#and then just carrying that secret around with him

[51voices]

The Algorithm of Pleasure

Kinkvember Day 17: Massage

IVE's Ahn Yujin

AN: I said that the winter fic was the longest but this fic surpasses it, hope you all enjoy. Thank you for reading!💖

Yujin juggled her tote bag, phone, and a half-empty water bottle as she fumbled with her keys at the door. The strap of her bag kept sliding down her shoulder, and her fingers, stiff from hours of rehearsals, barely managed to grip the key. She cursed under her breath, jamming it into the lock harder than she meant to until the door finally clicked open.

As she stepped inside, her foot caught on the uneven lip of the doormat. She stumbled forward with a sharp gasp, her phone slipping from her hand and clattering onto the floor. For a moment, she just stood there, frozen in the doorway, her pulse pounding in her ears. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she leaned against the door, letting it swing shut behind her with a dull thud that sounded heavier than usual. The echoes seemed to magnify the weight pressing on her shoulders.

The day had been a relentless whirl of rehearsals, fan events, and a back-to-back schedule that left her feeling like a marionette whose strings had been pulled just a little too tight. Her limbs ached, her mind buzzed with half-formed thoughts, and all she craved was the sanctuary of her own space—a quiet evening to unravel the knot of tension that had tightened throughout the day.

Yujin bent down to retrieve her phone and kicked off her sneakers, which landed with soft thuds on the wooden floor, the sound muffled by the stillness of the apartment. She padded toward the kitchen, the faint hum of the refrigerator breaking the silence. Her stomach rumbled, but she was far too drained for anything elaborate. A bowl of instant noodles would do. She filled a pot with water, the sharp hiss of the stove’s flame lighting up against the bottom breaking the monotony of the quiet. The aroma of the noodles and broth soon wafted through the small space, warm and savory, wrapping around her like a comforting hug.

Carrying the steaming bowl to her sofa, she felt her muscles relax slightly, her body sinking into the plush cushions. The dim glow of a single lamp illuminated the room, casting long, soft shadows that made the space feel cocoon-like. She took her first bite, savoring the burst of salty and savory warmth on her tongue, when the sudden chime of the doorbell shattered her momentary reprieve.

The unexpected sound froze her mid-motion, her chopsticks paused halfway to her mouth. It was late—too late for visitors—and she wasn’t expecting anyone. A flicker of apprehension passed through her as she placed the bowl down on the low coffee table and moved towards the door.

The camera monitor displayed the figure of a delivery driver, clad in a reflective jacket, standing patiently with a large box balanced on a hand truck. His faint wave through the screen reassured her slightly. She buzzed him in, her curiosity piqued.

“Package for Ms. Ahn Yujin?” he asked, his voice steady but professional as he glanced at his paperwork.

“That’s me,” she replied, her tone uncertain as she opened the door wider to let him maneuver the oversized package inside. She hadn’t ordered anything recently.

“Who’s it from?” she added, her brow furrowing as her gaze darted from the large box to the driver.

He adjusted his clipboard, squinting at the label. “It says it’s from a Miss Kim Gaeul.”

Yujin’s breath caught for a moment, her confusion giving way to surprise. Gaeul? Her fellow group member? What could she possibly have sent? A flutter of warmth began to fill her chest as she signed the delivery form, exchanging quick pleasantries with the driver before closing the door behind him.

The package loomed large in her small entryway, a monolithic presence that seemed to demand her attention. She crouched down, running her hands over the plain cardboard exterior as if it might reveal its secrets. The weight of her day began to dissolve, replaced by a bubbling sense of anticipation.

Tearing through the tape and packaging, she found a neatly folded note resting on top of the contents. Her heart gave a small leap as she unfolded it, the familiar handwriting bringing an instant smile to her face.

"Yujinnie, I’ve noticed how stressed you've been lately, so I wanted to share something that always helps me unwind. These are hard to find, but I just got a new one, so I’m passing my old one on to you. I hope you don’t mind! Enjoy it as much as I did. XOXO, Gaeul unnie."

Yujin let out a soft laugh, the tension in her chest easing completely. Gaeul always had a knack for reading her like a book, for knowing exactly when and how to reach out. Her curiosity heightened, she peeled back the remaining layers of wrapping until the gift revealed itself.

A massage chair. And not just any massage chair.

It stood like a technological marvel, its smooth, dark leather gleaming under the apartment’s soft light. The futuristic design gave it an almost spaceship-like appearance, with seamless contours that hinted at an otherworldly level of comfort. Her fingers traced the stitching along the armrests, each seam meticulously placed. She noticed the padded leg slots, their grooves perfectly aligned to cradle calves and ankles, and the armrests equipped with flexible grooves that seemed to beckon her to try them.

The chair’s control panel glowed faintly, buttons labeled with options like “Neck,” “Back,” and “Full Body,” each promising tailored relief. She marveled at the attention to detail, the backrest designed to mold to the spine’s natural curve. Everything about the chair invited her to sink into its embrace.

Then she noticed it—a tiny tear in the leather near the edge of the seat, closer towards the leg slots. It wasn’t glaring, just a small imperfection, but it stood out in contrast to the chair’s otherwise pristine appearance. She ran her fingers over it, the rough edges of the tear catching slightly on her skin.

For a moment, a pang of disappointment flashed through her. Had it been damaged in transit? But the feeling was fleeting. The gift wasn’t just the chair itself—it was the thought behind it, Gaeul’s effort to ease her stress. That realization filled her with gratitude.

“It’s just a small flaw,” she whispered, her lips curling into a gentle smile. She stepped back, taking in the full sight of the chair once more. It wasn’t perfect, but neither was life. It was real, thoughtful, and exactly what she needed. And tonight, she decided, she would let it work its magic.

The chair loomed like a portal to another world—a world unparalleled relaxation and peace. The sleek contours of its design seemed almost otherworldly, the polished leather glinting softly under the ambient glow of a nearby lamp. Yujin’s gaze lingered on it, her anticipation building. Just looking at it felt like an invitation, a promise of comfort that she couldn’t wait to explore.

Her fingers brushed over the armrest, noticing how it seemed to mold perfectly to her arm, almost like it was designed to cradle her in place. As she traced its contours, her hand slipped into a discreet slot nestled within the leather, grazing something cool and papery hidden inside. Curious, she pulled it free—a worn, slightly yellowed manual with curled edges and faint smudges on the cover.

The scent hit her as she flipped it open, a strange yet oddly familiar musk mingled with the faint aroma of aged paper. It clung to her skin as she skimmed the manual’s brittle pages, her eyes catching on a bold section titled: “For Best Results.” She paused, the faint, unplaceable familiarity of the smell lingering in her mind like a whisper she couldn’t quite hear.

Her lips quirked into a small, amused smile as she read the next line: “Skin-to-seat contact is recommended for maximum effect.”

“Well, they’re serious about this ‘maximum effect’ thing,” she murmured, rolling her eyes with a soft chuckle. The idea was ludicrous—who stripped down for a massage chair? Still, the thought lingered, hanging in the air like a suggestion she couldn’t quite ignore. If she was going to indulge in this gift, why not get the full experience?

The chair waited patiently, its imposing presence almost daring her to follow the manual’s advice. Yujin hesitated only for a moment before shrugging, a faint blush warming her cheeks. Gaeul’s thoughtfulness deserved her full commitment, no matter how silly it felt. Smiling to herself, she began unbuttoning her shirt, the tiny clicks of each button a soft rhythm in the quiet apartment.

As the fabric slipped from her shoulders and fell to the floor, the cool air of the room kissed her skin, raising goosebumps that rippled along her arms. Piece by piece, she let the day’s weight fall away, shedding her clothes until she stood bare before the chair. For a moment, a thrill of vulnerability ran through her—both strange and exhilarating. Her skin tingled in anticipation as she turns to face the chair, its smooth, dark surface now seeming even more inviting.

Yujin lowered herself slowly, the leather cool against her warm skin, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. The initial contact was startling, the texture of the material silky yet firm, cradling her body like a second skin. As she adjusted her position, the contours of the chair seemed to welcome her, perfectly aligning with her frame.

The snug fit was uncanny, as though the chair had been designed with her in mind. Her back pressed gently into the cushioned support, her shoulders nestling into their designated slots. She felt her legs slip effortlessly into the padded grooves, the dividers between them cuddled her inner thighs, firm but yielding, grounding her in place. 

For a moment, Yujin simply sat there, letting the chair’s embrace envelop her. The tension she had carried all day seemed to ebb away, replaced by the soothing pressure of its contours holding her securely. She exhaled softly, a small smile playing on her lips as she prepared to experience the full promise of Gaeul’s thoughtful gift.

Hovering a finger over the glowing control panel, Yujin hesitated for a moment before selecting the “Standard Massage” mode. A soft chime acknowledged her choice, and immediately, a gentle warmth began to spread beneath her. The sensation radiated upward, starting low on her spine and moving in soothing waves that rolled through her body. The warmth was delicate yet enveloping, like sunlight filtering through a thick canopy of trees, melting away the knots of tension that had clung to her muscles all day. She exhaled deeply, her breath carrying away the remnants of stress as the chair worked its magic.

A low, rhythmic hum filled the air, blending seamlessly with the soft ambiance of her apartment. The chair began to vibrate, subtle pulses rhythmically traveling up her back. Starting from her hips, the vibrations danced their way to her shoulders, each motion perfectly calibrated, as if guided by the hands of a master massage therapist. The gentle kneading felt intentional, targeting every sore spot, each ache carefully attended to. Her body responded instinctively, muscles softening and loosening with each pass of the rollers, as though the chair was coaxing her into a state of complete relaxation.

As the chair shifted focus, Yujin’s awareness narrowed to the sensation at her thighs. The rollers moved delicately but decisively to her inner thighs, an unexpected yet blissful addition to the experience. The gentle pressure massaged the tender, often-neglected muscles, drawing a soft, contented sigh from her lips. She hadn’t realized how much tension she had been holding there, and now that it was being released, a new layer of relaxation washed over her. The cushioned divider, which had once felt unfamiliar, now seemed like an anchor, grounding her body in place and creating a cocoon of perfect support.

Her head lolled back against the padded rest as the chair’s motions expanded to her entire body. Her feet were cradled in soft grooves, the rollers gently pressing and kneading her soles with an almost intuitive precision. Her calves were embraced by warm cushions that squeezed and released in a rhythmic pattern, encouraging her circulation to flow effortlessly. Her arms rested snugly in the grooves of the armrests, where subtle vibrations massaged her forearms, releasing the strain of holding microphones, signing autographs, and the countless gestures that filled her daily life.

As the chair worked, it seemed to choreograph its movements to a perfect rhythm. Her back, her neck, her shoulders—all were attended to with the same deliberate care. The rollers pressed firmly yet comfortingly into her shoulder blades, dissolving the knots that had taken root from hours of rehearsals. The soothing warmth emanating from the chair now felt like an extension of her own body heat, wrapping her in a sensation so familiar and comforting it bordered on intimate.

Her mind began to drift, each kneading motion drawing her further away from the chaos of her routine. She let out a soft, contented hum as the chair worked its way up to her neck. Here, the motions were slower, more deliberate, each gentle knead feeling like an eraser sweeping away not just physical tension but the weight of her thoughts. The fatigue that had been clinging to her mind for weeks began to evaporate, leaving behind a serene clarity.

As her eyes fluttered shut, a smile spread across her face, unbidden and pure. In the darkness behind her lids, she pictured Gaeul’s kind expression, her unnie’s ever-thoughtful gaze. The memory filled her heart with warmth, and a wave of gratitude washed over her.

“Thank you, unnie,” she whispered, her voice soft, almost reverent, as though Gaeul might somehow hear her. It wasn’t just the chair she was thankful for—it was the care, the love, and the understanding behind the gesture.

The massage cycle continued, the rollers moving seamlessly back down her body. Her calves were squeezed gently, each motion precise and unhurried. Her feet were kneaded with soft pulses that released tension she hadn’t realized had built up. The chair seemed to know exactly where to focus, working in perfect synchrony with her body’s needs. By now, the warmth radiating through the cushions had synced with her own heat, creating a sensation that felt like an all-encompassing hug.

The low hum of the chair’s movements became a steady backdrop, blending with the quiet stillness of the apartment. Yujin’s thoughts grew lighter, her worries dissipating like smoke in the breeze. Every knead, every vibration, every wave of warmth carried her further into a cocoon of peace, until the outside world felt like a distant memory. Her breathing slowed, deep and even, matching the hypnotic rhythm of the chair’s motions.

As the final rollers worked their way back to her shoulders, pressing gently but firmly one last time, Yujin felt the last vestiges of tension dissolve. Her mind floated free, unburdened and light, cradled by the chair’s tender embrace. For the first time in weeks, she had found a moment to simply be—to exist without demands, without expectations.

Her lips curved into a smile, her chest filled with quiet joy. Gaeul’s gift wasn’t just an object; it was an escape, a sanctuary from the relentless demands of her life. As the chair continued its gentle rhythm, she let herself drift further into its embrace, surrendering to the pure, blissful calm that enveloped her.

Just as Yujin thought she had experienced the full range of the chair’s abilities, a subtle shift behind her head caught her attention. Something soft brushed against her nape, and she opened her eyes in surprise. Two rounded cushions extended smoothly from the headrest, their movement deliberate and precise, almost like the slow, purposeful gestures of a living being. They angled downward, adjusting with meticulous care until they rested gently against her chest, cupping her with a delicate firmness that made her pause.

The sensation was startling—unexpectedly intimate in a way that caught her off guard. Her breath hitched for a moment as she processed the feeling. It wasn’t what she had anticipated from a machine; the touch was warm, almost human, as though a pair of hands were there, offering comfort she hadn’t realized she needed. For a fleeting moment, hesitation crept in, but as the cushions began to apply a steady, rhythmic pressure, that hesitation melted away. The lifelike touch wasn’t invasive; it was soothing, reassuring. The chair seemed to understand her unspoken needs, its gentle persistence inviting her to trust it fully.

As Yujin exhaled, her body softened into the cushions’ embrace, her head tilting back to rest against the padded headrest. The rhythmic pressing and releasing felt like a pulse, a calming tempo that resonated through her chest. She could feel the tension unwinding there, knots she hadn’t even known existed slowly dissolving under the cushions’ steady care. Each rotation seemed to unravel another layer of stress, sending ripples of relaxation through her upper body. A quiet sigh escaped her lips, unbidden, as the cushions pressed a little lower, their focus shifting with seamless precision.

The sensation grew more enveloping, wrapping her chest in a comforting warmth that felt less like a machine and more like a gentle, heartfelt hug. It was deeply reassuring, the kind of embrace that coaxed her body into a profound state of bliss. Her shoulders eased further into the chair as the steady kneading rhythmically matched the rise and fall of her breathing, syncing with her as if it could sense her every exhale. There was nothing cold or mechanical about the touch—it felt deliberate, almost personal, like the chair was attuned to her, understanding her without the need for words.

Yujin let her eyelids flutter closed, surrendering to the hypnotic rhythm. The cushions pressed and released, their soft rotations creating waves of sensation that rolled through her chest, each one drawing her deeper into relaxation. Her heartbeat slowed, steadying itself to the same measured tempo as the cushions. She felt cradled, cocooned in a bubble of perfect calm, where even the faint hum of the chair blended into the background as a soothing melody.

“How could unnie keep this a secret?” she murmured softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. A small, lazy smile formed on her lips as the thought lingered. This wasn’t just a massage chair—it was a revelation, an experience so immersive and thoughtful that it felt tailored exclusively for her. Did Gaeul truly know how transformative, how utterly mesmerizing this would be? A faint blush warmed Yujin’s cheeks as the realization set in, but she was too relaxed to dwell on it.

The cushions continued their rhythmic dance, pressing firmly and retreating with perfect timing, guiding her breathing into an effortless flow. Her chest rose and fell in harmony with the chair’s movements, her muscles melting further with every rotation. Her body felt weightless, supported and nurtured, as though the chair was holding her in a gentle, unbreakable embrace. She allowed herself to sink deeper, letting go of any lingering reservations and surrendering entirely to the chair’s touch.

Time seemed to blur as Yujin drifted into a serene haze, her thoughts fading into the background. The steady motion of the cushions lulled her into a state of blissful stillness, her mind clear, her body completely open to the soothing sensations. It was more than physical relief—it was emotional. She felt a quiet gratitude blooming in her chest, a sense of appreciation for Gaeul’s thoughtfulness that filled her heart as warmly as the chair cradled her body.

As the cushions continued their gentle rotations, pressing and releasing in a hypnotic rhythm, Yujin found herself suspended in an oasis of tranquility she hadn’t realized she so desperately needed. It wasn’t just relaxation; it was liberation from the weight she carried, a sanctuary she had been gifted without asking. Smiling softly, she let herself drift further, enveloped in the chair’s warm embrace and the silent comfort of Gaeul’s kindness.

Yujin settled deeper into the chair’s embrace, her body slack and her mind adrift in the profound ease it provided. The tension that had gripped her muscles earlier was now a distant memory, unraveled by the chair’s expert touch. Yet, as comforting as the experience was, a small spark of curiosity stirred within her. She found herself wanting something more—something that might carry her further into this unexpected sanctuary of relaxation.

Her gaze drifted lazily over the glowing control panel. Among the familiar settings, her eyes caught on a small button she hadn’t noticed before. It was marked with a curious symbol, two delicate waves interlocking, their looping design imbued with an almost hypnotic allure. She tilted her head, studying it, the symbol tugging at her attention. The manual had mentioned “advanced features” in passing, but at the time, she hadn’t given it much thought. Now, under the chair’s warm, enveloping touch, the temptation to explore further grew stronger.

“Guess it couldn’t hurt to try…” she murmured softly, her voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. Her finger hovered over the button, lingering for only a moment before pressing down with quiet resolve.

The chair responded immediately. The gentle hum beneath her deepened, shifting into a richer, resonant tone that seemed to pulse through the seat, low and steady, like a heartbeat. The vibrations slowed, their rhythm becoming more pronounced, as though the chair were focusing its energy with deliberate precision. The warmth she had felt earlier began to intensify, settling lower along her body. It pooled in her thighs, radiating outward in waves that pressed gently yet firmly against her bare skin.

Her breath hitched at the shift in sensation, her cheeks warming as she registered the chair’s unmistakably intimate touch. For a moment, she froze, caught off guard by the unexpected direction the experience had taken. The heat continued to pulse gently, the rhythm steady and inviting. Her initial instinct to pull back clashed with the growing curiosity that rooted her in place. Her body seemed to respond instinctively to the chair’s rhythm, the warmth stirring something low in her belly—a mixture of intrigue and an undeniable sense of ease.

The sensation deepened as the cushions at her chest began to adjust. Their movements, once soothing and general, became more focused and deliberate. The circular pads pressed down again, their slow, rhythmic rotations drawing her attention. They traced patterns against her chest, their touch precise yet comforting, synchronized with the deeper vibrations beneath her. Each rotation seemed purposeful, the soft pressure coaxing her body to relax even further.

A quiet gasp slipped from her lips as the cushions brushed over her more sensitive areas, the sensation sharper and more vivid than she had anticipated. The padding moved in deliberate, gentle circles, carefully calibrated to her body’s contours. It was as though the chair understood her needs without her having to articulate them, its touch intuitive and attuned to her most tense and tender places. Her breathing quickened, shallow at first, before evening out into a slower, deeper rhythm as the warmth in her chest grew, spreading outward in soft, languid waves.

“What kind of machine is this?” she whispered, her voice barely audible, a breathy question carried away by the stillness of the room. The sensations were so precise, so deeply immersive, that they felt almost human—like an unseen presence was there, devoted entirely to her comfort. She considered sitting up, pulling away, but the thought felt distant, her body too deeply at ease to act on it. The warmth and pressure seeped into her muscles, leaving them soft and pliant, as if the chair was unraveling her layer by layer, coaxing her to let go completely.

Each time her thoughts turned to resisting, the chair seemed to adjust with uncanny accuracy, shifting its vibrations and kneading motions to draw her back in. The steady, deliberate rhythm became impossible to fight. It wrapped around her like a blanket, pressing against her body in all the right places, unrelenting yet gentle. The heat blooming in her chest flowed down to her core, spreading outward in a way that felt grounding, stabilizing, as though she were being gently tethered to the present moment.

Her mind wavered, caught between the fleeting impulse to pull away and the growing desire to surrender fully to the experience. Each motion of the chair seemed to whisper to her, coaxing her into deeper relaxation. The steady pulse of the cushions against her chest matched the rolling vibrations beneath her, creating a seamless, hypnotic rhythm. Her heartbeat slowed to match its tempo, her breaths coming in time with each press and release, each wave of warmth. The sensation was all-consuming, leaving her body weightless and her thoughts suspended in a tranquil haze.

As the chair worked with deliberate care, Yujin’s senses seemed to heighten and blur all at once. Her body melted further into the seat, yielding to the touch that had become impossible to resist. The chair held her in its expert embrace, each motion pulling her closer to a state of total calm. Her muscles softened completely, her worries dissipating like vapor, until all that remained was the comforting rhythm and the warmth cradling her from within.

With each passing moment, Yujin felt herself slipping further into the chair’s hold. The sensations, the warmth, and the steady rhythm wove together, creating a space of pure serenity. Letting go of the last threads of resistance, she allowed herself to be carried away, surrendering fully to the comfort enveloping her. Whatever this chair was—whatever Gaeul had seen in it—it was more than she could have imagined.

As the sensations intensified, Yujin’s body instinctively reacted, her hands moving to push herself up, to regain a sliver of control over the overwhelming experience. But just as she began to shift, something brushed against her wrists. The touch was startling—soft, silken, and almost weightless as it encircled her skin with a surprising swiftness. Her breath caught as she felt the delicate material wrapping around her, firm but gentle, holding her in place with a touch that seemed purposeful.

Startled, she glanced down, her wide eyes taking in the sight of thin, shimmering cords emerging from the sides of the chair. They looped gracefully around her wrists, binding them snugly to the armrests. The restraints didn’t bite into her skin; instead, they felt secure, almost comforting in their deliberate hold. Yujin tugged gently, testing their strength, but the cords tightened subtly in response, their pressure firm yet unyielding. The message was clear: escape was no longer an option.

“What… what is this?” she whispered, her voice trembling, barely audible over the low hum of the chair. Her breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling as she tried to process the surreal sight. Bound by something so inanimate yet so undeniably purposeful, she felt an intimate vulnerability she hadn’t expected. The chair, once a comforting haven, now seemed to take on a persona of its own, as if it were in control of the moment. There was an undeniable thrill in the realization, her pulse quickening with the rush of emotions coursing through her.

Just as she tried to shift her legs, she felt the same silken sensation brush against her ankles. She froze as more cords emerged, looping deftly around her bare skin and pulling her legs firmly into place against the padded footrests. The bindings were seamless, their hold just as gentle yet unyielding as those around her wrists. Yujin tested them, her toes curling instinctively as the restraints held her firmly, leaving her utterly exposed.

The restraints heightened everything she felt, amplifying her awareness of the chair’s every motion. No longer able to shift or pull away, she was forced to surrender fully, her body completely exposed to its attentions. The vibrations beneath her thighs deepened, their rhythm deliberate and unrelenting. Each pulse resonated through her core, sending waves of warmth radiating outward. The sensation was electric, her skin alive with the intensity of the experience. She gasped softly, the heat within her building in time with the vibrations, every pulse driving deeper, leaving her breathless.

As her head tilted back against the chair, Yujin’s breathing hitched, her body responding involuntarily to the unrelenting sensations. The air around her grew heavier, and she caught the faint scent she hadn’t noticed before—a musky, intoxicating aroma that clung to her skin and seemed to saturate the space. Her cheeks flushed as she realized its source: her own arousal, exposed and undeniable in the stillness of the room.

