#and for that I need to draw. and not weep every time I think about it

[tojisun]

Okay, now I need something about bf!logan and his girl making a porno (bonus points if wade finds out after the show they put on for him and that man is willing to RISK IT ALL to see that sex tape😩🤣)

cw: porn link; f!reader; smut; consensual filming during sex; slight sexting at the end // divider by @/plutism!

this is definitely the porno they were making <3

logan has you on your knees, your ass dimpling with every one of his greedy caresses, his heavy hand kneading your flesh. you’re whining to be creampied—to be bred—and logan indulges you with a quiet chuckle because you’re so adorable like this, all needy and demanding, babbling nothing but nonsense because he’s fucked you to the point of incoherence.

you jut out your chin at his croon. he tells you to do it yourself if you really want his cum; says that you’ve got to show him how much you need it.

“an’ here i thought i was bein’ a gentleman,” logan says, sighing in that what-can-you-do? tone like he hadn’t been fucking you so hard, you were sure that the condom was on the brink of ripping.

you grumble, rolling your eyes even mid-tears, before reaching back to where he’s got his cock rutting along the cleft of your ass. you give it a stroke, giggling breathily to yourself at its sheer girth and weight, before sliding your hand down to the pinched tip and tugging.

logan moans, and it rumbles deep, sending tingles to rise from the tips of your toes to the base of your neck. he sounds just a little too excited, and you wonder how you must look as you reach for the rubber, tugging it off the expanse of his cock. do you look desperate, the camera capturing the way you’re shivering like you’re on cum-withdrawals? or do you look like the brat that you are, whining how sex is not enough until logan’s pumping you full of his sperm?

god, the thought that this moment is being immortalized makes you clench at nothing, your hole puckering as it waits to be filled.

the condom comes off with a pop, the rubber snapping off and into itself. it sounds so lewd and dirty, like the two of you are really starring in a corny porno, and it fills your cheeks with warmth as your need wanes in the face of your shyness.

you fling the condom to the side, before burrowing your face on the pillows, as though that alone can hide the palpable hunger rippling from you. logan laughs at your reaction like he’s not softly humping his cock between your thighs, rutting it along the wet mess he’s made out of your cunt.

“y’ready, bub?” logan asks, still giddy with his laugh. you grumble a reply, before jutting your head in a stilted nod.

he taps his weeping cock along your folds, testing, and you shuffle in your impatience. you feel the itch exploding, the need to be stuffed bloating, but logan continues to tease and god, pleasepleaseplease—

“i’ve got you, darl,” he grunts, then he’s pushing in, steady and filling, and, and—

the moan that’s ripped from your throat sounds foreign, like you’re a damn wounded animal. you don’t even get to adjust to his width—pussy lips going taut at his thickness—before logan’s drawing his cock out until all that’s left is the head. there’s a bated breath that you two share, leaving you suspended in anticipation, then he’s bullying it back in.

you flop on the bed, all useless now like you’ve got your strings cut loose. logan doesn’t seem to mind, not with the consistent ringing slaps of his pelvis meeting your ass echoing in your quaint room. god, your brain’s being scrambled right now, you’re sure, because you can’t even think of anything but logan—

loganloganlogan.

you’re already cross-eyed by the time he sprays his first load inside you.

.

wade gets a five second clip from logan’s number. the thumbnail is just a blur of colours and wade’s interest is piqued because logan rarely reaches out to him—a video is just unthinkable.

he was expecting many things—that the video is the one of deadpool being broadcasted on national television with the words “hero or criminal?” after he’s accidentally set the robber’s van on fire, or that the video is an accidental recording of logan’s butt because that wolverine suit was tight and wade can’t even think where logan must keep his phone with him.

but this—

wade wasn’t expecting this.

it was a video of you—wade’s not even embarrassed to admit that he’s memorized the way you look from all angles; what? one doesn’t get a show of wolverine fucking his girl without gaining a new hyperfixation—reaching for logan’s monster cock. wade breathes in sharply as he watches you reach for the condom before tugging it off with a filthy, filthy pop. the video cuts into a next scene of logan relentlessly fucking you hard; the audio is a mess of squeaks and slaps, but also the wet squelches of logan’s cock fucking in-and-out of your gaping cunt.

two things:

1. that’s fucking hot.

2. that video has clearly been tampered with; it was edited to show the barest of the highlights.

this was a conscious decision, with deliberate efforts. this was personal.

an invitation.

wade rubs one… okay, fine.

wade rubs three out before he’s running back to that apartment he’s daydreamed about. mid-parkour, another notifcation comes in. wade falls, because of course he does, but while he waits for his ankle to mend itself back into its socket, his eyes devour the new message.

> darl wants to know if you’re in.

wade sends a dick pic as a reply.

wade busting a fat nut behind tim hortons because he’s patriotic like that

(ext)

[call-me-kat-astrophe]

18+ content ahead, mdni! | part two

Something something the boys are out one night and Soap confesses to Price over a few beers that his last girlfriend broke up with him because she claimed he didn't know how to eat her out properly.

It's forgotten about the next day, just a bit of locker room chat between men over a some drinks in their local pub, until Soap is called into Price's office one day to find you - his Captain's pretty wife - laid out on the desk, looking like a damn feast.

Price is kneeled down in front of you between your splayed legs, lapping hungrily at your cunt, and if your echoing mewls and cries are anything to go by, you seem to be enjoying it immensely.

Soap backs up, hand reaches behind him for the door as he stutters over apologies, unable to tear his eyes away from the erotic scene in front of him. He feels his cock stirring in his trousers despite the wrongness of it, the intrusion on a private moment between a husband and wife.

It's been so long since he last got laid, even longer since he got to taste a nice pussy. He can tell just by looking at yours that you've got a nice tasting one, the kind that lingers on his tongue days after, makes him ache and wake up hard just dreaming about it.

Price's head turns, but he doesn't look angry, far from it. His eyes glitter with amusement, mustache looking damp and chin shining with slick arousal from your weeping cunt.

Instead of ordering him to get out, the Captain invites him to come closer.

Hesitantly, still in a state of disbelief but far too turned on to leave, the Sergeant edges closer, swallowing thickly.

"Go on, lad. Give 'er a taste."

It's wrong, so wrong. Depraved. But he is depraved and he's so unbelievably horny.

Soap takes Price's place on the floor, knees leaning on the hard surface as his face gets up close to your pussy.

His eyes dart up to your face, as if checking to see your reaction, but you just smile coyly and give a short nod of reassurance. It's all he needs before he's diving in, suckling harshly on your puffy clit.

He hears you cry out, loud, feels your fingers fist in his hair - but you don't seem to be trying to hold him there, you're tugging. He raises his head, a struggle, looking to see what's wrong.

Behind him, observing, Price clicks his tongue in disappointment. "You're going too fast. You need to slow down. Savour it. Take your time."

Soap feels a flush of embarrassment.

Keeping his Captain's words in mind, he goes in again - but this time, he doesn't slurp, he laps. He slowly and painstakingly devours you, from your clit down to your soaked entrance. He savours the flavour, hums as your arousal dances on his tongue. Thinks back to his earlier thoughts and decides he was right; you do have a nice tasting pussy and he'll be getting off to this for weeks to come, chubbing up at just the mere mention of your name.

He can distantly hear you whimpering and sobbing over the thunderous drumming of his own heart, can feel you squirming, thighs clamping around his head every so often. Doesn't need to look to know the desk is fucking soaked, any paperwork under you destroyed with your juices (not that he's allowed much to escape, the greedy bastard that he is).

"There ya go, lad. She's almost there. A little more."

Price's encouragement only serves to make him work even slower, drawing out your impending orgasm deliciously. When you finally reach your peak, your back arches clean off the desk, legs twitching and quivering, your voice a beautiful high-pitched crescendo full of pleasure and relief that echoes in Soap's skull like a symphony.

Only once he's finished catching every drop of your release that escaped your cunt does he come up for air, licking his lips and tasting your arousal that's coating his mouth, chin, dribbling down his neck.

Soap turns his head to look back over his shoulder.

Price nods, a hint of pride in his voice as he says, "Well done. Next time I'll teach you how to make her squirt."

i don't know what this is and don't ask me how it came into my head

[ pics in collage do not belong to me - all were found on pinterest ]

[sunny-knight]

THIS IS HOME

@forgettable-au Fan-Animatic ⭐️

The stars welcome him with open arms…

Work and Progress + Analysis below!

You can find the work in progress things here! because I wanna show the sketch animatic and you can only upload one video…

The entire idea was inspired off of THIS lovely little qna written a bit ago! havnt forgotten about it since! Despite what the AU might have you believe And recently I decided I could just draw out the fun part instead of go through the pain of storyboarding and cleaning up a nearly 4 minute long song 👍👍👍

Thats the idea though, theres no real plot, so no real context I can give other than the things the comic itself already provides. “This Is Home” just works incredibly well for this poor childs trauma, and it was a great opportunity to practice my composition and storytelling!!

Onto the deep analysis of every frame individually!!! (this is normal. this happens every time.)

The idea that Wingdings just eventually- gave up. Trying to connect with anyone. HURTS ME DEEPLY. I’m not sure if thats specifically because he just couldn’t get the font thing down, but I imagine that was a big contributing factor. But thats what specifically stops him here. He eventually slams his keys down on the board and says “IM DONE” and throws himself into a thing he can purely enjoy on his own- science. Even at a young age, I feel he only had 2 lives. One with Sans, and one with science. Then when those worlds combined when he became the royal scientist uhhh- I imagine it got worse.

Speaking of his young age, In these shots he’s also notably a tad older than the later depictions of his younger self with the scarf. Less full of joy and whimsy

“His mind is in a different place” is taken a tad more negatively than in the context of the song I feel, as he’s more or less isolated himself from everyone (but Sans) now in this “giving up” phase of his childhood. I wonder how Sans noticed/took that and if he tried to convince him otherwise, but in this case he just thinks he needs some time to himself.

Also let it be known that the words being crammed in at the “Give him a little bit of space” bit is on PURPOSE and a SILLY LITTLE JOKE/VISUAL GAG GIVEN THE LINE. I AM SO FUNNY.

The colors are also notably dark blues, that get greyer when Wingdings has given up. The light that Sans lets in ((looks into the camera, tearing up)) is still pretty cold despite it being brighter.

