#and that might start to make you uncomfortable

[cinnonym]

putting my own tags here because they inspired me to write a fic and it doesn't make sense without them (i think). anyway, here goes:

After the Idea comes the silence, a heavy, horrible thing in the stillness of the office. It yawns and stretches, then settles like a beast for the night, unperturbed by anything but their breaths: Regina’s, slow and pronounced from where she perches on the desk, and Emma’s own, stumbling with the effort to not be suspicious. To not be afraid and wet and wanting in light of the Idea.

The call has ended; Regina ended it. The Idea has affected her as well, even if she is breathing slowly now, Emma is sure: when the Idea was uttered, Regina’s finger twitched. Emma saw it. It was the last thing she saw, before her heart started hammering and her gaze slipped and scrambled for cover, before her brain caught up with the mentioning of the Idea and all its implications. In the space between hearing and understanding, she saw. She saw Regina’s index finger spasm once, curling inwards into a sudden, protective claw, before it relaxed again and ended the call. Then she stopped moving altogether.

Emma wishes, abruptly and with surprising ferocity, that she had never developed the habit of watching Regina so closely. The motion of a single finger – what kind of a creep does one have to be to even notice that, let alone be able to interpret it? The hitch of Regina’s breath, too, the rigidity of her posture, the oppressive, unnatural, ever-extending silence –

But of course, Emma isn’t actually mad at her observation skills, or at knowing Regina Mills well enough to read every line of her body. She’s just mad at the Idea. At how, having been spoken into existence, it is bearing down on them like a weight, like a sharp-edged, monstrous weight that has been dropped on the tightrope that is their relationship, shocking it into oscillation. And where before they could be content in their balance, a reaction to the Idea is now inevitable. Underneath the silence lies a growing need:

They must talk about it.

The problem with the Idea is that it’s not new; it has made a home of Emma’s mind long ago. She means this not in a crude, disrespectful manner, quite the opposite: the Idea, to her, is a soft thing, a want so heartfelt that she cannot but lock it away, for fear it may be harmed in its exposure to the world. Her Idea, that is, her idea of the Idea, her wish for it, is unspeakable, and thereby unfeasible.

Now, however, it has been spoken. It has been heard, which is even worse, for in hearing it, the Idea now exists in Regina’s mind as well. It has spread, it has breached Emma’s carefully constructed containment, and here they are, sitting in silence, both of them thinking about it, which means they must talk about it.

While Emma is still wrestling with that conclusion, the silence around her becomes brittle and breaks as Regina finally emerges out of her petrification and slips off the desk. Her heel hits the floor with a clack; she exhales.

“Well,” she says then. “That’s Cruella for you. She doesn’t mince her words any more than she would her beloved furs.”

Emma swallows. She still doesn’t dare to meet Regina’s eyes for fear of what she might find in them. It seemed so clear to her that they cannot simply move on from this, that the speaking of the Idea must have consequences, yet Regina’s voice is business-like as ever, unperturbed except for the slightest waver in it towards the end, and that may just have been disapproval for Cruella’s fashion choices.

She decides to venture a chuckle. “Right…”

Another silence ensues, and Emma wants to scream. She can feel Regina’s gaze on her, but cannot read it without looking up. Concern, disapproval, anger… Regina could feel anything towards her now, and Emma would be none the wiser. It’s terrifying to be so in the dark about what is going on inside Regina, terrifying and unfamiliar and almost uncomfortable enough to make Emma give in and chance a glance at her. But she doesn’t, because the only thing worse than the not knowing is her fear of the knowing.

After another minute or so, Regina sighs. “Don’t listen to her,” she says quietly. “She only lashes out like this because she’s been in love with Ursula for years and is too afraid to do something about it.”

“What?” That gets Emma to look up, she can’t help it. Blood rushes in her ears and she’s aware that her eyes are too wide, too tell-tale, but she simply must know what Regina’s face looks like, in the aftermath of having said that. If it’s flushed as hers is, or tight with anger and repulsion, indignant about the indecency of the Idea that is desiring your best friend.

But as Emma turns towards Regina, Regina turns away, and her face remains unreadable. Only her breath can give any indication of her state of mind, and it is as slow and conscious as before. Inhale. Exhale. Then: “It’s true. Everybody can see it, except for Ursula herself.”

A thought occurs to Emma, a convoluted thing of metaphor and displacement, a theory so hopeful and yet so improbable that she only knows to voice it in cipher. “How,” she says, “does Ursula feel about Cruella?”

If Regina freezes, it’s only for a second; then she finally looks Emma in the eye. Her gaze is heavy and meaningful. “I don’t know. I have never asked her.”

“I think,” Emma says carefully, “communication could help in many such cases.”

Regina inclines her head, just barely.

“I also think,” Emma continues, “that sometimes a little nudge from someone else can help. In such cases.”

There’s a loaded pause, an opposite silence to the one from before. That was a divided silence, a tense, uncomfortable thing. This one is so mutually charged, it sparks.

Regina is again the one to break it; she smiles. “An inappropriate phone call should do it.”

And Emma nods. “I know exactly what to say…”

[lucydixon]

Julia's Best Friend Headcanons

I think I'm gonna follow this up with a one-shot... or two, idk.

The first time you came by the Campbell house, Erik wasn’t home. You’d met Julia at the local Community college, and the two of you had immediately hit it off.

When she learned, a few weeks into your friendship, that you had no family in the area, she insisted on having you over for the First Campbell Barbeque of the season. 

The Campbell family welcomed you with open arms, so generous and caring that it made you a little uncomfortable at first. You weren’t close with your family, and you certainly weren’t used to being hugged by strangers when you introduced yourself to them. 

An hour in, you were sipping on a margarita and playing board games with Julia, her cousin Charlie, and her younger brother, Bobby, who reminded you of a little puppy. He was just so bright-eyed and innocent, despite being in his senior year of high school, and it was adorable. 

You fit right in, and it didn’t take long for Julia to start bringing you home with her all the time. 

The first time you saw Erik, you were draped across the basement couch, watching a movie with Julia and Bobby. The two of you locked eyes the second he walked into the room, clutching a beer bottle. He was about to take a sip, but it was frozen halfway to his mouth. 

Your head cocked slightly to the side and a half smirk tugged at your lips. “Jules, you didn’t tell me your brother was hot.” You thought he might get flustered. You’d hoped for it, even. But he just matched your energy and asked his sister, “Who’s the babe?”.

And so, the game began. 

Every time you and Erik crossed paths in the weeks that followed. You made flirty remarks and batted your lashes at him, smiling coyly. Julia always rolled her eyes, so you both figured it was okay.

You’d call him ‘old man’, and he’d call you ‘kid’ as if there wasn’t just a four-year difference between your twenty-three and twenty-seven. Neither of you had made any kind of move. It was just harmless flirting. Right?

The next time the Campbell siblings had a movie night, Erik sat right next to you with a sly little smirk, facing forward. He was so close that you were almost touching. So close that you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. 

You weren’t about to lean into him, and he wasn’t about to lean into you either. Neither of you was willing to be the one who ‘caved’ when it came to physical contact, which just turned into a relentless back and forth between the two of you. You’d almost brush up against him in the hallway, and he’d hover when you were brushing your teeth on nights you slept over. 

It wound up being both of you that folded at the same time. The fleeting glances had started to linger, and the urge to make contact was growing overwhelming for both of you. It had been a stupid movie, something Bobby had been watching, and the rest of you sat down to join him. It was about a girl sneaking around with her best friend's brother, and it just hit a little too close to home. 

Bobby and Julia had both fallen asleep, and you and Erik had exchanged a look. A clear look of intention. You’d both gotten up without exchanging a word and gone into Erik’s room downstairs. 

Dividers made by @saradika-graphics Gif Made by @jst2guyz

[goomyloid]

ty for also being so based about kriselle. just got into deltarune with the new chapters and jesus fucking christ these estranged childhood friends turned into… traumatized murder accomplices has me in a chokehold. everything about the weird route makes me utterly insane. other than the ferris wheel, what other messed up scenes do you want between these two? i’m personally rooting for a recreation between whatever went down with Dess (and possibly Kris?) in the bunker.

thankyou... this is exactly what i hoped would happen with the new chapters welcome to the team man. heres a wip i probably wont finish

want to immediately get closer to your estranged childhood friend overnight? just become secret murder accomplices in such a way where there are strange romantic undertones to the whole ordeal what the hell sure

uhh scenes i want to see... hmmm... aside from the ferris wheel, i think i just hope like, they spend a lot of time together at the festival... i want it to be deeply uncomfortable and eerie especially because noelle might be in a strangely good mood? Looking forward to it? While kris is just miserable. peak dynamic

i dont necessarily know how much i want to see this happen but i think it would be an extremely interesting turn of events if noelle, with her newfound power and confidence, starts to really pursue What She Wants (which may include any number of friends or family members' safety and health) (my personal hunch) (or something crazy like literally becoming an angel) (wait actually thats kinda fire i hope that happens now) and kris gets pushed aside from the story as collateral almost. like i simultaneously do and dont want it to happen. i want their fates to be so irreversibly deeply intertwined but i also want things to be utterly heartbreaking at every turn i want them to get WORSE. do NOT heal each other. Stew in your misery and die together. (said lovingly)

[lvrsturniolo]

𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 -c.s

warnings; smut. lots of toy use tbh. anal(if that makes you uncomfortable pls pls pls don’t read this! that’s what’s going on the entire time). lots of praise. pet names(sweet girl, pretty girl, bun, bunny, etc.). This is not proofread because I’m blazed and im lazy 😛.

wc: 3.7k

starring.. BOYFRIEND!CHRIS X BUNNY!READER

01: GIFT ONE

The sun was setting when Chris came home, the soft golden light spilling through the windows of your shared bedroom. You were curled up on his bed, oversized hoodie covering your bare legs, a book open in your lap. He walked in slowly, carefully, like he always did.

“Hey, sweet girl,” he murmured, dropping his keys on the nightstand and kneeling in front of you.

You looked up, shy smile curling on your lips. “Hi, Chris.”

He kissed your knee through the hoodie. “Missed you today.”

You nodded. “Missed you too.”

Chris reached behind him and pulled a small velvet box out of his backpack, setting it gently on your lap. You blinked down at it, fingers tightening on the edges of your book.

“What’s this?” you whispered.

“Just a little surprise,” he said softly, reaching to brush your hair back. “I picked it out just for you.”

Your heart fluttered. With a deep breath, you opened the box carefully.

Inside, nestled in satin, was a beautiful pink glass plug. The base was shaped like a little heart. You’d talked about doing this a few times, it was always something you’d been curious about— you didn’t know he was really listening though.

Your breath hitched.

Chris moved slowly, gauging your reaction, his voice velvet-smooth. “It’s pretty, huh?”

You nodded, cheeks burning. “It’s… really pretty.”

“I thought so too,” he said, voice dipping lower as he reached out and ran his fingers lightly over your thigh. “Thought it might help my pretty girl start getting ready. Only if you want to, okay? We can take our time.”

You nodded, eyes wide and trusting. “Okay.”

“Yeah? You want to bun?” he asked gently.

“Y-yes— I do.” you whispered, and he leaned up to kiss your cheek.

Chris laid you on your tummy on the bed, hoodie tugged up, panties off. He sat between your legs, hands warm and slow as he rubbed soft lube over your ass, then leaned forward to kiss the small of your back.

“You’re so good for me, bun,” he murmured. “Always so sweet. Thank you for trustin’ me sweet girl.”

Your breath was shaky as you nodded. “I-I’ll always trust you.”

“I know you will baby,” he praised, smiling as he picked up the plug, now warmed in his palm. “We’ll start slow, just a little pressure, okay? Just let me know if anything doesn’t feel good.”

You made a soft noise of agreement, hiding your face in the pillow. Chris spread your cheeks gently, fingers so careful as he circled your hole with lube again.

“Relax for me, baby,” he whispered, kissing the back of your thigh. “Take a deep breath.”

You did—and as you exhaled, he pressed the tip of the plug slowly against you, not pushing, just holding it there. You whimpered softly, your hips twitching, but Chris’s other hand came to your lower back, grounding you.

“Shh, there you go… that’s my good girl. Just breathe. You’re doing so well already.”

The plug slid in slowly, just the tip at first, then a bit deeper, until the bulb was nestled inside. You gasped, instinctively clenching, but Chris ran his hand up and down your spine.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “God, you look so perfect like this— you’re so pretty baby.”

You squirmed, feeling so full, even though the plug itself wasn’t that large.

“It’s so much,” you whispered.

“I know, bun,” he cooed, leaning forward to kiss your shoulder. “But you’re doing amazing. You look so pretty with it in.”

His fingers brushed the heart-shaped base, pressing it lightly against your skin.

“I’m gonna leave it in for just a few minutes tonight, okay?” he said. “Then we’ll take it out, clean you up, and cuddle. Just a little step.”

You nodded again, voice barely audible. “Y-yes sir”

He groaned softly at the nickname, lips finding the back of your neck. “Fuck, I love when you call me that.”

You stayed there, face down, cheeks hot and heart pounding, while he whispered sweet praise in your ear. “Such a brave girl, hm? So fucking beautiful like this— makes me ‘s proud of you baby.”

He took the plug out gently, cleaned you up, and tucked you under the blankets. His hoodie swallowed your frame again, and you curled up against his chest like always, soft and pliant.

“I love you, bun,” he whispered against your hair.

“I love you too,” you murmured, sleepily. “Thank you… for going slow.”

“I’ll always go slow for you,” he promised. “If you ever feel rushed, let me know okay?”

“Mkay,” you mumble softly before drifting off to sleep.

02: GIFT TWO

The plug became part of your routine after that first night. You never had to ask—Chris always knew when to bring it out. Some nights, it would be after a movie, while you were curled up in his lap. Other times, it was early morning, when you were still soft and sleepy under the covers. He never rushed, never forced—just waited for the soft, shy nod that meant you were ready and you wanted it.

The second time he used it, he whispered, “Let’s see if you can take it a little longer tonight, yeah?”

You nodded, biting your lip, laying down on your tummy like before. You always hid your face when he touched you there—it made you feel too vulnerable, too exposed—but Chris loved it.

“You’re real cute when you’re shy,” he told you, massaging your hips while he spread lube with two fingers. “But I don’t want you to hide too much. You’re beautiful, bun. Especially when you’re like this.”

Every time he slid the plug in, it got easier. Not easy—but easier. The sting turned into pressure. The pressure turned into warmth. And after a week, you caught yourself clenching around it. Needing more. Wanting more.

Chris noticed that too.

One night, after he’d settled the plug inside and sat back to admire how the heart-shaped base peeked out from between your soft cheeks, he ran his palm gently down your spine.

“You like it more now, sweet girl?” He asked, softly kissing your collarbone. “I can feel that you do, your body tells it all.”

You whimpered and nodded, pushing your hips into the bed. “I—I do…”

He leaned over you, lips brushing your ear.

“You wanna take the next step?” he asked. “Something just a little bigger, a little deeper?”

You turned your head to look at him, eyes wide and shiny. “What kind of step?”

Chris smiled, and that smile made your stomach flip.

“I got you one more gift.”

The box was longer this time. He opened it in front of you, lifting out a slim, pretty glass dildo with a pink heart tip that’s almost the same color as the plug. Its longer and elegant, with soft curves down its shaft. It shimmered in the light like something out of a dream.

Your thighs squeezed together.

Chris caught it instantly. “See?” he grinned, kissing your temple. “Your body’s already curious.”

“It’s so… pretty,” you whispered, reaching to trace the glass.

“It’s a little smaller than me,” Chris added, his voice dropping. “Way thinner. But a little deeper than the plug. I wanna try it on you, bun. Get you used to having more.”

You swallowed hard, face burning. “Okay.”

He took his time—long, slow kisses on your neck while you laid on your side, one leg hooked over his thigh. You were completely bare waist down, wrapped in nothing but Chris’s hoodie, trembling under his touch.

“I’ll go slow,” he whispered, pressing kisses down your belly. “Just breathe and let me open you up baby.”

He started with his fingers—two, slick and careful, gently stretching you open as you whined into the pillow.

“Such a good girl… so tight, you takin my fingers so well, bun. Just like that… yeah?”

When he replaced them with the tip of the dildo, you gasped—cool glass touching hot, soft skin.

“Deep breath, baby,” he said, coaxing it slowly in. “There you go. That’s it.”

You cried out softly as it slid deeper than the plug had ever reached—cool, smooth, and so full.

“F-Feels so— full,” you whimpered.

Chris’s voice dropped to a low hum. “You are full, bun. And you’re doing so fucking good.”

He didn’t thrust—not at first. Just held it there, watching your body flutter and clench.

“You’re squeezing so tight around it, baby,” he whispered, completely entranced. “Pretty ass loves this, I knew she would.”

When he finally started moving it—tiny strokes, just a little motion—you nearly broke.

You moaned, back arching, and Chris’s free hand slid between your legs.

“Wanna make you cum just like this,” he whispered.

You gasped. “Chrisss…”

“You close?” he asked, his hand gently rubbing your clit.

You nodded frantically. “Please—feels so good—don’t stop—”

When you came, the dildo still deep inside, your body tensed around the glass and Chris groaned.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered. “So pretty when you cum.”

He held you while you trembled, still snug around the dildo, lips pressed to your temple.

“Think you’re almost ready, bun,” he said softly. “Almost ready to take all of me.”

You whimpered. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, rocking the dildo just a little. “I can feel it. Your body’s much more relaxed now.”

03. READY

It was a quiet night. Rain tapped against the window, soft and steady. You were curled up in Chris’s bed, one of his T-shirts hanging loose off your frame, nothing underneath. Your cheek was pressed to his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. It’d been a few weeks since the first time you used the dildo, but you’d used it multiple times since, getting more and more comfortable with it.

He brushed his fingers through your hair and kissed the top of your head.

“Chris?” You whisper softly, not daring to look up at him because of the nasty things you’re about to say.

“Hm? What is it baby?” He mumbles back, noticing you ducking your head down low.

You peeked up at him, eyes wide and warm. “I like it… when you stretch me out— and w-when you say nice things.”

Chris’s smile made your stomach flip. “I know you do. You’re my good girl. You like being taken care of.”

You nodded shyly, pressing your face into his chest. “I wanna do more.”

He stilled for a second. “More?”

“I wanna try. The real thing,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “I want you to be… in me.”

His breath caught, and he tilted your chin up gently to look you in the eye.

“You sure?”

You nodded, cheeks burning. “I trust you, Chris. ‘m ready.”

He undressed you slowly, kissing every inch of skin he revealed. His hands were warm, steady, grounding. You laid on your tummy, like always, but this time, he positioned a pillow under your hips, raising you just slightly.

“Just like that,” he murmured, spreading your legs slowly. “Let me see you, bun.”

You whimpered when his fingers found your hole, already slicked with lube, already twitching.

“God, look at you,” he breathed.

Chris started with one finger—just to test. Then two. Then he slid the glass dildo in again, watching the way your body hugged it so perfectly.

“You’ve trained so well, bunny. Look at you, takin’ this like it was nothing.”

You moaned into the pillow, clenching around it. “Chris… please.”

He kissed the curve of your spine, then leaned up, and you felt the toy slide out.