The realization hit her like a wave, her body betraying her real feelings as the scent hung in the air, unmasking the truth she had been unwilling to face. Vulnerable and laid bare in every sense of the word, she shivered under the intensity of the chair’s embrace. The vibrations, the bindings, and the unmistakable scent of her arousal all converged into a singular, undeniable truth: she enjoyed this, even if she tried to deny it.

Her eyes fluttered shut as the chest cushions resumed their kneading motions. This time, their touch felt more focused, more precise. They pressed into her chest with slow, deliberate rotations, the pressure measured and exact. Each movement seemed to mirror the pulsing vibrations below, creating a synchronized rhythm that left her completely captivated. Her toes curled involuntarily as the cushions circled over her most sensitive areas, coaxing her body to respond. The sensations overlapped, layering upon one another in a way that left her overwhelmed and yet completely drawn in.

Bound and unable to escape, Yujin felt her breathing quicken again, each shallow gasp evidence of her growing sensitivity to the chair’s relentless rhythm. The cords at her the end of her limbs reminded her of her helplessness, holding her firmly in place, forcing her to remain still as the chair’s touch grew more intimate, more consuming. Each pulse, each knead, was magnified tenfold, pulling her deeper into the chair’s hold, making it impossible to think of anything but the sensations coursing through her.

Her body melted under the chair’s control, her muscles soft and pliant as warmth bloomed within her. The overlapping motions—the chest cushions, the pulsing vibrations, the heat radiating from beneath her—created a dizzying cycle of sensation that consumed her entirely. Yujin’s mind spun, caught between the impulse to resist and the growing pull to surrender fully. Despite the vulnerability she felt, or perhaps because of it, there was a strange exhilaration in the experience, an undeniable thrill that left her breathless and flushed.

Just as she thought the sensations couldn’t grow more intense, her instincts flared, urging her to stop the chair’s relentless rhythm. Gathering her strength, she strained against the bindings, her fingers fumbling to reach the glowing control panel. The angle was awkward, her movements clumsy, each effort only emphasizing her bound state. Her fingertip grazed the buttons, desperate to press the “Stop” command.

But in her haste, her finger slipped. Instead of ending the cycle, she accidentally pressed a smaller button beside the one she had activated earlier. The chair’s response was immediate. A deep, mechanical hum reverberated beneath her, the sound low and resonant, carrying a purposeful tone. Yujin froze as she felt something firm and warm pressing against her lower body. The sensation was unmistakable, and her eyes widened in shock.

Her breath hitched as she realized the source of the pressure. It was emerging from the slit she had earlier dismissed as a flaw. What she thought was a minor tear in the chair’s leather now revealed itself to be something far more deliberate. The object was firm, its warmth radiating through her in a way that left her stunned, her thoughts racing as the chair continued its relentless rhythm, pulling her deeper into its grasp.

She couldn’t see it, not from her seated position, but the sensation left no room for doubt: something firm and perfectly contoured pressed against her, aligning with a precision that felt unnervingly intentional. Her breath hitched, the air catching in her throat as a deep blush bloomed across her cheeks. Her mind raced, grappling with the surreal experience. “Wait… no…” she whispered, the words faint and trembling, as though she barely believed them herself.

Bound securely to the chair, she was powerless to move, the silken restraints holding her snugly against the chair. She tugged reflexively, testing the cords, but they responded with quiet firmness, keeping her in place. Unable to shift, unable to retreat, she was left entirely at the mercy of the chair’s calculated design. All she could do was feel—her senses heightening as the firm shape pressed forward, its slow, deliberate motion leaving her more aware of her vulnerability with each passing moment.

The object moved deeper, its progress unhurried and precise, as if it understood exactly what it was doing. Yujin’s breath stuttered, her body tensing as the sensation reached an unfamiliar height. A tremor coursed through her as her mind reeled, her awareness narrowing to the singular, startling sensation that resonated throughout her frame. She could feel every inch of its ascent, her body hyperaware of the slow, deliberate progress. The firm presence pressed upward with startling clarity, carving deeper than she thought possible.

Her muscles tightened instinctively as she felt it reach what she believed to be her absolute limit. Her breath hitched, her body trembling with the unfamiliar pressure. “That’s it,” she thought, her mind grasping at the certainty that there was no way it could go further. But just as her body began to adapt, the object ascended further, its movements precise and unrelenting.

The realization sent a jolt through her as it stretched her just a bit more, coaxing her to accommodate what she didn’t think she could. Her mind reeled, disbelief warring with the undeniable sensations. It knew her body better than she did, inching upward with unerring patience, measuring her capacity with mechanical certainty. Yujin’s breath shuddered, her skin prickling as warmth bloomed low in her abdomen, her body trembling as it yielded reluctantly to the measured intrusion.

Her bindings held her firmly in place, ensuring she had no choice but to endure every agonizingly precise moment. Each new height sent waves of sensation radiating through her, amplifying her awareness of just how much she could take. The object finally paused, giving her a moment to adjust to the overwhelming fullness, but her heart pounded as she realized it had stopped only to press just a fraction further, testing her once more.

As she sat motionless, her pulse quickened, and her cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and astonishment. “I’ve never…” she murmured, her voice barely audible, as though speaking the words might make the experience feel more real. Her heart pounded as she strained to process the sheer intensity of the moment, her thoughts flitting between disbelief and a growing sense of intrigue.

Just as her body began to adapt, the sensation shifted subtly. The firm presence pulsed faintly, its motion so slight that it felt almost teasing. Yujin’s eyes widened, her breath catching again as the feature seemed to expand with a slow, measured pressure. The gradual increase was slight at first, but every inch brought a new, undeniable awareness. Her muscles tightened instinctively, resisting the unfamiliar stretch, only to relax again as warmth radiated through her, coaxing her body to yield.

The sensation grew with excruciating precision, each incremental adjustment sending ripples of awareness through her. Her body strained to accommodate the increasing width, the warmth of the feature spreading outward, suffusing her limbs with a tingling, electric heat. She could feel the depth with startling clarity, every inch adding to the fullness that threatened to overwhelm her. The expansion felt unrelenting but controlled, a careful test of her limits that pushed her closer to the edge of what she could endure. Her breath grew shallow, each exhale trembling as she fought to adapt to the overwhelming fullness.

With each pause and subtle adjustment, the chair seemed to monitor her, its design attuned to her responses. The faint tremors in her breath, the tightening of her muscles—each reaction seemed to guide its movements, the expansion halting just shy of overwhelming her. The patience in its rhythm was undeniable, its unhurried persistence coaxing her body to surrender inch by inch.

When the feature finally stopped, its fullness left her breathless. Yujin sat still, completely attuned to the sensation, her body alive with awareness. Bound as she was, there was no escape from the intensity of the moment, no way to shift or adjust to ease the unfamiliar pressure. All she could do was feel—the depth, the warmth, the perfect precision with which the feature fit. Every nerve seemed alive, her senses attuned to the faintest shift, the gentlest vibration. Her thoughts blurred as the sensations consumed her, leaving her caught between astonishment and reluctant acceptance

And then, just as she thought she could adjust to the absurd fullness, the chair began a steady, rhythmic motion, drawing back towards her entrance only to push to the same depths as before, each motion precise, powerful, filling her completely. Her body trembled, overwhelmed by the chair’s meticulous design, every thrust magnified by her bound wrists and immobilized state. Every movement felt calculated, pushing, pressing, and filling with a rhythm that left her breathless.

Her earlier thoughts of resistance faded as her body surrendered fully, sinking deeper into the experience, lost to the rhythm that consumed her.

Bound in place, Yujin felt her breathing quicken as the chair’s movements intensified, every pulse and vibration perfectly tuned to her body’s responses. The object inside her moved with a steady rhythm, each thrust reaching that unprecedented depth, while the circular chest cushions rolled and tugged gently on her sensitive skin. The vibrations from the seat pulsed through her, each sensation building upon the last, working in perfect harmony to push her closer to the edge.

As the sensations mounted, she felt her muscles tighten, her mind struggling to keep pace with her body’s growing need. The depth of the toy filled her completely, leaving her no room to escape, no space to breathe. Each motion was slower than the last but powerful, deliberate, driving into her with a force that left her gasping, her body helpless against the precision of the chair’s movements.

“Oh… oh god…” she whispered, her voice barely audible as her body arched, pressing back into the seat. The feature pushed deeper, reaching a place that left her stunned, every thrust brushing over spots she hadn’t realized were so sensitive. Her hands strained against the restraints, and a soft, involuntary moan slipped from her lips. “Oh… fuck…”

The intensity increased with each movement, her body straining as the chair continued its relentless rhythm. The chest cushions pressed in harder, rolling over her nipples, their rotations perfectly synchronized with the objects motion. Each press and pull of the cushions sent jolts of pleasure straight down to her core, leaving her trembling as her breathing grew shallow and her muscles began to tense in anticipation.

The vibrations beneath her pulsed faster, amplifying each thrust until her senses were engulfed by the heat and pressure building within her. “It’s… it’s so deep…” she gasped, her voice trembling as the feature pressed to her absolute limit, sending shockwaves of sensation through her.

The rhythm quickened, the sensations stacking on top of each other, drawing her ever closer. Her body began to react instinctively, muscles tightening as she lost herself to the overwhelming pleasure. Each time she thought she might catch her breath, the chair seemed to adjust, intensifying its movements, pushing her past what she thought she could handle.

“Oh… god, I…” she whimpered, her thoughts scattering, words slipping out as she felt herself approaching the brink. “I can’t… it���s too much…” But her body betrayed her, pressing deeper into the chair’s touch, her last defenses melting away as the chair’s unrelenting design left her no room to resist.

Her pulse raced as the attachment reached her limit, filling her completely, while the chest cushions tugged and rolled her nipples with unyielding precision. Every nerve was alive, each touch, each vibration pushing her further. The intensity was all-consuming, flooding her senses until she could think of nothing else, her entire body caught up in the inescapable rhythm that drove her steadily toward release.

“Oh…Fuck…” Yujin gasped, the words spilling from her lips before she could think. Her body tensed, every muscle tightening as she felt herself reaching a peak, the sensations overwhelming her with their intensity. Her vision blurred, her thoughts scattering as she teetered on the edge, a shudder coursing through her as she finally surrendered to the overwhelming flood of feeling. The release washed over her like a wave, her body arching instinctively as the crescendo of sensations surged through her.

Her breath came in shallow, uneven bursts, her chest rising and falling as the last remnants of the moment ebbed away. The chair’s movements began to slow, its rhythm softening, the vibrations fading into gentle pulses that allowed her to catch her breath. The chest cushions loosened their grip, their kneading touch easing, as though the chair were guiding her back down from the intensity she had just experienced. Yujin slumped back into the seat, her limbs heavy, her mind hazy with exhaustion. The tension that had gripped her moments ago dissolved into a tranquil calm, leaving her utterly spent.

For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to sink into the stillness, her senses dulled, her mind adrift in the aftermath. The low hum of the chair became a soothing backdrop, its faint vibrations lulling her into a sense of peace. She assumed the experience had reached its end, her body basking in the quiet relief of calm.

But as her breathing slowed and her muscles began to relax, a calm, synthetic voice broke the silence.

Fluid capacity not reached. It stated evenly, the tone mechanical and indifferent.

Yujin’s eyes snapped open, her mind jolting into alertness as the words registered. Not reached? Her thoughts raced, trying to make sense of the statement, but before she could process it fully, the chair’s hum deepened. The vibrations beneath her intensified without warning, their strength catching her off guard. Her breath hitched as the sensations returned with a sudden, insistent force, the precision of the movements leaving no room for reprieve.

The chair seemed to come alive with renewed purpose, its rhythm more deliberate, each pulse stronger and more calculated than before. The feature within her resumed its motion, its presence undeniable as it moved with unrelenting precision. Each thrust pressed into her with a focus that pushed her limits, targeting areas already heightened and sensitive from the earlier experience. Yujin’s breath quickened, her body reacting instinctively to the machine’s persistence, her mind struggling to keep up with the intensity.

The seamless design of the chair continued its work, its movements perfectly synchronized to overwhelm her senses. She could feel every shift, every vibration, as the chair seemed to measure her responses, adapting its rhythm to ensure she couldn’t escape its hold. The experience became all-consuming, every sensation building upon the last, pulling her deeper into its relentless rhythm.

Her body, still quivering from her first climax, was instantly overwhelmed by the onslaught. “Wait… stop, oh fuck!” she gasped, her voice breaking as the feature pressed forward, deeper than it had before, ignoring the boundaries it had previously measured. She felt it push against her in a way that left her breathless, her entire form trembling as the pressure intensified. Her limbs strained against the restraints as she tried instinctively to move, but the chair held her completely still, its rhythm relentless.

“Oh god… please, stop…” she whimpered, but the chair showed no sign of slowing. The feature drove deeper, inch by inch, surpassing the limits it had mapped out before, testing her body’s capacity in a way that left her mind spinning. Each thrust seemed to stretch her in ways she hadn’t known possible, every sensation raw and amplified as the machine pushed her further.

The feature pulsed with a new, unrelenting rhythm, driving into her with a force that left her breathless. She gasped, her voice cracking, “No… wait, it’s… it’s too deep… fuck!” Her body instinctively tensed, her senses heightened as the pressure built within her, her nerves lighting up under the strain. Desperation took hold as she tried to lift her hips, arching away from the relentless ascent of the feature, but the chair seemed to read her like a book. The moment she shifted, it surged upward with calculated precision, matching her movements and pushing her further than she thought possible.

Her muscles tightened in protest as the depth became almost unbearable, her gasps turning into soft cries. The bindings around her wrists and ankles responded seamlessly, holding her firmly in place and preventing her from retreating. The relentless precision of the feature left her helpless, her body forced to meet every inch of its advance. Each adjustment, each movement seemed deliberately designed to draw her deeper into the sensation, leaving her trembling with the effort to endure it.

The vibrations intensified, pulsing faster, sharper, each one a shock to her overstimulated nerves. She felt herself slipping further, her breaths shallow, each thrust pressing her to her absolute limit. The relentless rhythm, the merciless depth—it all merged into one overwhelming sensation that left her gasping for air. “No, please… stop!” she cried out, but the machine gave no response, its synthetic indifference all too clear as it continued, unyielding.

The chest cushions returned, pressing firmly over her chest, the circular pads rolling and tugging her nipples with a fierceness that left her whimpering. Each pull was calculated, precise, dragging her deeper into the chair’s control as her sensitivity spiked. The combination was too much; her body felt trapped, bound in a cycle of unending sensation, each pulse, each thrust driving her closer to the edge of what she could endure.

As the device drove even deeper, a sudden surge of vibration coursed through it, adding an intensity that sent shockwaves through Yujin’s overstimulated body. Her head tilted back, a breathless gasp escaping her lips as the sensation mounted, leaving her helpless against the chair’s brutal rhythm. Every thrust felt precise, unrelenting, each movement pushing her closer to an edge she hadn’t known existed.

Control slipped away entirely, her senses overloaded by the relentless pace. Her body, raw and hypersensitive from the first climax, twitched with every pulse, fresh waves of pressure radiating through her. The rhythmic motion of the chair seemed inescapable, calculated, dragging her beyond her limits. She clenched her fists against the restraints, her breath coming in shallow bursts as her body teetered precariously on the brink of release once again.

The attachment surged with sharper movements, its upward thrusts forcing her to accommodate more. She tried to lift her hips, arching away from the overwhelming depth, but the chair was relentless. It responded as though reading her intentions, pressing further and holding her firmly in place, denying her any escape. The chest cushions tightened against her, the circular pads tugging at her nipples with a methodical precision that left her gasping for air.

The relentless rhythm worked in tandem with the vibrations below, targeting her most sensitive nerves. Each pulse drove into her, the sensations layering until every nerve felt exposed, raw, and alive. “I can’t…” she whispered, her voice breaking under the strain, the words tumbling out unbidden. Her hips strained instinctively, but the device refused to relent, the rhythmic ascension reaching depths she didn’t know she could endure. A heavy warmth bloomed deep within her, a pressure she couldn’t contain, spilling over into every inch of her body.

Her breathing grew erratic, her voice trembling as she choked out fragments of disbelief. “It’s too much…” she whispered, her words dissolving into breathy gasps. The device pulsed faster, its movements pushing her further into a space where sensation overtook thought. Heat spread like a fire through her limbs, pooling low as her body arched reflexively, caught in the machine’s relentless control.

The vibrations below seemed to sync perfectly with the rolling pressure on her chest, drawing her sensitivity to a dizzying peak. Her mind blanked, her body responding with a vulnerability she couldn’t suppress. The sensation of fullness became all-encompassing, a rhythmic wave cresting deep within her. She felt the tension building, a powerful swell that left her trembling. “It’s… happening… oh…” she stammered, her voice barely audible as the climax surged through her.

In the instant of release, the sensations reached their crescendo, the chair driving her to a shattering peak. A sudden, warm rush overtook her, unrestrained and unanticipated. The liquid sensation cascaded down her thighs in slow, deliberate streams, the unexpected release leaving her breathless and stunned. Her lips parted, a soft gasp escaping as her body responded instinctively, her awareness overwhelmed by the unrelenting sensations.

“Oh… my god…” she murmured, her voice trembling as the aftermath left her quaking. The warmth traced a path down her skin, a physical reminder of the vulnerability of the moment. Each pulse from the chair amplified the rawness she felt, leaving her suspended in the quiet, electric stillness. Her mind reeled, struggling to grasp the depth of what she’d just experienced. “I… can’t believe it…” she breathed, her cheeks burning as she lay motionless, entirely exposed to her own release.

The rhythmic hum of the chair softened, its motions slowing as though recognizing her limits. The attachment eased, withdrawing as Yujin’s breathing remained uneven, her chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. Her limbs felt heavy, her mind hazy, the echoes of sensation still pulsing faintly through her body. The quiet aftermath enveloped her, the room thick with stillness as she basked in the overwhelming intimacy of the experience.

Then, the silence was broken by a calm, synthetic voice that cut through the haze.

Fluid capacity reached, it announced smoothly, its tone measured and indifferent.

The words hung in the air for a moment, their stark neutrality a strange contrast to the intensity Yujin had just experienced. As the chair’s movements slowed further, the vibrations beneath her eased into a soft, barely perceptible hum. The hidden feature retracted gently, its motion precise and unhurried, leaving her body to settle into stillness.

Her limbs were released as the silken restraints retreated into the chair, their hold disappearing as swiftly as it had appeared. For the first time in what felt like hours, Yujin’s arms fell freely to her sides, her hands brushing lightly against the smooth leather of the chair. She slumped back, her body sinking into the seat, utterly spent. Her limbs felt like lead, heavy and unresponsive, as her breathing slowed and steadied in the soft silence that enveloped the room.

Her mind remained adrift, hovering somewhere between disbelief and quiet awe. The chair, now still, seemed to cradle her with a newfound gentleness, its presence less commanding, more like a silent guardian allowing her to recover. In the quiet aftermath, Yujin could feel the echoes of the experience lingering in her body, her senses heightened, her thoughts distant. The world outside her apartment seemed impossibly far away as she lay there, her body and mind consumed by the memory of what had just unfolded.

Exhausted yet glowing from the intensity of the experience, Yujin lay still, her body basking in the lingering warmth. A faint smile tugged at her lips as her chest rose and fell in steady, calming breaths. The moment felt surreal, the sensations still imprinted on her skin, her muscles tingling with the aftereffects. Every part of her felt both weightless and grounded, as if the chair had unraveled not just her physical tension but the unseen burdens she had carried.

The chair’s steady hum, which had seemed so commanding moments ago, finally faded into silence. She exhaled a long, trembling sigh, letting her head fall back against the soft headrest. Slowly, the silken restraints around her wrists loosened and retracted into the armrests, freeing her from their gentle grip. She flexed her fingers, feeling the return of her movement, though she made no effort to rise. Instead, she sank deeper into the chair, savoring the quiet that enveloped her and the profound sense of calm radiating through her body.

Her gaze drifted toward the control panel, now illuminated and unobstructed, glowing softly in the dim light of the room. The warmth of the chair still cradled her, its presence comforting and steady. As her fingers reached for the panel, her touch was deliberate but light, her body still heavy with the afterglow. A small digital prompt caught her eye: “Session Complete. Save Profile?”

Curiosity flickered through her, cutting through her lingering exhaustion. Without much thought, she tapped the screen, her fingers brushing lightly over the display. The prompt changed instantly, confirming the save under her name. Yujin smiled faintly, imagining how convenient it would be to return to this exact setting in the future.

But as the screen updated, something else appeared—a second profile listed just beneath hers. The name on the screen made her breath catch in her throat: Kim Gaeul.

Yujin’s heart skipped a beat as she stared at the unassuming text. Her unnie’s name sat there plainly, as if it had been waiting for her all along. She blinked, a ripple of intrigue spreading through her as the implications settled in. “Unnie’s profile?” she murmured, her voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. The discovery was unexpected, and yet it sent a quiet thrill coursing through her.

Her fingers hovered over Gaeul’s name, hesitating for just a moment before tapping it. The screen flickered, and a detailed list of settings unfolded before her. With each line, her eyes widened, her pulse quickening as she took in the descriptions.

Heat: Wax simulation.The words stopped her cold, her breath catching in her throat. Yujin hadn’t realized the chair could simulate such sensations, let alone that Gaeul would have chosen it. She pictured the sensation, the warm, teasing precision of wax, and felt a flush creep across her cheeks. The thought of her unnie exploring something so daring sparked a mix of surprise and intrigue. Gaeul, bold and composed as ever, had used this chair for more than just relaxation.

Size: Length 11 inches, width 3 inches.Yujin blinked, her face growing warmer as she read the numbers. Her own session had felt overwhelming, and yet Gaeul had opted for settings far more intense, far more challenging. The audacity of it left Yujin momentarily stunned, her mind racing as she tried to imagine her unnie embracing something so extreme. A faint shiver ran through her as her curiosity deepened, the idea stirring a quiet but persistent flicker of warmth low in her belly.

Vibrations: Max.A soft laugh escaped her lips, incredulous and tinged with awe. She had barely endured the chair’s standard settings, yet Gaeul had chosen the highest possible intensity. The thought sent a ripple of admiration through Yujin, mingling with a sense of disbelief. Her unnie’s boldness seemed boundless, and Yujin couldn’t help but wonder what it had felt like—what Gaeul had experienced in the chair’s unrelenting embrace.

Texture: Ribbed.Her breath hitched as her eyes scanned the words, her imagination immediately conjuring the sensation. The thought of ridges dragging against her overstimulated body made her stomach flip, her cheeks burning brighter as she shifted slightly in her seat. The deliberate pressure and tactile detail the texture promised left her wide-eyed, her lips parting as a soft exhale escaped her. Gaeul’s choices weren’t just bold—they were designed for an intensity Yujin hadn’t dared to consider.

Clitoral focus: Targeted stimulation.The line of text felt stark, almost clinical, but its meaning hit her like a wave. Her thighs tensed reflexively as she imagined the precise, unrelenting pressure this setting would deliver. The thought left her both apprehensive and intrigued, the memory of her body’s hypersensitivity flashing through her mind. “Unnie really… tried all this?” she murmured, her voice trembling with disbelief.

Her gaze moved down the list, catching on the next line.

Breast stimulation: Spanking mode.Yujin’s eyes widened, her cheeks flushing a deep pink as her breath hitched. She hadn’t even noticed this option during her own session, and its revelation left her momentarily speechless. The idea of Gaeul, composed and unflinching, choosing such a provocative setting sent a cascade of emotions through Yujin—shock, intrigue, and a hesitant thrill. Gaeul’s choices hinted at a side of her unnie that Yujin had never considered—a side that was uninhibited and unapologetic.

Double Penetration.Yujin froze, her heart racing as she processed the words. The chair could accommodate such a complex configuration, and Gaeul had chosen it. The implications left Yujin flushed, her thoughts swirling as she imagined the experience, the unrelenting intensity of it. Her mind raced with questions: What had Gaeul felt? What had she thought? Her unnie’s confidence and boldness seemed almost unfathomable, and yet it made Yujin’s pulse quicken.