The berating is also in uppercase to show most of this is from Wingdings’ pov- I know he speaks in proper casing at this time, but I NEED SOME SORT OF INDICATOR, WORK WITH ME HERE. His main issue was his own self consciousness and desire to communicate properly, since it was said before on the blog that no one really picked on him for his inability to talk to them.

Then we have Papyrus!! The colors are similarly blue, but a lot brighter and a touch purpler and greener. Its from the same world, but not the same person. Also he’s wearing a yellow vest which is the complimentary color to blue ☝️

Papyrus is more heavily associated with warm colors in contrast to Wingdings, but this takes place very early on when he was very confused where his place was (or at least I assume thats what happened). He’s associating with warm colors (yellow) but is somewhat weary about it and still subconsciously clutching onto the comfort in familiarity.

The scene ofc depicts Papyrus being incredibly uncomfortable about any photos of himself as a child. It still definitely…looooks… like him. it just feels really wrong.

Similar thing to last time with the fonts as well, uppercase, Papyrus’ pov, he just wants to know who/WHAT he is.

I enjoy the colors in the photo and how they reallly stand out from the rest of the shot, just another emphasis that the photo feels otherworldly to Papyrus.

This is the part where I start weeping pitifully. The tiny Wingdings to Gaster comparison- it’s just so upsetting, I want to know what this poor child would think if he saw what he ends up as 😭

Wingdings enjoyed dreaming about the real stars he MIGHT get to see one day with Sans. The scene is dark, as it still hasnt happened yet, but still bright and hopeful as he stares up at the light! Its always a possibility. But then we have Gaster, who finally did it. He reached the stars, he gets to look up and say “wow…. I really did it”. Staring up at the void before him. Without Sans…I feel he wouldn’t ponder on it much, and consciously he doesn’t see anything bad about his circumstances, but the crack going down his eye that elludes to a tear says otherwise in the suppressed emotions.

The world Wingdings lived in when he was small, seemed so endless…Despite the underground being small compared to the real world, his imagination was endless. He could dream, he could imagine, and create things, get and give new ideas! But now as an adult that just so happens to be a lovecraftian entity, everything is much more simple and straightforward. At least from his perspective…Gaster may be able to DO way more than he ever could as a small child, but his mind is pretty one track at this point.

I wonder how Gaster feels…Now that they’ve gotten to the surface. without him

Im not sure how Papyrus in the game or even in the comic feels about stars, but Sans for one doesnt have to daydream anymore. They’ve also “done it” just like Gaster, but the hug insinuates less of that and more a “we WON”. They share in this moment together more emotionally than anything.

Again, compared to Gaster and them, they enjoy the moment in their own ways- Gaster just the action of seeing the stars, and Papyrus in what the moment itself means. I feel those are the 2 wants Wingdings had and thats a lot of what Papyrus and Gaster are. 2 halfs of Wingdings’…whole…thing

Also the stars welcoming him with open arms is both in reference to Sans but also Papyrus welcoming/accepting/loving himself…

IN CONCLUSION:

…yknow ive never asked before, but if anyone has any questions or needs clarification im happy to-

[ddejavvu]

mei! I have an request that has been rotting my brain for WEEKS. Now. I haven't seen you write for Bucky before, so I don't know if you will, but I'm taking a risk asking bc I have been SALIVATING.

It's so simple. Literally just Bucky eating the reader out, and he hikes her up on his shoulders, with her legs wrapped around his head and she's leaned up against the wall. I hope I'm drawing this correctly, but it has been ALL I have been thinking about. if you don't do bucky, that's okay but if you do PLEASEE.

on my old account that i never write on anymore i used to be the bucky queen. every time someone asks me if i'd ever write for bucky i take psychic damage (through no fault of yours). my bucky masterlist was pages long and sometimes i really do miss my metal armed fucktoy

this post is 18+, minors dni.

Cool metal digs into the fleshy globe of your ass, trailing up your back and surely leaving ridged indents in your skin that will itch later when he's let you down. Your back aches, your neck aches, and no amount of squirming against the wall will stop that, but the ecstasy between your thighs makes up for it and more. Bucky's slight scruff burns against your thighs as his mouth sucks tight against your hole, tongue dipping inside and adding to the slick mess that's already been produced there.

There's wetness escaping the seal of his lips, staining both his chin and your thighs alike, probably dripping down to the floor by now, streaming like saliva from the jowls of a feral beast. He's got you pinned to the wall behind you, your knees hiked over his shoulders to stabilize you while his super-powered muscles do the rest of the work. He doesn't seem to need to compensate much, but he does brace his arms beneath your ass for somewhere to put them. Regardless of his arms- he's pinned your cunt to the wall like he's making out with it.

He's eating it, really eating it like he's dipping his tongue into your mouth. His head bobs back and forth, his tongue pushing relentlessly into your pussy and licking it for all its worth. He gladly pushes his own spit into the mess of your slick, sucking and gulping the mixture down like water to a parched man. He's groaning, breathing heavily through his teeth ravenously when he's forced to come up for air. He dives back in to suck at your clit, latching on ferociously and straining the sensitive nub that's already aflame with stimulation. You gasp, thighs nearly falling off of his shoulders, but his strong arms hold you tight in place. Bucky's tightly sealed mouth over your clit sucks hard enough for it to hurt, like he's trying to swallow it and he's willing to smother himself between your legs to do it.

Your clit burns and you yank at his hair when you've had all you can handle, enduring five seconds more of it because you can't seem to tug tight enough on his locks to make him remember there's a world outside of the wet, warm space between your thighs.

He dips back into the slick cavity of your cunt to give your clit a break, but the point of his nose still scrapes unforgivingly against its stinging surface. The clit stimulation alone is nearly enough to throw you over the edge, but you wrestle the urge back to prolong the time in which Bucky licks the slick out of your weeping sex.

There's nothing to be said, no 'Bucky', no 'More, please!', no 'I need you', nothing you could have possibly strung together in your garbled haze of a brain. All you can do is make noises, animalistic and greedy, breathy gasps and dirty moans.

That's what sex with Bucky is- hungry, feral, rabid. It's sweat that his tongue sponges off of your neck, it's bite marks left on his well-built muscles, it's the burning raw skin of your thighs left behind by his barely-there beard. It's raw sex, nothing held back, nothing orchestrated, only urges. Bucky's tongue brings you back to reality, to the ache in your back as it dips down nearly to your ass, and you rake in a trembling breath as your thighs begin to shake.

You don't need to speak to let him know he's about to unravel you, he can feel it through the tremble in your core, by the wild clenching of your hole around his tongue, by the tightening of your fist in his hair. You shamelessly ride his face through your orgasm, bucking wildly against his mouth nearly hard enough to dislodge yourself from his shoulders. But it doesn't matter, he's got you pinned, your hips immovable from against his mouth.

He drags out your orgasm for as long as he can, licking and sucking and even biting wherever he feels he won't hurt you beyond repair. You're sure there's going to be a bruise against the flesh of your inner leg tomorrow, but you would have cut it off to keep riding Bucky's face for ten seconds longer.

Bliss turns to agony as Bucky doesn't relent, his mouth still working against your cunt like a kiss. You have to risk falling to get him off, pushing urgently against his head, hard enough to pry his hot, sucking mouth off of your pussy.

He's breathing just as heavily as you are when he breaks away, the lower half of his face coated in the mixture of your slick and his spit. It feels like it's dripping out of you, too, and you marvel at how his tongue was able to stretch your cunt out like a dick.

He nudges your thighs gently off of his shoulders, but you barely fall an inch before he catches you, lowering you to the ground on shaky legs. He doesn't bother letting you hold up your own weight, providing the strength of his own chest for you to slump against. He guides you to your bed, ignoring the way your spent cunt leaks over the sheets.

He must be able to read your worry about the mess, because he grunts, "I'll clean it up later. We can wash the sheets."

You grip weakly at his hand, mustering all of your energy to squeeze it tighter, "Can you- can we sleep?"

"You can sleep," He chuckles, brushing a hand over your forehead and pushing your head back down to the pillow, "I'm not tired."

You know that. You know he's barely ever tired, even after three rounds of nothing but giving you the pounding of your lifetime. So you watch him crack his neck, chest still heaving as he drags in oxygen, "I'm gonna go for a run. Call me when you're ready for more."

[hyukasmiles]

Hiii can you write camgirl!reader x fan!beomgyu?

(Not proofread)

Beomgyu is your best friend of years. You shouldn’t ask him to fuck you, shouldn’t ruin the perfectly good relationship, but you got the idea in your head and he agrees so quickly you don’t have time to rethink it. “I’ve been watching you.” He admits. “Since you told me about it. I’ve been wanting to fuck you for years.”

—

“You guys remember my professor I’m always complaining about- turns out he just wanted to fuck me.” You giggle, moving to unblock the camera's view of Beomgyu sitting on your bed, completely naked with his hands tied behind his back and cock stood bright red with need. “So I thought I’d fuck em for you guys- since youre always wanting to see my cunt spread open by a real dick.”

Beomgyu looks so handsome with his eyes covered by his silk tie. “Sweet-“

“Nuh-uh what if other creepy professors watch my streams, wouldn’t want to get caught fucking your student right?” You laugh turning towards the camera. “Anyone else here my teacher?” You sit down on Beomgyu’s lap, the older man twitching as your thigh grazes his erection.

“Guys…” You draw, tapping Beomgyu’s red tip with your pointer nail. “What should I start with?” The answer is pretty much unanimous every one of your viewers typing out something along the lines of sucking him off. “You’re right, that's the nice thing right?” You slide down to your knees, checking to make sure your camera is positioned on his cock. “He deserves it- said he’d pass me for sure.”

You smirk and blow cold air on Beomgyu’s almost angry looking erection, reveling in the way his hips buck up a little. His pre is salty on your tongue, a whine spilling from him as you run your tongue over the head, putting pressure on the shallow divot.

You kiss the sticky tip, a smile splitting your lips as he responds so honestly, a cry muffled but his bit lips. “I wonder the last time somebody had his dick in their mouth.” You laugh, wrapping your hand around the length. “He’s quite the mean guy, you know, there’s the chance he’s a virgin. Are you Mr.Choi?”