“You ready for me, bun?” he asked, voice full of awe.

“Please,” you whispered. “Wanna feel you.”

—————————

You could feel the difference the moment the tip of him pressed against your entrance. He was so much warmer than the glass, thicker, throbbing. Your whole body tensed—but then his hand came to rest on your lower back, grounding you.

“Deep breath for me,” he whispered. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

You exhaled slowly, and he pushed just a little—only the tip—and your whole body reacted.

You gasped, back arching. “Oh my god…”

“Shhh,” he soothed, pausing. “That’s it. You’re doing so good. Just let me in a little at a time.”

He rocked forward again, inch by inch, until the thickest part of his head popped past the tight ring of muscle. You cried out, gripping the sheets, but it wasn’t pain—not really. It was pressure. Stretch. Fullness.

Chris moaned low in his throat. “O-oh fuuuck pretty girl. You’re so tight—so warm.”

“F-Feels… so big,” you whimpered.

“I know, I know. But you’re taking me so good. Look at you,” he said softly. “Already halfway in— y’doin perfect for me.”

He moved slowly, praising you the entire time. When he bottomed out, both of you froze—his hips snug against your ass, your back arched, your thighs trembling.

“Theeeeere we go, baby— y’doin it,” he whispered, kissing your shoulder. “You’re taking all of me. Look at how good you are.”

You were shaking—so full you could barely think. But your body… wanted more.

“Move, Chrisss… please…”

He groaned, pulling out halfway and easing back in with one slow stroke. “I’ve got you, bunny. Gonna fuck you so good. Gonna let you feel every inch of me inside you.”

And he did—deep, steady thrusts that rubbed against places inside you you didn’t even know existed. You moaned into the pillow, gasping his name again and again.

“That feel good, baby?” he whispered, leaning down to kiss your temple. “You feel so fucking amazing around me.”

“So full,” you whimpered. “So deep—Chris, I-I’m gonna—”

He reached down, rubbing your clit with careful fingers, and that was all it took.

You came hard, body clenching around his cock, mouth falling open in a silent cry. Chris cursed under his breath, trying not to fall apart at how tight you were when you came.

“Fuck, fuck—gonna cum too—can I— fuck can I cum inside?”

“Yes—please, Chris—please—”

He pushed in deep and groaned, spilling inside you while whispering praise into your ear.

04: Aftercare

You were trembling after, limp and quiet, breathing fast. Chris cleaned you up with a warm towel, kissing you over and over—your cheeks, your thighs, your spine.

“You did so good,” he whispered, pulling you into his chest. “You’re such a good girl— always.”

You curled into him, glassy-eyed and soft. “Felt— so good, Chris…”

“I know, baby,” he murmured. “You were perfect. My perfect girl.”

He dressed you gently, slid one of his hoodies over your head, and tucked the blankets around both of you. His fingers played in your hair while you came down.

“I love you,” you whispered.

Chris smiled. “I love you more.”

dividers by @/bernardsbendystraws

A/N: sorry if there are any errors in spelling or anything— im absolutely blazed rn but I got this idea and had to do smtn w it

tags: @emely9274 @courta13 @sturniolo-szn2 @sophand4n4 @lezleeferguson-120 @chrislover696969 @slvt4chriss @riasturns @ivysturnss @auttysturnz @tezzzzzzzz @iloveduckssm @conspiracy-ash



[afroslacks]

Hi I saw that you were taking requests and I was wondering if you were interested in doing something with girldad smoke whose teen daughter has his negotiation skills and her uncle's smart mouth and hustler mentality getting into trouble at school and reader being upset because obviously she get it from those two

Or a smoke x stack x reader where they are together and they meet readers family who don't know about them and how they react to the relationship maybe throw in an annoying old fling of readers who won't leave her alone

Obviously only if you're interested it's cool if you're not

ou, Smoke, and Stack have been in a relationship for one year. But your relationship is anything but normal. Not many people date two siblings at the same time. So, you’ve decided to keep things private to save yourself from public scrutiny and prying eyes. The boys don’t care, as long as you don’t take your love away — that’s all they want: your love and affection.

You're lying on the couch with Stack holding your feet in his lap and Smoke sitting beside you.

“So, when are we going to tell your parents about us?” Stack asks, breaking the peaceful silence as the three of you watch television.

At the sound of his words, your heart drops at the uncomfortable question. Your eyes bulge.

“What?” you ask, sitting up from your position.

“You heard him. When are you going to introduce us?” Smoke pauses the television and turns to you.

In your mind, you're scrambling to come up with a million excuses to put this meeting off. But ultimately, none of them seem believable.

The twins are anything but stupid — pushy, sure — but stupid? Not a chance in hell.

“Baby, I would love to, but… you know how my family is.”

At your reply, Stack’s face curls in annoyance at your lame excuse, and he moves your feet from his lap.

“Bullshit,” he spits, standing up from the couch.

Smoke silently shakes his head at the situation unfolding. You reach out to place your hand on his arm, but he moves it before you can touch his skin — he feels betrayed by your lies.

“Elijah,” you croak, hurt by your usually silent lover. Smoke has always been the type to still love you, no matter how upset he got. After dating them for a while, you’ve grown used to Stack’s chaotic, unpredictable energy. But you’ve also come to understand the quiet storm that is Smoke.

“Are you ashamed of us or something?” Smoke asks, raising a brow.

You immediately shake your head. “No, baby, I love you both too much for that.”

Stack scoffs at your pretty words. “You sure as hell ain’t acting like it. We wanna be like normal couples and meet your family. Nothing in our lives has been normal or peaceful — except for you.” He confesses this, locking his deep brown eyes onto yours.

You exhale at the weight of his words and start to feel ashamed for trying to shut them out of another part of your life.

“I only said no because my family might not accept our relationship. They may view it as… unnatural,” you explain, looking at them both.

Your family is very religious, while you identify as atheist or agnostic. You’re not as deep into faith as they are. You prefer facts over fiction or fairy tales, which always makes things awkward. Even when you bring up a progressive idea, for some reason, those old folks still fantasize about "the good ol' days."

“So what — we’re supposed to be your dirty little secret until you walk down the aisle and give them a nice surprise?” Smoke asks, not buying your explanation.

“No—” you begin, but Stack cuts you off.

“Are we always supposed to disappear every time you get on FaceTime with them?”

You sigh heavily, trying again.

“I’m not saying—”

Smoke adds in, “Nah, Stack, she wants to keep her famous lie going — you know, that she's 'focusing on herself,' whatever that shit means.”

You shut your mouth, having no good comeback to combat their words.

Instead, you dramatically flop onto the back of the couch, looking at the ceiling and wishing you could rewind time by five minutes.

“Oh, now you ain’t got nothing to say?” Stack crosses his arms, standing in front of the television, refusing to let the conversation die.

After some thought, you come to the conclusion that you have nothing left to lose. So, reluctantly, you agree.

“Okay.”

The Moore twins break into big grins.

One week later

You sit in the passenger seat of Smoke’s car as Stack leans forward from the back like an eager kid, eyes glued to your family home. Then he shifts his attention to your queasy, uneasy face.

“Calm down, we’ll behave,” he snickers, placing a hand on your cheek and rubbing his thumb soothingly.

You hastily push his hand away.

“Not right now, Stack. I don’t have time for your games. When we get inside, I need you to behave,” you say, turning to look at him directly.

You don’t even glance at Smoke — he knows better. He doesn’t act like a crazy man.

“Whatever. Let’s go. I’m ready to meet my in-laws,” Stack says as he gets out of the car. Then he opens your door, standing there with his hand out, ready for you to place your palm in his.

You look at him reluctantly, then slowly place your hand in his, wondering if it’s too late to back out.

Sensing your hesitation, both twins each grab one of your arms and begin walking you toward the door.

“Don’t run now — we haven’t even made it to the door yet,” Smoke says, tightening his grip.

Stack firmly knocks.

Moments later, your mother opens the door with a smile — which quickly fades when she sees your uneasy face.

“Honey, what’s wrong? I thought you said we were meeting your lover.”

You say nothing, heart racing, hoping she picks up on the situation herself.

She looks past you to the twins.

“Hello. I’m Elijah, and this is my brother Elias. We’re both taken with your child,” Smoke says in the most gentlemanly voice possible.

Your mother looks back at you, eyes wide — and promptly faints.

“Mama!” you cry, breaking free from the boys to check on her.

Leaning over her, you place a hand on her forehead. Then you turn to the twins, frustration bubbling.

“Now do you see why I didn’t want you to meet them?” you scoff, then turn back toward your mother. “Monica, what are you doing on the floor?” you hear your father call out as his footsteps approach.

Just when you think the day can’t get any worse, it does.

You remember — all of this started just because they were so desperate to meet your family.

Stack mutters, “Baby, your mama’s dramatic, and I don’t even know her yet,” adjusting his clothes.

Then your father finally appears at the door. He takes one look at the twins, then down at you.

“What the fuck is this?” he asks, staring at you with a mix of anger and disappointment.

You focus on your mother, unable to meet his eyes.

[giuliannna]

LESSON PLAN

studying isn’t so entertaining when you have something else on your mind - something that involves your shy tutor. inspired by this request

contains: loss of virginity (don’t read if uncomfortable)

hamzah always knocks on your door too lightly, shifting from foot to foot like he’s thinking about running away. you open the door and he’s standing there with his sleeves tugged down over his hands, backpack hung on his shoulders.

“hi,” he mumbles, not meeting your eyes.

“you’re late,” you say, but you’re smiling, leaning against the doorframe in a tank top that’s showing too much. or not enough, depending how you look at it.

“sorry - uh, my car.. i mean- yeah. sorry.”

you step aside to let him in, and he walks in like he’s entering a museum. eyes darting around your room - pink sheets, candles, glossy lip balm tubes scattered on the desk - like he doesn’t know where he’s allowed to look. his cheeks are already turning pink.

“you can sit,” you say, already flopping onto your bed.

he hesitates. “uh- here?”

“yeah, hamzah,” you grin, patting your bedspread. “you’re not gonna, like, catch cooties. i’m tired of you always sitting at my desk all the time. you’re too far away.”

he laughs, but it’s nervous. he sinks down onto the very edge of the mattress, leaving a prominent gap of space between you two. he opens the cover of his textbook, flipping through pages with shaky hands. he clears his throat.

“so.. i figured we could start with the practice on page 211. if that’s okay.”

you hum. “sure.”

you lean over to look at the page. and when you do, your arm brushes his. his breath catches. he tries not to move, but he tries even harder not to look at the way your collarbone is peeking out or how your lip gloss shines.

you glance at him. he looks like he’s trying to remember how to breathe.

“you okay?”

“y-yeah. yep. page 211.”

he’s trying so hard.

his voice is all quiet and focused, like he really believes you’re going to care about vectors and kinematic equations just because he’s reading them off a flashcard.

“so, um, if the object’s moving with constant acceleration, you can use the formula - i mean, like.. initial velocity plus acceleration times time is..”

he squints down at his notes and pushes his glasses up with the side of his hand.

the frames keep sliding down his nose. you want to tug them off and crawl into his lap.

you’re sprawled out on the bed in your tiny sleep shorts, legs stretched long and bare toward him, like you’re just testing the waters - seeing how far you can push him before something breaks.

he’s still perched right on the edge of the mattress, like your bed is a sacred place. like one wrong move might make him bolt from the room.

“hamzah,” you hum, voice sugar-sweet and full of amusement.

his eyes dart up, nervous and wide behind his lenses. “yeah?”

you tilt your head, playing with the strap of your top. “you’re so cute when you talk about physics.”

he blinks. you see the pink rise to his cheeks.

“i- uh, thanks. it’s, um.. it’s just the way the curriculum explains it, i’m not, like, making it up or anything-”

you smile. “i know. you’re just so smart.”

his voice stutters into silence. his fingers tighten around the flashcard.

you roll onto your stomach, bending your knees up and swinging your feet lazily. “are you always this nervous around girls?”

“i’m not - i’m not nervous,” he says too fast, eyes flitting around the room like they’re begging for a safe place to land. “i just, uh, wanna make sure you understand it. the material. so you don’t fail.”

you giggle. “oh, right. i stopped listening, like, fifteen minutes ago.” your voice softens into a pout. “i’m bored.”

he hears that tone in your voice and looks up at you, the flashcard in his hand starting to tremble a little.

“b-bored?”

you nod, stretching again, letting your shorts ride up just a bit more. “mhm. think you could teach me something else?”

he swallows. audibly. “i- i don’t know what else you’d want me to teach you..”

you sit up on your knees and shift closer, slow and casual, like this isn’t going to break his entire understanding of reality.

“well,” you murmur, touching the hem of his sleeve. “you know what i heard?”

“what?” he nearly whispers.

“i heard that you’ve never kissed a girl before.”

he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t even try to deny it. his mouth opens like he wants to speak, but nothing comes out.

you hum, pleased. “you want to?”

his whole body tenses. “i.. y-you mean.. right now?”

you reach up and adjust his crooked glasses, nodding. “right now.”

his eyes flick to your mouth and back up again. “y-yeah. if.. if you want to.”

you laugh softly and cup his cheek with one hand.

he melts.

he makes a tiny, broken noise in the back of his throat like that short-circuited something in his brain.

you kiss him.

he gasps against your mouth - not dramatic, just genuinely surprised. he doesn’t know where to put his hands, he doesn’t even move at all until you guide him, fingers lacing with his and placing them on your hips.

his mouth is soft, warm, clumsy. he kisses like he’s afraid to mess it up, like he’s thinking too hard about what to do with it. his lips are glossy and red when you finally pull back.

he blinks up at you like he’s not sure the kiss actually happened. like maybe he blacked out halfway through it. his glasses are crooked again. you fix them for him gently.

“you wanna learn something?” you whisper.

he nods, like it’s instinct.

“lie back. i’ll show you how to make a girl feel good.”

he obeys. no questions asked.

and you’re already thinking about how he’s going to look between your thighs - desperate, overwhelmed, ready to worship you without even knowing how.

he lies back, palms flat against your sheets. his fingers are twitching like he doesn’t know what to do with them, and his legs are a little too close together, stiff with nerves. his shirt rides up at the hem and his glasses are fogging slightly, but he watches you as you crawl over him and straddle his waist like you’ve already done this a hundred times.

he looks terrified.

yet already, he’s so hard.

you lean down, kiss his flushed cheek, whisper against his ear, “you wanna go down on me?”

his breath catches. “i- i’ve never..”

“i know.”

you smile and kiss him again, slower this time. “i’ll help you.”

and that’s all it takes. he nods, frantic, already trying to sit up like he wants to be useful.

you tug your shorts down slow, teasing, watching the way his eyes track every inch of your skin. when you toss your panties aside, his mouth drops open like he’s seeing something heavenly.

you climb up and settle your thighs over his face, one knee on either side of his head. “you okay down there?” you ask sweetly.

he breathes out hard, nodding. “yeah. yeah, i’m- fuck.”

you giggle.

and then you lower yourself.

his first lick is so clumsy it barely even lands. he sort of just presses his tongue to you like he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do, and it’s so messy, so warm, so desperate it makes you laugh breathlessly.

“oh my god,” you whisper, grinding down just a little. “you really have no idea what you’re doing, hamzah.”

he moans into you. it vibrates through your whole body.

“but you want to, don’t you?”

he nods under you. you feel it. his hands are on your thighs now, squeezing gently, trying to hold you in place even though you’re the one doing all the moving.

“don’t think too hard about it,” you murmur. “just try.”

and he does.

he’s sloppy and starved and so completely in awe of your body. he licks too fast, then too slow, then gets better when you tug on his hair and grind your hips just right.

he’s not coordinated, but he’s willing.

you rock against his face, moaning when his tongue finally catches your clit the way you want it to.

“fuck - right there, hamzah. keep going, don’t stop.”

he whimpers, like the praise is feeding him more than your cunt is. you ride it out, guiding his head, rolling your hips while he holds on and tries so hard to avoid screwing it up.

he’s soaked. his chin, his nose, his whole mouth - all wet. all yours.

when you finally cum, it’s sharp and fast and mean, your fingers yanking his hair and your thighs trembling around his head.

you don’t even get all the way off him. you just slide down until you’re sitting on his chest, catching your breath, looking down at him.

his mouth is red and slick and his lips are parted. he looks ruined. you smile, feeling proud.

“good boy,” you whisper.

he twitches under you - hips jerking up like he’s this close from just finishing in his pants.

his hands hover in the air like he doesn’t know where to put them. not on your waist, not on your hips, not on your thighs. you take them and pin them to the bed.

“stay still,” you tease, climbing down his body. “i’m not done with you yet.”

his eyes flutter shut for a second, overwhelmed. he’s so red in the face you can see it creeping down his neck, blooming along his skin like heatstroke.

“you’ve never even.. touched a girl before, have you?”

he shakes his head. swallows hard. “n-no. i mean, not - not like this.”

you hum like you’re thinking. “not even.. over-the-clothes stuff?”

“no,” he breathes. “i’ve only ever - like.. y’know. on my own.”

you sit back and smile like you’re delighted. “god, that’s so cute.”

he groans, burying his face in his arm. “please don’t make fun of me.”

“hamzah,” you purr, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth, “i’m not making fun of you. i love it.”

his hips twitch at that. he doesn’t even mean to - it’s just instinct, pure and helpless.

you reach down and finally palm him over his sweats. he’s rock hard, twitching, so sensitive. he gasps, trying to hold still.

“look at you,” you murmur. “all worked up and i haven’t even taken these off yet.”

he covers his face again. “i’m sorry-”

you laugh sweetly. “don’t be sorry, hamzah. you’re doing perfect.”

your fingers curl into the waistband of his sweats. you pull them down slow, along with his boxers, and he lifts his hips eagerly without you even asking.

and when he springs free - flushed and leaking and pretty - you just look at him for a second.

“fuck,” you whisper. “you’ve been keeping this from me?”

his face is burning. “i didn’t - m’sorry, i didn’t think-”

you cut him off with a kiss.

“you want me to be your first, don’t you?” you exhale against his lips.

he nods instantly. “please. i want it so bad.”

“yeah?” you stroke him once, slow and mean. he chokes on a moan. “you gonna be good for me?”

“yes. yes, i will, just - tell me what to do. i don’t wanna mess anything up.”

you climb back over him and straddle his hips again, dragging your slick along the length of his cock so he can feel how ready you are.

“you’re not gonna mess it up, hamzah. i’ll take care of everything.”

his whole body shudders. you reach down and guide him with one hand, pressing the head of his cock to your entrance.

“wait,” he whispers, chest rising and falling rapidly, “i don’t - i don’t wanna cum yet.”

you smile. “you’re not gonna. not yet. just breathe.”

his hands grip your waist, fingers digging in just enough to ground himself. his eyes are locked on where your bodies meet - lips parted, completely speechless.

you sink down slow. his head hits the pillow. a choked moan leaves his lips. his hips jerk without permission.

