#and i love the movement it's so dynamic!!!

[angelltheninth]

How We've Both Changed

Pairing: Caleb x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, friends to enemies to lovers, clit stimulation, name-calling, degradation, rough sex, creampie, teasing, dub-con, body betrayal, forced orgasm, dom/sub dynamics, manipulation

Word count: 0.7k

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Caleb has an iron grip on my brain. I won't hear anything about it because it's not gonna get any better.

"Look at you. When did you get like this? So submissive and docile? Is it those... other men you've been hanging around with? Well it doesn't matter now, I'm gonna show you what a real man is like." Caleb growled next to your ear as he fucked you into your bed with the full intention of breaking you or it.

At first you were happy to see him. Even if he seemed a little bit different. But this was never the way you imagined he'd make love to you. Could this even be called making love? Because his love doesn't feel like the love you used to get from him.

Every sound was rough, every look judgmental, every thrust painful, every touch scolding.

He smirked as you let out a whimper, weather it was from pain or pleasure he didn't seem to care all that much. His fingers, cold against you, kept pressing and torturing your clit to the point it became painful. "This isn't about you feeling good, although I can tell that you are by the way your cunt is squeezing around me. But don't mistake that for my kindness, love." Caleb leaned in close. "I waited for you. Every day that was hell I kept going because of you. But you... you forgot about me the moment other men showed up."

"I never forgot. Caleb, I... always thought about you." You wanted to reach out and hold him but you only managed to struggle against the unyielding grip he had around your wrists.

Caleb smirked above you, his cock ramming itself into your pussy, creating lewd, wet, sloppy sounds. "Really? When you fucked yourself with those toys you thought of me? Or when you were on all fours, desperately trying to make yourself come? What about when you were with those other guys, did you want it to be me fucking you instead?"

His words hurt as much as the way he was fucking you did. "I never... I haven't been with anyone... in a really long time."

"Huh. Explains why this pussy is so easy. It needed a good cock. You'll never need or want for anything ever again, I'll give it all to you!" The necklace hung just above your face, clicking and shining, almost like Caleb was taunting you with it. His rigid cock kept hitting your sweetspot every time his hips smacked heavily against yours, causing your back to arch and your clit to push against his fingers. "So messy. God, you've become such a desperate whore in the time I've been gone. Your pussy is so good at taking cock isn't it. Mine. The only cock it'll be taking will be my cock!"

Caleb pushed his fingers into your already abused pussy and curled them upwards just as his cock sank in and stilled. "Ca-Caleb, Caleb, that's too much!"

"No it's not. No it's fucking not, I know you can take it. You can be good. If you were good for those other guys, then won't you be good for me too?" His voice dropped to an almost cooing tone. "Don't you want to be good for me?" He asked, his fingers curling again and again, each movement sending lighting across your body until your mind went blank.

"I can... I can't-!" You cried out, tears spilling down your face.

"You can. My love, I know you can. You will." His tone turned commanding towards the end, "You will come for me." With one last cruel flick of your clit you came with a desperate whine, your voice breaking as you arched off the bed. Just then he chose to let go of your hands, allowed you to embrace him. "Yes, hold onto me. I've got you, I've got you now." He chuckled against your ear, his fingers easing out of you and holding you against him with both arms as his cum filled your desperate, fucked pussyhole.

Desperate sounds kept falling from your lips as you shook against him, your clit pressing against his abs, your legs locked around his hips and pussy stretched to its limits. "Ca-ah-leb..."

"Easy, easy, I'm here, I've got you. I'm not going anywhere, I'm never leaving you again." His words were flavored with an equal amount of a sweet promise and a dangerous threat. "We're together again. Nothing will get in the way of our love. As long as we love each other, that's all that matters." The more he cooed those words in your ear the more you started to believe he was right.

[cloudyluun]

Office Hours (p.3) | professor!harry

Summary: The morning after brings new complications as boundaries are tested, feelings deepen, and secrecy becomes harder to maintain. As the reality of their forbidden relationship sets in, tensions rise—both in and out of the classroom. When an unexpected encounter at the university forces them to confront the risks they’re taking, you’re left wondering if desire is worth the cost.

A/N: Back with part 3 of Office Hours! Thank you so much for all the love on the last chapter—your support means everything to me. This part raises the stakes even higher, blending tension, passion, and the ever-growing risk of their dangerous connection. Let me know your thoughts, and as always, if you want to be on the taglist, click here!

Word Count: 3,7k

Warnings: Smut (morning-after sex, desk sex, possessiveness, power dynamic, praise kink, slight jealousy), forbidden romance, angst, emotional tension, secrecy.

[Part 1] [Part 2]

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The morning light filters through the blinds, soft and golden, casting long streaks across the room. The warmth of the sheets, the steady rise and fall of the chest beneath your cheek, the scent of skin and faded cologne—it’s all grounding and disorienting at once. For a moment, reality is distant, replaced by the slow hum of contentment curling through your limbs.

Then, it settles in. Where you are. Who you’re with. What happened last night.

Your breath hitches as you shift slightly, your bare legs tangling further with his. The movement stirs him, and before you can pull away, a strong arm tightens around your waist, holding you in place. A deep sigh rumbles through his chest, followed by the husky rasp of his voice against your temple.