“No.” He huffs, arms flexing. “And I think they asked you to suck me- not run your mouth.” He tuts as you roll your eyes. You wrap your lips around him and sink down. Beomgyu’s hands break free, the knot you made failing to hold against his tensed arms. He shoves you down until his pubes graze your nose, loud slurping filling the room as you try to take him down your throat. “Fuck, has been a long time.” He groans.

You press your tongue against him, eyes rolling as he pulls you up and down on his cock. “I’m gonna cum.” He groans, hips bucking up. “Fuck- all in your mouth.” He does, balls squeezing as they empty in your mouth.

“Show the camera.” Beomgyu groans, gripping your face and turning it towards your set up, cum spilling out of your mouth. He tightens his hold and forces your lips open more of his cum falling out or lips. “Go ahead and swallow.” You do try to swallow but there’s too much and it almost all falls down onto your chin and chest. “Good girl.”

You turn around and smile up at Beomgyu, gathering his cum on your fingers and popping them in your mouth. “What next?” You twist to smile at your camera. “Oh? Mr. Choi, they want you to reciprocate!” You laugh a little when his mouth curls up into a smile. You’re leaning in for a kiss as you sit down on the mattress.

Beomgyu grabs onto your hips and gently pulls you to the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of you. “Let’s see what it takes.” He laughs, sucking your clit into his mouth.

“Fingers too!” You stutter, opening your legs wider as Beomgyu eats you out like a man starved. “Oh- god-“ You whine into the air, throwing your head back as he shoves three fingers into your weeping cunt.

Being a camgirl has made you sensitive but the way he builds you up to an orgasm could be a world record. “Loosen up sweet thing- can barely move my fingers.” You try to listen to him but your pussy won’t listen, determined to lock his fingers in as you cum on his face. “Hmm…” He hums into your heat, kissing at your hole. “Will you squirt? Looks like your pretty cunts begging to.” Your voice leaves you when he nips at your sensitive clit, spreading open his fingers in your tired cunt.

“Hold-“ You cry out, leaning forward and grabbing at his hair. “Hold on- Beomie- it’s too much!” Your legs try to close around his head but he uses one of his hands to force them back open. “I’m-“

“Perfect.” Beomgyu groans, licking up your release before smiling up at you. “Knew you’d squirt for me, you’re such a good girl.” You're heaving as he stands over you, kissing your shoulders and arms as you calm down. “Can I fuck her now?”

Neither of you care to check what the viewers have to say, Beomgyu manhandling you to face the camera. Your bare cunt grinds against his abs, long cock pressed against your stomach. You lean to grab onto his knees but strong hands stop you, a hand under your knee stretching you for the camera.

“Giving them a better view than me.” He grumbles, squeezing your thigh. “She wants it real bad, can feel your cunt pulsing.” Beomgyu’s dick is a stretch, so long and thick enough to force a long squelch out of your poor cunt as he sinks you down on it. “I can see it on the monitor, poor little cunts splitting so good.”

He shifts on his elbows, hand moving from your thigh to your ass, guiding you along. “So much better than a dildo.” You groan, relishing in the way his dick twitches in you.

“Yeah.” Beomgyu sits up fully, squeezing you into a full nelson. “Let me show you what a dildo can’t do.” His hips hit yours and your air knocks from your chest. His thrusts are swift and calculated, pummeling your g-spot as you try to catch your breath.

“What you guys don’t know about our favorite girl is she loves to squirt.” Beomgyu smirks as he drills into you. “Just have to get her all stupid and it’s like she can’t stop.” He proves himself right, your back arching off his chest as he swipes over your sensitive clit. “See. Doesn’t she look pretty like this?” Your release sprays against your camera, blurring out the video as you're rushed into an orgasm. “Look, she's still going.”

“B-eom-“ His free hand covers your mouth as you squeal. He’s thrusting hard enough to bruise. “S-“ Your voice gives out, his fingers moving from your clit to trying to shove inside your cunt, pushing up against the shallow spongy walls as he fucks you.

“Here’s another fact about my girl, she’s not on any birth control.” You’re crying, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as he spreads you open for the camera. “Should I knock her up? Do you guys want to see us conceive our love child?” Your fingers are clawing at his strong arms, brain fuzzy as you a muffled yes slips out of your lips. “Did you guys hear her?”

Beomgyu’s hand leaves your mouth and a dam breaks. “Yes! Yes! Please, please wanna have your baby.” You’re words are barely audible, slurred into a whiny mess and over powered by your slurping cunt. More squirt sprays out of you and your begging turns into pleading for him to stop, pathetic whimpers of how it’s too much.

“Wanted it so bad.” He laughs, kissing your shoulder. “So take it and show everyone how much of a good girl you are.” His tongue is burning on your neck. His name is on your lips again but a sharp thrust kills it halfway through, your ears start ringing, eyes blurring as he fucks you in earnest. “You really look so pretty, my sweet girl.” It’s a whisper, something just for you, hidden by him kissing a mark into your skin.

His dick twitches, chest heaving against your back as his hips hit your ass. “Cum- please!” You’ve never wanted something more, need his hot semen flooding you, filling you to the brim and then some. “Please please please!” You’ll be embarrassed when this is over, when you wake up in the morning and have to buy a plan b, but right now an empty pit is forming in your womb and Beomgyu has promised to fill it.

You arch away from him as he slams you down one, two, three more times, your hands scrambling to find something to hold, landing on the tie hanging loosely around his neck. You pull it as he cums. Hot, burning white cum splurting into you as he grinds his hips against your ass. “I definitely got her pregnant, don’t you guys think?” Your body falls forward, feet hitting the ground as you go limp. “Oh looks like she needs some help saying bye.”

Beomgyu’s arms wrap around your torso, a hand gripping your face, forcing you to look at the camera. “Thank you.” He whispers in your ear, your voice repeating weakly. “I hope you enjoyed tonight’s stream.”

—

Inbox always open :)

[delicious-in-imagines]

Nsfw headcannons for Laios, Mithrun and Kabru??? 👀👀

I love them very much 😁 (I'm soooo normal for them, so so so normal)

*rubs my grubby lil hands together* :)))

NSFW below the cut, as per usual! Spoilers for Mithrun!

Requests are still OPEN!

Laios Touden

You have the full authority to bully this man - I promise you that he enjoys it. He wants to be so good for you, sitting on his legs as he looks up at you, awaiting each and every instruction. For him, it's all about fulfilling your desires and wishes, anything you ask of him, you don't need to repeat yourself.

Grope and grasp at his body, that little bit of extra padding that he has, and feel free to add some stinging remarks to the fondling. His chest is especially sensitive, Laios letting out the cutest little gasps as you take a handful each and squeeze. That adorable blush of his will paint across his skin and up his neck, even to the tips of his ears as you coo and sneer at him in equal measure.

He loves to have you on top of him, riding him into the earth as he holds at your waist like a lifeline. He'll babble out whatever he's thinking, usually interrupting himself while he's gasping about how beautiful/handsome you are on top of him, how thankful he is to have you in his life.

We all saw the way he ties ropes, but this man is no rigger - he's a bunny through and through. He'll teach you each and every knot that he knows, showing where to place them on his body while he can barely contain his excitement as each line grows taut. Eventually, he's wrapped up for you like a pretty little package, blushing and already fixing to burst at the seams.

He's usually starving after sex, so grabbing a bite is definitely part of his aftercare. He'll offer you up some food as well, lingering by your side and enjoying the warmth of your bodies, and the feeling of your fingers carding through his hair. He's always got this dopey smile on his face after the deed, something that lingers even while he conks out afterwards.

Kabru of Utaya

Kabru is a 'try anything once' sort of guy, so if you come up to him asking to try something new in the bedroom, he's not going to shoot you down. There are some things that he might need some coaxing on, especially if it involves inflicting pain on you - though he is conscious of the fact that he won't know his limits until he pushes against them, at least a little.

He loves to have his hands bound under him, the slight burn in his shoulders and the grating from trying to 'struggle' his way out of his bindings. It leaves him at your mercy, looking up at you with those bright blue eyes as you take your fill of him, knowing that he's 'powerless' to stop your roaming hands and teasing mouth.

The trust between you is a turn on to him all on its own. Knowing that at any given point, he could say the word and you would stop without any hesitation is part of the thrill. It's the safety within those walls that gives you both the freedom to explore your desires - and knowing you're enjoying yourself is intoxicating in its own right.

When he's alone, or sometimes if you're interested, he'll engage in orgasm denial, squeezing the base of his length, or using a snug ring to stop his pleasure in its tracks. You can keep this up until he's weeping from both his eyes and his arousal, paired with the previously mentioned bindings, he'll be begging for release which only you can provide - if you're feeling merciful.

A bath after your activities is a must, not only to wipe away any sweat and fluids, but also to just enjoy some casual nudity and each other's presence. He'll pay extra attention to any marks that he's made, rubbing gently against them while you talk about what went well, things to try next time, etc., ...

Mithrun of the House of Kerensil

The easiest way to work Mithrun up intentionally is to clamber into his lap, draping your arms around his neck and drawing him close. After a display like that, you're not getting away from him. If you try to pull away he'll settle his hands on your hips and grip you closer. It's only after some heated frottage or Mithrun sparing a moment to teleport whatever offending articles of clothing away to get to both your arousals that he'll finally let you go.

Any undue attention towards you from anyone is another quick way to get him riled up. He'll grab your wrist to tug you away, sometimes sending the offender outside of the walls, before pinning you to a nearby wall with barely any semblance of privacy to have his wicked way with you. He'll press teeth and open-mouthed kisses to the length of your neck, his actions speaking where his lips would not.

An easy way to turn the tables on him is to speak so sweetly to him, calling him handsome, cooing at him and complimenting him. It knocks him off balance, and it's the perfect chance to get him on bottom. Lavishing his body in reverent touches and kisses, he turns into a mess, and will often bring a hand up to try and hide his face.

The two of you have a fair collection of toys - though usually it's to use on him. Part of his newfound desires is the exploration and deepening of those, and the more that you can potentially overwhelm him during those intimate moments, the better. Little enchanted trinkets that with a tiny bit of mana can vibrate, or some select pieces that Fleki or Lycion suggested to the pair of you embarrassingly enough, the potential is endless.

