#and cost-effective than ever before.

[fadi123]

sand battery

What Is a ‘Sand Battery’ 2023?

A “sand battery” is a high temperature thermal energy storage that uses sand or sand-like materials as its storage medium. It stores energy in sand as heat. 

Its main purpose is to work as a high-power and high-capacity reservoir for excess wind and solar energy. The energy is stored as heat, which can be used to heat homes, or to provide hot steam and high temperature process heat to industries that are often fossil-fuel dependent.

As the world shifts towards higher and higher renewables fraction in electricity production, the intermittent nature of these energy sources cause challenges to energy networks. The sand battery helps to ambitiously upscale renewables production by ensuring there’s always a way to benefit from clean energy, even if the surplus is massive.

The first commercial sand battery in the world is in a town called Kankaanpää, Western Finland. It is connected to a district heating network and heating residential and commercial buildings such as family homes and the municipal swimming pool. The district heating network is operated by an energy utility called Vatajankoski.

The term “sand battery” was introduced to grand audience by a BBC News story published the 5th of July 2022. The story was written by BBC News’ Environmental Correspondent Matt McGrath.

Read the story: BBC News: Climate change: 'Sand battery' could solve green energy's big problem

Watch the video: BBC News: How the world's first sand battery stores green power

UPDATE: We’ve been getting a lot of attention after our sand battery went viral. Due to a massive amount of requests and messages, our reply times can be very long. We appreciate your patience. Thank you! Please also note that we don’t have products for individual homes yet.

Frequently Asked Questions

What is the structure of your heat storage?

It is an insulated silo made of steel housing, filled with sand and heat transfer pipes. Additionally, equipment outside the storage is required, such as automation components, valves, a fan, and a heat exchanger or a steam generator.

How do you heat the sand?

With electricity from the grid or from local production, in both cases from fluctuating sources such as wind and solar. We charge it when clean and cheap electricity is available. The electrical energy is transferred to the heat storage using a closed loop air-pipe arrangement. Air is heated up using electrical resistors and circulated in the heat transfer piping.

How hot is the sand?

The maximum temperature in the Kankaanpää heat storage is about 600 degrees Celsius. However, the temperature may even be higher depending on customer needs. In practice, the maximum temperature of a sand-based heat storage is not limited by the properties of the storage medium, but by the heat resistance of the materials used in the construction and control of the storage.

How do you get heat out of the heat storage?

The heat storage is unloaded by blowing cool air through the pipes. It heats up as it passes through the storage, and it can be used for example to convert water into process steam or to heat district heating water in an air-to-water heat exchanger.

Why do you use sand?

Many solid materials, such as sand, can be heated to temperatures well above the boiling point of water. Sand-based heat storages can store several times the amount of energy that can be stored in a water tank of a similar size; this is thanks to the large temperature range allowed by the sand. So, it saves space and it allows versatile use in many industrial applications.

What kind of a sand you are using?

The heat storage is not very sensitive to sand grain size. We prefer high density, low-cost materials that are not from scarce sources. Someone else’s dirt could be our heat storage medium. We prefer to use materials that are not suitable for construction industry.

Does it matter what the grain size of the sand is?

Not much, we prefer to use those grain sizes that are not suitable for construction industry.

How is the heat storage insulated?

The heat storage is made of steel and insulated with standard, heat resistant insulating materials. The insulation is all around the heat storage between the outer steel layer and the inner one.

How long does the sand stay hot in the winter?

It can stay hot for months if needed, but the actual use case of the heat storage in Kankaanpää is to charge it in about 2-week cycles. The heat storage has its best range of use when it is charged and discharged 20 to 200 times per year, depending on the application.

Is the outer surface of the heat storage hot?

The surface of the storage is not hot, because the heat stays inside the storage—where it should be.

Can it store electricity?

Not as such, as it stores energy in the form of heat. The heat can be converted back to electricity using turbines like the ORC-turbine or a steam turbine. This requires additional investments to the turbine technology, and the conversion to electricity has inherent losses, thus complicating the economical side.

Is this a new technology?

Well, yes and no. The idea of heating sand to store energy is not new. Our way of doing things and commercializing it in large scale applications is.

[ninjagirlstar5]

So, uh, I might've gone a little crazy last week and came up with a Kanade Concept rewrite. (And made some redesigns of IRL!Kanade and IRL!Hibiki to reflect that.)

SO, for context, if you've been following me for awhile (or just came across some of my posts in the past), you'd know that my friend and I have been playing through SDRA2 for fun and it's around the end of Chapter 3 that I started making posts mentioning certain segments of our reactions, feelings, and some jokes. And to say we hated it would be an understatement. But I've had asks where I went on a rant about Chapter 3 more than once, so I won't repeat myself here. If anyone hasn't seen that, you can find it here, and here.

At this point, we're at Chapter 6 and during one of our after stream chats in VC, my friend, @bittersweetbeet, suddenly brought up an idea that could've tied Kanade (and thus Chapter 3) into the main plot and that was this:

"What if Kanade was blessed with Divine Luck from Utsuro like Void? Like, she wasn't in on the plan, but the reason why everything went south for her is because her luck was running out and got screwed over in the trial because of that, and was more than willing to die because she'd prefer that over losing her Fortune. It wouldn't fix Chapter 3, but at least it'd explain how she got away with all those damn murders for so long!"

I'm kinda paraphrasing here since I don't remember the exact wording due to this idea being brought up in the voice channel. But that was essentially what they said and it drove me NUTS at the time. After all, it's been brought up that Utsuro tended to bless a bunch of kids that were the same/similar age as him during his travels out of boredom, and while we don't know a lot about Kanade and Hibiki's parents to know for certain if they were bad and good (personally, I interpret them as decent people but tended to play favorites with Hibiki and accidentally neglecting Kanade, which only worsens their issues even when they try to bring them together), we DO know that Hibiki tends to bully Kanade a lot and that alone can make for a difficult childhood even when you have parents that care about you. So, with a bit of timeline adjusting, Kanade coming across Utsuro when she was, ahem, down on her luck, and getting blessed by him after she vents about her problems can make sense as this is something he's done for awhile now. And it should be noted that not every kid he blessed with Fortune had the same level of dire straits, as many had different levels of Fortune which faded away at different paces. It's why Void lasted for as long as they did since their situation was the worst of the worst so their Fortunes faded away much slower while others either succumbed to fates sooner or lost their fortunes and survived but couldn't handle being back in the same state they tried so desperately to escape from that they just...well, you know. Not every person that was blessed with Divine Luck was going to be a good person or, hell, some people can end up getting worse with the Fortunes they were blessed with instead of becoming better (like Mikado). And so, we started chatting ourselves up about this idea and I really wanted to share it here on Tumblr that I asked if it was alright if I shared it on my blog and they gave me the go ahead. I didn't share it right away, but I was thinking over how to word the post while I was at work. Which is when I realize there were...a few problems with this idea, unfortunately. Mainly this since I brought it up in our rambles channel in the Discord server to get my buddy's thoughts on it, so I'm just gonna copy and paste that:

"...I've been trying to figure out how to word the idea of Kanade being blessed by Divine Luck and I kinda realized something: how would Kanade realize her luck is fading…when she's not a part of Void? Like, she's not in on the plan from the very start so she's been reverted to a [place] where she believes that she's fine and her luck is still running strong. And how that would be conveyed to the audience…

Like, I can believe Kanade could figure it out, even if I think how the writer LINUJ showed off her intelligence to be stupid, but I'm struggling [on] how to explain how she'd figure out that she ran out of luck? She'd be surprised that things have turned on her suddenly due to her state of being reverted back to a time where her luck is strong, but would she fully understand the context to the point that she'd rather die with her sister than lose what she already have?"

Like, I could've been overthinking on that. I could've had it so that a character comments that she was just hit with a wave of bad luck and Kanade goes, "Me? The most luckiest person ever? Never! (...unless-)" But I was really struggling to come up with an answer I was satisfied with at the time and even Bertie was like, "it's stuff like this that makes it so that the only option that would fix Chapter 3 is by rewriting the whole thing." Which is something I do agree with. This idea wasn't a complete fix to everything that's wrong with Chapter 3 anyways, especially when it comes to Kanade and how the writing on her character just sank it into the depths of hell. It was simply an explanation we both really liked.

And then Bertie went on to say, and I quote, "Tbh I think it would be more interesting if Kanade hated Hibiki deeply rather than love her. It’d be cliche probably but it’s better than the weird incest-like shit we have going on here" end quote.

And I started off with a normal response agreeing and elaborating on the idea, like so:

"HONESTLY, yeah. It's better to just scrap the whole chapter and rewrite it from the ground up.

And yeah, I do agree that anything that's different than what we got in Canon is probably much much better. Although I would still want to keep the nuances of Kanade and Hibiki's status as victims of each other's toxicity. Hibiki is constantly bullying Kanade due to seeing how good Kanade is at a lot of things and is jealous of that but still cares and loves her as a sister even though she sucks at appreciating Kanade for who she is. Meanwhile, Kanade still loves her sister and willingly goes along with her bullying, going as far as to try and be meek and shy to appeal to her sister's dominant but cowardly ways but deep down she resents her for keeping her from doing things she likes even though she does genuinely enjoy spending time with her and gets jealous whenever other people get close cause it means that Hibiki won't bother to spend time with her. She often drives them away one way or another so she can have Hibiki to herself, even when nothing changes because Hibiki is her sister and she just wants her to love her and spend time with her (but not in the gross incest way and we're taking away the whole crazy serial killer thing, she's just her own level of toxic)."

And that's when I started spiraling into an gigantic ramble that lasted nearly an hour and thirty minutes (minus a dinner break) because my brain was in a creative mood that night. Enjoy my copy and pasted ramble (I won't italicize all of this to make it easier on the eyes cause if you know me by now, my writing gets very long + a bit of editing to make it a little more coherent):

"I still like the idea of Kanade being blessed by Divine Luck and being good at many skills because of it, and she's smart enough to realize that the boy she met long ago somehow changed her when she had openly vented to him about her problems the day they met (after giving him her umbrella to protect himself from the pouring rain, as she had ran away on a whim due to being fed up with her parents and her sister [at the time]). She's very grateful for what he's done for her, believing that the skills she now has can bring herself closer to Hibiki by being useful to her."

"But here's the catcher: her blessing doesn't work in the way she had hoped. Because surprise! Divine Luck has it's own set of rules despite being able to break reality as long as the chances aren't zero. Basically, Divine Luck can make you better at anything, get you anything, without having to go through the process of improving or skipping the steps that are needed to get the result, simply jumping to the result itself. However, out of everything it can change, from skills to getting someone shelter to just winning any kind of luck-based event, it cannot change a person's heart. And Kanade, despite having the skills that are "supposed" to bring her closer to her sister, only makes Hibiki even more jealous and she continues to bully her, going as far as to push her workload onto her now that she's so "good" at everything and proclaiming that she's just as good, if not better. Her blessing got her what she wanted but not what she needed in her case, unlike with the rest of Void, and she ends up paralleling Mikado as despite being blessed with Divine Luck, it did not make them better or improve their situation due to their own choices/how they used their blessing (Mikado because he constantly pursued Utsuro to the point committing crime after crime, Kanade because instead of standing up for herself and establishing her boundaries, she continued to support her sister no matter what, something that only ends up building the resentment in her heart). That's not to say that Hibiki isn't instigating most of the abuse, she is. But Kanade isn't making things better as she uses her skills to make herself seem like the better option in comparison to the people Hibiki wants to hang out with and get to know, even going as far as to scare them away to isolate Hibiki so she doesn't even have any options to choose from."

"And then, Chapter 3 rolls around and Hibiki starts to change, trying to be supportive of the group and take charge to help everyone get through the killing game. It…surprises Kanade, but she watches her sister change and grow, becoming more confident, cheerful, kinder…

…And she realizes that she hates it.

She hates the thought of her sister changing. She hates the thought of her being kinder after everything she's done to her. She hates the thought of Hibiki growing closer to these people, becoming attached and happy without her, Kanade, her own sister.

She hates the thought of being left alone again. She hates the thought that Hibiki is going to leave her again.

She hates it, she hates it, she hates it.

She hates her.

But she loves her.

She wants her to be with her, forever.

So why won't she ever look her way?

Why, why, why?

Kanade is spiraling in her head, trying to keep up her shy, sweet side up but gritting her teeth the whole time as she watches. Even when Hibiki is being kinder to her, still making her usual jokes about her but is actually trying to prop her sister up a bit more, it's only because Sora and Setsuka had suggested her to be kinder, not because she wants to. At least, that's what Kanade thinks. She doesn't want to believe her sister is changing for the better, that she's able to change at all, that she's going to leave her behind for other people again.

And when Setsuka tries to reach out to her on the third day…Kanade finally snaps.

She tears into Setsuka, accusing her of stealing her sister away from her, for giving her ideas to be better when she can't, she should never be better than she already is because if she is, she'll just abandon her and leave her all alone. Her stupid, cowardly sister can't ever hope to be on her own, she always has to rely on her, HER, not anyone else…and definitely not SETSUKA!

And before Kanade knew it, she lunges at Setsuka.

The scuffle was short…but the result was predictable."

"To elaborate a little bit more on Setsuka, she's was still pretty distant from the group as she was focused on doing what she needs for Nikei and stuff. But after Hibiki starts to break down a little and reaches out to Setsuka for help, she commits herself to stabilizing the group once more, supporting Hibiki and telling her and everyone else that she has something to tell them. But Kanade, watching this entire scene, only starts to become even more on edge as Hibiki, once again, reaches out to someone else instead of her. Despite trying to "change," Hibiki had so easily broken down once more, crying and begging for help, relying on another person for support and to "fix" everything for her. And that convinces Kanade that Hibiki can't change, she won't EVER change, and she bitterly goes to bed. But Setsuka notices Kanade's displeasure and, not knowing why she's unhappy, decides to take matters into her own hands and have a one-on-one talk with her to see if she [can] help. Unfortunately, this decision backfires on her hard, resulting in her own death.

Now, unlike in canon, Kanade panics as this was the first time she's EVER committed a murder before. Sure, she's harassed, blackmailed, and even threatened people that tried to get close to Hibiki before with violence, people that would only take her away from her. But she didn't…she never…she didn't mean to do this! But, no, Setsuka…No, no. Why should she regret this? Why should she apologize?

Setsuka was getting in the way. Setsuka was going steal her sister away.

And Hibki was still the same as she ever was. Not being "better," not ever "changing." She was still Hibiki, the bully, the sister, the bratty, snappy, fussy older sister that demands respect despite her cowardly, weak self. A sister that Kanade deeply loves…and hates."

"But she won't let her die her. She'll escape with her, a certain "ritual" should allow her to escape with her as it's an option for the blackened on the third island according to Monocrow. If she goes through with that, she can escape with her sister…and make sure she'll never change again.

But if she loses…then she'll die. She'll die…

…and she'll take Hibiki with her. For she doesn't deserve to live without her.

Kanade goes through with the ritual as fast as she could, relying on her skills (and thus her luck) to succeed in framing Hibiki and nearly gets away with it.

But, unbeknownst to her due to her current memories, Kanade's luck has been dwindling and since her situation wasn't as dire as Void's, hers has been fading away far faster than them. And ends up making a few mistakes that seem innocent enough until it all starts to pile up, with one last conclusive evidence fucking her over and revealing her to be the true culprit.

Kanade is seething when she's caught, her ego bruised and lamenting how the hell she lost, with Syobai dryly stating that her luck has run out. Kanade laughs, saying that can't be true. She's always been lucky! She's always been able to get things her way, even when she has no friends outside of Hibiki. This tips both Mikado and Nikei off that, hey, wait a minute, is she…? Of course, neither of them speak up on it due to keeping their own plans close to their chest. Everyone asks her why, why did she do it, with Hibiki grabbing her sister, begging her why she would do something like this, why would Kanade frame her of her best friend's death? A death that she caused?

And Kanade, after years of bottling up her own resentment…finally blows up at Hibiki."

"She tells her off for her bullying, of her neglecting to pay attention or spend any time with her unless she wanted something from her, and pushing all the things she doesn't want to do onto her. She proclaims that she had ALWAYS hated everything she's done to Kanade, wishing she could've done anything else, wishing that, for once in their goddamn lives, that they did something she wanted to do, not because Hibiki had chosen it. All Kanade had ever wanted was her love and affection, but she never appreciated her or all the things she's done for her. [She even went] as far to change herself to try and appeal to her sister and her wants and needs. And yet…despite everything, she still loves her. She loves the times when they would dress up together. She loves the times when they would perform together. She loves it when Hibiki actually cares for her. She loves her, because she's her sister…

And because Setsuka was getting in the way of that, she had to get rid of her. Just like everyone else…!

Everyone freezes when Kanade admits that out loud. She pauses when she realized what she said, but instead of apologizing [or even denying it], she doubles down. She admits that she drove away their childhood friend, she admits to spreading false rumors about their teacher and getting him fired, she admits to falsifying a hurtful rejection to a guy Hibiki was getting close to and pretended to be her so that she can ruin their chances of getting together when he finally confessed, she harrassed, blackmailed, threatened people that got close…and Setsuka was just another person on a long list of those that got in the way. She just…didn't mean to kill her. It just…happened. But Kanade…doesn't care about that. She doesn't care about anything anymore. It's apparent that her luck ran out…and now she's going to die.

But she's not dying alone. She refuses to die alone.

[After all, they're] sisters, right…? It's only right that they stay together till the bitter end, right?"

"Hibiki tries to back away, but Kanade grabs her just as Monocrow drags her into her execution, bringing her with them."

"The execution goes almost exactly the same but Kanade is doing her damndest to make sure Hibiki dies with her, with Hibiki trying to escape. And it seems like it was going to happen…until Hibiki beats the hell out of her with a microphone, crying and wailing for all the people Kanade had hurt in her name, demanding why, why, why. Kanade can only answer this:

"It was ALL for you. You and you alone."'

"Hibiki drops the microphone, backing away from the sister that was so possessive of her, in her hatred and love.

And then she runs away, leaving Kanade all alone.

Monocrow doesn't stop her, for this execution was only made for Kanade…and seeing her despair as she finally loses the one thing she had tried so hard to grasp onto slip away from her was enough for him to pull the lever, the platform underneath Kanade falling and killing her.

By the time Hibiki has made it back to the trial grounds, her gait is slow and unsteady, hugging herself as she stares down at her feet, processing what had just happened. What her sister had done. What she had done to everyone she knew. What she had done to Setsuka and Hibiki herself.

Why she had done it.

She had done it for her.

She had done it to keep Hibiki to herself.

She had done it because she both loved and hated Hibiki.

And the people that had been hurt because of Kanade…was because of her. Because of Hibiki. Because of all her bullying and her selfish wants, and because she didn't treat her like she should've treated her as a sister…! Because she's a horrible, awful person that hurt her own family until it was too late, her best friend dead, her sister, dead! All because of her…!!

Hibiki falls to her knees, going into dissociation as everything that she ever thought she knew and was normal shattered like glass."

"Hibiki, for the rest of the killing game, blames herself for what Kanade has done, but with Sora and co.'s help, she's able to rationalize that yes, what she did to Kanade was horrible and none of this may have happened if Hibiki had just bonded with her sister instead of bullying her…but Kanade had also made her own decisions, alienating Hibiki's friends and support from her to try and isolate her so she can try and force her to rely on her and her alone. Hibiki had done a lot of wrong that she probably can't ever make up now that Kanade is dead, but that doesn't excuse the awful actions Kanade has done either as many people were hurt from her own actions, one even losing his job and others probably traumatized from what she did to them. They were both toxic to each other and so long as neither of them were changing, that cycle was only going to continue until something broke between them…and this just so happened to be it. It's just horrible that it also ended in Setsuka's death alongside Kanade's, who was just as much a victim as she was a perpetrator."

"As for the reveal in Chapter 6, I was thinking of two options for Hibiki and Kanade's relationship:

The two of them, despite years [of] staying together as sisters and as a part of Melody Rhythm, only ended up falling apart as their toxicity turned their head as one of Kanade's past victims, their childhood friend, decides to finally come out and reveal everything Kanade has done to her and other people, even providing evidence of what she did. And the moment Hibiki found out about it, a public argument breaks out between them and Kanade finally spills out everything about her feelings on Hibiki, which only hurts both of them as Kanade had tried so hard to isolate Hibiki from other people while Hibiki had only hurt and bully her sister out of jealousy for years. But this? This was enough for Hibiki to stand up and go, "We're done here." And she leaves, cutting ties with Kanade for the shit she's done to others but also left reeling at the revelation of what her bullying and abuse had done to her sister. Was this…her fault? She wasn't sure. But she knew [she] had to make things right somehow, even if it's only for herself, reflecting on her behavior and reaching out to those that were hurt by Kanade, apologizing for everything that had happened even though it wasn't her fault that she chose to do the things she did and tried to make it up to them…if they want her, at least. [Meanwhile,] Kanade is PISSED that her sister left her, who went as far as to block her from her phone and even ending their contract as Melody Rhythm as she's left to deal with the fallout of the media bashing her for what she's done…but as time went on, Kanade is able to pick up the pieces and strikes out on her own, telling herself that she doesn't need Hibiki or the people that criticizes her for what she's done. She can do this by herself! She never openly apologizes, but she never says outright that she's happy with how things had turned out either, despite getting her career back on track…eventually."