“Morning, love.”

Your body betrays you before your mind can catch up, warmth blooming across your skin at the endearment, at the way his lips brush lazily against your hair. You tilt your head just enough to meet his gaze, and the tenderness there makes your chest tighten. This is dangerous. This is something you shouldn’t be allowing yourself to enjoy.

But in this moment, wrapped up in him, it’s impossible to care.

“Morning,” you whisper, voice laced with sleep.

His fingers trace slow circles against your back, absentminded and soothing. “Sleep well?”

You nod, but the words stay lodged in your throat. How are you supposed to respond when last night is still imprinted on your skin, when your body still remembers the way he held you, touched you, ruined you in ways you didn’t know you needed?

He watches you closely, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes before he shifts, rolling onto his side so you’re facing each other. A hand tucks beneath his head, the other still resting low on your back. The intimacy of it all is overwhelming, but you can’t bring yourself to pull away.

“What happens now?” you ask softly, barely brave enough to voice the thought.

His jaw tightens slightly, like he’s considering his words carefully. “We figure it out.”

It’s not a real answer, but it’s something.

The silence stretches, filled only by the rustling of sheets and the quiet rhythm of your breaths. Then, Harry exhales sharply, rolling onto his back and running a hand through his hair. “You hungry?”

The shift in conversation is abrupt, but not unwelcome. You nod, and that’s all it takes for him to slide out of bed, stretching his arms above his head before reaching for a pair of sweatpants. Your gaze flickers downward, betraying you, and he smirks when he catches you staring.

“Like what you see?”

You huff, throwing a pillow at him. He dodges it with ease, laughing as he pulls the sweats over his hips. “Come on, I make a mean omelet.”

You hesitate, suddenly aware of your lack of clothing. Before you can ask, he’s already tossing a hoodie your way—his hoodie, soft and oversized. The sight of you in it does something to him, you can tell by the way his throat bobs as he swallows, the way his fingers flex at his sides before he clenches them into fists.

“Looks better on you,” he mutters, almost to himself, before turning toward the kitchen.

Breakfast is… oddly normal. Domestic. The kind of thing couples do on lazy Sunday mornings. He stands at the stove, spatula in hand, while you sit on the counter, legs swinging idly. The scent of coffee fills the air, mingling with the warmth of the kitchen and the quiet hum of conversation. It’s easy, natural, like slipping into a life you shouldn’t be indulging in.

And yet, as he slides a plate in front of you, his fingers brushing yours, you can’t help but think—

Maybe this doesn’t have to end.

After breakfast, the sight of you in his hoodie is too much Harry pulls you onto his lap at the kitchen table. His hands settle on your thighs, fingers tracing slow, teasing circles against your bare skin beneath the fabric. The breath you take is sharp, shaky, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Do you know how fucking good you looked last night?” he murmurs, lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

Your hands brace against his shoulders, trying to steady yourself as his grip tightens around your waist. Heat coils low in your stomach, spreading like wildfire when he tilts his head to press a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the column of your throat.

“Harry,” you whisper, a soft plea that only seems to spur him on.

He shifts, standing effortlessly with you wrapped around him, your legs locking around his waist. He walks you back until your spine meets the cool edge of the kitchen counter, his body pressing flush against yours. His mouth moves hungrily against your jaw, your pulse, your lips, until you’re gasping his name like a prayer.

His hands slide beneath the hem of his hoodie, pushing it up and over your head, baring you completely to him. His gaze darkens, eyes raking over you like you’re something to be worshipped. “So fucking perfect for me, love.”

There’s nothing slow about it—he tugs his sweats low enough to free himself, lifting you onto the counter in the same breath. He doesn’t waste time, sliding inside you in one slow, deep thrust that has you arching into him, your fingers clutching his biceps.

His pace is steady but firm, each thrust pulling a broken moan from your lips. His hands grip your waist, holding you in place as he fills you over and over, his breath hot against your ear.

“Mine,” he mutters, his fingers digging into your skin. “You’re fucking mine.”

You can’t do anything but nod, whimpering as his lips claim yours again, swallowing every sound you make. The tension builds too fast, too overwhelming, and when he presses his forehead to yours, whispering how good you feel, how perfect you are, you shatter around him.

He follows moments later, his release sending another wave of pleasure through you as he buries himself to the hilt, groaning into your mouth. He doesn’t pull out immediately, keeping you close, his arms caging you against him as you both come down from the high.

His lips ghost over your temple, his breathing still uneven. “Fuck, love…”

Reality crashes down like a cold wave. The warmth of the morning, the intimacy, the way his arms still cage you against him—it all feels like a fragile illusion as your eyes flicker to the clock on the wall.

“Shit,” you breathe, jolting upright. “I’m late.”

Harry barely has time to react before you’re scrambling off the counter, your legs still wobbly as you rush to find your clothes. He watches, half amused, half conflicted, leaning against the counter as you pull his hoodie back over your head, smoothing the fabric down over your thighs.

“You could just stay,” he offers, voice laced with something unreadable.