All of the aftercare will fall to you. Making sure that he eats something light and rehydrates, knowing that you'll both probably need to rest pretty soon after. On some rare occasions though, he'll still your hand and check you over, rubbing and pressing kisses to some of the harsh marks that he's left behind - his favorite reminders that you choose to stay with him, that he's your first pick, even if you could have anyone else.

[muzzlemouths]

what remains after ruination - part 2

— read part 1 here

It starts with a promise.

Actually, it starts with two. One for each pinky.

The first is straightforward: you’re halfway out of the pizzaplex exits when a tug at your shoulder reels you back, and you realize they’ve stopped just short of the door, an uneasy tremble taking up the space between their limbs. You can sympathize with that fear. To them, this place isn’t the prison you saw it to be, it’s just home. The only place they’ve ever known. Leaving is scary, but staying is scarier. Worse by tenfold. All they need is a little push or, in this case, a pull. That’s exactly what you do.

“Hey, look at me,” your palm warms their own, hand over hand. “You don’t need to think about it. You can close your eyes if that’s easier. Let me be your guide, I’ll walk you out of here blind if that’s what it takes.”

Your words resonate with them if only by tell of clawed fingers gently squeezing back, and you want to smile, to encourage them with nothing but hope in your eyes, but your voice already quivers. Not out of fear, but anger. A boiling contempt for the place that only ever did them wrong.

“Look at me,” you repeat, waiting this time until their hollowed sockets clink towards you. “I am getting you out of here, okay? Once you step through this door, that’ll be the end of it. You never have to come back. It will be scary, and it will be troublesome, but you won’t be alone anymore. Not ever again.” Despite it all, you manage that smile. If it’s all you can muster you want to at least give them that. “I promise.”

There isn’t heads nor tails of your smile being returned and it guts you beyond anything that can be said. Someone so beloved, who retraced your spirit with a grin, smirk or snicker at every turn, now standing between the doorway with an expression like the fire ruined more than their body. Like their mind blinks static, battery fluid creeping beneath the eyes. They are haunted by the remnants of a company which failed them long before now.

Even still, out from held hands draws a pinky, hesitant yet extended toward you in expectation, their eyes never leaving yours; of course, how could you hope to keep a promise without shaking on it?

They cross the threshold the moment your pinkies collide.

You keep their gaze while leaving the dreaded place behind, never once allowing them to look over their shoulder. It’s all over with, you determine. There’s no reason to watch what’s left behind. All the pain, the isolation, the waiting. It ended here.

The second promise isn’t far behind. It happens once you’re already home and, disastrously, from the very second you release their hand.

“I’m going to find some new clothes,” you tell them, careful to tiptoe around the implications of their condition — the stench of burnt fabric and loss of limb. “I think I have some old clothes that should fit. Just hold tight, okay? I’ll only be a minute.”

It takes longer than a minute. Maybe two, maybe three, but you leave them behind for no more than that before a terrible crash echoes from your bathroom. The culprit? An oblong mirror overseeing your sink, now only a collection of shattered glass resting on bathroom tile.

Inside the tub is where you find them. Head in hands, knees to chest, and an awful wail shredding their voice box. Terrible shards of bad scary broken reflect back on them, their truths sharp as any blade, certainties they’d rather deny even at the expense of their own sanity.

“Don’t look,” they cry, face hidden behind mangled digits.

You’ve never been one to listen. A rulebreaker at heart. You take their hands into your own for the third time that night and mind the fragments of jagged silver that trickle away, silent as each comes to rest in their lap.

“I want to look,” comes your reply, only a whisper. “I want to see you. I don’t care what that looks like, so long as it’s you. I will never look away.”

Robots do not weep. They lack the tears to cry and the heart to hurt, yet, undoubtedly, what rips through their voice box is nothing short of a sob. Their body jerks forward and cranes at the neck, instinctively dropping their face into your chest as each howl brings new waves of motion that rock their shoulders up-down, up-down, up-down.

The second promise isn’t said aloud. It’s mouthed under your breath, a silent vow as you hold them close. A promise to rebuild. You would not rest until their smile returned.

This night signals many changes, anything to help bring them some peace, starting with the mirrors. Every reflective surface is either taken down or covered with sheets. The clothes come second. You help them from the bathtub and hand over a folded pile of hand-me-downs, turning to offer them some privacy only to feel a hand grab for the back of your shirt, an unspoken invitation to stay. You do, not having the heart to refuse.

The process is difficult. They strain to remove what remains of their clothes, outfits reduced to singed fabric, the sound of it being forcibly ripped away meets your back and it’s all you can do not to wince. There’s nothing left to salvage. In a horrible twist of irony, the absence of their bells rings loudest.

It isn’t until they’re fully dressed again that you remember the wires, messy and shorting all over the place. Thoughts of a fire breaking out with them as the source make you dizzy enough to find the wall for support. You want nothing more than to sit them in front of a charging port and let them rest, but this isn’t something you can easily ignore.

Now knowing better than to leave them behind, you instead guide them into your bedroom and spend a minute digging through four separate drawers, the endeavor seemingly fruitless until you come back with a half-empty roll of electrical tape from the last time you tried (and failed) to repair your laptop based on nothing but a youtube tutorial and hope.

Turning around, it’s here where you finally take in the full display of them in your clothes. The pants ride up to just below the knee, and the shirt – though fitting in every other way – sits just above their waistline. It would be a sight worthy of laughter were either of you in the mood.

Even from here you can see the fabric bulging outward to split-end wires. It’s a dangerous combo, one that would surely kill you both if it isn’t taken care of tonight, late as it already is.

Now the trouble came with figuring out how best to word it.

“I’m sorry to ask,” you begin, sheepishly casting your gaze aside, “but I need you to lift your shirt. Can you do that for me?”

You busy yourself with unwrapping the roll if only for an excuse to avoid their eyes for a minute longer. For all intents and purposes you’ve seen them shirtless more often than not. Even so, this felt like an enormous invasion of privacy. A request that is too much, too soon, even if it arrived with a purpose.

Maybe it’s the guilt. That, because you never could get yourself to say three simple words, you’d maybe never get to say them at all. Not without working back up to it, at least. Maybe it’s the shame in hiding behind friendship bracelets when all you wanted to do was pour your heart out until nothing remained between you but the truth.

Now isn’t the time. Maybe it would never be time. Maybe that moment had passed, already, and you would just have to accept that this was the new normal. That you would never have that chance again.

It doesn’t actually matter, because they don’t give you the time to even try. Already having disrobed, their index finger taps gently against your nose to bring you back to the present.

You do your best not to stare at the damage to their waist as you patch it up. A haphazard and amateurish job if you’ve ever seen one, but it’ll do.

“Are you tired?” The words arrive with little warning and, truthfully, you don’t even need an answer. You can see it in their slumped posture, the heavy creak with which they move as the shirt falls back into place. And why shouldn’t they be exhausted? Truth be told, it’s a miracle they made it out in…mostly one piece. Tired is an understatement. You aren’t sure how they’re still standing.

They confirm your suspicions with a nod and a mumble, nothing more.

“Got peanut butter in your throat?” You ask.

And there it is; their smile. Small, a little funny without the teeth, but there all the same.

You remember that talk like it was yesterday. The daycare had closed not five minutes before, which meant you were running around like a busy bee to take care of cleanup. Sun had thrown his voice across the room to ask if you knew where the disinfectant had run off to.

“Mhm,” you had answered, hardly a mutter.

“Got peanut butter in your throat?”

It had startled you back into focus. You turned over your shoulder to find him there, hands on his hips, that silly grin stretching his cheeks.

“Sometimes the kids bring PB&J sandwiches to the daycare,” Sun explains, “and the peanut butter, well, it gets all sticky in their throat, and they have so many thoughts going through their little heads that they don’t stop to use their voices, they just mumble.” He laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the world, and his smile is contagious, blooming like, well, like sunlight on your skin. It sticks with you like peanut butter sticks to one’s throat.

“Friend?”

The new voice, scratchy like an old record, brings you back to the present. Their smile is gone now, replaced with a worrisome frown. You convince yourself to stop dwelling on the past for the time being. No good will come of it when tomorrow itself still isn’t certain.

“Just got distracted,” you tell them, forcing a smile of your own. “Let’s get you to an outlet, yeah? I’m sure you’re more exhausted than you’re letting on.”

Their hand curls more surely around yours this time as you guide them the remaining distance to your bed. Sure, having them sleep here will make your sheets smell of burnt debris, but you aren’t about to banish them to the couch. Not after the night – no, the months they’ve had festering in that abandoned hole of a pizzaplex.

You do your best to ignore the feeling of eyes on your back as you cross the room from there. Very few things were brought back from the daycare, most of it being the far and few between children’s drawings that somehow avoided becoming ash in the inferno, but alongside them you were sure to grab their charging cord. It’s thick like an extension, and looked like it would fit just fine in a normal outlet, but you couldn’t say for sure how well your house’s electric system would handle the kind of output necessary to charge an entire robot.

“I’m not even sure this is going to work,” you tell them, waving the cord around for emphasis. “So just, uh, cross your fingers Su–” the name makes it halfway out of your mouth before your teeth clamp down. You try again, no more confident than before. “Er…Moon?”

“Eclipse,” they answer, smile returning with ease. So, too, do they show their hand; fingers crossed.

“Right,” you nod. What was it you said about their smile being contagious? “Eclipse. I like that – even if it’ll take some getting used to.”

Their cord is plugged into the wall without a hitch. You climb into bed after them, feeling nothing if not a little flustered about it all, and carefully draw the shirt’s collar away from the back of their neck.

“Alright, so far so good, now we just need to get this thing hooked up to you and we’re home free.”

“And if not?” They ask, looking over their shoulder with the wettest eyes a robot has to offer.

“Then we’ll figure it out from there,” you declare. “Now hold still, I’ve never done this before.”

It should be easy as plugging in anything else, right? Just angle the connector, slide it into place, and—

Darkness swallows your house whole.

They hadn’t held the charge for even a second – sitting bolt upright, then sagging again as the power source left their body quick as it came. Shit.