“oh - oh my god,” he whispers, voice cracking. “it’s so.. good, it’s - fuck, i’m..”

you pause halfway, hand splayed across his chest. “c’mon, breathe, hamzah.”

he gasps like he’s forgotten how.

you press a kiss to his jaw. “you’re doing so good, i promise.”

you take the rest of him inch by inch, letting him stretch you slowly. his cock is twitching inside you, like everything is too much, like he’s been waiting his whole life for this exact moment.

you settle fully, hips snug against his, and you don’t move. he’s trembling under you.

“this okay?” you ask softly, running your fingers down his chest.

he nods. “y-yeah. i just.. it’s so much. i can’t think.”

you lean down and kiss his temple. “that’s good. you think too much. you don’t have to for once.”

you rock your hips once - shallow, gentle. he gasps.

“oh my god- don’t stop-”

you shush him sweetly. his hands are fisting the sheets now. his head turns to the side like he’s trying to ground himself in anything that isn’t you, but you won’t let him look away.

you grip his chin and make him face you.

“eyes on me.”

he obeys instantly. he’s all flushed, fucked-out.

you start rocking your hips again, slow and steady, dragging yourself up and down his cock while he just whines under you.

his hands twitch at your waist, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch you more, but when you grind down just right and clench around him - he loses all of that control.

his hips snap up into you without warning. once. twice. again.

“shit - i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to-”

you gasp, caught off guard by how deep he hits. your hand slaps down on his chest to keep yourself steady, but he’s already chasing it now - thrusting up into you, messy and fast and needy.

“fuck-! i can’t stop, oh god - sorry,” he whimpers.

you moan, loud. “don’t be sorry, hamzah - oh, my god.. fuck me just like that.”

his eyes go wide. his hands grip your ass, holding you down as he drives up into you with these frantic, uncoordinated thrusts.

“you feel so good - jesus, i didn’t know it would feel like this-”

you’re bouncing now, letting him fuck up into you while your fingers dig into his chest. he’s gasping under you, all choked breaths and flushed skin and eyes locked on your tits through the thin fabric of your top.

“you gonna cum already?” you tease, breathless, grinning down at him.

he nods, eyes glossy. “i’m trying not to - i swear, i’m trying.. i don’t wanna cum yet, please-”

“why not?” you pant, leaning close so your nose brushes his. “you wanna make me finish first?”

he whimpers. “yes.”

you smile. “good boy.”

and that breaks him.

he bucks up harder, sweat gathering at his temples, teeth sinking into his lip. his hands are sliding all over your waist now, greedy and clumsy like he can’t decide whether to hold you still or pull you closer.

you guide one of his hands to your clit. “touch me here, hamzah. just like i showed you.”

he does. shaky at first, then more confident when he hears how loud you moan.

and then you’re right there - hips stuttering, thighs trembling, your whole body shaking on top of him.

“hamzah, fuck- don’t stop..”

he watches you fall apart like he’s witnessing something holy.

you cry out as you cum again, clenching hard around him, and that’s when he completely unravels.

“oh fuckfuckfuck - i’m gonna cum, i can’t-”

he sobs your name as he finishes. hips locked, cock twitching, entire body stiffening under you. he moans through it, whimpering and cursing, clinging to you like you’re the only thing keeping him on earth.

his chest heaves. your body goes limp over his. and neither of you say a thing for a second - just trying to breathe. your thighs are shaking and his chest is slick with sweat, his glasses fogged and askew, but neither of you move right away.

he blinks up at the ceiling.

“oh, my god.”

you giggle against his shoulder, tucking his glasses up onto his forehead gently. “s’that good, huh?”

he just stares at you with this wrecked, teary, completely worshipful face. that’s all you need to know.

“mm. glad i could teach you something for a change.”

a/n: not proofread again sorryyyy

xoxo giulia

taglist: @gulicore @slushedup @arroganceisherfavoritecolor @layzerzlovesu46 @babysitter19 @marixoa @starjely @viennawaiits @h-yalexaaaa @freakzah444 @anginluv @gabwilliams @sturniyolo @screamertannie @brlwla @yourstrulykiya @angelegss @hamzaholic @isathefantastic @divinesturn @forestlv4r @mayapuma20 @ottakugirl @hamzahsbestone @pulcen @rustnroll @venus-planetof-love @hamzahsn1gf @rock678 @wandas-lovey @guiltyfemcel @axetheboyboss @harrys0nlyange1 @ttlynotme @yassqueen1303 @animalcrossingshameless @opiumfidgetspinner @pictureperfectblue @slushingmynoob @vampzah @ilovezah @wh1speringstarr

[lizzieisright]

party

Summary: After being a nervous mess, Abby finally finds the courage to talk to you.

Tags: nervous wreck!Abby, fem!reader, first meeting, college!AU.

Notes: I went through my old drafts and found this thing that I wrote after watching the Bottoms like year and half ago, so this is heavily inspired by it and by the party by Charlie XCX.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Abby is nervous as she sits next to you on the balcony. Her house is loud, people are laughing and drinking and counting as someone drinks the whole bottle. 

But her heart is louder, because you are here. You came to her party. 

You seem so chill and relaxed, and Abby is a mess. Her hands are sweaty, she barely keeps her thighs from jumping up and down, and Abby prays to all gods that you won't notice. She doesn't know where her courage came from, to just follow you outside, but right now this courage is packing its things and leaving.

"It's loud." You say to start a conversation, and Abby's heart almost jumps out of her ribcage.

"Yeah. Do you like it?"

"What?" 

"The party."

Abby is so desperate to know. She did everything to make it perfect: your favourite drinks, your favourite music for dancing, your favourite games - it is here today. Her house is decorated in your favourite colours, and it's borderline creepy how she is obsessed with you and how much she knows about the girl she talked a few times to, but Abby is shy. She can't just talk to you and ask you on a date, she has to throw party after party hoping you'd come through. 

And today you came, and she almost threw up from nerves when she saw you coming in. 

"Yes. If I knew you threw cool parties, I would have come the other times."

You called her party cool, oh god. Oh god, Abby is going to die. 

Abby doesn't know what to say, too afraid of saying something wrong, and her mind is reeling because she can't just sit in silence! It's her chance to talk to you and make you like her, and Abby is silent, what the fuck! 

“Does it mean you'll come next time?” Abby asks, not hearing herself from how loud her heart is. You smile at her, and Abby clutches the bench so hard she hears it creak. You look like an angel, she can't handle it - it's overwhelming to interact with you.

“Probably.” You chuckle playfully and Abby goes into error 404 brains not found. “Sometimes I need to study.”

Abby swallows, hard. Say something! Say something, goddamnit! 

“Do you want a drink?” Abby blurts, not coming with anything more smart than this. She seriously needs a breather before she goes into cardiac arrest from being so close to you. 

“Got it right here.” You show her your plastic cup. “But I won't mind a refill.”

Oh thank God, Abby thinks and nods, reaching for your cup. Your fingers touch hers and Abby shivers, her breath is caught in her throat. She is electrocuted by you, the cold of your skin lingers on hers and she can't help her blush. 

“What do you drink?” Abby doesn't need you to tell her, actually, she already knows, but she is self-aware enough to know it would be creepy to just go and get what you want. 

You give her the name of your drink and Abby nods before going back to the house. 

The moment she is out of your sight, she takes a deep, shuddering breath: how is it even possible to feel so much for someone she doesn't really know? How do you strike so much in her just by existing? Abby never cared about what others think of her, but she is desperate to be enough for you.

Abby suddenly thinks that you might use Abby's leave as an excuse to also leave, since she was probably weird as fuck and made you uncomfortable, and it scares her so much her hands are trembling as she pours your drink. 

“Someone's got their shit together.” Nora chuckles when she pours her own drink at the table. “You are going to her?”

“Yeah.” Abby swallows. “I can't fucking think around her, Nora. What do I even say to her?”

“Ask how her day is going, what she watched recently. Easy stuff.” Nora helps. She makes fun of Abby for being such a wreck when it comes to you, but she is a good friend who can read the room. “You've got this, Anderson.”

Abby whines helplessly, but she needs to see you and hear your voice, and no amount of fear will stop her now. So Abby takes the cups and goes back to the balcony, praying to every deity you're still there. 

You smile when you see her and Abby smiles back, unable to look into your eyes, her chest fluttering.

“Thanks.” You take your cup from her hand and Abby shudders again when your fingers meet. 

It's not a warm night, and Abby only now picks up on the fact that you're cold. Abby panics, looks around to find any kind of blanket, but there's nothing. 

“Sorry, just a sec.” Abby tells you and disappears again. 

You're puzzled, but you wait for her anyway: you have nowhere to be and you're curious about Abby. She's always seemed intimidating - one of the reasons why you didn't dare to show up to her parties - but right now she is so sweet to you, shy even, and you wildly assume she is one of those sweet kind people who have resting bitch face.

Abby is cringing at herself as she takes her softest jacket from her bedroom - it's corny and obvious, you'll crack her in a second after it, but Abby can't help herself. She wants to have some part of you to herself, even if it's your perfume. Abby quickly tries to get rid of this thought, but she hopes you won't give it back to her so she'd have an excuse to talk to you. 

“Here.” Abby says awkwardly and shows you her jacket. “You seem cold.”

“A little bit, yeah.” You smile softly and Abby screams inside. 

There is no difference between being brave and being stupid - otherwise there's no explanation why Abby put her jacket around your shoulders herself and why she didn't fall apart right away when you are so close. 

You lift your cup and Abby catches up and clinks her cup against yours. 

“Cheers.” You smile at her and only now, in the morning lights, you notice her blush. “Thank you for giving me your jacket.”

“No problem.” Abby says, but internally she is beating herself up for being such a grump. “So, uh, Have you watched anything good lately?”

Abby knows she sounds lame, and you don't even know that she uses the line that Nora told her, but she is out of ideas. And then your eyes light up like you definitely want to tell her about it, so Abby counts it as a win.

"Have you seen Severance?"

Seriously, Abby is going to light a candle in a church because the fact that she watched Severance and the conversation stops being so awkward is a real case of divine intervention.

You're sweet, and your smile literally makes Abby's world brighter (even though you two disagree on a few points), and if she could she would stay here with you, forever.

You tell Abby your opinion about Milchick's arc, and only thing Abby is noticing is that you're sitting closer to her, close enough for Abby to feel your body heat and holy shit her face is burning. Now she can smell your perfume and then you laugh at something Abby said and it's a full body laugh, meaning you lightly slap her knee and oh God. Oh God.

"Sorry, did I hurt you?" You ask, worried, when Abby bluescreens so hard she stops moving. Fuck, she stops breathing.

"Uh, no- no, I'm fine." Abby smiles, but your hand is still here, and you're- "You're so pretty."

What the FUCK!!! Why did Abby tell you that? Where was the brain-to-mouth filter? whathefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck!!!!

Before Abby tries to kill yourself by wishing for it really hard, you giggle and your eyes are sparkling. Oh. Oh, maybe Abby doesn't have to die.

"Thank you. You know, I'd never think you'd be shy."

"Well, here I am." Abby says weakly, still riding the adrenaline high of not weirding you out.

"It's cute." Abby blushes to the roots of her hair and you giggle again. Abby can listen to this sound forever.

You look over the balcony where the sun is up and morning people are already jogging and being all put together, and Abby has a sinking feeling you're going to leave.

"It's getting late. Or, well. it's getting early." You chuckle at your own joke and it's adorable. "I should get going."

"Oh, yeah, Of course."

Abby visibly deflates when you return the jacket, but then you take your phone out and ask the best question ever.

"Can I get your insta?"

Abby barely contains her excitement as she taps her handle with shaking fingers. You smile, say your goodbye and leave.

Abby waits for a minute just to make sure you won't hear her. She falls on her bed. She screams into her pillow, rolls on her bed and then screams some more.

"Got your girl?" Nora laughs when she comes to check on her.

Abby blushes and throws the pillow at Nora's face.

But yeah. She got her girl.

[snail-day]

I fear i would let yandere nanami control every aspect of my life as long as i get some of that dick at the end of the day

You're so real for this anon,

Tw: Breeding kink, Somno, Yandere, Captivity.

Because honestly? You’re not even living that bad of a life, all things considered. Not compared to what other yanderes might do to you. With Nanami, at least, there’s structure. Routine. Cleanliness.

He doesn’t hover. Not exactly. He gives you space, but the kind of space with eyes on it. Cameras tucked in the corners of every room, soft red dots blinking above the doorways. Not that you’re planning to hurt yourself. Not that you could, really, with the locks on the drawers and the blunt-edged utensils. Still, he likes to be cautious. “Just in case,” he murmurs, smoothing your hair down whenever you look too long at the windows, a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “You’re too precious to lose.”

You only get one hour of television a day, but you can read as much as you want. His shelves are lined with classic literature and economic theory, but lately… lately, there’s been a shift. He’s started leaving out parenting books. Stacked neatly on the coffee table, spines uncracked, titles like Your First Year with Baby and The Art of Gentle Discipline catching your eye as you pass. He never says a word about them. Though he does smile when you pick one up, even lets you have an extra hour of your silly show.

There’s a calendar on the wall now, too. The days are crossed off in thin black ink, except for one that’s circled in red, thick and loud. Your expected start date. As if that part of you belongs to him, too. And when it doesn’t come on time, when your body betrays you with even the smallest delay, he gets so visibly hopeful.

But when it comes anyway, when you’re curled up on the couch and he sees the faint stain on your pajamas, his whole expression goes quiet. Dimmed. He says nothing. Just rubs his temples and murmurs something about age. Thirty isn’t old, he reminds himself. Again. And again. And again.

So the routine intensifies.

It starts every night, like clockwork. He pulls you into his lap while the lights are dimmed, pressing kisses to your shoulder, your jaw, the bend of your neck. His voice is warm, low, as he murmurs about how soft you are, how good, how ready. And when he lays you down, it’s always slow and tender. He holds you close as he fucks you, one hand laced in yours, the other resting protectively on your stomach. He kisses your face between thrusts, praises you with every breath, “Just like that, darling. I’ve got you.” Yet no matter how much he fucks you, the stretch is always uncomfortable. He always has to tell you to breathe when he settles deep inside you, rocking his hips in shallow thrusts. Though he thinks it's so sweet when you go limp. Trusting him to take care of you <3

You’re usually half-asleep by the time he finishes. Sometimes drooling into his chest, body pliant beneath him, your legs numb from being pressed so tightly to your chest. He doesn’t mind. In fact, he loves it. Says it helps everything “settle” just right.

“You’re doing so well,” he'll whisper against the shell of your ear, rocking into you slow and deep. “Just a little more, sweetheart. Got to fill you up properly. Make sure it takes.”

Your legs are sore every morning. Aching from the weight of his body, the constant stretch of his cock, the way he folds you in half to push as deep as possible. But he takes care of that too. Pulls you into his lap, belly down, and massages your thighs with strong, calloused hands, brushing kisses along your calves as he murmurs praise into your skin.

And then, without fail, he spreads you open again. From the back, he buries his face between your thighs like he’s starving. Tongue lapping at your folds, slow and indulgent, tasting the remnants of the night before. He doesn’t stop until you’re shaking, until your fingers are gripping his sheets and your breath is catching. And only when you’ve come undone just for him, does he slide back inside, sometimes not even waiting until your velvety walls have stopped fluttering.

He’s late for work more often than not these days. Has to wake up earlier, shower, smooth down his tie with shaky hands, and kiss your forehead like he didn’t just spend the last two hours breeding you full.

But to him, it's worth it. So just be a good girl and keep dozing off in his arms while he breeds you, okay? He’ll take care of everything else.

[cowboybeepboop]

Red

"Now, now, darlin', We're not done just yet.”

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x fem! Reader 

Genre: Smut

Word count: 3.7k 

Summary: You’re playing football with the team and Jake gets a little worked up, he goes to cool off but you have plans of your own. 

a/n: Glen Powell is always on my mind guys 😣 i can't escape him

No one on this team is more of a flirt than Jake Seresin, he’s been all over you since the day he laid eyes on you. It’s not that you don’t enjoy the attention but you know better than to give into him. Although your fight is starting to waver. He might be a flirt, a real player, but damn is he perfect.

He is, to say the least, an attractive sight—and that was what annoyed you the most, his perfect smile, the way he'd smile your way, making your heart skip a beat, his cocky demeanor, and the way he looked in his flight suit. 

The beach football game was in full swing, the sun was shining and the team was split into two. You wore a red bikini top and some shorts, and you stood out from the rest of the men as one of the two women in the group.

Hangman was having a really hard time focusing on the game, his eyes constantly traveling to you. The sight of you in your red bikini top, and shorts, your legs on full display. He constantly found himself getting distracted by your body, especially the way your curves looked in the clothing. He was struggling to keep his cool while playing the game but he still was playing decently, however, he kept sneaking glances at you in your lovely attire.

As you moved to block the pass, you noticed Jake was distracted, very much distracted. His eyes were practically glued to your body, it was obvious that he was struggling to focus on the game, the way your body looked in your outfit was driving him insane, he was finding it hard to resist the urge to just stop playing and just look at you instead.

“Are you distracted Hangman?” you quip with a slight smirk. 

Hangman's eyes snapped up from your body and he quickly regained his composure. "Distracted? Me? Never" he replied with a cocky smile, trying to act unaffected. His eyes still lingered on your body for a moment before he quickly looked away.

“Oh really?” you brush your hand against his hip, “You look like you’re imagining me without my top.” Hangman's breath hitched when you brushed your hand against his hip, a shiver running down his spine at your touch. And as you walk away, giving him a suggestive glance over your shoulder, he couldn't help but let out a low, quiet groan.

"God damn you" he muttered to himself as he watched you walk away, his mind replaying your words over and over, the image of you without your top on now burned in his mind. 

Hangman's eyes were fixated on your chest, watching every move as you jumped up, the way your breasts bounced and the way your body moved. He was trying so hard to focus on the game, to ignore the way you were distracting him, but the more he tried, the more his thoughts became filled with only you.

He shifted uncomfortably in his shorts, feeling them becoming tighter and more restricted as his mind filled with thoughts of you, the way you looked in your bikini top. 

As the game ended and your team won, you turned to look at Jake, only to find him looking incredibly distracted. It was obvious that he had been struggling to focus on the game in the last few minutes, his eyes had been constantly on you, the way you moved, the way you looked in your bikini.

"You okay over there, Hangman?" you ask with a knowing smirk, enjoying the effect you were having on him. Jake's eyes snapped up to meet yours, and he quickly cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said with a cocky smile, though his voice was slightly strained. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to act nonchalant, but he couldn't help the way his eyes drifted down to your body again, taking in your appearance.

As the team sits on the beach with their beers, enjoying the sunset, you notice Jake stealing glances at you, his eyes wandering to your body every now and then. You smirk to yourself, knowing exactly what he's looking at.

And when you catch his gaze, you pull your hair back, revealing your collarbone to him, a subtle yet deliberate tease. Hangman's eyes widen slightly, his gaze immediately drawn to the exposed skin, his mouth going dry at the sight.

Jake mumbles something about going for a swim, adjusting his shorts as he walks towards the water. You catch a glimpse of the subtle movement, noticing the way he's trying to hide the aching bulge.

As he enters the water, he lets out a sigh of relief, hoping the cool water will help calm his arousal. But looking around, he catches sight of you sitting on the beach. 