You shoot him a look. “And let everyone figure out exactly where I was all night? Not happening.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, but there’s something else in his expression, something quieter. As you move past him, he catches your wrist, thumb brushing over your pulse. The air shifts.

“Be careful,” he murmurs, his gaze searching yours.

Your breath catches, but you nod, squeezing his hand briefly before pulling away.

The ride to campus is filled with static energy, your nerves thrumming beneath your skin. Every shadow feels like a threat, every passing glance a question you don’t want to answer. Your mind replays the morning in his apartment, the heat of his body against yours, the way he called you his. The thought sends another rush of adrenaline through you, but not in the way it did before.

What if someone notices? What if they already know?

By the time you step into the lecture hall, your heart is pounding for all the wrong reasons. Olivia spots you immediately, her eyes narrowing as she leans in, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips.

“Well, well,” she teases, crossing her arms. “Someone had a busy night.”

You force a casual laugh, dropping into the seat beside her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She raises a brow. “Oh, please. You disappeared, didn’t answer my texts, and now you’re showing up late looking—” Her eyes flick over you, taking in the oversized hoodie, the flushed cheeks, the slight daze still lingering in your expression. “—thoroughly wrecked.”

Your stomach flips. You roll your eyes, nudging her with your elbow. “I was working on my essay. You know, the thing that’s actually due today?”

“Mhm,” she hums, unconvinced, but thankfully, she doesn’t push.

As class begins, you try to focus, but your mind keeps drifting—back to the morning, back to the way Harry looked at you when he told you to be careful.

Like he already knew this wasn’t going to be easy.

The rest of the day drags, every moment stretched thin with tension. Your last class is with Harry, and by the time you step into the lecture hall, exhaustion clings to you. He’s already there, sitting at his desk, composed and unreadable as ever. There’s no flicker of recognition, no lingering glance to betray what had happened that morning. Just Professor Styles, collected and indifferent.

You take your usual seat, trying not to let disappointment sink too deep.

The class passes in a blur. You take notes, nod at the appropriate moments, but your focus splinters under the weight of unspoken words. It isn’t until after class, when you linger to gather your things, that something shifts.

Another professor, someone you vaguely recognize from the faculty meetings you’ve overheard Harry mention, approaches. He’s older, charming in an effortless way, and the way he leans in slightly as he speaks sends a spark of unease through you.

“So,” he says, his voice warm, easy, “how’s the semester treating you?”

You offer a polite smile. “Busy, but good.”

“Styles keeping you on your toes?” he teases, chuckling. “He has a reputation for being… demanding.”

Your pulse jumps, but you force a laugh. “Something like that.”

The professor’s smile lingers, his gaze flicking over you in a way that feels a little too knowing. “Well, if you ever need a second opinion on anything—academic or otherwise—my office is always open.”

You don’t get the chance to respond.

From across the room, a sharp click echoes, Harry’s pen snapping between his fingers. Your breath catches as you glance toward his desk. His jaw is tight, his knuckles white where they grip the remnants of the pen. His expression is carefully blank, but you can see the storm brewing in his eyes.

The moment the other professor steps away, you grab your bag, prepared to make a quick exit, but Harry’s voice cuts through the air.

“A word, please.”

It’s not a request.

The classroom is nearly empty now, only a few stragglers lingering near the exit. You swallow hard, nodding once before trailing after him. His office door shuts with a firm click, the silence between you stretching thick and taut.

He leans against the desk, arms crossed, studying you with a gaze so intense it makes your skin prickle. “Didn’t realize you were so friendly with Dr. Calloway.”

Your brows furrow. “I wouldn’t call it friendly. He was just—”

“Flirting,” Harry interjects, his voice dangerously low.

You blink. “I…he was just being nice.”

Harry exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t know him like I do.”

Something in his tone makes you hesitate. “Harry, it was nothing.”

His jaw tenses. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Your heart pounds as he pushes off the desk, closing the space between you. His hands come to rest on your hips, fingers pressing in just enough to make you shiver.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice rough with possession. His hands slide down, gripping your waist as he presses you against the desk. “Don’t forget that.”

Your breath stutters as you place your hands on his chest. “I won’t. But you can’t—”

His lips crash against yours before you can finish, stealing whatever protest you were about to make. It’s all-consuming, the heat between you reigniting in an instant. He kisses you like he’s proving a point, like he’s branding the words onto your skin.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, breath ragged. “I don’t share.”

A slow smirk tugs at the corner of your lips. “Jealousy looks good on you.”

His fingers flex against your hips, and his next kiss is slower, more deliberate. “Careful, love. You might enjoy it too much.”

Something in the way he says it makes your stomach twist, heat pooling low as his lips move to your jaw, your throat. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, desperate for more.

The tension is unbearable, the weight of unsaid words pressing down on both of you. He exhales sharply against your skin before stepping back, his gaze dark and heavy.

“Get on the desk.”

You don’t hesitate. Papers scatter as he lifts you onto the polished wood, stepping between your thighs, hands sliding beneath your skirt to grip your thighs. His kisses grow hungrier, teeth grazing your bottom lip, his control unraveling by the second.

“This is a bad idea,” you murmur, even as you tilt your head to give him better access.