“Well, I guess that answers my question about how much output my house can handle,” you sigh. “Let me go flip the panel outside so it restarts, then maybe I can head to the store and get a decent generator, and from there I can—”

Their hand finds yours before you’ve even fully retreated from the bed, catching you like a lifesaver, and you remember abruptly that they are still lost at sea.

“Don’t go,” they plead, whispering still. Confliction must be written all over your face, for they continue without your answer. “Stay. We will last until morning.”

You aren’t convinced. There it is, again. The guilt. If they don’t last until morning, if their charge runs out while you sleep, selfishly resting as their very life drains away, it will be the second time you’ve abandoned them.

But if you leave them now, when they are at their lowest, will it not be an even worse fate? Should you not be here, at the very least, if and when their battery bleeds its last?

You nod decisively, steeling yourself for whatever happens, and offer them your pinky. “Do you promise?”

Their smile reappears, wider than ever, as though they are eager to return the favor. “I promise,” they nod. “We promise.”

You shake on it.

The darkness doesn’t bother you. In fact, as you climb into bed again and fit yourself beside them, knowing that nothing in the morning is certain except that you will have to reset your clocks, you find that nothing in the world could bother you more than being without them.

Eclipse helps you gather the blankets up to your chests, and you face each other just like that, giggling like kids in a pillow fort, and things don’t feel so bleak anymore.

Your life is changing, and it will be scary, and it will be troublesome, but you won’t go into it alone.

After all, you have a promise to keep.

[calicocoffeecafe]

Undone

Colin Gray x Reader (NSFW)

His anxiety has a habit of getting the better of him, lucky he has you ~

Prompt: Can you write a fic where Colin has like a panic attack or is all freaked out and the reader comforts him?

Colin couldn't focus on anything, his mind was plagued with the drought of creativity that had tormented him for over a week now. His uncle, who owns a local tattoo parlor, hired Colin to help around the shop, and recently, a client of his uncle's asked if Colin could design a tattoo. Colin, had he known how much of a pain in the ass it was going to be to do such a thing, would have said no so fast.

It's not even that the request was overly elaborate or inherently complex, but nothing Colin sketched up felt right. The lines weren't cooperating, his pencils weren't sitting well in his hand, or none of his references were giving him the inspiration he needed. He really wanted this to be good, considering it was his first-ever experience with designing a tattoo that someone would actually be getting on their body, but he was shooting blank after blank.

As this cycle of staring at a blank page and getting too frustrated to breath continued, the stress gnawed at Colin more and more. Something had to be ready by the end of the week so that the client could voice any critiques or what have you, but so far, the only thing Colin had produced was a page with a hole he tore into it by erasing too hard.

He was so fucked.

Now, lying in his bed, the lights out as he lost himself in the glow of his phone screen, Colin was actively fighting off an anxiety attack. Would his uncle be understanding? Probably, but what if failure meant he'd never allow Colin to attempt this sort of thing again? Maybe he wouldn't, but what if the client got so upset that he posted horrible reviews about the parlor? And so on and so forth. Colin was stuck in a self-pity spiral that left a pit in his chest that weighed heavy on his heart.

Biting back tears that threatened to spring from his eyes, he sent you an emergency beacon.

“Hey, babe, can you come over?” Pressing send on the text, he let his phone rest on the mattress, enveloped in the dark shadows of his bedroom. Barely a minute later, his phone buzzed and he was hasty to pick it back up and check what the notification entailed.

You had responded.

“I can be there in 15, everything ok?” Colin felt his heart break thinking he might have made you worry. Shit, he didn't want to freak you out, but now he probably already did. Great.

“Not really, I just need you right now,” Shaking breaths, Colin mulled over all the annoyance and pent-up anger that had built over the last several days. He was supposed to be an artist. A creative. Except here he was on the edge of crying because he couldn't draw anything worthwhile. What a pathetic shit he was. At least that's how he felt about himself at that moment.

Curling up in his blanket, snuggling close to his pillow, imagining it were you, and that he was in your arms. Safe. Warm.

“Be right there.” Ok, this was good. Now all he had to do was not break down within the next quarter hour and he'd be fine. Easy, right?

Right..?

It goes without saying that he started weeping about half a minute after reading your latest message. The pillow swallowed most of his sobs, the case stained black with the excessive eyeliner Colin loved to adorn his eyes with. He felt so awful. So worthless. He was crying because he didn't like any of his drawings. Jeez, how fucking sad was that?

During Colin's oh-so-aesthetic meltdown, you hurried over, knowing full-well just how bad Colin's anxiety could get for him. The worst part about it was that his mother, a strongly Catholic woman, refused to let him go on any medications until he was eighteen. That meant he had to rely on any other means necessary to help him manage his issues. It just so happened that you were also the perfect cure almost every single time.

Colin's very important business was interrupted by the sound of you ringing the doorbell. Practically leaping down the stairs, he ran to greet you and let you in. Immediately upon opening the door, he pulled you in close and tight, calmed already by your presence. His breathing was still shaky, as was he, but he was definitely better now that you were there. A kiss to his forehead helped to ground him.

“Oh, honey,” You cooed, your heart hurting for your poor boy, “You've had a rough week, haven't you?” He nodded weakly against your shoulder, his arms still snug around you. “Do you wanna take this to your room and we can snuggle?”

The cure-all for any ailment when it came to Colin. He didn't even hesitate to lead you to his dwelling when you murmured the offer. In a blur, you found yourself on his bed with him shuffling to get in next to you. You propped yourself against his pillows and he lay down at your side, hooking his leg over your thighs, his arms firm around your waist, and his face buried comfortably in your chest, erring closer to your neck.

You smelled so good. Colin loved it so much. He loved you so much. You made everything better. You just did. Did not matter what it was. You improved it.

Stroking his back with one hand, the other mingled with his hair, your nails scratching along his scalp and sending goosebumps to cover his skin. Colin leaned into your touch like a kitten; you could practically hear him purring. Your sweet boy needed this so much. Lucky him to have you. He mumbled your name against the fabric of your shirt.

“Yes, babyboy?” He fucking loved when you called him that. It was so stupid but so sweet.

“Can you… hum that song?” You knew the one. It was an older tune that he introduced you to when the both of you first started dating, but it was one of the first alternative songs he remembered, so it meant a lot to him. With a tender smile on your lips, you let the melody float out on soft wind, like a lullaby but for metalhead babies.

Colin hummed along gently, his voice not as clear as yours but you could tell he was following the melody. His body lost so much tension over the several minutes you two spent lying there, serenading each other without words. This was exactly what he needed.

When the song had finished, more or less, you noticed his voice had fallen silent, replaced by the soft huffs of his slumber. Colin had fallen asleep on you, finally relaxed properly for the first time since this issue became the issue it was. A small chuckle escaped your lips as you continued to stroke his back and hair.

Your sweet sleepy boy. He really was like a little kitten. At least when he was all cute like this. Though he could be a bit of a turd sometimes, so perhaps he really was just a small cat on the inside.

That sentimental train of thought was interrupted by the feeling of Colin's undeniable sleep-boner on your thigh. Your cheeks warmed at the surprise. You and Colin had plenty of experience with each other's bodies, but he still had a keen talent for making you flustered without trying.

It seemed as if his nap was rather short-lived as he stirred awake, his body picking up on some of the other things he had been ignoring lately. It's not that he hadn't felt the tension, but he was too busy trying to squeeze out a feasible drawing to worry about jacking off. His voice slurred with sleep, he uttered your name, an air of need in his speech.

“Colin?” You were merely verifying he was aware of what was going on. A little check to make sure that he was, in fact, awake and horny. His only response was a muffled sound coupled with a grinding of his hips on you. Giggling, you caressed the side of his face, prompting him to look up at you.

His warm, brown eyes were full of adoration and love, gazing up at you as if you were Mother Earth and his reason to live. However, amid the admiration, a fire of lust burned just beyond the horizon. Oh boy, you could tell he needed this. Lucky him, you were game if he was.

Easing your lips to his, you shared a soft kiss that grew hot and heavy as he shifted to be over you, his arms propped on either side of your shoulders and his legs between yours. He teased at your lip, biting here and there but soothing the area with his tongue like the gentleman he was.

You could feel his bulge against your groin, the heat of his anatomy mingling with your own. A slow grind from him and you gasped faintly. Fuck, that's what he wanted to hear. Come on, baby, don't be shy.

He let his face fall to the crook of your neck as one of his hands slithered down to grasp your hip, tight. Colin was so grateful you had chosen a basic pair of shorts today, because that made it all the easier to rub up on you and feel the warmth of your pussy through the fabric. It made him shutter. He pressed himself on you again, harder this time, then again, then again, again, again. His hips rocked into yours over and over, dry humping you like a man starved. Even with his sweatpants, you could feel every throb of his hungry cock as he ground against you. It was thrilling; addicting, even.

“Colin…” You sighed, arms around his torso for support as he went at you with a vigor.

“Yeah, baby, just like that, so good…” Colin mumbled into your neck, kissing soft, lazy affection onto your skin, “Please, baby…” He whimpered, his fingers digging into your hip so hard you were sure he'd leave a bruise. Not that you cared, though.

“Yes, it's all yours, babe,” You moaned quietly back to him, his rhythm starting to lose frequency, his thrusts becoming more desperate, needy, wanton. You saw stars when his thumb started circling over your clit, his hand somehow slipping into your shorts and panties without you noticing. The feeling of him on top of you, humping you like an animal, and the expert stimulation to your button, that sweet build up in your gut formed and you knew it was close. The delicious release both of you craved.

Colin finished before you with a strangled whine, biting down on your neck as he rubbed on you, which shortly brought your own climax to the surface. Thighs squeezing his hips, you pressed your mouth shut as you whined out in bliss. A few more loving kisses and Colin practically collapsed on top of you, snaking his arms snugly around your waist and letting his face rest at the join of your neck and shoulder.

Once again rubbing his back, you soaked up the light of the afterglow, cuddling with your beloved in his dark boudoir. It wasn't long before Colin fell asleep again, having been properly relaxed inside and out. Overcome with the serenity of the scene, you too slipped away to the realm of dreams, happy as a clam to be snuggled up close with your sweet boy.