You quickly slip out of your shorts, aware that Jake's gaze was fixed on you. You could feel his eyes on you, watching every move you made. The thought of him watching you made you feel a little bit daring.

As you stepped towards the water, you made sure to move slowly, giving him the full view of your body in your bikini, the evening's light emphasizing your curves and making you shimmer.

“Thought I would join you.” As you stepped into the water, a shiver ran down your spine from the coldness, immediately bringing a sense of goosebumps on your skin. But still, you continued to approach him, your eyes full of mischief.

Jake's eyes followed your every step, his gaze tracing the contour of your body, the way your bikini top moved as you adjusted it, his breaths becoming more shallow as you neared him.

“You seem really worked up there, Seresin.” you tease, stopping in front of him. 

Jake took a shuddering breath, trying to keep his cool as he replied with a smirk. "Worked up, honey? Never."

But his response was strained, his voice hoarse as he struggled to maintain his composure with you standing so close. His eyes were raking over your body once more, taking in the sight of you in your bikini.

“So then, you wouldn’t mind if I swam topless?” you raise an eyebrow, watching his reaction. Jake's eyes widened at your suggestion, a mix of surprise and desire flashing across his face. 

He tried to keep his cool but couldn't help the way his mouth went dry at the thought of you with no top on. "I... uh... I'd actually prefer if you did." he managed to say, his voice gruff and his eyes fixated on you, hungry and full of lust.

“Tsk, of course you would.” you turn your back to him, “Then why don't you do the honor and untie me.” Jake swallowed hard, his eyes following you as you turned around, showing him your back and the strap of your bikini top. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, his hands itching to touch you, to feel your skin against his.

"You really don't need to ask twice," he said, his voice low and hoarse. He took a step forward, his hands moving to the strap on your back, his fingers slightly shaking from excitement and anticipation.

He slowly untied the knot, his eyes never leaving your body, his breathing becoming more labored with each passing second. Jake's eyes were transfixed as the strings dangle at your side, his hand moving closer to your bare skin, yearning to touch you, to feel your body against his. 

But he held back, waiting, waiting to see if you would pull it from around your neck, anticipating the moment when he could finally let himself touch you. "God damn.." he breathed out, his eyes raking over your bare back, his hands twitching by his sides, holding onto the last bit of self-control he had.

“You’re holding back a lot better than I anticipated.” you tease, turning to face him. Jake's breath hitched at your touch, the feel of your finger gently pressing under his chin to make him meet your gaze sent a bolt of electricity through him. 

He tried to keep his cool, he really did, but the feeling of your hand on his skin and the sight of your bare chest in front of him was driving him insane. He swallowed hard, his eyes locked on yours, his voice hoarse as he replied "You have no idea how much I'm holding back, darlin'.."

Your hand trails down his chest, fingers tracing his muscles as you move closer. “I don't want you to hold back Jake.” his eyes darkened with desire as you stepped closer, your bodies almost touching.

He took a ragged breath as your words registered in his mind, "You... you don't?" he managed to breathe out, his voice low and gruff, his body tensing under your touch. You shake your head, a small smirk still painted on your lips. You tuck your bikini top in the waistband of your bottoms, making sure not to lose them. 

“I’ve been teasing you for a reason. Don’t you know how impractical it is to play football in a skimpy bikini?” you brush past him, treading further into the water, beckoning for him to come closer. 

"You have been a tease.. a very good one," he said, his voice low and hoarse with lust. He followed you into the water, his steps becoming more eager as you beckoned him closer, his body aching to touch you.

You stop moving once the water covers your chest, turning to face him once again. “And you’ve been very good at keeping your hands to yourself.” 

Jake couldn't take his eyes off you, watching as the water covered your chest, making your skin glisten in the soft lighting. Your words snapped him out of his trance, his hands itching to touch you, to feel your skin under his palms.

He took a step closer, his hands reaching out to touch you, gently tracing your collarbone with his fingers, the contact sending a shiver down his spine. "I've been trying real hard, but you're making it damn near impossible" he whispered, his voice rough with desire.

You shiver at his touch, hands moving to his hips as you grip him softly. “Then stop resisting your urges, Jake.” 

Jake's breath hitched as your hands move to his hips, gripping him softly, the contact sending a bolt of electricity through him. Your words echoed in his mind, the small permission giving him the last push he needed.

"You really want me to stop holding back, darling?" he asked, his voice low and hoarse, his eyes darkened with lust as he looked down at you, his hands beginning to move, tracing the curves of your body.

“I want you to fuck me.” your fingers dig into his skin as you kiss his chest. “Right here, in the water.” you gaze up at him, eyes full of desire. Jake's breath caught in his throat as your words hit him, a sharp intake of air as the desire in your eyes and your kiss on his chest made his body tense with need.

"You... you're killing me, woman.." he breathed out, his hands gripping your hips, pulling your body closer to him. "Right here, huh? In the water?" he asked, his voice rough with lust as he looked down at you.

“Mhm..” you wrap your arms around his neck, your hardened nipples pressing into his warm chest. “Right here, out in the open.” Jake groaned as your arms wrapped around his neck, your body pressed firmly against his, your nipples hardening against his chest. The feeling sent a shiver of desire through him, his control slipping further and further.

He grabbed your hips, holding you tightly against him, his voice low and gruff as he replied, "You're wicked, darlin'..." he captured your lips in a deep, hungry kiss, his body responding to your presence, his need for you growing.

Jake's hands grasped your thighs firmly, gently guiding them to wrap around his waist as the water reached your hips. His strong arms supported your weight effortlessly as he kissed you, his tongue delving into your mouth with a passion that mirrored the heat building in your core. 

His fingers tangled in your hair, gripping the strands as he deepened the kiss, his desire for you unmistakable. The taste of saltwater mingled with the sweetness of your lips, adding a wild, natural flavor to the intensity of the moment. Your legs tightened around him, your body instinctively drawing closer, craving the connection as the cool water enveloped you both. 

The sensation of his bare chest against your skin, the feel of his cock pressing against you, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore were the only things that existed in your world as the kiss grew more urgent, more demanding.

As the kiss grew more heated, Jake's hands slid down to your ass, cupping it firmly as he began to move you both further into the water, the gentle waves now reaching your waist. He knew everyone was around, but the lust in your eyes and the feel of your body against his was too much to resist. 

The water swirled around you, obscuring the lower portions of your bodies as he began to grind up into you, his hardened length pressing against the fabric of your bikini bottoms. You gasped into his mouth as the sensation shot through you, your core already soaked and eager for more. 

The coolness of the ocean water didn't dampen the fire between you; if anything, it made the heat of your bodies stand out even more, a stark contrast to the surrounding elements. The way he held you, the way his body moved against yours, it was like he was claiming you right here and now, and you couldn't get enough of it. 

Your nails dug into his back, urging him closer, the friction between you growing more intense with each passing second. The world around you melted away as your focus narrowed to the two of you, the passion in the air thick enough to cut with a knife.

Jake broke the kiss for a moment, his breaths heavy and eyes filled with a primal hunger. He slid his hands down to the waistband of his swim trunks and with a quick motion, slipped them down, his erection springing free and poking into your clothed pussy. He groaned at the sensation, the fabric of your bikini bottom the only barrier between you two. 

His hand slid between your thighs and with a gentle yet firm tug, he slid the fabric aside, exposing your bare pussy to the cool ocean water and his eager length. He leaned back in, capturing your mouth in another fiery kiss as he positioned himself, the tip of his erection nudging at your entrance. 

You moaned into his mouth, the anticipation building, your legs tightening around his waist as you silently begged for him to fill you. Jake's hands gripped your ass tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pushed himself closer, the water rushing in to fill the space between your bodies. 

The pressure was unbearable, the need for him to be inside you growing with each pulse of your heart. And with one final, desperate kiss, he thrust into you, the feel of your warmness enveloping him making him groan with pleasure.

With a groan of pure pleasure, Jake began to slowly guide your hips on him, his powerful thighs flexing as he thrust up to meet your movements. Each stroke was measured, deliberate, as he filled you completely, the friction of your bodies moving together in the cool water sending waves of heat through your core. 

His kisses trailed down from your mouth to your neck, along your collarbone, and to the tops of your breasts, leaving a trail of wetness and desire in their wake. His teeth nipped at your sensitive skin, eliciting gasps and soft moans that only served to spur him on. His hands roamed over your bare back, tracing the lines of your spine as he felt your muscles tighten and release with each movement. 

The sound of your moans and the feel of your tight pussy gripping him was driving him wild. He whispered sweet nothings in your ear, telling you how much he wanted you, how much he needed this, as his hips met yours in a steady, passionate rhythm. The water around you grew warmer, churned by your vigorous movements and the heat of your passion. 

Each thrust brought you closer to the edge, your body responding to his touch as if it had been made for this moment. His eyes locked on yours, watching the ecstasy build within you, feeling the tension coil tighter with every gasp for breath. His strokes grew more urgent, his kisses more demanding, as he claimed every inch of you, leaving no part of your body untouched by his desire.

Jake's body tensed as his own release grew imminent, his hips bucking up into yours with a desperation that mirrored the need in your eyes. He could feel your warm breath on his shoulder as you buried your face into his neck, the soft moans escaping your lips music to his ears. Each stroke grew more demanding, his cock sliding in and out of your tight pussy with a slickness that only added to the urgency of the moment. 

The water around you swirled with your movements, the waves lapping at your bodies as the intensity grew. His fingers dug into your ass, holding you in place as he drove into you harder, faster, his own breaths coming in ragged gasps. He knew you were close, could feel the tremors in your legs and the way your nails dug into his skin. His movements grew erratic, his need for release overpowering his control. 

The sound of your moans grew louder, yet not loud enough to reach the shore, your body tightening around him as you reached the peak of pleasure. With one final, deep thrust, Jake let go, his body shuddering as he filled you with his warmth, the feeling of your orgasm milking him dry. 

You clung to him, your breaths mingling as the waves of pleasure washed over both of you, leaving you both gasping for air and weak in the knees. The world around you ceased to exist as you both rode the waves of your climax, lost in the moment of pure, unbridled passion.

His face was buried in your hair, his breath hot on your neck as his chest heaved with exertion. He was silent for a moment, the only sounds the gentle lapping of the waves and the distant chatter of the others on the beach.

Finally, he pulled back slightly to look into your eyes, his gaze roaming over your face as if he was seeing you for the first time. You cup his cheeks, thumbs brushing his cheekbones. 

He watched as your legs unwrapped from his waist, a pang of emptiness filling him as he felt you move away. Jake wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as his hands roamed over your body, tracing the lines and curves as if to memorize every inch of you. 

You press a soft kiss to his lips, one much less intense than your last few. Jake responded to the softer kiss with equal tenderness, his lips molding gently against yours. The intensity of the moment had subsided, replaced by a quieter, more intimate connection. 

He savored the feel of your mouth on his, the taste of your lips, the way your bodies fit seamlessly together. His hands held you close, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back as he deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking entry to deepen the connection further.

“Jake,” you murmur his name while pulling back, one hand going to retrieve your bikini top. “Can you tie this back on?” You hand him the small piece of fabric. 

Jake's eyes flutter open as you murmur his name, the sound of your voice sending a shiver down his spine. He watches as you hand him your bikini top, his fingers brushing against yours briefly before he takes it.

"Of course, darlin'" he replies, his voice still hoarse from the previous moments.

He stands in the water, holding the bikini top in his hands, his gaze lingering on your bare chest for a moment longer before he turns his attention to the task at hand. The gentleness of his touch sends a shiver down your back as you lean into his body. 

Jake's fingers move deftly as he ties the bikini top on your back, his hands brushing against your skin as he works. He can feel your body shiver under his touch, the reaction making his heart thump a little faster.

As he finishes tying the final knot, he lets his hands drift to your waist, holding you against him. His chin rests on your shoulder, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. "Done, darlin'"

“Mm, thank you.” You pat his chest as you pull away from him, closing your eyes before you plunge into the cold saltwater. 

As soon as you ducked into the cold water, Jake's hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, pulling you back up to him. He pulled you tight against his chest, relishing the feel of your body pressed against his.

"Now, now, darlin'," he drawled, his voice dripping with charm. "We're not done just yet."

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as he let his fingers trail up and down your spine. "Can't have you floating away on me just yet."

[butchsucker]

(1) NEW MESSAGE (or, ellie accidentally sends a picture to abby that has her knocking on her door)

contents: subtop!ellie, dombottom!abby, pussy eating, fingering, strap-on use, abby throwing ellie around, overstim, technically college!au, but i will not pretend like that matters, pretty much just porn.

word count: 5,468

It’s a few minutes shy of midnight when Abby’s phone buzzes on her nightstand. Nothing unusual about that. Her screen lights up with the kind of low glow that usually signals an Instagram reel from Manny or a spam text about winning a cruise she never entered.

But this one stops her thumb mid-scroll. It’s from an unsaved number. That’s the first oddity. The second is that it’s a photo. She frowns, instinctively wary, but taps the notification anyway, thumb sluggish from sleep. The image bursts onto her screen and her breath catches like a fist tightening in her chest.

Her heart stutters, then barrels forward at a sprint. Because she knows that body: lean muscle wrapped in sun-kissed skin, a constellation of freckles she’s glimpsed only in the periphery of locker room glances.

Ellie. Naked from the waist up, her jeans slung low enough to reveal black harness straps sharp against her hips. Her lip caught between her teeth, a casual sort of suggestion in the way one hand rests on her taut stomach like she’s offering something. A sheen of sweat glistens at her collarbone. Post-workout, maybe. There’s a message below the photo, short and utterly incendiary: Thinking about you.

Abby stares. Her pulse beats hard in her ears, drowning out the soft hum of late-night traffic outside her window. It doesn’t make sense. Not in the cosmic, karmic, world-spinning-off-its-axis kind of way.

Ellie Williams—her teammate, her occasional sparring partner in post-practice banter, the girl who’s always two seconds away from a fight (usually with Abby)—sent her this? There’s no reason for it, no context.

They aren’t friends. They barely tolerate each other’s presence, each interaction laced with competitive edge or thinly veiled snark. The only reason they even have each other’s numbers is the team group chat, a necessary evil for coordinating practice schedules and lineup changes. Abby hadn’t thought twice about it. And now she’s staring at a picture that feels like it was meant for someone else. Has to be.

Her brain scrambles for a rational response. Maybe it was an accident. A misfire. Maybe Ellie meant to send it to someone else—a girlfriend, a situationship, whoever her harness-and-sweat selfies are usually reserved for. It’d make more sense.

Thinking about you.

She chews on the inside of her cheek. She could ignore it. Probably should. But then what? Just pretend it never happened? Let Ellie squirm in silence? That doesn’t sit right either. The last thing she wants is for Ellie to feel weird around her—or worse, think she’s made Abby uncomfortable. And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? The thing twisting low in her stomach. Because she isn’t uncomfortable. Not really. If she’s honest, and God help her, she hates being honest with herself about this. She’s…something else.

Ellie doesn’t seem like the type to be embarrassed by something like this, not with the way she carries herself like she’s always in on the joke before it’s even been told. Abby’s overheard enough of her cocky, borderline obscene anecdotes to know modesty isn’t exactly in her vocabulary.

And yet, this feels different. Personal. Intimate in a way that Abby isn’t sure how to categorize. She locks her phone and sets it down face-first, staring up at the ceiling like the plaster might offer answers. But her mind is a hurricane of possibilities, and all of them start with the same unthinkable truth: she’s seen Ellie Williams in a way she never has before and she doesn't want to look away.

Abby doesn’t mean to hit “call.” Not really. Her thumb hovers over the screen for a full five minutes, the photo burned into her retinas. Every rational part of her is screaming to leave it alone, but she can’t. Her thumb moves like it has a mind of its own, and suddenly the phone is ringing. One ring. Two. Three—shit, she’s going to hang up.

What the hell is she even doing? Who calls people about this? She doesn't know the perfect solution, but it can't possibly be this.

And then it clicks.

“Hello?” A voice, rough and cotton-thick with sleep, stretches through the line.

Abby freezes. She’s already halfway to pulling the phone away when Ellie keeps going, her tone flipping quick into mischief like a switchblade flicked open.

“Wow. Didn’t think you’d be calling me back that fast,” Ellie drawls. There’s the distinct sound of bed sheets rustling. “But I'm glad you did. Anderson's been such a hard-ass lately, I could really use the relief.”

Abby scoffs, agitation overriding panic. “Jesus. You’re such a slacker.”

There’s a beat. A pause that splinters at the edges. Then—

“…Wait.” The voice sharpens. “Wait, what the fuck—Anderson?”

And just like that, any softness Abby might’ve brought into this call evaporates like mist under a blowtorch.

“Why the fuck are you on my phone right now?” Ellie all but screeches, the soft, sleepy edge gone from her voice.

Abby pushes herself up from the bed, pacing without realizing it, voice tighter than she means it to be. “You’re the one who interrupted my night, Williams. Why the fuck was I just looking at your tits?”

There’s a pause so long Abby wonders if the call dropped. But no. It’s Ellie, very much still there, very much absorbing what she just said.

Then, low and slow: “…Dude. That is my bad.”

And then Ellie starts laughing. Not a small chuckle, not a little embarrassed giggle but a full-bodied, wheezing, what-the-fuck-is-life laugh, like this is the best goddamn comedy set she’s ever heard in her life. Abby pulls the phone away slightly, eyebrows drawn together, equal parts stunned and offended.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she mutters, but it only makes Ellie laugh harder.

“I just—Oh my God, Anderson,” she gasps between cackles. “You saw that? I sent that to you? Holy shit.”

“You think this is funny?” Abby deadpans.

“It’s hilarious. So...did it get you all hot and bothered?”

“I'm not—” Abby starts, but then shuts her mouth. Because fine. Yes. A little.

“Fuck,” Ellie says again, and Abby can hear the grin in her voice now. “Out of all the people I could’ve accidentally sexted…”

“Lucky me,” Abby says dryly.

“Seriously. You gonna make a formal complaint to Coach? Get me benched for harassment?”

Abby closes her eyes. There’s a headache forming behind her left eye. “No. But maybe you should stop taking thirst traps when you could be practicing.”

“That's cool and all, but it feels like the trap is working.” Ellie hums. “You called me, didn’t you?”

Abby glares at her bedroom wall like it personally wronged her. “I think you have a face that should be punched.”

Ellie laughs again, softer this time. “Come over and punch it then.”

Abby scoffs. "You're ridiculous."

“You should just come over,” Ellie says, like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. Like they aren't consistently seconds away from tearing each other to shreds. “I mean, you’re already up. We’ve crossed the threshold of decency at this point.”

Abby snorts. “No fucking way.”

“Why not?” Ellie asks, sing-song. “Too scared?”

Abby lets that hang in the air, refuses to dignify it with an answer. Her silence is all the fuel Ellie needs.

“You’re thinking about it,” she says, voice low and smug. “I can hear it. That little wheel spinning in your big ol’ head—”

“I’m not.”

Ellie chuckles, like she doesn’t believe her for a second. “C’mon. I swear on my life, I fuck good.”

Abby presses the heel of her hand to her forehead and lets out a noise that’s somewhere between frustration and disbelief. “You are so full of yourself.”

“Yeah,” Ellie replies, unapologetic. “And you're still on the phone.”