“The worst,” he agrees, dragging his mouth down your throat. “But I don’t care.”

Neither do you.

His hands push your skirt higher, fingers sliding beneath the waistband of your underwear, yanking them down in one swift movement. Your breath catches as he spreads your thighs wider, his touch firm, possessive.

“You’re soaked,” he mutters, voice thick with desire. “Did that little conversation out there get you worked up?”

You don’t answer—can’t answer—because he’s already pushing inside you, stretching you open with a single, deliberate thrust that knocks the air from your lungs.

“Fuck, Harry—”

He grips your hips tighter, pulling you flush against him as he sets a punishing pace, the edge of the desk digging into your skin. The risk of getting caught only fuels the fire burning between you, the sharp slap of skin against skin filling the room.

His hand finds the back of your neck, pressing you down against the desk, his body crowding yours as he thrusts harder, deeper.

“So fucking reckless,” he growls, his voice strained with effort, with need. “Letting me have you here, like this.”

You whimper, nails clawing at the desk as pleasure coils tight in your stomach.

“Anyone could walk in,” he continues, his grip tightening. “They could hear you, see how fucking good you take me.”

The thought sends you spiraling, your release barreling toward you at a dizzying pace. Harry feels it, too, he reaches between you, his fingers finding your clit, circling in time with his thrusts.

“Come for me,” he demands, and it’s not a request.

You shatter around him, a strangled moan escaping your lips as pleasure crashes through you. He follows seconds later, burying himself deep with a guttural groan, his fingers digging into your hips as he spills inside you.

The only sound left in the room is your uneven breathing, the ticking of the clock on the wall reminding you both of the risk you just took.

Harry presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder before pulling back, his hands smoothing over your thighs, as if grounding himself.

“This,” you whisper, still breathless. “It’s dangerous.”

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his gaze dark, unreadable. “I know.”

The risk is undeniable. But neither of you are willing to stop.

Just as you fix your clothes, smoothing down your skirt with shaky hands, a sharp knock at the door shatters the silence.

Your heart stops.

Harry’s head snaps up, his body instantly rigid, eyes flickering between you and the door. His jaw tightens, the afterglow of your moment already dissolving into something else entirely—urgency, fear, the sharp sting of reality crashing back in.

Another knock, firmer this time.

“Professor Styles?” A voice. Female. Familiar.

Harry doesn’t hesitate. He steps forward, grasping your wrist with a grip just shy of bruising, his voice low and urgent. “You need to go. Now.”

Your pulse spikes. “Who—”

He doesn’t let you finish. He moves swiftly, guiding you toward the side door that leads to the back hallway. His fingers press into your lower back as he all but pushes you through, barely giving you a moment to catch your breath.

“Don’t look back,” he murmurs, and then the door is closing behind you, sealing you off from him, from whatever is about to unfold on the other side.

You don’t wait around to see who’s waiting for him. You can’t. Your legs carry you forward on autopilot, your breath coming in short, uneven bursts as you weave through the empty corridor, toward the nearest exit.

Your skin is still burning from his touch.

The cold air outside does little to ground you. Your mind is racing, spiraling. The thrill of what just happened still lingers in your veins, but beneath it, something else begins to creep in.

Doubt.

Fear.

Paranoia.

Who was at that door? How much had they heard? How much did they know?

You shove the thoughts aside and keep walking, forcing your breathing to slow, forcing yourself to look normal, to act normal. But your fingers are trembling as you pull out your phone, as you glance at your reflection in the dark screen—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, eyes that look far too wild.

You can still feel him.

By the time you make it back to your apartment, your stomach is in knots. Olivia is there, sprawled on the couch, but you barely register her presence as you drop your bag onto the floor and collapse onto your bed, your head spinning.

Your phone buzzes.

You jolt, heart hammering as you grab it.

A message.

From him.

Harry: We need to talk. This is getting dangerous.

You stare at the screen, a thousand thoughts colliding in your mind at once.

Dangerous.

Your stomach twists. He’s right. This was never going to be simple, never going to be easy. But now it feels like something else entirely.

Something you might not be able to control.

Something that might destroy you both.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

taglist: @oscahpastry @mema10 @angelbabyyy99 @iloveharrystyles04 @cinemharry @drwho06 @donutsandpalmtrees @panini @mads3502 @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa @one-sweet-gubler @rizosrizos26 @ciriceimpera @everyscarisahealingplace @hello-heyhi @sexymfharriet @lizsogolden @hannah9921 @chicabonitasblog @huhidontknowstuff @berrywoods1245 @jennovaaa

[actualbird]

// cn server spoilers, new luke card

EXCUUUUUUUUUUSSSEEE ME, HE IS SO STRIKING, THEY ARE SO GORGEOUS?????

