is why he’s tagged along with you in the first place, after all.

but hell, a guy gets tired of waiting, alright?

especially when his girlfriend just so happens to be sitting right across him—in hand holdable, and even, dare he say, kissable distance.

and you refuse to make it any easier on him with how cute you look when you pout at the page of numericals in front of you. it’s like you don’t even care about his sanity.

he rests his chin on his palm as he watches you furiously scribble something and erase it immediately after. 

tone flat, your boyfriend finally breaks the silence. “you know you’re looking at that worksheet like it personally offended you, right?” 

you answer without even sparing him a glance. “ugh, shut up. i got the sign convention messed up again. and i hate differentiation.”

“hmm. well maybe, and hear me out here ... what if … the universe is telling you to take a break.”

you don’t answer. he wonders if you even registered the words he’s just said.

“orrr …” jungwon leans forward, attempting to catch your eye to no avail, “maybe spare a glance towards your attention starved boyfriend? i promise he’s more interesting than electrostatics.”

that gets a giggle out of you, which admittedly does make him momentarily proud. but in mere seconds you’re back to locking in. he can’t help but mentally curse the education system for bringing him to this position. because god. this is tragic, really. 

with a sigh, he finally decides to take matters in his own hands. without a second’s hesitation, he’s pushing back his chair in favor of getting up and walking over to you.

“baby. i’m talking to you.” 

“alright, gosh, i’m—” but you apparently hadn’t taken into account the change in his position. you blink, confused, and realize after a minute that you feel a soft warmth behind you. 

and as you turn in your chair to face him, you find his arms caging you in against the table. 

“... i’m listening.”

jungwon leans in closer, his expression oddly smug. “don’t you think you’ve practiced enough questions for today?” 

“i just— there’s only a few more chapters i have left to go over ..” you’re not fully sure if it’s the close proximity that’s making you flustered.

“no. i think you’ve done enough.” 

you want to argue but the finality with which he speaks makes you reconsider your own words. 

“we don’t want you getting burnt out, yeah? you need some time away from physics.” 

you can barely think to formulate a reply to that as he dips his head down, placing a short kiss to your lips as if to emphasize his point. all you can do is smile into it, kissing him back with a hand resting on his chest to steady yourself.

“think we can both agree my idea was better, hm?” jungwon mumbles, peppering a few short peck along your jaw for good measure.

you pull back slightly, though, much to his displeasure. “well, mr. boyfriend, if you’ve had enough attention, then … i really do need to finish at least one more page.”

“... who said i’ve had enough?”

and then he’s taking off his glasses in one fluid motion before his lips are back on yours swallowing any protests you might have had. gone is the sweet, soft boyfriend who’d been giving you company all this while. 

(seriously, he picks the worst times to do these unfairly attractive things.)

the edge of the table digs into your back ever so slightly but you’re much more busy processing how sweet he tastes against you—of desperation. it’s a gorgeous color on him.

you vaguely think you hear his glasses fall to the floor with a soft clink. but with how intent your boyfriend seems upon robbing you of your coherence, you can’t say for sure. 

doing physics numericals is overrated anyway. you’d honestly rather just kiss your boyfriend, instead.

𐙚 . regulars : @chrrific @jessxxxfwd @evanesceki @soobundle1009 @weedatthegasstattion @flipitkickit @douqhnxtss @soona-huh @amoressb @nicholasluvbot @manariee @rinrinninnin @ddeonuswife @douqhnxtss @lovenha7 @amatariki @i-am-not-dal @liyahhhh620 @elleetlalune @luvvchn @s0shroe @wensurr @unhakies @starniras @calabaeri @athenaisonlinee @weepingsweep @itsactuallylina @puma-riki @starniras ⋆

        𝖤𝖷𝖳𝖱𝖠! [ <3 ] do we like layout. yes or yes. + gais i finally understand what timestamps are. its when u write a drabble and don't know what to call it!

ㅤㅤㅤ© YiNTUAL ♡ 2025

[y3oubii]

The Weight of Stars

dream x fem reader

infinite. ancient. divine. dream of the endless was not made for comfort. he was born from stories and starlight, solitude stitched into the lining of his very being. even among his siblings, he is the most distant, the most unknowable, forever mourning what slips through his fingers. but one night, when the dreaming grows too quiet, you follow the ache in the air to find him weeping in the shadows of his throne. he tries to push you away. tries to hide the break in his voice, the stars falling from his eyes. but you don’t leave. you kneel beside him. you stay. and for the first time in an eternity, dream allows himself to be held.

CW: themes of depression, emotional breakdown, isolation, crying, touch-starvation

it was nearly silent in the dreaming.

not just quiet—silent.

too silent.

the kind of silence that doesn’t settle but suffocates.

you’d walked the long marble halls without direction, guided only by instinct—or maybe by some deeper tether, something sewn between your soul and his. you hadn’t seen him in days. not since he’d returned from whatever distant corner of the realms called him away.

you’d asked lucienne, but she had only cast you a sorrowful glance and said gently, “he needs time.”

and you knew what that meant.

he was grieving again.

when dream grieved, the dreaming changed.

colors dulled. light faded. the air grew thicker, heavy with some old pain no one but he could name. the castle itself responded, growing taller, darker, colder, walls shifting to protect its broken master.

and yet still, somehow, you found your way in.

his throne room loomed like a forgotten cathedral. vast. hollow. drenched in shadow.

and there, slouched at the foot of his own dais, sat the king of dreams.

barely recognizable.

his normally statuesque posture had collapsed inward, limbs folded messily beneath him like he’d forgotten how to sit like a god. his head hung low, black curls veiling his face in a tangle of sorrow. his robes pooled around him like ink, soaked from the rain pouring in through the shattered glass dome above.

the stars weren’t visible.

and that alone told you how deep this went.

you stepped closer on instinct, the soles of your shoes whispering against the floor. he didn’t move. didn’t speak. you weren’t even sure he’d noticed you.

and then, his shoulders twitched.

a tremor. a breath.

and then—

a sound.

broken.

a sob cracked through the stillness like lightning. not loud, but raw. hoarse and breathless, as though it had clawed its way out of him against centuries of resistance. you stopped in your tracks, heart catching in your throat.

dream—the eternal, unreachable, untouchable dream—was crying.

and not like a man with pride.

like a man who had run out of ways to keep the ache buried.

you approached slowly, kneeling down beside him. your presence shifted the air. made it warmer, softer.

and finally, he moved.

he didn’t lift his head fully, but tilted it just enough for his pale, tear-streaked face to be visible. the wet lashes, the trembling lips, the slight widening of his eyes when they met yours.

he looked wrecked.

and then came the shame.

his hand jerked upward to cover his face, fingers digging into his temple as he turned away.

“you should not be here,” he rasped, the words scraping against his throat like gravel. “this is not how you’re meant to see me.”

your chest ached.

“why not?” you whispered, shifting closer but not yet touching him. “why shouldn’t i?”

“because i am not meant to be seen like this.” he sounded angrier now, but it wasn’t directed at you. “i am… not a man. i am not soft. i am not supposed to break.”

“but you have broken,” you said gently.

his breath caught.

and another tear spilled.

you let the silence stretch. not empty silence, held silence. silence with space for him to feel.

then, carefully, you reached out.

your fingers brushed his sleeve.

he tensed. visibly. sharply.

“please don’t,” he said quietly. “i… i do not know what i might do. i do not understand what this… is.”

you nodded. your voice was barely a breath.

“then let me help you understand.”

it was tentative at first.

you slid closer until your knees touched. you didn’t force him to look at you. you didn’t pull him into your arms.

instead, you offered them.

you opened your hands. your body. your warmth.

and waited.

for a long, aching moment, he didn’t move.

but then his hand lowered.

his eyes met yours again, and you swore the universe tilted.

not because of the power behind them.

but because of the fear.

raw, trembling, human fear.

“i do not know what i have done,” he whispered, “to deserve you.”

his voice cracked in the middle of it, brittle and filled with disbelief.

you exhaled, slow and steady.

“you don’t have to do anything to be loved, dream. you just have to let it in.”

and that was what undid him.

not the kindness.

not the nearness.

but the invitation.

like a bridge held out with trembling hands, and for once, he stepped across it.

he moved toward you slowly. carefully.

his head bowed like he was afraid to meet your eyes again.

and then, with the fragility of ancient marble beginning to fracture, he leaned into you.

his body pressed to yours like a wave curling against the shore.

your arms wrapped around him without hesitation.

one hand cradled the back of his head, fingers weaving into his rain-wet curls. the other splayed across his back, feeling the tension in him begin to tremble and dissolve.

he melted.

not all at once.

first his shoulders slumped. then his arms came up slowly—shaking—until they gripped your sides with desperation he didn’t know how to name.

his face buried itself into your shoulder.

and then he wept.

truly wept.

his sobs weren’t graceful. they weren’t poetic or restrained. they were shattering.

they came in waves, great wracking gasps like the sea dragging out grief centuries deep. you held him through every quake. you whispered soft nothings, murmured affirmations that didn’t need to be understood, only heard.

“i’m here. i’m not going anywhere.”

“you are not alone.”

“you don’t have to carry this by yourself.”

you kissed the crown of his head.

you pressed your cheek to his temple.

you held him.

and slowly…

the sobs faded.

not completely. not gone.

but gentler. less jagged.

his breathing evened.

and for the first time in what may have been millennia, dream of the endless allowed himself to rest.

not just sit. not just exist.

but rest.

in your arms.

in your kindness.

in the love you offered freely, without condition.

and there, in the stillness, beneath a sky that finally began to clear, dream whispered so softly you almost missed it:

“…thank you.”

and maybe, just maybe, he meant more than he knew how to say.

the dreaming didn’t have mornings, not truly.

it wasn’t bound by time, not the way the waking world was.

but even so…

something shifted.

light filtered into the throne room like mist through stained glass, soft and pale and silver-gold, stretching in gentle bands across the floor. the rain had long since stopped. the sky above, once dark and empty, now shimmered faintly with distant stars, pale in the early quiet.

you stirred slowly.

your limbs were stiff from staying curled in the same position for hours, still cradling the body of a god who had finally allowed himself to collapse.

dream hadn’t moved.

he was still curled into your side, head resting just beneath your chin, dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. his breathing was deep and steady, each exhale a whisper against your collarbone.

he was asleep.

or as close to sleep as a being like him could ever get.

you shifted only slightly, enough to press your hand to the center of his back, grounding him there in your hold.

and still, he didn’t wake.

his body was warm against yours. heavier than you’d expected, like sorrow made flesh. but softer, too. more real like this than you’d ever seen him before.

and then—slowly—he stirred.

you felt it first in the way his fingers twitched where they’d been loosely wrapped around your waist. his body tensed for a moment, like he wasn’t sure where he was.

and then his voice, low and hoarse, against your skin:

“…you stayed.”

you didn’t move.

“of course i did.”

he lifted his head slightly, enough to look at you, but not enough to leave the shelter of your arms. his eyes were still shadowed, rimmed with the remnants of grief, but there was something softer in them now. not quite peace. but… an echo of it.

“you held me,” he said, voice low and uncertain, like he was repeating a memory he didn’t believe could be true. “i… wept. and you did not look away.”

you gave him a faint smile, brushing your fingers through his hair.

“that’s what love looks like.”

he blinked at you, like the word itself was foreign.

“i do not understand you.”

you let out a soft breath, half-laugh, half-sigh.

“i know.”

he looked down, ashamed again, but only for a moment.

“i am not used to being witnessed,” he murmured. “not like that. not… undone."

your thumb traced slow circles at the base of his neck.

“maybe that’s something you can learn.”

his eyes flicked back to yours. curious. vulnerable.

“…with you?”

you smiled, soft and sure.

“if you’ll let me.”

another silence fell. this one different. full of things not said, but not hidden. things being felt instead of feared.

and then—slowly, hesitantly—he reached for your hand.

his fingers curled around yours with such care, as if he thought you might disappear.

and when you didn’t—when you laced your fingers between his and squeezed gently—he exhaled.

you felt it all the way down to your bones.

not just the breath, but the release. the surrender.

he wasn’t healed. not completely.

but he wasn’t hiding anymore.

“the dreaming,” he said softly, looking out the cracked skylight above, “is quieter today.”

you tilted your head.

“because you are.”

he nodded, a slight, grateful movement.

“i… rested,” he admitted. “not just in form. in spirit.”

his eyes found yours again.

“you gave me that.”

you leaned in, forehead pressing gently against his.