“Guess I should hang up,” Abby says, but doesn't, unable to resist the pull of their usual back-and-forth.

“Why do you deny yourself heaven? I could change your life.” Her voice dips in a way that’s meant to fluster, and annoyingly, it does.

Abby walks over to the window and yanks the curtain closed, like that’ll help settle her nerves. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You wanna come over,” Ellie teases. “You just don’t wanna admit it. But picture this: my bed, me in my boxers, you sitting all awkward and stiff because you won’t let yourself relax. But when I get my hands on you...you'd melt.”

“I’m hanging up now,” Abby mutters.

“Chicken.”

“I swear to God—”

“Come on, Anderson. What’ve you got to lose?”

“My dignity?”

“Oh, that ship sailed when admitted to staring at my tits.”

Abby grits her teeth, opens her mouth to fire back, then closes it again. A breath. Another.

"I wasn't staring."

Ellie hums, obviously delighted in the way she worms under Abby's skin. "Weren't you, though?"

“…Goodnight, Ellie.”

“Aww, don’t be like—”

Click.

Abby tosses her phone onto the bed and stares at it for a long moment, arms crossed, mouth tight. The silence stretches, comfortable in its own tension.

She should just go to bed.

Abby knocks softly, hoping Ellie doesn’t make a whole thing out of it. Which, in hindsight, is exactly the kind of delusional optimism that led her here in the first place. She’s standing on Ellie’s porch in a pair of gray sweatpants and a black tank top, sports bra underneath because it was closest and clean.

The door swings open and there’s Ellie. Barefoot, boxers low on her hips, legs covered in a few bruises from their last game. She’s wearing a cropped band tee that’s been through one too many dryers and reads “ANARCHY IN THE YOUTH LEAGUE” in cracked red letters across the chest. Her smile is slow and sleep-warmed and smug in a way that makes Abby want to shove her or kiss her, or maybe both.

“Well, well,” Ellie says, one hand braced on the doorframe like she’s in a coming-of-age movie. “Look who showed up anyway.”

Abby rolls her eyes so hard it hurts. “Shut the fuck up.”

Ellie’s grin stretches. “Please let me say I told you so? Because I really want to say it.”

Abby steps forward and pushes her way inside without waiting for permission. “Seriously. Shut up.”

Ellie lets out a low laugh, stepping back, letting the door fall shut behind her. Abby doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t want to give Ellie the satisfaction of seeing her face—because it’s doing something, and she doesn’t even know what. All she knows is that she’s here, and Ellie’s warm, and the air between them is thick enough to slice with a knife.

“Make yourself at home,” Ellie says, voice bright, teasing. “My fuck palace is your fuck palace.”

Abby shoots her a glare over her shoulder. “I hate the idea that you say stuff like that and girls still have sex with you.”

"And yet they do!" Ellie grins wider, like she’s already won. "Exhibit A," she says, motioning towards Abby.

The hall is dim, the only light coming from the warm lamp glow spilling out of Ellie’s room like something half-inviting, half-dangerous. Abby steps in, eyes adjusting, and takes a slow breath before lowering herself to sit on the edge of the bed. Her hands rest on her thighs, fingers flexing.

The mattress gives under her weight, too soft. Too intimate. She feels her heart kicking up again, that old instinct screaming to retreat, to reassert control, to not fall into whatever this is—this mess, this heat, this girl.

Ellie watches her, leaning in the doorway like she’s seen this kind of hesitation before. Like she knows exactly what to do with it. She walks over with all the ease of someone who’s never second-guessed a single goddamn thing in her life, and when she stops between Abby’s knees, that cocky smirk is already blooming. “You’re nervous,” she says, mock-sweet. “That’s adorable.”

Abby scowls. “I’m not nervous.”

Ellie arches a brow. “You sure? Sitting there like you’ve never been in a bedroom before.”

“Shut up,” Abby mutters, but she doesn’t move. Not even when Ellie leans in, palms on either side of her thighs, close enough that Abby can smell her skin, the lazy linger of laundry detergent and sleep. And then Ellie’s kissing her. No hesitation, no question. There is only warm lips and wicked tongue and soft hands tugging her forward by the front of her shirt like she belongs closer.

Abby groans into it, caught off guard by the rush that slams into her chest, that pools hot in her belly. She kisses back harder, tilts her chin, grips Ellie’s hip like she can anchor herself there. But then Ellie pulls back with a breathless little laugh, eyes shining.

“Y'know, Anderson,” she says, smug and breathy. “Didn’t know you were that into me.”

Abby huffs, cheeks flushed. “You’re unbearable.”

Ellie grins. “That's not a very nice way to talk to someone who's about to be fucking you.”

Abby doesn’t bother replying. She stands instead, all tense muscles and simmering heat, and before Ellie can get another word in, Abby grabs her by the waist and lifts just enough to toss her backward onto the bed with a soft oomph. Ellie sprawls across the sheets, laughing as she props herself up on her elbows.

“Well damn,” she says. “And here I thought you'd be all cute and willing. Gonna make me work for it, huh?”

Abby shrugs, nonchalant, even though her heart’s doing parkour in her chest. “Of course.”

Ellie watches her with something greedy in her gaze as Abby reaches for the waistband of her sweats and drags them down her legs in one smooth motion, leaving herself in just her tank and a pair of dark briefs.

She doesn’t miss the way Ellie’s eyes track her every movement, like she’s cataloging everything, like she’s been waiting for this moment with an aching kind of patience. She's sitting fully up now, legs criss-crossed. Abby climbs onto the bed, slow and heavy, not yet sure if she's down to surrender.

They’re barely settled before the next argument sparks — natural, inevitable.

“Lie down,” Abby says, nudging Ellie’s hip.

“You lie down,” Ellie counters, shifting her weight just to be stubborn.

Abby gives her a look. “Why would I—?”

“Because I’m trying to eat you out, dumbass.”

Abby’s mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

Ellie grins, teeth sharp in the low light. “What? You want your pussy ate or not?”

Abby groans and drops her head back against the pillow. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

But she lays back anyway.

Because she does, in fact, want that.

Ellie’s hands are warm on Abby’s thighs, fingers spread wide, thumbs brushing along the inside like she’s mapping out every inch. Abby's breath hitches without her permission, chest rising and falling with a rhythm that’s already offbeat.

Abby watches shamelessly as Ellie drapes herself between her legs like it’s her natural habitat. And maybe it is. Maybe this is where Ellie Williams thrives: with her face buried between a girl’s thighs.

“You can relax, you know,” Ellie murmurs, mouth grazing the inside of Abby’s knee, voice all soft provocation. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“You actually haven't stopped touching me,” Abby grumbles, breath catching again as Ellie presses a lingering kiss higher.

“You know what I mean,” Ellie says, smiling against her skin.

She doesn’t rush. She works slowly, like she wants to savor it, like she’s giving Abby every opportunity to bail. Eventually her thumbs hook under the waistband of Abby’s briefs, and she glances up.

“Good?”

Abby grits her teeth and nods once. “Hurry up.”

“Bossy,” Ellie mutters, but she's grinning. She peels the briefs down slowly, watches the way Abby shifts, how her breath gets shakier with each inch of skin exposed. Then Ellie tosses them somewhere off the bed and lowers herself fully, shoulders braced under Abby’s thighs.

The first swipe of her tongue is gentle, exploratory. Just a taste. But it’s enough to make Abby jolt, her spine arching slightly off the mattress as a low sound escapes her throat. Ellie hums, pleased, and licks again. And again. Until Abby’s head falls back and her hand finds the sheets, twisting them tight around her fingers.

Ellie’s mouth is warm, steady, methodical. She kisses and sucks like she’s trying to prove something. She's always trying to prove something. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and Abby, for all her pride and restraint, can’t fucking hide it.

Her breathing grows uneven, soft curses slipping through clenched teeth. Her thighs twitch under Ellie’s grip, and when Ellie slips her tongue a little deeper, curling it just right, Abby moans. Low and sharp, involuntary.

Ellie pulls back just slightly, lips slick and smug. “That was a very pretty noise.”

Abby exhales hard through her nose, scowling up at the ceiling. “Keep going or I’m going to wring your neck.”

“You could say please,” Ellie teases, already dragging her tongue in a slow, deliberate stripe back up. She pauses just before reaching her again, hovering like she's waiting.

Abby lets out a sharp, frustrated noise and lifts her head just enough to shoot her a glare. “Ellie.”

“God, I love when you say my name like that.” Her voice drops, thick with satisfaction, and then—without warning—she sinks two fingers into Abby, slow but certain. Abby gasps, the sound raw and sharp, catching in her throat like it surprised even her.

Ellie kisses just above her clit, then settles back in without preamble—tongue and fingers working in tandem, slow and deep and mercilessly steady. Abby’s hips begin to rock into her mouth, chasing every inch of contact, every spark of friction. There’s no shame in it anymore. No hesitation. Just need.

Her breathing goes uneven, then ragged soft, broken sounds pouring out of her, interspersed with the occasional gasp whenever Ellie changes her angle or pressure. It’s good, so good, but it’s not enough.

Ellie knows that. Of course she does.

She keeps slowing down just as Abby teeters close to the edge, pulling back with a deliberate drag of her tongue or easing the pressure of her fingers by the smallest, most maddening degree. Abby doesn’t even have to look to know Ellie’s smiling—smirking—because every time she forces another frustrated sound out of her, it only feeds her.

“Stop fucking around,” Abby growls, reaching down and fisting a hand in Ellie’s hair to tug her up. The sudden movement earns her a surprised little sound, and that smug grin still lingers at the corners of Ellie’s mouth.

“I’m gonna go home. Swear to god.”

Ellie just laughs, soft and low, her eyes half-lidded with heat. “No, you’re not.” She drops her gaze again, presses a kiss to the inside of Abby’s thigh, then ghosts her lips over her clit so lightly it’s more suggestion than touch. When her eyes lift again, they’re molten. “You know, I still haven’t heard you say please.”

Abby doesn’t respond. Instead, she tightens her thighs around Ellie’s shoulders, hooks her legs underneath to trap her, and flips them in one smooth motion. Ellie lets out an indignant squeak, cut off by a breathless laugh as she lands flat on her back.

Abby keeps her pinned, thighs pressing firm against Ellie’s arms, holding her exactly where she wants her. She leans forward, panting, flushed, hovering above Ellie’s face.

“This okay?” she asks, voice low and shaken but sure.

Ellie looks up at her with wide, wild eyes, pupils blown and mouth parted in awe. Her breath stutters before she grins and nods almost frantically.

“Shit. You’re so fucking hot.”

Abby watches that look in Ellie’s eyes shifts from want into hunger, pupils dilating so wide they nearly swallow the green. And then, without breaking her gaze, she sinks down.

Ellie moans into it, the sound muffled and desperate. Her arms twitch, instinctively trying to rise, to reach for Abby’s hips, her thighs, anything. But they’re still pinned by the weight of Abby’s legs, useless. Trapped.

Her hands flex against the sheets in frustration.

Abby hums, low and almost sympathetic. “No,” she says, steady, breath catching just slightly as she adjusts her weight and rolls her hips down more firmly. “You don’t get to touch.”

Ellie groans, straining again, her fingers curling like she could will them free. She tries to speak, but Abby just tightens her hold and cuts her off with a slow grind of her hips, smearing slick across Ellie’s mouth, her chin, her nose.

“You had your chance,” Abby says, voice thinner now, a little frayed around the edges. “You fucked around.”

She drags herself forward, slow and deliberate, rides Ellie’s face from tongue to chin to nose, then back again, chasing the contact, the edge, the pressure.

Ellie’s tongue is relentless, mouth open wide, licking and sucking like she’s starved. Her eyes roll and flutter shut, hands still pinned, but she arches up as much as she can beneath Abby’s weight, chasing every movement like it might be the last.

Abby starts panting harder, rhythm faltering as sensation builds, her thighs trembling where they cage Ellie’s head. Her hands grip the headboard behind Ellie for leverage, knuckles white, arms shaking.

“God—fuck, just—” she gasps, jaw slack, hips stuttering forward with less control now, mouth open but too overwhelmed to keep speaking.

Ellie groans into her again, deep and guttural, and that’s all it takes.

Abby comes hard, legs seizing around her, riding through it with long, grinding rolls, burying Ellie in her until her whole body starts to go soft, boneless and spent. She keeps going until it’s too much—until she finally lets herself lift up, barely, and shifts to the side, chest heaving, heart pounding in her ears.

For a long second, neither of them moves. Just the sound of their breathing in the dim room.

Ellie eventually makes a strangled little noise—half whimper, half laughter. “Come here,” she says, pulling Abby in by the back of her head. She slots their mouths together, kisses her sloppy and uncoordinated.

Abby laughs softly into her mouth, grips her by the chin to hold her steady and deepens the kiss. She bites at Ellie's lip, revels in the little gasp that pulls from her.

"So, about that life-changing fucking?" Abby asks, rubbing her hands along Ellie's side.

Ellie grins against Abby’s mouth, eyes glittering with something sharp and dangerous. She pulls away with a final nip to Abby’s bottom lip, then rolls off the bed in one smooth motion. Abby watches her move, lazy and sated but buzzing just under the surface with anticipation.

Ellie digs through the top drawer of her dresser with the kind of frantic determination that makes Abby smile to herself, even as her thighs twitch from exertion.

“Get on your hands and knees,” Ellie says, voice thick and a little rough around the edges as she straps in.

Abby arches an eyebrow but moves anyway, slow and deliberate, turning and sinking onto her elbows before lifting herself up onto all fours. Her ass tilts back instinctively, back curved with just enough invitation. “Okay,” she says, soft but not shy, a little amused. “You can have this one.”

She doesn’t say she wants it too. Ellie already knows anyway.

Ellie returns to the bed, kneels behind her, and runs her hands over the backs of Abby’s thighs, up to the swell of her ass. Abby shivers. Then Ellie grabs the base and drags the tip slowly through her folds—slick and ready, teasing without comment.

Abby exhales sharply, pushes back a little without thinking.

And then Ellie’s lining up and sinking in, slow and deep and steady. Abby’s head dips between her shoulders, a long breath spilling out of her mouth as she takes it. It’s thick, the stretch just enough to burn, and Ellie gives her every inch with maddening control.

She pulls all the way out, until just the head stays hooked inside, then thrusts back in with a groan.

Again. And again.

Abby starts meeting her halfway, slamming her hips back with precise force, the wet clap of contact echoing obscenely in the room. Every time Ellie pulls out, Abby follows, chasing the drag and the heat and the friction.

“Fuck, Abby,” Ellie pants, her voice barely holding together. “That’s it. Just like that. You're—shit—you’re so fucking good at this.”

Her pace begins to stutter. She still pulls all the way out each time, but now she drives back in faster, deeper, each thrust more desperate than the last. Abby keeps up, refuses to be passive, her ass bouncing back with a rhythm that leaves Ellie gasping.

“God, you feel...fuck...you feel so good around me.”

Abby hears it in her voice, that telltale tremble, and grins despite herself.

“Oh my god,” she laughs breathlessly, “you’re about to come already, aren’t you?”

Ellie lets out a strangled noise and tries to slow her hips, to pull herself back from the edge, but Abby can feel the twitch in her rhythm, the way her hands scrabble at her waist now like she needs to hold on or she’ll fall apart.

“So much for life-changing,” Abby teases.

Ellie keens. “Shut up, I—god, it’s your fault. You’re so—fuck, you’re too hot, taking it too good—”

The praise goes straight through her. Abby makes a sound dangerously close to a giggle, a new wave of arousal soaking her thighs.

“Yeah?” she says. “Then keep fucking me. I don’t care if you come. Don’t care if you’re sensitive. You better not fucking stop.”

Ellie sobs something incoherent and tries. She really tries.

But she only manages a few more thrusts before she’s coming, hips jerking out of rhythm, her moan muffled against Abby’s shoulder as she collapses forward, arms trembling with the effort to keep moving.

Abby doesn’t let her rest. She reaches back, grips Ellie by the thigh, and starts grinding back against her with purpose.

“You’re not done,” she growls. “Come on, babe. Give me more.”

Ellie whimpers but obeys, her whole body shaking as she starts moving again—slower, uneven now, her hips stuttering with overstimulation, but she doesn’t stop.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Abby pants. “Good girl. Just like that.”

Ellie’s a mess—sweat-damp and flushed, brow furrowed like she’s on the edge of breaking.

Eventually Abby takes pity on her.

She pushes Ellie down onto her back, straddles her, and sinks back onto the strap in one smooth movement. Ellie moans so loud it breaks into a sob, arms flung out above her as Abby starts to ride.

There’s no teasing now. No pretense. Abby fucks herself on Ellie’s cock with single-minded focus, her rhythm relentless, using her like a toy like a gift. She chases her own pleasure with a growing hunger, her pace building and building until it crests into something loud and breathtaking and final.

She falls apart with a cry, shuddering and grinding down until it’s too much, everything gone electric and raw beneath her skin.

Ellie can only lie there, stunned, dazed, her chest heaving as Abby finally slumps forward, kisses pressed soft into her neck.

“My bad for thinking I could keep up with you,” Ellie mutters, still catching her breath. “You’re a fucking animal, Anderson.”

“Maybe you’d be able to keep up if you stopped skipping practice,” Abby says, voice worn but smug. She pulls back just far enough to meet Ellie’s eyes, grinning. “And wasted less energy trying to start fights with me.”

“What can I say? I like it when you get angry.” Ellie shrugs beneath her, the movement lazy and loose. “I also like that I’m the only one who can get you there. Takes me on a real power trip.”

Abby rolls her eyes. “There’s definitely something very wrong with you.”

That punches a laugh out of Ellie—quiet and bright and completely unguarded. “You’re the one trying to lecture me while I’m still inside you.”

Abby snorts and slowly eases off of her, limbs wobbly. “Not my fault you’re too slow to pull out.”

“Rude,” Ellie mutters, but she’s still grinning, stretching her arms up over her head like a cat, then watching Abby from beneath her lashes.

“Hey,” she says, quieter this time, still a little breathless. “We gonna do this again?”

Abby glances over her shoulder, already halfway to the bathroom, and raises an eyebrow. “You mean the part where I throw you around or the part where I do everything myself while you whine?”

Ellie grabs a pillow and throws it at her—it misses by a mile.

Abby catches it anyway, tucks it under her arm, and softens just a little. “Yeah,” she says, quieter. “We are.”

Ellie’s smile goes crooked—pleased but almost surprised—and she sits up, stretching again before starting to clean herself up. “Cool,” she says, trying not to sound too eager as she pulls off the harness and grabs a towel. “You wanna stay the night?”

Abby looks over at her, eyes narrowed like she’s trying to decide if it’s a trap. But there’s something easy in Ellie’s face now. Open. Undemanding.

“Yeah,” Abby says again, after a beat. “I’ll stay.”

Ellie doesn’t wait. The second Abby slides back into bed, Ellie is on her, dragging her into a tangle of limbs and blankets, pressing her face into the crook of Abby’s neck like she’s been waiting all night for the excuse.

Abby lets herself be pulled in, arms wrapping around Ellie’s waist, their legs knotting together under the covers.