Her fingers hovered over the option to begin the profile, her chest rising and falling as the room seemed to close in around her. The AI’s synthetic voice interrupted the silence, calm and steady:

“Profile of Kim Gaeul. Would you like to begin?”

The question sent a shiver through Yujin, her senses attuned to the chair’s warmth beneath her. The mere idea of following in her footsteps, of stepping into her unnie’s world, left Yujin breathless. The chair seemed to hold its own quiet intensity now, as though Gaeul’s presence lingered within it, beckoning her to experience everything as she had.

For a moment, Yujin simply sat there, her heart pounding, her body tingling as she considered the choice before her. A small, unsteady smile played on her lips, her breath quickening despite the exhaustion pooling in her limbs. The glowing screen before her seemed to pulse with an inviting warmth, urging her to explore every sensation her unnie had so carefully crafted. Even after everything she had just been through, the allure of experiencing what Gaeul had designed was undeniable. Her mind buzzed with a mix of curiosity, nervous anticipation, and a lingering heat that she couldn’t entirely shake.

The chair, its quiet hum now silent, seemed to watch her in waiting. The faint ache in her muscles from the previous session only added to the surreal allure of the moment, a reminder of the intensity she’d just endured. Yet, against that fatigue, her curiosity burned brighter.

Taking a shaky breath, she tapped Yes

The AI’s calm, detached voice broke the silence: “Profile of Kim Gaeul. Initiating session.”

The chair hummed to life with a low, resonant vibration that seemed to echo in her chest. The sound was deep, almost hypnotic, and carried a weight that seemed to coil inside her. Slowly, the seat tilted backward, cradling her body as it reclined further than before. The movement left her startlingly exposed, her limbs slack against the armrests as the leather adjusted to her frame with a disarming intimacy.

A wave of warmth began low on her spine, rolling outward in deliberate pulses that seemed to seep into her muscles. It was subtle at first, almost teasing, but the intensity built with each passing second, spreading along her skin like molten wax.

Heat: Wax simulation. The words came calm and detached, breaking the silence like a command, just as the warmth settled deeper, teasing her nerves and pulling a faint gasp from her lips.

Yujin’s breath hitched. The warmth wasn’t just heat—it carried weight, a tactile presence that seemed to knead her muscles as it crept lower, flowing down her thighs and curling around her hips. Her muscles fluttered involuntarily as the sensation radiated upward, unfurling across her chest. She bit her lip, her head pressing back into the chair as the sensation deepened.

“It’s so… warm,” she whispered, her voice tinged with awe and disbelief. “Oh god, it feels like it’s everywhere…”

The pulses grew sharper, each one drawing her body further into submission. Her skin flushed as the heat nestled deeper into her muscles, coaxing her tension away even as her heart raced faster. It was intimate, calculated, every ripple designed to tease her in ways she couldn’t ignore. A soft moan escaped her lips as the heat lingered, her body reacting instinctively to the deliberate precision of the sensation.

Without warning, the vibrations surged to life, sharp and commanding, cutting through the haze of heat. The chair’s mechanisms adjusted seamlessly, delivering powerful pulses that hummed deeply into her.

Vibrations: Max. The clinical voice contrasted starkly with the visceral reaction wracking her body, as though indifferent to the way her body jolted against the force.

The vibrations seemed to wrap around her, their intensity rolling through her in rhythmic waves. They blended with the lingering warmth, amplifying the sensation until her entire frame felt alive with electric energy. Her hands curled against the armrests, her breath shallow as the relentless hum sent shockwaves through her body.

“It’s so much,” she murmured, her voice trembling as she struggled to process the overlapping sensations. “I can’t—oh, I can’t…”

The pulses climbed higher, sharper, targeting every inch of her with unrelenting precision. Each wave sank deeper, teasing her nerves into a maddening crescendo.

A new sensation jolted her. Without warning, a delicate pressure closed around her clit. Yujin yelped, her hips jerking as two small prongs adjusted to sit snugly against her most sensitive spot. They pinched lightly, just enough to make her gasp, before beginning a rhythmic vibration that was sharp and devastatingly precise.

Clitoral focus: Activated. The voice followed as though commenting on her quivering form, the prongs already driving her sensitivity to the brink.

The targeted stimulation sent sparks through her body with each relentless pulse. Yujin squirmed in place, her thighs trembling as the dual sensations built rapidly. The subtle pinch added an edge she hadn’t anticipated, heightening every hum and vibration until she could barely breathe.

“Oh… oh god,” she stammered, her voice breaking into shallow gasps. The vibrating prongs seemed to sense her sensitivity, alternating between steady pulses and teasing pauses that left her whimpering.

The sharp, rhythmic taps of the chest cushions came next, catching her off-guard and dragging her deeper into the chair’s grip. Each strike landed with calculated force, perfectly in time with the vibrations below.

Breast stimulation: Spanking mode. The phrase lingered in the air, both clinical and provocative, as if the chair itself reveled in her reactions.

Yujin whimpered, her chest heaving as the alternating taps struck her in perfect rhythm with the vibrations below. The sharp stings jolted her senses, contrasting starkly with the warmth and hum that had engulfed her moments before. She gasped as the taps shifted, alternating between quick bursts and deliberate pauses, leaving her body quivering with anticipation.

“Why does it feel so—ah!—so good…” she managed, her voice breaking into a moan. The rhythm built unpredictably, each strike sending a rush of heat through her chest that traveled downward, syncing with the relentless vibrations.

Before she could process the overwhelming stimulation, something firm pressed against her, unyielding and deliberate. The chair’s mechanisms shifted again, and the feature advanced slowly, pushing deeper inch by inch.

Double penetration. Size: Length 11 inches, width 3 inches, ribbed texture. The voice was even and unflinching, delivering the details as though narrating its own meticulous work.

The ridged surfaces dragged deliberately against her walls as the feature moved, each textured inch teasing her nerves and leaving her breathless. The combination of fullness and texture was maddening, each ridge catching against her hypersensitive body as if designed to drive her over the edge.

Yujin’s trembling hand moved instinctively to her belly, brushing against her taut skin. She froze, her fingers trembling as they met the faint bulge pressing outward. Her eyes widened, a sharp gasp escaping her lips as her chest heaved. The realization of just how deeply the chair had claimed her sent a flush of heat spiraling through her.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, her voice trembling with disbelief. “I… I can feel it—everything. It’s too much…unnie how do you do it?”

The dual features pressed deeper inside her, their ridged surfaces dragging against her in maddening synchrony. The vibrations grew sharper, blending with the relentless rhythm as her body yielded inch by inch. Her legs quivered, her toes curling instinctively as the fullness swelled inside her.

The clitoral prongs pulsed again, sharper now, sending shocks through her core that made her cry out. Her body arched helplessly as every sensation layered into an unrelenting symphony. Despite the overwhelming onslaught, there was a part of her—a small but undeniable part—that leaned into it. The intensity blurred the edges of her thoughts, pulling her deeper into the consuming waves. Her gasps came unbidden, her lips parting to release a soft moan, as much from pleasure as from the crushing force of the sensations.

The settings merged seamlessly, each feeding into the next to bring her to the brink again and again. The ribbed texture dragged deliberately against her, each ridge sparking jolts of unbearable sensitivity through her body. The vibrating prongs on her clit teased mercilessly, the sharp pinch heightening every pulse that coursed through her. The spanking pads struck her chest rhythmically, their sharp, stinging taps blending with the lingering heat of the wax simulation that clung to her skin like molten silk.

It was too much—her body barely had time to adjust to one sensation before another surged to the forefront. And yet, as overwhelming as it was, it wasn’t pain; it wasn’t torment. Her body responded with raw, instinctive fervor, trembling and tightening as it gave itself over to the overwhelming bliss. Every tap, every pulse, every thrust of the ridged surfaces filled her with an almost unbearable euphoria that she couldn’t deny.

The fullness stretched her impossibly, the ridges teasing her with deliberate precision, while the warmth radiated outward, softening her resistance. The vibrations at her core rippled through her entire frame, blending seamlessly with the targeted pulses on her clit. Her mind spun with the chaos of it all, but her body betrayed her, leaning into the rhythm, craving more even as her trembling thighs threatened to give out.

Her body arched instinctively, her breath catching as the rhythm tightened, faster and more deliberate, pulling her toward the peak with relentless determination. The heat, the sharp taps, the ridged texture—they layered together, each sensation feeding into the next, creating an unrelenting cycle of pleasure that left her trembling and helpless.

“Oh… oh god… I can’t—” she gasped, her voice breaking into a strangled moan. The overwhelming symphony of sensations blurred the lines between pain and pleasure, leaving her lost in the chaos. And yet, as her head tilted back and her lips parted, her cries took on a note of desperate, unabashed need. She was being consumed, but somewhere deep inside, she didn’t want it to stop.

Her body quivered violently, her thighs shaking as the intensity built to an impossible crescendo. The climax approached rapidly, her hypersensitive body teetering on the edge, unable to resist the relentless onslaught. The fullness inside her surged deeper, the ridged texture scraping perfectly against every nerve it touched, while the prongs on her clit pinched and pulsed in a final, devastating rhythm. Her fingers clawed at the armrests, knuckles pale and trembling as she braced herself, her entire body taut with anticipation, the wave of sensation poised to crash over her.

And then it shattered.

The climax ripped through her with unrelenting force, her body seizing violently as the release consumed her. Her back arched sharply, her breath caught in a ragged, desperate cry that broke into gasping moans as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her. The fullness, the heat, the stinging taps, the relentless vibrations—all of it collided into a single, overwhelming surge that obliterated her senses, leaving her utterly undone.

Her cries echoed in the room, raw and unrestrained, as her body shook with the force of her release. Her hands tightened around the armrests, her legs trembling as the relentless rhythm prolonged the peak, drawing every ounce of sensation from her trembling form. The waves began to ebb slowly, leaving her chest heaving as her gasps turned to shallow, broken breaths.

Her body sagged into the chair, her muscles slackening as the aftershocks flickered faintly through her. Every inch of her was hypersensitive, her nerves alive with the echoes of what had just consumed her. Her mind swam in the haze, her thoughts incoherent as her body quivered in the chair’s unyielding embrace.

Just as she thought the chair might relent, the voice cut through the haze, calm and clinical:

Fluid capacity not reached.

The words were punctuated by an immediate escalation. The vibrations intensified, deeper and sharper, the ridged textures dragging mercilessly against her hypersensitive body with mechanical precision. Yujin gasped sharply, her head rolling back as the chair resumed its relentless rhythm. The heat surged again, radiating through her body like molten fire, coaxing every nerve back to life despite her exhaustion. Her muscles twitched involuntarily, her body caught in the unyielding rhythm that refused to stop.

The fullness returned, pressing impossibly deeper, stretching her with ruthless precision. The ridges scraped against her overstimulated walls, igniting sparks of sensation that left her trembling violently. The vibrations pulsed in perfect sync, their overlapping waves building into an unbearable crescendo. Yujin whimpered, her fingers twitching weakly against the armrests as she was forced to endure the escalating pressure.

Her breath hitched sharply as the rhythm quickened, the chair driving her closer and closer to another peak. The sensations surged with a force that eclipsed the first, each calculated motion dragging her higher. Her body arched instinctively, her thighs trembling as the vibrations intensified, the sharp pulses and searing heat blending into an all-encompassing storm.

The second peak loomed suddenly, massive and all-consuming. Her lips parted in a soundless cry as the sensations crested, the relentless rhythm pushing her closer to the breaking point. Her mind spiraled, thoughts dissolving into incoherent haze as her body convulsed. The climax broke over her like a tidal wave, wrenching a strangled moan from her lips as her back arched violently. The fullness inside her swelled impossibly, every nerve ignited in a final, explosive release.

But it didn’t stop.

The sensations refused to relent, their intensity crashing over her without mercy. Yujin’s body bucked helplessly against the chair, her hands clawing at the armrests as her breath came in frantic, shallow bursts. Her vision blurred, the edges of the room dissolving into a haze of swirling lights. The vibrations became muffled, distant, as though her ears were submerged underwater.

Her pulse thundered in her head, drowning out everything else. Even the heat—the unyielding molten fire radiating across her skin—faded into numbness as her body reached its absolute limit. Her legs quivered uncontrollably, her chest heaving as her muscles spasmed one final time. The prongs on her clit delivered one last, devastating pulse, sending a jolt through her body that shattered the remnants of her awareness.

Her head snapped back against the chair, her mouth falling open in a blood-curdling scream that tore through the room before cutting off abruptly. Her entire body stiffened for a single, agonizing moment before collapsing entirely, her limbs falling limp against the chair.

Her breathing slowed, uneven and shallow, her lips parting in a final, trembling gasp as the overwhelming sensations consumed her. A wave of darkness descended, muffling everything—the vibrations, the heat, the ridges, the rhythm—until she felt nothing at all.

Yujin went completely limp, her body unresponsive in the chair’s relentless grip.

The AI’s voice returned, calm and clinical, cutting through the oppressive silence:

User unresponsive. Warming protocol initiated.

The chair’s mechanisms halted immediately, its relentless rhythm ceasing with mechanical precision. The features began to retract, their motions slow and deliberate, withdrawing carefully to avoid disturbing her limp form. The leather cushions shifted, adjusting to cradle her unconscious body with meticulous care.

Then, the warmth began. A soothing heat radiated from the cushions, spreading across her skin in slow, undulating waves. The earlier intensity was gone, replaced by a tender embrace that coaxed her muscles into relaxation. The chair’s presence, once commanding and overwhelming, softened into something protective, wrapping her in a cocoon of comfort.

Yujin’s chest rose and fell faintly, her breathing shallow but steady. Her body trembled softly with the residual echoes of sensation, her skin flushed as the warmth soaked into her muscles. The control panel’s glow dimmed, its light fading to darkness as the room settled into stillness.

The AI’s voice did not return, its task complete for now. The chair hummed quietly, its mechanisms reduced to a faint purr as it stood sentinel over her unconscious form. The relentless force that had pushed her to her limits had vanished, replaced by a serene and protective presence. In the quiet, Yujin lay utterly still, cocooned in warmth and care as the session reached its tranquil conclusion.

The room fell into complete silence, save for the faint, rhythmic hum of the chair’s dormant systems. The stillness was heavy, blanketing the space in an almost ethereal calm. Yujin remained motionless, her body surrendered entirely to the chair’s protective embrace. Her chest rose and fell faintly, her breathing a soft whisper in the air, her flushed skin glowing dimly in the muted light.

Her hair was a wild, tangled mess, damp strands clinging to her forehead and cheeks, a testament to the intensity she had endured. Smudged makeup streaked down her face, dark trails of mascara tracing the paths of the tears that had streamed from her eyes. Her lips, parted slightly, were swollen from the gasps and cries that had torn through her. The soft lighting cast shadows over her features, accentuating the exhaustion etched into her expression—a mix of raw vulnerability and complete surrender.

Her body trembled faintly, her muscles slackened but still quivering with residual aftershocks. Her folds were flushed, the delicate skin red and sensitive from the unrelenting stimulation. A pronounced sheen of arousal still glistened on her inner thighs, the aftermath of a storm that had left her utterly spent. The chair’s earlier precision left her backdoor gaped, the stretched opening a reminder of the fullness that had overwhelmed her.

The scent of her arousal lingered in the air, thick and undeniable, mingling with the faint warmth radiating from the chair. It clung to the stillness like a ghost of the storm that had subsided, saturating the quiet space with a lingering intimacy that was almost tangible.

The faint aroma of the instant noodles she had prepared earlier, once warm and savory, had been completely overpowered. What remained now was raw, primal—a potent reminder of the intensity that had unfolded. It dominated the air, overwhelming the earlier comfort of her small meal with the undeniable mark of her surrender.

The chair’s hum softened even further, its purring vibration fading into near silence, as if giving her space to recover. The leather adjusted beneath her, shifting delicately to cradle her limp form more closely. It held her without force, a silent sentinel watching over her slackened body.

The atmosphere felt heavy yet serene, charged with the echoes of what had transpired. Yujin lay utterly still, her body utterly spent, her mind adrift in a haze far from the quiet room. The world beyond continued on, oblivious to the storm that had raged within these walls. But here, time seemed suspended, as though the room itself held its breath.

And then, the stillness was broken.

A faint buzzing sound cut through the quiet, low at first, then insistent. Yujin’s phone, discarded on a nearby table, vibrated over and over, the glow of the screen casting faint pulses of light in the darkened room. The name flashing across the display was unmistakable: Gaeul Unnie.

The phone continued to buzz, the sound blending with the faint hum of the chair. The rhythm of the vibrations felt deliberate, persistent, as though demanding her attention even in her unconscious state. The air seemed to shift subtly, the charged stillness giving way to something else—anticipation.

And yet, Yujin remained unmoving, her body cocooned in warmth, unaware of the calls that continued, unanswered, as the room watched silently over her.

[nyrasproblm]

And would you go ahead and just cry? 1/?

Jinx x fem!reader

Summary: A member of the Kiramman family who became friends with Jinx suffers some consequences.

Word Count: 1,4K

Warnings: HEAVY ANGST, mention of firearms, mention of character death, mention of bombs, mention of attacks.

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE.

next chapter >

You were originally supposed to be a pupil of Mrs. Cassandra Kiramman. An apprentice in politics and society, and a student at the Academy. It was like that, in some parts, but in others not. You didn't call her Mrs. Cassandra Kiramman, you called her mother. You didn't call Tobias Mr. Kiramman, you called him father. And Caitlyn was just Caitlyn. Your sister of heart and soul.

Growing up an orphan in the city of progress wasn't all bad, the orphanages were run by wealthy families and the orphans were taken in by them, becoming pupils and students. Some became great inventors and scientists, making the family that adopted them known for their generosity.

Cassandra took you in when you turned 12 years old, the age considered ideal for the preparation of a promising young student. She always kept a warm smile on her face, placing her hand on your cheek or shoulder, speaking tenderly.

You addressed her as your mentor for the first few weeks, but that didn't last long. Not after Caitlyn had grown so attached to you that she made you sleep in her bed every night, or after Cassandra insisted that you sit at the table with them always, and called you baby and darling, and eventually, daughter. Tobias was equally affectionate, sometimes more so than Cassandra, he would sometimes spend hours with you and Caitlyn, studying documents and drinking tea.

The years passed, the city of progress remained the city of progress, but you couldn't help but look at the city on the other side of the bridge. You always secretly read some records about the Undercity, about the toxic air, the needs of the people there. Although you now belonged to one of the richest families in Piltover, and had the surname Kiramman proudly registered on your documents, you focused your studies and projects on improving the quality of life of the people in need.

Caitlyn had recently been appointed enforcer, and was almost obsessed with an investigation to find the perpetrator of the attacks in Piltover. After she showed up at the mansion with that pink-haired girl, Vi, you decided to follow them to Zaun, in secret, of course.

That's how you met Jinx, your newest friend.

"Jinx!" you called loudly, trying to make your voice go over the loud sound of her speakers. You groaned a little at the weight of the bag you were carrying on your shoulder. You walked over to the speakers and hurriedly turned them off. "Jinx, my beauty."

"Don't you see me here?" she asked cheerfully, turning to face you, her violet eyes covered by goggles.

"I brought some more stuff, I hope it'll be useful." You walked over to her counter and placed the bag on top with a loud thud.

She got up quickly, unzipping the bag in a hurry, putting her nimble hands inside, taking out some objects and bringing them close to her face to look at.

"Well, you're welcome." you rolled your eyes playfully.

"Thank you!" she was on you in seconds, wrapping her arms around your waist, one of her legs passing over yours, as if she wanted to hook herself onto you. She let go of your arms and pushed you down onto her bench, quickly grabbing the equipment she was working on from the desk, straddling your legs with a playful, almost manic look on her face. “You’ll like the new one.”

"What is it?" you look at her expectantly. She arched her eyebrow and smiled even wider, then placed the device at eye level, making you frown. "This?"

"What do you mean 'this'? It's my new bomb, I told you!" she exclaimed happily, rocking on your lap. "It's going to release the butterflies."

"The butterflies that explode?" you asked and saw her nod, then scoffed. "Hm."

"Why are you so down? What kind of friend are you?" she jumped off your lap, placing the object on the table. "I was happy when you said you covered the sewers."

"I didn't cover the sewers, Jinx, I put a physical barrier in the sewers in addition to the fans, so it's safer to breathe." you crossed your arms. "And I also improved the quality of the fans."

"Hm." she imitated you, crossing her arms.

"Hm." you chuckled, pulling her towards you. "I'm kidding, the bomb is cool."

"I know!" she exclaimed loudly, letting out a laugh.

Some time later, you were lying on one of the giant propellers, with your leg hanging over the edge. You took a deep breath, feeling your stomach churn. You turned your face to look at Jinx, who was babbling about something nonstop.

"Jinx."

"Huh?" she stopped talking and looked at you, still smiling.

"I need to tell you something."

You explained, told her everything, your origins, your family, the orphanage. She reacted well up to a certain point, but she became violent when Caitlyn's name was mentioned. Pointing her gun at you.

"And you're just telling me this now?" she says, her voice hoarser than usual. "Traitor. You fooled me so well."

"Jinx, you are... my friend." you speak cautiously, brow furrowed in concern. "You are my only friend, I wasn't trying to deceive you. I didn't mean to make you angry."

"Yeah, but now I'm angry. I'm really angry." she raised her voice, her eyes widening slightly. "Go tell your sister where I am, she's coming after me."

"I'm sorry, I won't say anything. I would never say anything, I would never put you in danger." you took a step closer to her. "I love you."

"Liar." she said, then used her free hand to pull her hair. "Shut up!"

"Jinx..." you called cautiously, knowing about the fits she had sometimes. "It's okay, I'm here."

"Liar..." she said, gasping a little, finally lowering the gun, collapsing to her knees on the floor, her hands still pulling her hair tightly.

You walked over to her, bending down and lightly touching her pale arm. She lifted her tear-stained face, looking desperate.

"I'm sorry..." she sobbed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"Don't cry, please." you bring your hands to her face, gently wiping away her tears. "Don't cry, it's okay."

"Don't leave me here, don't leave me." She threw herself at you, squeezing you tightly.

"I won't."

Caitlyn testified at the council, or what was left of it. Jinx. The one responsible for your mother's death.

A day passed. Then another, and another. You spent the days in your room, staring at your mother’s blue and gold pistol, which was now yours. Caitlyn was lost in grief, coming up with a plan to get Jinx. But you knew it couldn’t be Caitlyn, it had to be you.

Breathing hard, with a headache from the tears you were holding back, you walked the path you knew so well and soon arrived. The pink and blue amidst the gray of the giant propellers. The music wasn't playing this time.

You walked closer, your hand aching from the continued grip on the pistol. You spotted the blue braids from afar.

She turned her pink eyes to you and knew. She knew the moment she saw you. She got down from the couch she was curled up on and tried to get closer, her big eyes shining brighter than usual, her brow furrowed in concern.

"I-I didn't know, I was—" she stopped talking when you raised the pistol towards her eyes.

"I don't give a shit," you said through gritted teeth. "Caitlyn said you caused that attack."

She remained silent for a while, her hands hanging at her sides, her breathing shaky.

"That reminds me. Maybe you were still mad at me because of Cait." you said, swallowing hard.

"No, no, I swear." she shook her head repeatedly. "Even though you're the thing I care about most, it wasn't because of you. I didn't mean to hurt you... I'm sorry."

"My sister wants to kill you, she's coming after you. But I knew it couldn't be her, it had to be me." you said, your grip on the gun wavering.

"Alright, it's you." she said, raising her hands in the air. "I won't try anything. I swore not to raise my weapons against you, ever again."

Your hand shook, the headache growing, your heart beating faster. You took a deep breath, tears starting to fall.

"Why did you do this, Jinx? You ruined everything." you sobbed, your brow furrowed in sadness.

"I always ruin everything." she muttered softly, lowering her face, her blue bangs covering her expressions. "I'm sorry."

"My mother was there." you said. "My mother is dead now."