"And then the Tragedy happens, they lose their parents, and one of two things happen.

Either 1.) the Tragedy brings them back together, with them starting off very reluctantly working together to do charities to help those in need, only to slowly and carefully rebuild their relationship while trying very hard not to fall back into bad habits as Hibiki admits that yeah, she's done a lot of horrible things to Kanade and she IS sorry for that…but she won't let Kanade hurt anyone anymore. She's trying very hard to be patient with her sister, as they know the Tragedy is a horrible thing to go through, they even lost their parents from it…but if they want to make things work, then something has to change between them, even if Hibiki is the only one taking the initiative FOR the change. Kanade is very reluctant to admit that she was EVER in the wrong for what she did…but as they continue work and bicker over the concerts they put together, their different ideas colliding but somehow coming together with the help of their coordinator, they start to…actually bond again. They start to talk things out, Hibiki is actually trying to show interest in her hobbies and the things she likes, and while she can never bring herself to like the same things she does, she's trying to be respectful and give her the time of day this time. She's trying to make things right for her, so long as Kanade never does the things she did again. And while Kanade doesn't like the same things Hibiki does, it's still a bond Hibiki is trying to nurture…and it makes Kanade question if what she did was ever necessary, that if she had just stood her ground, let Hibiki form her own relationships while searching for her own friends that she can rely [on] like the ones she had now…then maybe none of this would have happen. Maybe they could've remain as sisters, forever, if she just accepted their differences and tried to break away and do her own thing, while letting Hibiki grow as a person [as I think if Hibiki was allowed to bond with other people, she would've grew out of her bullying and become a better person, but because she never had the chance or had people that would stand up to her and let her experience the consequences of her own actions, she never grew out of that mindset as she was never put in her place before]…

[And then the killing game happens, reverts them back to their teenage selves, and they start their toxic cycle all over again until one of them literally kills and gets executed for it.]"

"Or 2.), Kanade and Hibiki remain separate, as not even the Tragedy and the death of their own parents can bring them together. Their parents funeral, one they tried to arrange anyways, only escalates into another argument, with Hibiki changing as a person…but Kanade did not. She still feels entitled to be Hibiki's one and only sister, her one and only support, and Hibiki recognizes that, deciding that it was safer that they stay separated as she NEVER wants to risk anyone else she loves coming to harm thanks to Kanade. The two part ways, with the both of them doing their own separate charity events, with Hibiki proclaiming that Kanade Otonokoji is not her sister, [not anymore], while Kanade proclaims that Hibiki Otonokoji will always be her sister, and refuses to acknowledge the fact that she had been disowned and will continue to be disowned for the rest of their lives."

"Either way, Hibiki is depressed to realize that their future together was never forever, and Hibiki had lost her sister…one way or another."

And that's it! That's the concept rewrite, plus the sprite edits since Kanade and Hibiki are no longer together as sisters and as a band outside of the Neo World Program, so their appearances reflect on that as they pursue their own solo careers. They're no longer trying to match each other, and Kanade pursues her own rock and metal music.

Oh, and while I was copying and pasting this, I had an idea that Kanade's relationship with Sora could be interesting as she's the only one that Kanade is actually okay with getting close to Hibiki...because Sora shows interests in both of them in their FTEs. She talks to Hibiki in private about her treatment of Kanade and even asked Kanade herself if she was okay as she genuinely cares about her just as much as she cares about Hibiki. This surprises Kanade as no one has ever bothered to look her way before, they always pay more attention to Hibiki than herself. And Sora makes it clear that she's genuine about this, asking her if there's anything she can do to make things better for Kanade when Hibiki is defensive about her actions. It makes Kanade feel...seen, for once in her life, and she actually likes that. So she allows Sora to get close, so long as she promises to continue being her friend, too. It's why Sora succeeds in befriending both twins while Setsuka ended up getting rejected by Kanade in the worse possible way: Setsuka unintentionally added to Kanade's insecurities by focusing mostly on Hibiki and overlooked Kanade's needs as well. She's not doing this out of ill-will, far from it. It's just that she recognized that Hibiki is a little weaker in her mental strength and her breakdowns were far easier to notice while Kanade was able to keep a cool head most of the time. So Setsuka prioritizes on supporting Hibiki first and foremost, thinking that Kanade can handle herself fine on her own. She's not completely wrong...but she's not right, either. By the time she finally notices that Kanade is hurting and reaches out to support her, it's already too late as she's finally reached her breaking point and snapped, which resulted in her own death. Just a little something to tie this whole thing off.

[lets-steal-an-archive]

By Bernie Sanders | July 13, 2024

I will do all that I can to see that President Biden is re-elected. Why? Despite my disagreements with him on particular issues, he has been the most effective president in the modern history of our country and is the strongest candidate to defeat Donald Trump — a demagogue and pathological liar. It’s time to learn a lesson from the progressive and centrist forces in France who, despite profound political differences, came together this week to soundly defeat right-wing extremism.

I strongly disagree with Mr. Biden on the question of U.S. support for Israel’s horrific war against the Palestinian people. The United States should not provide Benjamin Netanyahu’s right-wing extremist government with another nickel as it continues to create one of the worst humanitarian disasters in modern history.

I strongly disagree with the president’s belief that the Affordable Care Act, as useful as it has been, will ever address America’s health care crisis. Our health care system is broken, dysfunctional and wildly expensive and needs to be replaced with a “Medicare for all” single-payer system. Health care is a human right.

And those are not my only disagreements with Mr. Biden.

But for over two weeks now, the corporate media has obsessively focused on the June presidential debate and the cognitive capabilities of a man who has, perhaps, the most difficult and stressful job in the world. The media has frantically searched for every living human being who no longer supports the president or any neurologist who wants to appear on TV. Unfortunately, too many Democrats have joined that circular firing squad.

Yes. I know: Mr. Biden is old, is prone to gaffes, walks stiffly and had a disastrous debate with Mr. Trump. But this I also know: A presidential election is not an entertainment contest. It does not begin or end with a 90-minute debate.

Enough! Mr. Biden may not be the ideal candidate, but he will be the candidate and should be the candidate. And with an effective campaign taht speaks to the needs of working families, he will not only defeat Mr. Trump but beat him badly. It’s time for Democrats to stop the bickering and nit-picking.

I understand that some Democrats get nervous about having to explain the president’s gaffes and misspeaking names. But unlike the Republicans, they do not have to explain away a candidate who now has 34 felony convictions and faces charges that could lead to dozens of additional convictions, who has been hit with a $5 million judgment after he was found liable in a sexual abuse case, who has been involved in more than 4,000 lawsuits, who has repeatedly gone bankrupt and who has told thousands of documented lies and falsehoods.

Supporters of Mr. Biden can speak proudly about a good and decent Democratic president with a record of real accomplishment. The Biden administration, as a result of the American Rescue Plan, helped rebuild the economy during the pandemic far faster than economists thought possible. At a time when people were terrified about the future, the president and those of us who supported him in Congress put Americans back to work, provided cash benefits to desperate parents and protected small businesses, hospitals, schools and child care centers.

After decades of talk about our crumbling roads, bridges and water systems, we put more money into rebuilding America’s infrastructure than ever before — which is projected to create millions of well-paying jobs. And we did not stop there. We made the largest-ever investment in climate action to save the planet. We canceled student debt for nearly five million financially strapped Americans. We cut prices for insulin and asthma inhalers, capped out-of-pocket costs for prescription drugs and got free vaccines to the American people. We battled to defend women’s rights in the face of moves by Trump-appointed jurists to roll back reproductive freedom and deny women the right to control their own bodies.

So, yes, Mr. Biden has a record to run on. A strong record. But he and his supporters should never suggest that what’s been accomplished is sufficient. To win the election, the president must do more than just defend his excellent record. He needs to propose and fight for a bold agenda that speaks to the needs of the vast majority of our people — the working families of this country, the people who have been left behind for far too long.

At a time when the billionaires have never had it so good and when the United States is experiencing virtually unprecedented income and wealth inequality, over 60 percent of Americans live paycheck to paycheck, real weekly wages for the average worker have not risen in over 50 years, 25 percent of seniors live each year on $15,000 or less, we have a higher rate of childhood poverty than almost any other major country, and housing is becoming more and more unaffordable — among other crises.

This is the wealthiest country in the history of the world. We can do better. We must do better. Joe Biden knows that. Donald Trump does not. Joe Biden wants to tax the rich so that we can fund the needs of working families, the elderly, the children, the sick and the poor. Donald Trump wants to cut taxes for the billionaire class. Joe Biden wants to expand Social Security benefits. Donald Trump and his friends want to weaken Social Security. Joe Biden wants to make it easier for workers to form unions and collectively bargain for better wages and benefits. Donald Trump wants to let multinational corporations get away with exploiting workers and ripping off consumers. Joe Biden respects democracy. Donald Trump attacks it.

This election offers a stark choice on issue after issue. If Mr. Biden and his supporters focus on these issues — and refuse to be divided and distracted — the president will rally working families to his side in the industrial Midwest swing states and elsewhere and win the November election. And let me say this as emphatically as I can: For the sake of our kids and future generations, he must win.

Bernie Sanders is the senior senator from Vermont.

[reasonsforhope]

Article | Paywall-Free

"The Environmental Protection Agency finalized a rule Tuesday [October 8, 2024] requiring water utilities to replace all lead pipes within a decade, a move aimed at eliminating a toxic threat that continues to affect tens of thousands of American children each year.

The move, which also tightens the amount of lead allowed in the nation’s drinking water, comes nearly 40 years after Congress determined that lead pipes posed a serious risk to public health and banned them in new construction.

Research has shown that lead, a toxic contaminant that seeps from pipes into the drinking water supply, can cause irreversible developmental delays, difficulty learning and behavioral problems among children. In adults, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, lead exposure can cause increased blood pressure, heart disease, decreased kidney function and cancer.

But replacing the lead pipes that deliver water to millions of U.S. homes will cost tens of billions of dollars, and the push to eradicate them only gathered momentum after a water crisis in Flint, Mich., a decade ago exposed the extent to which children remain vulnerable to lead poisoning through tap water...

The groundbreaking regulation, called the Lead and Copper Rule Improvements, will establish a national inventory of lead service lines and require that utilities take more aggressive action to remove lead pipes on homeowners’ private property. It also lowers the level of lead contamination that will trigger government enforcement from 15 parts per billion (ppb) to 10 ppb.

The rule also establishes the first-ever national requirement to test for lead in schools that rely on water from public utilities. It mandates thatwater systems screen all elementary and child-care facilities, where those who are the most vulnerable to lead’s effects — young children — are enrolled, and that they offer testing to middle and high schools.

The White House estimates that more than 9 million homes across the country are still supplied by lead pipelines, which are the leading source of lead contamination through drinking water. The EPA has projected that replacing all of them could cost at least $45 billion.

Lead pipes were initially installed in cities decades ago because they were cheaper and more malleable, but the heavy metal can wear down and corrode over time. President Joe Biden has made replacing them one of his top environmental priorities, securing $15 billion to give states over five years through the bipartisan infrastructure law and vowing to rid the country of lead pipes by 2031. The administration has spent $9 billion so far — enough to replace up to 1.7 million lead pipes, the administration said.

On Tuesday, the administration said it was providing an additional $2.6 billion in funding for pipe replacement. Over 367,000 lead pipes have been replaced nationwide since Biden took office, according to White House officials, affecting nearly 1 million people...

Environmental advocates said that former president Donald Trump, who issued much more modest revisions to the lead and copper rule just days before Biden took office, would have a hard time reversing the new standards.

Erik Olson, the senior strategic director for health at the Natural Resources Defense Council, said that the Safe Drinking Water Act has provisions prohibiting weakening the health protections of existing standards...

Olson added that the rule “represents a major victory for public health��� and will protect millions of people “whose health is threatened every time they fill a glass from the kitchen sink contaminated by lead.”

“While the rule is imperfect and we still have more to do, this is by far the biggest step towards eliminating lead in tap water in over three decades,” he said."

-via The Washington Post, October 8, 2024

[saetoru]

AGE IS NOTHING BUT A NUMBER — GETO SUGURU.

kinktober day two — overstimulation ; find masterlist here

synopsis. befriending nanako and mimiko has its perks—like fucking their father, for example. suguru might have aged over the years, but that doesn't mean he's lost his touch. don't believe him? that's okay—he can always just show you instead

length. 5.3k words (bro this fic was agonizing)

contents. minors do not interact, fem! reader, dilf! suguru, college au (reader is a student), age gaps (20+ difference), jealous suguru, teasing, cunnilingus, fingering, edging, nipple play, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie, pet names (baby, sweetheart, princess, angel)

notes. this took me so long bc i hate it so im posting it and running away to play genshin to slave away for primos

most people can tell their best friends everything. not you, though—you have a secret. a dirty, shameful, horrible little secret, in fact.

no one knows that every chance you get, every small little moment you can possibly squeeze in, you fuck your two best friends’ father—and it’s going to stay that way, unknown and forever hidden. suguru is young as far as parents go, just barely in his twenties when he’s found himself a single father of two, but that doesn’t mean he’s not too old for you. and it especially doesn’t mean that it’s not inappropriate to fuck the man that raised your two closest friends.

you meet nanako and mimiko during your freshman year of college—the rest is history. the first time you spend the night at their place, suguru (he insists you call him that on your first meeting) is overjoyed that his girls have someone as lovely as you.

who wouldn’t be? you’re smart, well-mannered, respectable, and incredibly studious. what a perfect role model for his girls—after all, every father’s worst nightmare is his sweet, precious daughters venturing off to the real world. men are dogs—suguru should know. they’re sleazy and prey on young women who are naive and unsuspecting, taking advantage of their hopefulness before completely destroying their innocence. suguru can’t bear the idea of his perfect little girls becoming victims of such sinister behavior—but that’s all quelled when he meets you.

but he never thought, not even for one second, that he’d become one of those men.

those older men who fuck girls half their age—the girls that are barely in their twenties and still don’t even really understand how taxes work. the girls that have just started to learn how to hold their alcohol and can only recently buy it legally. the girls who don’t realize how complicated adulthood can be, just barely spreading their wings and learning what it’s like to be free.

suguru has always found those men deplorable. they’re the awful, disgusting, untamed vermin of society—women must be protected from them at all costs.

but now? well….now he’s one of them—and he finds, even as disgusted with himself as he is from time to time, he has little regrets.

not when you’re sprawled under him, hands tracing over his bare chest, feeling the soft skin under your palms in wonder. suguru, though he’s not let himself go by any means, is past his prime—he still frequents the gym, and he has more time to go now that the girls are gone most of the day, but he’s not immune to the effects of aging.

his hair has more than a few strands of white sprinkled in now; nanako makes sure to remind him not to pull them out unless he wants more. he’s still managed to keep the abs he was once so proud of in his youth, but they’re still not as hard—layered over a slight belly that he can’t seem to get rid of no matter what he tries. his skin is a bit looser, and his eyes have slight wrinkles in the corners of them, but despite it all, suguru still looks as handsome as ever.

he’s aged well, still looks remarkably young for men his age, and still looks like that dashing young man he once was who stole hearts. in fact, he still hears about his looks, especially from nanako and mimiko’s friends—he’s always chuckled to himself and shook his head in amusement.

that’s your dad? god, he’s so hot.

what? he’s single? oh my gosh, do you need a mom?

i can’t believe he’s never been married—women in his generation don’t deserve him. i’ll take him off their hands.

wait, do you have pictures of him when he was younger?

oh my god, he’s so fine. are you sure he’s in his forties?

nanako and mimiko, bless their hearts, have always crinkled their noses at the…less than proper comments they’ve had to witness about their father. in fact, they’ve watched teachers practically throw themselves onto suguru at parent-teacher conferences. it’s bothersome—a little disturbing to hear their friends talk about all the things they’d let their dad, of all people, do to them.

but you? you don’t make unhinged comments. they appreciate that.

but if only they knew…

if only they knew that sometimes, like right now, when you’re spending the night, you don’t actually sleep—instead, you sneak off to their father’s room, lay on his mattress under his body, and feel his touch. you can feel him, hard and throbbing in his sweats as his clothed cock presses against your thigh—but he takes his time with you, and doesn’t do anything about the clear arousal pooling between your legs just yet. 

instead, he focuses on remembering your body—it’s been a while, after all. he hasn’t felt your hips, hasn’t tasted your skin, hasn’t heard your voice. 

“missed you,” suguru breathes, hovering over you as you hum, nipping at your skin as his nose brushes along your neck. your hand is playing with his hair, twisting long, black and white strands along your fingers. “haven’t seen you in a bit, angel.”

“i’ve had midterms,” you murmur.

suguru knows—nanako and mimiko have been studying for them themselves. he’s more than a little disappointed that you haven’t come over to study with them yet. but then, just the other night, mimiko mentions you’ve been spending your time with a boy at the library, sharing a table as you lean over his shoulder to look at his laptop. nanako giggles that you might have finally gotten yourself a boyfriend. mimiko hums and nods as she murmurs it’s about time.

suguru swallows down every bite of dinner with an aftertaste of bile that night.

a boy—a boy? you’ve been skipping coming over to study with the girls (and, by default, seeing him) just to study with some boy? what’s got your attention on the guy so badly? why would you break the routine you’ve had for the last few semesters for someone you just recently met? have you finally started to realize that this is a mistake? is suguru a mistake?

he thinks maybe not, now that you’re back in his bed—but he still has too many unanswered questions. 

“so i’ve heard,” he says lowly, “i’ve also heard there’s a certain boy on your radar.” he smiles bitterly, pulling away from your neck to stare at you with those dark, sharp eyes of his. “a much younger, and fitting match for you, i suppose.”

you roll your eyes, snorting.

“is that what nanako and mimiko have told you? honestly, those two,” you huff fondly, “i told them already. he’s just my partner for a presentation. we’re practicing.”

“oh?” suguru raises a brow—and then he shivers lightly when you lean up and kiss his jaw, eyes fluttering shut at your touch.

“yes,” you giggle, “no need to be jealous of someone half your age, you know.”

“that’s exactly why i’m jealous,” he breathes, leaning in to kiss you softly.

your lips taste like honey—probably sweeter, in fact. they drip with that decadent, saccharine taste of youth. he feels twenty again every time he kisses you, feels not a day older than his glory days.

“oh, you poor thing,” you grin, cupping his face as you scatter kisses along his cheeks and nose, thumb tracing the skin. fuck, is this what it feels like to be in love? it makes him feel so young, so free, and hopeful for the future. when was the last time he felt this way? “have you been losing sleep over my nonexistent college boyfriend?”

“well, kids your age fool around quite a bit,” he says in that father tone that he uses on nanako and mimiko, “what was i supposed to think?”

you’ve heard that tone so many times before; the one where he talks like he knows better, like he’s wiser, like he’s aware of something you’re not. 

girls, make sure you share your location with me—i need to find you in case anything happens. it’s for your own safety, end of discussion.

make sure you watch over your drinks, okay? men these days take every chance they get to spike them when you’re not looking. mimiko, i was your age once, too. i’ve seen this happen plenty.

don’t walk alone in the streets at night. call me. i’ll pick you up—no, nanako, it’s not lame. the streets are dangerous at night. there are creeps, you know.

don’t get into any boy’s cars, girls. you never know what’ll happen; one mistake is all it takes to ruin your life—hey, don’t roll your eyes at me. one day, you’ll understand i’m right.

“i’m not a kid,” you pout, and then, smugly this time, you wiggle your brows. “did’ya lose sleep over my imaginary boyfriend? you need plenty of sleep at your age, y’know.”

“no, you’re not a kid,” suguru agrees, “you’re a brat.” and then he’s back to pressing those hot, open-mouthed, hungry kisses along your jaw, humming in delight when you angle your head to give him better access. 

sometimes, it’s fun to get under suguru’s skin—it’s fun to break that carefully built, mature patience of his, pulling a twitch of his eye and a furrow of his brow from him. so, you grin widely as you murmur, “who knows? maybe he’d fuck better—more stamina, y’know?”

it’s supposed to just tease him, to make him glare at you unimpressed so you can giggle and kiss between his brows—but suguru stills at that, painfully stiff for a moment before he bites at your skin. hard. 