The room falls quiet except for the slowing cadence of their breathing. Ellie relaxes all at once, like a thread’s been cut, and Abby feels it in the way her muscles go slack against her, the way her fingers curl into Abby’s side just once before going still.

It doesn’t take long before they’re both asleep like that—tangled up, held close, warm.

-

The morning light cuts a soft, golden slant across the room, and Abby moves through it quietly, careful not to wake Ellie as she pulls her shirt back over her head. Her pants are found somewhere at the foot of the bed, so she grabs those next, hopping on one foot as she slides them on, grimacing when her ankle nearly catches on the hem.

The bed shifts behind her, the blankets rustling.

“Where you goin’?” Ellie’s voice is thick with sleep, scratchy and half-muffled by the pillow.

Abby turns just enough to glance at her over her shoulder. Ellie’s still sprawled where she left her, tangled in the sheets like a shipwreck victim, hair a wild halo around her head. One eye open. Barely.

“I’ve got class,” Abby says, voice low. “Shouldn’t even be up this late, honestly.”

Ellie stretches one arm out, palm open. “Just five more minutes.”

Abby rolls her eyes but crosses back to the bed anyway, bending to press a kiss to Ellie’s forehead. Ellie tries to catch her by the back of the neck, dragging her in for a proper kiss, but Abby dodges it, pulling away with a smirk.

“You’re evil,” Ellie grumbles, reaching again, a little more persistent.

Abby leans in just enough to let their lips brush, then pulls back before it can deepen. "You're surprisingly domesticated."

Ellie lets out a wounded little whine that punches straight through Abby’s chest.

“Don’t do that,” she murmurs, eyes flicking over Ellie’s face. “You’re gonna make me skip.”

“So?” Ellie mutters, curling deeper into the blankets. “You already know I’m worth it.”

Abby snorts but can’t help the soft little smile that tugs at her mouth. “Idiot,” she says under her breath as she grabs her bag and makes for the door.

She slips out quietly, pulling the door shut behind her, and heads for the front entrance. But as she crosses the living room and nears the kitchen, she hears her name.

“Abby?”

She freezes mid-step.

There, standing in the kitchen with a mug of coffee and a single raised eyebrow, is Dina.

Abby goes pink immediately.

“Hey, Captain,” Dina says with a smirk, leaning against the counter like she’s been waiting. “What are you doing sneaking out of my house?”

Abby flounders. “I...I wasn’t sneaking. I was just—uh, Ellie said I could crash—”

Dina sips her coffee with the air of someone watching a really good show.

“We were hanging out,” Abby blurts. “Studying. I mean, we had to study. Ellie had to study and I was helping her...study, that is.”

Dina nods solemnly. “Right. Studying. At one a.m.”

“I—” Abby makes a noise like a laugh, then huffs out a sigh. “You’re gonna make this weird, aren’t you?”

“Not at all,” Dina says sweetly. “You’re doing a great job all on your own.”

Abby groans and starts edging toward the door. “Bye, Dina.”

“See you at practice, Captain.” Dina raises her mug in a toast.

Abby walks faster.

[icarusinstatic]

Murderbot Episode 6 review

Non-spoiler review: highly enjoyable, but there is a definite non-small amount of body horror in this episode. It actually gives me hope for Season 2 (if we get it) Murderbot having its operation/alteration done by its future non-human bestie and that scene being done justice. But seriously, no joke, if body horror / scene’s of a medical procedure make you uncomfortable, please be cautious.

Spoiler review under the cut

Mensah and MB’s developing (non-romantic) relationship definitely feels different than the books, but also very similar, if you catch my drift. Yes Mensah, you are still going to be MB’s favorite human, but it’s going to be a relationship founded on a little bit of snark, a definite difference of opinion on the quality of Sanctuary Moon, and a whole lot of understanding of each other’s (not flaws, but points of sensitivity) weak points.

I loved that MB used an episode of Sanctuary Moon to help Mensah come down from a panic attack, and at the same time let Mensah see one of the main things that gives MB a point of reference for humanity. (This is important later in the episode imo).

The body horror of Mensah having to do spinal surgery on MB and being horrified by it, but also seeing that MB is right, this needs to be done for the two of them to get back to the team. She is going to need so much therapy. (MB should get some too, but it’s not there yet).

I have a lot more thoughts on Mensah and Murderbot’s points of view on each other, but those thoughts are currently rotating in my head like a rotisserie chicken, so I might post about that later.

Oh LeBeeBee we hardly knew you - thank god for that.

I will say, despite my genuine distaste for her continued sexualization of MB, I did like how disgusted Gurathin and Baradwaj were hearing LeBeeBee do it. I feel like if Baradwaj and Gurathin were in the hopper to hear he make those first comments about MB while it was unconscious then they would have told off (Gurathin) or gently chided (Baradwaj) LeBeeBee right away.

Gurathin absolutely suspected LeBeeBee of shenanigans from the start, but didn’t have time to warn the rest of the team before Mensah and MB left to launch the beacon. That’s my story and I’m sticking with it.

I cannot wait for the threesome to fall apart, please let it happen already. Ratthi basically inserting himself into a moment that he was not invited into was just really off putting to me. Yeah, he’s definitely emotionally into Pin Lee and Arada, but they gave him some pretty obvious “we need some time alone” vibes when he asked them if they wanted his help packing and he still came in later to join them. It’s not just Ratthi’s fault though, because Pin Lee can’t be honest with Arada, and Arada is obviously not ready to terminate the threesome contract. In short, it’s a mess.

Baradwaj, you are my favorite non-Gurathin survey member for a reason, and that reason is your emotional honesty and your desire to see the best in everyone.

Obviously she was never going to get LeBeeBee to turn over a new leaf, that was just not in the cards. But her willingness to try even after LeBeeBee had shot Gurathin and it not feel like just a ploy to save the team, but to help LeBeeBee was really refreshing.

She has spoken to Gurathin about feeling compassion for others before - makes me think he was a real mess when Mensah found him in the CR. I cannot wait for next weeks episode, because I heard it was supposed to be Gurathin heavy.

The ending… OMG the ending was everything to me. (Okay I have one gripe, but that can come later). I feel like MB shooting LeBeeBee while she held a gun to Gurathin’s head was completely justified. Gurathin freaking out because he could have been shot to, was definitely in character, and MB’s pretty blasé response was very in character. Obviously MB wouldn’t have shot Gurathin on accident, but Gurathin was freaked out and MB doesn’t really like him, so fair’s fair. Though, I will say that once he has a chance to think about it I think that Gurathin will be the member of the team that’s not Mensah to really understand MB.

Mensah probably thought that all the work she and MB had done to understand each other went down the drain as soon as MB shot LeBeeBee, but I think this is something that HAD to happen, because MB is right Mensah was treating MB like a human, and that’s not what it is, and is not what it want’s to be. Mensah, by the end of this season, may not be all the way there, but Ideally will be in a good place to get to an understanding of MB in the future. She needs to really “see” MB to be a good friend to it.

Everyone else’s reaction to MB was very visceral, and also very necessary. MB just killed someone in front of them, and these guys are NOT used to the level of violence that MB is. This is NOT normal, and that’s genuinely a good thing for PresAux. There is a reason we say the CR is hell after all. This act of violent protection is outside the norm for PresAux but they are not in a normal situation right now. They are being hunted by another entity (Evil Survey) and they don’t want to hold hands with PresAux, they want to kill them. I feel like this made everything real to the team, and it’s about time they get with the program.

Finally, MB realizing that its clients will not be acting like the Blorblo’s from its shows was really spot on. MB has been using it’s media to understand human’s and it’s self, which is a good thing, but It hasn’t really made the connection that that media isn’t based in real life human’s reactions to those types of situations. It’s going to be a rocky road for MB to walk, but if it wants to self actualize (and it won’t admit it, but it does) then it needs to have these experiences to be able to grow.

I maintain that MB didn’t feel good killing LeBeeBee for the hell of it. It felt good about it, because it was protecting its clients, and getting a bit of revenge for how LeBeeBee had treated it.

I am excited about the rest of the season, and pretty curious to see how everything is going to play out considering the changes that the show is doing, but so far so good. (If someone else sexualizes MB before the end of the season I will throw hands though).

*I wrote this at like 1 in the morning, I tried to keep MB’s It/It’s pronouns but If I messed up at a part, please let me know so I can correct any errors. Thank you guys!

[cannibal-alien]

Heh...dusekkar x shy!reader...

-dusekkar simp anon

🎃dusekkar x shy!reader hcs ⋆˚࿔

omgosh yayyy more dusekkar rqs!!! from da 1 and only dusekkar simp anon... hope this is enough to suffice<3 wrote this while drinking baja blast #theyputcokeinbajablasts #ilovebajablast

- - - - - - - ꒰ ♡ ꒱ - - - - - - -

dusekkar doesn’t mind your shyness! they find it quite endearing, really. they can relate in their own personal way. not shy in the ‘awkward’ sense, but soft spoken & reserved instead. initially, things between you two were rather quiet until dusekkar spoke up first. although they were very, very curious about you, there was a hint of hesitation. it’s safe to say your relationship was preeettyyy slow burn

you’ll start to notice dusekkar drifting toward you more frequently, casually checking in to make sure you’re doing okay. shedletsky even noticed it too, how the pumpkin was growing more and more fond of you each day. shed never fails to tease his friend about it, laughing at how dusekkar tries to brush it off, blushing and fumbling to change the subject. but there was always a touch of amusement in their tone, hmmm

dusekkar waits and waits, waiting for the perfect moment to confess how they feel, but in the spectre’s world there was hardly such a thing, if at all. it was actually shedletsky who managed to convince them, reminding dusekk that no one’s truly promised tomorrow. and the thought of never being able to tell you the truth just didn’t sit right with them.

the quietest, most peaceful place dusekkar could think to take you was the dock, even if it was a bit cliche. they just want to make sure you wouldn’t feel uncomfortable with anyone else around. which dusekkar understood, because even if you were more open, they still would’ve chosen someplace secluded. this moment was meant for you two only. absolutely nobody else was allowed to see them like this, only you

their confession was simple and straight to the point as they’ve had plenty of time to think about it (maybe a little too much.. oops...) dusekkar was careful not to say it in a way that might make you feel pressured, as the last thing they wanted was to make you feel like you owed them something. so when the words finally came out, it was as soft as they could manage. “i adore you more than you may know- no need to rush, please take it slow,”

you two spend hours together reading side by side. sometimes they read audibly, sometimes you just enjoy the comfortable silence. you like resting your head on their shoulder, dozing off to sleep with an ancient spellbook between you. i mean seriously those books are literally falling apart...

something as small as holding hands is enough to make dusekkar feel a liiittleee fuzzy inside, but you’re not much different either. though you’ve noticed their hands are usually kinda.. cold?? dusekk’s grip is firm yet soft and they’ll often take your hand whenever they sense you’re feeling nervous. their touch is sincere and genuine, gentle enough for comfort, never overwhelming. which summarizes the rest of your relationship preeetty well i think!!! lel

[retireddaddyric]

The last article about him

(“You’re nobody” part VII)

Synopsis: part 7 (which is the last). The ‘hater’ journalist with whom Daniel had an affair texts him again after listening him talk about her in his interview. And a new article drops.

Warnings: 18+, minors do not interact please. Sweet love making, funny insults, fluff, Daniel Ricciardo memories (this is a real warning.)

Note: this is all fiction. English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance if there are any errors. This is the end of them.

It’s been three weeks, not that you’ve counted.

Not that you’ve checked his profile at night with your screen dimmed low.

Not that your heart still clenches every time you pass something Red Bull blue.

You’ve written four pieces since but none about him: execpt every single one was about him in its own silence.

And today, like a slow knife between the ribs, you hear his name again.

You’re in your apartment, half-listening to an F1 post-race interview on the TV until you hear it, not his name, yours. From someone else’s mouth.

“I mean, you’ve seen the way she used to write about you. Ruthless. Some would say downright unfair.”

Your stomach knots.

You know exactly what they’re doing: They’re talking to him about you on live broadcast.

And you should shut it off, you know for your mental health you really should.

But you don’t.

You freeze halfway to the kitchen, a coffee gone cold in your hand.

When he speaks, he is calm and collected.

“Yeah, she was hard on me,” he says. “But she was usually right.”

Silence from the host.

“I deserved most of it,” he continues. “Back then, I was cocky. Reckless. She didn’t let me off easy, and I respect that. Honestly, we need more people like her in the sport. She tells the truth, even when it makes people uncomfortable.”

The host clears his throat, trying to keep the tone light. “You don’t think she had some… personal agenda?”

A pause.

You hold your breath.

“She saw me clearer than I saw myself,” he says.

Your coffee slips from your hand, hits the floor. You don’t even flinch because he’s still talking. “And when she called me out, it pushed me. She made me better. You can say what you want about her tone or her words but her mind is sharp, and she doesn’t flinch. That’s rare.”

There’s a stunned silence on the panel. You imagine the blinking faces, the cameras the awkward host trying to pivot.

You don’t hear the rest because you don’t need to.

You sink to the floor.

Because he defended you. Not just tolerated you. Not just brushed off the question. But defended you. Softly. Firmly. Like you mattered.

Like he wasn’t ashamed anymore.

And suddenly the last night you saw him, that kiss, those trembling hands, the way he said your name like it hurt, rushes back so hard your lungs twist.

You sit there, heart hammering against your ribs, lips parted, staring at nothing.

You don’t cry but something inside you shifts.

Because you get how you had it all wrong.

You thought he left because he didn’t want more.

Bu maybe, just maybe, he was afraid of how much he did.

You grab your phone and start typing a text into his chat.

You don’t send it immediately. You draft it,delete it, draft it again.

Just a few words, that’s all, just something simple, distant, neutral.

You don’t want him to think too much.

You don’t want to think too much.

But it’s been hours since the interview aired, and the words he said, the way he said them.. still echo in your head.

“She saw me clearer than I saw myself.”

It was too soft. Too real.

So finally, in the dark of your living room, you tap the screen. Fingers still trembling, goddamn it.

[You]

Thanks for what you said today I didn’t expect it

You stare at it.

Then add, after a breath:

[You]

it meant something

Then you send it.

No emoji. No punctuation. No armor.

Just that.

You lock your phone and toss it onto the couch like it might burn your hand.

Then, five minutes later, it buzzes.

You don’t check it immediately but you feel the weight of the message like it’s sitting beside you.

When you finally open it, his reply is short. Direct. It doesn’t play games.

[Daniel]

can we talk?

about us.

Your stomach twists.

You blink at the screen.

Then another text follows.

[Daniel]

not sex

not pretending

just us. for real this time.

You stare at the words so long the screen dims.

And this time, for once, you don’t run.

You pick a quiet place, you both pretend it’s casual : it’s tucked-away café with tiny tables and too much ivy, somewhere in the hills, far from the center of the city.

Still, a camera finds you, you catch the glint of a lens just before sitting down. He notices too but neither of you mention it.

He’s already there when you arrive. Simple shirt, sleeves pushed up, backwards cap, sunglasses discarded uselessly on the table like he forgot who he is. He stands when you approach.

You raise a brow. “You’ve got manners now?”

He smiles, slow and tired. “Trying to impress the critic.”

You both sit but you don’t touch. Your knees brush under the table and neither of you pull away.

You talk about nothing at first: the weather, the ridiculous new team principal drama, who’s actually going to take the seat next year.

You sip your drink like it’s a shield while he pretends not to watch your mouth when you do.

It’s not enough.

He leans in after a beat and his voice lowers. “I meant what I said. On the interview.”

You nod. “I know.”

Silence lingers. He fidgets with the edge of his glass.

Then you say the thing that’s been bruising your throat for weeks.

“I didn’t mean half the shit I wrote.”

His head lifts.

You force yourself to keep looking at him. “I mean… I wrote it. But it wasn’t really about you. Not all of it. Not the important stuff.”

He stays quiet, eyes locked on yours, like he knows you’re not done.

You exhale.

“You weren’t just a mask. You were—are—good. Even when I hated you, I knew that.” You pause. “I just didn’t want you to be that good.” Your voice trembles slightly when you add “Because then I’d have to believe in you.”

His expression shifts, there is no smugness, no victory. Just a kind of aching relief.

He reaches across the table and takes your hand. No games this time.

You let him.

And that’s when the photographer clicks again and you both glance toward the distamt flash. He squeezes your fingers once and doesn’t let go.

“Let them take the picture,” he says quietly. “Let them know.”

Your breath catches.

And that’s how you know you’re fucked.

You leave the café together. No ducking, no hiding. His hand in yours, openly, as you walk to his car. He opens the passenger door like a gentleman, and you roll your eyes like you’re not melting.

The ride to his place is silent, but not awkward. Just heavy with something tender.

The front door closes with a soft click. You both stand there for a moment still, breathing the same air.

He looks at you like he’s searching for the part of you he’s missed every single day since you left.

Your fingers reach for his. You slide them between his knuckles without a word.

And when you look up at him, your voice is barely a whisper.

“Don’t go slow unless you mean it.”

His jaw tenses, but his thumb grazes yours.

“I mean every second of this.”

The moment he kisses you, it’s not hurried. It’s not desperate.

It’s deliberate.

His lips part over yours slowly, like he’s learning you again, or maybe memorizing you for the first time. You melt into it, hands in his hair, breath shallow. The taste of him makes your knees weak.

He walks you backward to his bedroom, lips never leaving yours, only pausing to look at you. Just look.

“You’re real,” he murmurs. “You’re here.”

The way he undresses you feels almost reverent. He peels your clothes off piece by piece, eyes never straying from your face.

When your shirt drops to the floor, he exhales like it’s a relief to see you bare again.

“God, I missed you.”

His hands skim your waist, palms splayed wide.

“Tell me you missed me too.”

You nod, your voice caught in your throat. “Every night.”

He lets out a sigh and closes his eyes.

He kisses your shoulder. Your collarbone. The space between your breasts.

When his mouth brushes your ribs, you gasp softly and he murmurs something you almost don’t catch:

“I dreamed of this. Of you.”

You reach for him, your fingers trembling as you take his cap off, undo his shirt, push it off his shoulders, run your palms across the solid warmth of his chest. He shivers.

When you’re both bare, he doesn’t touch you at first. He just looks at you. Long. Deep. Like he’s memorizing every inch.

Then he leans in and whispers against your collarbone, “You’re even more beautiful when you let yourself be soft.”

That’s when you close your eyes. Because his words hit deeper than any thrust ever could.

He picks you up and lays you gently on the bed setting himself between your legs.

His hands glide over your hips. Your thighs. He kisses down your sternum, your ribs, your stomach everywhere but where you’re desperate for him. Not because he wants to tease but because he wants all of you.

When he finally comes back up and lines himself against you, he pauses, nose brushing yours, foreheads almost touching.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

You nod. Breathless. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

And when he pushes inside you, slow and deep, your breath hitches and your whole body arches to meet him.

It’s different this time. No rough grabs. No slamming hips. No trying to break each other open.

Just him fitting into you like he belongs there, like he’s always belonged there.

He moves slowly. Steady. Every roll of his hips is a promise. Every moan against your throat is a confession.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pull him closer, until there’s no space left between your bodies, until you feel every tremble in him like it’s your own.