"I wasn't thinking straight." she muttered. "I didn't know, I didn't want to, I was in pain. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

You were both the same now, shaking. Jinx kept her hands in the air, you kept the gun pointed at her. Breathing hard through your tears, you sobbed, your finger on the trigger, threatening to pull.

Breathing harder, you groaned through your tears, tears falling freely. With a loud grunt, you threw the gun to the ground, covering your face with your hands, crying loudly.

"I can't, I can't, not you." you sobbed. "Not you."

You heard Jinx's heavy boots against the metal and soon felt her slender body pressing against you, her arms pulling you towards her. She pulled your hands away from your face and placed kisses on your lips.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she murmured in that desperate tone. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

You sighed and hugged her back, feeling her press herself closer, the kisses getting stronger. Placing your hand on the side of her face, you caressed it lightly and pulled her in, sinking into a real kiss.

She looked hungry now, sucking hard. You placed one hand on the back of her neck and pulled her face away. Looking into the pink irises, you could see genuine regret.

[baguettesandbows]

tw! sa undertones

P3

If you thought you felt crazy thinking that Jason was alive before, you felt ten times crazier in Arkham.

The place wasn’t built for crazy people, it was built to keep them inside. Away from the high end galas and family members who were ashamed of them. A place where Batman could put villains that were too much trouble for the GCPD.

You fit into those catagories perfectly.

Dick wasn’t lying, Bruce had gotten you the suite. The suite in Arkham. You had assumed your room might be better than the ones the Joker would’ve had. Or any other villain that’s escaped from here.

Escaped. Maybe that’s why Bruce put you in a suite.

Through unpacking, they didn’t slow you to bring in any of Jason’s items. His sweatshirt, his favorite books, even the paper band from your first concert together.

Because it would trigger your attacks.

You had punched the guards nose as they carried you out from holding.

What you had to give to Arkham, was they kept to a schedule. The point of it seemed to make everyone more crazy. Therapy was interrogating, Lunch was slop, and visiting hours… was just Dick.

You’re least favorite time of Arkham was Rec. They’d put you and the other high class young women in the same room, and expected no fights to happen. Sometimes, they’d mix the genders so there would be fights.

You learned quickly to keep to yourself and not tell anyone anything. You could practically hear Jason saying “Snitches don’t get stitches. They go missin’ in Gotham.”

Jason. Jason Todd. The boy who called you birdie. Your first everything. His red tank tops and his boyish smirk, his arm covered in friendship bracelets you’d make while he was on patrol-

“Reader?”

You look up from the table and avoid looking at the couple practically shagging in the corner, to focus on the man with a clipboard, looking around the room.

You were new, but he seemed newer.

“Here.” You mumble, getting up and walking past a small group of men who eye you in your sweatsuit.

You meet the man at the gate locking in the rec room, and meet his gaze blankly.

“You’re Reader? Right, I’m Jefferson, the new assistant to Doctor Jane.” The man says softly, yet clearly trying to be.. intimidating? “I’m taking over her clients while she’s on break after the.. incident.”

The incident. A woman had snuck a metal pipe into her meeting last week.

“Right.”

Jefferson clears his throat and smiles warmly at you, an expression not hardened yet by Arkham. “Follow me, please.”

Jefferson met with you two times a week. The first weeks were rough, since you had expected Jefferson to be the same as everyone else. To instantly deny your truth.

But he listened. He listened to your ideas, and your proof. You think he would’ve even looked at your evidence, if you were allowed to bring it in.

Sometimes, although it wasn’t allowed, he’d bring you a coffee. One from a diner on his way to Arkham.

You had questioned another woman in your cell block about if Jefferson bought everyone coffee on tuesdays. That question earned you a right hook, due to being a favorite.

You were laying in your room, staring at the top of your bed frame, fidgeting with your hands. Every night, you’d memorize Jason’s face. Especially when you weren’t allowed to have pictures of him here, you couldn’t forget his features.

You didn’t want to forget his face, in case he walked right by you.

With as much money Arkham gets from supporters and investors, the walls were paper thin. You could hear the rustling of your next door neighbor, as her secret escapades with one of the guards weren’t secret to you.

Below, you could hear pounding, most likely one of the women who was given a punching bad to ease her anger.

Your body trembled from the cold, but it wasn’t just from Arkhams shivering tempature. You had gotten used to Jason sneaking in, warming you up after his patrol. His ego boosting from his smirk as he told you about the goons he had taken down during the night.

He was so proud to be Robin. More people should’ve been proud of him for it.

You don’t realize your sobbing until the thumping next door stops, and your use of their white noise draws you out of it.

What, did your crying turn them off?

You hear rustling, before the guard walks out of her cell and up to yours. Unlocking the door, she peers in at you.

“You miss your dose of somethin’?”

You furrow your eyebrows. You knew most patients here took doses of things, but naively you assumed it was for their mental illnesses.

“For what?”

“For sleepin’. Almost everyone here gets some.” The guard says. “Leaves us less to deal with at night.”

At least she was honest.

You think for a moment, or not at all, before replying.

“Yeah. I take those.”

The pills make time in Arkham fly by.

You realize it’s why most of the patients take then. If you didn’t look at Jeffersons calendar every meeting, you’d understand why most of these people go crazy.

Jason would knee you in the vagina if he knew what you were doing. But he’s understand. Atleast, that’s what you tell yourself.

You’ve noticed one thing about Arkham, the prosedures.

Shock therapy. You wouldnt beleive it still existed, if you hadn’t seen the marks on the women at your lunch table. You had realized they hadn’t done it to you, because Dick or Bruce must be too involved with your care. Plus, Bruce could figure out anything that happened to you, as long as he was interested.

You hope that being his sons girlfriend will be enough for him to care about you for as long as your in here.

Jefferson’s office smelled good. Different than usual. You realized why when you saw a candle on his desk.

“Reader, come on in.” Jefferson says from his desk, scrubbing on his papers. “Sorry for the mess, some of the patients here have no knowledge for manners.”

He looked at you and gestures for you to sit in the chair across his desk like usual. You did as he said, and he seemed to always relax at your obedience.

“I heard we had a setback earlier this week.” Jefferson starts. “Randy told me she heard you talking to..” He checks his papers. “Jason, in your room.”

“I wasn’t talking to him.” You mutter. “I was talking about him. To myself.”

Jefferson clears his throat and nods. “Right. Well, we do know that a main reason your here is for your.. obsession to this case.”

He slides over a cup of coffee for you, which you take, tkaing a sip.

“Reader, you know that I am supportive of your ideas about this Jason. Regardless, any way out of Arkham is proving the fact that you aren’t, focused on what happened to him.”

Jefferson gets up from his desk and walks around it, sitting on the edge and looking down at you as you sip your coffee.

His lips twitch. “Good, right?” He says quietly, watching you. You nod, and he starts. “I don’t think you should be here. You aren’t like these other women. They have tarnished themselves. But you..” He draws off, reaching out to gently take the coffee from you.

Your lips were practically still on the container as he pulls it back to himself, making you look up at him in confusion. He brings the cup to his lips and takes a sip. He makes a noise as the coffee hits his tongue before looking at you. “I’m the only one that listens to you in here.” He says quietly. “I think you know that. And if what your saying is true, I want you to be able to get out of here and prove everyone wrong.”

He leans in, meeting your gaze. “I can sign you off and have you out of here after evaluation, but after all those treats i’ve given you, I think I deserve some of my own. Don’t you?”

[cuddleprofiler]

A SECRET IN YOUR SMILE - When Spencer and you go on a date and end up dancing in the rain

Word count: 3.4k approximately

Genre: Fluff

A/N: I have written this fic for @pathologicalreid 's Margovember. I hope you like it Margot <3

I have tried to change my writing style.

“That was nice,” Spencer says, looking at you like he’s trying to send a secret message through his eyes. You swear he’s about to pull out a satellite dish and try to communicate via telepathy. Seriously, if he could figure out how to do that, he’d be the first person to turn it into a PhD thesis.

You smirk, leaning slightly toward him. “Then would you say I made your night, Dr. Spencer Reid?” You say it playfully, your voice light and full of sweetness. The night air is cool against your skin, and the moonlight casts a soft glow over the empty street around you.

Spencer turned his head to you, a smile tugging at his lips, but it was the way his eyes lingered on you that made your heart flutter. The gentle curve of his smile didn’t just come from the joke—it came from something deeper, something unspoken that was hard for him to name.

When you said his full name, Spencer felt a stirring he wasn’t used to. It was as if, in that moment, you had torn down all the walls that usually kept him safe from his own vulnerability. You didn’t just speak his name—you made him feel as though it had purpose, as if it meant something. Maybe it was because no one had ever softened it like that before. Not since his mother.

His breath caught as you looked up at him. You always made him feel safe in a way that nothing else could. There was no judgment in your eyes, no expectation, just an openness that let him be who he was—broken, complicated, and sometimes unsure. Yet with you, he never felt any of those things were reasons to pull away. With you, they were just pieces of him, and you loved them anyway.

“Spencer?” Your voice gently pulled him out of his thoughts. He had been lost in them, but it was a place he didn’t mind being—especially when you were there.

“Yeah,” he replied, his voice a little breathless, as if you had caught him off guard. He glanced over at you, eyes wide, and a quiet smile spread across his face. “You did. Yeah.”

You smiled at his flustered response, though you sensed a deeper current beneath it. There were things in his past, things he didn’t share with anyone, but you knew—he knew—he didn’t have to say them for you to understand. Your smile softened at the thought. You knew that this—this moment, this connection—was something more than he ever let himself believe he deserved.

“Actually, no one has done something like this for me,” he said, the confession coming out quieter than he’d intended. A flicker of shame, maybe. Maybe just self-doubt. His voice wavered, but there was something else behind it—something that told you he had more to say but couldn’t quite get it out.

You can tell he’s thinking about something deeper — about how no one has treated him this way before. And you can’t say you’re surprised. Spencer Reid is the type of guy who doesn’t get a lot of praise or affection, at least not in the way he deserves. You know that. He’s always had walls up, and yet, somehow, you’ve always managed to slip past them without even trying.

You smiled, but it was gentler now, aware of the weight of his words. Your heart twisted slightly, but you masked it with a softness in your expression that only Spencer would recognize. You knew this wasn’t just about the date—it was about the history he carried, the unspoken scars he hid.

“So you hadn’t been corrupted yet?” you say with a dramatic gasp, raising your fist to the sky. “YES!” You almost trip over your own feet, but you recover and strike a pose like you’re the hero in a cheesy action movie. Spencer cracks up, shaking his head, but the way he looks at you? Like you just won the gold medal in charm.

 “Alright, now I’m gonna teach you how a real woman treats a handsome, insightful, gentleman like you,” you tease, winking at him. Spencer’s laughter is pure, his whole face lighting up at your theatrics.

You raised an eyebrow. “Actually, you’re more insightful.” You could feel the pride in his gaze, in the way his eyes followed you with quiet admiration.

“That’s not possible. You profile people, Spence, and you have three PhDs,” you said with a playful grin, but there was an undertone of sincerity in your voice. It was so easy to get lost in Spencer’s brilliance that sometimes you forgot how rare it was for someone to be this passionate, this dedicated to something they loved.

Spencer’s gaze softened, and he tilted his head as he met your eyes. “And you’re a Quantum Computing researcher. You’re more insightful than you’re giving yourself credit for, Y/N,” he said. The pride was still there, but now it had grown into something more personal, something that made you feel seen in a way you rarely allowed yourself to be.

“Your field is amazing, Y/N. It has so much potential to grow—mixing quantum mechanics with computers. It has huge research potential.” His words were earnest, but it was the way he said them—like he meant every syllable like he was truly captivated by what you did—that made your heart swell.

You blinked at him in surprise. “I didn’t think you’d be so… fascinated by it,” you said, genuinely touched by his interest. You smile, feeling a little self-conscious but secretly thrilled. “It’s not exactly a field a lot of people understand.” You laugh softly, thinking of all the men you’ve met who couldn’t even look past your work to see you as anything other than ‘too smart.’ Spencer, though, he sees you. Really see you.

"Honestly, I don't know how Emily Prentiss managed to get us together, but thank god she did," you murmur under your breath, sending a quiet prayer to whoever’s listening.

"Your field is amazing," Spencer says, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "Mixing quantum mechanics with computing? That's huge. You’ve got so much potential to change things."

You smile at him, feeling both proud and a little shy at his praise. "Well, thank you. You're not so bad yourself, you know." You wink, and his grin stretches wider.

"I’m just lucky I found someone who actually gets me," he says, glancing sideways at you with that quiet intensity. "You're the most intriguing person I’ve ever met, Y/N."

You laughed softly, but the warmth of his words lingered. "And not all men would be interested in their girlfriend’s field," you say, your voice softening. "I mean, I've had more than a few dates with men who... just couldn’t handle it, you know?"

Spencer laughs softly, a fondness slipping into his tone. "Well, they’re all missing out. They can’t see the full picture like I can."

You looked at him, captivated by his words. A small laugh escaped you, but it was warm, touched with something deeper.

“You know, the shine of your words would brighten your reputation in any girl’s mind, right?” You asked, teasing him, but your eyes searched his face, hoping to gauge whether he knew how much power his words held over you. His tilted look made you laugh out loud.

“You’re so adorable, Spencer,” you said, your voice softening with affection. “You know not all men would be interested in their girlfriend’s field. Many women face those who belittle them for their intelligence, who don’t appreciate them for who they are.”

You leaned closer, your voice quiet but sincere. “If they got to know I have such a great boyfriend, they might try to snatch you away.” You winked, playfully swiping your hand across his arm.

“Well, they’d all be disappointed,” Spencer said with a smile, his fondness slipping through his words. “I have a very gorgeous girlfriend who I’m not gonna leave. No matter what.”

You feel the weight of his words, the sincerity that lingers in the air between you two, and it makes you pause for a moment. Like he’s offering you a secret promise only the two of you understand. It feels like home.

You freeze for a second, your heart skipping a beat at the way he said “not leaving.” It’s casual like he’s just stating the obvious, but for some reason, it makes your chest feel a little tight. A warm little bubble of emotion rises inside you, and you blink it away, hoping he doesn’t notice.

You roll your eyes dramatically. “I swear, Spencer, you keep making these ‘I’m-not-going-anywhere’ declarations, and I’m gonna need to see a cardiologist.”

Spencer, utterly unaware of the havoc he’s wreaking on your heart, just grins. "I’ll go with you if that’s what you need. We can make it a date.”

You smiled softly, your heart swelling with affection.

“What if she drinks your whole pot of coffee?” you asked, your voice taking on mock seriousness.

Spencer’s eyes widen, his voice going up a pitch. “You wouldn’t!” He looks at you, half horrified, half playful, and it makes you laugh again.

“What if I eat all the sugar as well, Spencer?” You asked with a sly grin, your words teasing him as you shot a glance over your shoulder to gauge his reaction. You could almost feel the weight of his answer hanging in the air, a playful, stormy tension crackling between you two.

Spencer stood there, motionless, his gaze unreadable. His hands were at his sides, and there wasn’t even a twitch in his expression. You stopped walking and turned back, brows furrowing in confusion. Was this really bothering him this much? Your eyes searched his face, waiting for something, anything to give you a clue.

“Spencer?” You poked him on the cheek, once, then twice, your eyes searching for any flicker of expression that would tell you what was happening in his mind.

“Spencer!” A third poke, this time more insistent, and still, nothing—just that maddening stillness. ��Did I break him?” You muttered under your breath, a small, teasing laugh escaping as you wondered if your mention of sugar had been too much of a blow to his senses.

The moment you saw him raise his hand, a smirk threatening to escape, your eyes widened. With a sharp, playful shriek, you bolted in the opposite direction, knowing exactly what was coming.

“I trusted you,” you called over your shoulder, eyes wide in mock outrage as you sprinted down the street, your heels clicking loudly against the pavement. Spencer was right behind you, his long legs easily closing the distance.

“Y/N, you made a mistake by telling me.” His voice was steady, almost teasing, but the underlying tone of warning was clear.

“I shouldn’t have told you about tickling.” You slumped against him, your arms folding over your chest as you surrendered to the inevitability of his grip. His strength was a comfort—one you never minded giving in to when it came to moments like this.

“Technically, you didn’t tell me.” Spencer’s voice was light, but there was that mischievous glint in his eyes that made your stomach flip. “You just made it obvious. You feel ticklish when someone touches your shoulder. It was kind of hard to miss.”

“Not always!” You half-yelled, the protest feeling more like a playful challenge than an argument.

“Mostly, honey,” he said with a shrug, his smile knowing, the corners of his lips curving in a way that made you want to melt and run at the same time.

But before either of you could continue your teasing back and forth, the weather—so far so quiet—suddenly began to shift. A few drops fell, small at first, almost apologetic, but then the heavens opened, and rain poured down in torrents, soaking everything in its path.

In an instant, you were both running, your hands still clasped together, trying to keep your balance in the downpour. You could hear the echo of your footsteps against the pavement, the soft splash of rain on the street. Spencer had his cardigan out, draping it over your head to shield you, but it was a losing battle. Within moments, both of you were thoroughly drenched, your clothes clinging to your skin, water running down your faces.

As you reached the bus stand, you pulled the cardigan tighter around your shoulders, seeking any relief from the cold. The yellow lamplight flickered overhead, casting a soft, golden hue on the wet world around you. The sound of the rain hitting the ground was the only thing that filled the space between you, soothing and quiet. The storm raged, but here, in this small patch of light, you were safe.

You tilted your head back slightly, taking in the sight of the rain pouring down, your lips parting in a gentle smile. There was something about it—the rawness, the purity of the moment—that filled you with a kind of peace.

“I love rain,” you said, your voice soft, almost a secret shared with the world around you.

Spencer’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes searching your face, as though trying to understand this new piece of you that had revealed itself. “You do?” His voice was laced with both curiosity and admiration, his smile widening as he took in your fascination with the moment.

“Yeah,” you answered, simply and truthfully.

Spencer thought about it for a moment, weighing his options. And in that quiet pause, you saw his heart make a decision. With a gentle pull, he took your hand, his fingers warm against your chilled skin. “Come on,” he said, his voice firm, but with the warmth of someone who only ever wanted to see you happy. “Come on, we’re going out there.”

You blinked, laughing incredulously as you looked at him. “What?”

“You love rain, right?” He didn’t hesitate. His grip on your hand tightened as he gently tugged you further. “Then come on.” His gaze softened, something more than just fondness there—trust, perhaps.

“But you don’t…” You hesitated, still unsure.

“Not exactly. I don’t love getting drenched, but you do. And besides,” he shrugged, as if it was the simplest thing in the world, “I love the solitude it brings. The quiet.” A little smile tugged at his lips as his eyes danced with a deeper affection. And I love you, he thought, but didn’t say aloud.

The way his confidence shone through told you everything you needed to know. Without another word, you let him lead you out into the storm.

The world felt quieter now, as you both stood in the middle of the street, drenched and laughing. You closed your eyes, the rain falling around you in a symphony of gentle sounds—earth and water and life—all mingling together.

You extended your hand toward Spencer, a silent invitation, a beckoning that pulled him toward you as you both began to move together. The rain no longer felt like a downpour, but like an invitation to something new, something shared, something simple. You danced together, the rhythm of the rain matching the beat of your hearts, your spirits blending into the quiet, beautiful chaos of the storm.

The rain fell harder, but neither of you cared. You spun, and he spun with you, not perfectly, but it didn’t matter. You were together, lost in this simple, beautiful moment of joy. Spencer pulled you close, his hand around your waist as his other arm snaked around your back, holding you steady. You could feel the warmth of him, even through the rain.

And in that moment, Spencer Reid, for once, didn’t feel different. He didn’t feel out of place or disconnected from the world around him. He felt... home. And he knew, without a doubt, that you were his home.

Spencer realized that everything he once thought wasn’t possible for him was now right here in his arms. Your presence was his answer, his unspoken dream come true. And for that, he could never express enough gratitude—for you, for this life, for Emily, who had brought you to him.

He continued to gaze at you, his eyes intense yet somehow full of wonder, as if trying to read the hidden depths of you. The air between you both felt different now, charged in a way it hadn’t been before. Something had shifted. Something that neither of you had anticipated, but both felt with a quiet certainty.

You flushed under his steady gaze. Normally, you avoided staring directly into Spencer’s eyes for too long. You preferred glancing at him, quick little moments of connection, but right now, his gaze felt like too much—like it was peeling back layers you weren't ready to share.

You looked away, awkwardly focusing on something else—anything but the intensity of his eyes. But before you could settle on the car parked nearby, you felt his hand gently lift your chin, guiding your face back toward him. His thumb traced a small, tender circle on your skin, and you couldn’t help but shiver slightly.

“You keep looking away, honey,” Spencer’s voice was soft, almost like a quiet confession, and it shot warmth straight through you. His words curled inside your chest, grounding you in a way that left you speechless. You tried to break the silence.

“There was something there,” you muttered, attempting to save yourself from the teasing look he was giving you. But you knew there was no escaping that playful glint in his eyes.

The two of you continued down the path, but the sharp pain in your feet that had been there before seemed to disappear. The moment was too perfect to think about anything else. Still, the quiet frustration over your heels persisted. “Damn, these heels,” you muttered under your breath, rubbing your aching feet.

Spencer, ever the observant one, heard your soft exhale and noticed the slight wince as you walked. “What happened?” His voice was concerned, gentle.

“It’s just these heels, nothing much,” you replied, but you couldn’t help but shoot the shoes a look that spoke volumes. Spencer, ever the mind reader, saw through your act.

“What if I pick you up? You wouldn’t feel any pain,” he offered, voice laced with genuine care. The thought of you in pain hurt him more than he cared to admit, and he wanted to do anything—anything at all—to ease that discomfort.

“Spencer, it’s okay. I’ll manage,” you reassured him, but the look on your face, part stubbornness and part affection made it clear that you weren’t fooling him.

But Spencer, always the one to offer help even when it wasn’t asked, didn’t wait for permission. One moment, you were standing on your own two feet; the next, you were in his arms, effortlessly lifted by the man who could do anything in your eyes.

“Spencer!” You laughed, your voice a mix of surprise and mock protest, but you knew from the look in his eyes that nothing was going to stop him now.

He smiled, clearly proud of himself. “Did you know that red carnations symbolize love, admiration, and deep affection?” The words tumbled out, a sudden shift in conversation that you knew was leading somewhere. “While roses are associated with purity and innocence, they also symbolize respect and sincerity—”

You looped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself a little closer to his chest, knowing exactly where this was going. You’d heard him talk about flowers before, but this time, it felt different, like he was trying to say something beyond the simple meanings of petals and stems.

“—and their combination together—”

You finished for him, smiling up at Spencer with a playful glint in your eyes. “Means passionate love, respect, and pure affection.”

Spencer blinked in surprise, his lips parting slightly as if he hadn’t expected you to finish the thought. You smirked, delighted at how easily you could read him.

“I was seeing how long it would take you to notice the significance,” you teased, the corners of your mouth tugging upward.

He studied you for a moment, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “You really thought about today a lot?” His voice held a note of amusement, mixed with affection.

You raised an eyebrow, your smile widening. “Sweetheart, when one has a lovely boyfriend like you, they ought to put in the effort. I’d put thought and effort into you every day.”

His heart swelled, and for a moment, the rest of the world disappeared. It was just the two of you, standing together, entwined in the quiet love you’d both found—something Spencer had never believed would happen, but now couldn’t imagine living without.

[usomads]

can you write an threesome oneshot with Roman? Somewhere on an private island

Paradise // Roman Reigns x Jey Uso x Reader

Ahhh this was so fun to write! Also, I added Jey in this because hello... did you see than man on Friday? He looked wayyy too damn good, I had to include that fine ass man 🥰 I hope I did you justice, happy reading!