“oh yeah?” he hisses, his voice low and dangerous as he pulls away to glare down at you, “you think so? what, you think an old man like me can’t fuck you long enough?”

you don’t get a chance to reply—not before he pulls your pants down your waist to reveal your soaked panties, pulling a hum from him as he grins at the damp patch of fabric. his fingers circle over your clit for a moment, right over the cloth, making your breath hitch as you buck into his touch. 

“suguru—”

“look at that,” he chuckles, “wearing my favorite one, huh? can’t fuck you that bad if you try your best to impress me. isn’t that what you wanted? is that what you were thinking when you put these on before coming over? how precious,” he murmurs—he speaks so condescending, so knowingly, as if he’s read your mind just by looking at the red lace covering your dripping cunt. you cover your face in humiliation, but he grabs your wrists and pins them over your head, clicking his teeth in disapproval. 

part of you knows you should quit while you can—the other part? well…it wants to test the limits a bit longer. suguru has never been so easy to rile up, you want to indulge in it for just a bit longer if you can help it. 

“well,” you huff, “what’re you waiting for, then? don’t tell me the age has slowed you down—”

“you really don’t know when to quit, do you?” he says in a low snarl, “fine, you want me to hurry up? you got it, princess.”

it all happens before you can even register—one moment, you’re grinning at him with mischief in your eyes; the next second, he has you in nothing but your bra, bare in his bed as he pulls your legs apart and leans close to your pussy.

“you know the thing about guys your age,” he hums, toying with your clit lazily as you gasp with a twitch, “is that they really don’t know how to take care of anyone but themselves. guess they just don’t have enough experience to really figure it out.”

his lips latch onto your clit, sucking before he rolls his tongue over the sensitive bud as his fingers sink into your core, pushing past your folds and stretching you open. it’s slow—deliberately so, in fact. it makes your head spin, and your fingers curl into the bed sheets as you pant. 

“suguru, m-more—”

“don’t worry,” he coos, pulling away from you to grin up at your glossy eyes, “you’ll get plenty, baby. we’ll see if you’ve got the stamina. y’know, since you’re so young.”

his lips are back to wrap around your clit, fingers sinking and curling exactly where you’re most sensitive—suguru finds your sweet spots instantly the first time he has you sprawled under him. didn’t even take a moment of trial, just knew where to touch and kiss to have you unravel in his hold. that much still hasn’t changed—his fingertips press against the sensitive spot in the back of your walls, pulling pretty little whines from you as his tongue flicks over your clit. 

it’s always been a blessing that nanako and mimiko’s room is across the house—had they been closer, they might hear the mewl you let out as his fingers bully into you faster, unforgiving as they brush against your walls and build the ache up between your legs until it’s about to burst. 

“s-suguru, ‘m close, so, so close—”

“already?” he gasps, chuckling as he presses a kiss to your clit with a sly grin, “thought you had more in you than that, baby. so youthful—figured you’d last a bit longer.”

he’s mean about it—rubs it in your face some more that you’re so close so fast before he pulls his fingers away and doesn’t even give you the satisfaction of falling apart on his digits. it makes you sob, hips bucking up to chase the friction of his fingers, but he’s already gone, leaving your walls empty and fluttering around nothing.

“no,” your voice breaks, “n-no, so close, please. i want—”

“that’s what he would’ve done,” suguru hums, “pulled out before you even finished. that’s what guys your age always do—they don’t know how to make girls finish. you ever had that problem with me?”

“no,” you say quickly, shaking your head. you’re a pretty little thing, he thinks—pouty, wobbly lips and those glossy eyes as you sniffle. “no, you always make me cum—please, i wanna cum, sugu.”

“yeah?” he pouts with faux sympathy, “didn’t feel good, huh? feels better when i take care of you, doesn’t it?”

“uh huh,” you nod—you’re still panting through the aftershocks of having your orgasm ripped from you, chest rising and falling harsh enough that it fills him with pride he can pull such drastic reactions from you. no one knows your body like suguru—he’s too good at giving it what it wants for anyone else to compare. 

“think that boy—” he spits the last word like it’s poison on his tongue, “—can take care of you?”

“no,” you whimper, “no, he can’t. not like you, never like you.”

“that’s a good girl,” he nods approvingly, rubbing his slick-coated finger over your clit, toying with it teasingly as you writhe, whining for more. “you know something else about men your age? they don’t care to please a woman—don’t bother to appreciate them enough to make them feel good. you think that boy would be here—” he pauses to motion between your legs, where he’s currently situated, “—willingly? taste you willingly? let you cum on his tongue willingly?”

“i-i don’t…i never asked someone to—”

“did you ever ask me?” he interrupts, raising a brow at you, “you ever have to ask me? i just do it. wanna know why? because i know what i’m doing—know how to treat you right, how to give you what you need. isn’t that right?” 

“yes, yes—you always give me what i want—”

“what you need,” he corrects, “and you know what i think you need right now? this.”

his tongue licks a stripe along your entrances before you can say anything else, pulling a gasp out of you as your hands find his hair and tug—suguru groans at that, feels his pants get impossibly tighter as the aching erection he sports throbs between his legs at the way you pull at the strands so desperately, so needy. for him. only ever him. 

his tongue fucks into you, messy with the way he devours you, the slick arousal pooling from your cunt coating his lips, his cheeks, his chin. you moan—and really, it’s almost a squeal—when his fingers are sinking back into you, tongue flicking away at your clit mercilessly as he thrusts his digits in and out of your pussy. you’re close, painfully so, the pressure steadily building and building until you just can’t hold it back anymore. 

“sugu—’m c-cumming. god ‘s so good—feels good,” you babble, thighs closing around his head as his fingers curl into your sweet spot over and over again, not stopping for even a second as he helps you ride out your high. your walls spasm around his fingers, tight as they flutter around him and make him groan at the thought of being inside you. 

he watches, hungry and in awe, as your back arches off the mattress and your mouth parts, broken little wails of his name rolling off your tongue in a sweet melody. 

“i bet he’s never seen someone look like this,” suguru murmurs, watching the way the ecstasy takes over your features as your face falls slack from pleasure, “so pretty when falling apart. bet he’d never even get close to making you look so fucked from just his tongue.”

your orgasm ripples through you—it’s not new, the way he makes you feel so good, but it’s definitely nothing to get used to either. your body slumps back onto the mattress as you finish, panting harshly while he climbs up to hover over you once again. 

“that felt good?” he asks, nosing at your cheek as you nod breathlessly.

“yeah,” you breathe, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“hope you’re not tired out just yet,” he says smugly, eyeing the way sweat clings to your forehead and huffs of air exhale from your lungs with each labored breath, “because we’re nowhere near done, baby. not even close.”

just like that, your bra is unclasped and pulled off, freeing your tits for his mouth to latch onto a nipple, sucking and lightly grazing his teeth along the bud while his fingers tease at the other, pinching and rubbing over it with his thumb. you whine, eyes squeezing shut as your hand cups the back of his head and keeps him in place. 

“bet i could make you cum just from this,” he says with a laugh, “i don’t even need to fuck you.”

“please,” you dig your nails into his shoulder, moaning as he switches to wrap his lips around the other nipple, “please, sugu—n-need more.”

“be more specific,” he says lowly, looking up at you in amusement, “gonna need more than that, princess. you gotta help me out here—i’m afraid i don’t know what i’m doing.”

suguru is doing everything he can to drag this out—if you’d known one small comment would have him riled up like this…well, truthfully, you can’t say you wouldn’t have made it anyway. it’s exciting in its own right when he’s so determined to show you why you need him, why no one else but him is meant to see you like this, make you fall apart like this, have you sprawled under them like this. 

no one can know about you and suguru—not nanako and mimiko, not your other friends, not your family. you know what they’d say, how they’d feel. 

disgust—shame, even. he’s far too old for you, you know they’d say; he’s a red flag for getting with someone so young. no one can know that you come here, dead in the middle of the night when your friends are asleep, and fuck their father. not only that—lay with their father, talk about your hopes and dreams for the future with their father, giggle as you gossip with their father, fall in love with their father. 

something tells you the feeling is not unreciprocated—that suguru feels the same, that he loves holding you in his arms just as much as you love laying in them. maybe it wasn’t a joke, what you’d said. not to him, at least—maybe deep down, it stung; maybe he had something to prove. that boy might be closer to you in age, but he’ll never, ever treat you the way suguru does—no one will, for that matter. perhaps he has to show it so you really know. 

so you look him in the eye, pull him closer until his forehead is pressed against yours and you can press a delicate kiss to his lips before you murmur against them, “fuck me, suguru. please—need you.”

he groans at that, closes his eyes before his hips move to press the thick tip of his cock against your folds, dragging it along your entrance as he coats his head with your slick. it’s flushed a deep pink—it’s been neglected for so long that he shudders at the way it aches, at the way even the slightest friction along the sensitive tip pulls a soft gasp from him. 

for a moment, he wonders if he really will last long enough to fuck you properly—he might not, with the way your walls always squeeze around him, always have him ready to fuck his load into you just as soon as he’s inside you. the thought alone almost makes his cock twitch—but suguru is a man of patience, so he slowly pushes into you, inch by inch, looking down and watching as his girth disappears inside you. 

“look at that,” he coos, grinning wide as he looks back up at you, “took me so easily. ‘s cause when you do it right, it doesn’t take much, does it?”

“f-fuck—” your head presses back against the pillow, mouth hung open as you breathe heavily, trying to squirm and get even the slightest bit of friction from him as he stays painfully still. “move, suguru—please, c-can’t wait anymore. jus’ wanna feel you.”

“i know,” he chuckles, “patience is a virtue, sweetheart.”

despite it all, suguru is not feeling very patient anymore—it’s been long enough. his hips roll slowly at first, a shallow thrust of his hips that makes you both moan lowly before he all but pulls out and slams back in, hard. you can feel the burning stretch of his girth practically splitting you open, every thick vein dragging along your cunt and every brush of his tip against the back of your walls. it’s loud—the sound of skin slapping against skin, the sound of his deep groans and your breathless whines, the sound of the headboard hitting the wall as he fucks you into his mattress. 

“god—fuck, suguru—th-there,” you mewl as he slams into you right where you need him. 

you’ve lost count of how many times suguru has fucked you like you’re his. in his bed at night, in his shower in the mornings, on the couch when you drop by when the girls aren’t home, in his car that one time he drove you home when it rained, in your apartment that one time he dropped off your laptop because you forgot it. there’s one common denominator—the way he makes you feel, not just from the way his cock ruts into you, but from the way his fingers tangle with yours, from the way his mouth finds your jaw to kiss, from the way his forehead presses into your shoulder with warmth. 

it’s exciting, maybe. at first, it’s scandalous and a little thrilling in its own right. by now, it’s something much more than that—you don’t think anyone could make you feel the way he does, fuck you like he does, even if they tried. even if they knew where to touch and where to kiss. even if they knew what you liked and what you didn’t. 

they couldn’t be suguru—would never be suguru. 

“there, huh?” he pants, moaning softly as he feels your walls flutter around him tightly, “i know. i know how to fuck this pussy—my pussy. you think some boy you hardly know would know? think he’d care to learn? think he’d even try?”

“no,” you gasp, shaking your head as your hips buck up to meet his sharp thrusts, “no. no one would make me feel this good. make me feel so good, sugu.”

“ngh—sh-shit,” he hisses at your words, cock almost swelling harder at the way you praise him, at the way your words are almost slurred with no real thought behind him. it’s a little pride-inducing, the way you’re still able to sing his praises without having to really think about it first. he can hear it, the way you’re lost in the drag of his cock, drunk in the haze of pleasure, unfocused on everything else besides the way he bullies his thick girth into your abused cunt.

it’s a mess, it’s filthy the way there’s a mix of pre cum and your slick at the base of his cock, along your inner thighs, coating your skin as the squelching sound of him nudging past your folds fills the room.

it’s good, the way he makes you feel—he can hear it in your voice as you wail his name.

“s-suguru—oh.”

“what, you gettin’ all fucked out on me? ‘m not even close yet, princess,” he hums, leaning down to kiss your neck as he sucks softly into your sweet spot. you throw your head back, rasping out a cry of his name again as his balls slap against your ass with a harsh roll of his hips. 

and then his hand makes its way between your bodies, thumb attaching itself to your clit before rubbing punishing circles into the bundle of nerves—you sob at that, back arching up as your chest presses against his, nipples hard as they brush along his skin.

“s-sugu—close, ‘m gonna cum a-again—so close,” you pant brokenly, every sentence cut off with a sharp gasp as he thrusts into you. 

you’re close—you can’t fight back the way the coil in your belly snaps as he teases your clit. it’s still sensitive from the last orgasm, every nerve still burning up from before as he gives you more, gives you too much, almost. you cum harder this time—your second high creeping up on you when you least expect it. 

it makes your eyes roll back, makes your thighs quiver, and tears stream down your cheeks as you chant his name over and over. suguru, ‘s so good. suguru, ‘m cumming. suguru, ‘s all for you.

every sentence makes his cock drill into you faster, sloppier in rhythm, maybe, but faster. needier. bordering on desperate. 

“f-fuck, baby,” he grunts, “squeezin’ me so tight—such a tight fuckin’ cunt. you think just anyone deserves this? think you can just walk around and let anyone fuck this? ‘s bullshit—ngh.”

you don’t answer—can’t answer, in fact. it’s all teary eyes and soft sniffles as you mewl with every thrust, voice breaking between every pretty little sound you make. he’s still fucking into you, still dragging his cock against those sensitive walls, still bumping against your clit with his navel, still nudging against your sweet spot with his thick, swollen tip. it’s almost too much—it is too much, making you writhe under his body as you try to form the words. 

“‘s t-too much, sugu—c-can’t anymore,” you try, “can’t.”

“what?” he gasps, furrowing his brows in mock confusion, “you’re tappin’ out on me already? but ‘m not even done yet, sweetheart. haven’t even finished yet—don’t tell me you’re already spent. how will you keep up with your little boyfriend’s stamina if you can’t even take an old man like me?”

“c-can’t take anyone but you,” you sob, “jus’ you—only you. promise.”

“yeah? you swear?”

“uh huh. jus’ you, sugu—don’ want anyone else. won’t fuck me the same.”

“atta girl,” he coos, chuckling as he leans down to kiss your jaw, trailing soft pecks until he meets your lips, “that’s what i thought. make sure you don’t forget, okay?”

“fuck, suguru—’m…g-gonna…”

“gonna what? cum? you’re cumming again?” you nod at that—he grins wide, pride settling into the crinkles of his eyes before his thumb rubs harsh circles into your swollen clit once more. he looks pretty like that—hair framing his face, the mix of black and white strands sticking to the damp skin of his forehead. his skin is flushed, abs flexing as he pants over you. sometimes you feel guilty that half of why you come over to visit nanako and mimiko is to fuck suguru—the guilt is quickly extinguished when you see him like this, bottom lip caught between his teeth as his arms barely hold him over you, eyes shut tight as he groans. 

“i-i’m—fuck, fuck, fuck,” you can’t form sentences anymore as you cum—again. not that you really could before that, but now all you can offer is croaked half-syllables and shaky sobs. your walls squeeze around him, tight as they hug around his throbbing cock. 

it takes one, two, three more sloppy rolls of his hips before he lets out at a low, “baby, fuck—’m gonna fill you up. want that? want me to cum in you? make you mine? always been mine, haven’t you?”

“yes, yes—yours, sugu. yours, yours, yours,” you babble, words slurred between breathy moans and broken sobs. “wanna be yours.”

you can feel him—feel the way his cock twitches in you, the way he grinds into you to ride out his high, the way sticky, hot ropes of cum fill your walls, the way he fucks his load deeper into you with every sloppy thrust of his hips. his arms quiver as he holds himself over you—just barely, though. you can hear the way his voice cracks as he gasps your name over and over, as he mutters lowly about how you’re his, how you’ll always only be his. 

“mine,” he grits, “you’re fuckin’ mine—see how you’re suckin’ me in? see how i fit in this pussy like it was made for me? ‘s cause you’re mine.”

his body slumps onto yours as he finishes, head pressed into the crook of your neck as he kisses the skin while you both catch your breaths. you whimper, still sensitive, as he pulls out of you, a soft chuckle falling past his lips as he pulls his head up to look at you and press a kiss to your cheek. 

“so,” he starts, eyes laced with amusement as he takes in the fucked out look on your face, the tears still drying your cheeks, the swollen flush of your bottom lip, “still think you need someone with more stamina? someone who’ll fuck you better—”

“god,” you groan, slapping his shoulder, “will you drop it already? you got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

“no,” he murmurs, pecking your lips, “still wanna hear it some more.”

“your ego needs a reality check,” you huff as you brush a strand of hair from his forehead, “think i’ve fed it plenty all night.”

“actually, i think you crushed it,” he pouts theatrically, “talking about some asshole who doesn’t care about you right in front of me. after i take such good care of you, too. the girls already think you should date him,” he adds the last part with a slightly bitter roll of his eyes, pulling a giggle out of you.

“they think i don’t know how to talk to men,” you snort, “imagine they knew i was talking to men old enough to be my father.”

“hey,” he clicks his teeth, falling onto the mattress beside you—he pulls you into his chest, letting your cheek rest on his bare skin. it’s so wrong—lying in bed with the father of your best friends. but somehow, suguru feels like the only thing you’ve ever done right. “age is nothing but a number, sweetheart.”

if i have to see the word cock one more time im going to eradicate all humans that have them

do not comment about a part 2 !!!!!!!!!!

[helaintoloki]

Can I request something with Five Hargreeves where Five and Lilia gets back to their family after the 7 years (nothing romantic happened between them, just purely platonic), and when he sees the reader for the first time after almost loosing so much hope in seeing her again, he just can’t help but latch onto her and never let go, kissing her all over cause he finally gets to see the love of his life again :,D

a/n: ty for sending in this request anon i really enjoyed writing it <3 this is basically the “good ending” of the subway incident

warnings: fluff, mentions of five and lila but in a platonic way not the bad way

His lungs feel like they’re on fire as Five pushes himself to continue his sprint to your apartment. It’s been seven years without you, and after almost losing hope of ever seeing you again, all he wanted now was to have you in his arms as proof that he truly was back in his own timeline.

He never should have listened to Lila when she insisted on traveling the subway system in search of a solution to the Cleanse, but he had been desperate to find a way to keep you and his family safe no matter the cost. He didn’t mind having to eat subway rats and sleep in flimsily sleeping bags on dirty platforms for your sake, but with no end in sight the entire thing began to seem futile. What good was putting himself through torture if he could never go back home to you?

Thus, when he found the journal that detailed the way back home, Five did not hesitate to jump on the next subway car and return back to his own timeline. He didn’t feel sorry for practically shoving Lila out of the way as soon as the doors opened, and he didn’t waste a second waiting for her to follow before he was booking it out of the station and down the streets to your apartment. While it would have been faster to just jump there, he didn’t want to risk accidentally placing himself right back where he started, and he didn’t have the patience to wait for Lila to find a car and drop him off herself. Seeing you could not wait, and so he ran.

Though Five has experienced seven painful years of being stuck with Lila in the subway, only four hours have passed since you last spoke to him on the phone to discuss your evening plans. He was meant to be at your apartment thirty minutes ago so you could enjoy a lovely dinner at a nice restaurant, and yet here you were sitting painfully board at your kitchen island watching the minutes tick by. You knew he wasn’t exactly keen on eating out when he’d rather stay at home and spend quality time with you, but surely he wouldn’t stoop so low as to miss your date entirely.

“Screw this,” you huff in indigence as you snatch your keys from the counter and grab your previously discarded purse from its spot on the couch. “He’ll just have to meet me there.”

After putting on your coat, you fling the door open only to met with the sight of a breathless Five, his fist raised in the air as if he was about to knock before you beat him to it. He looks completely disheveled with his mussed up hair and wrinkled suit, his eyes blown wide as he swallows down a big gulp of air and takes in your features. You look more beautiful than he ever thought possible, and he can’t believe that he’s really here standing in front of you after being trapped in a time travel hellscape for seven years with his idiot brother’s idiot wife.

“Five?” You utter gently, brows furrowed in confusion and concern as you reach out to place a gentle hand upon his cheek. He’s warm to the touch, most likely a side effect from having sprinted for three blocks, but it worries you nonetheless. He nearly melts into your palm as his eyes flutter shut in contentment at the feel of your skin against his own. He’s missed this, and he’s missed you. “Where have you been, I was just about to leave without you. You okay?”

You jump at his sudden movement when Five practically throws himself into your arms. You lose your footing and tumble back into your apartment, and it takes you a moment to process what’s happening before you tightly return the embrace. You know Five loves you, but he’s never been so forward with affection like this, so his behavior takes you by surprise.