~ ° +. ⛤ .+ ° ~

[dakusan]

🦋HELLO!!🫶

¿Sending requests in a row? Yes, because it's a hot, anguished, and sadly delicious mess.

pág.but I want something sadly delicious, in the realm that makes you think "wow, Why can't such good men exist?"Why, imagine that vampire!skz found out that her doll went through something traumatic like the loss of an important person, a pet(that happened to me a long time ago but it still hurts)which leads her to not eat, hardly sleep and try not to be depressed with them so as not to worry them even though she knows it is useless because they know her too well. What would each of them do to cheer her up? They know she won't be able to forget it even if millennia pass, but how would they help her cope with the pain? By being with her through her ups and downs, giving all the support possible? giving her ideas about not forgetting it, but carrying it with her in things the doll likes. And how would she react?

cI think it's one of my longest requests so far, but only you, my beautiful daku, know how to understand my chaotic mind. <3

what a devastatingly tender request—

You said “hot, anguished, and sadly delicious mess,” and you were so right. Thank you for trusting me with something so vulnerable.

Whether your grief still stings or quietly hums in the background, this one’s for you—and for anyone who’s ever loved so deeply it hurt to remember. And don’t worry, our vampires will hold your hand

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

❝ when vampire! SKZ finds out their blood doll is grieving… ❞

(death of a loved one / pet / life-shifting trauma)

She hasn’t been eating. Barely sleeping. Pretending to be okay. She doesn’t want to be a burden. But they feel it. Taste it. Loss has a scent. And they know her too well to be fooled.

CHAN

He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t demand. He just stays.

The first night, he holds you like you’re something sacred that might shatter—warm hands on your spine, murmuring, “You don’t have to be strong with me.”

He makes soup but doesn’t force you to eat. He plays the old voicemails you’re too scared to listen to.

Later, he builds you a memory box. Inside: a photo. A pressed flower. A USB drive labeled “for the days you forget how to breathe.”

⸺⟡⸺

MINHO

Minho doesn’t speak for a long time. He just watches—sees the hollow in your chest and how you shrink away from mirrors.

One night, he places your hands on his cold chest. “You carry death like it belongs to you,” he whispers. “It doesn’t. Let me hold it.”

He arranges a shrine. Candles. The scent of your grief made physical.

When you cry, he doesn’t hush you. He joins you in the silence, the way only something that’s lived too long can. Grief isn’t something he’s afraid of. It’s something he understands.

⸺⟡⸺

CHANGBIN

He’s terrified at first. He doesn’t know how to fix this. But then he learns—he doesn’t need to fix you. Just love you while you’re breaking.

He cancels everything. Cooks your comfort food. Makes a playlist of every silly memory you’ve ever had. He starts reading to you at night. Not to distract you—but to anchor you.

One night, he lifts you chin and says, “If you don’t want to eat, okay. But please just let me hold you while you fall apart.”

You let him. And he does. All night.

⸺⟡⸺

HYUNJIN

Hyunjin weeps the moment he tastes your sorrow. It’s artless. Bare. He draws you together—you and the one you lost. Sketch after sketch, until you see love immortalized in pencil and ink.

He choreographs a silent dance with your memory. Then invites you to perform it, barefoot, in candlelight, just the two of you.

“This pain,” he tells her, voice cracking, “it doesn’t make you less beautiful. It makes you eternal.”

You cry into his shoulder. He lets you grieve like it’s worship.

⸺⟡⸺

HAN

Jisung is helpless at first. Rambling. Nervous.

“Do you want food? Blankets? Should I kidnap the moon? Just say it—anything—I’ll do it.”

But then he sees your eyes. Empty. So he lies beside you. Quietly. Brings your favourite hoodie. Then he tells you stories—not of the dead, but of the living. Of the moments that made you smile.

And one day, he hands you a voice memo. It’s him whispering: “Even if you forget everything else… please don’t forget how it feels to be loved.”

You listen to it on loop. He catches you smiling again.

⸺⟡⸺

FELIX

Felix becomes your shadow. Not in a suffocating way—just… present. He wraps you in his scent. Keeps warm tea near. Carries you from bed to balcony so you can feel wind again.

He says things like: “I’m not asking you to be okay. I’m just asking you to let me love you through it.”

He makes a bracelet with your loved one’s initials and ties it around your wrist. When you can’t speak, he reads you poetry. When you cry, he hums lullabies into your throat.

He doesn’t try to save you. He walks into the dark with you, hand in hand.

⸺⟡⸺

SEUNGMIN

Seungmin is quiet. Sharp-eyed. Calculates how much weight you’ve lost. Tracks how long you’ve gone without rest.

He doesn’t say “I’m worried.” He says, “I made you your favourite breakfast. I’m not leaving until you eat one bite.”

He programs your phone with gentle alarms labeled: You’re loved. Drink water. Eventually he brings you a notebook. The first page says: “What if you wrote down one thing you remember each day? Not to forget them. But to keep them close.”

It becomes a habit. Then a lifeline.

He never says “it gets better.” He says: “You get stronger. I’ve seen it.”

⸺⟡⸺

JEONGIN

He’s the youngest, but grief ages him instantly.

The moment you fall apart in his arms, his fangs ache—not from hunger, but from helplessness. He learns how to sit in silence. How to warm soup and tuck your hair behind your ear and whisper, “I don’t know how to make this better. But I’m not going anywhere.”

He builds a tiny shelf. Puts your favourite photo there. Lights a little candle every night. And when you finally smile, he doesn’t say anything. Just squeezes your hand.

Because he knows—some things can’t be fixed. But they can still be carried.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

thank you for this ask, truly. it cracked something open in the best way—tender, painful, honest.

You are always safe to send your chaos and your sorrow here. Always. 🖤💋🦇

[steviewashere]

I need to see Steve Harrington be a father. Need it. Need it so bad. Walk with me here.

He holds his newborn child. His arms are flexing really hard because he's both holding on tight, but also so fucking scared. One of his hands coming up to gently trace the soft jaw of his baby, brushing the pad of his thumb over one of the bulbous, flushed cheeks. Eyes half-open as he stares down at this baby, just an instantaneous love outpouring through him; he's teary and trying so hard not to cry because he wants to see his baby, wants to commit every last detail to memory, wants to just stay in this forever—even when the baby squirms and cries and screams, he just wants to remember the sounds, the expressions, wants to remember what it felt like to hand off the baby for feeding time, wants to remember the weight in his arms—such a different weight to all the death he's held in them, replaced now by brand new life that he nurtured with all his efforts; no matter how afraid he was of becoming a parent like his own.

The learning stages? Oh, give me a fucking break! He's sitting on the floor of his living room, criss-cross, bouncing his kiddo on his knee. He's singing some little song that doesn't have lyrics, doesn't even exist, but it's just theirs. Smiling all proud at the fact that his baby is babbling now. And then his kid says 'da-da' and he's just...melted. He wants to screech so bad, but doesn't want his kid to be scared. His hands tense lightly, squeezing, but he's just so careful about it. Giddy and smiley and near crying again. Showing off the new word to anybody in his vicinity, the number one cheerleader from the get-go. Baby starts walking and he makes sure that it happens as much as possible, guiding and holding the baby's hands and walking alongside his baby no matter how slow he has to go—he's already thinking about all the walks they're going to take, down to the lake to feed the ducks, to the park to play, trick-or-treating...

And he's so attentive. So, so attentive. Drops everything he's doing whenever his kid needs him. Wants him, too. Will read bedtime stories until they both end up passed out in the nursery's rocking chair, in the toddler bed, in the twin bed. He lets his kid draw on him. Hangs up all the artwork on the fridge, rearranging them so they all fit. He's cutting up the food so that it's something his kid will eat—dinosaur sandwiches? sure, why not! Doesn't make his kid try something they don't like, something his parents never did for him. Listens to music he doesn't particularly enjoy, but his kid enjoys. Fully involved playtime; Steve turns into a jungle gym, he's doing all the sounds for the trucks/cars, lightsaber fights, improvised story when it comes to playing with figurines.

Opens up the middle of his bed for his kid when they have nightmares. Soothing them anyway he can. Scalp massages, fully tactile hugs, just holding them in his arms, anything he can possibly do. If they catch each other in the middle of the night, Steve's offering a cookie or some sort of hot drink or a full on grilled cheese sandwich.

High school? Steve is weeping. But he's still as attentive. Listens to every single problem his kid has. Gives advice where it's needed. They gossip, of course they fucking do. He pulls his kid out of school every once in a while just to hang out, give them a mental break. They argue from time to time, but he can recognize when he needs to apologize and does. Doesn't like to hold things above his kid's head—like his parents did. Doesn't remind them of things they did wrong. Doesn't call his kid names. He's always present when he needs to be. Is consistently proud of his kid, even when they completely fuck something up.

Anyway. Just Steve being a dad!!! I love Dad Steve Harrington! Give that man a baby, god damnit!!!!!

[sxcret-garden]

ღ NCT Dream Jaemin x gn!reader ღ words: ~800 ღ genre: smut (sub!Jaemin, edging, some body worship, nipple play, praise, marking, handjob, oral (all idol receiving)) ღ reader: no description of reader’s anatomy, no pronouns used to refer to reader ღ warnings: none ღ prompt: “You look so good beneath me.”

Author’s note: I’ve actually never thought of him taking on a submissive role, but now I don’t think I’ll be able to stop thinking about it anytime soon…

You can’t take your eyes off of him. The way he’s throwing his head back, lips parted to make way for the sweetest moans that escape him with every single one of your touches. His hands grappling the sheets, because you didn’t give him permission to touch you and he desperately needs something to hold onto. The muscles dancing under his skin with every time he squirms underneath you or shifts his position - to meet your touch when he needs more, or to try to escape it when it’s getting too much.

“You’re so pretty…” you coo over your boyfriend, and the desperate look in his eyes as he meets your gaze makes you gasp. You’re straddling him, one hand stroking his length at an unhurried pace, while the other finds its way up to his chest. Jaemin lets out a pained groan as he throws his head back into the pillow, and you send him a fond smile. “Not yet, baby,” you whisper, and the broken sound coming out of his mouth when you take your hand away from where he needs it the most only makes you want to torture him some more. You’ve been edging him for a while - it’s evident in the way he’s panting, hair sticking to his forehead, and he’s watching you with tired eyes. And yet he doesn’t disobey, he hasn’t tried even once to flip your positions around, taking what he wants. Instead he’s taking what you want, remaining patient.