Your legs wrap around his waist and your fingers lace with his tight, grounding, real. Neither of you lets go this time. He pushes them slowly above your head, your hands in his hands on the pillow.

He looks at you while he’s inside you. Eyes open, locked to yours.

And you look back.

Neither of you blink.

It’s not about power anymore, or control.

It’s about finally having what you both wanted all along.

LI don’t want anyone else to touch you like this,” he breathes.

Your chest cracks open. “They won’t.”

He thrusts deeper, slower, and you cry out his name into the crook of his neck. He whispers yours like it’s a vow.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says.

You don’t realize you’re crying until he kisses your cheek and tastes the salt. He doesn’t ask. He just keeps moving inside you, holding you like he’ll never let go.

And when you come, it’s quiet not a scream, not a gasp, but a soft, trembling exhale as you cling to him, fingers curling, thighs trembling, overwhelmed with how full you feel, not just your body, but your heart.

He follows seconds later, groaning against your shoulder, pressing so deep you swear you feel him in your chest. His body shudders and stills, and you hold him through it, whispering it’s okay, I’ve got you, even though he was the one holding you first.

After, he stays on top of you, just resting there. Skin to skin. Heart to heart.

And then he lifts his head, eyes glassy, lips parted.

You kiss him again. Soft. Sweet. Slow.

Neither of you says it.

But you both know.

You’re not pretending anymore.

You’re in love.

And this time, you’re going to stay.

Half an hour later, quietly, into the soft dark of his room he says: “So… are we a scandal now?”

You smile against his skin. “No,” you whisper. “We’re a headline.”

He laughs , soft and full, and you close your eyes, fingers still entwined, heart wide open.

This time, you know what to do next.

And you do it.

Your article about him goes live three days later.

——————————————-

The man behind the laps

by (Y/N)

For most of my career, I’ve written about speed.

About mistakes. About pressure and glory and the millions of eyes watching from behind the safety of a screen. I’ve written about men who win and men who crumble. I’ve written about egos. Masks. The illusions we all wear when the world demands performance.

And for years, one of my most consistent subjects was a man I thought I understood completely.

Fast. Flamboyant. Frustratingly charming. Always a smile, always a joke, always something maddeningly unserious behind the wheel.

I’ll admit this now: I thought that smile was armor.

I thought he was all show and no depth.

And I wrote like that.

Again and again.

But the thing about hindsight, the thing about actually knowing someone, is that it humbles you.

Daniel Ricciardo (yes, I’m naming him now) is not a mask.

He never was.

He is grit under pressure. He is grace in failure. He is the teammate everyone wanted beside them in war, the last-lap miracle-maker, the one who reminded the sport — and all of us — that joy is not weakness.

He made people believe again. Not just in racing. But in him. In what it looks like to lose with your chin up, and win with your arms wide open.

He didn’t leave the sport bitter. He left it better.

And while his time on the grid has passed, his presence hasn’t.

Not for the fans.

Not for the people who worked alongside him.

And not for those of us who now know him… differently.

I could list every podium. Every impossible overtake. Every champagne-fueled shoey.

But what I remember most clearly is a quiet moment: him watching a junior driver’s interview, nodding with pride, eyes soft.

That’s the man who ran lap after lap with the weight of public opinion on his back, and never let it make him cruel.

That’s the man we underestimated.

That’s the man I’ll be standing beside, wherever the road takes him next.

Because behind every driver’s helmet is a person.

And behind his, there was someone worth seeing clearly.

I only wish I had seen it sooner.

——————————————————

Daniel is halfway through his second coffee when he sees his name. Bold at the top of the page.

And right beneath it: your name.

He freezes, cup at his lips. It always hurt knowing you were about to hit him with words.

The morning sun filters in through the kitchen window. you’re still in his bed, hair a mess, your legs tangled in his sheets like you own the place now which, let’s be honest, you do.

He scrolla slowly.

At first he thinks it’s a trap. Another one of your sharp essays dressed in elegance.

But then—

“He didn’t leave the sport bitter. He left it better.”

His throat goes tight and reads it twice. Then three times.

By the time you wander in yawning, wearing his t-shirt and absolutely zero shame he’s read the whole thing.

You sees the screen in his hand and stop in your tracks. “Oh,” you say, blinking. “You read that.”

He arches a brow. “I did.”

You fold your arms, pretending to brace for a punch. “Well?”

He sets the phone down slowly, deliberately, like it’s sacred.

Then he lean back in your chair and say, deadpan:

“Bit sentimental for someone who used to call me an overrated clown.”

You smirk. “You were an overrated clown.”

“Ah. So we’re doing this.”

“Just because I love you now doesn’t mean you weren’t unbearable.”

His heart skips.

You freeze.

You both look at each other.

Silence.

He stands, slow, crossing to where you’re standing barefoot in his kitchen like you’re not shaking a little.

He stops in front of you and rests his hands on your hips. “Say it again.”

You look up at him, breath caught. “What?”

He lowers his voice: “The part where you said you love me.”

You try to play it off with a scoff. “I don’t remember saying that.”

He smirks. “Well, I heard it. And I’ve got an article now to back it up.”

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t make this worse.”

He leans in, whispering against your lips, “Make what worse?”

And just before you can threaten to knee you, he kisses you. Soft. Certain. The kind of kiss that anchors.

He pulls back barely an inch, breathing you in.

“I love you too,” he murmurs. “Even when you write mean things. Even when you steal my shirts. Even when you act like you don’t.”

You melt. Literally melt.

And then, just because you can’t help yourself, you mumble into your chest: "You’re still a clown.”

He laughs. And you can see it written on his forehead ‘God, you love this woman.’

He wraps his arms around you tighter, lifting you just enough for you to squeal.

“Yeah,” he says, kissing your neck, grinning, “but I’m your clown now.”

And for once, you don’t argue.

The End

(For all those who got here, I love you all, thanks for the love for these two, I will miss them! Feel free to reach out in the comments or in private! Muah!)

[indecisivekatz]

DAY 1 OF KPOP DEMON HUNTER ANALYSIS!: Analysing the Costume Designs in KPop Demon Hunters And Subtle Visual Storytelling Before it Releases

Oh yes, you heard me right-- I've only got this theory and another one in the works, but I might think of some other things to hyperanalyse eventually!!

(Contains potential spoilers for the movie!!)

And warning, as my inner analyst comes out, and I start speaking both formal and casual back and forth-- XD Andd-- I uhh, I'm sorta writing this in one go, so if I start repeating myself, I'm sorry lol XD

The Starting Stage Outfits:

Something I really loved about the HUNTR/X's design is how they balanced looking both uniform and unique! And you can REALLY see that with their outfits at what I'm pretty sure is the beginning of the movie.

I like how they establish Rumi as being different to Mira and Zoey (more on this soon), as they put all their yellow around their lower parts of their designs, whilst Rumi keeps it to her jacket.

I especially love how the designers chose purple for Rumi's hair as it's almost complimentary on the colour wheel against the yellows of her jacket, so there's a really high contrast of colours in her design which again, helps her stand out from the two. She seems to have a more rectangular shape in her design (the jacket, the short pants, the bulky platform boots), and rectangles have often been associated with 'sturdiness'. And judging what we've heard about Rumi, this matches her perfectionist personality.

It's interesting that her hair is the one thing that's not 'rectangular', but it still matches her perfectionist personality as it's super high up (which can at times be uncomfortable). Hair symbolism is a lot of fun- but I'm getting ahead of myself, I swear I'll come back to this later on in the post.

Zoey's outfit features very baggy trousers, which goes well with her round buns. Round shapes are often associated with 'good' characters and safety. In this case, I'm pretty sure it captures her fun goofy personality. She's also different from Rumi and Mira who both sport boots. She instead wears sneakers, which potentially indicates that she values comfort over what's aesthetically pleasing. This theory is further corroborated by how she's the only one of the two who hasn't dyed her hair (assuming she wasn't a brown haired aha).

Mira on the other hand has a "very sharp" (not super sharp honestly, but noticeable enough) design with the sharp half pigtails in her hair and sharp sidebangs in her fringe. Her skirt has a very triangular sharp which further exacerbates her sharp design, and whereas Rumi has much bulkier boots (which I assume would be easier to walk in, but don't quote me, sneakers all the way lol), she wears "pointed" boots (not the sharp ended kinda ones you see in high-heel pumps). I think this is indicative of her seemingly more harsh personality...? We haven't seen too much of these girls, so I can't be too sure about this note lol.

A little crumb of a much bigger theory I'm going to talk about, but I also like how Mira and Zoey have black in their tops, whereas Rumi wears white. Once again, making her stand out.

The HUNTR/X's Awards Outfits

So this one I can't really talk about without getting into my bigger theory but, the there's more shape language in this with the 'belts' for the girls! Zoey's got these half-round jewellery (??) stuff that connect her belt. Whereas Mira's got a long fabric knot thingy (I'm sorry I don't know the name 😭) which kindaaa calls to her triangular shape language.

Honestly, Rumi's is the most obvious one, with her rectangular belt.

(EDIT: These outfits are not to be confused with these ones

because if I acknowledge this version of their outfits, everything I'm about to say will be undone- LOL XD)

Pyjamas:

Nothing too much to note, but I love how Mira and Zoey both have purple in their pyjamas, indicating what might likely be a subconscious show of their love and respect for Rumi.

Okay, onto our favourite bad boy band:

The Saja Boys:

On Wednesdays, we wear pink yellow. Except if you're Jinu--

I'M SORRY- there's not much I can really analyse since we don't know too much about these boys. But I find it interesting how these guys copied the HUNTR/X by all of them (except Jinu) wear yellow + pink together what I assume to be their public debut.

Love that Jinu's the only one who didn't dye his hair. I like to think he tricked the other four into thinking he was going to dye it, but then backed out immediately after the others did it. "Actually, as the leader of this team, I don't need to dye my hair. It.... uhh- makes me stand out. Yeah!"

Saja Boys After Watching Mean Girls

Jinu finally got the memo that you need to MATCH your bandmates.

Nothing TOO much to say just that if you look carefully Jinu's shirt patterns have got a tiger stripe design! These guys aren't very subtle.

Notice how now suddenly, the boys are all wearing pink... they're starting to all look the same in terms of uniform. But hey, there's still some distinction in their outfit styles!

The Boys After Watching Wednesday ON Wednesday:

Nothing too much to say again (this one is likely gonna be saved for my next theory in a different post), but their tiger markings are starting to show off in their outfits!

"Okay, it looks like our fans don't we care if we're demon-looking, so long as we're hot and can sing enough, they'll love us regardless lol":

Notice how now these guys are completely uniform, and they now kinda lose their individuality (apart from their hair WHICH, mind you is mostly covered by their hats).

I really like how what I'm pretty sure is going to be their final outfits in the battle, they're all pretty much the same. Any of their personalities in their outfits are just gone. It's likely that it's not considered important to them anymore, since they think they're gonna win.

It's really noticeable in the trailer how when they're in their Jeoseung Saja fits, they're really unindistinguishable for each other, especially in the dark.

It could indicate the Saja Boys' way of thinking, a more 'collective mind' sorta thing. Maybe they put aside some of their own wants and desires in pursuit of pleasing whoever the Big Bad is. (assuming Jinu isn't. And let's be real, it likely isn't him). Isn't it suspicious how we don't have any of the other Saja Boys names but Jinu? Maybe they're all gonna go nameless until the very end of the film.

We all know that identity is going to be one of the main themes of Kpop Demon Hunters, so for the Saja Boys to slowly strip themselves of their identities in favour of unity is really interesting!

THEORY TERRITORY:

Okay now we're into the meat of this post. The part I was the most excited to write for and decided to make this entire post on a dime.

So there's this theory floating around that SPOILERSSS! LAST CHANCE!!

Rumi might possibly be a demon! Or half! And I'm not gonna go into all these specifics about that, since plenty of people have already done that buttt- It's been noted that Rumi tends to cover her arms and neck with her outfits, which is pretty visually obvious ^^

So you know how I mentioned hair symbolism? I think the fact that Rumi has her hair up in a high braided ponytail, it's supposed to symbolise how 'trapped' she is in trying to make herself look utterly perfect. The hairstyle is very likely painful (it looks kind of tight) but it stops her hair from running wild everywhere. Just like how Rumi might be trying to hold back on being her true self.

But you know what's not too visually obvious? The OTHER ways Rumi's character outfits are always just slightly different to the other girls. Let's bring back those outfits again!

This could be coughed up to how Rumi is the leader and therefore, she must always have her outfit be different to the other girls, but I find it very intriguing how it's around the upper area, which is where Rumi always hides her skin the most (potentially due to having demonic marks there), is where she always seems to differentiate from the other girls.

And in this set of outfits case, not only is Rumi the only one wearing white compared to the other girls who wear black on their shirts, but she's the only one wearing the yellow in that area too!

Although, we do see a hint of black on her jacket!

We see this again in their awards outfits:

Notice how Mira and Zoey both wear black shirts, whilst Rumi wears a white shirt?? And how she's the only one with a black jacket. Again, this could possibly just to help her stand out. But I'm wondering if it's symbolic of how she's got a 'good' heart deep inside, but her 'outside' nature as potentially being a demon distracts from that.

And I think there's something to be said about Mira and Zoey having white on the outside, but black on the inside too! Perhaps it's symbolic of how they too are struggling too with appearances, though in their case it's more metaphorical. They want to appear perfect on the outside, but deep down, they have all these 'imperfections' which they consider to be bad, so they do their best to hide them with the white (perfection).

Alternatively, the black could be symbolic of their lives as Hunters. Rumi believes her job as a hunter to be everything, hence why she has a black jacket, it's all consuming her, wrapping itself against her tightly. Whereas with the girls, it's more of their 'inner selfs' and they're a bit more comfortable with it....? If I'm making any sense.

Now this one is really interesting. (I know I've said interesting like a hundred times already) Notice how when the girls first see the Saja Boys, Rumi is all consumed in pink, which is what I'm pretty sure is the Saja Boy's theme colour. And this time, Rumi's covered in black alongside the pink. And she's once again, visually separated from Mira and Zoey who both wear white.

And hey, Rumi's not the only one who does this sorta stuff! Jinu, the leader of the Saja Boys (a fun foil in designs), whilst not as obviously, also differentiates himself from the group. He's the only one who doesn't initially match the Saja Boys in their supposed debut. And if not for Abs Saja (believe me, I'm going to get into that guy next time!!!) he'd be the only one wearing short sleeves, actively promoting his demonic marks in comparison to Rumi who distracts everyone with her big hair (vs Jinu's natural hair colour) and covers her upper body up (verse Jinu who doesn't wear long sleeves)

Anyway, there might be more I have to say, so I may end up editing this later on, but I hope y'all enjoyed the analysis XD AND- I may end up making a following post to this when the movie comes out!

Stay tuned next time for when I talk about why Abs Saja both hates and admires Jinu.... yes, that's actually the next theory coming.

[thewitchblue]

"You have to stop DOING this."

Tim whined, rubbing the side of his head as an indecipherable wall of thought slammed into his brain. You entered his mind accidentally, and now you can't get out. It was incredibly distracting to both of you.

All his thoughts are mixed with yours as you struggle to gatekeep your thoughts from his own in your panicked state. It's giving him a migraine. You sighed, trying to separate your minds into two once more. It is beneficial during patrol, but it's not beneficial when you may be stuck with him forever.

"It's SO not my fault. You were the one who thought it was a good idea to scare me. You had a knife to my throat! It was self-preservation to slam into your mind and hijack it."

Tim groaned as you slammed another wall of thought at him out of spite. He found your powers insanely cool, yet indescribably terrifying. He didn't want the psychological warfare turned on him!

Crime has been down since word of you moving to the city had spread. Criminals are terrified to commit crimes because of the chance that you might hijack their minds instead of just beat them up. Their memories aren't safe, and it makes information gathering significantly easier for everybody that is on your side. It was terrifying to everybody involved, actually, but you were very, very efficient in your job as a vigilante.

Tim winced. The veil between his thoughts and yours was uncomfortably thin and basically see-through. What if he thought about something too hard? His brain is constantly thinking about new things and analysing everything.

You groaned quietly. It was so annoying to use your powers outside of vigilante work. A small part of you was happy to see him suffer for scaring you, but the majority of you was busy guarding your mind against his own. He can't know what you think about him, and you refuse to see what he thinks of you.

"Stop thinking so hard."

You grumbled when his racing thoughts slammed into your mind. He's making it impossible to focus on separating him from you. He tried to keep his mind blank, but you made it impossible. His mind was so fuzzy with you so close to him, and he can't tell if it's the magic or just his general feelings for you.

You stilled and looked at him with a stunned expression. Did he think about it too hard? He was about to apologise until you trickled in your own feelings for him. He tensed and stared at you, equally surprised and downright baffled about how both of you missed it. It was obvious now that he was looking back on all of his previous interactions with you, but he was too wrapped up in other thoughts to consider how closely you watched him or how obvious you were being. Did you start believing he was ignoring the signs, or were you equally oblivious? You seemed to have been monitoring him closely for a very long time.

Slowly and tentatively, you merged your mind fully with his own, giving him plenty of time to say no to the merging. You had never been this vulnerable before, but you felt it was necessary to get on the same page. His memories blended into yours until it was all one.

The others watched in confusion as several conversations seemed to be taking place between you both. You had approached Tim like he's a wild animal and rested your forehead against his own. Both of you had your eyes closed, seeming to simply be connecting.

"What do you think kid genius is thinking about?"

Jason asked. He was intrigued but tried to appear like he didn't care as much as he did. If he was going to lose his brother, at least say something! Stop with this creepy behaviour!

"They are trying to become two again, Jay. Don't forget that this is your fault."

Dick said with clear amusement. He's used to his younger brother's false indifference. He wanted to know what was racing between you two equally as badly, and Dick was going to have a long and thorough conversation with you both when you finally separate.

"It is not. Einstein over there didn't have to accept the dare."

Jason tried to defend himself. You gave Jason a baleful glare that left him grumbling. That was his cue to shut up for you to concentrate. Dick gave him an amused smile that made Jason want to hit him. He shot a lethal glare but remained silent. He doesn't need to join the mix of minds.

Dick was monitoring you closely. It was worrisome to see you disconnect from someone so slowly, and there was something terrifying about being unable to see it physically happening. What did you see in there that you needed to talk about privately? He felt clueless, and it made him anxious.

He should be used to this. He sees it every night. He knows you are phenomenal at keeping everybody's thoughts private while allowing them to speak freely between their minds. You were almost flawless in keeping everybody held together, yet keep their autonomy from each other.

Every embarrassing moment, every secret, every fear, it was all protected by one filter. You. It was horrifying, but it felt safe because you were reliable, and you had complete control over your powers. This is the first time you have ever lost control while around them.

Yours and Tim's eyes opened at the same time. Both of you slid your hands together in unison. Upon seeing the confused look the others gave you both, you explained softly,

"Tim wanted to keep our minds joined."

Tim nodded to confirm his decision. Nobody knew what to say as a loud silence echoed through the BatCave. The couple had decided together that they are better merged, and this way, nobody is going to get in the way of your relationship. Bruce spoke first. He stared Tim down and asked firmly,

"Are you certain, Tim?"