“Sweetheart, I’ve never been better,” he breathes out in relief as he takes in your warmth and your smell and your touch and everything good about you. He never thought he could miss anyone as much as he missed you, and Five swore in that moment he’d never take you for granted again.

“Are you sure you’re really my Five and not a total stranger?” You question teasingly, poking fun at his uncharacteristically tender behavior. While normally you would be met with a biting and sarcastic response in return, you are instead given a passionate kiss as he cups your face in his hands and desperately pulls you closer to him. Your startled gasp is swallowed by his lips as he deepens the kiss and pushes you further into the apartment before shutting the door with his foot.

“Five,” you manage to breathe out after he pulls away for air, your face hot and your mind frazzled as you struggle to comprehend the sequence of events that have just occurred. “Five, we’re going to be late.”

“I couldn’t care less,” he replies with a faint smile, reaching out to carefully tuck your hair behind your ear. “I missed you.”

“Missed me?” You repeat in confusion. “You saw me this morning. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’ll explain everything in time,” he assures you carefully, “but right now I just want to enjoy this moment with you.”

With a faint smile gracing your lips, you know you can’t argue with that. You probably will miss your dinner reservations, but none of that matters as Five pulls you in close and showers you with seven years worth of pent-up affection.

You could really get used to this side of him.

[burntoutdaydreamer]

To Write Better Antagonists, Have Them Embody the Protagonist's Struggles

(Spoilers for The Devil Wears Prada, Avatar the Last Airbender, Kung Fu Panda 2, and The Hunger Games triology).

Writing antagonists and villains can be hard, especially if you don't know how to do so.

I think a lot of writers' first impulse is to start off with a placeholder antagonist, only to find that this character ends up falling flat. They finish their story only for readers to find the antagonist is not scary or threatening at all.

Often the default reaction to this is to focus on making the antagonist meaner, badder, or scarier in whatever way they can- or alternatively they introduce a Tragic Backstory to make them seem broken and sympathetic. Often, this ends up having the exact opposite effect. Instead of a compelling and genuinely terrifying villain, the writer ends up with a Big Bad Edge Lord who the reader just straight up does not care about, or actively rolls their eyes at (I'm looking at you, Marvel).

What makes an antagonist or villain intimidating is not the sheer power they hold, but the personal or existential threat they pose to the protagonist. Meaning, their strength as a character comes from how they tie into the themes of the story.

To show what I mean, here's four examples of the thematic roles an antagonist can serve:

1. A Dark Reflection of the Protagonist

The Devil Wears Prada

Miranda Priestly is initially presented as a terrible boss- which she is- but as the movie goes on, we get to see her in a new light. We see her as an bonafide expert in her field, and a professional woman who’s incredible at what she does. We even begin to see her personal struggles behind the scenes, where it’s clear her success has come at a huge personal cost. Her marriages fall apart, she spends every waking moment working, and because she’s a woman in the corporate world, people are constantly trying to tear her down.

The climax of the movie, and the moment that leaves the viewer most disturbed, does not feature Miranda abusing Andy worse than ever before, but praising her. Specifically, she praises her by saying “I see a great deal of myself in you.” Here, we realize that, like Miranda, Andy has put her job and her career before everything else that she cares about, and has been slowly sacrificing everything about herself just to keep it. While Andy's actions are still a far cry from Miranda's sadistic and abusive managerial style, it's similar enough to recognize that if she continues down her path, she will likely end up turning into Miranda.

In the movie's resolution, Andy does not defeat Miranda by impressing her or proving her wrong (she already did that around the half way mark). Instead, she rejects the values and ideals that her toxic workplace has been forcing on her, and chooses to leave it all behind.

2. An Obstacle to the Protagonist's Ideals

Avatar: The Last Airbender

Fire Lord Ozai is a Big Bad Baddie without much depth or redemptive qualities. Normally this makes for a bad antagonist (and it's probably the reason Ozai has very little screen time compared to his children), but in Avatar: The Last Airbender, it works.

Why?

Because his very existence is a threat to Aang's values of nonviolence and forgiveness.

Fire Lord Ozai cannot be reasoned with. He plans to conquer and burn down the world, and for most of the story, it seems that the only way to stop him is to kill him, which goes against everything Aang stands for. Whether or not Aang could beat the Fire Lord was never really in question, at least for any adults watching the show. The real tension of the final season came from whether Aang could defeat the Fire Lord without sacrificing the ideals he inherited from the nomads; i.e. whether he could fulfill the role of the Avatar while remaining true to himself and his culture.

In the end, he manages to find a way: he defeats the Fire Lord not by killing him, but by stripping him of his powers.

3. A Symbol of the Protagonist's Inner Struggle

Kung Fu Panda 2

Kung Fu Panda 2 is about Po's quest for inner peace, and the villain, Lord Shen, symbolizes everything that's standing in his way.

Po and Lord Shen have very different stories that share one thing in common: they both cannot let go of the past. Lord Shen is obsessed with proving his parents wrong and getting vengeance by conquering all of China. Po is struggling to come to terms with the fact that he is adopted and is desperate to figure out who he is and why he ended up left in a box of radishes as a baby.

Lord Shen symbolizes Po's inner struggle in two main ways: one, he was the source of the tragedy that separated him from his parents, and two, he reinforces Po's negative assumptions about himself. When Po realizes that Lord Shen knows about his past and confronts him, Lord Shen immediately tells Po exactly what he's afraid of hearing: that his parents abandoned him because they didn't love him. Po and the Furious Five struggle to beat Shen not because he's powerful, but because Po can't let go of the past, and this causes him to repeatedly freeze up in battle, which Shen uses to his advantage.

Po overcomes Shen when he does the one thing Shen is incapable of: he lets go of the past and finds inner peace. Po comes to terms with his tragic past and recognizes that it does not define him, while Shen holds on to his obsession of defying his fate, which ultimately leads to his downfall.

4. A Representative of a Harsh Reality or a Bigger System

The Hunger Games

We don't really see President Snow do all that much on his own. Most of the direct conflict that Katniss faces is not against him, but against his underlings and the larger Capitol government. The few interactions we see between her and President Snow are mainly the two of them talking, and this is where we see the kind of threat he poses.

President Snow never lies to Katniss, not even once, and this is the true genius behind his character. He doesn't have to lie to or deceive Katniss, because the truth is enough to keep her complicit.

Katniss knows that fighting Snow and the Capital will lead to total war and destruction- the kind where there are survivors, but no winners. Snow tells her to imagine thousands upon thousands of her people dead, and that's exactly what happens. The entirety of District 12 gets bombed to ashes, Peeta gets brainwashed and turned into a human weapon, and her sister Prim, the very person she set out to protect at the beginning of the story, dies just before the Capitol's surrender. The districts won, but at a devastating cost.

Even after President Snow is captured and put up for execution, he continues to hurt Katniss by telling her the truth. He tells her that the bombs that killed her sister Prim were not sent by him, but by the people on her side. He brings to her attention that the rebellion she's been fighting for might just implement a regime just as oppressive and brutal as the one they overthrew and he's right.

In the end, Katniss is not the one to kill President Snow. She passes up her one chance to kill him to take down President Coin instead.

[17020]

vitamin deficiency had hit ren kaji like a truck.

the sugary treats that sat in his pockets were constantly in his mouth, sometimes acting as replacements for nutritious foods. he had never given the side effects of living off of lollipops any thought, until his body began to show that it had had enough.

kaji did not wonder why he had been feeling more fatigued after patrols, brushing it off as him not sleeping enough or just being tired of the same, monotonous routine. he also, did not pay any mind to the growing pains on his bones, and how his nails were easily breaking with every punch that he threw.

the one who did notice, though, was you.

because it was not fun to hop into the shower after a long, tiring day, only to find platinum strands scattered all over the floor.

you were a bit puzzled as to why your apartment was suddenly covered in your boyfriend's hair. it did not take long for you to realize that something was wrong when you laid on top of your boyfriend on your sofa, his fingertips softly drawing circles on your back and giving you small scratches on accident.

ren kaji paid no mind to his health, which meant that you had to assume the role of his personal nurse, and it was no easy task.

pills and capsules were an absolute no, as he straight up denied them as they were 'a total hassle'. effervescents were your next choice, disguising them as soda and offering them to kaji, earning a scowl in return as he shook his head in denial.

so when you stumbled across vitamin lollipops while inside the pharmacy, you knew you had hit the jackpot.

every vitamin you could think of, stuffed inside your boyfriend's favorite treat. the packaging was identical to kaji's usual lollipops, which was the cherry on top. you had a perfect plan, and in order for it to work, patience was to become your strongest virtue.

it was a slow start.

every morning, you would offer the blond gremlin next to you a vitamin lollipop, even stuffing them in his pockets for him to grab when he's on patrol. he would take it from your hands with no issue whatsoever, being under the impression that they were the same as usual. his brows furrowed.

"'nother flavor?"

"mhm. they brought back the cherry ones, and there's orange too."

"oh. cool."

slowly but surely, you had turned into kaji's personal lollipop dealer, with him shooting you texts asking you for more lollies. it took weeks for kaji to fully 'return' to normal, if you could even call it that—your boyfriend was better than ever. sure, the lollipops cost a pretty penny, but the shine on your boyfriend's radiant skin, strong nails and full set of hair made it all worth it.

one morning in particular, your boyfriend stared at you, his palm open and extended towards you.

"need something, ren?"

"you give me an orange lollipop every morning before i leave."

you chuckled at your boyfriend's subtle pout, "i ran out, ren. i'll get some more today, alright?"

kaji nodded before placing a quick peck on your forehead, heading out the door.

who knew the perceptive ren kaji was so easy to condition and fool?

n. first time writing for winbre how r we feelin tonight

[cherryredstars]

Hi Cherry!

Could you do a part 2 to fear (f)or lust? There something about mean dom miguel that makes me ✨️tingle✨️

Maybe sprinkle some fluff at the end?

You are an amazing writer ❤️ Love everything you do!

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Mean!Miguel, Penetrative Sex, Bruising, Face Slapping, Creampie, Cum-Stained Panties (LMAO)

Summary: He still has one last thing to prove.

A/N: Hihi, love!! Thank you!!

Not Edited

Part 1

It's been a week.

Far too long for Miguel's taste, if it wasn't evident from how much harsher he's been on the field lately. His mood is effectively soured from your disappearance lately. It's partly to do with you avoiding him and the fact you're at some nerdy competition for the school. You had told him in text the day before you left, and his mood has been getting worse ever since. His life has become surprisingly dull without you around to scare and stuff his fingers into. He hates to say it, but he missed his little Bambi.

But his suffering finally comes to an end when he's walking the halls and the familiar tweeting of your voice passes him. He looks up from his phone, turning his head the same time you turn yours, his threatening eyes meeting your shiny ones. He gives you a smirk before you're pushed away by the crowd of students, continuing his path forward as he presses a few buttons on his phone. He wished you were in front of him so you can squeak at the dark look on his face when you pick up the phone.

"Can't hide from me forever, Bambi."

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

The scene looks familiar as you stand outside his door, the only difference this time is he's not wearing a shirt or sweats. He leans comfortably against the frame of his door, acting as if he isn't just in a pair of black boxer briefs. His hair is a bit limp over his forehead, beads of water still clinging to his tanned skin. He must have just gotten out of the shower, remembering vaguely that he had practice today so you knew to avoid taking any outside paths that pass by the field. You try your best to not stare at his muscular chest, but you find it hard to meet his eyes too. They always have that dark, hungry look in them. You opt to stare at his ear, your cheeks flaming.

Miguel on the other hand, doesn't care if you watch him take you in. His brow is quirked up, looking at the slight changes you think he wouldn't have noticed. You're wearing a bit more makeup than you usually do, your lips glossier and more colored than they usually are. The top you're wearing is tighter than what you're more comfortable wearing, different from the slightly baggy shirts you like to wear for tutoring sessions. He hopes for your sake you wore it specifically for him and you didn't come from something as silly as a date.

He moves slightly out of the doorway, leaving just enough room for you to squeeze through. You eye the empty space, something bubbling in your stomach as you slowly walk forward and squeeze yourself through. Your entire side brushes against Miguel's front, and his skin is burning hot against yours. You avoid looking at him at all costs, praying in your head to keep yourself together. You're so lost in throught that you yelp when Miguel suddenly grabs your arm, pulling you back into him.

You finally look him directly in the face, your eyes wide as he smirks down at you. Your eyes squeeze shut when he leans down, warning bells sounding at top volume in your head. You really regret closing your eyes because you're unprepared when you're suddenly lifted off the ground, a large and startled gasp leaving your lips as your eyes are snapped open. Your stare meets the ground, and Miguel's muscular shoulder digs into your stomach. His arm is wrapped around the back of your knees, and it's the only precaution he's taking to make sure you don't fall. You almost feel like crying when he purposely jolts you on his shoulder, loosening his grip slightly so you slide forward a bit. He laughs darkly as you claw at his back, having nothing to hold onto.

You can feel every step he takes as he takes you away from the front door, walking down a hall until you both enter a room. It smells so heavily of Miguel, and the air is slightly thick from the shower's steam that flows into the room. It makes your head dizzy, and it doesn't help when Miguel throws you off his shoulder and onto his bed. You bounce from the force as you land on the bed, landing partially on the towel he used to dry his hair before answering the door.

He looks so menacing standing over you, his body blocking the light from the hallway from entering his dark room. It makes him glow, like some dark angel that is determined to take you with him. His movements are slow and predatory as he walks to you, the faint light doing just enough to show how his muscles shift. He forces his large frame between your legs, his rough hands grabbing your calves and spreading them wider to accommodate him. The stretch slightly hurts, and you wince slightly when he forces his body forward so he can be face to face with you. Your legs rest on either side of his waist as he rests his hands on either side of your head, one of his hands rubbing at your cheek.

"You're so silly," He chuckles, he red eyes appearing to be glowing down at you. "Want to hide f'me, but then y'come here all dolled up."

You open your mouth to protest, but Miguel sticks his thumb through your parted lips, pressing down on your tongue. You gag around the finger in surprise, eyes widening as a distressed sound leaves your mouth. Miguel's thumb presses harder on your tongue, and he quirks his head to the side.

"No need to lie. I know it was all for me." He smiles. His other hand snakes down your body, stopping until the heel of his palm presses against your cunt through your pants.

You squirm in his hold, trying to pull away from him. It only makes dull pleasure shoot up your body, and you buck your hips harder with a whine. Miguel shakes his head at your foolishness, pulling his soaked thumb out of your mouth and wiping the saliva across your trembling bottom lip. He gives your face two soft pats, causing your pulse to jump as you remember the last time he slapped your face. He seems to know what you're thinking about as he coos down at you, reassuring you that he isn't going to slap you. Not unless you give him a reason too.

The promise- or is it a threat?- causes your body to flame, and you try to look away from his face. He scowls, his hand squeezing your cheeks together, puckering your lips as he forces you to face him. His brows are furrowed in distaste, and his other hand begins to undo your pants. He leans down, your noses almost bumping as he glares down at you.

"Who told you to look away? It sure as hell wasn't me."

You try to mumble an apology through your puckered lips, but barely any sound comes out besides incoherent hums. Miguel roughly throws your head to the side as he lets go, moving his hand down to get rid of your pants. He does it without your assistance, pressing your hips up himself to slide them off your legs and throwing them to the side. He hums as he spots the dark patch in your underwear, his fingers pressing on it and letting it sink into your hole. Your hips jolt, the uncomfortable wetness making you squirm. Miguel chuckles, moving the panties to the side, to see the way your entrance pulsates in a need to be filled.

He hums darkly at the pleasant sight, his fingers circling your hole. The stimulation distracts you for only a moment before Miguel harshly yanks your panties to the side, gasping in pain as you feel the fabric rub and snap around the crease of your thigh. The useless fabric is tossed to the side, and Miguel starts fishing his leaking cock out of his boxers. Your eyes widen at how large he is, and you try to push yourself away from him. Miguel tuts in annoyance, grabbing your thigh and roughly pulling you back into place. You gasp when his heavy dick slaps against your cunt, his angry tip pushing against your puffy clit. You freeze under him, finally learning that squirming gets you nowhere.

Miguel finally seems pleased for once, liking the way you've wordlessly submitted to him as you try to relax your body. He slowly moves his hips back and forth, sliding his cock through your glossy folds. You whimper slightly at the feeling, your body caving in on itself as your cheeks flame. Miguel pays you no mind, his eyes trained on where he slides through you as he lets out a low groan in approval. The underside of his cock is getting sticky from your arousal, and his tip catches against your entrance every now and then.

The teasing makes you ache for more. You open your mouth, only for a loud scream to escape as you're suddenly full. The stretch is quick and painful as Miguel unexpectedly thrusts inside of you, filling you to the brim in one move. You can feel him pressed against your cervix, and you let out choked breaths as your cunt squeezes around him. Miguel moans lowly at the feeling, gritting his teeth as he tries to pull out. Your cunt makes it almost impossible with how desperately your walls cling to him, but with some effort he begins to thrust into you.

You make pathetic little noises every time he bottoms out inside of you, his thrusts rough and fast as the sound of skin hitting skin echoes in his room. You already know the back of your thighs will be red and aching by the time he's done. You squirm on his dick, your shaky hands pressing on his shoulders in a weak attempt to push him off of you. He finds it to be a stupid move on your part as he gathers your wrists in his hand, pinning them above your head as he ruts into you. Your hands clench in his hold, your mouth dropping open in a silent moan.

"Y'know, I was thinking about how easy it would be to fold you. Wanna test it out?"

Miguel's eyes are concentrated as he stares at where his cock penetrates you, watching the slight shine that coats his length and tuning his ears in on the squelching of your pussy. He groans as you clench around him, his hands coming to your thighs as he moves your legs to rest over his shoulders. You whine at the movement, his cock seeming to hit deeper inside of you. If you thought your thighs ached before, they burn now as the tops of your thighs press against your chest. Miguel ruts rougher into you, his teeth gritted as your cunt pulsates around him. You can feel that tight ball in your stomach, and you squeal when Miguel starts toying with your clit.

Your body trembles under him, the heels of your feet beating down on his muscular back as the onslaught of pleasure makes you're mind dumb. He's sure he'll get bruises from how hard your heels are hitting his back, but it doesn't deter him from fucking into you. Your nails dig crescents into your palms as you explode, your body twisting in an attempt to escape Miguel's consistent thrusts as you gush around his cock. Miguel groans as your cunt milks him, sweat beading on his forehead as he tries to find his release as you convulse.

He gives your cunt a few more brutal thrusts before his hips slow, slowly fucking his cum into your abused pussy. You mewl up at him as his hand releases your wrists, his hips finally stopping. Your chest rises and falls with quick breaths as you calm down, your body already feeling sore as Miguel moves your legs off his shoulders. His chest isn't moving as rapidly as yours is from his years spent on the field, his heart used to the hard physical demands Miguel puts his body through. But he does let out a slightly shaky sigh as his large hands softly knead your thighs. It makes the ache fade slightly, and he reaches besides you to grab the towel he used before. You jolt slightly when he wipes down your sticky cunt, hesitating a bit as he watches the glob of cum leak from your hole.

When your breaths start to regulate, you lift yourself slightly up. Your eyes catch the outline of your ruined panties on the floor, and your brows furrow as you wonder how you'll get home without any underwear. Miguel follows your line of sight, eyebrow raised as he takes in the tattered fabric. He crawls off you, walking to one of his dressers and rummaging through it. You expect him to pull out a pair of boxers, but what he pulls out is much too small for him to fit. Miguel throws them at you, and you pick them up hesitantly. Miguel can't help but chuckle as you gasp, staring wide-eyed at the stiffened pair of panties at the end of your fingers.

You feel like crying thinking about the perverted things he must have done to your poor panties.

Part 3

[jaythes1mp]

Hi can you please make a yandere batfam meeting a merfolk reader or what your headcanonns on how that would go especially if reader is willing to stay and maybe even help with the more aquatic stuff of vigilante work

Definitely! This is some general stuff, a link to the chapter once I’ve written it will be added at the end. If everyone could please cast votes for what you’d rather before I start writing it, would be great!

Anon, I know your initial ask wasn’t really a request, but I want to write this. Haha… hope you don’t mind.

Yandere Batfam x Merfolk Reader

In the early stages of your involvement with the BatFamily, when their obsessions with you are just beginning to form, they would seek out your assistance in their crime fighting endeavours. This is under the assumption that you’re already a well known vigilante of sorts. Their obsession growing after they encounter and become acquainted with you. Learning of your skills, and how your kind can help them if any villains were to take their fight to the water surrounding Gotham’s edges.