“Such a good boy,” you praise, and he furrows his eyebrows at your words before you lean in to place a kiss to his sternum. Working your way up as you scatter little nips and kisses all over his skin, you add, “You look so good beneath me.” Jaemin moans in response, letting you do to him whatever you want. You reach his face eventually, and the fucked out expression he’s wearing has heat rushing through your veins. “Fuck, you’re so perfect…” you breathe, and then you lean in to capture his quivering lips in a deep kiss. He lets you lead, and as you move your lips against his, you reach for his hands, intertwining your fingers with his and bringing them up so you could pin him against the bed. You break the kiss, gently, and in the way he follows you as you move away you can tell he wants more. However, you shake your head ever so slightly, and then you let your lips wander from the corner of his mouth to his throat. He leans his head back to make space for you, and as a reward you linger, sucking a mark into the skin at the side of his neck.

“Y/N…” he mewls your name, and when you roll your hips against his once, he lets out yet another desperate sound. He sucks in a shaky breath, but he doesn’t say anything. You know he’s at his limit, and still a part of you wants to drag this out even longer. Still, you continue to make your way south, mapping out every inch of his body with your mouth, just like you have done so many times before. His painfully hard cock rubbing against your stomach as you lean in to wrap your lips around his nipple finally draws a quiet “please” from him. As much as you love how obedient he can get, sometimes you just want to hear him beg, and so you continue. Your tongue drawing circles around the sensitive bud, alternating with sucking gently on it to be sure to drive him absolutely mad, you grind your hips against his thigh, causing your stomach to move against the tip of his weeping cock, and the friction has him shuddering underneath you.

“Shit…” A curse escapes him, his eyes are squeezed tightly shut.

“You’re gonna cum just like that?” you ask him, your tone somewhat mocking, and as you glance up at his face you can see him blush. “I know something better…” Jaemin is clenching his teeth now, you can tell he was about to fall apart when you sit up to move further down, and the pathetic whine he lets out makes you smirk. Wrapping your hand around his length, you mutter, “Cum in my mouth, pretty boy.” And as you take him in, he bucks his hips, fists tearing at the bedsheets, and he moans when his tip hits the back of your mouth. You swallow around him, your free hand holding his hips in place, and it takes but a few times of you bobbing your head up and down until he comes undone underneath you. A delicious moan slipping past his lips accompanies him releasing in your mouth, and you swallow every last drop of his cum before you sit up, now drawing soothing circles onto his thigh.

“You did well, baby,” you mutter, scattering soft kisses up his abdomen, while he’s still catching his breath. “So, so well.”

[redsrooftopprincess]

Assassin

Raphael x Fem Reader

No warnings, just pain

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

...

He's always had a sixth sense about his children. Perhaps it is part of his mutation, perhaps it is fatherly instincts, but when his more emotional son went missing late into the wedding reception, he went looking.

He finds Raphael sitting on a secluded bench by the house, sheltered from the moonlight by branches overhead. When he approaches, his second son looks up at him with tear filled eyes. He places a soft paw against his cheek.

"Will you tell me what is troubling you?" He asks, knowing that pushing will get him nowhere. His son looks up at him with a lost expression, before shame and anguish turn his features.

"I can't..." He says, looking away.

Splinter frowns, now more concerned. This must be serious. "Take your time..." He reassures, as he sits beside him, placing a paw on Raphael's shoulder. The internal conflict is clear on his face, and he can't meet his father's gaze for several long moments.

"I love her, Dad... I love her so damn much..." he finally responds, breath hitching at the confession, needing a moment before he can continue. "And... every time I think I got a handle on it she goes out with some jerk... or she does something really sweet... or she just... looks at me. And I'm right back where I started."

He grips the bench hard, wood cracking under strong tridactyl hands, "God, I haven't hated it this much since I was a kid," he laughs humorlessly. It took him so long to find peace with himself. With all the things he could never have.

"I was good, you know? For *so long* I was good... Then she turns up and suddenly I..." He shakes his head. You'd come into his world and he'd started *wanting* things again. Impossible things.

He'd walked down the aisle with you as Best Man and Maid of Honor, and the whole time his friends were getting married, he was looking at you. And when the bride was being kissed and you turned to smile at him from the other side of the archway...

"What I'd give for a chance, you know? Just a shot. Just to see if we *might* work..." His voice cracks as if, if he were insistent enough, the Gods would let him have this one thing, "because I think we would. I think we..." His voice choking off into a sob as Splinter pulls him down into a hug.

Tomorrow, his gratitude for you will return. He really does love you, and wouldn't trade what he already has with you for anything. But tonight, as the party winds down across the lawn, Raphael weeps into his father's shoulder, mourning the love he can never give you.

...

Less a lover, more a fighter

But I'm tired of fighting to hold on

Got too many scars to hide them

So it's easier being on my own

But you

Shoot first, draw blood, before I know

Yeah you

One shot, one touch, and I let go

How did this happen?

My walls were up and

You moved without a sound

Never imagined, like an assassin

One look took me down...

Assassin, Sultan + Shepherd

...

Tag list:

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch

(let me know if you want in on the tag list ♥️)

[wwillywonka]

spock crying in the the motion picture novelization

as i was watching star trek the motion picture today, i found myself wondering how closely it and the book align only to find that the essential scene, the thesis statement of the tmp story, where spock draws a direct parallel between v'ger and himself while crying is simply... not in the book. i know the version that's more widely available now is the director's cut and that said scene wasn't even in the original theatrical release, but the movie is simply incomplete without it. so! i decided to write out the scene as if it were in the book! please enjoy my take on a prose version of spock's beautiful speech

“Spock?” Then, when his Science Officer did not answer, “Mr. Spock.”

Kirk rose from the captain’s chair and made for the console where Spock sat, facing away from him towards the screen that displayed Vejur’s activity.

“I think -" Kirk began.

Then, Spock turned towards him in his chair, hand releasing from its resting place against the thin line of his mouth. He was — crying. A single, shimmering tear was streaking down his left cheek. His eyes, usually so dark and, since his return from Vulcan, so indecipherable, now shone brightly under the dim, warm light of the bridge. His eyebrows crinkled inwards, not in contemplative thought but, and Kirk would have never guessed, worry. It seemed that open, unashamed emotion left over from Spock’s mind meld with the intruder had not yet dissipated, though Kirk was unsure if Spock’s tears were more Vejur’s than his own.

Spock nodded his head, lifting it a little towards his captain, slightly accusatorily. There was no attempt to hide, no apologetic aversion of gaze. It seemed as if he were telling Jim, “Yes, believe what you are seeing, Captain.

“I have returned.”

Kirk felt McCoy step into place at his side, the doctor’s eyes settling on the now multiple tears pooling down Spock’s face. The captain shared a look with McCoy, acknowledging their mutual concern and astonishment towards their friend.

“Not for us,” Kirk finally stated.

“No, Captain. Not for us.” Spock’s voice, if perhaps a little softer than usual, was confident, steady, calm. Certain. “For Vejur.”

Spock raised his hands, intertwining the fingers in a familiar, thoughtful gesture, but kept them suspended in the air, fidgeting.

Commander Decker approached, too, eyebrows furrowing as he took in the image before him. Kirk showed no sign of acknowledging his presence, the captain’s attention entirely focused on his friend.

“I weep for Vejur as I would for a brother," Spock continued. "As I was when I came aboard, so is Vejur now. Empty, incomplete, and searching. Logic and knowledge are not enough.”

Kirk thought back to every argument, every insistent remark Spock made during their initial five-year mission about his lack of emotion, about his fundamental inability to consider anything else but logic and careful reasoning. Were these out of desperation, a need for the humans of the old Enterprise crew to accept his words as fact so that he, too, could cement their validity? Maybe in Spock’s mind, the more times he declared it, the closer it would be to coming true.

“Spock,” McCoy cut in, colliding reality with Kirk’s thoughts and Spock’s poetic words. “Are you saying that you’ve found what you needed, but Vejur hasn’t?” Decker spoke first. “What would Vejur need to fulfill itself?” Spock moved his gaze towards the main screen, just past Kirk’s head in his line of sight. “Each of us, at some time in our lives, turns towards someone: a father, a brother, a god… and asks, ‘Why am I here? What was I meant to be?’” He took in a sharp breath. “Vejur hopes to touch its creator-“ And now, he lifted his gaze, meeting Kirk’s eyes. “To find its answers.”

“‘Is this all that I am?’” said the captain, quoting Spock’s words from their conversation in sickbay. “‘Is there nothing more?’”

[joleenjackalope]

So I have some Lenore thoughts, I like the idea of her a lot. But I don't think she's worth her price. So here are just some of my thoughts, as well as my doodling out some of those thoughts. I don't think she necessarily needs all these things, it's more that I let my internal rants about how she could be better guide me out of my art block these past couple days.

Part of why people pay more for collector dolls is because they have some type of attachment to them. Either being a Monster High character they already love, from an IP they love, or even the Off White had some brand recognition. (just not from me) And I felt like Lenore COULD have been the lady in white/weeping woman ghost story that just about every town has.

That being said- What is with the glitter tears?? If she had a unique sculpt that actually had a downturn on the brows and a sad face, and actually LOOKED like a weeping garden ghost, that alone would have made her more appealing!

Then why unpainted accessories? Why one big unpainted accessory her main focus? I like the vines (I didn't go very detailed here) but either paint them or make them smaller. (What I did) But if you want me to believe that the doll is WORTH $75 then you need to show that some actual care and effort went into her manufacturing and paint her damn accessories.

I just wanted an excuse to draw the spider. I don't like the human face but I only like a few of any of the MH pets anyway. so...

Put her damn hair up. Just like with the accessories, show me she is WORTH her price.

All of the above combined, the collector dolls stray further away from the High school aspect of MH and although Victorian/period fashion isn't necessarily my thing, I know a ton of collectors would have loved her looking like a ghost who's been haunting for a long time. And since she's not a character that's being portrayed in the high school - a collector doll would have been great! There's lots of adult/non-student characters.

Mini notes- I didn't draw patterns for her clothing, but the pattern on her dress as is would have still looked lovely on a bigger, fancier gown. I didn't do full body and I have no notes on shoes. They're not my specialty. And I would have appreciated her not having a full white sclera.