[maximura]

[lemonvolley]

Back at it again with our favorite knockoff Spider-Man-

@photosyntheticspace here you gooo <33

[thewhizzyhead]

you know the more I think about it, the more I think the scene before "If I Loved You" is steph's um silly roundabout attempt to more solidly confirm if Pete could be into her (and have him admit it and make a move already) after like I dunno many other of her attempts in flirting with Pete and asking him out, and then IMMEDIATELY backtracking into "pft I'm a bad bitch I would NEVER go out with a GEEK like you like I need a REAL man pfft" mode in "If I Loved You" after Pete seems to deny him ever wanting to go out with Steph - even though he actually never fucking denies it LIKE HE LEGIT NEVER DOES BOTH IN DIALOGUE AND IN SONG LIKE "who says i wanna go on a date with you anyways?", says pete in a defensive tone with folded arms while looking away from steph after she called him out for not asking her out yet like holy fuck I find this hilariously cute and somehow extremely fucking accurate for teen couples that share this stubbornly defensive i-refuse-to-admit-shit dynamic

[bmpmp3]

i do think its kinda funny when i see someone in the year of our lord 2024 talk about vocal synth music like its all gone downhill since like 2010 because like dont get me wrong i love a good niconicodouga-ass 2008 ass vocaloid joint BUT also like. the past couple years have had the most fascinatingly creative and expressive uses of vocal synthesizers ive ever heard in my life DJFSKHJDFS dont write it all off just yet!!

[debrouiller]

JANJA GARNBRET at Innsbruck Boulder Finals 2023

bonus:

[namelessprince]

listened to that pd anime op song and now i want to animate to it. which means ive spent the last hour watching random anime openings and taking notes o(-(

[7central]

the train station reunion is so fucking funny in terms of physical comedy. ramping up to it we got the overly casual shrug from Lupe and the exasperated eyeroll "riiiight" from Jess. and then we have Lupe's double take, her smacking Jess in some realm between hip and ass, trying to present a unified front--total dad move. the power walking while swearing in public--also a total dad move.

and then Esti abandoning her sandwich, winding up her legs like a cartoon before she starts running, turning over her shoulder just to have the last word with "¡no eres mi mamá!"

then we have Jess immediately going "oh shit" and trying to get in the way, but Lupe just doesn't stop, so Jess fucking keeps running backwards while Lupe tries to fake her out unsuccessfully. and then the cut to Esti sprinting (she's the fastest stealer in the league, lu!) while they're busy arguing. and finally, Esti's calculating stare as she realizes she can use this leverage to annoy Lupe even more learn to drive. cinematic perfection.

[somerandomdudelmao]

………….

TAP.

@somerandomdudelmao, happy day of birth, Universe

[nyquilyauri]

"diane," marie coos, reaching to lift her chin. she's met with a sharp sting as teeth sink into her hand. blood drips from the wound, streaking her once-pristine skin. marie pauses, raising her eyebrows, before an amused smile tugs at her lips. so, this is how diane wanted to play.

"marie," diane snaps, her voice sharp, her bared teeth glistening with dark red—like a confession painted on her lips. she looks almost animalistic, feral in her defiance.

marie only chuckles softly, undeterred, and lets her fingers trail across diane’s lips. she tugs at the corners first, feeling the dry skin crack beneath her touch. slowly, she moves inward, tracing every curve, every line with deliberate care. it’s almost devotional—a worship in her own right. each crease of diane's mouth seems to whisper secrets worth thousands of words. diane’s lips part beneath her hand, either a silent invitation or a warning. marie’s breath hitches as her fingertips graze the edge of sharp teeth. she lingers there, her thoughts spiraling into the familiar abyss.

to bite, or not to bite?

the answer surges with manic certainty.

you’ve always been a dog, haven’t you.

[hypnagogics]

You should definitely write for Vi bc oml she’s so fine 😮‍💨

DO U EVEN KNOW THE WAY IM TWEAKIN OVER HER like omfg. my poor moots getting bombarded with fucking piles of edits upon edits of her and my thirsty comments...yeah...i gotchu, you don't needa ask me twice ♡ tbh feel like this is one of the better short smutty thingies i've written, lol. it was really fun.

nsfw drabble—dom!vi + spit kink. originally i was gonna make this three smaller blurbs, but decided to just smash em all into one longer drabble situation. cw: praise, bossy vi, finger sucking (r! receiving), oral (v! receiving), vi bush mention RAHHHH, yapping... yk how it is by now. + 1.1k wc.

you were gazing up at her with watery eyes, kneeling by vi's seated form, trying your hardest to ignore the deafening ache between your thighs.

vi is loving, and she knows how to treat you well. she always provides you with tons of care and happiness, however—she also possesses a dirty side to her.

a bandaged hand swipes at the bottom of your chin, her thumb prodding at your pursed lips. there was a smirk playing on her scarred lips, her powder-blue eyes twinkling with pure lust at the scenario playing out before her.