“then keep letting me.”

he closed his eyes at your touch, his hand tightening around yours.

and for a long moment, there was nothing but warmth between you.

not divine. not celestial.

just human.

quiet. real. shared.

he didn’t want you to leave.

you realized it gradually, not because he said it (dream didn’t yet have the language for needs like that), but because he kept finding ways to stay near.

after that long, quiet morning curled up on the throne room floor—his face buried in your shoulder, your arms around his slow-breathing frame—he didn’t return to his throne. didn’t resume the formality that usually wrapped around him like armor.

instead, when he finally rose, he offered you his hand.

his fingers were hesitant, loose at first, as if he didn’t expect you to take it. but when you did—when you curled your hand gently into his—his hold grew firmer, thumb brushing lightly across your knuckles.

“come,” he said, voice soft and steady.

you walked with him through the Dreaming.

not as subjects and ruler.

not as human and god.

but as two people sharing a space neither of you wanted to let go.

he led you into a smaller chamber you’d never seen before.

the walls were tall and pale, draped in soft, celestial fabric. moonlight drifted in from no visible source, and the air smelled like memory: parchment and petrichor, crushed petals and something faintly like his skin.

it wasn’t the library.

it wasn’t a throne room.

it wasn’t anywhere formal.

just a room built for rest.

he didn’t speak much as you settled in.

but he stayed close.

closer than usual.

when you sat on the edge of the dream-couched bed, he followed. not beside you, not right away, but near. hovering, cautious.

as if still afraid he was dreaming you.

eventually, you looked up at him and opened your arms again, this time without asking.

just offering.

quietly.

and just like before… he came.

this time, he didn’t cry.

this time, he held you.

his arms slid around your waist, his head resting lightly against your shoulder. he didn’t bury himself like before, didn’t shake or tremble, but he melted all the same. like the shape of you was something he could finally fit into. like your presence gave him permission to exhale again.

“are you… all right?” you asked after a while, your voice a hush in the stillness.

he was silent for a long moment.

then:

“i do not know,” he answered. “but i am no longer drowning."

your hand moved to his hair, gentle as moonlight, and his eyes fluttered shut.

“good,” you whispered. “that’s enough for today.”

he pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you—really look at you.

“you do not realize what you have done,” he said, voice low and reverent. “what it means that you stayed. that you chose me.”

your brow furrowed, and you brushed a thumb beneath his eye. “dream…”

“i am not easy to love,” he said, voice soft but unwavering. “i am distance. i am duty. i am solitude, in every sense. but with you—”

he paused, searching your face.

“with you, i feel… close to something i thought i had lost.”

you reached for his hand again.

and this time, he laced your fingers together.

he didn’t let go.

“i’ll keep choosing you,” you said simply. “even when it’s hard. especially when it’s hard.”

his lips parted like he wanted to speak, but the words faltered.

instead, he leaned in.

his forehead touched yours. gently. deliberately.

you stayed like that for a long, quiet stretch of time.

breathing together.

existing together.

finally, he spoke again. softer than breath:

“…stay with me. here. in the dreaming.”

your heart stilled.

he had never asked before. never dared.

“you want me here?”

he nodded, once. “not as a guest. not as a visitor. but… with me.”

you reached up and cupped his jaw.

and when he leaned into your palm, you swore you felt the stars shift again.

“okay,” you whispered. “i’ll stay.”

he closed his eyes.

and for the first time in an eternity, the king of dreams smiled, not for the world.

not for duty.

but for you.

umm okay so i doo think i mischaracterized him quite a bit, but that's primarily because im not used to writing characters with his personality! he's very stoic and complex so i apologize if it doesn't quite fit him, i just adore dream and wanted to write something. i will work on being more flexible with differing personalities like his though!

anyways, i hope this was enjoyable and thank yeww sososo much for reading!!!

masterlist

[ultralspblr]

Strictly Business....

Modern AU: Sinners

Smoke x Reader

One Shot

Mature Audiences only (18+) // MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. 🙅🏾‍♀️

You and Elijah “Smoke” Moore have been business partners for years now. The restaurant you both own runs like a well-oiled machine, strict standards, sharp leadership, and no room for mistakes. You both like it that way. Both of you lead. Both of you take no shit. And maybe that’s part of the problem…or the tension. Because that kind of control? That kind of fire? It’s intoxicating. You’ve been circling each other for a while now... tight-lipped glances, heat-laced arguments, and flirtation disguised as strategy. But neither of you ever dares to break first. Until the weight of the night breaks the silence between you.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

“Boy, if you don’t get the fuck outta my face,” you snapped at Stack.

The kitchen was abuzz. Plates clattering, voices rising, hot pans hitting flames. A full house out front meant the line was moving nonstop, and the last thing you had time for was Stack’s goofy-ass antics. Today was not the day.

You’d barely opened your eyes this morning before Margey, your head chef, was blowing up your phone. 

You threw on your black dress, black heels, and slicked your coiled hair in a neat low bun, rushing down just in time to keep her from strangling Jesús, the delivery guy.

The produce company had sent the wrong shipment—again—and Margey was out back in full attack mode, ready to end somebody's life.

After talking the plump vivacious woman down from murder and smoothing over the mix-up, she decided to redo the entire night’s menu on the fly. You at least managed to secure a fat discount on the next five deliveries, so a win was a win.

Before you could even breathe, problem number two walked through the door: the health inspector. But not just any inspector: Julien. Your ex.

Of course he tried to dig for something. Anything. Scrunching his eyes at the thermometer to make sure the food was stored at the right temperatures, glossing his gloved finger over your countertops to catch any speck of dirt. 

Still salty about how things ended, Julien lingered longer than necessary, clipboard in hand, hoping to catch even a crumb of chaos. Too bad for him, the kitchen ran like a damn fortress.

The worst he could do was slap you with a minor citation. No A+ this time. Such a petty bastard.

Just when you finally thought you could sink into your office chair and maybe, just maybe, close your eyes for five minutes, your phone buzzed again. Your homegirl from the paper hit you with the news: François, the renowned southern critic, was in town. And he’d picked your restaurant for dinner tonight.

You’d heard the rumors. One review from him could make or break a business. Didn’t matter if the food slapped, if François wasn’t feeling it, neither would the city’s elite.

Now here you were, lip caught between your teeth, gripping a stack of papers as you peered out the small circular kitchen window. The second course had just been delivered to his table. You watched him poke at it with zero emotion.

Not good.

“Damn girl,” Stack said, sitting on the stainless steel table across from you. “You holdin’ on to them papers tighter than a pimp holdin’ his money.”

You didn’t even look at him. “Stack, why are you still here? Didn’t I just tell you to get the fuck outta my face?”

“Yeah, that’s why I moved across from you,” he said with a shrug. “Technically not in your face. Technically I’m doin’ you a favor.”

“How ‘bout I technically run my foot up your a—”

“Whoa, lil’ ma, no need to get mean. I’m just messin’ with you.” He flashed that boyish grin, gold grill sparkling like he thought it added charm.

You cut your eyes toward Smoke, still reviewing delivery numbers. He hadn’t said a word the whole time but had clearly heard everything.

“Can you tell your brother to go fuck off somewhere else?” you asked, arms crossed.

Without looking up, Smoke replied calmly:

“Stack, go fuck off.”

Stack sighed dramatically, sliding off the stainless steel table he’d been perched on.

“Y’all hatin’ on a nigga just tryna bring some joy in the world. She need to relax anyway, get a drink, hit a blunt… or maybe just get some get-right from a handsome, debonair man like myself…” he muttered as he walked off.

Smoke shot him a look that shut that shit down, and you just rolled your eyes. You turned back toward the window, but François was gone. The seat was empty. Your heart dropped.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

You stood frozen, eyes locked on the critic’s now-vacant chair. The second course: untouched. Had he left mid-meal? No feedback, no call over to compliment or critique? Nothing? Your chest rose heavy as a deep sigh passed your lips. You didn’t even realize your breathing had sped up until the papers in your hands began to shake.

“Hey,” came that deep voice behind you.

One word. Low and sharp, sliced through your daze. You turned to find Smoke closer than before. Closer than usual. Clipboard gone. Expression unreadable. Silver chain glinting through his black collared shirt.

“I…” you started, but trailed off as he stepped in closer.

His eyes scanned your face. Not rushed. Not panicked. Just… focused. Like he was trying to read something underneath all the stress and strategy.

“You did everything right,” he said. “Let it go.”

“If he leaves a bad review, Smoke…”

“He won’t.”

There it was. That confidence. That grit behind his voice always made something shift in your chest, and warm your body. You hated how easily he could say things like that. Like the world would just bend because he said so.

Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was how close he was standing now. But your voice came sharper than you intended.

“You always so damn sure, huh? Nothing shakes you?,” you said, batting your eyes at him.

He leaned in, just slightly, just enough for his cologne to brush against your nose, smokey, woodsy, expensive. His voice dropped lower.

“Only one thing I lose composure over.”

Your breath caught. “And what’s that?”

He paused. Then, quietly, without looking away:

“You.”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. The silence stretched. Charged. Heavy. Until he stepped even closer, erasing the space between, no clipboard, no walls, no excuses. His hand came up, slow, and brushed your arm, fingers grazing your elbow in circular motions. It wasn’t sexual. But it burned.

"Say the word,” he said, voice low and rough.

“What word?” you asked, a whisper.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushed the tip of your ear.

“Yes.”

Before you could even say yes, Margey cleared her throat from across the room, a sharp little cough to remind you both exactly where you were.

You blinked, snapped back to reality, and cleared your own throat in return. Slipping past Smoke, you moved toward her, but even as you walked away, you could feel his eyes dragging over you, heavy, smoldering. The heat of it followed you, low and slow, curling in your belly like a secret flame you didn’t want extinguished.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

The night dragged on.

François had left. And with him, you were almost certain, your hopes and dreams too. Still, it was closing time. The front-of-the-house crew had cleared out. The last of the back-of-the-house crew were clocking out behind them.

You were bone-tired and ready to disappear into the arms of your bed and pretend today never happened. Just as you grabbed your purse and headed toward the exit, the office door opposite yours creaked open.

“Where you goin’?” Smoke asked, leaning on the doorframe, towering over you.

“I'm takin’ my ass to the house,” you said with a small yawn, half-forced, half-sincere. “Still crunchin’ those numbers?”

“Gotta make sure this shit add up,” he said, but his eyes weren’t on the clipboard anymore, they were on you, slow and unhurried, undressing you inch by inch. The hairs on your neck rose. That warmth in your belly returned with a flutter.

Maybe Stack had a point. Maybe you did need to get you some get-right. And Mr. Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore? He didn’t seem like a bad place to start.

You bit your lip and tried to look away, quick, casual, like you weren’t thinking exactly what you were thinking. He saw it anyway.

“Well,” you spoke, voice softening, “you’re always so damn diligent. I’m glad I have you as a business partner.”

Smoke tilted his head, just enough to study you. That gaze again low, deliberate. The kind of look that stripped everything down without a single touch.

“You can have me as anything you want,” he said.

He stepped in closer. Close enough to block your path. Close enough that your breath caught. You instinctively stepped back, but hit the edge of the hallway wall.

“Smoke…” you warned, though your voice lacked heat.

“You had a long day,” he said. “Let me handle it.”

Your breath caught. The air between you thickened.

“You should rest,” he murmured, “but you’re still holdin’ on to too much tension.”

His fingers brushed along your wrist light, barely there, but your whole body responded like you’d been struck.

“Let me take care of you.”

“I’m fine…” you started, but he interrupted, eyes locked to yours:

“Safe word is ‘Blue.’ You understand?”

Your mouth went dry.

“Yes.”

“Say it back, baby.”

“...Blue.”

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

That was all he needed. In one smooth motion, he turned you, pressed your back against the wall, and brought his mouth to your neck. Not kissing, just hovering, breathing against your skin until you trembled.

“You want me to touch you?”

“Yes.”

“Where?” he asked, voice dropping a register.

You swallowed. “Everywhere.”

He chuckled low in his chest.

“Then don’t move.”

Finally, his hands were on you. One gripping your hip with command. The other slid slowly up your back, pulling at the zipper of your dress. The sound of it lowering filled the quiet space.

Your dress slipped just enough to reveal your bra strap. He took his time, thumb grazing along the delicate line of your skin.

His other hand slid underneath your dress, slowly gliding over your thigh. The cold touch of his hand sent a chill down your spine, causing your back to arch just a little, as it made its way over your pulsating folds. Bare.

“No panties?” he asked, voice thick.

You smirked. “Busy morning”

He groaned low in your ear.

“That right?” His hand slid between your thighs, fingers brushing between your slit. Slick already soaking his fingers.

“Already wet. You need me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Daddy”

He pushed two fingers inside you, firm and deep. A gasp escaped your lips, echoing off the hallway tiles. You bit your tongue.

“Feelin’ a little defiant.”