But once the Bat's obsession has matured into a deep, twisted fascination, they would never allow you near the battlefield. Their possessive nature would take over, and they would be unable to bear the thought of you being hurt or even fighting others. Even if you were incredibly powerful, their protective instincts would render it moot the moment they have their possessive grasp on you, effectively ending your crime fighting days.

However, if you were not affiliated with any vigilante work from the beginning, the BatFamily would never even entertain the idea. Their fixation would target you on a personal level, rather than the dynamic of needing crime fighting assistance.

They might encounter you under various circumstances, such as: (numbered 1,2,3,4.)

By chance along Gotham’s shores, accidentally stumbling upon you.

You were caught in a trap, leading to your capture and confinement at Wayne Enterprises research facility. <- my favourite

One of the Bat’s had suffered an injury that sent them plummeting deep into the waters of Gotham, but just as they’re about to loose consciousness you swim them up to the surface. Saving them.

Or you may take the initiative on your own accord, reeling in one of the batfamily for either help or sustenance. The rest of the family coming to the rescue only to learn that you’re non threatening, and that the chosen member is cuddling into your side.

They would grow unhealthily fixated on you. Attached. Every aspect of your appearance and your mysterious species would fascinate them. The thought alone that you could survive in the harsh dangerous waters of Gotham without Bruce’s high-tech equipment ever detecting your existence baffling them. This would spark a curiosity turned obsession that would drive them to uncover everything about you, no matter the cost. Their intrigue shifting into a deeper, twisted form of love.

Initially, they would design a high-tech enclosure for you at the Wayne Manor, meticulously crafted to provide everything you need to thrive and more. Which you willingly enter, unaware that you’re under their watchful eyes, who monitor your every move, their fascination growing.

Under the vigilante route, where you’ve allied yourself with the family, you would move to the manor to discuss and plan out operations aimed at capturing and stopping a villain who was terrorising the city. Your presence there would foster a bond between you, as they relied on your skills and knowledge to aid them.

Voluntarily travelling there to discuss plans and strategies to combat with the villain and future perpetrators who has target Gotham.

Versus the ‘found’ routes, where you’d go because you trust them.

1 & 4 -> You would go to the Wayne Manor intrigued and fascinated to explore an entirely new place. Having only known of Gotham’s currents before, the thought of learning about human culture piques your interest. Contrary to the ominous warnings from the Elder Mers, these humans have been nothing but kind. They haven’t tried to harm you in any way, neither confining you in cages nor cutting you up to consume you, nor taking your scales. The Elder Mers must have misled you! The BatFamily is proving to be nothing but sweet and welcoming. What’s the harm in staying with them for a little while? You’re sure your clan won’t even realise that you’re gone.

2 -> You would either have no choice in the matter, as you were considered the Wayne’s property under the public’s eyes, Or you would leave under a negotiation with one of them. Desperate to escape from the constant scrutiny of the scientists who eye you as nothing more than a piece of meat. Their tests leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable, had become unbearable, with the small transparent tank doing nothing to offer you comfort or refuge. A public spectacle being observed daily by prying eyes. You’d do anything to never have to become an experiment for these humans ever again.

3 -> They would invest months, devoting themselves to understanding your life, gradually winning you over with their kindness. Persuading you to reciprocate their efforts by visiting the enclosure they had meticulously designed specifically for you. You were fascinated by their accomplishment, having built a structure that seamlessly connected to every room within their manor. Slowly you visited more often, their efforts touching you deeply. They had created this for you. Maybe humans weren’t all bad…

Whichever route you take, the end result is the same; they become deeply, unhealthily obsessed with you. Having them hold you captive, their obsession transforming into an intense, lasting fixation. They would have no intention of ever letting you go, keeping you confined in their carefully crafted webs, for the rest of your life, never permitting you to escape their grasp. Their desire for you becoming all-consuming, forever entrapping you within their influence.

Please vote for which of them you’d like to see most!

Romantic or platonic? Tell me in the comments or anon asks, please.

[corroded-hellfire]

This is a little angsty but do the AYW kids ever go through scrutiny about reader and Eddie's marriage from school and their friend's families?

With Ryan and Luke did they ever hear negative comments from their classmates other parent about reader and Eddie? Or a classmate saying "[reader] isn't your real mom!"

Can we agree that these boys need to be protected at all costs?

Words: 2.1k

[As You Wish masterlist]

The smell of crayons and Play-Doh hovers in the first grade classroom. The teacher, Ms. Fabray, counts her blessings that there aren’t any more foul odors filling the space. The kids are just back inside from recess, still rowdy with those last bursts of energy they get whenever they hear, “Five more minutes!”

As usual, Brandon Simpson is the last student to stroll in the back classroom door. He’s the most consistent troublemaker in the class and one of the reasons Ms. Fabray wishes this school year would hurry up and be over.

“Go sit there, Brandon,” Ms. Fabray instructs the six-year-old, gesturing to the only table that has an available chair. 

He plops down next to Luke Munson, who only glances at him out of the corner of his eye before he goes back to drawing.

Luke’s tongue pokes out between his lips as he concentrates on getting the shape of the dog’s nose just right. The moment he sets the black crayon down, his arm gets shoved. Luke’s brow furrows as he looks over at the culprit. Brandon beats Luke to the punch to speak, though.

“That girl who picks you up from school isn’t your sister?”

Well, that was one of the last things Luke expected to come out of the other boy’s mouth. Once his surprise vanishes, his head fills with a vision of you and how you smile every single time you see him and Ryan walking out of the school building.

“No, she’s my daddy’s girlfriend,” Luke says with a shake of his head. 

“But she’s so young!” Truthfully, Brandon wouldn’t have been able to gauge your age even if he was given one of the numbers, but he heard his mom complaining about the Munson’s dad being with a girl young enough to be his daughter.

While completely untrue since Eddie is only twelve years older than you, Brandon didn’t know nor care, and was just happy he had something he could use to tease Luke.

“So what?” Luke asks, reaching for the brown crayon.

“My mom says your dad should know how ridiculous he looks,” Brandon says. “That he’s probably having a midwife crisis and is trying to feel young again.”

The little girl sitting across from Brandon tilts her head up slightly to look at him beneath her sandy blunt bangs.

“It’s midlife,” she says. 

“Whatever.” Brandon waves her off. “He only wants her cause she’s pretty and young.”

The bully is clearly just parroting what he heard his mother saying, but it gets the intended effect. Luke drops the crayon and his small hands curl into fists.

“She loves my Daddy.”

“But not you,” Brandon says with a shrug, turning to grab a few crayons of his own. “I bet she just puts up with you cause she likes your dad.”

“That’s not true!” Luke shouts.

“Quieter voices, please,” Ms. Fabray says from across the room.

“She’s not your mom,” Brandon goads while starting his own drawing. 

Luke hates that he can’t deny that. You’ve treated him better than his own mother has from the day you met him. It didn’t take long before Luke wished that you were his mom instead of Brittany. When he realized that wasn’t possible, he switched to wanting you to be with his dad. Now that his dream had come true, Luke never thought someone would be so mean about it. 

“But she loves me,” Luke says.

The words are true, he knows it with every fiber of his being. The four words don’t even seem enough to the little boy to encapsulate how much you care for him and do for him. To him, you’re better than a mom, since his frame of reference is so terrible.

“I love my hamster, but I’m not his dad!” Brandon shoots back. 

Luke’s hands bang down on the table and his brow furrows even further.

“I’m not a hamster! And she loves me!”

“What’s going on over there?” Ms. Fabray asks, craning her neck in the direction of the boys.

“She’s a fake mommy,” Brandon continues, ignoring the teacher. “Not a real mommy.”

The fury has come to its boiling point in Luke’s small body. He sees red as he lunges for Brandon, knocking the other boy out of his seat. Both of them land on the rough carpet, a mess of tangled limbs and shouts.

“Boys!” Ms. Fabray yells, hurrying over to them. “Luke! Brandon! Stop it!”

Luke wraps an arm around Brandon’s neck, his Hot Wheels sneakers digging into the ground. Brandon’s legs kick, his heels pounding against Luke’s shins. It causes Luke to let go, and Brandon takes the opportunity to roll over and start hitting Luke in the ribs. 

Ms. Fabray pulls Brandon off by gripping him beneath his armpits and sets him down behind her. Luke hops up and the teacher immediately holds her hands out to keep the boys separate. 

“That is enough!”

“He started it!” Brandon shouts. 

“Nuh uh!” Luke shoots back. “He started making fun of my mo—my dad’s girlfriend!”

“Brandon, you go sit in the corner seat. Luke, you go sit at my desk. Now.”

The gray-skinned demon creature in the novel you’re reading creeps behind the main character and is on the verge of pouncing on her when the door to Eddie’s apartment swings open. You jump and let out a small yelp. 

Eddie ushers a red-faced Luke inside and closes the door behind them. 

“Hey, what’re you guys doing here?” you ask, glancing down at your watch. It’s still hours from when you usually leave to go pick the kids up from school. 

Neither of them answers, but Luke takes off running down the hall to his room. Eddie tosses his keys onto the counter and lets out a heavy sigh. He stumbles over and plops down on the couch next to you. 

“Luke got in a fight.”

“Again? Is he okay” Your eyes widen in shock as you lean in towards your boyfriend. The fight Luke had gotten into when kids made fun of Ryan’s glasses last year doesn’t feel that long ago.

Eddie nods, sighing again. He turns his head to look at you, a small melancholy smile on his face.

“Physically, yeah,” he says. “He’s upset though. He started it over something another kid said. About you.”

If the rug was pulled out from under you with the fight news, this crumbles the entire foundation of the house beneath you.

“Me?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says softly. He reaches over and rubs his hand over your thigh. “That you’re not his real mom.”

Your heart drops. Sadness and anger simultaneously begin to fill the now-empty space in your chest. 

“Can I talk to him?” you ask, a tentative tone to your voice. You’d completely understand if Eddie, as his dad, wanted to be the one to handle this. 

“I think you’re the only one who can make him feel better, honestly,” your boyfriend tells you. 

Something about that touches you. The fact that you have a special enough place carved out in Luke’s life that there’s a pain only you can soothe. 

Unsure of how to respond to that, you nod and push yourself up from the couch.

It’s quiet as you approach Luke’s room, but when you peek your head in, you see him sitting on his bed sniffling and rubbing his eyes.

“Hey, you.”

He doesn’t look up at the sound of your voice. Instead, he curls further in on himself and scoots closer to the bottom corner of his bed. Your heart aches more and more with every step you take towards him. 

His Hot Wheels blanket shifts beneath you as you take a seat next to him. 

“Do you want to talk?” you ask him quietly. 

There are a few moments where his sniffling is the only noise in the apartment. Suddenly, Luke turns around and buries his head in your chest, his arms gripping you tightly around the waist. 

A gasp escapes you, shocked at the overt show of emotion. The usually happy and bubbly little boy sobbing into your t-shirt tears your heart in half. You instinctively wrap your arms around him, hugging him close to your body. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” you coo before pressing a kiss into his curls. “I’ve got you. Everything is okay.”

Luke’s heart wrenching cries bring tears to your own eyes and you do your best to blink them away. 

“I love you,” you mumble against his hair. “I love you so much, you wouldn’t believe.”

He pulls back and looks up at you with wide watery eyes. His face is tear-stained and rosy red. The pain you find there is unbearable. You’d give anything to make him feel better, to make him happy.

“I…I love you, t-too,” he warbles out. 

You press a kiss to his forehead, and he pulls away a little more so he can wipe his eyes. 

“Are you okay, sweetie?” you ask, reaching up and wiping away a tear he missed. 

“I-I got in a fight,” he admits. 

“About what?”

His bottom lip wobbles but he swallows down the fresh tears that threaten to pour. 

“Brandon Sim-Simpson kept saying you don’t love me because you’re n-not a r-real mommy.”

“Oh, Luke.” One of the tears that had collected spills down your cheek and you’re quick to wipe it away. “You don’t think that, do you?”

The little boy shakes his head, his curls bouncing with the motion. You breathe a sigh of relief. It would absolutely break you if Luke believed this punk kid and doubted your affection for him.

“Good.” Gently, you cup Luke’s face in your hands and look him straight in the eye. “Luke, I love you, Ryan, and Daddy more than anything or anyone else in the world. I didn’t know it was possible to love someone as much as I love you.”

“H-He wouldn’t believe me,” Luke sniffles. 

“Well…then he’s stupid.”

Luke’s eyes widen at your words. He never expected to hear you talk like that about a kid. But this particular kid hurt your boy, so you think calling him “stupid” is on the tame end of the spectrum. 

“Honey, you know that I love you. Me, Ryan, and Daddy all know it and we all love each other. That’s all that matters.” You smooth some curls away from his face. “I know what he said hurt you. He was wrong in what he said. But it’s true I’m also not your mommy.”

The six-year-old glumly nods his head, his eyes downcast.

“But…” You tip his chin back up, so he’ll look at you. “That doesn’t mean I don’t love you in the same way a mommy does. Because I do. I would do anything for you.” I would die for you, you think to yourself. I would kill for you. “I will love you for the rest of my life, and even after.”

“Even after?” Luke asks.

“Yeah,” you say with a soft smile. “I’ll be a ghost and still try to squeeze you.” You wrap him up in your arms and pull him into your lap. He’s getting a little big for this, but you don’t give a shit.

Luke tucks his head under your chin and his hands grip your upper arms, as if he doesn’t want to let you go. “You’re everything to me, Luke. The fact that I’m not the one who brought you into this world doesn’t change that. Nothing can ever change it. You’re my little boy.”

“You’re better than a mommy,” Luke says against your neck, letting his eyes slip closed.

His words warm your heart, and you give him a soft squeeze. 

“Thank you.” Softly, you rub your hand up and down his back. “Do you feel better?”

You can feel his curls brush against you as he nods his head. He sniffles once more before tilting his head back to look up at you.

“Yes. I’m sorry I got in a fight.”

“I understand the feelings getting too big, sweetheart. But we have to find better ways to express them, okay?”

He nods again and dives back in for another hug. 

You cling to him just as tightly as he does to you. The love the two of you have for one another surrounds you in a warm bubble, solidifying this moment in both of your memories. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for Luke, and you’ll spend the rest of your life showing him in a million different ways. 

[dixons-sunshine]

Hey!! I really REALLY love your girl dad Daryl series and I thought maybe I could request something :) Imagine Daryl building a doll house or something (maybe a cute little mini motorcycle) for his daughter I can totally see him doing something like that it’s all I can think about when I see this picture. He would totally get the materials from one of his supply runs because I headcanon that everytime he brings something for his daughter (like a doll or something)

His Motorcycle Princess | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: When his daughter was born, Daryl swore to himself that he'd do everything in his power to ensure that she remained happy at all costs. So when she asked for her very own motorcycle, who was he to deny her that?

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Alexandria, post Saviour arc (the bridge exploding doesn't happen, so Daryl never goes looking for Rick and he's happily living in Alexandria).

Warnings: Swearing, slight suggestive talk.

Word count: 1.3k.

A/n: Okay but why can't Daryl be the father of my future kids? He'd be the best dad ever. All jokes aside, I hope you like this!

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

“Daryl, may I ask what the fuck that is?” you asked in surprise at at the sight before you, folding your arms over your chest.

Daryl looked up from his workbench, his ocean coloured eyes meeting your eyes before glancing back down at the big pink object in front of him. “S'a toy bike,” he stated plainly, patting the toy for added effect.

“Okay,” you drawled, nodding your head slowly. “But... Why?”

“S'fer Hazel,” he explained, picking up a screwdriver and resuming his task of assembling the toy motorcycle. “She asked fer a bike like mine, but obviously I ain't 'bout to assemble a real one fer a five year old, so I got this instead.”

You walked down the steps into the garage and walked over to your husband, standing slightly behind him as you watched him tighten the screws of the toy. “Where'd you even get this?”

“I was lucky 'nough to find a toy store tha' was left relatively untouched. Found this hidin' behind one of the shelves,” he explained, glancing over to you and nervously gulping at the close proximity. It amazed him that even after so many years together, you still managed to make butterflies erupt in his stomach.

“Aah, okay,” you nodded, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Hazel is gonna freak out over this. This is gonna be her new favourite thing in the world.”

“Ya really think so?” Daryl asked, looking at you hopefully.

You smiled softly at him. There was lot of things people could say about the archer. People who didn't know him personally would call him rude, obnoxious and cold. Those who knew better would call him loyal, determined and caring. When it came to you, there was a lot you could say about your beautiful husband. He was kind, caring, loving, considerate, observant, and so much more. And you could also proudly say that Daryl was an amazing dad. Nobody was perfect and the archer had his moments that he wasn't proud of, but all in all, there was no denying that Daryl would do anything for your daughter.

“I know she'll love it,” you reassured him, wrapping your arms around him from behind and resting your chin on his shoulder. “You could bring her a painted rock and she'd love it. As long as it's from you, she doesn't care.”

“Nah, she hated tha' bunny I brought back fer her,” he replied, closing his eyes at the warm, soft feeling of you pressed against his back.

“It's only because it was covered in walker blood,” you explained. “After I washed it, she wouldn't let the thing go.”

Daryl couldn't deny that. The aforementioned toy had been a proud edition to Hazel's stuffed animal collection for two years at that point. She loved that bunny more than anything, favouring it to join her when she played tea parties with you and Daryl. It made the archer's heart swell with love, just knowing that his daughter appreciated what he did for her made everything worth it. All the battles he fought, all the blood that was shed, it was all worth it in the end. His wife and his daughter were safe, and he'd never been happier in his life than he was in those moments in the small home you shared in Alexandria.

With you still firmly pressed against his back, he got back to work. The toy was almost done; he only had a few finishing touches he had to do. Admittedly, it was a little harder to do so with you pressed against him from behind, but he refused to ask you to move. He'd much rather work on the toy for a few extra minutes than lose the comfort your mere touch brought him.

You watched his hands intently, your mind unwillingly wandering to a place that wasn't needed at that moment. However, you couldn't help it, the knowledge of what those hardworking hands could do in other activities taking over your senses.

“You know, this gives me deja vu,” you started, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Yeah? How so?” Daryl asked, tightening the last screw into the toy.

“Remember back when you were building your own bike five years ago?” you asked, continuing when he nodded. “Seeing you hard at work, doing something you were skilled at really did something to me. It was because you were building your bike that we even have a kid at all now. And now you're building a motorcycle for our kid.”

Daryl chuckled at the memory. “Never knew grease could turn ya on like tha' until then.”

“When it's on my handsome husband's hands? You best believe it does.”

Daryl turned around and wrapped his arms around you, staring down at you lovingly. “And now we have our own kid.”

“Our own little family,” you agreed, smiling up at him. “I love you, Dar.”

“Love ya too, peach.”

“Mama! Daddy!”

Before Daryl could lean down and capture your lips in his for a kiss, your daughter bounded down the steps. The two of you sent each other an amused look, reluctantly pulling apart. Hazel came over to Daryl and held her hands up in a silent plea to be picked up, and the archer complied.

“Hey there, Hazelnut,” Daryl greeted her with a fond smile, placing a light kiss to the top of her head.

“Hi, Daddy,” she giggled, sending a wave at you. “Hi, Mama!”

“Hi, Baby,” you chuckled, walking over to rub her hair affectionately. “Did you have a good nap?”

“Yeah! I'm ready to play now!” she exclaimed happily, a toothy smile on display.

“Well, how 'bout ya and I race our bikes?” Daryl questioned, capturing Hazel's attention.

“But Daddy, only you have a bike.”

“Not anymore,” you said in a playful tone, sharing an excited glance with the archer. “Daddy got you something.”

Daryl turned around with her in his arms and showed her the bright pink toy motorcycle. Hazel let out a surprised gasp before laughing in excitement, throwing her arms around Daryl's neck and hugging him as tightly as she could.

“Thank you, Daddy! Thank you! Thank you!” she exclaimed in excitement.

Daryl chuckled fondly and pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “Yer welcome, Hazelnut.”

“Now I can be like you!” she giggled, wiggling slightly to be put down. When she was, she ran over to the workbench and stared in awe at the toy.

“Yeah,” you agreed, walking over to her to ensure she didn't accidentally hurt herself with the tools that were still on the workbench. “You just need your own crossbow now.”

Hazel gasped in delight and turned to Daryl. “Daddy, can I get a crossbow?”

“'Course ya can. How else would ya help me on my hunts?”

“Yay!” Hazel happily clapped her hands. “Mama, I'm getting a crossbow!”

Daryl smiled and walked over to the two of you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and playfully ruffling Hazel's hair. He chuckled at the giggle she let out, feeling content and comfortable as he listened to Hazel's babbling as she regarded over all the places she would go with her very own motorcycle, even to the moon. There was nothing better in his life than moments like these. This was what he fought for. And he would do it all over again if it meant keeping the two most important people in his life safe.