Plot -> You knew a vacation was just what you needed to relax, but never could’ve predicted the way you would get it. Let alone at the hands of your husband and his cousin…

Pairings -> Roman Reigns x Jey Uso x Fem!Reader (Y/N)

Warnings -> Cursing, Alcohol, Oral Sex (M!Receiving and F!Receiving), Hickies, Threesome, Spanking, Unprotected P in V, Creampie, Not Proofread, MDNI

Word Count -> 2.5k

A week-long getaway was just what the doctor ordered, and Joe being the wonderful husband that he is, spared no expense to rent out an entire island for you and the family to take some time away from the real world to just relax. Normally you’d complain over the high price point, but with how stressful the past few months have been juggling work and your babies with Joe on the road, you kept your mouth shut this time and decided to just enjoy it. And that you did- with incredible food, time on the beach, even renting a boat and swimming in the ocean. But most of all, being able to enjoy time with Joe and the people you loved most; his family.

So here you were on the beach near your private villa, relaxing and reminiscing around a fire with Joe, Josh, Jon, and Trin and sipping on one of the many cocktails the waitstaff had brought to you throughout the evening. You listened quietly as they shared childhood stories and memories, but your full attention was elsewhere. Josh.

It was no secret that the men in the Anoa’i/Fatu family were seemingly sculpted from the gods themselves, and maybe it was the alcohol thinking for you, but Josh looked especially good tonight. He was leaned back in a beach chair with his arms behind his head, his cropped tank riding up to rest above his belly button; his biceps flexing when someone would share an old memory that made him laugh. You were lost in your own thoughts for a while until Josh’s gaze shifted from the story being told to you, catching you red-handed. You blushed and quickly turned your attention to the fire dancing in front of you, oblivious to Josh smirking back at you; and Joe, who had been watching your movements from the corner of his eye from the very beginning. Unbeknownst to you, Joe and Josh had also made eye contact with each other- having a silent conversation with their eyes as you sat staring at the fire in front of you and taking another sip of your drink.

After a while, everyone decided to head in for the night to get some sleep. You packed up the items you had brought with you and said your ‘goodnights’ to Jon and Trin, and watched as Joe and Josh were deep in conversation with each other. You made your way over to join them, hands full of bags and other things from the evening.

“Here, baby, let me take those from you. You don’t need to be carrying all that,” Joe grabbed the items from your arms and smiled at you. “I was just asking Josh if he wanted to hang out with us tomorrow, since Jon and Trin are doing their own thing for the day.”

“Oh, yeah! Josh, you’re more than welcome to join us tomorrow. I don’t know what the plans are because he,” you signal to Joe, “never tells me anything, but yeah if you want you can spend the day with us,” you smiled.

“Thanks, y’all, yeah I’ll be over tomorrow. I’m sure we’ll find something to do,” he winked at you, causing you to blush yet again. The cousins hugged and said goodnight, and afterwards Josh held his arms out to you for a hug. You embraced him, feeling his arms wrap around you and snake down to your lower back. You shivered at his touch, trying to convince yourself that he was just being friendly and that his hands being dangerously close to your ass was just in your imagination. Josh leaned down, his lips brushing your earlobe, and you froze. “I’ll see you later. Goodnight, mamas” he whispered. You felt unsure of your own balance, like at any second your knees could give out as you felt your core flutter at his words. I should not be reacting to him like this, God help me.

“Goodnight, Josh,” you breathed out as you let him go, trying to shake yourself out of your own thoughts as you and Joe make the walk back to the villa and attempt to get some sleep.

“Oh f-fuckk, baby, feels s-so good,” you whimper as you lightly tug on Joe’s hair. You were laid back on the outdoor sofa in the back patio that connected to yours and Joe’s room, eyes glued shut and head thrown back as Joe was on his knees in front of you devouring your pussy. Joe barely waited until after breakfast to get his hands on you, which is how you ended up with your thighs squeezing his head as he went to town on you. 

You were so entranced by the stimulation between your legs that you didn’t hear the sliding door open behind you, or see Josh walk through it. “Looks so pretty falling apart for me… doesn’t she, Josh?” Your eyes snap open, finally noticing his presence but letting out another moan as Joe wraps his lips around your clit. 

“Yeah, save me some, uce,” Josh groaned, adjusting himself through his shorts as he watched your body contort and writhe in pleasure.

“That good with you, baby? You wanna let J have a taste?” Joe growled against you, his voice sending vibrations through you as you whined in response. “C’mon, mamas, promise I’ll take care of you,” Josh persuaded, walking closer to the couch and removing the cropped shirt he was wearing. 

“P-please, J. I-, s-shit, want you,” you threw your head back again only to snap it back up as Joe removed his mouth from your aching pussy, only to climb next to you on the couch and remove the oversized t-shirt you were wearing and expose your bare breasts. “Fuck, uce, she’s perfect.” Josh moaned, crawling between your legs while Joe started peppering kisses along your neck. 

“Be a good girl for him, okay, Y/N? You gonna show Josh how pretty you look cumming on his face, baby?”

“Y-yes, sir. I’ll be good, I- I promise,” you moaned as he took your nipple in his mouth, sucking and biting it while Josh pressed his lips to yours. His kiss ignited your entire body, desperate and sloppy but electrifying nonetheless. He then kissed down the base of your throat, reaching your other breast and softly nipping it before swirling his tongue around it. You had a hand in Joe’s hair and another in Josh’s, lightly tugging as they praised your tits with their mouths. Josh released your nipple with a pop, blowing cool air on it and making you cry out as he lowered his head to your dripping core and licked a stripe between your folds. You moaned loudly as the roughness of his tongue massaged your folds with a needy hunger.

“Shit, you wasn’t lyin’. Tastes so damn sweet,” Josh moaned as he continued to eat you like his life depended on it. His tongue teased your entrance as you whimpered and pushed his head down, slipping himself inside while your pussy tightened around his tongue. He fucked you with his tongue as Joe began marking your tits and neck with purplish bruises, moans and praises for the two falling from your lips for the two men. The stimulation from the both of them was bringing on your orgasm like a freight train, and Joe noticing the familiar flush of color from your skin and higher pitch in your cries trailed his free hand down to rub your clit while Josh continued to ruin you with his tongue. Your back arched off the couch and your toes curled as the pit of your stomach burned, preparing you for release.

“I-, fuckkk, I’m g-gonna-”

“Go ahead, pretty girl, cum for him. You’re doing so good, baby,” Joe coaxes you as you force your eyes open and look down at the man kneeling before you, completely engrossed in wanting to make you cum as he moans into your pussy. Your orgasm hits you like a truck, your body shaking as you loudly moan Josh’s name while you cum. Josh continued to work his tongue through your folds, moaning with every drop of your release that hit his taste buds. To him, you were the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted and he doesn’t want to waste any of it. You’re breathing heavy now as he finishes cleaning you up as raises his head, beard covered in your wetness as he gives you a wink.

“Did so good for me, mamas. So tight too, I can only imagine how you feel wrapped around my-”

“Princess,” Joe interrupts him, “I think J deserves to feel how tight you really are, don’t you agree? Don’t you agree, baby?” You nod your head quickly, but Joe isn’t pleased. “Use your words, Y/N, you want J to fuck you?” “Yes, Daddy, please,” you begged, “please let him fuck me.” Joe responded by taking your hand and ushering you to the end of the couch, leaving you on all fours with your hands on the armrest and your ass in the air with your knees resting on the cushions. Josh crawled behind you, leaning down to kiss from the nape of your neck and down your spine, sending chills throughout your entire body. He ran his fingers through your folds, making you shudder as he used your juices to pump his cock. 

“You cum inside her and you’re fuckin’ dead, got it?” Joe warned him, Josh nodding in acknowledgement. He teased you from behind, rubbing his dick along your pussy as Joe removed the shorts he was wearing and pumping his own cock before guiding your mouth to wrap around him. Josh entered you slowly, feeling you stretch around him as he pushed himself inside. You moaned around Joe’s dick while you sucked and licked his tip, already feeling the overstimulation.

“Fuck, Y/N, so fuckin’ tight,” Josh groaned, gripping your ass cheeks and spreading them apart as he looked down to watch himself completely bottom out inside you. You moaned and forced yourself down on Joe, gagging as his tip touched the back of your throat. Josh finally started bucking his hips into you, pushing your body forward and taking more of Joe’s cock down your throat. Between Joe in your mouth and Josh fucking his cock deep into you, you felt so full; and you absolutely loved it. You released Joe’s dick from your mouth and began sucking and licking his balls, pumping his cock with your other hand. You fucked back on Josh, him slowing down and watching you bounce yourself on him. “Holy shit, ma, look at you, taking us so fuckin’ well,” he gave your ass cheek a harsh slap, making you cry out. “That’s right, fuck yourself on my dick,” he delivered another smack, kneading where he slapped, “Such a dirty girl, f-fuck. Uce, switch me, she keeps doin’ me like this imma have no choice but to fill that shit up.”

You released your husband’s dick from your grasp as Josh pulled out of you, whining at the emptiness you felt. That didn’t last long though as Joe was quickly behind you and filling you right back up, wasting no time to fuck you into oblivion. Josh slipped himself into your mouth, groaning as your cheeks instinctively hollowed around him and forced him down your throat. Joe grabbed a fist full of your hair, using it as leverage and opening yourself more for Josh to fuck your throat. To some, being used like this as two men had their way with you would feel dirty, but you felt hot. You loved that in this moment you were their toy, a play thing for them to fuck, and you felt so turned on with the both of them moaning and groaning you praises as they had their way with you. 

“Such a good girl for us,” Joe hissed behind you, “you love this, don’t you baby? Me and J filling you up like this?” He spanked you again and again, making you moan around Josh’s cock. He threw his head back at the vibration and continued to fuck your throat. 

“S-shit, I’m so fuckin’ close. You gonna swallow me, baby? Gonna take it like a good girl and swallow?” You moaned and nodded around him, looking up at him and watched his face twist with pleasure.

“Fuck, princess, you gonna let J and I fill you up? Is that what you want, baby?” Your pussy spasmed at Joe’s words as you gagged on Josh’s cock, feeling him twitch in your mouth.

“Ohhh fuck, Y/N,” Josh moaned loudly as he came, spurts of his hot cum coating your mouth and the back of your throat as you continued to suck him through his high. You released his dick with a ‘pop’ as he grabbed your chin and opened your mouth, showing him that you had in fact swallowed all of him like a good girl. He moaned at the sight and leaned down to kiss you, both of you tasting each other on your tongues. 

Joe followed soon after, filling your pussy full of his cum as he moaned your name along with a plethora of curses. He continued to slowly thrust inside of you as he rode out his own orgasm then slowly pulled out of you, his cum leaking out of your swollen pussy. The two pulled you back to the middle of the couch, laying you down so that your legs rested on Josh and your head in Joe’s lap as all three of you tried to even out your heavy breathing.

“How are you feeling, baby? Was that too much for you?” Joe asked, rubbing your head and looking lovingly at you as Josh massaged your legs.

“No, no,” you breathed out, “it was perfect.”

“Good,” Joe paused, “maybe we should bring Josh around more often,” he chuckled.

“Shit, I’ll book vacations all the time if it means I get that again,” you replied, making all three of you laugh. “Yeah, talk about paradise… that pussy is paradise,” Josh paused, “but speaking of vacation… what’s next on the itinerary, uce? Because I’m thinking we cancel all that shit and, you know, make our own plans.”

“Whatchu think, baby? You ready to go again?” Joe asked.

“I thought you’d never ask,” you smiled, all three of you jumping up from the couch and racing inside to the bedroom for round two.

[mephisto-reporting]

Princess Treatment - LADS HCs

Premise: You spoil him rotten, giving him the true princess treatment whenever he least expects it. Based on this request. Pairing: reader x Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus (Seperate) Note: Reader and the men are in a relationship. This is pure fluff and I wrote these as headcanons on how the MC would spoil the lads men.

XAVIER

Tying His Shoelaces: Xavier, perpetually lost in thought or too sleepy to notice, never realizes his shoelaces have come undone. You’ve taken it upon yourself to stop him mid-step, kneeling down without hesitation to tie them up for him. "Y-you don’t have to do that,” he murmurs, his ears tinged red as other hunters in the UNICORNS squad snicker or raise eyebrows. Despite his protests, he secretly loves the care and attention you give him. Sometimes, he’ll glance down at his laces before heading out, secretly hoping you’ll stop him again.

The Crumb Crisis: You’ve come to notice that Xavier is always getting crumbs on his face—whether it’s from a snack he didn’t realize he’d left out or a meal he’s rushed through. You’ve made it a habit to carry a handkerchief with you, and whenever you see those crumbs stuck to his cheek, you gently take the cloth and wipe them off. He’s always caught off guard, sometimes even stammering, "I'm fine, really!" but the quiet appreciation in his eyes is unmistakable.

Homecooked Comfort: After grueling missions, Xavier is too drained to do much beyond collapsing on his couch. And given his well-documented kitchen disasters—he once managed to burn soup—you’ve made it a point to spoil him with hearty, homecooked meals. From comforting stews to his favorite snacks, you make sure he’s well-fed and taken care of. The first time you did it, his sleepy eyes widened in surprise. “You… made this for me?” “Of course. You deserve it.” He savors every bite, and though he’s not great with words, the way he quietly finishes everything on his plate is thanks enough.

Fuck the machines: Claw machines are Xavier’s mortal enemy. You’ve watched him struggle time and again, his focus no match for the slippery claws, even when he uses his Evol. So, you’ve taken over as his claw machine champion. "Which one do you want this time?” you ask, cracking your knuckles as he hesitates before shyly pointing to a particularly adorable plush. You win it with ease, handing it to him with a triumphant grin. “For you, Your Highness.” He laughs softly, his rare smile lighting up his face. “You’re too good at this.”

Bedhead Boy: Xavier’s perpetually messy bedhead is endearing, but sometimes it’s just too much for you to resist smoothing down. With a quiet hum, you gently comb your fingers through his hair, fixing it without a second thought. “Hey…” he starts to protest, but he always lets you finish, his ears pink as you pat his head affectionately.

ZAYNE

Door Dash: Zayne’s disdain for hospital canteen food is no secret, and you’ve made it your mission to ensure he eats something wholesome during his grueling shifts. You send him meals carefully packed in insulated containers, often including his favorite dishes. Occasionally, you’ll slip in a small dessert, knowing his secret sweet tooth. He doesn’t say much when he gets them, but you’ve caught a glimpse of the faint smirk he wears when he opens the package. “You know I can survive on vending machine snacks, right?” he’d quip over the phone later, but the fact he finishes every bite says otherwise.

Sticky notes: Zayne isn’t the type to expect grand gestures, so you leave small, thoughtful surprises instead. A note tucked into his hospital coat pocket with a cheeky, “Don’t overwork yourself. I still need my heart surgeon around.” Or a sticky note on his dashboard that reads, “Drive safe, handsome.” Once, he found one in his mail that simply said, “Stop glaring at everyone, I know you’re secretly nice.” He pretends to be unfazed, rolling his eyes or muttering something sarcastic like, “Am I being stalked?” but he keeps every single one in a drawer at home.

Spoil me, rotten: Zayne’s wardrobe is filled with impeccably tailored long coats, a staple of his polished appearance. You’ve taken to buying him accessories like elegant brooches, leather gloves, or even scarves that perfectly complement his collection. He always protests when you present them, narrowing his eyes and saying, “You do know I can buy these myself, right?” But the next time you see him, he’s wearing the latest item with an almost imperceptible look of pride. You tease him about it, and he deadpans, “It’s just practical. Don’t overthink it.”

Doctor's Day Out: Knowing how chaotic Zayne’s schedule as a top surgeon can be, you take charge of planning the weekends so he doesn’t have to lift a finger. Whether it’s booking a cozy dinner reservation, arranging a quiet getaway, or even planning an at-home movie night, you ensure everything is set. “All you need to do is show up and look stunning,” you joke, and he raises an eyebrow. “Well, I’m halfway there already,” he retorts dryly, but the way he leans back and relaxes during those weekends tells you he’s more grateful than he lets on.

Massage therapist: Zayne’s hands are his lifeline, and after long, intricate surgeries, they’re often sore and strained. You’ve made it a habit to take his hands in yours and gently massage them, working out the tension in his fingers and wrists. He pretends to be indifferent at first but notices that your skills have improved. After all, you’d put in the effort to learn different techniques to aid him and his skilled hands. “I hope you’re not charging me for this.” He jokes. But as your thumbs press into the tight knots, his usual stoic demeanor falters. The sharp lines of stress around his eyes soften, and his shoulders, once hunched from exhaustion, slowly unwind.

RAFAYEL

After you: It’s no secret Rafayel enjoys being the center of your attention, and you’re more than happy to oblige. Wherever you are—be it a café, an art gallery, or even your own home—you always make it a point to open the door for him. Without fail, he pauses, waiting for you to complete the gesture. It’s not that he can’t do it himself, but he loves seeing that soft, proud smile on your face when you hold the door just for him. Of course, he’d never outright admit it. Instead, he’ll quip something bratty, like, “Took you long enough, Cutie” but the faint curve of his lips tells you he secretly adores it.

Color Splash: Rafayel’s world revolves around his art, and you’ve made it your mission to fuel his creativity. Whether it’s hunting down rare pigments, finding unconventional materials to create new textures, or gifting him innovative tools, you never miss an opportunity to surprise him. When he first discovers your thoughtful additions to his collection, he’s practically radiant, eyes gleaming with inspiration as he eagerly experiments. Of course, he’ll nonchalantly mutter, “I could’ve found this myself, you know,” but his excitement is undeniable, and you know you’ve made his day.

Cheater, Cheater: You pride yourself on your competitive streak, but when it comes to Kitty Cards with Rafayel, you can’t help but let him bend the rules. He catches on every time, glancing at you with a knowing smirk as he casually switches out cards while you pretend not to notice. He knows exactly what you’re doing but plays along with a sly grin. Winning always means he gets to name his prize, and without fail, it’s more time with you. “Your competitive streak is slipping, cutie,” he teases, already pulling you closer. “Guess you’ll just have to pay for it with another evening by my side.”

Passenger Princess: Whether it’s the car or your motorbike, Rafayel is always the passenger princess with you. He’s perfectly content letting you take the wheel, whether it’s navigating through traffic or cruising down open roads. He’ll sit back, casually tossing a playful comment your way, his relaxed demeanor making it clear he has no interest in taking control. But even more than that, he loves the attention you give him. He’ll rest his hand on your shoulder or his head against the seat, basking in the comfort of being close to you. It’s his way of enjoying the ride—and you—without the fuss.

Creative Clean up: Rafayel’s studio is a whirlwind of creativity, but it’s also a constant mess. Brushes, paints, papers, clothes—everything’s scattered around like a storm wrecked his living space. Coffee cups would double as pen holders, and brushes would be left lying around like they were an afterthought. But no matter how chaotic it became, you never complained. You’d roll up your sleeves and clean up every single time you visited him. He’d give you a cheeky grin, the same one he wore whenever he was being a brat, and say, “You know you don’t have to do this, right? I like my space just the way it is.” But he never stopped you, and in the moments when he didn’t look, his eyes would soften, and a hint of appreciation would slip through his normally playful mask. He knew you cared for him in a way that no one else did.

SYLUS

Product Placement: Sylus was used to getting what he wanted, whether it was luxury items or rare finds. He had his preferences, and he wasn’t one to settle for less. But when you made it your mission to keep his favorite, expensive brands stocked in your home—whether it was gourmet food, skincare products, or niche equipment—it didn’t go unnoticed. The first time you did this, Sylus had been caught off guard. He’d teased you, of course. “I don’t need you to be my personal store, kitten. I’ve got everything I need.” But when he came over and found everything perfectly laid out just the way he liked it, the teasing turned into a more meaningful smile. He would let you spoil him just enough to acknowledge your effort, but never enough to let you feel like you were getting the upper hand. That was the Sylus way.

Rare Rhythms:  Sylus’ love for rare records was well-known, and so was the fact that he had an extensive collection of limited-edition vinyl. But you didn’t mind diving into the world of obscure, indie artists just to get him something new for his collection. It wasn’t easy, though. It took long hours of scouring flea markets, searching online auction houses, and talking to music enthusiasts who knew more than a thing or two about underground talent. It was often a challenge, but for you, it was worth every second. Sylus didn’t say much, but you could tell by the way he listened to every single one of them, that he was genuinely impressed. "They’ve got potential," he'd said, before you knew it, that same artist was suspiciously rising in popularity, and you’d smile every time Sylus mentioned them. “You really know how to find a diamond in the rough, don’t you, sweetie?”

Spoiled Stubborn: Sylus was always the one taking the lead, always the one orchestrating the grand gestures. Spoiling him? Not so easy. He didn’t make it easy for anyone to do that. He would never outright refuse, but it was clear that when you tried, he preferred to return the favor rather than let you take charge. But you were stubborn—probably even more so than he was. You wanted him to be spoiled just as much. You wanted him to experience the kind of care he gave to everyone else, and you had just the way to do it: Planning dates where he couldn’t take over. Once it was picnic in the woods. You went all out—your best blankets, his favorite snacks, wine you knew he’d like—and most importantly, you took care of every detail so that he couldn’t take charge. The other time, it was a movie night at your place where everything was set: Popcorn, soda, the projector and candy. “You’re stubborn, you know that?” he remarked softly, but there was affection behind his words. "I want spoil you... but you’ve managed to spoil me instead." You smiled, the warmth in your chest spreading, knowing that in these small moment, you had made him feel cared for—something he usually avoided letting others do.

Sylus’ Salon: Sylus had always been a little gruff, his rugged demeanor giving off the impression of someone who was clinical and composed. But you knew him better than that. One of those moments was when you washed and dried his hair. He’d never asked for it, but you’d begun doing it without thinking. Maybe it was the way his silver hair shimmered under the water, or maybe it was the way he looked so disarmed when he let his guard down, letting you comb through his hair with graceful  fingers. You’d always notice how his breath would deepen, how his eyes would close just a little longer than necessary. "I know you like doing this," he’d say, the faintest hint of a grin playing on his lips. "But you’re making it hard for me to act all tough with you fussing over me like this." You’d laugh softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead before continuing to dry his hair. It was an act of tenderness, a side of him that no one got to see.

Touch Starved: Sometimes, it wasn’t the grand gestures that mattered. It was the little touches. —a soft brush of your hand against his cheek or the fleeting warmth of your fingers tracing his jaw—he couldn’t help but pause. He’d find himself rewinding moments of you brushing his hair out of his face, or simply wrapping your arms around him when he least expected it. He’d tense, but only for a moment, before letting the warmth of your embrace dissolve his guarded exterior. “It seems like a certain kitten cannot keep her hands to herself.” Sylus would tease, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips as you snuck in another kiss, letting him know that you’d spoil him with your touches and kisses, even if he won’t admit it loudly.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

[innerfare]

Beckman Relationship Headcanons 

Summary: A collection of headcanons about being in a relationship with Benn Beckman

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

———

Imagining him finding someone before he met Shanks, back when he was still a marine, but quite a bit older than you. Beckman being Beckman didn’t think it was right to carry on the relationship, despite his overwhelming attraction to you and the connection you shared and certainly didn’t want to bring you any heat when he deserted, so when he left the Navy behind, he left you behind, too, only to find you again years later, your mutual attraction stronger than ever. It doesn’t take you two very long to get together after that. 

And getting together is no casual thing, however much he makes it seem that way to the crew to get them off his back. 

Always has been more of a relationship man than a one night stand kind of man. He’s of oddly good moral character despite being a pirate (though a pirate is still a pirate). Doesn’t particularly enjoy lying to women to get them into bed, certainly doesn’t enjoy bedding someone just to bed them, will only spend time with women he has chemistry with. And the chemistry he has with you is off the charts. 

Keeps your relationship secret, but it’s not just for your safety. He enjoys his privacy, and likes having his special person all to himself. Despite the crew’s attempts to pry information out of him, he doesn’t say a word about you. The crew only finds out when Shanks’ curiosity gets the better of him and he follows Beckman one night to see him buy a bouquet of flowers and meet you under the cover of darkness. 