His eyes sparked, locked onto yours as he thrusted his fingers inside your warm, slick walls, trying to make you squirm.

Smoke didn't like defiance, and you knew that, but you weren’t ready to yield so easily. Your body, however, betrayed you, the moment his thumb found your clit.

He motioned your pearl slowly in circular motions, allowing the heat that burned in your belly to build, rising deep. You tried to steady your breath, chest rising heavily, biting back the whimpers begging for release.

His eyes stayed on yours. A mischievous smirk tugged at his lips, flashing that signature grill. You wanted to smack that smug look off his face, and he knew it. But he had a lesson to teach you.

He rubbed your clit harder, pressing into your pearl, with firm pressure. Your breath caught his rhythm, with every push of his thumb, and thrust of his fingers sliding in and out, in and out, of your slick heat.

You couldn't hold back anymore. Your arms steadied on his shoulders. Your nails dug into him, as a heat pooled in your pussy.

Your body jerked, back arching off the wall. Warm, fluid released from your pussy, drenching his fingers. Tears pricked your cheeks as a soft moan finally released from your parted lips.

“Good girl,” he whispered, watching your every reaction. “You follow instructions so well…when you finally listen.”

He didn’t let you speak. Instead, he curved his fingers inside you just right, rubbing that tender spot, making you chase that second release.

Your head hit the wall behind you. Legs trembling, he caught your chin, and tilted it so you’d look at him.

“Eyes on me.”

You did.

“When you come, you do it lookin’ at me. Got it?”

“Yes...mmh”, you slurred.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

He withdrew his fingers slowly and dropped to his knees in front of you, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder. You didn’t question a thing.

His mouth was skilled….Merciless. Tongue slow at first, then faster, then rougher until the tension in your belly snapped, and your vision blacked out for a split second.

He held you through it, letting you ride the waves on his tongue like you were made for it. When he rose again, lips glistening, you were breathless. Spent. Folded.

“Still wanna go home?” he asked, raising a brow.

You blinked up at him.

“No.”

He tilted his head.

“Speak up.”

His thumb rose, slow and controlled, brushing your bottom lip with deliberate pressure.

“No, what?”

You swallowed, cheeks flushed, body buzzing.

“No, Daddy.”

That earned you a smirk and something darker in his eyes. Not playful. Possessive.

“Come here.”

You didn’t hesitate. He reached for your wrist and guided you into his office. The door clicked shut behind you. The air shifted immediately. No noise. No interruptions. Just him. He walked behind his desk and sat, legs spread, watching you.

“Strip.”

You froze for a second, but you knew he didn’t like to repeat himself. You reached back, slowly tugged the zipper of your dress the rest of the way down, letting the fabric pool to your feet. You stepped out of it, standing tall in your heels, nipples hard beneath your lacey black bra,

“Bra too.”

You unclipped it, let it slide down your arms, then dropped it onto the chair. He exhaled, like the sight of your brown skin physically affected him. His hand drifted to his lap, palming the hard length straining against his black slacks.

“Come sit on Daddy’s desk.”

You walked over, heart pounding, heat pulsing between your thighs. You perched right on the edge, bare skin against cool wood, knees pressed together, trying to stay composed.

He chuckled.

“Sittin’ all shy now?”

He rose, stepped between your legs, using one hand to firmly push your knees apart. You were wide open. Exposed.Your pretty pink pussy sitting out on display. Swollen. Tender.

“That’s more like it.”

He leaned in, tongue sliding down your neck, lips grazing your collarbone. His hands gripped your hips, as his tongue made its way down to your full brown breasts. He trailed soft kisses towards your dark, hard nipples.

“Try again.”

You sucked in a sharp breath as his mouth circled your nipples. A breathy moan escaped, as heat rolled through your core, slick gathering at your exposed pussy. As if he knew, one hand slipped between your thighs to feel the wetness waiting for him. Your pussy was exposed, raw, and aching.

“Wet for me again?”

You shook your head slowly.

“This pussy mine?”

You stayed silent.

He gripped your chin between two fingers.

Your breath hitched.

“Yes Daddy. This pussy is yours.”

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

That confirmation set off something inside him. He kissed you. Deep, hot, claiming. His lips stole every breath of air you had in your lungs. His tongue declared yours not forceful, not rushed, but confident. Certain. Like he already knew you belonged to him.

He broke the kiss only to unbuckle his belt in one swift motion, tossing it aside before freeing himself from his pants. Thick, hard, and already glistening at the tip.

“On all fours. Now.”

You turned over onto the desk, heels still on, back arched, elbows planted on the wood.

You felt the heat of him behind you. Then, his hands gripped your hips holding you in place.

One hand slid between your thighs again, fingers teasing your soaked folds.

“This pussy’s so wet for me,” he growled.

“You needed this bad, didn’t you?”

You whimpered into the desk, hips bucking.

“Please, Daddy.”

Without another word, he gripped your hips and drove into you in one long, deliberate thrust.

You gasped as he filled you, fully and deep. He stilled, buried inside you, letting you adjust, before pulling back and slamming in again.

“You worked hard today, baby. Everything is gonna be alright.”

You let out a muffled groan as his hips pounded into you. Each thrust sharp with pain, immaculate with pleasure. You arched, burying your face into the mahogany desk….no words, only the rhythmic slap of flesh.

Thrust.

“You're takin’ this dick like a good girl.”

Thrust.

“My nasty girl.”

You could barely breathe ... just moan, face flat, nails digging into scratching into the desk's grooves.

His thrusts turned brutal, steady, pushing you up the desk with each stroke. He gripped your neck, pulling your head back gently.

“You gonna come for me again… just like this.”

You moaned a muffled, “Mmmhmm”

He stopped mid-stroke. Sweat dripped from his brow, rolling down your spine. His hand gently gripped the front of your neck as he whispered into your ear.

“What did I say about usin’ your words.”

He leaned back and smacked your ass, sending a stinging heat through you.

“Ye-…Yes, Daddy!”

He reached beneath you, fingers finding your clit, circling fast…punishing… until you unraveled.

You cried out, high-pitched and helpless, as you clenched around him.

He grunted, low and deep, then pulled out, stroking himself over your back, breath ragged.

“Where do you want it, baby?”

You didn’t even hesitate.

“On me, Daddy”

He groaned as he came, warm release spilling across your lower back, your body twitching from overstimulation.

Silence. Only your ragged breath and the creak of the desk as you slowly began to rise.

“Did I tell you to move?,” His voice sharp. Heavy.

You lowered back on your stomach, the wood still warm beneath you.

Then, soft as a whisper, he walked to a small cabinet in the corner and pulled out a folded hand towel. You barely noticed, until he returned from the connected washroom and came back with it warm and damp.

He leaned over you. Carefully, he pressed the cloth between your thighs and lower back, wiping away the slick and sweat. His hands moved with reverence.

He turned you gently, bent down to pick up your dress, holding it up, not just to help, but to dress you.

“Step in.”

You did…slowly…softly.

He zipped you up and handed you your bra with a half-smirk.

"Don't wear that again.”

“Why not?”

“Because next time I bend you over…I don’t want shit in the way.”

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

End

Authors Note: I'm having writers block on my other Sinners Modern AU, so I wrote this one shot of a Dom Smoke x Reader in the meantime. I usually write fluff fantasy pieces, so if you enjoyed this or have feedback, please feel free to comment. TY 😊

Also: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (18+ only) 🙅🏾‍♀️

[chrisstvrns]

﹒⌗﹒⌞matt & fangirl!readers first time having sex⌝ ⸝⸝

warnings: established relationship, soft dom!matt, emotional sex, first time having sex during the relationship, comfort, safe sex, lmk if i missed anything - matt x fangirl!reader au

word count: 1.3k

you remember the first time you saw him in person. february, a snow slushed parking lot, lost somewhere in your hometown of new york. your heart thudding behind a fan made sign and a letter you had written a dozen different versions of.

the line moved quickly, too quickly. you barely had time to breathe when you stepped up and met matt’s eyes.

but he smiled like he already knew you.

and you handed him the letter anyway.

you didn’t expect him to read it. or to text you that night. or to invite you to the last date of the tour in boston.

you definitely didn’t expect him to fall for you.

it was supposed to just be a celebrity crush. 

but now it’s august, six months of knowing each other, three months of dating, and you’re lying in his bed, one leg draped over his waist, the thin sheet tangled somewhere beneath your hips.

his room is dark, lit only by the streetlamp outside and the glow of his tv, which was playing one of your favorite movies, that you finally convinced him to watch.

"you okay?" matt whispers, voice low and scratchy from talking and laughing all day.

you nod, your fingers skimming the hem of his pink, hershey park tshirt. "yeah. just thinking."

he shifts onto his side to face you fully, hair messy from your hands and his own tossing. "about?"

you shrug. "how crazy this is. how we met. how i'm even here."

"i think about that all the time." he pulls you closer, your chest flush against his. "sometimes i still don’t believe it."

your nose brushes his. your hands rest over his heart.

you whisper, "can i tell you something?"

"anything."

you swallow. your throat feels dry, your stomach fluttery. "i want to... i want tonight to be the night."

he doesn’t ask what you mean. he doesn’t have to.

his eyes soften. "are you sure?"

you nod slowly. "yeah. i’ve never felt safer than i do with you."

matt leans in, kissing you gently. once, then again, a little slower the second time. his hands stay still, respectful, cradling your jaw like you might slip away if he doesn’t.

you kiss him deeper. you shift closer, fingers sliding under his shirt, over the warm skin of his stomach.

"just go slow," you whisper, as he pulls back to search your eyes.

"always."

he helps you out of your shirt first, then pauses. "still okay?"

you nod, smiling shyly. "yeah. promise."

his lips trail down your throat, your collarbone, every kiss soft and warm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. his hands are gentle, never rushing.

your skin hums beneath his touch, a slow build of warmth and anticipation as he undresses you piece by piece, stopping to kiss the new skin he uncovers, like every part of you is worth memorizing.

when it’s his turn, you help him undress too. fingers fumbling a little with the waistband of his sweats, both of you laughing quietly when he nearly trips kicking them off.

you pull him down, kissing him again, deeper now, your legs parting slightly as he settles between them.

he slows again. "i have a condom in the drawer. do you want me to.."

"yeah. please."

he reaches for his drawer, slowly opening it. he picks up the condom, ripping it open with trembling fingers, then kisses your shoulder as he rolls it on.

"you’re okay?"

"more than okay," you whisper, pulling him in.

and when he finally presses into you, it’s slow, achingly slow, like he’s afraid you’ll break if he goes too fast. your legs are wrapped around his waist, heels digging into the backs of his thighs, your fingers clutching at the firm curve of his arms like an anchor. his forehead rests against yours, noses brushing, breaths tangled in the sliver of space between your mouths.

“tell me if anything hurts,” he whispers, voice rough at the edges, almost hoarse. his lips brush against yours with every word.

you nod, but don’t speak. afraid your voice might betray how overwhelmed you already feel. instead, your teeth sink into your bottom lip as he inches deeper, your body stretching around him slowly, the unfamiliar burn sparking down your spine. but it’s not unbearable. it’s not sharp or wrong. it’s just new. vulnerable. intimate.

you feel everything. the steady tremble in his arms as he holds himself up over you, the way his brows pull together when you gasp softly, the almost reverent way he watches your every reaction like it’s the most important thing in the world. and maybe it is.

he waits. lets you adjust. doesn’t move until your hands leave his arms and reach up to cup his jaw. you nod again, lips brushing his cheek. that’s all he needs.

his first thrust is gentle, cautious. a quiet moan slips from your throat, caught in the kiss he pulls you into, deep and slow and needy. your back arches instinctively, hips rising to meet him, and the sound he makes, that soft, broken gasp of your name, is something you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

it’s not fast. it’s not desperate.

it’s soft. sacred. slow like sunrise.

there are whispered praises against your skin, kisses that trail from your mouth to your throat to your collarbone. your hands stay tangled in his hair, fingers trembling as they brush over the nape of his neck. his mouth finds yours again and again, never staying away for long.

“you’re so beautiful,” he breathes against your lips, voice thick with emotion. “so fucking beautiful.”

your eyes sting with tears you didn’t expect. you kiss him again to hide them, swallowing the lump in your throat, trying to breathe through the way your heart is cracking open and blooming all at once.

his hand cradles your face like you’re something delicate, something meant to be protected. the other grips your hip, grounding him, anchoring both of you to this moment.

you feel a pressure building in your stomach, and you cling to him a bit closer, shakily moaning. “matt, m’close, m’so close, matty!” 