“open.” she says roughly, and who are you to deny her? you were willing to take anything she'd give you, so you obediently part your lips, allowing her to fully push her digit inside your hot mouth.

almost instinctively, your puffy lips wrap around her thumb and you begin to suck, your eyes rolling ever so slightly at the taste of her salted skin. she hums, “atta girl—keep going. just like that, until i say you can stop, alright?” you open your eyes and nod in approval, wishing to commit her expression to memory.

see, vi wasn't one of those mean, degrading doms with an icy exterior who get off on hurting you an excessive amount, and in moments like this where she's got you in a position of submission under her, her natural “switchiness” peeks through. you see it in the way her throat bobs as she swallows, her unsteady, shallow breathing coming out in rasps, and the distinct furrow in her flaming brows while she struggles to maintain eye contact. regardless, you both enjoy toying around with various dynamics, she makes it fun.

you get lost in a daydream while staring into her eyes, but are startled out of it when she strongly presses down on your wet tongue, and pushes her thumb further inward until you gag.

it surprises you, but you know she would never overdo things. tears well up in your eyes, their presence only widening her voracious grin.

then she soothes, her now-soft voice caressing your ears, “exactly, just like that. good job, baby. you're so perfect f'me—yeahhh.” she continues rolling her thumb around your wet muscle, every so often dragging the pad of her finger over the ridges of your teeth, then pushing experimentally up against the roof of your mouth.

saliva has been gathering all this time, and she hasn't given you a moment to swallow it, so it dribbles out of your mouth and down your chin, decorating your chest as it slides down your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps along its path.

her face gets impossibly redder as she observes the sight, still while playing with—rather, using—your mouth. her movements speed up a touch, and she triggers your gag reflex once more before abruptly stopping. she pulls her hand out of your mouth with a pop, and throws her head back as she tries to steady her breathing. “you're so fuckin’ hot, god—i can't.”

you smile up at her, reveling in her break of character and being pleased with yourself. she's panting, and examines her hand; it's shiny and dripping with your spit, she's mesmerized by the sparkle it emits in the low light. her periwinkle eyes gloss over and suddenly there's a flash of fabric flying by, and you realize she has undressed herself in one fluid motion, throwing everything on her bottom half across the room. she’s so desperate, you can’t help but sneer at her horny distress, even though technically you were the one being overpowered.

your eyes drop, meeting a wild tangle of vermillion and crimson, her muscular thighs separating east and west to make space for you.

she leans back and gently nudges your head towards her tender, drooling core, her chest heaving at the way you're just melting under her touch. turning to jelly, you let her guide you where she wants. needs.

vi groans quietly, her breath hitching, “c'mon angel, you know what to do.” and you very much did. with her assistance, you advance and bury your face in her center, tongue finding her scarlet pearl—twitching and ready for you to obliterate.

you flick, you suck, and you moan at the heavenly taste of her essence, revel in the noises she's producing above you. she pulls you further in, bucking her hips frantically to chase your skilled mouth. you push your tongue inside her quivering hole as far as it'll go, taking as much of her in your mouth as you can, and ignoring the lack of oxygen you're experiencing—you would be more than pleased if you were lucky enough to die this way.

she's watching you intently through half-lidded eyes, chewing on her rosy lips. when you meet her gaze from in between her legs, her face contorts and she releases a guttural whine, more slick leaking from her and filling your hard-at-work mouth.

her grip on your hair tightens and her abs tense, providing you with an image that's worthy of a climax just on its own. her head falls back, her lips parting to allow for pretty, high pitched and pathetic pleas to grace your ears. “ple—please baby, just like that. you're so fuckin' good, don't you dare stop—ah!”

without any warning she makes a vulgar mess of your face, the vice grip on your crown causing you to wince, but just as she requests, you don't dare move.

you tilt your head to get a better angle, practically making out with her swollen pussy. you drink up her cum, the near-sickly sweetness clouding your mind, coating your thoughts in a drunken haze.

the high is rippling through her at such an intensity her loud moans are replaced with pornographic whimpers, the sensations utterly ruining her. she squirms and arches, caging your head between her thighs until she gasps.

"hah—okay, okay, oh—fuck.” she stutters while she pushes you away, the tremor in her body evident. you sit back and examine your work, feeling proud of yourself, her fucked-out condition proving you did a good job.

she's sprawled on the bed like a starfish, still trying to slow her racing heart but manages to chuckle, basking in the aftershocks of a mind-melting session.

her words are slurred, yet satisfied. “did so good, that was so good…love your mouth s'much babe.”

you guffaw, and throw at her through chuckles, “i know, i am the best.” that sends her into a fit of giggles as well, and once she's calmed down she confirms.

“yeah, you really are.”

thanks for reading! comments, reblogs, and asks are appreciated more than you know ♡ if you'd like to be tagged in future works, fill out the form here! until next time ;)

@andersonfilms @ch6douin @aouiaa @sapphic-ovaries @astro-cat2 @paqerings @littlefallenangel111 @srooch @sinfulprayerss @lvlymicha @sunnsh1ne @pinkcwake @marsworlddd @caszzine @saturnsdrafts @mascdom @ashaynep @angelynn-nicole @wilddrown @aylabv02108 @lonelyfooryouonly @melsmunch @e11williamsgf @spncrrdlvr @flowrmoth

[bluebeads-art]

2024 September 14th

Do you ever wish you could beat into a character's head that they're loved? Because I sure wanted to beat Siffrin during my first playthrough of In Stars and Time. Then I thought about that figure of speech too literally, laughed at my own joke, and now here's me using Odile as a proxy to do just that. :)

I absolutely adore Odile's "you will be safe and happy and that is a threat" approach to emotional support. Her and Siffrin's dynamic in general is just chef's kiss.