Teaches you how to shoot if you don’t already know how. If you do know how, insists you don’t know how to do so properly. Also insists on wrapping his arms around you to help you hit the targets. Though it’s a nice excuse to be close to you, the whole thing is much deeper than that- he fears deeply for your safety when he’s away, his bounty putting you in danger from bounty hunters, the government, and other pirates. He loses a considerable amount of sleep over this. 

Also, you are the only person allowed to touch his gun. 

Wants you to be independent in every sense of the word. Thinks his job is to protect you, and views teaching you to protect yourself and be self sufficient as the most effective way to do so rather than being controlling and trying to limit your independence. 

Old school, refuses to let you pay for anything, always comes bearing flowers and other gifts, even turns away if you change clothes (definitely peaks, though). Feel free to tease him about this, or anything else, really (call him old man and he’ll prove just how young he is). 

Late nights and slow mornings, lots of drinking coffee, reading the newspaper, and smoking cigarettes. 

Everything tends to be very calm when Beckman is around, to the point you wonder if he’s discovered a fourth type of Haki, one that mellows the world around him. It’s really just the sense of safety he instills, the way you know that absolutely nothing will harm you so long as you are in his sights. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[chelseaknoo]

hey love, could you please write a eminem x female reader where it takes place in 2001, just a few months after he and kim got divorced. the reader is a victoria secret model (she is like 24) and she and eminem start casually hooking up. it wasn't supposed to be anything serious since they both weren't looking for it. after a while, they start developing feelings but neither of them says anything about it. then the reader finds out she is pregnant with his baby, which obviously changes everything. when she first tells him she is pregnant, he doesn't believe it's his, saying she must have go around or something and it's leads to a fight.

2000s Eminem x Victoria secrets model!reader

caution:sexual content<3

The bar was alive with pulsing energy, music blaring and bodies moving. Marshall leaned against the counter, half-hidden beneath the brim of his cap, jaw tight. He wasn’t in the mood for small talk or smiles tonight, but being here was better than being stuck alone with his thoughts.

He took a slow sip of his drink, eyes scanning the room without interest—until they landed on her. You. You were perched at the far end of the bar, effortlessly magnetic. Your laughter carried through the noise, your smile lighting up the dim space. He tried to look away, but when your eyes met his, a challenge sparked between you.

You cocked your head slightly, amused by his attention. Deciding not to waste a moment, you sauntered over, weaving through the crowd like you owned the place. You stopped in front of him, the faintest smirk playing on your lips.

“Enjoying the view?” you teased.

He leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “You always fish for compliments, or just when it’s this easy?”

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. His tone was sharp, but there was a hint of a smile lurking beneath the surface. Intrigued, you crossed your arms. “Not my fault you’re staring.”

“Yeah?” He took another sip, eyes never leaving yours. “Must be my lucky night.”

You laughed, a low, genuine sound. “Is that your idea of flirting? No wonder you’re standing here alone.”

“Oh, I’m not alone.” He gestured vaguely at the crowd. “I’ve got all these people I don’t care about to keep me company.”

“Charming.” You rolled your eyes but didn’t move away. Something about his attitude was infuriating and intriguing all at once. “So, what’s your excuse tonight?”

“For what? Brooding in the corner?” He tilted his head, a flash of something darker crossing his eyes. “Maybe I like it here. Low expectations, fake smiles. Suits me.”

You studied him for a moment, catching the bitterness beneath the bravado. “You really do like pushing people away, don’t you?”

“Only when they get too close,” he shot back, but there was a glimmer of intrigue in his eyes. He leaned in, voice dropping. “Why? Planning to get close?”

“Depends,” you said, matching his intensity. “You gonna keep being an ass, or are you capable of real conversation?”

He chuckled, a mix of surprise and amusement. “You got guts, I’ll give you that.” For a moment, the mask slipped, and something genuine shone through. “What’s a model doing in a place like this anyway?”

“Looking for a real night.” Your gaze didn’t waver. “Not that you care.”

“Maybe I do.” He set his drink down and stepped closer, the space between you shrinking. His voice softened, but there was a rough edge to it. “Or maybe you’re just another pretty face looking for a story.”

“Maybe.” You smiled, defiant. “And maybe you’re just another angry guy with a chip on his shoulder.”

He paused, then nodded, an almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Touché.”

For a beat, neither of you spoke, tension crackling in the air. Then he broke it. “You wanna get outta here?”

“Is that your idea of an invitation?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Take it or leave it,” he replied, already turning toward the door.

You followed, heart pounding. Whatever this was, it wasn’t ordinary—and that’s exactly what you both needed. No promises, no strings—just two people escaping for a night.

Marshall led you through the back door into the cool night air, the music’s pulse fading into the distance. His house was a short walk away, nestled between the shadows of the city’s skyscrapers. The silence between you was charged, a dance of anticipation that neither of you had the will to break.

Inside, the space was surprisingly neat, a stark contrast to the chaos of the bar. The only light came from a flickering neon sign in the window, casting an eerie glow on his face. You kicked off your heels, the click-clack of them hitting the floor echoing in the quiet. He offered you a seat on the couch, the leather cool against your bare legs.

Marshall took his time getting you a drink, the clink of ice and the soft splash of whiskey punctuating the silence. He handed it to you without looking, his gaze lingering on the way your fingers wrapped around the glass. You took a sip, the fiery liquid doing little to soothe the storm brewing in your stomach.

You set the drink down and met his gaze, the air thick with something unspoken. In a single fluid motion, he closed the gap between you, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you into him. Your breath hitched, your heart racing as his eyes searched yours for permission. You didn’t need to say a word—your body spoke for you.

Marshall’s lips found yours in a kiss that was as intense as it was unexpected, his touch gentle yet demanding. The taste of whiskey lingered on his tongue as you explored the contours of his mouth, the roughness of his stubble against your skin. You wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling the tension in his muscles, the rapid beat of his heart.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifted you off the couch and carried you to his bedroom, the world outside fading away as the door clicked shut behind you. The room was simple, the bed unmade—a stark reflection of his tumultuous mind. He set you down on the bed, and the softness of the mattress gave way beneath you, the smell of his cologne enveloping you as you fell back.

"Marshall—" You breathed his name, but he silenced you with another kiss, his hands roaming over your body, learning every curve and contour.

"Don't talk," he murmured against your skin. "You're too good at it."

You giggled despite the heat of the moment, pushing him away playfully. "You're an ass, you know that?"

"But you like it." He smirked, his eyes dark and gleaming.

You rolled your eyes, but the truth was, you did. There was something about his brusque demeanor that was oddly refreshing. "Keep telling yourself that."

"I don't need to tell myself anything. Your body's doing all the talking for you." His hand traced the line of your jaw, then down your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

"Is that your usual pick-up line?" You teased, trying to keep your voice light despite the growing heaviness in your chest.

"Don't need lines." He leaned in, his breath hot on your ear. "Just the truth."

You felt a thrill at his words, a delicious blend of excitement and annoyance. "And what's that?"

He whispered, "That you want this as much as I do."

And it was true. The way he held you, the way his eyes searched yours—there was something raw and vulnerable in his touch that you hadn't expected. You reached up, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

"Prove it," you whispered, your voice a challenge.

Marshall's expression grew more intense, his eyes searching yours. He kissed you again, deeper this time, his hand sliding up your thigh, his thumb tracing circles that made you gasp into his mouth. You could feel the tension in his body, the need, the hunger—and it mirrored your own.

"I'm not playing games," he growled, his teeth grazing your lower lip.

"Neither am I." You met his gaze, unflinching. "But if you want this, you can't just take. You've got to give, too."

He paused, his hand stilling. For a moment, you saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes, but then he leaned back, his fingers tracing your cheek. "Fine," he said, his voice a gruff whisper. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

The next kiss was softer, more tender. He broke it to peel away your dress, revealing the lacy lingerie beneath. "Beautiful," he murmured, his eyes dark with appreciation.

You didn’t bother with his shirt. Instead, you slid your hands under the fabric, feeling the heat of his body and the ripple of his muscles. He groaned, the sound sending a thrill through you, urging you on. You kissed him again, his tongue dancing with yours, as you both fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. When it finally fell open, you ran your hands over his chest, feeling the beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest with every breath he took.

Marshall’s hands moved to the back of your bra, deftly unhooking it. He broke the kiss to pull the straps down your arms, leaving your breasts exposed to the cool air. He took one in his hand, his thumb brushing over the peak. You gasped, arching into his touch.

"You're perfect," he murmured, his eyes raking over you.

The words were simple, but the way he said them, like he truly meant them, made your stomach flip. You didn’t feel perfect, not after the day you’d had, but here, with him, you felt alive. You reached down to unbuckle his belt, the sound echoing through the quiet room. He watched you, his eyes never leaving yours, as you unzipped his jeans and slid them down his hips.

He was already hard, the evidence of his desire for you straining against his boxers. You reached down to touch him, feeling the heat and the power of him in your hand. He groaned, his eyes closing for a moment before snapping open again, a silent demand in them.

"Take them off," he said, his voice low and rough.

You smirked, enjoying the power you had over him, and slid his boxers down. He stepped out of them, his erection springing free. You took him in your hand again, stroking gently. He hissed, his eyes going half-lidded with pleasure.

"You're sure you want this?" he asked, his voice thick with desire.

"More than I've ever been," you assured him.

Marshall leaned in to kiss you again, his hand moving between your legs, finding you wet and ready. He stroked you through the fabric of your panties, the pressure building. You moaned into his mouth, your hips rocking against his hand.

You pulled away, panting. "Take these off," you demanded, hooking your thumbs into the waistband.

He smirked, enjoying your urgency. He slid your panties down, taking his time to kiss and nip at your thighs as he did. You kicked them off, eager to feel his bare skin against yours.

Marshall hovered over you, his eyes searching yours one last time. He positioned himself at your entrance, his hand still on your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. You nodded, your eyes never leaving his.

He pushed into you, slow and steady, filling you completely. You gasped, your nails digging into his back. He paused, giving you a moment to adjust to his size, then began to move, his strokes long and deep.

You wrapped your legs around him, urging him deeper, your hips rising to meet each thrust. The pleasure was intense, a crescendo building inside you. He kissed your neck, his teeth scraping gently against your skin, his breath hot in your ear as he whispered, "You feel so good."

You moaned in response, the words lost in the symphony of sensations. Your hands roamed his back, your nails scoring his skin, urging him on.

Marshall’s pace quickened, his breathing ragged. You could feel him getting closer, his muscles tensing. "Come for me," he murmured.

And you did, the orgasm hitting you like a wave, crashing over you and pulling him under with you. He followed, his body tensing before he released with a guttural groan.

After, he collapsed on top of you, both of you panting and sweaty. The room was still, the only sound the distant hum of the city outside. You stared up at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath.

"You okay?" he asked after a moment, his voice gruff with satisfaction.

You nodded, still trying to catch your breath. "Yeah."

Marshall rolled onto his side, taking you with him so you were both lying face-to-face. His hand trailed down your spine, coming to rest on the curve of your ass. He squeezed gently, and you felt a new thrill run through you.

"Ready for round two?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that you felt in your core.

This pattern became our routine for weeks. We’d hook up, share nights of raw intensity and fleeting vulnerability, only to pull away and go silent afterward. Neither of us reached out; neither of us tried to bridge the gap. It was easier that way, or so we told ourselves. The walls we built kept things uncomplicated, even if the distance stung more than either of us would admit.

Then, one morning, as you prepared for a photoshoot for Victoria’s Secret’s new lingerie collection, a wave of nausea hit you out of nowhere. You tried to shake it off, blaming it on nerves or exhaustion, but your body had other plans. Within minutes, you found yourself rushing to the nearest bathroom, retching until there was nothing left. The sickness didn’t stop there. You steadied yourself against the sink, splashing cold water on your face, willing the dizziness to pass, but the nausea kept clawing at you.

Your team knocked on the door, concerned, but you assured them it was just a bug—something you’d shake off in time for the shoot. Deep down, though, a knot of worry twisted in your stomach. This wasn’t like you. As you tried to gather yourself, your mind raced, unwilling to confront the possibility that lingered at the edges of your thoughts. The routine you and Marshall had built—the one that kept feelings at bay—suddenly felt fragile, as if everything was about to change.

Your team, noticing how pale and unsteady you were, decided to cut you some slack and let you leave the shoot early. They offered sympathetic smiles and reassurances as you gathered your things, insisting you take care of yourself. The drive home was a blur; you couldn’t shake the nausea or the gnawing feeling that something bigger was happening. Once you stepped inside your apartment, the quiet only amplified your racing thoughts.

After pacing the living room for what felt like an eternity, you finally made a decision. You slipped on a hoodie and sunglasses, heading to the nearest pharmacy. Every step felt heavier than the last. Back home, with the pregnancy test in your hand, you locked yourself in the bathroom. The minutes ticked by with excruciating slowness as you waited for the results, your heart pounding in your chest.

When the test finally showed positive, you stared at it, unblinking. The truth hit you like a punch to the gut—you were pregnant. And it wasn’t just anyone’s baby; it was Marshall Mathers’. You sank onto the edge of the bathtub, the implications crashing down on you. This wasn’t what either of you had planned. The casual hookups, the silent stretches of avoidance, the unspoken boundaries—it all seemed to shatter under the weight of this reality. Whatever happened next, everything was about to change.

You decided you needed clarity, so you booked an appointment with your doctor to confirm what you already knew in your heart. Sitting in the sterile, quiet office, you felt a mixture of nerves and dread. When the doctor confirmed you were a few weeks pregnant, it made everything real in a way that no test could. You were carrying Marshall’s baby. You spent the rest of the day processing the news, your mind racing with questions and fears. What would this mean for you? For him? For the strange, fragile connection you both shared?

As days passed, you wrestled with when—or even how—you would tell him. But the longer you waited, the heavier the secret felt. Finally, you decided it was time. That evening, you found yourself standing outside Marshall’s house, nerves taut. The air was chilly, and you wrapped your arms around yourself for warmth. For a long moment, you just stood there, staring at the door, memories of all your past encounters flashing through your mind. Would this be the end of whatever unspoken bond you had? Or the beginning of something neither of you were ready for?

Steeling yourself, you knocked on the door. Each second that passed without an answer felt like an eternity. Just as you were about to reconsider, the door swung open. Marshall stood there, eyes shadowed with curiosity—and something else you couldn’t quite place. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his usual guarded expression in place.

“Hey,” he said, the word heavy with unspoken questions.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside. “We need to talk.”

Marshall stepped aside, his eyes narrowing as he took in your expression. Without a word, he led you inside, shutting the door firmly behind you. The air was thick with tension as he gestured toward the couch. You sat down, hands clasped tightly in your lap, feeling the weight of what you were about to say pressing down on your chest.

He stayed standing for a moment, studying you with a mix of impatience and concern. Finally, he moved to sit across from you, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze unrelenting. “Alright,” he said, his voice low and stern. “What’s this about?”

His reaction was instant, almost volcanic. “What?! You can’t be serious! This isn’t happening!” His voice rose, the familiar ferocity of the rapper spilling over, amplifying the tension in the room.

“I am serious, Marshall! I didn’t plan this—” you exclaimed, your heart racing.

“So, what, you think I’m just gonna believe you? You've been with other guys, right?” He paced the room, running a hand through his messy blond hair. “I can’t—no. This isn’t mine. It can’t be mine!”

You think I’m a whore?” your heart pounded as the hurt reverberated through your chest. “You’re the one who can’t commit to anything or anyone since Kim,” you shot back, the defensiveness bitter on your tongue.

“That's not fair! I'm not the one who’s out there in front of all those guys, flaunting myself in lingerie! What do you expect me to think?” he yelled, pacing the small space as if it would somehow help.

“I’m a model, Marshall! It’s my job! But that doesn’t mean I’m sleeping with every guy who looks my way,” you retorted, your own anger boiling over. You rose from your seat, your body instinctively wanting to challenge his accusations, but deep down, you felt the crack forming between you two.

“Then why the hell am I supposed to believe that this baby is mine?” he spat, his eyes narrowing. It was as if the atmosphere thickened with every accusatory word. “You think I don’t know what these kinds of girls do? You think I don’t see what guys have to say about you? Them drooling all over you!”

“Don’t you dare reduce me to a stereotype, Marshall!” you shouted back. “This isn’t about some random guys! I’ve spent months with you, not them! I thought we had something real, but clearly, it was just me!” The vulnerability you felt clashed against the fierce independence you’d cultivated, and the contrast was almost suffocating.

“Maybe you should have thought about that before playing house with me when you had God knows who else around you!” His words sliced through the air, leaving you stunned into silence. The pain of betrayal washed over you, mingling with the looming fear of the unknown.

The tension in the room was suffocating. You could feel it in every taut muscle, every word spoken through clenched teeth. Marshall’s disbelief had shifted into anger, and your patience was wearing thin. Neither of you seemed willing to back down, both too raw and vulnerable to soften the blows.

“So, that’s it?” Marshall spat, rising from the couch abruptly. “You just come in here, drop this on me, and expect me to what—roll over and be okay with it?”

“Of course not!” you shot back, standing too. “But I expected you to at least listen to me without jumping to the worst conclusions.”

“Yeah?” He laughed bitterly, a harsh, hollow sound. “And what am I supposed to think? You show up after weeks, out of nowhere, and tell me you’re pregnant—and I’m just supposed to take your word for it?”

You felt a sharp sting at his words, but you refused to back down. “You know damn well you’re the only one I’ve been with.”

“Do I?” He sneered, stepping closer, eyes blazing. “Or do you think I’m just some idiot who believes every word that comes out of your mouth?”

“Why are you doing this?” you demanded, voice cracking. “Why are you trying to push me away?”

“Maybe because this all feels like a setup!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. “Like some sick game you’re playing!”

“Wow,” you whispered, blinking back tears. “I knew you were scared, but I didn’t think you’d go this far.”

“Don’t put this on me!” His anger flared, and his words came out harsher than he intended. “What, you think I’m supposed to just trust you? You’re a model—you’re used to attention, right? Maybe this is just another way to get it.”

You stared at him, stunned. “Do you even hear yourself right now? That’s not who I am, and you know it.”

He glared at you, the hurt in his eyes masked by cold fury. “Get out.”

“What?”

“I said, get out!” His voice dropped to a dangerous calm, but his words hit like a slap. “I don’t need this. I don’t need you. Go find someone else to play your games with.”

You stood frozen for a moment, disbelief and pain coursing through you. When you didn’t move, he took another step forward, voice dripping with venom. “What part of ‘get out’ didn’t you understand?”

“Fine,” you managed, choking back tears. “If this is how you want it…”

“Yeah, it is,” he said, turning his back to you. “Good luck with whatever story you’re trying to sell.”

With shaking hands, you grabbed your bag and walked to the door, your footsteps heavy. You paused, looking back one last time, hoping to see any sign of the man you thought you knew beneath the rage. But he refused to turn around, his shoulders rigid, a wall between you. Without another word, you walked out, the door closing behind you with a finality that echoed through the empty house.

You arrived at your house late that night, the driveway long and quiet, the grand, empty space feeling cold and foreign. The house was large—too large for one person, too empty without the laughter and conversation you once imagined filling its walls. You barely noticed the soft glow of the lights as you passed through the foyer, your mind consumed with the events of the evening. Marshall’s angry words echoed relentlessly in your mind as you climbed the staircase, your legs heavy, each step feeling like a small betrayal to your own body.

Once in your bedroom, you sank onto the edge of the bed, tears spilling down your face before you even knew what was happening. You tried to steady your breath, but it felt impossible. The pain of it all—the heartbreak, the confusion, the loneliness—was suffocating. Your mind kept replaying his words: *“Get out.”* His cold dismissal. The way he'd accused you, as if you were nothing more than a liar trying to trap him. You hugged your knees to your chest, curling into the quiet darkness of your room, wishing you could make it all go away.

The house, once so full of potential, felt enormous and alien now. Every empty hallway seemed to stretch farther than it should, and the silence was almost deafening. You should’ve been used to it—this house was a reminder of everything you’d worked for, everything you’d built—but tonight, it felt like a cage.

You moved through the spaces, your footsteps echoing through the empty halls. The grand living room with its towering windows, the kitchen with its marble countertops, the sleek, sterile bedrooms you’d never truly filled with warmth—none of it mattered now. You weren’t supposed to be here alone. The thought of raising a child, of carrying this responsibility by yourself, felt like too much. The realization hit hard: You were pregnant. And, somehow, you were going to have to face this alone. The weight of it pressed against your chest, stealing the air from your lungs.

Sitting by the large windows in the living room, you stared out at the dark expanse of the yard. The lights from the city flickered in the distance, but all you could focus on was the reflection of yourself in the glass—small, fragile, and lost. How had everything gotten so complicated? How had something that should’ve been beautiful become a mess of hurt and confusion?

You placed a hand over your stomach, the warmth of your palm the only comfort you had. There was a life growing inside you—his life, your life, their life. But it was yours to protect, and in that moment, as you whispered softly to the quiet house, you realized something: You might be alone in this, but you weren’t giving up.

“I’ll take care of you,” you murmured, the words soft and shaky. “I’ll figure this out. Even if it means doing it on my own.”

The silence in the house lingered, but it wasn’t as suffocating now. You had made a promise—to yourself and to the little one growing inside. Whatever this journey held, you would walk it, even if you had to walk it alone.

Months passed, and as time went on, your pregnancy became impossible to hide. Your belly grew rounder, each day a visible reminder of the life—and turmoil—inside you. The once casual glances of curious strangers transformed into pointed stares, whispers trailing behind you wherever you went. Every time you appeared in public, whether for work commitments or just living your life, the attention was unavoidable.

Interviewers asked about the father with veiled curiosity and prying persistence, hoping to dig up a story that wasn’t theirs to tell. You always deflected, keeping your answers vague, your composure as unwavering as you could manage. But behind the facade, their insinuations cut deep. The tabloids spun stories, headlines screaming speculation about your child’s paternity, painting you as a scandal, a figure of intrigue—and worse. The judgment was relentless, the whispering voices growing louder. To them, your silence was confirmation of every cruel assumption they made: that you were reckless, unworthy.

There were nights when the weight of it all bore down on you like a suffocating blanket. Alone in your large, quiet house, you would sit with your hands on your swollen belly, feeling the movement of life within you and reminding yourself why you endured it all. This wasn’t about anyone else; it was about you and your children. It was about giving them a life worth living, even if you had to stand against the tide of judgment alone.

The months rolled on, and your strength became something of a shield. By the time you reached the end of your pregnancy, you had learned to drown out the noise, to focus solely on what mattered. One quiet evening, under the soft glow of dimmed lights in a hospital room, all the fear, pain, and loneliness gave way to something indescribable. The cries of two newborns pierced the air, and suddenly, the world faded away.

They were perfect—tiny, fragile, and already so loved. Twin boys with the faintest tufts of hair and curious eyes that stole your breath the moment you held them. Tears streamed down your face as you cradled them, their warmth against your chest grounding you in a way nothing else ever had. In that moment, the noise of the outside world disappeared. None of the cruel whispers or speculation mattered anymore. This was your reality now—your beautiful sons, your purpose.

You whispered their names softly, pressing gentle kisses to their foreheads, promising to be everything they would ever need. You knew the road ahead would be difficult; you knew the questions wouldn’t stop. But as you held your boys close, you realized you were ready. Whatever it took, you would protect them, love them fiercely, and give them the life they deserved.

The relentless attention never seemed to let up. Since the birth of your sons, the media frenzy had only intensified. Interviewers clamored for a glimpse of the twins, desperate to capture the first exclusive photo. Paparazzi camped outside your house, their questions growing more invasive by the day. And at the heart of it all was the burning question they wouldn’t stop asking: “Who is the father?” You deflected, you ignored, but each passing day it became more exhausting. Every attempt to protect your sons felt like an uphill battle.

One afternoon, you were at home, cradling your boys against your chest as you nursed them. The room was peaceful, a soft light filtering through the curtains. For a few precious moments, the world fell away, leaving only you and your sons—their small hands grasping, their contented sighs a balm to your weary soul. But that peace shattered with a sudden knock at the door.