“me too, sweetheart. c’mon, pretty girl. cum f’me.”

and you do. you moan as he fucks you through your high, peppering your face in kissing. he falls with you seconds later, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a quiet moan, your name tumbling from his lips like it’s the only thing he knows.

when it’s over, neither of you moves right away. his body stays pressed to yours, skin warm, hearts still racing. your legs remain tangled around his, arms holding him close, like letting go would break the spell.

your fingers trace the long line of his spine, feather light and lazy, memorizing every dip and curve. his hand finds your chest, resting over your heart, feeling the steady beat under your skin.

“you okay?” he asks eventually, his voice low, rough with tenderness. it’s so quiet, so gentle, like he’s afraid to shatter the silence that’s settled over you.

you turn your head slightly to kiss the tip of his nose. “i’ve never been better.”

he grins at that, slow and real, then presses a kiss to your cheek, lingering there. “good,” he whispers. “because i love you.”

you freeze, breath catching in your throat. your eyes find his, and you see the fear there. the vulnerability. like he didn’t mean to say it out loud but couldn’t help it.

and then you smile. soft and sure.

“i love you too.”

you don’t fall asleep for a long time after that. instead, you stay exactly where you are. limbs intertwined, hearts thudding in sync, his nose buried in your hair, your fingertips dancing along the curve of his back.

you lie there in the quiet, wrapped up in each other, and for the first time in a long time, everything feels still. safe. full.

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aurora's notes: i finally wrote for my babies i love them soso much

- aurora ᯓ✮⋆˙

likes and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! ੈ✩‧₊˚

to be added to my taglist, comment on this post!

[faestunna]

what are your headcannons of Jack's ( O'Connell ) characters getting their faces sat on?

CHARACTERS: oliver mellors, remmick, roy goode, patrick sumner, lion kaminski, james cook

WARNINGS: smut obviously (18+), dom/sub dynamics, oral (f and m receiving)

A/N: ah more headcanon requests!! pls!! anon i hope u know ill be thinking about this for the next 2 weeks ;)

masterlist

likes, reblogs, and comments are always and greatly appreciated!

oliver mellors

canon pussy-eater right here. oliver would rather lick and slurp up your cunt than actually fuck. he wants to make it fully about your pleasure.

he loves how you shriek when he instantly wraps his lips around your clit, sliding his tongue through your folds until he feels that tight opening. he moans into you and only pulls away to say “could taste this forever, sweet girl.”

he definitely uses his fingers too—adding a little extra pressure to your sensitive spot, prodding one or two past your entrance. “gripping me already, and i’ve barely done anything.”

face sitting with oliver usually doesn’t last long, but it’s because you want something more from him. maybe three minutes in, he’ll be handling you around in the bed, face down, ass up, and tease his cock at your entrance.

remmick

and another canon pussy-eater! remmick is a man who devours you for both your pleasure and his. he literally gets off on it. oh yeah we’re doing sub!remmick

remmick loves it when you sit on his face and take control. interlace your fingers with his while you ride his tongue. “you like it when i ride you like this, baby?” you ask. he nods, mouth open, letting out pants whenever he can grasp air. “y-yes,” he stutters into your folds. “please, keep usin’ me. wan’ you to u-use me and feel- fuck, feel good.”

you giggle and moan when you feel his nose bump against your clit. you glance down and see him looking back up at you with wide, puppy-dog eyes.

and when you finish all over him, he’s shooting ropes on his own stomach. cock red and twitching while he whimpers, “t-thank you, darlin’, for lettin’ me taste ya.”

roy goode

this cowboy may not know how to read, but he’s got a way with words that leaves you shaking.

“love havin’ you like this, baby,” he’ll say, whether it’s your mouth, pussy, or even just a simple glance. he especially loves it when you’re on top, but don’t be fooled. roy likes to have control.

his fingers dig into your hips, pulling you even closer to his mouth while he practically buries his face in your folds. it’s filthy—“want your slick all over me, sweetheart. tastes too good.”

and he’ll use his hand to spread it wider too, making sure he can lick every inch of you. wrap his arms around you to stop you from squirming because this man will pull orgasm after orgasm from you. and the praise kink goes crazy: “doin’ so good for me, honey. takin’ everything i give ya. might just have to fill this pretty pussy up after.”

patrick sumner

there’s really no other way to say it besides: patrick goes crazy for the kitty. maybe even more so than fucking. you saw the way he lost his mind in the arctic? yeah, that’s him for eating you out.

and he’s good at it, too. sucks on your clit with just the right amount of pressure to drag it out, holding your own orgasm from you. legs shaking around him—he loves to feel you squeezing his head—and when your eyes close, he pulls away. “keep ‘em open, darlin’. want to see those pretty eyes.”

his beard adds to the feeling too. he actually only keeps it because you’ve mentioned how it feels in between your legs while his face is buried in your cunt. “fuckin’ soaking me, love. could taste you all day.” you whine and writhe underneath him, but he moves along with you.

needless to say, patrick makes you squirt. not a squirter? no such thing with him. he’s doing whatever it takes until you feel the burning build up. “pat- i- please, i can’t” but he just shakes his head, drilling his fingers into you while his tongue flicks your clit. “yes, you can, darlin’. take it.”

lion kaminski

i’m sorry (not sorry at all) to say that lion goes sub when you sit on his face. as always, you make sure to be extra kind with lion. but it doesn’t usually last…

you face him so he can see every reaction you have. watch your tits bounce whenever you shiver at the feeling of his tongue. “am i doing good?” he’ll ask, and the answer is always yes. he switches from sucking on your clit to fully lapping at your folds.

since you try to be gentle, you slightly hover over him. and lion, who falls in love with the taste of you every single time, can’t have that. his hands pull your hips down to his mouth so he latches himself onto your cunt. uses both his tongue and his lips to put pressure on your clit. “that’s the spot, isn’t it, baby?”

you look down at him, and with one glance, suddenly the roles have changed. lion is very much in control, eyes burning holes into yours. “wanna watch you,” he says into you. “wanna see that pretty face cry when i make you cum.” in other words, lion is a switch XD

james cook

at first, he does not see the point to you sitting on his face. cook is not the one to let you have control over the moment. but what does convince him is when you mount his face and bend down so his cock is inches away from your mouth.

and i am a firm believer in cook’s degradation kink. “nasty girl, chokin’ all over my cock. you like havin’ it down your throat, baby?” you try to nod and respond and he laughs a moan into your cunt.

this man wraps his entire arms around your hips to have you closer. only time he’ll let go is to push your head down further on him. “love lickin’ at this pussy while you make those sounds,” he groans in between licks and kisses. he fucks you with his tongue and your thighs instantly start shaking.

even after you finish, he doesn’t stop. cook will make you cum three times before he does. he’ll even pull your mouth off of him—to his own dismay—“uh-uh, baby. this is for you, yeah?” and “gonna make my girl cum as many fuckin’ times as i want.”

© faestunna 2025.

[dontrllycaretbh]

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Title: Mine to Know (pt.5.1)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Warnings: explicit sapphic content (18+), dom!Azzi, sub!Paige, stalking, obsession, dubious consent, psychological manipulation, possessive behavior, mutual degradation / humiliation kink, invasive monitoring, voyeurism, emotional coercion, explicit sexual language, sexual tension with power imbalance, mild violence/threats, boundary violations, toxic dynamics, masturbation, dark romance themes

Summary: Azzi finally cracks. She tries to stay in control but loses it, fucking Paige brutally. Then Paige turns the tables, pinning Azzi down and breaking her completely—making her beg, come, and admit she’s lost all control.

Notes: imma post pt2 when i feel like it, thanks yall <3 and pls do interact, i love yall’s comments!! <3

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They pushed through the restaurant hallway in silence.

Azzi’s pulse roared in her ears. Paige’s hand was warm in hers, fingers tight like she was afraid Azzi might let go if she didn’t squeeze hard enough.

Emily was still at the table, oblivious, laughing at something on her phone.

Paige hesitated for half a second when she saw her.

Azzi felt it. Felt her pause.

Her grip tightened so hard Paige winced.

“Don’t even think about it,” Azzi growled low in her ear.

Paige swallowed. Her jaw worked, but she didn’t pull away.

Azzi pulled her along, past the table, not sparing Emily a single glance.

Paige kept her head down, hair falling in her face. But Azzi felt the shudder that ran through her when Emily finally looked up, confusion flashing across her face.

Azzi didn’t care.

Paige didn’t look back.

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They burst out into the cold night air, Azzi’s fingers digging so hard into Paige’s arm it would bruise.

Paige only laughed.

“God, you’re in a mood.”

Azzi yanked her around, slamming her back against the car.

Paige hit with an oof and a delighted grin.

“Someone’s jealous.”

Azzi’s teeth were bared. “You think this is funny?”

Paige licked her lips slowly. Deliberately.

“I think it’s hot.”

Azzi grabbed her throat. Paige didn’t flinch. She purred.

“You wore that E just to fuck with me.”

Paige’s smile was predatory.

“Worked, didn’t it?”

Azzi squeezed harder. Paige’s eyes fluttered but didn’t shut.

“Careful,” Paige breathed. “You’ll make me come just from this.”

Azzi shoved her even harder. Paige let out a soft, broken sound and laughed breathlessly.

“God, you’re such a psycho.”

Paige’s voice was husky. “Pot, meet kettle.”

Azzi’s other hand was on her waist now, fingers digging in.

Paige pressed forward so their hips met.

“You want everyone in there to see you own me?” she whispered. “Why didn’t you just fuck me on the table?”

Azzi growled. “Shut your mouth.”

Paige smirked. “Make me.”

Azzi kissed her. Violent, biting. Paige kissed back with equal savagery.

When Azzi pulled back, breath ragged, Paige licked blood from her lip and winked.

“Mess me up. I fucking dare you.”

Azzi snapped. She spun Paige around, chest to the car, grinding her hips against Paige’s ass.

Paige moaned. Loud enough for anyone nearby to hear.

“God, yes. Like that. Harder.”

Azzi snarled in her ear. “You’re so desperate for it you’d let me take you right here?”

Paige’s voice was wrecked with laughter.

“I’d love it. Make Emily see. Make the whole street see.”

Azzi’s hand slid between Paige’s thighs, tugging at the waistband of her pants.

Paige gasped and pushed back, shameless.

“Fuck, Azzi. Do it.”

Azzi yanked hard, the fabric tearing with a sharp rip, exposing the thin underwear beneath. Her fingers pressed against Paige through it, hungry and insistent.

Paige keened.

Azzi pulled her back by the hair so their mouths were next to each other.

“You’re mine,” Azzi hissed.

Paige’s eyes were molten.

“Say it like you mean it.”

Azzi bit her neck hard enough to leave marks.

Paige’s laugh was breathless.

“There it is.”

Azzi’s hand went to her mouth, fingers forcing her to hush.

“You’re going to get in the car now,” Azzi growled. “Or I’ll fuck you in the open.”

Paige’s eyes glinted.

“I’m good either way.”

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Azzi yanked the door open and shoved her inside.

Azzi’s hands strangled the wheel, knuckles white.

Paige was breathing hard, grinning wickedly, shifting in her seat, adjusting her ruined panties under ripped pants—still wet. She didn’t hide it.

Azzi’s jaw ticked.

“Stop.”

Paige just hummed. “Why? You like it.”

Azzi’s gaze flicked to her, sharp, hungry.

“Get up.”

“What?” Paige cocked an eyebrow.

“You heard me. Stand up.”

Paige snickered but obeyed, unfolding herself inside the cramped car. Her head brushed the roof. “Azzi, what the hell are you—”

Azzi didn’t answer. She just grabbed Paige’s hips and dragged her close. Her hands yanked Paige’s pants and panties down in one motion, baring her completely.

“Azzi—fuck,” Paige hissed, breath catching.

Azzi didn’t respond with words. Her hands gripped tighter, nails biting in, and then her tongue was flat against Paige’s cunt, licking a slow, deliberate stripe.

“God,” Paige gasped, fingers tangling in Azzi’s hair.

Azzi was infuriatingly slow, her tongue teasing, savoring, her grip iron on Paige’s hips to keep her from squirming away.

“Faster,” Paige ordered, her voice breaking.

Azzi’s eyes glinted as she obeyed, tongue moving faster, more purposefully, flicking and circling Paige’s clit with relentless precision.

Paige moaned shamelessly, her thighs trembling, the car filled with the slick, wet sounds of Azzi’s mouth on her.

“Fuck yes—Azzi—right there—”

Azzi groaned against her, the vibration making Paige cry out, hips bucking.

“Don’t stop,” Paige panted, “Please—don’t fucking stop—”

“Never,” Azzi growled between licks, her teeth scraping lightly against Paige’s swollen clit before sucking hard.