Sorry about your hat, Siffrin, but it was destroying my panel composition when I tried to put it on your head.

----------

For being rusty with art I'm really happy with this! That last panel in particular was very new territory for me but I think it came out good! I'm happy with the movement between panels in general. And look at me! Drawing backgrounds!! Wahoo!!

I drew these panels incredibly out of order, so you can see my art style and amount of effort fade in and out as you read, lmao. I tried to stay authentic to the game's style, but sort of gave up and let my style bleed through on the action-y panels. It just felt right. Gives it emphasis. :P

I'm new to writing screen reader image alt text, so feedback is welcomed. Sorry again to Siffrin because I forced myself to he/him them only to avoid confusion, but it felt bad! My fellow they/he, I have wronged you.

Time spent working on this comic was...... 33 hours and 18 minutes. I blame the rust, learning how to draw these characters on the fly, and figuring out the perspective on those bricks, oh my god.

Have some close-ups of my fave panels as thanks for clicking the read-more, mwa

[fragmentedblade]

It's as if they're saying... "Why... why did you and Imbibitor Lunae commit such an unforgivable sin?"

I know that you have no interest in my answer.

...which is why I asked the question as you looked me straight in the eye. I've asked myself that same question infinite times... but was never able to find the answer...

Why... why is it that only the abominations can return time and time again...?

Why does someone like her have to be buried, burned to ash, and eventually forgotten...? Why!?

This play on questions that await no answer, yet are in their way a response to what was asked, is so good

[yandere-writer-momo]

My take on the neglected spouse trope, but with a little spice. Short and to the point

Yandere Batman Shorts: Adorned In Pearls

Yandere Bruce Wayne x Neglected Wife Fem Reader x Yandere Batboys (platonic)

Tw: obsession, unhealthy relationship dynamic, power imbalance, time rewind, imprisonment (implied), death (beginning), and themes that should not be romanticized

“Put the jewels in the bag!” (Your name) didn’t even flinch when the intruder crudely held up his gun to her while she was in the kitchen. It seems her end was finally near at last. “Did you hear me?! Put your jewels in the bag!”

(Your name) calmly turned off the stove top while the intruder kept his voice raised. She had been working on breakfast for her ungrateful husband and her adopted children since they’d be back from patrol in a few hours. Alfred was in the Batcave which left her up here and vulnerable… not that they’d care.

“Let me turn off the stove so you don’t blow the place up if you shoot.” (Your name) calmly told him. She knew this would be a tragic end… and she looked forward to her suffering to end at last.

(Your name) unclasped the pearls from her neck and placed them in the burlap sack the burglar thrusted toward her with one hand. She then made her way to take off each piece of jewelry that was an empty gift from her husband. Even his mother’s ring he gave her for their opulent wedding.

“Code. Safe. Now.” The burglar demanded as he thrusted the gun in her chest.

“0219.” (Your name) calmly stated despite how terrifying the situation was. “It’s in the third room to the right.”

She could not get another word in before a searing pain filled her chest as a loud gunshot rung throughout the house. She glanced down at her chest or a bullet hole was now through her chest cavity.

The burglar walked off while she sank to the floor in a heap. Her hands went to her phone to make a final call but… she knew no one from this house would answer. (Your name) was always an afterthought, and she believed she would be even in death.

So she dialed 911 and waited for the operator to answer. Her right hand was stained crimson as the viscous blood pooled around her like a grotesque blanket.

Once she heard the operated answer, (your name) cut them off, “There’s been a robber and murder at the Wayne manor.”

(Your name) then hung up and turned her gaze to the ceiling. If there was another life, she would be selfish and live for herself. She wouldn’t rot away like lettuce in the back of a fridge in this manor. No… she would have more respect for herself.

Breathe in… breathe out. She smiled in peace for the first time in years. She was finally free from this lonely nightmare she had been trapped in for nearly two decades. Maybe, she would finally deserve her chance to be loved as much as she loved back.

How was she to know the nightmare only just began?

.

.

.

(Your name) jolted awake, her wine glass nearly slipped from her hand from the sudden movement. A myriad of voices chattered in the opulent restaurant has her eyes glanced around the almost surreal scene.

This was the restaurant she had begged Bruce and the boys to come to for her birthday with her six years ago…

“ Mrs. Wayne, would you like another glass of water?” The familiar waiter came over with a pitiful expression that she had seared into her memory from those years ago. The look almost every waiter gave her at any venue she went to.

“Actually, I’d like to order.” (Your name) smiled. “It’s my birthday… and I want to celebrate it for once.”

The waiter seemed surprised but happily took her order. This was the first time she had ordered rather than wait for hours for a family that wouldn’t come.

(Your name) smiled to herself, her gaze focused on the complementary wine glass that was brought to her by the wait staff. How sad was it that the stranger showed her more love than her own family?

She had a second chance… and she’d be damned if she wasted it.

.

.

.

After she had long left and enjoyed her meal, a dashing family of five hurriedly arrived to the restaurant.

Bruce Wayne looked slightly disheveled, but that didn’t take away from his charming good looks. The billionaire and his adopted sons hurriedly glanced around the restaurant for any sign of his wife and their mother. He knew she would be here… just like she always was that she waited for them.