Tim lightly squeezed your hand and nodded. He wanted this, and nothing would change his mind. Bruce knew as much, so he nodded his approval and let it be. Tim had likely thought about every possible negative consequence already and talked about it with you. The pros seemed to outweigh the cons he had come up, so Bruce approved. Bruce found peace in knowing that you would separate from his mind whenever he wanted.

You lightly kissed Tim's hand before dropping it in favour of wrapping an arm around him. He was content in your arms, and that was enough for you. He would let you know otherwise. His thoughts were loud, but you both were already getting used to the noise. His thoughts freely floated through your head like a singing harmony.

You didn't even have to voice what you want from him anymore. You gave him a teasing smile while thinking towards him,

"We could kiss and give them a heart attack."

Tim shook his head with a smile. Oh, so it's going to be like that then. Tim can be evil, too. You gave him a confused look until Tim dragged you into a kiss that was monumental throughout everybody's lives.

You have Tim in every way now, and he seemed perfectly content with it. The brothers all turned their eyes to Bruce for any guidance on how to handle this new information, but Bruce was smiling with a clear adoration on his face. His beautiful children are finding their love. Tim was closer than married now, and Bruce was a softie for them all. Alfred spoke first, formally and warmly,

"Welcome to the family, my dear."

You turned your gaze to the quiet butler and smiled softly. He was smiling, as warm and welcoming as the day you first showed up in their lives.

Well, this was a lovely afternoon. You may not be married, but you didn't have to be. No other couple will ever achieve this level of intimacy. You found your home within the walls of Wayne manor.

[floralpools]

Could you please write more klaus!! 🙏 SPELLBOUND WAS EXTRAORDINARY

The Wolf At Your Door 𓃦

pairing: niklaus mikaelson x you

warnings: mindor dni, smut, violence/death, strong language, yandere klaus, jealousy, oral, male!receiving, penetration, fingering, spanking, biting/marking, slight/not voyeurism, fluff...?, and a sprinkle of angst (not really idk lol).

summary: From the moment you met Klaus, you were infatuated with him. But according to the Mystic Falls gang, you were supposed to be mortal enemies. So, one thing led to another, you two started seeing each other secretly—casually—until the police found the guy your friends tried to set you up with, cold… and very much dead.

a/n: thank you so so much for the love bewitched (formally called spellbound) received!!! make sure to check out my klaus ff on wattpad! anywho, happy reading <3

word count: 2.8k

The television hums, its muted blue glow flickering across your dull apartment walls. You’re not really watching, though—just zoning out, the way you usually do when you suddenly realize you're in way over your head.

The words on the screen finally register in your disassociating mind, slicing through the fog of disbelief, stuttering all logic and movement into suspension.

"Authorities have identified the victim as—"

Your fingers tighten around the ceramic mug in your hands, the coffee’s warmth searing into your skin. The name means nothing at first, a tasteless sound drowned beneath the anchorman’s cold delivery. But then an image flashes across the screen—a grainy, too-bright photo of a boy whose face you didn't expect to recognize.

But you do recognize him.

Your breath lurches in your throat. The mug clinks against the glass table as you set it down, too carefully, like you’re afraid your trembling hands might shatter it. Like you’re afraid you’ll shatter.

Because that’s the guy.

The guy Caroline had introduced you to at the Grill last week, nudging you toward him with an all-too-eager smile. The guy that Damon had insisted was “nice enough” after a few drinks. The guy you had laughed more at than with, with his bad jokes, wandering hands, and over-confident eyes. It was an uncomfortable encounter you experienced just to appease your friends, to get them off your back so they wouldn't find out the secret you've been hiding for months.

And now that guy is dead.

So dead, the police report said they had struggled to ID him.

Your stomach churns, face twisting in horror.

Death wasn’t anything new in Mystic Falls, but…

“Police say it’s another animal attack—”

You know what they’ll think. You know what they’ll say.

And worse—far worse—you know exactly who did it.

Because Niklaus Mikaelson has never been subtle when it comes to you.

He’s the not-so-subtle secret stitched into the delicate lining of your life. The shadow behind your smile, the blood beneath your perfume, embedded in your veins. A truth too dangerous to name, but too intoxicating to bury.

Not when his eyes, like a winter's morning, carried a wave of heat like an August sun. Not when he spoke your name like a claim of ownership, with an undertone that imitated a vow-like sacrament. Not with the look he gave that guy as he observed you both from across the bar—casual, but brimming with a certain kind of stillness that felt... murderous.

It was addictive seeing him smile when you laughed, falling only when he noticed who you were laughing with (again, more at than "with"—but Klaus didn't know that). He had smiled at you, and you alone. And you had seen how that smile warped as he grew tired of watching from afar.

But you had seen it—how that smile bent, frayed at the edges. The typical amusement he held had curdled into something more callous, sharper. Like a switch flipped in the pit of a typhoon. His face fell not with rage, but with a neurtality more terrifying. You could pinpoint it, like the moment a ball slips from your fingers. You knew, with gut-sick certainty, if it wasn't going to shatter you, it would shatter something. Or someone.

Klaus didn’t stay to sulk or smoulder.

He left with the quiet gravity that something dreadful had been set in motion—a fuse already lit, a noose already swinging. No parting glance. No dramatic flourish. Just the absence of him, and the suspicion that followed like a second skin.

You flinch when the phone abruptly rings, the shrill sound slicing through the tense quiet like a jagged knife. You leap from the couch to answer it.

“Hello?”

“You saw the news?”

It’s Bonnie. Her voice is pulled tight, exhausted, yet unfazed. Who could blame her?

You say nothing. Though silence is louder than any 'yes.'

Bonnie sighs heavily, her tone low and demanding. “Do you know anything?”

Another silence. Another answer. Speak now or forever hold your peace. . . And of course, you bite your tongue. No peace came.

“…Right,” she mutters.

(Coward, Bonnie's pause seemed to say.)

“I figured as much.”

The weight of judgment hangs in the air like cigarette smoke, spiralling into every corner of your silence, nullifying the real emotions behind your vacant stare. Like ash, doubt follows the smoke, disseminating over your tender flesh, your clothes, your conscience—impossible to wash out, though you've tried before.

Bonnie rambles on, her voice thin and urgent, a desperate sort of weaving. You picture her as the feeble spider somewhere in your apartment, the one you’ve noticed but neglected to sweep away in days. She spins her thread with good intentions, cladding each word around you like silk. Then, your gaze drifts toward that exact corner, where the real spider dangles upside-down in the dim glow of a lamp, silently cocooning something small and helpless.

You wonder if it’s dead yet. Or if it still twitches inside the threads.

You haven’t had the energy to deal with it, to kill the insect, not since your mind has been consumed—sipped bone-dry by the memories of his hands, his mouth, and the unhealthy, inevitable certainty that someone would find out about your unruly affair.

Paranoia echoes in your ears like the ringing after a gunshot.

Now someone knows. They have to.

“You know Matt's telling the sheriff,” Bonnie adds. “We’re going after him. Tonight.”

Your chest hollows out, like Bonnie had just reached down your throat and robbed the air from your lungs.

“I mean… good riddance,” you compel yourself to say, voice flat and utterly wrong, almost foreign. “He was a creep, anyway,” you chuckle, and the sound is like live wire on your tongue.

Bonnie doesn’t respond, even though your humour was so clearly forced.

Regardless, the call ends. And you’re already out the door.

. . .

The rain is relentless, sluicing down in silver curtains as you drive too fast and park too recklessly on the Mikaelson drive. Security had let you through the gates without a second thought, as they always did. It was almost too easy. It would be too easy for you to betray him. Didn't he know that? With centuries of experience, was he so self-assured to underestimate you? Why did he let his security stay indifferent towards you?

Each thought makes you falter, nearly falling into the ankle-deep puddles your shoes splashed through as you sprint to the grand door. You don’t even knock, not politely anyway. Your fist beats into the antique wood. The door swings open with practiced ease.

And there he is.

Klaus Mikaelson.

King of ruin. Author of every terrible thing you can’t seem to stop craving. He’s halfway through a smirk when he sees you. One hand on the door, the other resting on his hip like a your average-joe exhausted from a day at work. His relaxed demeanour makes your skin crawl.

To think... he could hear you, probably even smell you before you got close. And to think, he just killed an innocent man for flirting with you, and couldn't care less.

“Back for more already—”

He stops cold.

You are rain-drenched. Shivering. Breathless. Agitated, obviously. Your eyes were wild with something between grief and rage, already mourning something he couldn't begin to understand.

(Sin, sin, sin.)

Your soaked clothes stick to your slick frame in a way that makes Klaus lick his lips, and also stare like he’s witnessing a ghost.

“Love,” Klaus murmurs, the word breaking open in his throat. His expression grows serious in that disarming way of his. But his sincerity is short-lived, as he tilts his head and just about pouts at the sight of you. “You poor thing.”

He steps forward, taking the hand off his hip to touch you, to pull you into the cradle of his warmth, but, to his surprising, you shove him, hard, your own chest heaving as your frustration finally boils to the surface.

“You killed him!” you shout. "What were you thinking?!" The words fracture inside you, breaking down on your tongue, slithering through your gritted teeth, painfully desperate to take shape.

Klaus doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t flinch, or so much as to blink. But you can see something registering in his head, gears turning when his eyes obscure past you, looking into the dreary sky.

He nods to himself. “That does not matter,” he says, voice low, thunder under glass, barely restrained. “What matters is you need to leave. Now. I suspect that your friends will be here any minute.” His eyes darken, and when he speaks again, it’s rather subdued, yet more unstable. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” he huffs, with the bitter curve of a scorned lover. “To warn the man they all want dead. The man they call the devil. The monster under their beds.”

Your brows furrow and you pick at your cuticles, fidgeting, unsure of what to do with yourself as he steps closer, gaze locked onto yours like a flame to flimsy paper.

“The man your friends loathe... and the man you share a bed with. Again and again.” His jaw flexes. “The man you kiss like salvation the night before, and come dawn? Running as if this," he motioned between you two, "were vice.”

He exhales, slow and recessed. Nerves pump through you like adrenaline, and thoughtlessly, your teeth chew into your inner cheek.

“I’m the worst thing that’s ever happened to you,” his voice cracks around the truth. “And still, you came.” When you don't speak, he shakes his head, looking over his shoulder as if he were bored with the conversation. Then, when he looks back, his eyes are cold and his mouth sneers like you were no more than strangers, adversaries. "You need to leave," he concludes.

You shake your head, every breath like fire scorching your windpipe. You're not surprised that he figured your friends were coming, but the knowledge still rattles your heart, him dismissing you most of all.

“I need to leave?" You snap, "You arrogant, psychotic—what did you think would happen?! You think you could just—just eliminate someone I go with, and that shit would go unnoticed? Acting like my own personal executioner?”

He raises his voice, that growl curling around your ribs. “That fool didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you, let alone live.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind!”

“Yes, yes, I am. But as I said, here you are," his voice sounds breathless, his stoicism crumbling momentarily under your harsh regard. "You always come back to me."

That stops you. It took saying it twice for it to sink in, to startle you. He sees it. Feels the pause like a double-sided blade between you both.

You've been caught red-handed, and you expect him to make the usual taunting remarks, but they don't come. You're the first to look away.

“You know you’re not safe here,” you whisper slowly, “So why stay in Mystic Falls when everyone wants you dead?"

"Everyone?" He mutters so quietly you almost miss it, but you choose to ignore it anyway, though you can’t ignore the pang in your chest.

"They're going to kill you one day, Klaus.”

“They may try,” he chimes without the slightest interest, his concentration never straying from the space between you both, imagining the small steps it would take to close that distance. His presence seems to suck all the air from the sizeable room. “Let them come.”

You want to roll your eyes, but you can't. “Fuck." You curse under your breath, blinking away sudden tears. You peer down at the floor, seeing the rainfall that had drunched your clothes, now pooling at your feet. "I—I can’t do this anymore,” you hiccup, breath catching.

You don’t even see it happen.

You just feel it—the force of him yanking you inside, slamming the door behind you, and pinning you against the wall, sudden as the crack of lightning. One hand slams beside your head, cracking through the plaster hallway, while the other catches the back of your skull so you don’t break on impact.

He’s breathing hard. So are you.

Rain streaks your cheeks like the unshed tears, and you can't seem to look away from his piercing stare.

“Say it,” he growls, the tip of his nose brushing yours. “Say you don’t want this. That you don’t want me.”

Your bottom lip wobbles, chin trembling, voice ready to concede.

"Say it and I'll leave. I swear to you, you'll never see my wrenched face again."

His mouth hovers above yours, mere inches from wrecking you.

“I hate you,” you whisper, but you can't begin to imagine seeing him go. Never.

He smirks familiarly, but there's something softer, more temperate that flashes in his gaze.

“Haven't I told you to lie better?" he teases without a hint of vanity.

And then he catches his breath on your tongue.

Klaus kisses you. No, devours you.

It’s not affection, it’s a firestorm. A cathedral collapsing. A need that tastes like destruction. Fucking damnation, guised as a blonde with blue eyes and a blood-draining smile.

His lips bruise yours as your nails rake across his chest, pulling down the neckline of his Henley. He rips the wet clothes from your body after the slightest struggle to peel them off your skin. The second you're bare, his lips leave yours to latch onto your neck, teeth teasing the thin flesh, intimidating possible rupture, and yet you feel entirely safe, pressed between his body and the hard wall. Trapped, but oh-so free.

You break the kiss long enough to fall to your knees. He watches, eyes blown wide, pupils dilated, hands instantly gripping the ends of your soaked hair, liberating your nape from the sweltering strands.

The moment feels ancient. Worship and surrender and defiance, all in one.

You give in.

“We shouldn’t do this,” you mumble more to yourself as you unzip his fly with shaking hands. It's almost laughable how contrary your words are to your actions, but truthfully, you really do wish you could stop yourself, but alas.

You pull his briefs down along with his pants, moving without reservations or hesitation.

Klaus groans darkly, the sound torn from his throat when you quickly take him into your mouth, slow and reverent, like you’ve been starved, deprived of such pleasure all your life. He mutters your name like it were blasphemy.

(Perhaps it was.)

As you take him to the depths of your throat, he growls your name, and you feel his thighs tense. He's getting close. Your tongue speeds up, but before you can finish him off, Klaus pulls you back up by your hair, unafraid of hurting you. And he doesn’t speak. He claims.

His mouth crashes into yours again as he lifts you upright, effortlessly.

“Tell me again that they’re coming,” he pants into your mouth before moving back to your neck. Your knees nearly buckle. It felt dirty, the idea that your friends could see you both at any moment. Caroline, Elena, Bonnie, Stefan. Who knows. But still, you refused to stop.

“They're going to catch us,” you gasp, trying futilely to push him off of you. Klaus scoffs when you jump to wrap your legs around his waist. His palms fly to the bottom of your thighs, squeezing his digits into their plushness, eager to mark them.

“Good,” he snarls, kissing down your throat. “Let them see exactly who you belong to. Who you always come crawling back to. Who pleases you better than any man—immortal, before.”

You rip his shirt open. Buttons fly. His teeth graze your collarbone, your nipple, and his hand moves to knead your breast. Your spine hits the wall over and over, and you arch into him, over and over. You're not sure whether it's pleasure or fury that has you crying out. And when you cry out his name, you know it's both.

The only time Klaus slows down is to look you in the eye when he reaches in between you both to touch your clit, rubbing circles into you just before pulling aside your drench underwear, to slide into you. The intrusion is sudden. But it's also warm, tight, and filthy. Home.

“Still want to run?” he groans brazenly.

Your answer is a sob and a fervent shake of your head.

"I won't be gentle," he tells you once, and only once, as his voice seems to give out, hoarse and shaky when his tip reaches your hilt.

Oh.

Oh, holy fuck.

You're surprised you have any time to breathe, let alone scream when he suddenly pulls out just to slam full-force into you, rattling the furniture and paintings nearby as he sheathes himself through your slick heat. His cold body feels warm, flush against your damp body. You're burning alive, and maybe it’s a precursor to the hell you'll surely face if you both got caught now.

But to hell with that. Why care about what cane next when Klaus is buried so deep inside you, hips striking your hips, pounding you senseless.

You mewl and whine into the crook of his neck, feeling his grin just before he bites your ear, hard enough to draw a pearl of blood, to which he licks away with one flick of his scalding tongue.

He takes you, hard, rough, right there against the wall, only a few steps away from the front door, before stumbling through the dark to carry you toward the kitchen island. He doesn’t care about the table or the floor—just the nearest surface to unravel you.

His thrusts are consistent as he lowers you down till you lie flat on top of his expensive marble counter like a meal he's eager to feast on.

Your limbs tangled, your body trembling, your voice breaking. It’s primal. Furious. Possessive.

Outside, the storm rages. Inside, you are the eye of it.

Every drive of his hips is an argument, every moan a surrender. You keep telling him to leave. He keeps whispering that he won’t in between kisses. That he’d burn the world first. He pulls you against him until there’s no space between your skin and his madness.

As you say no, your body betrays you—your hips rising to meet him, your nails scratching down his back, hoping to engrave a mark so deep, it'd rival the mark he has left in you. Your breath hitches every time he hits that same spot that makes you forget your own damn name.

“You’re not leaving me,” he snarls.

“Klaus! This is wrong,” you whimper nonsensically, disagreeing just to disagree. Then you yelp when he promptly spanks your ass for daring to suggest such a thing, spanking you so hard, the tingling there feels like its own pulse.

“Then let it be wrong.”

Soon, the kitchen smells like sex and rain and fever.

He uses your body as a counterweight to buck into, and you'd probably be screaming if you could still breathe normally. Now, unable to even inhale, his groans seem that much louder, and you hear him shuffle closer every time you try to slither away to catch your breath. Somehow, he manages to draw you closer to drill into you harder.

You're sobbing uncontrollably as the pressure in your core builds. Your end blazes through you like wildfire, and his hands anchor your hips, feeling your climax as you clench around him. Then, he suddenly decides to angle himself differently, leering down at you like the king he is, hitting a spot you've never even felt before and—

You come undone instantaneously, eyes fluttering closed, squeezing any remaining tears out. Tremors rake through you as Klaus starts to focus on his own high, his pleasure, using your spent body till he cums. And he cums hard, pulling out to finish on your stomach, painting your body as he would a canvas until he's satisfied, whispering how he would kill anyone who would dare take this from him, and how he cannot comprehend what he did to deserve this. Each remark makes you want to cry, moan, though you have no more tears to weep or a voice left to cry-out.

Klaus then collapses onto you, slowly pressing his cock back into your warmth while his breath steadies itself. You whimper at the hurried penetration, but make no real protests. You're ruined and aching, tears lost in the sweat on your cheek. He kisses your temple, and it almost feels tender.

Almost.

Worry settles on your chest once more, heavy and suffocating, and, as if Klaus can read your mind, he smiles sweetly against your skin, repeating his earlier remark.

“Let them, my love.”

The rain stops hours later. But the storm? The real one? It’s only just beginning. And you’re not sure which side you’re on anymore.

Only that Klaus Mikaelson has no intention of ever letting you go.

And maybe, somewhere deep and broken, you don't want him to.