Paige’s body went rigid, a strangled moan ripping from her as her orgasm slammed into her. Her thighs clamped tight around Azzi’s head.

“God—Azzi—fuck—”

Azzi kept licking through it, refusing to let up until Paige was whimpering and jerking from overstimulation.

She finally pulled back just enough to look up at Paige, lips shiny, breathing hard.

“Taste yourself,” Azzi ordered, voice dark.

Paige didn’t hesitate. She grabbed Azzi’s chin, dragged her up, and kissed her hard, moaning into her mouth, tasting herself on Azzi’s tongue.

Azzi’s grip on her tightened, fingers digging in, the two of them gasping into each other’s mouths, sharing heat, aggression, and triumph in every breath.

“Holy fuck,” Paige whispered when they broke apart, eyes wide and hungry.

Azzi just smirked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before grabbing Paige’s ass and pulling her close again.

“Round two,” she rasped.

Paige leaned over, voice a husky whisper.

“Emily would die if she saw what you did to me.”

azzi smirked.

“I bet you’d like that,” she taunted. “Her crying while you make me scream your name.”

Azzi’s hand shot out, grabbing her thigh in a bruising grip.

Paige moaned, head falling back.

“Fucking slut,” Azzi spat.

Paige’s grin was savage.

“Your slut.”

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When they got to Azzi’s place, Paige didn’t hesitate. She was out of the car before Azzi even killed the engine, waiting with wild, eager eyes.

Azzi stalked over and Paige threw her arms around her neck, smashing their mouths together.

Azzi dragged her inside.

Paige laughed against her lips.

“Don’t even pretend you don’t love this,” Paige gasped. “You’re obsessed.”

Azzi slammed the door so hard it rattled in its frame, then pinned Paige with her full weight.

Paige grabbed Azzi’s wrist and guided it to her throat, eyes gleaming.

“Do it,” she whispered. “Show me.”

Azzi’s fingers locked around Paige’s neck, squeezing hard enough to make her gasp. She smashed their mouths together, biting Paige’s lip until it split, then forced her mouth open. Their tongues slid together, wet and sloppy. Azzi pulled back just enough to spit deliberately onto Paige’s tongue before kissing her again, letting it smear messily between them.

Paige let out a muffled, filthy moan, eyes rolling back.

Azzi broke the kiss, breathing hard. Paige sucked in air with a laugh that dripped challenge.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that to get rid of Emily’s ghost,” she taunted.

Azzi’s expression darkened. She growled low in her throat.

She slammed Paige harder against the wall, one hand tightening around her throat while the other grabbed a handful of her ass, fingers digging in so hard Paige yelped. Azzi ground her hips against Paige’s, making sure Paige could feel how turned on she was, rolling her pelvis deliberately, roughly, dragging a broken gasp from Paige’s mouth.

“Shut the fuck up,” Azzi hissed against her ear.

Paige whimpered and rocked back against her, breath hitching at the contact.

Azzi kept grinding for a moment, savoring the friction, the way Paige’s legs trembled. Then she suddenly yanked Paige away from the wall by her hair.

Paige barely had time to squeal before Azzi dragged her down the hall. She threw Paige onto the bed so hard she bounced, hair a mess, laughing even as she scrambled to sit up.

“Finally,” Paige breathed, licking her bruised lips, eyes shining with anticipation.

Azzi was already climbing onto the bed after her, eyes locked on her prey.

“You’re going to forget her.”

Paige’s grin was animal.

“Make me.”

Azzi’s hand was on her mouth.

Paige licked her palm.

Azzi growled.

“Confess.”

Paige arched.

“Confess what?”

“Every time you thought of me while you were with her.”

Paige’s laugh was breathless.

“All of them? We’ll be here all night.”

Azzi slapped her thigh, hard.

Paige yelped and moaned.

“Fuck. Again.”

Azzi’s voice dropped to a dangerous purr.

“God, you’re mine. No shame. No fucking shame at all.”

Paige’s grin softened into something dark and intimate.

“Yours,” she agreed. “Always was. Always will be.”

Azzi paused.

Paige’s eyes glittered.

“Now ruin me.”

Azzi did.

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Azzi did ruin her.

Hands everywhere. Teeth on her neck. Fingers tearing at her clothes.

Paige didn’t resist. She arched into every touch. Moaning encouragement.

“Harder,” she gasped.

Azzi slapped her face lightly.

Paige’s laugh was hoarse.

“You hit like a bitch,” she taunted.

Azzi’s eyes went black.

She grabbed Paige’s jaw, squeezing until Paige winced, and kissed her so brutally their teeth clacked.

Paige loved it.

She bit Azzi’s lip so hard it bled.

Azzi pulled back just enough to see the blood, then licked it from Paige’s mouth.

Paige moaned.

“God you’re sick,” Azzi panted.

Paige smirked. “You’re sicker.”

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Azzi pushed her onto her back and stripped her the rest of the way except her panties.

Paige didn’t cover herself. She sprawled out, shameless, spreading her legs.

Azzi’s gaze raked over her.

Paige’s grin was filthy.

“Like what you see?”

Azzi’s voice was a growl.

“I see hers.”

She grabbed Paige’s wrist and twisted it, forcing her to look at the stupid little E she’d inked on herself.

Paige actually laughed.

“Oh, that?”

Azzi’s rage was molten.

“You think this is funny?”

Paige’s eyes glittered.

“I put it there so you’d do this,” she whispered.

Azzi was breathing hard.

“You’re going to take it off.”

Paige’s voice dropped to a husky purr.

“Make me.”

Azzi shoved her off the bed.

Paige hit the floor with a laugh and a hiss of pain, rolling onto her back.

Azzi yanked open a drawer and threw antiseptic wipes at her.

“Get it off.”

Paige picked one up slowly. Teasing.

“What if I don’t want to?”

Azzi lunged.

Paige shrieked in laughter as Azzi pinned her, knee in her stomach, hand in her hair.

“Fucking do it,” Azzi snarled.

Paige’s smile was wild.

“God, you’re hot when you’re feral.”

Azzi twisted her hair harder.

“Wipe. It. Off.”

Paige’s breath was ragged. She slowly raised the wipe.

But she didn’t move it to her skin. She held it out to Azzi instead.

Azzi froze.

Paige’s voice was low.

“You do it.”

Azzi’s eyes went black.

She snatched the wipe.

Without breaking eye contact, she scrubbed at the E until Paige winced, skin going red.

Paige moaned.

“Harder.”

Azzi pressed harder.

Paige hissed.

But she didn’t look away.

When it was finally a smeared, raw mess, Azzi dropped the wipe.

Paige raised her arm, inspecting it.

“Gone?” she whispered.

Azzi’s voice was ragged.

“Gone.”

Paige met her eyes.

“Good.”

Azzi grabbed her chin.

“You’re not hers.”

Paige’s voice cracked with dark glee.

“Never fucking was.”

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Azzi’s voice was a ragged growl.

“I’m going to fuck you until you forget she exists.”

Paige’s grin was feral.

“Promise?”

Azzi didn’t answer. She lunged.

She slammed Paige into the wall so hard the picture frames rattled. One hand locked around Paige’s throat, squeezing until Paige’s mouth fell open, gasping. Azzi leaned in, close enough to share breath, and spat straight onto Paige’s tongue.

“Swallow it.”

Paige obeyed instantly, moaning, her eyelids fluttering.

“Good fucking girl,” Azzi snarled, biting at Paige’s bottom lip and sucking it between her teeth before letting go with a wet pop.

Paige was panting, hips rolling shamelessly.

Azzi’s free hand groped roughly between Paige’s thighs, fingers pressing into the wet heat of her ruined panties. She rubbed her clit through the soaked fabric, deliberately slow.

“God,” Paige whined, “please—fuck—Azzi—”

“Listen to you. Begging like a bitch in heat,” Azzi taunted. She ripped the panties aside, shoving two fingers in without warning.

Paige’s back arched violently, a strangled scream ripping out of her.

“Yeah,” Azzi growled in her ear. “So fucking wet. You want everyone to know how much you need me?”

Paige whimpered, drool slipping from the corner of her mouth.

“Answer me.”

“Yes—fuck—Azzi please—just fuck me—”

Azzi twisted her fingers, scissoring them, stretching Paige until the squelch of her cunt was loud and wet. She grinned savagely at the sound.

“God, you’re dripping. Pathetic.” She pulled her fingers out just to slap Paige’s cunt hard enough to make her sob.

“Please,” Paige sobbed.

“Please what?”

“Please—Azzi—I’ll do anything—just fuck me—”

Azzi spat on her fingers and shoved them back in, pumping mercilessly.

“That’s it. Say you’re my dirty little whore.”

Paige’s voice cracked.

“I’m your dirty little whore—fuck—I’m yours—”

Azzi kissed her again, messy and wet, teeth clacking, tongues sliding. She pulled back to let spit string between their mouths.

“Good girl.”

Paige trembled as Azzi’s thumb found her clit, grinding it in tight, brutal circles.

Paige’s thighs shook. Cum slicked Azzi’s fingers, leaking onto her palm, soaking the floor.

“Fuck—you’re coming just from my fingers,” Azzi mocked. “Can’t even wait for my cock, huh?”

Paige was sobbing, nodding frantically, legs giving out.

Azzi caught her before she fell, slamming her back onto the bed. She crawled over Paige’s trembling body, pressing her thigh hard between her dripping folds, grinding until the wet squelch was obscene.

Paige moaned like an animal.

Azzi pressed her forehead to Paige’s, voice ruined.

“Mine.”

Paige’s laugh broke on a sobbing moan.

“Yes. Fuck. Yours. Always yours.”

Azzi didn’t hold back. She ground her thigh harder, soaking it with Paige’s cum, hand wrapped tight around Paige’s throat as she fucked her raw with her leg.

Paige’s mouth fell open in a silent scream, eyes rolling back.

They didn’t speak in words anymore.

Just guttural, obscene noises.

It wasn’t love.

It was ownership.

It was degradation.

It was worship.

And Paige wouldn’t have it any other way.

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Paige was still trembling, face flushed, thighs slick and shaking when she pulled her fingers out slowly, watching them glisten. She brought them to her mouth and sucked them clean, eyes locked on Azzi like she was prey.

Azzi collapsed forward, panting.

Paige didn’t let her rest.

She grabbed Azzi by the hips and pushed her on the bed, crawling up her body until she was straddling her chest.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Paige asked, voice low and dark.

Azzi blinked, dazed. “I—”

“Shut up.” Paige slapped her cheek lightly, not to hurt — just to mark her. “You don’t talk now. You listen. You take it.”

Azzi’s breath hitched.

Paige leaned down and dragged her tongue slowly over Azzi’s jaw, then down her throat, leaving spit behind. “You like being in control, huh? Thought you ran this?”

She reached down and slapped Azzi’s pussy, hard. Azzi gasped.

“Wrong. You’re mine now.”

Paige slid two fingers inside her, then three — no warning, no mercy. The wet noise was instant and obscene.

“Fuck—Paige—”

Another slap. “What did I just say?”

Azzi bit her lip, trying to stay quiet as Paige thrust harder, curling her fingers cruelly.

“That’s better,” Paige whispered. “You don’t get to call the shots anymore. I do. And I say you’re gonna come again, just like this. Dumb, wrecked, dripping.”

Azzi moaned, hips twitching, trying to push back onto Paige’s hand.

“Desperate little thing,” Paige purred. She spit in her hand and rubbed it over Azzi’s clit, slicking it messily, grinding it hard and fast.

Azzi arched violently, her hands clawing at the sheets.

“You gonna come for me?”

Azzi whimpered. Paige leaned down, lips against her ear.

“Say it. Tell me who owns this pussy.”

Azzi’s voice was broken: “You—fuck—you do—Paige—”

Paige’s smile turned vicious. “Good girl.” She fucked her harder, faster, pushing Azzi toward the edge.

“Come for me, baby.”

Azzi screamed as the orgasm hit her, legs shaking, body arching. Paige didn’t stop, driving her through it, past it, into oversensitive madness.

“That’s it. Break for me.”

Azzi sobbed, twitching beneath her, totally undone.

Paige smirked, still straddling her chest, sweat dripping off her body.

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Azzi was on her knees on the bed, hair a mess, panting as Paige fucked her with her fingers from behind.

“God—you’re dripping,” Paige rasped, leaning in to bite Azzi’s shoulder.

Azzi moaned, pushing back onto Paige’s fingers. “Faster—please—”

Paige gave a sharp slap to Azzi’s ass, making her yelp. “Say it nicely.”

“Please!” Azzi whined, voice cracking.

Paige twisted her fingers just right, and Azzi let out a strangled cry:

“Fuck—daddy—”

Silence.