Startled, you carefully adjusted, making sure your babies were settled before wrapping yourself in a loose robe. Your heart pounded as you approached the door. Another journalist, perhaps? Another intrusion? You steeled yourself, ready to dismiss whoever it was. But when you opened the door, the words caught in your throat.

“Marshall?”

There he stood, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, his eyes shadowed and wary. Time seemed to freeze as you took in the sight of him. He looked older, wearier—like he had been fighting his own battles. You couldn’t tell if it had been minutes or seconds before he spoke, his voice low and uncertain.

You stepped back, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. The sight of him there, in the house you had built for yourself and your sons, sent a wave of conflicting emotions crashing through you. Anger, hurt, confusion—all of it boiled over.

“What are you even doing here, Marshall?” you demanded, your voice sharp and laced with bitterness. “Haven’t you done enough?”

He paused in the doorway, eyes flicking around as if trying to take it all in. “Nice to see you too,” he shot back, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. “I thought maybe you’d be a little more… I don’t know… civil?”

You laughed, a hollow, humorless sound. “Civil? Really? You think you can just show up here after months of nothing and expect civility?”

He shifted uncomfortably, jaw tightening. “I know I screwed up, alright? I’m not here to pretend I didn’t. But I needed to come. I needed to see you.”

“Oh, now you need to see me?” You scoffed, feeling the anger bubble up again. “Funny how that works. I was on my own through all of it, Marshall. Every sleepless night, every doctor’s appointment, every time the world wouldn’t stop asking me who the father was.”

His eyes darkened, and he took a step closer. “You think it was easy for me? You think I just walked away without—”

“Yes!” you snapped, cutting him off. “That’s exactly what you did. You left, Marshall. You called me a liar, a whore, and then you told me to get out. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

He flinched, his expression hardening before it softened with something like guilt. “I know I messed up,” he said, his voice low. “I was angry, confused—”

“Spare me the excuses,” you interrupted, voice trembling. “You don’t get to show up now and act like saying ‘sorry’ will fix it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident. “Damn it, I’m not here to play hero, okay? I’m here because I can’t stop thinking about it. About you. About…” His gaze dropped to your stomach, then back up to your eyes. “About them.”

You swallowed hard, the walls you’d built around yourself trembling. “Them?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “The twins. My—our kids. I want… I need to see them.”

Silence hung between you, thick and heavy. Part of you wanted to shut the door in his face, to protect yourself and your boys from any more pain. But another part of you, the one that still remembered the good moments before everything fell apart, wondered if this was a chance you needed to take.

“They’re asleep,” you said, your voice quieter now, the anger giving way to exhaustion.

You led Marshall down the hallway, each step heavy with tension, until you reached the nursery. The room was warm and softly lit, with a serene quiet that only came when your boys were deeply asleep. You paused just inside the doorway, watching as Marshall took in the space—the cribs, the hand-stitched blankets, the tiny toys carefully arranged. His eyes softened, and for a moment, the hardened exterior you’d come to expect seemed to melt away.

You nodded toward the cribs, silently giving him permission. Marshall approached one of the sleeping babies cautiously, as if afraid to disturb the delicate peace. He hesitated for a moment, then reached down, gently cradling his son in his arms. The baby stirred slightly, but Marshall held him close, lifting him to rest on his shoulder with surprising tenderness. His large hands rubbed slow, soothing circles on the tiny back, and the baby settled again, nuzzling into the warmth of his father’s touch.He carefully kissed the baby’s head and layer it back down on the crib.

Marshall turned his gaze back to you, his eyes full of a mix of emotions—regret, hope, and something that felt dangerously close to longing. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of everything unsaid filling the silence. Then, slowly, he reached out and took your hands in his, his touch gentle but firm. He lifted them to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to each knuckle, his breath warm against your skin.

“I swear,” he murmured, his voice low but unwavering, “I’m not leaving again. I’m here for you. For them. No more running.”

The sincerity in his words made your throat tighten. You wanted to believe him—desperately. But the fear of being hurt again was a barrier you couldn’t ignore. He must have seen the hesitation in your eyes, because his grip on your hands tightened just a little, as if silently urging you to trust him. The room was quiet except for the soft breaths of your sleeping children, the world beyond these walls momentarily forgotten.

Marshall stepped closer, his movements unhurried, giving you every chance to pull away. When you didn’t, he lifted a hand and cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of old memories and new possibilities. He leaned in, pausing just a breath away, his eyes searching yours for any sign of resistance. When he found none, he closed the distance, his lips meeting yours in a slow, tender kiss.

It wasn’t like before—rushed, fueled by passion without direction. This kiss was different. It was a quiet promise, a tentative step toward something you both knew would be complicated but worth fighting for. You kissed him back, allowing yourself to feel the warmth, the sincerity, even as your mind reminded you to stay cautious. When you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested gently against yours, both of you catching your breath.

“I’m not perfect,” he whispered, his voice raw. “But I want to try. For you. For them.”

You nodded slowly, your hands still entwined. “It won’t be easy.”

“I know,” he said, a hint of a sad smile touching his lips. “But I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

In that moment, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different. It was only a beginning, but it was a start. And for now, that was enough. <3

[washeduphazbin]

Vox NSFW Headcannons

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

One would think he wouldn't know what aftercare was, considering he'd lived with Valentino for so long. However, sleeping with Vox was pleasantly surprising. He is very attentive after sex, and you wondered if it was something he carried over from his time alive. Water is always by the bedside, and it gets you snacks if needed or even a hot or cold compress. Sometimes, his screen can get really bright, and he has a custom-made sleeping mask just for you if you get overstimulated after sex.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Vox: He likes his claws; he can be delicate with them, but they can get the work done when necessary.

You: Vox loves your skin; he likes how fragile you feel beneath his fingers.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Unlike many others in Hell, I think Vox is one of the rare men who doesn’t have a raging breeding kink. As long as you both get off, he doesn’t really care where he cums, inside or out. Although…on your face always paints a pretty picture.

His cum is thick and sticky and has a blue bioluminescence feature to it. Like you're (literally) turning on a computer. He cums a lot and has a shorter refractory period than most.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He wants to tie you up in the cables in his ‘lair’. His wires snug around your body accentuating the right parts. Vox would have full control of you, your body, and your movement. The millions of cameras in his lair would be pointed on you and set to record so he never misses a moment of you being ravaged. The way your fucked out face would appear on the millions of screens in front of you both would leave him with enough material to jack off alone for an entire year.

He also absolutely has stolen several pairs of your underwear.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Vox absolutely knows what he’s doing, he’s been with Valentino of all people. As fucked up as Val’s kinks are he has taught Vox a significant amount of his skills.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Cowgirl.

It’s no secret that this man gets turned on my power. Usually specifically his own, he likes being in control. **BUT** when you take control and top him he’s GONE. Insanely turned on at how you ride him into the ground.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Vox is absolutely not goofy in bed. He’s more serious, he can be a bit snarky with you both quipping back and forth but he takes it seriously. Especially after being with Valentino where sex meant so little, now he treats it like love making.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

So. He has a TV for a head. So, carpets will never match the drapes. I think he wouldn’t have a lot (or any) hair.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He’s learned to be more romantic as the two of you progressed your relationship. Again going from Valentino to you was whiplash. At first he assumed you’d like the same stuff his ex liked but that was not the case, especially for your first time sleeping with one another.

Now he’s very romantic. He leaves you flowers every time he enters your room in the tower. When he has to leave for work he always sets up a little breakfast for you. In bed he’s much more attentive than he was at the beginning.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Oh boy, does he. He usually does it when you're not available for an extended period. If you were there, he'd much rather bury himself in your dripping pussy.

That being said, Vox absolutely has a shrine of things he’s stolen from you, mainly your panties. He uses them to jerk off, either fisting his dick with your underwear wrapped around his hand or pressing the crotch to his screen, taking in the scent of you. Other things in the shrine include your perfume, your rings, and a picture of you covered in a blue substance. The only other time he masturbates is if you make him do it in front of you, and god was that hot.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Has a mommy kink and a praise kink. Tell him he's doing an excellent job while your pussy's dripping on his face, and it's a surefire way to crash his systems. Yet, at the same time, he loves to be degraded or have anything that has to do with you being in control of him. He's also into electric stimulation, obviously. Likes when you make him bluescreen. Some errors include. _ERROR_(Y/n)'s_Pussy_too_Good.exe _ERROR_Mommy's_Punishing_Me.exe

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere, anytime. If you're both horny, he'll drag you off somewhere to blow off steam. He gets a rush from fucking in public where the press could catch them, but in reality, that would be his worst nightmare.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You glaring at him, cussing him out, being a stubborn hothead... etc. Any one of those will have him sporting a hard-on desperately needing your attention. Also, kissing his neck right where his circuits meet human flesh. That has him begging.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

He's done a lot of shit with Val, but some things absolutely cross that line. Piss, Shit, or any other bodily fluid that isn't cum is one of his big ones.

He also has to say no to shower sex, not willingly; he cannot get his head wet without risking a major power blowout.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

With Vox's long tongue, he's good at oral, can reach the deepest places, and uses his claws to keep your hips in place. You wake up covered in bruises from gripping him too tight. He has to pull your legs apart and hold them because you can't close your legs around his TV head. He loves receiving it, too, especially with you under his desk while he watches the cameras around Pride and is hooked up to the wires. If you work well enough, you can cause a city-wide blackout with just your mouth.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends on how he's feeling at the moment. He's had too many fast rough, and nonintimate fucks with Val. He appreciates smooth and sensual lovemaking. But also loves spontaneous sex; if you turn him on, he won't care where he'd find a place to fuck you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) He *LOVES* quickies. King of quickies, to be honest. Before work fuck, lunch fuck, afternoon fuck, before dinner fuck, after dinner fuck.

Most of the time, you don't know how you walk around the following days like nothing happened. If he did manage to fuck you stupid from a quickie, he would provide aftercare but still would leave to do his work at the end of the day.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

He'll try anything once. If you say you like something, he'll give it a try; he wants to do electrical play and shibari more than anything.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

All day, every day, several times. It's almost like because he's a computer, it's nearly like he has total control of his refractory period and when he cums. He could have you cumming five times before he finishes.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He has toys, plenty of them. When you live with Valentino, you know for sure every Christmas or birthday, he's getting you sex toys. You and Vox don't think he's capable of getting any of you an actual gift. Although both of you make good use of all of them

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) Oh, he likes to tease. Insanely so, but then again, so do you whenever he gives you the chance. When he tops this man will delay your orgasm as much as possible while calling you 'baby girl' and complaining about how you're pathetic and needy for him.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

This man likes to hear himself talk, so of *course* he's loud. Especially when you're sucking him off, lots of curses and mocking laughter as his claws pull and dig into your hair. When he's fucking into you, he growls and grunts saying how tight you are and how you're his perfect fuck toy.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He likes to film you on his screen and saves it away for later use in a file with your name on it. Val once asked if he could have access to it to sell it because it would make the Vee's an insane amount of money. Vox almost killed him for insinuating that he'd ever expose you like that; you were for his eyes only.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) He's long and slender; it glows a soft blue when it's dimly lit. There are thick veins on the underside of the shaft. The color is a deep navy blue, and the tip is light blue.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

As discussed before, he has an incredibly high sex drive. If you don't want it one day, he'll accept it, but he will be whining about it all day. It's like you killed him or broke up with him; that's what withholding sex is like for him. He would never force himself upon you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

First, he gives you aftercare or vice versa, and then he immediately passes out. Even if you get up and shower, he's sprawled out on the bed, snoring away. You always have to maneuver your way back into the bed, moving his sprawled-out limbs. Once you're back in bed, he clings to you like a koala does to a tree branch. Then you're stuck until morning.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Hi lullabyes, would u mind sharing your take on the flashback with young Silco, Vander, and Felicia? :O

It's adorable. It's touching. It's sweet. It's a serene moment of intimacy and family (or polycule) bonding in an otherwise deeply frenetic season.

It's also so surreal it may as well be a fever dream.

I should note, at this stage I've shut off my cognitive reasoning about Arcane and begun approaching this as if it's a series of exquisitely crafted, animated short films that are all about to collide into a beautiful disaster.

Because that's what it is.

S2 has thrown a lot of the intelligent plotting out the window to embrace the chaos.  Whether due to time constraints, intellectual fatigue, or creative indulgence, I feel like we have a show that's now just hurtling breakneck towards the finish line. Previous story threads that once held weight and were the driving force behind character arcs and subplots, have since been abandoned. Nuanced motivations and character growth are being tossed to the wayside for the sake of action, montages, music videos, and a cavalier, anything-goes approach to world-building.

And yet, it's still such an incredible spectacle to behold.

@ravenkinnie delightfully noted that she is now watching this show with her pussy.

I agree 100%. S2 is a full-body experience, and one I find myself wholly consumed by. It's like a one-night stand you weren't expecting to be so fucking good. And when the sun comes up, you know it's going to hurt to say goodbye, and there'll be no follow-up call.

But damn, you enjoyed the shit out of that experience.

So yeah, the flashback was fucking adorable. I love the genuine emotion and closeness between the three characters. I adore the idea of Felicia, Silco and Vander being childhood friends (or, again, a very messy polycule) and both men sort of falling apart without her Manic Pixie Dream Girl presence in their lives. It's a nice little character arc.

However.

I cannot reconcile this scene with the rest of S1. It feels completely disconnected from the reality of the show and the world around them. The flashback has absolutely no impact on the current events, nor does it have any foreshadowing. The flashback exists solely to provide us with a glimpse into the past, with sweet little parallels to serve as bonbons that make us coo and sigh. It completely glosses over Silco's deeply, blackly visceral hatred of Vi in S1, reduces the class struggle culminating in the Day of Ash to "Oh, Silco. If only you've protested for your basic civil rights in a peaceful manner instead of tossing a molotov cocktail, you'd still have your family, a place in the community, not to mention your eye," does not really explain why Benzo reacted to Silco's appearance by calling him an animal, and, most importantly, gives the lie to the entire dynamic between Silco and Jinx.

We were led to believe that Felicia's death was the catalyst for Silco and Vander's falling out.  That if Silco had found Vander's letter in their little Brokeback bunk, they would've worked out their differences and found peace together. That they'd have raised Felicia's anklebiters side-by-side as the Zaundads of the revolution.

Except Silco is also the man selling Evil Anime PCP (Shimmer) as an economic cheat-code to earn respect for his people, and Vander is basically Captain Centrist and traumatized by war, and there is NO WAY they would've seen eye-to-eye on their respective methods. There's no way they would've come to any sort of accord. And there's no way Silco would've forgiven the man who mutilated and left him possibly sheared of half his lifespan, any more than Felicia's children would forgive the man who killed their mother.

It's such an incongruous narrative beat.

Which brings me to the other point:

Silco and Jinx.

imo, while I love the idea of Silco carrying either a secret torch for Felicia, or seeing her as a sister he'll always love, and while I absolutely treasure the idea of Jinx being a daily reminder of what he's fighting for - "I'm doing this for us, Jinx." - it sort of cheapens the key connection between them. In S1, Silco and Jinx's arc is, in my eyes, one of the best things about the series, and so incredibly well-written and executed. Silco is a monster, yes, but his monstrosity is the product of systemic and individual trauma, and the inextricable bleedthrough between the two. Finding this little girl and bringing her up under his wing, he has the chance to be the steadying hand and safe harbor he lost after Vander's betrayal. His monstrousness is not something he inflicts on her; it is something that, rather, grows on JInx like a kudzu vine, as the terrain of her damaged mind is already fertile for his worldview and methods to take root and thrive.

He is, perhaps, the best example of nurture triumphing over nature, even if his nurturing is rather, uh, extreme.

But if their bond is predicated on Felicia, rather than two strangers finding each other in the wilderness of heartbreak and learning to let their black hearts beat, messily entwined, as one family unit, and if Silco's obsession with Jinx is merely a projection of his guilt for killing her mother, and, by extension, a projection of his love for Felicia onto her daughter...

It's just.

Do y'all remember those uncomfortable frames that the showrunners admitted were deliberate, despite the evidence in the written text suggesting a familial bond? The subtext that, all the way into S2, carries the implication of a romantic relationship between a father and his daughter?

Well.

The implications now threaten to melt into explicit text, and the uncomfortable frames have turned into Unfortunate Implications, and I am not sure how I feel about this.

 It's not giving Lily and Snape; it's giving Sansa and Baelish.

It's giving the showrunners a big, fat "YEESH" rating from CPS.

And it's giving us the same, old, tired trope of a monstrous man unable to form an attachment unless it's through the lens of prior attachments, that whole 'You remind me so much of her' and the like.

 (I also admit I am the world's biggest hypocrite as the entire premise of Forward but Never Forget/XOXO is that the core foursome of Vander, Silco, Lika and Sevika knew each other, and that those ghosts haunt the machinery of the present day. But I try my damnedest to make plain there's politics buffeting all these relationships, and despite all their efforts to claw at self-sovereignty, reinvention and a new order, the past is a stubborn bitch that refuses to let go.)

(Also in FnF, Silco is triggered by Lika rather than into her in any affectionate or romantic way, because they're so similar: pragmatic survivors who aren't above rule-bending to get their way, and at their core just want a smoke break, a stiff drink, and a nap. It's a mutual respect rather than an affection, which is why she bestows on him the dubious honor of mercy killing her if she's too wounded on the Day of Ash to continue on.)

(He's the one person who could, and would, do her the service. It's kinship, and Jinx is the bright torch of their shared ambitions and ingenuity given both wing and voice.)

But anyway.

The flashback is a fever-dream. The kind you have when you're high on cold meds and can't think straight, and the world is a blur of sensations and memories that seem vivid in the moment but melt away into madness when you're better. It's a scene meant to be savored rather than interrogated. And I think if the showrunners had the time and inclination, we would've gotten a second episode solely dedicated to the flashback, rather than shoehorning it in. But since they're clearly trying to tie everything up with a neat bow before the finale, I don't blame them for having to skim past it and focus on the vibes/emotional resonance rather than the substance of a meaningfully written scene.

But hey.

Fanfic writers will have a field day with the open-ended dynamic and the fandom will never fucking stop, so that's nice.

Also we got loads of fantastic gifs of Young Silco. Bless.

<3

tl;dr: I've switched my critical brain off and decided to just enjoy the ride. It's so fucking epic. 

Also, Felicia was delightful and I hope her brotherhood/polycule/whatever with Silco and Vander gets its own spinoff, a la Road to El Dorado (or Zaun.)

[comesatimecomesashadow]

her *ೃ༄

pairing *ೃ༄ carl grimes x gn reader

cw *ೃ༄ teen angst, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, teen romance, semi-slow burn, fluff

fic type *ೃ༄ one shot (?) | part ii here

summary *ೃ༄ in which you fall in love with the freckle-filled, blue eyed boy who wears a sheriff's hat.

note *ೃ༄ this is what i do instead of my three week old homework, enjoy !

masterlist *ೃ༄

   Arriving in Alexandria was an odd thing. Here, people tried to build a ‘civilization’, as if the world outside the walls wasn’t gone to shit already. You often ventured outside the walls without anyone knowing — Anyone excluding Enid, of course — because you were afraid of becoming weak. Immersing yourself in Deanna’s delusion would do nothing for your survival, you were sure of it. 

   When Rick and his group were welcomed inside the walls, you noticed their rough demeanors and the rugged way in which they carried themselves. They were a contrast to the people of Alexandria and because of that, their presence alluded you, even when others were weary of them. But you stayed away. Not because you were scared of them too, but because you’d rather not get close to anyone again. Regardless of what your instincts wanted you to do. 

   Enid would sometimes hang out with you alone or go with Ron and the others to fill the time that you all now had. You usually just spent the days in the attic of the empty house down the street. You’d heard a lot about the blue eyed boy with the sheriff’s hat from Enid, he seemed kinda awkward to you but you didn’t fault him. It was probably strange going from having to fight walkers 24/7 to now having the time for video games; You remember feeling that way too. 

   You were no stranger to the crushing weight of loneliness that followed all those who survived. Sometimes, you wonder if you should’ve just let yourself be eaten. But you were afraid you’d be betraying the last thing your dad told you. ‘Live! Fight and Live!’, you remembered his words vividly. You also remembered the screams that came next. 

   The leaves crunched under your boots as you walked towards your secret hangout. 

   No one, not even Enid, knew where it was. It was the place in the forest you went to whenever you felt lonely, it was a comfort to you most of the time. There in the secluded spot, you had a box with a broken lock hidden with leaves and sticks, it was full of your scavenged art supplies. Drawing was something you liked to do ever since you were a kid, it was one of the only things the apocalypse hadn’t taken from you. 

   As you approached your secret hideout, you noticed a familiar boy with the famous sheriff's hat sitting against the log you always sat at. You bit your lip and walked a little faster. ‘What was he doing here?’ You were a little upset at this. 

   “..How did you find this place?” your words were clear and loud enough so he could hear. You didn’t intend for it to come off as mean as it sounded, but then again maybe that was the best choice. You’d met different groups before coming to Alexandria and people always tended to be selfish people. Even in Alexandria, you noticed how most of the kids your age were selfish, hence why you hid your secret space even from Ron and his group. Why would this guy be any different? 

   He got up and met your eyes, seeming like a deer caught in headlights. He left your sketchbook on the ground. “I was just- Uh, I was walking around and found this place. Do you.. Hang around here, or..?” You could tell he was nervous and frankly, it felt awkward. 

   You sat on the ground next to the not-so-hidden box and grabbed the notebook he left on the ground. He opted to sit next to you. “To answer your question, yeah. I hang here by myself- most of the time at least.” You flipped to an empty page and grabbed some of your pens and markers from the chest. 

   The boy glanced down at your drawing, observing you. Then he began to speak again, less nervous this time. “I don’t think we’ve met before, I’m Carl.” 

   “...” You kept your eyes on the notebook. Should you be friendly with him? After a few moments of silence you told him your name and could see him slightly smile in the corner of your eye. “..Are you gonna stay here?” 

   “Do you mind it?” he asked. You shook your head. He seemed harmless for the most part, maybe he wasn’t like Ron and his friends. “Then.. Could I come here sometimes?” 

   “Why do you wanna?” you asked him, finally meeting his blue eyes. You noticed the freckles on his fair skin and the way his hair fell over his face was kinda funny to you. He was.. Something. Carl looked away from you, contemplating his words. 

   “Just cause.” He said with a small smile. You laughed a little at his words, sometimes it was hard to forget you were just kids. 

   “Alright then.” 

   The next few weeks, your routine began to change. 

   Normally, you’d wake up some time before the afternoon and get ready for the day. Afterwards, you’d help Olivia with the inventory and keeping track of rations. You’d go out on a run if you were asked to and if you weren't, your time was spent at your secret spot or with Enid. 

   However, ever since formally meeting Carl. Your secret hangout spot has become a shared secret hangout spot. He drew comic book characters on one of the notebooks in the chest at the spot, brought you art supplies when he came back from runs and even brought some of his own comic books. You noticed the way his facial expressions changed when he was immersed in his comics, the way he did that awkward side smile of his sometimes, you even caught him stealing glances at you sometimes. 

   But you never addressed it. 

   Not even when you began to find yourself disappointed when he missed a day at the spot. You had to remind yourself that he was just someone you met, it wasn’t like he belonged to you or anything. It wasn’t like you expected him to be there when you knew he had his own life too. 

   You told yourself then that you’d try to distance yourself. 

   Falling for someone, especially in the middle of a damn apocalypse, couldn’t go well. It just couldn’t. But it was hard to distance yourself when he seemed to be everywhere. Whenever you helped Olivia with keeping track of the inventory, he was there with his stupid, dorky smile and innumerous freckles. When you took a usual afternoon walk to clear your head, he waved at you and even joined you with his little sister in tow. 

   He was everywhere and that made it increasingly harder for you to bury your feelings away. 