They had all been given a second chance when they came home and found her small, lifeless body on the kitchen floor after patrol.

Never had they all cried so much as they cradled her cold, bloody form as they desperately tried to revive her. Each of them begged for another chance to love her properly.

Each of them had spent so much time finding the perfect gift to make all the lost time up to her and to finally celebrate her birthday like a family like she always dreamed.

They had always kept their distance to keep her safe from their enemies. Yet they had instead created a giant misunderstanding. One that they all desperately needed to make up for.

“Do you think mother is still here? I hope she didn’t wait too long…” Damian muttered, his green eyes nervously searched for (your name)’s delicate form.

“She always waits for us. She loves us.” Dick reassured the others, yet they all knew it was more of a self reassurance. “She will be so happy…”

The wait staff seemed surprised but they did give the boys some glares.

“Jeez, what’s their problem?” Jason huffed as he put his hands in his pockets. He didn’t see her anywhere… he had gotten her a wonderful gift for once.

“I can look up her location.” Tim chimed in as he pulled out his phone. “She’s around, I’m sure.

It was Bruce who seemed to search the hardest for her. A bouquet of roses were clenched so hard in his fists that his knuckles turned white. He would make this all right again.

(Your name) was alive once more… and he would make sure she never die or be hurt by them again. She’d be protected and cherished like she deserved.

“I’m sorry, but Mrs. Wayne left hours ago.”

The men all instantly deflated. She left? But she would always be here for hours for them… was there a possibility she returned in time too?

They all went back to the manor in haste. They wanted to celebrate her birthday with her… they wanted to celebrate so much with her. They wouldn’t let her be alone ever again.

.

.

.

(Your name) dipped her feet in the hot tub at the manor with a content sigh. Her lungs deeply inhaled the crisp night air with a dreamy sigh. This felt so peaceful. Why had she never celebrated her birthday like this before?

(Your name) didn’t even flinch when she heard the boys come home. Perhaps patrol ended early? It’s been so many years of being ignored that she hardly knew what went on in their lives.

She slipped the robe off and slid her swimsuit clad body into the comfortably hot water. Another sigh spilled through her lips, her muscles relaxed. This felt like heaven.

(Your name) jumped when Bruce suddenly slid the sliding door open with a loud whack. She was quick to cover her cleavage with her hands despite this man being her legal husband.

“ Mr. Wayne? What are you doing here-“ Bruce was quick to close the distance and pull her into a hug. Muscular man shook like a leaf as he held her to him. His heart beats so fast, she swore it was about to burst.

“You’re alive… you’re okay…” (Your name) did a double take at his words. When did he ever care about her well-being?

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?” There was no way he came back to the past too, right? Her neglectful husband would never hold her and bury his nose in her hair like this.

Yet here Bruce Wayne, her infamous billionaire Playboy husband , was with his face borrowed into her skin. His nose deeply inhaled her scent like she was his favorite flower. He held her as if she was something precious, something he has never done in their two decades of marriage.

“What are you doing?” She asked, but he only held her tighter.

Bruce pulled back to study her face, is blue eyes were dark like a sea storm. His brows were furrowed in worry.

“Hugging my wife.”

A humorless chuckle bubbled from her chest. So now she was his wife? Since when has he treated her as such.

“Is this a joke?” She asked him despite how serious he looked. “I’m just a decorated house pet-“

Her eyes almost popped out of her head when he planted a searing kiss on her lips. A gasp escaped her as his tongue thrust its way into the cavern of her mouth and tasted every inch of it. His hands greedily grasped at her body.

“Wife… my wife.” Bruce whispered against her lips. “My beautiful wife.”

“Mister Wayne-“

“It’s Bruce.” His voice was authoritative as he cut her formalities off.

“…Bruce.” She sighed. “I’m not sure what you want from me.”

“I want you. I want my wife.” (Your name) squealed when h got into the hot tub with her to hair with her. “It’s your birthday today…”

He… he knew her birthday?

“I didn’t think you ever noticed.” She muttered, but he pressed his forehead to hers.

“All these years, we thought we were keeping you safe by keeping a distance. How foolish I was.” Bruce sighed. “You’re safer in our arms, in my arms.”

(Your name) was speechless when he pulled a gift box from his breast pocket and opened it to reveal an exquisite pearl necklace.

“You deserve to be adorned in pearls and jewels. To be pampered by me.” Bruce didn’t give her the chance to move away as he clasped the necklace around her.

Despite its elegance, (your name) couldn’t help the dread that pulled in her stomach. She could not stop the feeling that this pearl necklace was nothing more than a magnificent collar.

“You look so beautiful in those pearls… they were my mother’s, you know.” Bruce hummed as he picked her up and placed her on the edge of the hot tub.

Bruce stripped her robe back over her form.

“Let’s get changed and go celebrate your birthday properly with the boys. They really want to see their mother.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. “and after that, I think you and I can finally make up for all the lost time.”

(Your name) felt a tear roll down her face that Bruce took as a tear of joy. Yet only she knew the truth.

She had believed she would escape and find her own happiness, now she realize she would never escape this gilded cage.