Paige froze for half a second. Then she let out a low, predatory laugh.

“Oh? What was that?”

Azzi buried her face in the pillow. “Shut up—I didn’t mean—”

Paige pulled her hair, yanking her head back. “You called me daddy. Own it.”

Azzi squirmed, blushing hard. “N-no—”

Paige slapped her ass again. Harder. Azzi whimpered.

“Say it.”

“Daddy—” Azzi moaned, breath catching.

“Good girl.” Paige leaned in, licking the sweat off her neck. “You want daddy to fuck you harder?”

“Yes—fuck—please!”

Paige rammed her fingers deeper, scissoring them cruelly. Azzi screamed.

“Louder.”

“Daddy!” Azzi sobbed.

Paige’s voice dropped to a dark whisper. “Since I’m daddy, what are you?”

Azzi blinked, tears pricking her eyes. “What—”

Paige pinched her clit viciously. Azzi jolted, wailing.

“Say it.”

Azzi’s voice broke. “I’m—ah—mommy—”

Paige shuddered, grinding her own soaked pussy against Azzi’s ass.

“Fuck yes. Good little mommy. Daddy’s gonna ruin you.”

Azzi keened as Paige fucked her harder, their bodies slamming together, filthy words filling the room.

“Say it again.”

“Mommy—ah—mommy wants daddy—wants daddy’s fingers—”

Paige bit her neck and growled, “Mommy’s gonna come for daddy?”

Azzi screamed as her orgasm ripped through her, legs shaking.

“Say it while you come.”

“Mommy—ah—mommy’s coming for daddy—fuck—”

Paige groaned and buried her fingers to the hilt, riding out Azzi’s spasms, both of them a sweaty, panting mess, the words echoing

They collapsed together, breathing hard.

Azzi’s face buried in Paige’s hair.

Paige’s fingers idly traced the lines of Azzi’s ribs.

Silence.

Then Paige’s voice, soft but wicked.

“So. Still think I’m going back to Emily?”

Azzi didn’t even lift her head.

Her answer was a growl.

“I’ll fucking kill her first.”

Paige’s grin was feral.

“Good girl.”

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Azzi lay half on top of her, breathing ragged into her neck.

Paige was grinning like the devil.

“Look at you,” she whispered.

Azzi didn’t move.

Paige’s fingers curled into Azzi’s hair, tugging lightly.

“You’re obsessed with me.”

Azzi’s answer was a growl.

Paige’s smile widened. She spread her legs a little more, letting Azzi settle even heavier against her.

“Say it.”

Azzi bit her shoulder, hard enough to make her jolt.

Paige’s laugh turned breathy.

“Fuck—Azzi—”

Azzi licked the bite.

“You want a confession? Fine.”

She lifted her head. Her eyes were black, pupils blown.

“I know everywhere you go,” she said, voice low and harsh.

Paige blinked.

Azzi didn’t stop.

“I’ve followed you home. Watched you at the gym. Sat in my car outside Emily’s place to see if you stayed the night.”

Paige shivered.

Azzi’s grip tightened on her wrist until her knuckles went white.

“You think you’re in control of this? I know every fucking thing you do.”

Paige let out a breathy laugh.

“Oh my god. You really are just like me.”

Azzi didn’t deny it.

Paige’s eyes gleamed.

“I love it.”

Azzi’s expression twitched.

Paige bit her lip, eyes fluttering.

“God, that’s so fucking hot.”

Azzi made a guttural noise and kissed her hard, messy, bruising.

Paige moaned, wrapping her legs around Azzi’s waist.

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They broke apart gasping.

Paige’s voice was raw.

“Tell me more.”

Azzi’s jaw clenched.

Paige’s grin was feral.

“Tell me how you stalked me.”

Azzi’s eyes burned.

“I watched you go into her building and didn’t leave until the lights went out. I wanted to break the door down.”

Paige’s breath hitched.

“I know where she lives. Where she works. When she sees you. What she orders for fucking lunch.”

Paige shivered.

“Jesus.”

Azzi’s voice dropped to a snarl.

“And you like it.”

Paige didn’t even blink.

“I fucking love it.”

Azzi kissed her again, even rougher.

Paige whimpered into it, nails dragging bloody lines down Azzi’s back.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

When they finally paused, both of them panting, Azzi reached for Paige’s wrist again.

The skin was red and raw where the “E” had been wiped away.

Azzi traced it, thumb firm.

Paige hissed at the sting.

“Don’t flinch,” Azzi ordered.

Paige bared her teeth in a grin.

“Do it harder then.”

Azzi dug her nail in until Paige whimpered.

Azzi’s voice dropped, vicious and satisfied.

“Good. That’s mine now.”

Paige licked her lips.

“Gonna carve your name there next?”

Azzi’s eyes glittered.

“I fucking might.”

Paige shuddered.

“Please.”

Azzi smiled slow and cruel.

“Knew you’d beg.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Paige shifted under her, deliberately grinding her hips.

Azzi’s breath stuttered.

“You think Emily could ever fuck you like this?” Azzi growled.

Paige snorted.

“Emily doesn’t even know how to touch me.”

Azzi’s fingers slipped between them, finding Paige wet and throbbing.

Paige gasped, biting back a scream.

Azzi’s voice was poison-sweet.

“Say you’re my mine”

Paige’s laugh was broken.

“You want me to say it?”

Azzi’s thumb circled her clit, unrelenting.

Paige’s voice cracked.

“Fuck—Azzi—”

Azzi pressed harder.

“Say it.”

Paige moaned.

“I’m yours.”

Azzi smirked.

“Louder.”

Paige’s eyes fluttered.

“Ive been fucking yours”

Azzi kissed her hard, swallowing her cry as Paige came, shaking, under her.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

When Paige went limp, chest heaving, Azzi didn’t move away.

She hovered over her, breathing her in.

Paige eventually cracked one eye open.

“You done yet?”

Azzi’s voice was dark.

“Not even close.”

Paige’s laugh was weak but delighted.

“God, you’re perfect.”

Azzi’s lips curled.

“So are you.”

Paige snorted.

“I’m a mess.”

Azzi kissed her again, slower this time.

“My mess.”

Paige moaned into it.

“Yeah. Yours.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

[the-librarby]

HOME FOR SUMMER I

- JOHN PRICE (COD)

You return home over the summer holidays, desperate to feel something familiar. What greets you is your loving parents and an interesting ranch hand who somehow knows more about you than he leads on.

.･:★ I... have no excuses. It was complete brainrot guys, I fear I'm thirsting for him.

Credit to @/bbyg4rlhelps for the banner.

You desperately needed to get out of this city.

After two years of living in this apartment, you were getting tired of the mundane life you were trying to avoid by moving here. It wasn't the stress of your office job, lack of friends, or god forbid-- the second increase on your rent that uprooted your life. It was actually a simple passing comment from your dad during one of your monthly phone calls.

"You're always wanted here, pumpkin. We miss you dearly."

It didn't take you long to discuss the idea of subletting your apartment with your landlord, thankfully their niece was looking for something and this would be a perfect opportunity. Next was handing in your two weeks notice, although nerve wracking you felt no remorse or guilt over leaving your miserable job. In fact, you were practically skipping out the door saying half-assed goodbyes to coworkers you didn't care about.

When you got back to your apartment your suitcases were already packed and waiting for you by the door. You did one last sweep of your apartment, in the late summer afternoon the sun was still streaming light through its high windows. The mild heat was the only thing that reminded you of home, you spent many hours just sitting in front of them, looking down at the city below in awe. But like most things, awe eventually leads way into the norm. You could never take your experience here for granted though. It was just time for your to return to your roots.

The car dropped you off on the outskirts of your hometown, the paved roads gave into sandy gravel giving them pause. You were too giddy with excitement to care though, eagerly collect your bags from the boot and walking straight through. The sun was beaming already in the early morning, ten minutes out here would make you sweat beads down your neck that's for sure.

When the strip of local shops came into view you all but sprinted with your bags in hand, uncaring of the peering eyes that watched you as you stopped in front of it.

Mama's General Store.

A sweet nostalgic smile tugged at your lips as you admired its faded and peeling paint from the sun exposure, its sunny yellow turning muted and stained with dust. The shop awnings were hanging low to keep the interior cool, but you could still see some people inside through the window. You propped your bags up by the door just outside-- if its anything like when you grew up, people knew to mind their business-- and made your way inside. Instantly you were met with a familiar honey tone.

"Good mornin', sun has bite this mornin' don't it?" Your mum calls out, still looking down at the register, after a moment she slides the cash drawer closed and looks up. Her jaw drops with an excited shout, "You're here!-- Already! Good lord-- Oh, my baby is home!"

A toothy grin splits your face as she rushes out from behind the counter and ropes you into a fierce hug, she pats the back of your head as you dig your face into her shoulder. For a moment you soak it in, like a child would, letting your mum kiss the side of your head and smooth out your hair as she gazes into your eyes.

"I'm home," you announce, tears pricking your eyes.

Your mum immediately picks up on it and swipes her thumbs under your eyes, "Now, now, I won't have that," she warns, her voice wobbling, "This is a happy occasion. I'm so glad you're here-- Oh, your father will be thrilled!"

You peek over her shoulder, "Is he 'round?"

"In the back, right where you left him." She replies, hitching her thumb in the direction of the door that leads out the back.

Your mind guides you on autopilot, remembering forgotten paths you used to walk. Every corner of this town is stored in your mind like a well worn map, you part from your mum and walk towards the back of the store. The dry heat suffocates you instantly as you pry the old thing open, but the reaction is well worth the torturous weather adjustment.

Your father is standing there, overseeing god knows what, various crates of goods lay still packaged as he-- what you think --works to sort them out. He turns around, expression morphing from neutral and well-focused into one of unbridled joy.

He rushes towards you and sweeps you up off the step, with surprising spring and strength from maintained labour, he spins you round in his arms, "My darlin' is home, happy days for us!"

You laugh, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, "Missed you, dad."

Your mum leans against the doorframe, smiling affectionately at the scene, "Gonna throw out your back again if you keep bein' that reckless,"

A flurry of kisses is pressed against your temple, "Worth it for my babygirl." He mumbles against your head, holding you for a moment longer before placing you down on the dusty ground.

His hands stay placed on your shoulders as he looks you up and down, "Christ, you look ill, what did that city do to you?"

You can hear the click of your mum's tongue in the background, "She's pale, no sunlight with all those tall buildings,"

You roll your eyes and look down at your arms self consciously, so what that you lost almost all your tan? It was a side effect of living indoors, "It's not that bad--"

"Sure is darlin'," your father cuts in, "If I'm noticin' it, it's noticeable,"

"Few hours in the sun'll do you good, child," you mum ushers you back in with a wave, "Go sit outside for a while, I'll bring you an ice drink once we're done with the stock,"

You frown, "What-- you don't want any help? I can put stock away too,"

"No," your father insists.

"In due time, honey," your mum placates, "You just got home, go and relax before you throw yourself back in. We're happy you're home, but you're here for a break remember? Have a break."

You're pouty as your mum leads you outside the front, sitting you down on one of the porch seats that has a stream of direct sunlight pouring over it. She grasps your chin and tugs it side to side affectionately.

"Don't pout," she chastises lightly, "For your own good, soak in those rays, I'll be back in an hour."

You sigh and sink back into your chair, watching as she enters the shop, the little bell above the door announcing her entrance with a ringing chime. It's hard to stay upset when the sun feels so nice against your skin, it tingles in a way that only happens during the peak of the season. You're drawn in by people watching, it's the only thing you can do with this view. People walk to and from places, sleeves rolled up and shirts unbuttoned to fight the blistering heat. Women are waving their personal fans against their faces, wearing light linen dresses or denim shorts.

You look down at you own jeans, silently wishing you opted for shorts instead because they are starting to feel like a second skin, damp with your own sweat. Thankfully, you had the foresight to wear a tank top, so whatever minimal breeze that swept through felt nice against your shoulders. A tired sigh slips out of your lips as you reach for the sunglasses perched on your head, placing them over your eyes. You kick your feet up on the railing that outlines the store and sink deep into your chair.

You're not sure how much time passes with you resting like that, but it has to be at least an hour, when a cough alerts you of someone nearby. You straighten up, removing your sunglasses as you look to the stranger next to you.

He's smiling politely, it's rather charming in its warmth. Dressed in an unbuttoned flannel shirt that shows off the hair dusting his chest. His exposed skin is dark in a way that days in the sun can only do. He clears his throat once more to garner your attention.

"You must be Mama's daughter." his tone is smooth.

At first you try to rack your brain, thinking back to who this could possibly be, but you come up empty. As to not offend, you greet him respectfully, "Yes Sir, heard some things about me have you..."