Because without you, his beautiful wife, and Hazel, your perfect daughter, his life would never be the same.

[nocturniashifter]

𝓨ou in the eyes of your s/o | pick a pile

Hello, my angels! After a long time without posting any PAP, here I am with one that just came out of the oven. I really hope you like it and that it resonates with you ;) ♡

┈─★ Disclaimer: This reading is for entertainment purposes only and shouldn't be taken seriously or used as a substitute for medical and professional advice. It's also a general reading, so it may or may not resonate with you.

┈─★ How to choose: Close your eyes, take a deep breath and choose the image that catches your attention the most – trust your intuition.

MASTERLIST | PAID READINGS

── .✦ PILE 1

Shufflemancy: Where The Lovers Go - Ghost Kisses, The End Of Love - Florence, Please Be Angry - Pierz Barry, Smaller Than This - Sara Kays.

This is so cute, pile one! Your s/o has been in love with you since the first moment you met, but they never told you that before because they didn't want to scare you – and I'm happy to play my role here and let you know that ;). Honestly, you even made them nervous and shy when they were around you and that's so cute 😭

In the eyes of your s/o, you are much more than a simple romantic partner. No, you are their family – regardless of what your relationship with them is now, whether you are just friends, lovers or even married. This especially applies to those who met their s/o at difficult times in life or who are shifting to a DR with more adventure/action/danger. For them, you are a person who is there with them in both good times and bad times, whether in your personal life or in your couple's life for those who are already together with their partners. They see you as someone they can count on at all times and you can be sure that they are also the kind of person you can count on when you are going through dark times. In their eyes, you are each other's safe haven and they also think that you know them better than anyone else - so much so that you know when they are lying/pretending that they are okay. You make them feel safe and they trust you, so much so that they feel comfortable enough to open up to you and be vulnerable. Furthermore, because they love you so much, they are very afraid of ending up losing you at some point – but that is just an insecurity they have.

Wow, this is really sad but…many of the s/os in this pile feel awkward in their relationships. But not in a bad way, but because many of them may be dating for the first time, aren't used to being truly loved by those they love or don't have much experience with relationships in general that are healthy. For many, their s/o was raised in dysfunctional and/or toxic families and as a result, they carry a lot of trauma and emotional wounds that leave them feeling like “clumsy idiots” in your relationship. Some examples that illustrate this well are the fact that they are unable to express themselves effectively with words and even more extreme cases in which they would rather you be mad/angry at them than disappointed in them or that you leave them. In their view, they won't be able to handle it if you decide to leave them, so they do everything they can to keep you in their lives – I told you it was sad 😕. But, even with all the fear they felt inside about starting a new relationship, they decided to take the leap and can be sure that it was one of the best things that ever happened to them.

Your s/o perceives that you have self-esteem issues, that you have a distorted self-image and an inferiority complex. In their eyes, you may be trying to achieve an unrealistic/unattainable standard of beauty and this is costing you your mental health and your physical health. Some of you may even be skipping meals so if this is the case, PLEASE STOP FOR THE LOVE OF THE GODS!! To them this is crazy, because they love and accept you exactly the way you are and think you are being too hard on yourself – they care about you and your well-being, so they want you to take more care of yourself and treat your body like the temple it is. They would like you to see yourself the same way they see you, because in their eyes you are very attractive and hot and you shouldn't change anything about yourself 😋 (seriously, it was actually funny because I literally heard them calling you “hottie")

That was all, pile one! I hope you liked it and that it was accurate. You better take better care of yourself or your s/o and I will be forced to hit you 😠

── .✦ PILE 2

Shufflemancy: Laughing on the Outside - FLOOR CRY, Shade - Chymes, You Know Me Too Well - Nothing But Thieves, Heat Waves - Glass Animals, Still Feel It All - MARO.

From the first moment you met, your s/o couldn't take their eyes off you and with each passing day, they found themselves falling more and more in love with you.

There are two situations in this pile: the first is that you and your s/o are not together as a couple yet and the second is that you have ended your relationship.

Regardless of what your case may be, your s/o are madly in love with you ‍🧎‍♂️ and every day they have to pretend that they are okay even with the fact that you are separated or have to pretend to others around them that they are not in love with you – but as a good gossip, I am here to expose what they really feel MUAHAHA. But, stopping for a moment to analyze, deep down they feel very sad not to be with you and that leaves them heartbroken.

Seriously, they are so in love with you that they seem drunk with love. When you are together, their heart warms. They may even try to deny it, but they can't help the fact that they want you like they've never wanted anyone in their life so much. Absolutely all they want most is you and they want to give you all of them and everything you want – your wish is your command.

For some of you reading this pile, you and your s/o are still just friends and in their eyes, you know them very well. But, regardless of what your case is, in their view, you have no idea what they are going through. I believe that for s/os who are just your friends, it is becoming more difficult to deal with the fact that they have fallen in love with you and cannot reveal it for fear of rejection or the friendship ending. Some of them may be thinking that you don't feel the same way about them and that they should leave you – poor things, little do they know how wrong they are.

Help, they are really heartbroken for you. Many of them have been in love with you for a long time and they have never been able to get over it. Sometimes they may try to tell themselves that they are over you, but just seeing you makes them fall to their knees – just seeing your eyes, your mouth and especially smelling your perfume. They really want you to want them as much as they want you 😮‍💨.

They may think that every love story ends in tragedy, that they might not be enough or that you deserve someone better, but when it comes to the two of you, they are willing to try. Sometimes all they think about is you.

That was all, pile two! I hope you liked it and that it resonated with you. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD GO KISS THIS MAN/WOMAN SOON 😭 they're suffering-

── .✦ PILE 3

Shufflemancy: C’est toi qu'elle préfère - Alice et Moi, Breezeblocks - Alt-J, all my daugthers - dodie, Impossible - Nothing But Thieves, If You Let Me - Sinéad Harnett.

The s/os in this pile are an enigma to me 🤔 but I'll be able to solve them

Many of you reading this pile are not together with your s/o, but the other part already is. And, regardless of your situation, it seems that in your s/o's eyes, they are replaceable in your life. They feel like you will leave them or that you prefer other people – in some ways, they may feel like “the other woman”.

But, none of these scenarios are real and these things are only happening in their minds – these paranoias originate from insecurities they have due to negative experiences in the past, such as being dumped or not being the priority of the person who hurt them. These thoughts make your s/o's heart sink, but as I mentioned earlier, they are creating problems that don't exist - so one piece of advice is to reassure them that you love them, that you are there for them, that you really care and who will not exchange it or leave it. They love you so much and are so afraid of losing you, they are almost begging you not to leave them – even if you have no intention of doing so.

Your s/o can see that you have imposter syndrome even though you try not to give a shit about it – you always feel like you're a fraud in every successful thing you do and in every achievement you achieve, even if it's totally your merit and they want you to learn to recognize that you are good at what you do and that you should give yourself all the credit you deserve!!

Your s/o are fools in love with you – the type where sometimes they even catch themselves looking at you with a passionate smile on their face – and they themselves never believed that this kind of situation would happen to them but, here we are lol. Seriously, if you were the ocean, they would dive deep into you. They love the smell of your perfume, in their eyes it is unforgettable. They also really like your mouth – if you're already together, believe me, they love kissing you.

WHAT A BEAUTIFUL THING, PILE THREE!!

Your s/o's love you like never before, literally no one has ever loved you as much as they do. They love you so much that they would really do ANYTHING for you and they are such good partners that they will do for you even what you didn't even know you needed. But, in their view, you still won't let them in (or haven't let them in yet if you're already together). WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? For them to love you this way, you need to open your heart to them because they have a lot of love to give you and it is more than enough.

That was all, pile three! I really hope you enjoyed this reading and that it resonated with you. You literally won the s/o lottery, so DON'T LET IT GET AWAY!! 😠 Until the next PAP! ♡

© nocturniashifter – don't copy, redistribute or edit my content | dividers

[bel1ewrites]

Booth Five (Sam Carpenter x Reader)

A/n: Here's another one, love you guys.

WC: Idfk

Warnings: smut, top!Sam, bossyish!reader, slightly public sex, thigh riding, more thigh riding, Sam in fancy work clothes

NUMEROUS visits to her favorite place after a long, hard day of work had forced Sam's ears to grow accustomed to the deafening thunder of sensual music that pumped through the hazy club.

Ever since the very first week of her new life in the the city, Sam had made sure to become somewhat of a regular at The Vanity. She made sure to commit each and every worker to memory, even went out of her way to tip a little extra every visit. It was just who she was. She loved to pay attention, and she loved to be aware.

She did not, however, love to be confused.

From her spot on a cracked leather couch, she sits with a drink in her hand, the top few buttons of her shirt undone, and she watches you move. The colored lights run over your body like waves on a shore, black lace the only thing stopping you from being fully exposed. It's euphoric, the way you move. It's familiar and free, icy hot. Sam takes a pull of her drink.

------

"You've got a private booking, honey," your boss calls as you fuss with your hair in the vanity mirror. She's a firecracker of a woman, short and curvy. The voice of a smoker mixed with the tone of a caretaker. "Booth five."

It hadn't taken you long to understand the inner workings of your place of employment. Annoyingly, nothing was ever straightforward, and booth five was not an exception to this rule.

You'd learned that an hour with one of the dancers in booth five had to cost more than your rent; which, albeit, didn't say much. It was the coldest spot in the whole club, nothing but dark red walls and a single black couch, and you couldn't really tell if it was the air vents or the dark aura that made you shiver when you passed it.

This is the first time anyone has requested for you to be in there.

"Um," your voice is steady as you turn around, smoothing a hand over non existent fabric out of nervous habit, "Is it cool if Amber takes this one?"

A beat passes.

"The patron requested for it to be you." If she notices the way your heart drops, she doesn't mention it. Only smiles crookedly and nods, effectively dismissing you from the comfort of being alone.

The beat of your heart doubles that of the music as you walk out of the room, a little unsure and a little irratic. Your heels feel too tall, your chest too tight.

Dancing was different. Dancing didn't bring forth any unwanted social interaction. Sure, there was the occasional creep, but they never really bothered you much when you could tune them out with thoughts of being beneath your covers with hot Chinese food and your cat curled up on your lap.

This was intimate. This was private and there was really no practical way of getting out of it.

You're sure you're going to pass out when you reach the outside of the booth, nothing but a thin curtain separating you from the unknown man waiting inside. Is he married? Is he demanding? Does he expect anything more than a lap dance from you?

A job is a job, you remind yourself, breathing deeply once, twice before stepping inside.

The air is charged. Static pulses around you. So its a woman. There's a woman a few feet in front of you.

She sits there, back against the couch and legs spread like she owns the place, shirt slightly unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up. She's tall and dark and has the look of someone who's grown accustomed to getting what she wants one way or another. Her eyes drop down your figure, lingering at certain parts unabashedly. They run over every inch of you slowly, methodically. She wets her lips.

"Hello." She speaks. Her voice is fire and ice. It's raspy and smooth, dark and calculated and so insanely perfect that it makes your ears ring a little.

It's your turn to say something, anything, really. You really do try to greet her, even open your mouth for a second before promptly shutting it again.

"It's reasonable to expect a greeting after one says hello, is it not?" Her brow raises. It seems that all it takes for you to gain your composure is a little confrontation.

You close the still open door and take a step forward, trapping a palpable tension in the room along with the sound of muffled music.

"Sorry about that, I just wasn't expecting... this." Amusement flashes in her eyes. "You weren't expecting a woman?" She questions, patting the space beside her and signaling for you to sit.

There's room for her to scoot over and create a comfortable amount of space between your bodies, but that doesn't seem like something she wants.

Your body moves without your mind's consent, "no, I wasnt," you answer, taking your seat.

She hums, the scent of her cologne wafting over you like a drug. "Disappointed?" she asks, bottom lip puffed out in a teasing pout.

The couch is cold beneath you, but that doesn't stop the fire from rushing to your cheeks. Nervously, you run a hand through your hair and smile, trying not to let her undeniable smoothness get in the way of yours.

"Oh, hardly," you let out a raspy huff of laughter and you can't help the way your eyes flit to her mouth.

A smirk tugs at her lips, pout dropping entirely. "Well aren't you fiery."

"Why did you ask for me?" you pry, gaze hooded.

"Why wouldn't I?" She questions, tone serious and eyes on yours. The air feels thick around you.

She truly is a beautiful woman, silky black hair and dark eyes surrounded by thick lashes. The muscles in her arms pull at the fabric surrounding them. You suddenly feel underdressed.

"Amber normally takes this booth," you offer truthfully.

Amber was a favorite amongst the club. She was all dark smiles and sinful moves. You appreciated her for her wit and ability to seem completely calm at all times; a skill you wish you had.

Her hand drops to the bare flesh of your upper thigh. "I didn't ask for Amber, did I?"

Sam had interacted with the girl numerous times. She'd been working here since that first night and was undoubtedly beautiful, but she didn't feel drawn to Amber like she did you. Her body didn't light up when she saw her like it did with you. You were different.

"What's your name?" you pry.

The heat of her gaze along with that of her palm on your thigh sends jolts down your spine. You can see the muscles in her jaw move as she grits her teeth, swallowing hard.

"Sam."

"Why did you ask for me?" you ask again, eyes on her dark and blown pupils. Your own gaze is hooded, lashes low as you look up at her.

She smiles wolfishly, teeth flashing. "Can't a girl want to get to know someone?"

"Well," you look down at her mouth, "I guess when you put it that way."

The air around you seemed to grow thick, tension lacing through it. Her aura was intoxicating, the way it consumed you so quickly, made you want to give her everything.

She hums, tightening her grip on your thigh, "For such a pretty girl you sure do ask a lot of questions," the words fall from her lips, tone low and dripping with want.

"Yeah?" You smile.

"Yes." She shoots back.

"Really?"

She ignores you, looking at you so intensely you almost think you did something wrong.

"Can I kiss you?"

You nod, maybe a little too eagerly but you can't help it. When she kisses you it's softer than you expect it to be, like she's testing the waters. Her hand runs up your thighs, teases its way to your hip and squeezes the flesh there. It makes your head spin and your heart race, heat settling in your lower stomach.

Teeth graze your bottom lip as she pulls back a little. "Come here," The woman breathes into your mouth. She guides you onto her lap, smiling and leaning further into the couch. You have to arch forward to kiss her again, something that isn't an accident on her part.

Hands grip at your waist, your hips, your ass. She's deepening the kiss like it's pushing life into her and she can't get enough. it's a needy, panting scene as her lips and tongue slide over yours.

She kisses you like you've never been kissed, skill and need intertwining into a moment that makes you dizzy. She's all soft lips and rough teeth, nipping and sucking and soothing.

The musky scent of her cologne messes with your head and you can't stop your hips from moving, seeking pressure to tame the heat inside of you.

She trails her lips down to your neck, hand pulling at your hair to tilt your head back. "That's it, baby," Sam coos, teeth scraping under your jaw, "use my leg." She shifts the two of you before you can do anything, moving you to straddle her thigh. Her lips latch onto a sensitive spot on your neck as she pushes her leg up and into you.

"Fuck," you gasp out, gripping her shoulders and arching further into her. The position gives her mouth easy access to your chest.

The fabric of your lace bra is easy for her to move to the side, baring your hardened nipple to her.

"You're so pretty," She groans beneath you, pressing her tongue to the sensitive bud.

Pleasure shoots through you and you suppress a moan at the feeling of her skilled mouth against you. She's pulling at your hips, guiding their movements as you rock into her. It's hard to remember where you are, how any of your coworkers can walk in if they want to. All you can think about is how muscular her leg is through her pants as it presses into your clit in just the right way, how strong her hands are as they grasp at your body like it's her lifeline.

It's almost embarrassing, how worked up this stranger has you. She's touching you like she knows your body, and you can feel your wetness soaking through your fabric. Truth be told, you'd been wet since she first spoke, voice smokey and addicting.

She sucks your tit into her mouth, tongue lashing at your nipple and you have to push her away before you get loud. She protests as you send her back to leaning against the couch, but ultimately keeps quiet when you bury your head in her neck to muffle your moans.

"That's it, just like that pretty girl," She whispers in your ear while you grind against her, leg rubbing your clit just right each time. "You sound so pretty."

Needy whines and sighs escape your throat, lips pressed to her neck while she pushes her thigh harder into you. She hums at the feeling, sound deep and rasped.

You would be disappointed in yourself for being so close this fast, and over the clothes no less, but you can't feel anything other than the pressure in your lower stomach building and building.

"It's so good," you admit breathily into her neck, nails digging into her upper back through the button up. You can feel the firm muscles there, and you can't help but picture them rippling as she fucks you.

"What's so good?" she asks like she already knows the answer.

Her voice sends you spiraling further, the almost taunting tone laced in her words. "The way you touch me."

She laughs lowly, "Oh? You close?" Her head turns as she presses a kiss to your cheek, you pull your head out of her neck and look her in the eyes.

"Use your hand," you order, grabbing her right wrist and dragging it towards where you want it.

The look that washes over her almost pushes you over the edge, the way she listens to your command and presses her fingertips to your clit.

The texture of the fabric rubbing against you feels overwhelmingly good, tension building in your body. You watch her with your eyes half open and your lips parted, watch as she drinks you in with her eyes.

Everything about her is skilled, the way she moves her hand in hard circles and pushes into you. Her free hand wraps around your neck gently and pushes you back a bit so that she can see more of you, your free nipple and the blush spreading across your chest. The action combined with the slight pressure on your neck makes your eyes roll back, a curse falling from your lips.

"Faster. Fuck, Sam," you tilt your head back and move with her hand, "I'm so close."

She listens so good, movements speeding up just how you asked. It feels so good, the warmth spreading throughout your body and coiling in your stomach. You're panting needily, orgasm rushing towards you, its presence overbearing.

"So bossy," She teases.

A slew of words grace your lips, body falling forward to mask the volume of your moans in the crook of her neck. She moves with precision, never once slowing down or faltering.

"Come on, baby," She urges, "cum on my hand."

It only takes a few more movements before you're doing just that, body tensing up and shuddering above her. The orgasm hits you like a bullet train and drags itself out, lasting longer than any other you'd ever had.

The feeling of her arm around your back, fingers still moving on your clit to guide you through makes it last longer. Her voice is in your head, grounding you as she whispers.

Her hand is gone from your clit and her neck is sweaty from the combined body heat by the time you pull back, shaking slightly. The reality of the situation doesn't hit you, just lingers in the back of your mind as you look at her.

"Hi," you say, hair sticking to your forehead slightly.

"Hi," She smiles sweetly back. "Sorry about the hickeys, I got a little carried away."

Your nipple hurts a little from the intensity with which she sucked at it, and you know your neck is riddled with marks.

"It's okay," you smile back, "but you'll have to be the one to let my boss know where they came from."

Her smile turns sheepish, though you can tell she doesn't regret leaving them. "Only if I can see you again," her arms tighten around your waist, lips brushing yours.

"Deal."

[lowkeyerror]

The Family Business Ch. 15

WandaNat x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Ch. Notes: Angst, vomit, mentions of phsyical abuse, mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of death

Summary: After effectively taking care of the Fisk problem, you struggle with the moral reprocussions of that action, while also trying to deal with the truth behind your mother’s death.

An: A little quicker update than last time. Again idk when the next update will be, but just know it's coming. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter it's a soft one.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Your mind can’t seem to latch on to any singular thought. Instead they all run together in a way that makes you wish you couldn’t think at all. You’re to aware of what you’ve done. You can feel the blood, his blood, all over you. His words are bouncing off the walls in your mind. Your legs are unstable and everything feels like its too much.

You don’t get much of a say as your unsteady legs buckle under you, forcing you to your knees. You shake your head left to right as you feel the bile rise in your throat. Puking is the last thing you want to do, and the fear of vomiting makes tears flow down your face.

It's more than that fear. It’s everything that Wilson said before you blew his brains out. He was right, you weren’t ever a Maximoff. Just some fragile kid from a broken home, that wanted to prove themselves no matter what the cost. You couldn’t even be upset at the family, they hadn’t forced you into this lifestyle. This is simply the path you chose to feel like one of them.

You hear footsteps rapidly approaching behind you, you try to find the energy to get to your feet, but fail.

“ Y/n,” her voice makes you feel sick.

You can’t fight it anymore as the contents of your stomach begin to spill out. Wanda is by your side instantly. On of her hands moves your hair out of the way, while the other rubs soothing circles on your back.

Once it was over your breathing is heavy. Your chest heaves up and down, while your hands rest on your thighs.

“Was it true?” is the first thing you say to her.

“Y/n-" you can tell she was trying to reason with you with, to have you drop this for now.