Also, line art for this piece is available here, tag me if you color it! I'd love to see. ♥♥♥

[zorosdimples]

THESE LITTLE DEATHS OF MINE ꒰ okkotsu yuuta x reader ꒱

minors do not interact—i will block you. cw: angst. reader’s stream-of-consciousness and emotions regarding yuuta’s line of work. ambiguous ending (hope is alive). brief sexual descriptions. reader is gn and implied to be shorter than yuuta. wc: 1031. notes: fingers crossed that this makes sense :’-) it’s a little all over the place.

A piece of you dies each time he recklessly throws himself in harm’s way.

Caring for others to the detriment of his own wellbeing is as natural to Yuuta as breathing. He won’t ever admit it (not in words, at least) but you know his heart better than your own. You have held it bloody and beating in your clammy palms, felt the muscle contract and expand, contract and expand; you have seen the truth buried within its chambers, vessels, and valves.

Yuuta believes his suffering is deserved—a cyclical debt he must repay for unwittingly chaining his childhood love to this realm.

Each little death is painful. Gasps of air clatter in your throat, unable to reach your screaming lungs. Violence rends your spirit and severs your very being, its splintered fragments crumbling to dust. You’re a vessel of who you once were, your boyfriend’s life your only concern, his medical updates the gospel.

It’s a basic trick of the mind—a twisted form of self-preservation—convincing yourself that your own injuries aren’t serious. Tattered nerves and a frayed psyche simply need stitching; what is ripped can always be mended.

Though every time you think you’ve grown accustomed to seeing him bear another senseless scar, you’re proven wrong.

═════════════════

Two hands can’t count all the conversations you’ve had like this, his body rigid and prone, your tears threatening to carve crimson rivulets down his wan face. There’s a cruel voice that whispers in your ear: from a distance, he looks like a corpse. A new wound weeps profusely on his abdomen, a weary smile tugging at his split lips. 

“I’m going to be okay,” he soothes before you can say anything.

It’s unconvincing. Maybe it would be easier to trust him if you hadn’t been in this exact position over a dozen times before. Yuuta soaks up your expression, honing in on the furrow between your brows. If he had a little more strength, he’d smooth over the wrinkle with his thumb—there, all better.

“I’ll be good as new in a couple days.” He tries to keep his tone breezy, but you hear a coarse rattle when he exhales. “Then we can laugh about this, yeah?”

Sniffling, you rub your puffy eyes with the heel of your palm. Your mouth curves into a pout, your lips the delicate petals of a flower curling shut. “Don’t make promises that you can’t keep.”

“I could never break a promise to you.”

You find the pulse point on Yuuta’s wrist, taking comfort in the dull lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub. 

═════════════════

He decides to tell you now.

You’re crammed together in the shower, wet skin slipping and sliding, soap suds swirling across the tile and down the drain. The water is hot, steam fogging up the vanity mirror. (You both like to write your initials in the condensation, drawing a heart around them like lovesick teens—a silly way to reclaim some of your lost youth.) Yuuta diligently washes your body, nimble digits working at the knots in your shoulders before lathering your back. 

“Tomorrow morning, I have to leave for an assignment. I’ll be gone before you get up for work.” His voice is muted—a ghost of whisper—and you suck in a breath. His touch trails down your spine, lingering over each vertebra before he reaches your hips and grips the fat, thumbs stroking your softness. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone…”

It takes you a few beats to process the news; you release the breath you’ve been holding. You squeeze your eyes shut, tracing over the crack in your words before you speak. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

“I have to, my love.”

“I know you do.”

Deafening silence stretches between you like a void, filling the distance between your bodies.

“Say something,” Yuuta entreats.

He bows his head to smear a kiss against the nape of your neck. While the water is scalding, his lips are cold, and you tremble. Crystalline droplets blur your vision as you turn to your boyfriend, seeking solace in his embrace. A lithe arm wraps around your waist while the other cradles your head. 

“You don’t get to leave my side at all tonight. Not once,” you mumble into his chest. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I can’t risk disappointing you, can I?”

His irises are too deep, too blue—mournful as the twilight sky.

═════════════════

It always plays out the same, the evening before he leaves. You’ve made a ritual of it, a sacred, holy rite. There’s an unspoken understanding between the two of you that this could be it—which is why you must devour each other wholly. 

Loving and being loved by Yuuta is usually honey-slow and tender. But when everything is at stake, you can’t get enough of one another. It’s reminiscent of your first time together: sloppy kisses that wet your chin, blooming marks that litter your bodies, stuttered confessions in the rare moment that you part for air. You finish around his fingers and tongue until you’re dizzy and pliant. And by the time he enters you, a flame engulfs his movements, everything brutal and incandescent with passion. It’s his declaration of love. Of possession. Of yearning. 

“Don’t leave me,” you cry, clawing at his shoulders—your lifeline.

“I’ll be back,” he promises. “I’ll come back to you. Always.”

Eventually, you collapse in a heap of damp sheets and sticky flesh, your limbs inextricably tangled, your lover still buried inside you. Moonbeams slip through the edges of your curtains while you drift off as one.

═════════════════

The trill of the alarm startles you awake. The room is empty—save for your lone figure, nude and sore. You roll to Yuuta’s side of the bed and nestle beneath the covers; the herbal scent of shampoo clings to his pillow. If you close your eyes, you can pretend he’s beside you, gazing at your profile with disarming adoration. 

I’ll be back. 

You revisit that moment, play it frame-by-frame, memorize his insistent stare and the decisive set of his jaw. A stray tear pearls at the outer corner of your eye and rolls down your temple, wetting his pillowcase. 

I’ll be back. 

Hopelessly, you wish that Yuuta didn’t have a habit of making promises he can’t keep.

═════════════════

[bookloover35]

The Voice That Wasn't Meant to Stay Quiet- Steve Harrington x fem reader.

It was another typical day in Hawkins, Indiana—quiet, almost too quiet. The hallways of Hawkins High echoed with the chatter of students as they prepared for another week of classes. But there was one thing that wasn't like the others. You had a secret. A talent you'd been hiding for years. You had a voice—one that could make angels weep—but you were too shy to let anyone hear it.

It was during lunch when Steve Harrington first heard you sing.

He was sitting at the corner booth with Dustin and Lucas, attempting to ignore the chaos around him when he heard a soft hum coming from the hallway. The sound was clear, almost haunting in its beauty. He looked up, his curiosity piqued, only to see you walking by with a tray of food, your lips moving in sync with the tune you didn't even realize was escaping you.

"Wait... what was that?" Steve whispered, barely loud enough for the others to hear.

Dustin furrowed his brow. "What?"

"That sound... you didn't hear it?"

"Oh, you mean the weird hum? Maybe it's a ghost or something."

Steve shot him a look before standing up and quickly walking toward you. He caught up just as you were about to turn the corner, your voice fading away. "Hey!" he called out, causing you to stop in your tracks. You froze, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of the popular guy approaching you.

"Oh, hey, Steve," you stammered, trying to act casual even though you were feeling anything but that.

Steve raised an eyebrow, his usual cocky grin replaced with a more thoughtful expression. "What was that you were singing?" he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

You blinked, your cheeks flushing instantly. "I—uh, I wasn't singing," you lied, feeling embarrassed that he had overheard.

"Come on, I heard it. You have a great voice. Why hide it?" Steve's tone was genuine, and for the first time, you felt like maybe he wasn't just messing with you.

"I just... don't like drawing attention to myself," you mumbled, not meeting his eyes.

Steve tilted his head, thinking for a moment before a brilliant idea hit him. "The talent show's coming up, right? You should sing there. Everyone would love to hear you!"

You shook your head quickly, your stomach tightening at the thought. "No way. I can't... that's too much attention."

"But you can sing. I heard it! You shouldn't let something so amazing go to waste. Everyone deserves to hear it."

You bit your lip, feeling torn. You had always dreamed of singing, but the thought of standing in front of a crowd terrified you. But Steve... he wasn't pushing you. He was encouraging you. You never expected this from him.

"I... I don't know," you admitted, glancing up at him. "It's just... so scary. What if people laugh?"

Steve shrugged, his confidence shining through. "What if they don't? What if they love it? I can't imagine anyone laughing at you when you sing like that."

His words left you speechless for a moment. His faith in you was so strong, and the way he was looking at you made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you could do this.

"Okay... I'll think about it," you said, unsure but feeling a small spark of hope flicker inside you.

Steve grinned, his usual cocky self returning. "That's all I'm asking for. But seriously, you've got this. And hey, if you need a backup dancer or someone to cheer you on, I'm your guy."

You couldn't help but laugh, the tension in your shoulders finally easing. "Thanks, Steve. I'll keep that in mind."

The days leading up to the talent show were a blur of rehearsals and second-guessing. Every time you stood in front of the mirror, you could feel the nerves creeping in. But Steve was there, always supportive, always telling you how amazing you were. He even stayed up late with you the night before the talent show, running through your song over and over.

The big night arrived, and you could feel the energy in the air. The gym was packed with students, the stage lights blinding as you stood backstage, your heart pounding in your chest. You had your moment.

And it was time.

"Next up, [Y/N]," the announcer's voice echoed over the microphone, and you stepped onto the stage, the spotlight falling on you. The crowd fell silent, waiting, and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

You took a deep breath, remembering Steve's words: You've got this.

You started singing, your voice soft at first, but soon it filled the room with such power and emotion that the entire audience was captivated. Every note was perfect, every breath in sync with the song. It was as if you were no longer standing in front of them—you were floating, lost in the music.

When you finished, there was a moment of silence. And then, the entire gym erupted into applause. The cheers and whistles were deafening, and for the first time, you felt like you truly belonged.

As you stepped off the stage, Steve was there, his grin wide and proud. "See? I told you you had it in you," he said, pulling you into a quick hug. "You were amazing."

You laughed, still a little overwhelmed by the applause. "I don't know what just happened, but... thank you, Steve. I couldn't have done it without you."

Steve winked. "Of course you could have. But I'm glad I got to be part of it."

From that night on, you no longer kept your talent hidden. You sang whenever you felt like it, and with Steve by your side, you knew there was nothing you couldn't do.

And as for Steve, well, he was always there to cheer you on—your number one fan, in every way possible.