"Price, John Price," he fills in, he wipes his hand on his jeans before extending it towards you which you gracefully take. His hand is warm and tight around yours as he gives it a firm shake, "I own the ranch down the road-- your mum has lots to say about you,"

You smile sheepishly as you return the handshake, "John," you greet, "All good things I hope." Only slightly embarrassed at the idea of all the things your mum had been gushing about to a complete stranger.

He chuckles, its sound has a direct line into your gut and settles there like a warm fire, "Nothin' but praise, must be a good girl." He notes it so casually that it could only be passed off as polite compliment.

You move to withdraw your hand from his which he lets go of after a beat too long, in an effort to seem more attentive you straighten up in your seat and cross one leg over the other. John follows the trail of your long legs, poor girl, you must be sweltering in those jeans.

"Goodness, she must have talked your ear off, I'm so sorry," you apologise, heat rising to your cheeks.

John gazed over your face, the embarrassed uptick of your mouth and drawn in eyebrows were endearing. You looked like a sweet kid in his eyes, he wondered what drew you back home but fought the urge to ask outright.

All in due time, he would get his answers.

He waves you off, "She's excited," he excuses, "Can't blame 'er, you're an only child. I'd be thrilled if I were in 'er shoes too,"

The idea of this man being thrilled about seeing you--even hypothetically--makes you fluster. You can only nod in response, casually wiping your hands on your jeans to rid of the sweat. The bell above the door chimes, both of you look over to see your mother walking out, two glasses of iced lemonade in hand.

"Oh, Price," your mother greets, "Here to pick up your supplies? They're out back, all ready for you to grab,"

He tips his head, "Yes ma'am," he responds before looking over at you, "Was just sayin' hello to our new visitor."

Your mum sits on the arm of your chair and hands you a glass which you gratefully take if only to have something to busy your hands with, "She's no stranger to these parts," she replies, wrapping her arm over your shoulder, "Grew up here, haven't you learnt anything by all the stories I've told you?"

This time you can't help the groan that slips from your mouth, "Christ, what have I told you about sharing stories about me when I'm not around?"

Your mother looks affronted, looking over at Price and pointing her thumb at you, can you believe this? "Well what else am I meant to talk about? You're the most excitin' thing in my life!"

You shake your head, "Just what have you been spilling about me?"

Price taps his chin in thought, "Where did we leave off?" he questions, completely ignoring you in favour of addressing your mother, "Think we were up to her teenage years right? All that mischief she got up to? Sneaking out at night I heard,"

Your mother laughs, slapping her thigh, "God, she was a nightmare as a teenager, could barely keep her home-- especially at night,"

"Mum!" you hiss, "That's barely a stranger's business,"

"Stranger? Who--Price? He's part of the furniture darlin', plus we're all adults who got up to questionable things in the past," she waves you off, ignoring your feelings of deep mortification.

Price nods thoughtfully, "Yes ma'am, wouldn't want to rehash those days as embarrassing as they are to reflect on."

John-- or Price -- has to be at least in his late thirties from what you can judge. Some would argue this is a man's prime age, firmly established and well experienced. Price seems like a man that age has been kind to, he's unfairly handsome and his friendly disposition only makes it harder to not open up to him.

You take a sip of your lemonade, trying to catch a closer look at him. His shoulders are broad and his arms fill out the sleeves nicely, there has to be some form of well defined muscle under those thin layers from all the manual labour he does. The lemonade is smooth and refreshing, going down easily in this heat.

John stares for a moment longer before shaking his head, "She's a spittin' image of you Mama," he says in awe.

Your mother laughs, patting the back of your head, "Yeah, seems so, got all my family's genes,"

"Can only assume she'll be as beautiful as you when she grows up." he grins.

The cliche charm shouldn't work, but it does coming from him. It just sounds so sincere and only slightly flirtatious in a way that even makes your mother wave him off.

"Please," she rolls her eyes, "Go and get your supplies Price, can't have you taking up my whole day now,"

He nods but turns to you one last time, "Nice meeting you sweetheart, come round to the ranch sometime, I'll give you a tour."

You can only nod in return, hiding behind your glass but secretly watching him walk back where he came from and taking a sharp left around the corner to reach the back of the store.

[prettypeppermint]

slapkiss.

for g. seongje.

"Let's break up," you say calmly, letting the words linger in the air--sift through your cigarette smoke. There's a quiet in your eyes, one that dulls every word that comes from your mouth. He knows there's something so damaged about you that it makes you unbreakable.

A scoff leaves his throat, mimicking the scuff of his shoe against pavement as he kicks at his cigarette butt. "You're getting a little too predictable recently, don't you think?" he laughs, and the sound soothes the venom of his words.

He takes a step in, then another, until you have to tilt your head to look up at him.

"You think you can run? Hm?" He presses a knuckle to your temple--shoves your head to the side. "Where will you go? Back to studying? Without the Union, you won't even get into junior college." He smooths down your hair before grabbing a fistful at the back of your head. He tugs slightly to get a better look at your chest.

His fingers creep up to your collar, yanking at your tie like a leash, pulling you towards him. There's a hunger in his eyes that's grown dull and familiar in your stomach, but you crave it nonetheless.

He begins undoing the buttons of your uniform, one by one, until he can peel it away from your shoulder. You let him.

His thumb runs over the cigarette burn on your chest. Your heart swells whenever you're reminded that it's there--that he put it there. "Don't get ahead of yourself, y/n," he says lowly, digging his thumb into the mark just enough to slightly crack your calm demeanor.

Seongje takes a step back to admire his work, the undone state he's put you in that only he can recognize. He likes when you remind him what he's capable of, and how good he treats you despite it. "You really piss me off, you know? On the surface, you're this ice-cold bitch, turning your nose up at everyone. But only I know the real you." He can barely stifle a dark chuckle.

He lights another cigarette. "Should I make another one? Put it somewhere everyone can see? You're like my human canvas, fuck." He bites his lip, as if he's holding back a direct attack to the throat.

He traces the cigarette up along the silhouette of your body, barely a centimeter from singeing your uniform. But your eyes don't follow it. Instead, they look at him.

"Should I put it... here-" he halts at your neck "or... here?" You inhale a lick of smoke as he raises it to your cheek. The ring of heat it leaves against your skin makes your lips part.

"When you go to school the next day everyone will know: their top student is a degenerate bitch who gets off to being her boyfriend's human ashtray." Another laugh whistles from his throat. He pats your cheek twice. "Open up."

You obey, unlocking your jaw and letting your tongue loll past your teeth slightly. He brings the cigarette to your tongue but pauses right before contact. He can tell you're waiting for it, with your eyes looking straight into his--like his antics are your routines.

He lets out an amused scoff. "Crazy bitch." His hand flicks the cigarette to the side before locking around your throat, shoving you against the alley wall. You feel the brick send a jolt through your skull. He barely looks at you, as if he's bored. Your neck fits the mold of his fingers perfectly, you notice.

There's a twitch in his lip as he studies you like an animal. He hates the way you absorb his treatment, but he loves the way it makes him feel.

"Only I can touch you like this. Hurt you like this." It comes out like a warning, but you take it as a confession. His thumb creeps up your chin, past your bottom lip. He teases the flesh a bit before forcing past your teeth and pressing down on your tongue. You taste fresh cinder and ash. "You love me, right? You love when I treat you like this." He shakes your face, gripping your jaw.

You nod around his thumb.

"Say it." He shoves his digit further down, and you feel his nail scratch the back of your throat.

He particularly hates something about your eyes--how striking they are when they stare into his. You see your reflection in his glasses, and it melts something in you.

"Still won't?" he threatens steadily.

You've never told him you love him, but you don't have to for him to understand your feelings run deeper than love; you're irrevocably devoted to him--something much simpler.

Suddenly, his finger is ripped from your throat, and he's shoving your head against the wall with a half-hearted flick of his palm. You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as if it meant nothing.

His eyes narrow beneath a furrowed brow as he lights another cigarette and nips it between his lips. He looks at something far off and out of your reach. "Come," he says as he extends his hand without looking at you. You press your palm into his and feel the familiar clasp of his fingers--the tug that follows, the lock that clicks--as he leads the way and walks off. You never know where he's going, but you always tether right behind.

You like this view; the back of his head, his arm extending behind him to connect with yours. You like the way the wind tousles his hair and crimson blazer. It's your favorite angle--right behind him, where it's safe.

Life feels slow when you're on the move, with no knowledge of where he's taking you. But as long as you're with him, no one can hurt you except Geum Seongje. It soothes something you didn't know was aching inside you.

A slap. Then a kiss. And you feel at home again.

x.

[lostintransist]

Broken Beyond Bearing | Part 8

-.. . … .. —. -. . -.. / - —- / -.. .. .

Part 1 found here | AO3

CW: 18+ MDNI, sexual interactions

Panting, chest crunching on panic, you roll over in your bed.

No coherent thoughts can be found, only the need scorching through you. Maybe you could work through this alone? Your hands tremble as you struggle with the buttons of your sleep shirt. They slip and shift in your grasp. A pained cry escapes from you as your body clenches in need.

“Shh. Shh,” you hush yourself.

The light knock at your door sends the tears rushing to your eyes.

“Sprinkles? You okay in there?”

Johnny’s voice, deep and accented, sends your eyes rolling back in your head.

The beta portion of you had never used your voice before; it did now. You work your fingers still toward removing your shirt.

“Help,” the rasp was one you had never heard before come from your mouth. “Johnny, help.”

He burst through the door then. The gasp he sucks in ratchets your temperature higher—it shifted into a groan as he appeared in your view. Pupils blown wide and chest heaving as he pulled in deeper and deeper breaths.

“Sprinkles, what do you need?” The door creaks under the weight of his hand.

Your voice comes out both as a rasp and as a cry. Neither part of you can formulate words past the other.

“We have an old round of suppressants in the bathroom.” Johnny’s shoulders are caving forward, likely under the weight of his omega, tearing at his throat to enter the room and settle between your legs.

A cry, that at once sounded of ecstasy and extreme pain, rips from you. Wrenching the wretched shirt over your head, you force back your beta to reply.

“I can’t take suppressants.” You’re fully crying now, weeping as your fingers start on removing your pants. “Help me, Johnny. Please help.”

Closing your eyes to focus on removing your pants, and avoiding seeing his face of rejection, in all honesty, you cry harder at the brush of your own fingers. Then he is there. Johnny, with his scent so clear this close to your nose, smelled of salty mists, damp decay, and the bite of something explosive. The coarse hair of his thighs brushes against the inside of yours—your back arches.

“Fuck. Yes. Johnny, just like that, please!” Your hands find him, fingers digging into the muscles around his ribs. “I’m so sorry about this.”

Lips find your neck as he mutters his own apologies.

“Sprinkles, you taste so sweet.” Johnny settled his weight over you, his hard member pressed into the flesh of your hip.

Opening your eyes, you look down and watch as Johnny kisses down from your neck to your nipples, lavishing each with nips.

“Oh! Ye—”

Your pleasure spiked into a panting yelp as one hand slipped to your core. Vision is gone. Hearing is overtaken by a keening volume.

When you blink, you are surprised by a feeling of fullness, and the ease of breathing with Johnny atop you. Confused, you glance around. Still in your room, the scents of sex and slick are heavy in the air, and Johnny’s muttering in your ear. It sounds almost like a prayer.

“Johnny?” You brush a hand against his body, his side from the feel of it.

His head snaps up, ice shard eyes digging hard into yours.

“You back?”

“Did I leave?” Your brows quirk.

The hip thrust he gave sparkled along every nerve ending you have. Gasping, your fingers find purchase in his flesh.

“Obviously not. But your beta stepped to the front of the class and bullied me until we joined, and then I don’t know what the hell happened, but I’m now as stuck as when Simon or Kyle gets a hold of me.” His eyes are categorizing every minute motion and expression as he talks.

“Oh.” Deflating with the word, you slide one hand under his arm to press your fingers into your eyes. When the colors disappear into static under the pressure, you force more words out. “I thought since I could choose a partner now that would stop happening.”

Johnny stiffened, muscles going rigid as his breath sounds disappeared.

A light shaking starts across your body as your teeth dig into your lip.

“If I beg for you to forget what I said, would you?”

A nose pushes into the scent gland at your neck pleasure spikes again.

“No, I wouldn’t. But we can work up to it,” he growled. “Why are you so clear? Simon and Kyle never seem to surface until their rut breaks.”

Humming, you try to decide the right amount of information to share. Lifting the hand from your face, eyes screaming in agony of the release, you settle it on the back of his neck. He shudders as your thumb brushes the small gland behind his ear.

“Do you know how betas came to be?” You shift to trailing your fingers through his hair and across the scalp that prickles with his shorn locks.