You put distance between the two of you, turning to see her face, “Did you have my mother killed?”

Wanda takes in a large breath, “She was abusing you, every moment she had you. Emotionally torturing you with the death of your brother and physically putting her hands on you. That day when you came over and I patched you up, Pietro told us everything that he knew she did to you. We all agreed, that we wouldn’t let her near you again.”

You don’t know why you felt so bitter about it, but you did, “Killing her was your only option?”

Wanda shakes her head, “No, it wasn’t. We were going to just keep you away from her, but Pietro said the next few days she came to the school looking for you. She threatened him, and followed him to our house, that’s when Papa decided to put an end to it.”

“And my father?”

The woman sighs, “Once we told him who we were, he thought it was best for him to not be involved. He cared for you and loved you tremendously, but he was scared of our family.”

At the end of the day your mother was the cause of an abundance of your trauma and you couldn’t blame your father for not wanting to be involved in a crime syndicate. However, your anger was pointed at the Maximoff’s for keeping this from you for so long.

“Why didn’t anyone ever tell me?”

Wanda’s eyes meet yours desperately, “When you were younger, we thought it was inappropriate to share that with you. You were different back then and we didn’t know how you would react. When I left, I figured that eventually they would tell you. When I got back and they hadn’t I was upset. I wanted to tell you, but there’s been so much going on, Y/n believe me. When you asked in car, and I told you to trust me, I was trying to think of the right time. I just- I’m sorry."

As much as you want to be mad at her you can’t. She’s right, Wanda had been gone for over 5 years, how could she have known that they hadn’t told you. As soon as she came back there was basically a turf war going on.

“ I wasn’t supposed to shoot him,” your eyes are blank as they look into hers.

Wanda’s eyes soften, “I know little krolik.”

You shake your head, “But he brought up Lucas and I- he dared me to, so I did. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t mean to. It wasn’t my fault.”

You were spiraling quickly. Though you were covered in blood and had just thrown up, Wanda wasted no time wrapping her arms around you.

“I know baby,” she squeezes you tight.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to kill him,” you sob into the woman.

She scoops you up into her arms, “We’re going home.”

“But, what about-”

Wanda silences you, “Don’t worry about it. They will handle everything else ok, just be here with me.”

You calm for a moment before you remember that Natasha got shot because of your recklessness. You start apologizing again, “I’m sorry, Natasha got hurt because I wasn’t thinking enough. I was being stupid, I should have done better. I should’ve-”

“She’s going to be fine, malyshka. She's been through worse,” Wanda gets you into the car and begins driving home.

By the time you get home, you’ve fallen asleep. Before Wanda gets out of the car she gets a phone call from her wife.

“How is she ?” Are the first words out of Natasha’s mouth.

Wanda has to stop herself from crying as she looks at your current state, “She’s not well, I’m doing my best, but I’m scared.”

“You took her home?”

Wanda nods though the woman can’t see her, “ We just pulled up. She fell asleep on the way, but she might wake up when I try to clean her off. She was throwing up when I found her. She’s worried about you, I’m worried about you.”

Natasha’s voice takes a softer tone, “I’m ok detka. The bullet is out, my arm is patched.”

“Papa and Pietro?”

“We called in Bucky, we’re trying to get a room set up at your parents house that will be suited for your father to do the rest of his recovery there. Pietro, he’s shaken up, worried about you and Y/n.”

Wanda takes in the information, “Natalia, I know I brought you out here to be apart of this with me, but I don’t know if I want this lifestyle anymore.”

As Wanda looks at you, she can see the cons of this life outweighing the pros. You’d already had a rough life before the Maximoff’s took you in, and now they’ve put you in this position where things seem to be just as bad if not worse.

Natasha takes a pause, “We’ll talk about this more when I get home and when Y/n is feeling better ok? I don’t want to make any decisions without her involvement.”

Wanda agrees, “You’re right, hurry back to me moya lyubov.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, I love you.”

“I love you."

Wanda sighs as she glances at you in the passenger seat. For a moment, her head falls into her hands. She wants to breakdown, but she holds it all in. With another deep breath she gets out of the car and carries you up to the room.

Wanda goes to lay you on her bed, but you cling to her.

“Y/n, baby it’s ok,” Wanda attempts to coo you.

“The sheets,” you mumble tiredly against her.

Wanda has tears in her eyes as she smiles softly, “ I don’t care about the sheets.”

You cling to the woman tighter in protest, and she doesn’t want to fight with you. Instead she carries you to the bathroom and sits you on the counter. You lean your back against the wall eyes barely open, but still able to see the woman running water for a shower.

Wanda turns back to you her hands tremble a bit as the grip the end of your blood and vomit covered shirt.

“Sorry, it’s gross,” you mumble.

She shakes her head,” I don’t care. Is it ok if I take this off of you?”

Your eyes open wider to meet hers properly, nodding slowly.

When she removes the shirt, her eyes linger on the scar on your abdomen from the day you left home. Her finger couldn’t help but to glide over the rigged skin.

“It needed a stitch back then, but I didn't want to see you in anymore pain. It probably wouldn't have scarred if I did,” Wanda reveals absent-mindedly.

“It’s my favorite scar, I’m glad I have it,” you find her eyes as you speak.

“Why?”

You look away from her, feeling shy for a moment, “ I remember you letting me rest my head on your shoulder and promising that the family would protect me."

Wanda frowns, “I’m sorry, we didn’t protect you enough.”

You take her hand, “I’m sorry I’m so hard to protect.”

“No, don't do that Y/n. We lied to you, I lied to you for years. Telling you truth wasn’t some Olympic sized task. It’s the least we could've done and it's what you deserved. Our- my carelessness lead you down this unnecessary path of pain, and I’m sorry. I should've done better,” you listen as Wanda berates herself unable to look you in the eyes.

“You weren't here, Wanda.”

“I should’ve been.”

You want to do something to give her comfort but you feel disgusting in your current state. Your eyes dart over to the shower and it's as if to remember why you were in this position to begin with. Wanda sees your movements and takes a small step back from you.

“Do you still need help?”

You think for a long moment, hesitation heavy in the air. Part of you wants to push her away now that you have your bearings a bit more. However a larger part of you wants the woman to help you in the shower

“Yes,” it’s breathy as it leaves your mouth.

Your hands guide hers to the button on your pants. She pulls them down gently. Wanda hesitates at the sight of your underwear. You attempt to hop off of the counter, Wanda’s hands find your hips to better guide you.

It's two swift motions as you remove your underwear. You stand before the redhead bare for the first time in this way. You stare at her waiting for something to happen. She sense the expectancy in your gaze and begins undressing.

Once the last of her clothing hits the floor she takes your hand and leads you to the shower. You enter first and she goes in after. The water against your skin feels good. It cascades from your face down your body washing away the gunk in the process.

Wanda doesn’t make a sound as she begins to wash your body. Her hands light and delicate against your skin. The only objective being getting you clean. Once you’re clean she spins you around and places a kiss on your forehead.

“I don't know how I feel,” you tell her honestly.

She takes a step back from you. You’re quick to grab her wrist and pull her back into you, “I just know that I want you close.”

She reached behind you to turn off the shower. “As long as you want me close, I won’t ever leave you again.”

You rest your head on her chest, her arms enclose around you once again. The sound of her heart beating calms you deeply. You could fall asleep right there.

“Let’s finish getting ready and then we can get in bed,” Wanda rambles against your head.

You nod against her and after a deep breath you both exit the shower. Once you’re dry and dressed for bed, you finally brush your teeth. You climb into the bed, but you’re wide awake.

Peace nowhere to be found as a million questions race through your head.

“I didn’t mean-"

“He deserved it, Y/n. He tried to kill papa, he had you beaten, he shot Natasha, he wasn’t a good man,” Wanda reassures you.

You shake your head, knees pulling closer to your chest, “Lucas is dead because of me.”

“That’s not true lisichka.”

Your eyes are quick to dart over to Natasha but you don’t move. Your gaze falls to her injured arm, and it’s yet another injury due to your carelessness.

“ I sent you in there and-”

“And I’m fine because you saved me. In fact you saved everyone in that room tonight,” Natasha doesn’t hesitate to crouch down beside the bed.

You frown, “No matter how many people I save, I can never go back and save Lucas.”

Natasha looks at Wanda for some kind of insight into who Lucas is to you, what he means to you.

“Lucas was my older brother, he would still be here if I hadn’t been so careless.”

Wanda disputes this, “You were a child, Y/n. Your parents should’ve been watching you.”

“I have this scar on the back of my head from where skull hit the concrete. A constant reminder that he’s not here and I am.”

Natasha takes one of your hands in hers, “ To me, it sounds like you went through something really traumatic as a child. Not just losing your brother, but also almost dying in the process. Going through that without the support of your parents makes it even harder to come to terms with.”

“Natasha’s right, Y/n. You’re a victim in all of this, and going through this alone was never fair to you. You didn't kill your brother, neglect did,” Wanda takes your free hand.

“My mom never stopped blaming me.”

“She should’ve never started. To abuse one child after the loss of another is a cruelty that only a monster is capable of Y/n,” Natasha’s words are a statement.

“But did she deserve to die?” You turn your attention to Wanda.

“How many times did she hit you? How many times did she starve you? How many times did she verbally abuse you? How many scars do you have because of her?” Natasha draws your attention back to her.

“Maybe she didn’t deserve to die, but she didn’t deserve to have that power of you. She didn’t deserve to torment you for the rest of your life. You couldn’t go out without looking over your shoulder, you flinched at every touch, and she had you thinking you were a mistake or a burden. You were just a child,” Wanda’s voice trembles as she speaks.

Natasha takes over again, “A mother doesn’t treat a child in the way that she treated you. That woman barely viewed you as her child, she doesn’t deserve your sympathy even in death.”

Your body begins to shake as the tears cascade down your face. You feel two sets of arms enclose you as you cry. They were right about your mother, she was an awful person. The more you thought about it the harder it was to think about anything good about her. After your brother died, you had no kind memories of your mother left. She was cruel, ruthless, and unforgiving.

After all these years, you never missed her. You hardly thought about her and when you did it was against your will. Her memory has haunted and tortured you since she has been out of your life.

“We have you, Y/n. For as long as you want us to, “ Natasha is gentle as she wipes away your fallen tears.

“We’re going to have to talk about this, with everyone,” you attempt regain your composure .

“We will be by your side, no matter what,” Wanda insists.

“Not just about my mom, but about Kingpin.”

Natasha nods, “Yes, but only when you’re ready. There’s no rush for these talks or conversations. With Dragos awake now, this problem isn’t falling straight onto your shoulders anymore.”

“Our main priority is you. Y/n, for once in our lives I think it’s time that the family business takes a backseat” Wanda adds on.

The idea plays in your mind briefly. A life where the most important thing wasn’t this job. No more missions, no more hacking, and no more danger. The thought would’ve bored you before, but now with Natasha and Wanda by your side, it seemed more desirable.

You nod, “Ok.”

“We love you lisichka,” Natasha gently kisses your forehead.

Wanda follows suit, “More than anything.”

The small smile plays on your lips, “I love you too, the both of you.”

It’s a brief moment as you swiftly place your lips on Wanda’s followed by Natasha’s, before quick passing out from the exhaustion of the day.

“I know that look detka. Everything is going to be alright, I promise,” Natasha says, looking at her wife’s worried expression.

“She deserves better Natasha, I have to do better,” Wanda keeps her own tears at bay.

“You aren't in this alone Wanda. I’m here, lean on me, together we can build something that Y/n truly deserves.”

Natasha interlocks her fingers with Wanda’s, “I love you.”

Wanda kisses the back of her wife’s hand, “I love you too.”

Taglist: @natashaswife4125 @autorasexy @alexawynters @blkmxrvel @toouncreativeforausername @likemick @sgm616 @bstvst @dorabledewdroop @sapphic-simp4015 @natty-taffy @justarandomreaderxoxo @mmmmokdok @tarathia @bgwlsmahf25 @lezzylover @og-kxsh-420 @vanessashands @untoldreader @sxlfishbrokenheart @marvelgirlx @elle161989 @falloutboy-lover

[starry-fame]

18+ Mercy [Sylus x Gender Neutral!Reader/MC]

Summary:

He’s addicting. The way his eyes look up at you, the way his lips curl, the latent hunger in his eyes.

You’re sure he wants to devour you completely.

You fear you may like it.

Tags: Smut, Porn with feelings, Dom/Sub Undertones, Overstimulation, Complicated Relationship, Penetration, Rough Sex, Size Difference, Ambiguous Genitalia!reader/MC, Gender Neutral!reader/MC

Word Count: 6,167

Author's Notes: My No Defense Zone fic I took forever on when I wrote it lol, love this man. Meant to take place as an alternative - 'what if they fucked' ending lmao

Ao3 Check out Linkon Lounge, an 18+ Lads Themed Otome Discord Server! We stream otome/anime/movies, have lads boys rp/text bots (+Caleb ofc), and chill!

Masterlist

Frenzied breaths, a deep groan, the rise and fall of his pretty, exposed chest as your grip tightens around his strained erection. A broken noise vibrates against your neck, warm, and his hips jerk as you drag him with each pump of the wrist. Closer, closer—

The scene fades, melting away like warm honey. You groan and curl up further, muddled, disoriented, and almost convince yourself to let your mind fade into sweet serenity. It was good, felt so good, and-

…What the hell were you thinking? You jolt, startle yourself out of your spiraling thoughts and reorient. A smooth leather couch, the blurry edges of a home that costs more than you’d ever make in a lifetime, and that infuriating silver-haired man sat across the table at the armchair, idly flickering through vinyl records (you know he likes the classics.) Your eyes follow the moment of his fingers before slowly trailing up to his face. His lip quirks into a barely perceptible smirk.

“Were you dreaming?”

“You should’ve woken me up. Or given me a blanket. Hospitality much?” You grumble, properly sitting up and rubbing your bleary eyes. His own crimson ones crinkle at that, and your mind flashes — panting, the hard edges of a flushed chest as you trail your fingers down further and further. “Don’t be shy now,” He retaliates against your featherlight touch. His lip curls, trembling body betraying his collected expression. Your fingers press above his waistband, his hips push into your hand and—

You look away, but somehow, Sylus’s gaze bores into you like he can read every last filthy thought that plagues your mind. You grunt, briefly indulge in the flush-faced Sylus from your dreams overlapping with the amused one in front of you. That image of him so pliant under your touch, the thought that you could potentially work him to that state, bolsters your confidence.

“Mhm. I dreamt of a horse. An annoying one. Refuses to be tamed, tells me I’m bluffing and overreaching,” You say, leveling Sylus with a stare. It’s not the first time you’ve challenged Sylus, but this enigma manages to have you on guard with a single effective look.

“That so? What exactly did you do to him, then?” He muses, playing along. You slowly rise and approach him, pausing to stand at the armchair as his head tilts up at you in curiosity. Neck strained up, a huff of laughter leaving his throat as your hands splay across warm chest and slide down firm muscle to his hips. “Look at me,” you command when his eyes flutter shut, and drag his hips closer. He inhales sharply, and opens his eyelids just enough to see a sliver of red. Your lips drift to his pretty pale neck and bite, pulling a low grunt from him, then—

You roughly grab his chin, observing his stupidly attractive face from various angles as Sylus contentedly lets you, eyes narrowing, but otherwise unbothered. If he still wore that collar of his in the dream, you could yank him the proper way, snatch the air from his throat. But you suppose this will have to do. You finally step closer and tilt his neck up high, so you’re directly above him as you sneer down at him. “A little roughhousing never hurt. What do you think I should’ve done to him?”

Maybe he’s amused, or perhaps impressed, but Sylus laughs, a rich deep sound from the bottom of his throat. The way that sound rings through your ears, the way you enjoy it, pisses you off. You press a firm thumb against his lips to silence him, soft and pink under your touch.

Sylus’ gaze is a strange phenomenon. You only really know two proper emotions from this man: anger, and appeased. There’s always this cocky air to him, not an ounce of humility. So even when he’s staring up at you like this, it’s somehow just as powerful as him looking down on you. His chin is in your hand. You’re the one above him.

Yet, you can’t shake this strange sense of foreboding. You don’t know Sylus well enough to make much of him aside from his eccentricities, and him being a blatant heartless bastard. This sort of mystery, these missing puzzle pieces that create the shell of a man before you, make withstanding his presence feel like you’re subjecting yourself to a lone night in the wilderness with no gear, vulnerable to attack.

‘Do you hate me?’ Your mind flashes back, recalling him in ruby red robe and gimmicky cuffs. His scoff, the aversion of his eyes as he uttered ‘astounding misunderstanding’. He harbors no hate, yet, you can’t help but wonder if he likes you either.

“A little roughhousing, hm?” Sylus chuckles, and before you can even make space for him, he’s lifting from his seat and your hand falls slack to the side, default restored to craning your head up at this man. While you prefer looking from above, you’d be a liar if you tried to argue you hated him looking down at you. In theory, maybe, because you know he thinks everything is beneath him. But in practice, his lower angle is, unfortunately, just as attractive as his upper one.

“Wanna test that theory?”

And just as alarm bells start ringing, acknowledging the impending danger in those words, he’s crowding you back towards the couch. Not even aggressive, rather, a slow approach. A damn predator stalking his prey, and that’s somehow even more harrowing. Before you can slip from his icy gaze, the back of your knees catch against leather and his hand shoves you backwards, an inelegant yelp escaping your lips as you tumble back onto cushion. One leg crams between your own, his hand overlapping yours, pinning it to the backrest.

“Gh—Let go of me!” you gasp, strain your confined hand and lift an arm to shove him away. He snatches that one in the air with a scoff and pins both of your arms firm, hovering over you and face too damn close to think properly. Your heart thunders, somewhere between attracted and terrified. When he’s got you cornered, eyes gleaming in the warm ambiance of the room, the crimson in his gaze penetrates you. The creeping sensation of your soul being laid bare, infiltrated and consumed as he gauges your desires. Your lips quiver and quickly you shut your eyes, shaking your head vehemently.

“Don’t— I won’t let you use your-!”

“Pfft.” A humored breath leaves Sylus’ mouth. One of his hands lets yours free, and you feel those fingers decide to capture your face instead, stroke a large, soft thumb beneath your eye as he murmurs.

“You think I need that to figure out what you’re thinking right now, sweetie?”

Your ears tickle at that nickname, annoyed yet maybe a little… comforted? He uses it halfway between an insult and endearment, mostly the former, but occasionally the later. It’s condescending as hell, but shit, everything this man does is. You grit your teeth and slowly open your eyes to peer into his, and his own seem to twinkle in approval. No glowing, just a piercing red that carries a thousand secrets and the ability to strip your soul bare and destroy it from the inside out.

The color of spider lilies. You wonder how many people breathed their last breath in the midst of this gaze.

You exhale, free hand flexing as you silently debate pushing him away again. You feel small, pinned against the couch so easily. While most people would be no problem, Sylus seemed to love being the exception to every damn rule in the book. You don’t know what hole this powerhouse crawled out of, but being so soundly beaten by this man puts a bigger dent on your ego than you’re willing to admit.

“How long are you gonna stay like this?” You snap, jumping to your usual defense as you glare at him. He raises a brow, naturally, and the hand cradling your face sneaks down to press the pad of his thumb against your parted lips — warm breaths, his moist lips under your thumb as he watches you with eyes that make you lose all sense of reason. You lean down, fervently, and before you can even think, you bring your lips to his—

You try to banish the thought from your mind, let the dream rest, but it plagues you. Every damn look this man gives reminds you of his groans, the way his body is so responsive and trembles when you kiss at his chest and squeeze his cock.

He’s not—you’re not—his thumb swipes over your lips and your brow scrunches as you look him in the eye. He watches you like a puzzle itching to be solved, fingers dipping down to smooth over the front of your throat. Some embarrassing noise, what you’ll tell yourself was merely a sound of surprise, rumbles in your throat and you squirm, pulling your neck away. That man’s hand anywhere near your neck screams death and reminds you of the first time you were not so pleasantly held by it. You try to escape his touch but he stubbornly keeps his hand there, stroking it with a gaze you can only describe as ‘fascination’.

He watches your pulse, enthralled — and that look narrows into something else. Something you refuse to put a name to before his eyes flicker back up to yours. He chuckles, leans real close so his face takes up your entire field of vision.

“Scared, doll?”

Doll. Porcelain. Fragile. Easily manipulated and broken. You might just hate that nickname the most.

“Of—Of course I’m not,” you lie through the skin of your teeth, biting your lip to fight the strange foreboding welling in you. He’s stroking one of the most vulnerable areas of your body so gently and it fills you with a mix of apprehension and something very, very different.