Johnny shifts his weight to one elbow, propping himself on it to stare down at you. The light from the window catches his face nicely. He’s fucking beautiful.

“Haven’t betas always been around?” His brow pinched together.

Shaking your head, you launch into an abbreviated history of the oral traditions passed between betas.

“No. The stories passed from parent to child tell us that betas only came into existence about twenty-five hundred years ago. There was some kind of sickness, or war, that decimated the omega population.” Johnny twitched as you ran your nails over the same spot too many times. You shift to tracing lines from his shoulders to his ass, “Archaeological records indicate a war more than a sickness, but there is evidence supporting both, so who knows. Personally, I think a sickness started taking out omegas more heavily, and the war started after there were too few of them to support a population.”

A kiss to your cheek pulled you back from the facts and tales spinning through your mind. Glancing shyly from Johnny’s soft smile and away, you start again.

“Anyway,” dragging the word out feels right for the moment. “Omegas were less and less an option to help through ruts and to create new pups. So alphas turned to other alphas. It makes sense that, given enough exposure, some alphas would be found to have the ability to carry pregnancies to term. Genetics is funny that way. Much as the purists hate to admit, people are not and never have been only one thing—alpha or omega.

That brings us to our first generation of betas. They were heralded as the future, the safety of continuation. For a few generations, they were. And then, like always, someone decided they didn’t like how things were functioning for themselves and damned an entire population to squalor. They didn’t like the steady growth of betas, worried they would outnumber alphas and omegas.”

Neither of you comments on Johnny’s thumb, oh so gently, brushing away the tears as they started.

“Betas were rounded up and murdered. Small groups are how they worked on whittling away lives until they could get governments to deny our rights and strip us of autonomy. It took them nearly a century. Now? Now, only in seventeen countries, betas have full legal status.” Your chest heaves up under him, sucking in air that doesn’t satisfy.

“The laws you mentioned,” he puts the words in order as if they are occurring to him in the moment.

Nodding, you wipe your tears from your face.

“But to answer your question as to why I’m so clear, beta hormones are basically a combination of alpha and omega, but supercharged. We can pair with an alpha or omega as long as they have some parts that will fill the role our anatomy needs. In regard to primary sex organs, we don’t have to worry about me growing pups.”

Johnny shifts over you, resting on his other elbow. His shoulder pops. He nods to you to keep going. Fuck. You wish he would say something, but you are also terrified of what questions he might ask, and you can already feel your knot starting to release. Knowing you would be getting pulled under again made your chest tight.

“Well, part of what seems to scare people is our ability to affect others. You’re an omega, you shouldn’t be able to make a knot.” You rush ahead as his mouth opens to voice his questions, “And you haven’t made a knot, not a true one. What happened, and mind you, this might not be 100% accurate, but from everything I was able to piece together, it seems like betas can force minor changes on their rut/heat partners. Like right now, you are probably experiencing some extra pressure about midway up your penis, right?”

His eyes narrow, but he nods. This time, he keeps his silence, letting you ramble.

“So what I think happened is my hormones triggered some extra growth in you so that my body could lock down on you and ‘knot’. That’s one of the reasons that medical groups helped push so hard to get our rights rescinded. We have ruts and heats, but the knotting lets out, I guess I would call it a dump. The hormone dump leads to clear minds as well as a muscle relaxant and a bunch of other things that I don’t really remember. They would tell us sometimes, in Scorpio, all of the hormones they were able to make now because of us.” A wave of emotion, as wide as tall, sweeps through you, catapulting you into a spinning, mental mess.

The sour smell you associate with your beta rising fills your nose.

No! You scream inside your head. I can’t disappear again!

Snapping your eyes to Johnny, whose puckered brows are shrinking the space between them, you press your lips to his.

“Sprinkles wha—?”

Murmuring against his lips, you focus on the drag of his lips against yours.

“Kiss me, please. The knot is releasing, and I’m going to disappear again.” You’ve never heard your voice so small and scared, even in all the years of evil done against you. There had always been someone to stay strong for. You didn’t warrant that.

He does as you ask—putting his whole self into the act. It keeps up, the heady pressure, until your body relaxes enough and Johnny slips from your body.

When you gasp, pulling away slightly, he pounces with a question.

“Why do you disappear?” His eyes scrape across you like you imagine they do along the makeup of a bomb.

“For…” Your beta speaks through you then, the last thing you remember until you are knotted again, “Safety.”

Johnny has no supplies on hand for your…rut? You called it a rut, so he would, too. He had no fluids within reach, no snacks, and absolutely no fucking idea how to deal with you disappearing and your beta presenting. It wasn’t normal. He had only ever heard of that happening in cases of extreme abuse. Doctors labeled it a self-defense mechanism. Once, and only once, had he seen it in real life.

A mission that started as a ‘take out the target’ turned into a rescue of the hostages when Gaz stumbled into a room that reeked of fear and old urine. Soap and Ghost finished clearing the building, and Price called in Kate for expedited ex-fil with medical on board. Three people, two omegas and an alpha, all emaciated and trembling with fear, had stared at them from the dark corner of the windowless room.

The alpha, a man nearly as tall as Gaz, had snapped and snarled as Ghost entered the room. He had the most medical training. Kyle stepped in when the traumatized alpha had tried to bite his packmate. A single touch, Kyle’s hand on the man’s jaw, and he had settled. The omega woman shifted from behind him, the omega man wrapped in her arms.

“Something in him is broken. He used to be normal, but he kept taking all the hits meant for us. His alpha would come out more and more each time they came. He hasn’t resurfaced.” The scent of her fear ratcheted up the tension in the alpha man.

“Mine,” he growled. “Mine, mine, mine.”

Gaz cooed down at him, pushing his own scent out. They all watched as the man slumped forward onto Kyle’s legs as the smell of fast-moving waters and something nearing eucalyptus settled over them all.

“Might be more dominant than you are, Ghost,” Kyle teased.

Simon grunted once. “Doubt it’s dominance, bet you’re safer smelling than I am though.”

Kyle laughed lightly. Turning to look over his shoulder, he directed Johnny forward to help the omegas out of the room.

“Come with me. We have medical coming and will do our best to get you home safe.” He offered them both a hand up before directing them out the door. The quiet, broken chant of ‘mine, mine, mine’ followed him all the way to the helicopter. Haunted his nightmares if he were honest.

Looking down at you now, the spark of you missing from the shine in your eyes, the memory surfaces. All the tension slides from your body. Fingers begin to explore, and a sultry smile overtakes your lips. You have become sex incarnate. The scent of slick slicing through his nose as it leaks from you, and the chuffs and purrs as you lick up his neck.

“Fuck. What am I to do with you now, Sprinkles?” He whispered the words to the room. Your beta answered.

“Keep us. Love us.” The words were punctuated with bites to his collar bones as periods.

The sadness in his soul swept over his face. Beta caught sight of it and flipped them over in the small bed. She rained kisses down on him. Hands pressed on his chest, beta wiggled hips down his body until they sat on his.

Lifting a hand to your face, Johnny cups your cheek. Beta nuzzles in, pressing a kiss to his palm.

“I don’t think it will be hard to love either of you.”

John stretched his neck as Kyle worked the truck up the path. Winter starting to break always led to mud. He hated mud. The effort to clean it from the tread of his boots and from the hem of his pants always left him annoyed and weary. The unfurling of the greenery didn’t offset the annoyance of the earth trying to swallow him.

The hand he settled high on Kyle’s thigh is his only tether to the moment. It helps.

These thoughts sucked at him as the truck came to rest next to their other one, resting below the deck. They stained his fingers as he grabbed his pack from the bed of the truck and followed Simon up the stairs. What pulled him from the sour scent of dirt and water was laughter—Johnny’s laugh. His bright, loud one. The one John now realizes he hasn’t heard in months. When had Johnny stopped laughing?

Simon, three stairs up and one ahead of him, glanced back over his shoulder before taking them two at a time. John and Kyle’s boots hit the steps in tandem until they were all shouldering through the door. Simon takes point as he and Kyle cover each shoulder, eyes scanning for their missing mate.

A bright and unfamiliar laughter sparked Johnny’s. Your appearance from the hall leading to your bedroom drew all their eyes. You still smell off, broken, but now it is smothered under the smell of Johnny. You tore out toward the living room. Seeing Simon’s glower—the stiff set of his shoulders told John exactly what face he was making at you—caused you to backpedal and trip as your socks lost grip.

John glanced at your feet as they flailed up. Were you wearing his socks?

Johnny appeared. His smiling, as exuberant as the sun, dimming into dusk on the horizon, sliced at John’s heart. Why didn’t his joy extend to them? When had that changed?

“You’re home.” Johnny’s voice, softer than expected, dusted salt in John’s bleeding heart.

A flutter of movement caused John to blink. When his lids parted, he found Simon and Johnny locked in a violent kiss. The bigger man pressed in, hard, nearly stepping on you as you squeaked and scooted out of the way. Your back hit the wall. The small sound flipped something in Johnny. John watched his sergeant and companion omega switch into a soldier.

He bit Simon.

Johnny walked him back, bleeding lip trapped between his teeth.

“Kyle, get the door,” John tracked his men, his lovers, carefully heading for the porch.

“John…” The question is clear in Kyle’s voice, but he does as he is told.

Once the fight is carefully sequestered beyond the reach of their eyes, John steps forward. Settling a boot on either side of your outstretched foot, he squats. Head tipping to the side, he takes in the minor changes since he had seen you last. Seems he should have paid more attention to their wife before he left.

“Now, what to do about you…”

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[forsaken-headcanons]

it's the wanna be blue train anon.. uh. I feel like in my last hc thingy i focused to much on guest so.. i'll dig around in my messy brain and find other people

For some reason I feel Jason is autistic (coming from someone who hasn't seen anything of Jason outside of forsaken..) and has high sensitivity to noise.. he only gets angry at loud things and loathes people who are loud.. like Guest (yelling) and Chance (gun). Idk tho just me?

C00lkidd and the other kiddling flavors will play with 1x betrayed skin's hair or sit on their shoulders.

John Doe reminds me of a u-haul truck.. specifically the older ones that are super long and have those square headlights like older jeep wranglers

1x feels something other than anger when they see her creator in pain. :3

Idk if i said this in my last little rant but I see Guest and Noob being like father-child

Y'all know how 1x says "Join me" or smth like that? Elliot would take the offer. Coming from a person who was raised with an emt.. (and an elliot main) He'd take the offer.

I'm half stealing this hc from someone.. (Nikkō i think is the right person) Taph and John Doe are siblings cuz I see Bulider as a father figure to both..

I believe the Spectre would block out John Doe from seeing Builderman and Taph normally just like Jane

All of the Forsaken Characters are neurodivergent in some way.. actually.. this is turning into a mental disorder hc thingy now.

wait is that hateful..

i'm diagnosed with some stuff..

eh.. i feel a bit bad but..

i wanna project.

Noob: Autism, Selective Mutism, Anxiety of some flavor

Elliot: Anger issues? Depression.

Shedletsky: actually.. he's kinda just.. normal? to me? like there's def some depression but like idk maybe ADHD?? idk man

Chance: Autism.. it's the headphones and glasses. i'm sorry.

007n7: Depression.. uh.. autism? like very high functioning to the point it wouldn't be noticeable under certain circumstances oh and can't forget abandonment issues

Deuskkar? Blue pumpkin: Autism.. idk man maybe like sprinkle in some ADHD but they seem pretty autism to me idk why.. prolly just i see them speaking all fancy and being the grammar police

Taph: Autism, Mutism, Depression, Anxiety in any flavor

Guest1337: PTSD, Autism, Anxiety (social), Selective Mutism, Depression.. uhmm heavy on the PTSD like that man's needs years of therapy

Two Time: is religious psychosis a mental illness?? I could say autism.. idk I got options here but i'll stick to the ones I said.. and sprinkle in some anxiety like it's salt in a wound yk?

Builderman: no clue but AuDHD. that's all that comes to my silly mind

i cannot for the like of me think of any other survivors.. i feel like i missed one

Kiddlings: autism, pstd what do you want me to say?

Boss: he's an anomaly.. autism? idk

1x: hate. that's totally a mental illness /silly

John Doe: he's feral. maybe like non-infection him having anxiety but idk man

Jason: as I said earlier. Autism.

god i feel so mean for doing that- but hey. it's my headcannons

anyone else on the train of blue pumpkin being grammar police or is that just me??

Sincerely, Blue Train Anon i think that's my chosen tag..

elliot got tired of the minimum wage 💔

plot twist everyone got forsaken because they were all different flavors of The Tism . the spectre is ash ketchum-ing their asses /pos