“We can stop. You can ride home on that bike of yours. Word of warning, fuel’s low. Might break down on your way back,” He whispers, no, fucking purrs in your ear and holy shit, what the fuck. Your body trembles to that and of course he notices and snorts. There’s no way in hell, no way you’re gonna let this man press you against the couch and fucking terrify you one minute and arouse you the next. Hell, maybe you’re still both. The hand stroking your neck could easily crush it on its own, let alone Sylus’ evol.

Fuck, this isn’t—this wasn’t—

“You…!” You hiss, his hand goes from your neck to your collarbone, warm, big, and the feeling makes you shudder. You shake your head, almost in denial, and begin stammering.

“You’re a prick..!”

“Oh?” He hums, and the hand enveloping yours begins stroking the back of it

“And cruel. And heartless. And way too damn cocky, you really need to be humbled, and—“

You hear that gorgeous laugh right beside your ear as he leans down, face disappearing into your neck with strands of silk hair brushing your chin. Warm breath lingers, and you gulp but don’t let up.

“Someone really oughta put you in your place, knock you down a peg so you’re not so—mmm!” You can’t swallow down the gasp that leaves you when warm lips press against your pulse. His kisses trail along your neck, like a fire, and your body curls up as your free hand clings to his sweater. Fuck, feels good—and he’s nipping and sucking so sweetly you know it’ll for sure leave marks, that asshole.

“Such a noisy little kitten,” he chuckles, the noise makes you whimper and cling to him tighter, drag him to you. He pleasantly complies, presses his chest against yours and nudges his knee against your open thighs. His fingers sneak in your hair, pulling it back and exposing your neck completely so all you can do is weakly complain as he makes a perfect mess of your throat. Pays special attention to suck where it makes you sputter, soothing with gentle bites, his warm tongue.

“What are you, a vampire?” You hiss, quickly dissipating into a sigh when he knows just the right place to put his lips to make your body tremble. His breath, mouth, lips, so warm, so so warm, and then his kisses are trailing up to your jaw and—

His lips hover. So close and so perfect over yours. There’s a fire in his eyes, a heat that burns in them and makes your entire body feel alight. When you open your lips and they nearly brush his, you feel your face warm and quickly turn your head away to avoid his mouth, lips trembling. You can’t even look him in the eye, fidgeting with his shirt as you purse your lips. It’s not like it’s anything special. Really—but somehow a kiss to the lips feels more embarrassing, more intimate than anything else he could do in that moment.

He laughs at your avoidance, strokes your cheek and places a kiss right where his thumb was seconds ago.

“Aren’t you cute,” he teases, and you wanna glare and refute, but your words always catch in your throat when met with those striking eyes. He turns your head to him, his mouth quirks up, and he’s pressing a featherlight kiss to your lips. Too soft and too sweet for him. It’s so uncharacteristic you can’t even think properly. Foreign, unbeknownst, yet eerily familiar.

There’s no deeper meaning behind his smirk, his lips. He’s just teasing you, getting a rise out of you, yeah, because he’s Sylus and Sylus is an asshole, always. And of course this asshole is kissing your cheeks and your nose and your forehead and you don’t know what to do but quiver in his hold, breathless and mind blank. It feels almost akin to affection but you know the words Sylus and affection can’t exist in the same sentence.

“To think this is all it takes to make you compliant…” he murmurs in your ear, and before you can finally find the words to snap at him, his lips are firm against yours. Bold. Your neck strains against the backrest as he presses deeper and gently coaxes your lips open, warm tongue brushing against yours. He tastes refined, like the wine sitting on the table, and his scent envelops you as you feel him everywhere, hands on your face and your own, body against yours, mouth on yours and the smell of expensive ass cologne — bougie Dior or some shit. You sigh and pull him closer, bite at his lip and groan into his open mouth. He openly accepts, low rumble in his throat as he pushes right back, pauses for a moment of respite before sinking in again and kissing you breathless.

His fingers wander, rough, and release your hand to catch at the hem of your shirt and caress your trembling waist. He watches you, eyes reflecting an unspoken question. It almost infuriates you how pissed you would be if he stopped at this point. You scoff and avert your gaze, lips glued shut even as you cling to his shirt unrelentingly. You hear him laugh, low, and he slowly, achingly lifts your top up and over your shoulders, ensures you’re bare from the waist up in one fell swoop.

The slight chill makes you shudder, while Sylus’s hands take this time to roam your frame. Curl against your waist and thumb at your abdomen, which makes you tense and feel a sweet tingle run down your spine. The warmth in your core, the heat between your thighs bolsters when his lips catch at your collarbone, and kiss a path down to your chest. He’s gentle, a soft pressure and warm tongue as he drags a slew of kisses to your nipple — then he catches it in his teeth and you tense with a bitten back whimper, giving his shoulder a reprimanding push. He has a nasty habit of biting. He merely laughs and spends his time there a moment longer, sucking and holding you as your hips roll against nothing, aching. His fingers dig, as though to punish you for wanting so much so soon — like he wasn’t the reason for it in the first place.

There must be something about Sylus, something about him that just makes you lose your sense of reason. Somewhere between conscious and subconscious. Because it’s almost like a tiny part of your mind — no, even deeper, some fragment of your being buried deep and away, wants to push through and melt beneath him completely. And it’s the complete antithesis to the active part of you that wants to give him a hard time and wish eventual hell on him as retribution for his sins. It’s weird—wrong, and yet you cling to him like he might disappear into stardust if you let go.

“You want me that bad, sweetie?” He murmurs against your chest, shifts down to kiss right below your sternum, and you move your hand to tug on his silver strands in retaliation. A sharp breath leaves his nose, and watching his face scrunch, slightly twist with parted lips, you feel satisfied. He’s addicting, the way his eyes look up at you, the way his lips curl and the latent hunger in his eyes.

You’re sure he wants to devour you completely.

You fear you may like it.

He does everything with intent, a purpose. He doesn’t just touch you to feel, he touches to elicit something, to receive. You jumping into his hands as they cradle you at the pinch of your waist, you throwing your head back when he teases this sensitive bit of skin just above your waistband, some incoherent murmur when he kisses at your navel. He keeps his lips there, presses his thumbs just below and the sweet tingle makes you whine, your body tense as you try to avoid looking too desperate under him.

“Not enough, hunter? Need more?” His voice is deceptively sweet as he mouths above your waistband, dips his thumbs inside. You sigh — you don’t know if it’s from his lips or his voice, and turn your head away as he watches, amused. If he wanted a verbal response, he sure as hell wasn’t getting one. But you think he knew that already. He laughs, pops open the button of your jeans, and you lift your hips as he takes his agonizing time dragging them down.

“Such an eager thing,” he soothes, kissing your temple and not so shyly pressing a hand between your legs. You hiss and your needy hips jerk into his hand, while his deep voice speaks pleasantly into your ears. “What is it? Want my fingers? My mouth?“ His hand strokes, gentle, too damn light, and you’re shamelessly rolling your hips into his touch, dragging him by the shirt and holding him close as you get off with his hand, dizzy.

“Off. Take it off already,” you grumble against him, feeling some module of defeat, but your desire damn well overrides your pride at this point. You tug at his shirt, insistent, and he chuckles before complying and lifting it well and off.

Seeing his nude body shielded only in a towel once before doesn’t make the sight any less novel. Sure, dripping wet is a whole other thing, but just the thought of this man stripping for you and you alone at your request has your mind in shambles. You let out a solid stuttered breath, and immediately lean forward with your hands drawn to his chest, like a magnet.

Fuck he’s ripped, like a statue, feels stupid perfect under your touch. You hear what sounds like a quiet, breathy noise followed by a soundless laugh. You glance up to look at his face, a subtle amused pleasure and it immediately overlaps with the dream that inhabits your mind. You want — you need— your fingers trail down, and he shudders so beautifully, like a work of art, lips parted in a breathless moan. His sculpted abs tense and tremble under your touch and suddenly you wanna do anything, everything to him.

And before your fingers can dip lower, he’s shoving you back, pinning your wrist to the couch and capturing your lips silently. The noise that leaves you is almost as embarrassing as the way your body throbs so bad your mind grows hazy. Not fair. So not fucking fair. This kiss is deep, no, rather, a myriad of kisses over and over. Slow and steady to desperate and raw, always leaving you wondering which he’ll do next. He completely swallows any noises you could make, holds you in place so he can completely dominate. It’s stupid hot and you need him so goddamn bad. You know you’re an aching mess and there’s an embarrassing wet spot staining the underwear he left on you.

“So touchy. This how you tried to tame the horse in your dream, hmm?” He groans into your mouth, handsy all over. The more he kisses you and the more his fingers make you quiver, the more your mind goes blank.

“I-It’s—“ you try to speak, but his lips envelop yours to shut you up. One moment you’re melting against the couch, the second two strong hands hook around your thighs and you gasp as you’re hoisted in the air, automatically wrapping your legs around him to steady yourself.

You try to pull away in pure shock, grab your breath and comment, but his fingers dig into your scalp and hold you as he walks with both your mouths preoccupied. You pathetically rock into his body, seeking any form of stimulation you can manage, he can give. Instead of the bedroom like you expect, he steps back and impressively rummages through his bag on the circle table with one hand, before backing you against the large glass window. It’s cold, you wince and he thumbs your cheek to soothe.

“Sylus—I—“ you paw desperately at him, body trembling as your thoughts border on blank from the way this man kisses you and the way you flutter in response. He presses a soft lingering kiss to your lips before pulling away, watching you with dark eyes, that beautiful ruby leaving you speechless. You pant, heart thundering, and clench at his shoulders for purchase. “I’m… fuck…”

“You’re adorable when you’re like this…” He says, as though it’s a regular occurrence (you suppose it will be from now on.) You gulp and try to steady your breaths and heart that just might burst, and he’s settling you down gently. His thumb tugs at the waistband, hands dipping into your underwear and against your sensitive waist before pulling them down. You try to ignore the way you’re immediately dripping when they’re off. He takes a moment to openly admire you, eyes drinking in the sight of your swollen arousal. His thumb brushes just above and the proximity makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Like this, all for me.” It’s like a praise, and your eyes zero in on the transparent bottle in his hand. So that’s what he grabbed from his bag. He uncaps the bottle and douses his fingers without reserve — eyes flickering up to you. You fight the embarrassment his shameless gaze brings you. The anticipation that makes you throb. When he’s done, he places the bottle aside and leans down to press a light kiss to your lips.

“Relax, sweetie,” he murmurs, half teasing, half… sweet? Before you can think further on it, his hand’s already found its way between your legs and you brace yourself against the window. He bends to mouth at your neck, slow and sweet, while he swirls before pressing a thick digit in. With lube, it slips in smooth, though far thicker and deeper than you’re used to. You sigh as his other hand decides to join in and tease swollen flesh, soft strokes in time with the way he slowly teases his finger in and out.

“Sylus…” you hold yourself steady around his neck, quickly adjusting to the new pressure inside you as the strokes with his other hand ease you in. You rock into his touch, needy, and he meanly moves to pin your hips to the window instead, holding you in place while you whimper from the loss of his touch. For all that you want, Sylus only ever wants to give what he allows you to have.

“So greedy. Don’t you know you shouldn’t ask for too much at once? Lucky for you, I don’t mind indulging you every once in a while,” he chuckles — which is funny, he’ll indulge you any day of the week. Hell, pampers you even. But then he’s slipping in a second finger and your words are gone before they ever had a chance to formulate.

Your hips tingle as he drags them in and out, wet. He moves back to kiss your lips, goes at them again and again like he’s unable to get enough. Sylus is a kisser, you learn. Part of you always thought kissing was deliberately off the table for him. But the way his lips move, how damn sensual he is, and the perfect way he knows to suck on your lower lip is so good you can’t imagine him being anything else. His fingers curl deep inside and you whine, a jolt of pleasure running through your already burning body. Your body naturally rides his fingers, chasing that feeling, the way he can press against your walls so good. Makes you tremble in pleasure as he whispers quiet praises against your lips on how good you’re taking his fingers. They move and stretch, relaxing you, opening you up for him, and you can’t help but wonder how Sylus fucks as you’re hazy. Does he hold you down and pump into you mean and rough? Slow and sensual? Does he like to tease, to give, or to take? All three? Quiet whimpers leave your mouth and he’s adding a third finger the same time he goes back to stroking you.

You try to be good, to keep your hips nice and still for him. You want him firmer, harder, want to feel his touch burn on your skin for days and leave you dizzy at the mere thought. The dual sensation makes your legs tremble and it takes steadying your hands on his shoulders to keep from stumbling as he thrusts and pleasures your swollen flesh in tandem.

“Sylus… I’m… I’ll…” You try to warn him, wrapping your arms around his neck for support as you whine and quiver, his fingers insistent and hand skilled. He chuckles in your ear at your stumbled words, and fuck that makes you even more weak in the knees. The pleasure radiates from your hips all throughout, tingling, building so good and so quick. It almost surprises you how soon you’re desperately squeezing him and letting out quiet whispered noises as the build up finally overflows. Your body trembles, wrapped around him as you pulse around his fingers and against his hand, soothed by quiet praises while he strokes and finger-fucks you all throughout it, leaving you squirming when the feeling borders on unbearable.

He gives you reprieve, kisses your temple while you quiver in his grasp and try to steady your heart that’s thundering so hard you feel it in your throat.

“Knew you’d look just perfect like that,” he says, and you give him a weak squeeze in response. If you let go of his neck, you’re certain you’ll collapse on the spot.

Thankfully, Sylus, if anything, is perceptive. He wastes no time undoing his pants and moving his briefs just enough to release his eager erection, lined just with your abdomen. Naturally, you have to look, and shit. You figured he’d be something considering his damn size, but seeing it against your body makes you wonder if three fingers can even remotely compare. You tremble — maybe anticipation, maybe nerves, and comply when you’re lifted and pressed against the window so your jelly legs are given a break.

His lips mark up your neck beautifully — you can’t imagine what sorts of things you’ll need to wear to cover up the next week or two, and you subconsciously tense when you feel him slide himself between your legs, flesh sensitive and wet. His eyes lock onto yours, hot. Being so scrutinized when so helplessly at this man’s mercy makes your skin burn.

“Hm? What’s with that look? Want something?” Sylus meanly asks, and you hate the way your body responds to those words, throbs, and you watch him with a look of quiet, embarrassed defeat. Maybe you’ll have Sylus at your mercy one day, but today is not that day.

“Why are you so damn big…” you grumble, like you aren’t looking at him with heart eyes. That draws a throaty laugh from him and he leans close, lips settled right at the shell of your ear.

“So it can fit perfectly between those pretty legs of yours,” he says, and right then he uses a hand to steady his erection just where his fingers made you come undone, making you scoff and squeeze him tight.

“Perfectly isn’t how I’d describe your size in proportion to me,” you mumble. Perhaps feigning an attitude can help distract you from your nervous anticipation. Your body’s throbbing, begging, empty from his fingers and aching to be filled even after you just came.

“Really? Guess we’ll just have to see about that,” he whispers, light and teasing. In the same breath, you feel him slowly slide into you, arms supporting your legs as you sink onto his cock. You grip at him with a rushed moan, Sylus letting out a choked groan in response. You tremble, fight the urge to tense as you stretch around his size. Fuck — he’s so damn thick and fills you so much it aches. You whine and grasp at him with the effort to adjust, weakly murmuring curses.

“Dammit—shit, ah…” you choke and squeeze him close, burying one hand in his pale silver hair, and digging your shaky fingers into his shoulder. “S-Sylus…”

“That’s it, sweetie. Just like that. You can handle it,” he murmurs, tone so sweet for such mean actions as he pulls out and pushes in deeper, bottoming out. This position has you exactly where he needs you, makes you accept everything he has to offer. He’s so deep and you can feel him twitch inside, thick, an inferno, makes you sigh with each movement. He watches your face — this asshole, he likes seeing you whine — and let out a weak noise as he grinds, hips flush to you, before starting to thrust at a deep, slow pace. The warmth of his skin contradicts the coolness of the glass behind you, and you vaguely wonder how filthy your combined silhouettes must look in the distance.

It’s hard to explain the well of emotions inside you aside from pure lust. They blend together, a chunky, complicated mix of very degrees of pettiness, anger, mild fondness, and a deep-set longing you can’t pinpoint the origin of. Your body takes this longing and turns it into need, holding him to you, absorbing his warmth inside and out.

For a moment, you want to tilt your head and kiss him. You squeeze him harder instead.

You quiver around his length, each thrust accompanied by deep pleasure and a dull, pleasant ache. Sylus rewards your strain around his cock with his lips on yours, deep and devouring, stealing your already thin air. He guides you so easy, holds you up like it’s nothing while his steady thrusts slowly gain on speed. This position easily lets him slide against you in the perfect way that makes you cry out weakly, back arching. The pleasure is numbing and he brushes that area over and over, adamant on making you lose your sense of reason.

“Look at you. You handle me so well, sweetheart,” he speaks against your swollen lips like a dirty secret, panting against you as his thrusts hit the perfect spot every time. He handles your legs with ease and fucks into you harder, meaner, like he’s trying to bully these pathetic noises out of you. You whimper and claw at him, toes curling, feeling him swell as skin slaps against skin every time. His face is flush, eyes look at you like there’s no one else in the world — the only thing that exists is you a mess from his cock. His thrusts are as dizzying as his gaze you feel you can never escape, eyes half-lidded as he watches you take all of him. Your body’s a beacon of pleasure and your hips roll against his, rocking in time, wanting more, never enough.

“Please… please-fuck, Sylus… ngh…” You gasp, squeeze his hair tighter, and he fits his lips against your brow to murmur, “as you wish, sweetie.”

His hips are relentless, he stuffs you full of his cock every time and rolls his hips just the right way to make you sweetly numb, to fill you with that deep-set pleasure from within. His hair sticks to his brow, pants leave his body as his darkened eyes admire your sheen in sweat, rasping form. Fuck — he’s so — you need — he kisses at your neck and the sensitivity almost makes you sob.

“You’re shaking… you gonna come for me again all pretty?” Sylus breathes in your ear, you groan and clench him tight, making his hips sputter a moment. He smirks and picks back up his usual pace in response. You indeed feel your entire body quiver around him as the feeling grows more and more. Fuck you’ll — you — you can’t even say a word of warning as you’re suddenly letting out a choked sob, unable to control your tremors as you climax, body taut, tense. Sylus fucking you throughout only makes you whine and whimper as the feeling prolongs, white and hot. You’re so beautifully sensitive and rendered completely speechless, thoughtless. Sylus lets out quiet grunts all throughout, his own hips trembling, but pace unbroken.

Even when you come down Sylus doesn’t relent on his thrusts, he’s persistent if anything. At this point tears are pricking your eyes as you squeeze him tight, shame lost. “Please, please Sylus, fuck I can’t — please come,” you beg, sensitive, shaking, swollen, and Sylus laughs softly as his thrusts come in mean, hard, and fast.

“Mmm… How could I refuse such an earnest request?” He hums and holds you firm, his own forehead pressed against the window. It warms your ear and fogs the glass as his hips snap against yours, more erratic, your body bounced along with his rhythm and so damn sensitive you fight the urge to cry. Quiet grunts leave him, he’s more vocal, more open, and his large hands squeeze your thighs as he gasp and twitches. He buries deep and spills, releasing a pleasant groan right into your hot ear. He’s so close, feels so alive under your fingers and inside you, his heart an impossibly fast rhythm that puts yours to shame. You feel every throb, and you moan weakly as you’re held up, body swallowing every last drop. When he pulls out of your swollen hole, you feel the strength leave you and his cum drip down filthily.

“There you are, sweetie. Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall,” he soothes, and holds your weak body up with the same ease he had the first time despite the time elapsed. This kindness feels as wrong from him as it does right. When you weakly rest your head on his shoulder to look at him, his sweet eyes return the gaze, appeased. He carries your limp body to the couch and settles you down gently, swiping a thumb across your slick forehead. “You had quite the workout,” he comments. You glare and push his shoulder away, earning a chuckle.

“Aw, don’t pout.”

“Next time…” you hiss, holding a finger up to him. ‘Next time’ implying this will be regular. ‘Next time’ implying Sylus is not only the fearsome Onychinus leader you’ve been made to deal with, but is now a man you fuck (and something… more?) on top of it. “You’ll be the one at my mercy.”

Sylus blinks, tongue lax as he observes you in mild surprise.

Then, his face melts into a soft grin.

You’ve seen so many new expressions from Sylus today, it’s like you’re meeting him again for the first time. He grabs your hand and gently interlocks your fingers, watching you with a look you can only describe as ‘affectionate’.

It makes your face burn.

He adjusts his hand so he’s grasping your palm, and he drags yours to his lips, dropping a soft kiss on your fingertips.

“As you wish, your majesty.”