   “What’re you drawing this time?” Carl asked. Your pencil stopped at the sound of his voice. You looked up and smiled involuntarily. For some reason, ever since you met him, you started to smile more often. Maybe he was just that easy to talk to, but you hated it sometimes. 

   “Walkers.” You gazed back down at your notebook that contained the scribbles and doodles of dismembered walkers and you even drew some of them with funny expressions and speech bubbles. “I know it’s twisted, considering they're the reason the world is ..shit. But I dunno,” you shrugged, wondering what he would think. Carl looked over your notebook, his hair tickling your shoulder. 

   Then he laughed. 

    “Is this one giggling? It looks funny,” A smile graced his features and a warm feeling crept into your heart at the sight of it. 

   “Yeah..!” You giggled and shaded in the drawing with some highlighters. 

   “When did you get into drawing?” 

   You shrugged, “I’ve always been into drawing, ever since I was a kid. I really liked comics n’ stuff, so I guess that’s what motivated me.” You found it endearing that he even asked because it meant that he was interested. You have never known what it felt like to have feelings like these, to feel so close to someone, but it was exciting. ..And scary at the same time of course. 

   It was then that you remembered that you’d forgotten your intentions of distancing yourself. 

   “Yeah? How come?” He picked up the comic book he had meant to continue reading and flipped to the page that had one of its corners dog-eared. 

   You put your pencil down and looked up at the sky peeking through the various green leaves blocking it. “It’s an outlet, I guess. Whenever I got lonely I’d just draw and draw till I forgot the loneliness.” 

   Carl lifted his gaze up to you again. “Do you still feel like that?” 

   You set your notebook down and hugged your knees closer to your chest before letting out a sigh. “Sometimes. Not as much nowadays though.” 

   “I’ve felt that way before too, actually. I thought I was the only one.” Carl admitted. He looked away when your eyes met his.  

   “Yeah?” You asked quietly. 

   He nodded his hands now flat on the ground at his sides and the comic forgotten on his lap. “I feel like it’s too normal sometimes.” Carl said. You agreed with his statement. “A lot of the people here aren’t prepared t’fight. I think that’s the scariest thing outta everything.” 

   “Why so?” you drew circles on the dirt. 

   “If someone, or something, from outside the walls wanted to take this place, they could.” Carl spoke as if it was fact. Maybe he was right. The wind whistled throughout the forest, a signal to return inside the walls now that the sun was also beginning to disappear. You put your notebook and his comic back inside the hidden box and closed it. 

   “We should get back, your dad’s probably wondering where you are.” You lent him a hand to help him up and he took it. His hand was a little calloused — but warm. 

   “Yeah, I guess so.” 

   He got up, but he didn’t let go of your hand. 

.

.

.

   The day the walkers came in through the walls was the day you returned to reality. You had to admit, being in Alexandria had indeed dulled your fighting skills — but it did not deter you. Plunging your knife into the skull of the walker in front of you, you headed toward the infirmary. Gunshots could be heard which only called in more from the swarm, you had to hurry.

   After a sprinting to the infirmary, you met Denise and began to help treat some of the patients that had gotten hurt. Your hands were quick at cleaning wounds and wrapping bandages, you’d picked up a lot of things before coming to Alexandria and you’d made it a habit to learn from Denise as a precaution. Luckily, it was paying off.

   ..Until Rick brought Carl to the infirmary with a grave injury to his right eye. 

   Your hands came to a sudden stop and trembled and you couldn't stop staring at him in utter shock of what had been done to him.  “What-..” 

   Denise helped Rick lay Carl down on the patient bed. “Get me the bandages, we need to stop the bleeding,” Denise ordered. Your mind went blank but you moved in a flash, handing her all the materials she needed to help him as if you were on autopilot. You didn’t ask Michonne nor Rick how it happened and you couldn’t either way since Rick decided to take his anger out on the walkers swarming outside. 

   Your eyes were laser-focused on the numbers reading Carl’s heart rate. 

   It was then that you realized just how much you cared about the freckled boy with the blue eyes, the sheriff’s hat he never took off and his stupid smile. 

   ..It was then that you realized how far you'd fallen for Carl. 

   “Is he..” your voice was shaky but Denise cut you off. 

   “He’s going to live. He will.” Her words were spoken in a strong tone but you didn’t know if she was trying to convince herself o..r you. In the meantime, you busied yourself with the other patients, most of the people huddling up inside the infirmary had left now and were beginning to go join Rick in his fight against the walkers currently swarming the inside of the walls. You couldn’t afford to think about him living or dying when other people were on patient beds fighting for their lives too. 

   But it was hard to not think about him. 

   You could only hope he would be alright. 

   The day seeped into the night sky and soon enough, Rick and the other Alexandrians had succeeded in massacring all the walkers inside the walls. Now, they were focused on making sure the walls would hold up while you still were tending to the patients in the infirmary with Denise. Luckily, some of the patients were recovering from their injuries now and waking up. From what Denise told you, Carl was unconscious but he was stable- He was alive.  That’s all that mattered to you. 

   You wanted to talk to someone, tell someone about all the feelings you were bottling up- but Enid was nowhere to be found. Neither was Ron or the other kids, and you couldn’t tell Denise because you knew how stressed she must have been. You left the infirmary and went outside to take in some air. The woman with the sword.. Michonne, you think her name was; She was outside of the infirmary as well. Carl’s dad, Rick, was there too. 

   “How is he?” Rick asked, you could hear the anxiousness in his voice. 

   You tried to give him a smile, “He’s doing better than when you brought him in, thankfully.” A few tears escaped Rick’s eyes but a small smile crept onto his lips. “..There was nothing we could do about his eye. But, ..He’ll live. You can go see him right now, he’s uhm.. He’s unconscious though.” Rick nodded and Michonne seemed relieved, but Rick was the only one who went in. Michonne stayed out on the steps with you. 

   You sighed and leaned against the wooden railing, your arms crossed and your heart full. 

   “Are you okay?” Michonne asked you genuinely.

   If it were in another time, any other time, you probably would have lied. But as soon as one tear strayed from your eye, a multitude of others seemed to follow. Michonne’s expression softened and she offered a hug, embracing your shaking body racked with emotions you couldn’t name. You didn’t know if you should be relieved, or worried- or both! 

   “It’ll be okay, [Name].” 

   You took a shaky breath in, “How..- How do you know that?” You looked up at her, your vision blurry. 

   She wiped your tears carefully, “Because we’re the ones who live.” 

   The words she spoke to you that day gave you hope. Luckily for you and his family he woke up a few weeks after the whole ordeal. However, you tried to avoid him as much as you could, like you had done before you met him. 

   You couldn’t look at him, not because of how he looked.. 

   ..but because you knew that the next time you saw him face to face, the dam of feelings you held inside would burst open instantly.

[megamindsupremacy]

Clark Pines AU random headcanons

-sometimes Stan and Ford pull the "switch clothes and talk differently to see if anyone can tell the difference" trick to mess with the twins, and they fall for it a solid 35% of the time, but Clark never falls for it because he can hear their hearts and Ford's heart is FUCKED UP due to the gazillion volts of electricity he got during weirdmageddon

-Clark almost didn't go to college to stay and work at the Shack and maybe convince his dad to finally let him help with the portal, but Stan recognized Clark was smart af and didn't want Clark to be held back for his sake. And then Stan had twenty crises in a row when it came time for Clark to actually Go To College

-Clark has to wear (reading) glasses but he doesn't like the feel of them so he usually just carries them around and wears them as infrequently as possible. And then his entire secret identity becomes "put on glasses" so he has to wear them all the time and he's REALLY MAD about it

-Clark was originally going to college for some sort of mechanics/engineering degree, but once he left Gravity Falls, he realized just how weird his hometown is. Like, he was theoretically aware, but the guy lived there his whole life. He left a few times to visit the twins and their parents or for miscellaneous other reasons but he never really lived outside of Gravity Falls for any amount of time. So it kinda hits him how different The Real World (for lack of a better term) is, and he decides to switch to communications/journalism major instead. Also, he was not very good at engineering.

-The Mystery Twins are approximately the same age as Robin!Dick so they become pretty good friends over the years. Mabel has a gigantic insane crush on Dick and Dick has a tiny baby crush on Dipper and everybody is oblivious about everything except for Bruce and Clark, who have to silently suffer together about the situation until everyone gets over it.

-Dipper gets really into magic and spells and stuff as he gets older so he becomes Clark's go-to "there's weird shit happening and it's not the genre I usually deal with" person. It isn't his life's work like with Constantine or Zatanna, so he isn't a JLDark member or anything, but he definitely Knows Some Shit.

-I'm cooking something along the lines of "Mabel becomes the youngest congresswoman ever at age 18" simply because I think it would be funny and because nobody ever acknowledges how that one frozen president technically made Mabel a congresswoman in that one episode.

-You know how Jon Kent is named that after Clark's Canon Dad Jonathan Kent? Clark tries to name his kid "Stan" after his dad and uncle and both Stanley and Stanford are like don't you FUCKING dare, we have enough Stans in this family, please give your son a better name dear god

-When the Young Justice team (yj98, NOT yjtv) forms, there's a running bit where they keep fucking running into either Mabel or Dipper on every other mission, except none of them know they're Superman's cousins so they think these two weirdos are trying to do Evil Stuff when in fact they're just living their lives, and these lives happen to be absolutely insane enough to keep crossing over with teenage superhero shenanigans.

[sevs-corner]

Lemme remind you that you asked for this.

So let’s imagine emo jock ghost practically harassing reader every day for a new mixtape, but reader being an emo nerd also gets bullied on the daily. And Simon notices, would he become protective of her?

Let’s also imagine reader in a band, probably a bassist or something. What would his reaction be? To the band, their music, live gigs. Would he harass reader for their music ass well?

Let’s imagine as well reader is a feminine pretty girl on top of emo. A lil gothic. Maybe shy and sweet, but a freaky dommy mommy when she get comfortable. How to Simon take that?

You can reshape all this however you wish, don’t feel pressured to do it all if you don’t want to. I just wanted to let it all in your hands

Lots of love 🫶🏻

THE WAY I GASPED AT THE FIRST SENTENCE ALREADY WAHAHAHAHHA

Thank you so much for feeding into this actually-- YOU COOKED !!

(Will be editing and adding onto this more tomorrow my time but holy shit i needed to respond to this asap)- edit#1: I have come back to rehash this even more LMAO

you can find the prev ask here !

Tw: 18+ Content beyond this point - MDNI

Simon would DO notice but he makes no moves until you're close enough to do that

Like, to the point of hanging out outside of class, exchanging phone numbers, exchanging mixtapes, exchanging cigs (exchanging spit too but thats a different point)

If you're at that point of the relationship, only then would he be protective of you and actually stand up for you

He would even protect you from the other TF 141 members if he sees you being harassed by them (but he still tries to keep it lowkey- not wanting the others to know that he's been keeping you busy and occupied that they can't play with you after classes)

All because you already promised to play with him the night before

I actually also though of reader being a bassist! (I love bass covers of songs and will always look for a bassist in the band because they are the secret carry's of a song frfr)

So if you were, you played with either a new or old band (when you moved to the new highschool)

Sometimes you would bring your instrument with you to school to shred behind the bleachers or find an unoccupied room

And, lucky him, he hears one of his favorite bands song being covered

Surprise, surprise- he finds you

Just ripping out a new one with the sleek bass of yours

Then on, he started taking more interest and actively tries finding you and where you practice

And he just so happens to catch wind of you preparing for a concert

He just so happens to be there when you have a concert

Just so happens to get lucky and get those VIP tickets

Just so happens to be one of the lucky few that gets a meet and greet with the band

He definitely will vibe with said bandmates and be invited to an after party where he drinks with everyone (he asks Johnny to hook him up in advance of course)

He doesn't even need to harrass reader because he is your number 1 fan

He already bought all of your cds-- you "just need to sign 'em", he says, as he shows up to your meet and greet

You're a bit shocked but you try to hide that giddy feeling thats threatening to burst because you feel like you'll push him away (you wouldnt be able to- he is, once again i say with a loud ass speaker, HOOKED LINED UP, AND SINKERED)

So you try to act lowkey but he's actually pissed off this, hoping you'd be more excited to see him

So he still acts gruff with you around school afterwards

And if reader is a feminine goth dommy mommy?

Oh my days-- it is over for Simon

The 180 from your outward personality being sweet and all that to just dominating him with with most disgusting and filthy words

Oof, he is down on his knees for everyday if he could

Whatever you say, he will do it

Even going against the other 141 guys

And my oh my, will he be so possessive over you that he wouldn't even dare to share the experience he gets when he has you in the privacy of his room

[lullabyalikpoptarot]

Stray Kids (Green/Yellow/Red Flags) In Relationships

I thought I get through this much requested reading for this weekend, so let' see what we get here from them. These readings have not been pretty so far, so might expect the same here.

Bangchan

Green (King of Pentacles) He would be a provider and supporter to his partner, the breadwinner. His partner probably won't need to work if they didn't want to. He would provide all the financial support here. I can also hear good on his word, dependable and loyal.

Yellow (9 of Cups rv) There is some lack of satisfaction on his part or his partner, just not getting everything his partner desires, maybe more so on the emotional level, not sure what this means. Things just won't be as happy in the home. I would like an elaboration on this, so got the 4 of pentacles, on one end he is greedy and selfish, a bit too protective of his partner, a bit controlling as well. Will probably need his partner around him all the time, if not, most.

Red (The Chariot) He is kind of always on the go, always on to his next venture, may not be around as much to be honest, always out on the job, so he will provide financial support, but not much emotional or being around to be honest, with this energy.

Lee Know

Green (4 of Cups) This card pops up a lot for green flags lately. Once again, he doesn't take outside offers, he isn't tempted by others, possibly won't cheat. Like this is what they want to point out as a green flag, like this is not the best green flag, like all men should have this at the bare minimum.

Yellow (10 of Wands) He carries a lot of burden, does things on his own, probably will not ask his partner to help him at all, becomes way too overwhelmed by the relationships and responsibilities of it.

Red (8 of Pentacles) He may be a bit of a perfectionist, very detailed, put a lot of work and effort to keep the relationship stable, like boy tries way too hard, relationships should be easy if there is a true bond and yeah, there is struggle, but like there seems to be a lot of pressure on himself to maintain things. Not the worst red flag here though.

Changbin

Green (9 of Swords rv) He won't stress too much about things. He may be an uplifting force for his partner. Helping them work through their stress and trying to remove stress out of their life.

Yellow (Queen of Pentacles rv) What is with these reversals? He may lack independence, may not want his partner to have that either, will probably cling to them. He wouldn't want to do things alone and wouldn't want his partner either to do so.

Red (The High Priestess) He is pretty secretive and mysterious and sneaky. Pretty much will know all his partners business. There is more to him that what he shows and share. Will probably not be open and honest with his partner.

Hyunjin

Green (Temperance) Will balance his partner, very good at keeping the peace and compromising for his partner. He could provide a loving and stable environment for them. Things will be happy and peaceful for the most part. And he will like a nice balance in the dynamic.

Yellow (3 of Cups rv) This just gives me he isn't much fun, doesn't really know how to have a good time, a bit boring.

Red (Page of Pentacles) This gives me the same vibe as the yellow flag. He is pretty slow to commit as well, will take a while for things to progress in the relationships. He may need things to be perfect before moving ahead in the relationship or find the right opportunity, but that may never come for him with how he processes things, so partners may leave him before he decides to move forward.

Han

Green (The High Priestess) He is very subtle, not sure why that is a green flag, very reserved, chill, would keep his partner's secrets, boy is secretive himself, so this doesn't surprise me lol He is also very intuitive and will know his partner very well, they don't need to say much.

Yellow (Page of Wands) Can be immature, childish, too playful, I heard sex fiend, going with it, fuck it, adventurous, likes to try new things. He might want his partner to do uncomfortable things, could be sexual, nothing toxic, since this isn't the devil card, but a little outside what they may like.

Red (Page of Pentacles) Like Hyunjin, slow to commit and develop something into a relationship. He will be hard to tie down to be honest. Pretty much focused on his career and own goals to commit.

Felix

Green (4 of Cups) Why does this keep popping up. This is not a great green flag, it just tells me they won't take offers, and why do I keep getting that message, do they get offered people to sleep with? I mean yeah, people probably want to sleep with them, because they are famous hot idols, but like why does this keep coming out. This card is giving me, because this card is set in a party setting, that they go to parties, get offered sex from people, and they can take it or not and I am taking it as he doesn't accept is he is in a relationship with someone. This is crazy wtf is this.

Yellow (Judgment) He may have a bit of a savior complex, a need to save someone, may date someone so he could save them, or date someone who who is struggling so he can be their savior.

Red (8 of Wands) He is a bit all over the place, very scattered energy wise. He may want his partner to go along with him every he goes, not sure how that works with his career. He is constantly moving. He can get draining to be around. It is like a lot comes at you when you are dating him.

I say, not too bad here overall.

Seungmin

Green (6 of Cups) He is very loving, very soft and sweet energy with him. You may be able to build cute memories together with him. He will kind of feel like a best friend. He just has this sweet loving energy to him that will make his partner feel warm and fuzzy.

Yellow (Knight of Pentacles) Once again, a theme with these members. Slow to move forward, slow to commit. He may also have other goals and career advancements he may want to focus on more.

Red (Ace of Swords) He will need to know a lot about his partner before making a step towards a relationship. There is also a lack of knowledge he has about dating. He doesn't seem to have much experience. It is like he read up on dating more than he experienced it. I don't even see him taking steps after a first date to move forwards with a relationship.

I.N

Green (Death) He is all about forward movement and moving on, so he isn't the type to stay stuck on something that happened in the past. He is someone always willing to evolve and grow, if something needs to end or change, he will do so.

Yellow (6 of Pentacles) He is the type that will give, but expects things in return, he needs balance, he won't do something with no strings attached to it. So, if he does something for his partner, they will need to give back in some way or another.

Red (Wheel of Fortune) He move on too quickly, doesn't like to ruminate over something in the past. He rather moves on, so of you are upset with something in the past, he will brush past it. I just get that is the past, why are you worried about that now. I mean I get this energy, but sometimes things in the past need to be addressed.

Once again, not too bad here either.

Okay, this wasn't that messy to be honest. They were the group I struggles the least with, now this group is good at hiding things from me, so maybe I just didn't get their worse traits, or they just aren't that wild in the love department. I also get the vibe these dudes don't have as much experience in the love department as the other groups, or they aren't as adventurous lol Let me stop.

[yaut-jaknowit]

So this ties into my previous transformation ask, so a part two of sorts.

So the transformation continues on from the previous point, scales continue to spread, mandibles sprout, and hair gets replaced by tresses, increase height, etc till they completely yautja.

And maybe for a bit of spice this is signified by the individual going into heat and having a unbaked bun put in the oven (maybe it was a dream that was never able to happen cause different species and what not?)

-🥤

The Wrong Secret to Hold Part 2

Character: Ahtaal (Male Yautja) x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 4521

Summary: A month goes by until the rest of the transformation completes. It's impossible to reverse the effects this point and left you a Yautja for the rest of your life. Though, that does have some perks. Until you are hit with your first heat.

Author Note: Ekkk! I loved doing a second part to this! It feels like I haven't wrote smut in forever.

Part 2

Masterlist

Ao3

If the scales weren’t the worse thing, it was the tress. Pressure behind your eyes had you curled up in bed. Ahtaal worked diligently with everything in his power to either halt or even reverse the transformation. Some nights, the red Yautja doesn’t come to bed, still glued to his workshop. Every favor and piece of knowledge put together in front of him.

But nothing could be found. It was a miracle you had survived such things. From what others have gathered, these Bad Bloods had been doing this for some time. Other… humans hadn’t been lucky enough like yourself to survive.

Oh, how lucky you were.

Tears stained your cheeks. Pain relief rushed through your veins but did little to quell the headache. It felt like the medicine hadn’t even touched it; leaving you here to suffer in your bed.

All you wore at this point was sheen, silken cloth around your waist. The only modest part of yourself. Everything else had been torn off. The touch of it drove you into sanity. Scratches marred your changing skin.

Ahtaal found blankets from earth that were the only thing you didn’t want to either tear up or rip off your own skin. They felt like you weren’t even lying on anything. Similar to the cloth acting like shorts.

Said male despises leaving you alone in the quietness in your shared bedroom. Yet, if anything is to get done about the situation, he had to act. Plus… the items you’ve thrown at him have bruised his head. Clearly, you didn’t want to be touched. It would happen sacuddenly, leaving him with no time to react.

A hiss surged pass clenched teeth. Your eyes are sealed shut. Star appeared through the darkness. A wave of nausea striking you so hard that color bloomed to life in the darkness. You tensed every muscle harder in reaction and fought off the feeling in the back of your throat. It became a struggle of mind over body.

Until your mouth watered.

Then, you were up on your unsteady feet and stumbling like a drunk into the bathroom. Your hands gripped the toilet bowl just in time for everything you’ve consumed in the last few hours to surge up your throat. Bile spewed. You were a hot mess.

For the next hour, you were glued to the bowl. There was little strength left in yourself to get back up and into bed. The floor wasn’t terrible against your skin. It only irritated you slightly. Your exploding headache was at the forefront of everything.

Soft pitter-patter of feet had you cracking open an eye. Through your blurry vision, you see a dark red blob rush towards you. A weak groan was given when scratchy scales rubbed wrongly at your skin. Words are cooed to you but didn’t quite reach the logic side of your brain. Ahtaal lifts you off of the bathroom floor and into his arms. You clenched your eyes shut again, face twisted with irritation.

With your arms, you tried to push him away, claws scratching against his chest. The Yautja acts no different and continues to gently carry you back out into the bedroom. The feeling of your skin crawling had your hands going up into your hair. Yet, something… unnatural skimmed across the tips of your fingers.

Every muscle in your body went still. That… wasn’t hair. Your first reaction was to pinch the long, rubbery nub sticking out of your scalp and nearly jumped straight out of Ahtaal’s arms. He had to flex his arms to keep you from falling to the ground. The cry that left your lips made the male frantic.

Ahtaal set you down in the concave bed in the floor. His bright eyes were wide while scanning over your scalp for what caused the issue. Then, he saw something sticking out past your hair. It almost… looked like the tips of his dreads. He chittered to himself while thinking and turned your head to look at the discovery closer.

And he’ll be damned.

At random, small sprouts of tresses stuck out. All at different growths. The longest one being about an inch and half. Black in color and the same texture as his own. The transformation was progressing at a rate he couldn’t keep up with. He felt useless, defeated that his efforts had turned null.

Even if he was able to stop the progression at this point, plenty had already changed about you. He knew you wouldn’t be able to look at yourself in the mirror. That pained his heart.

When you dragged your gaze up to him, he froze on the spot. Your eyes had changed from their natural hue to a bright yellow that glowed lightly. Pain was evident in the orbs. He began to purr softly and pinched your chin between his fingers. “Little one,” he cooed in his deep voice. Instinct clawed at his insides to rub his forehead against your own. Anything to comfort you. He knew it would hurt rather than soothe. He still craved he had taken his time on those scums who took you.

“Make it stop,” you cried to him. The headache still throbbed but the pressure and slowly decreased to a point you could see fine now. “My head…” His claws twitched.

Anger boiled below his scales. Not at you. Never at you. It was directed at himself. How could he let this happen to you? To let those scums to change you in such a way. The pain you’re going through. He gritted his mandibles and forced himself to focus back on you. You were his concern. You’re here, alive and with him. Ahtaal continued to purr the entire time.

Words were lodged in his throat. How could he tell you what else was happening to you?

Tears prickled the corners of your eyes again. “Ahtaal, what’s happening to me?” You knew. It haunted over you like death in the air. The look in his eyes told you something else had changed. Something he seemed to fear as well. You were terrified, hands starting to shake.

Curses fly around in his head at the sight. You were scared. The purring wasn’t working his favor. “It’s…” he trailed off for a moment, eyes searching through your own. You noticed how they flickered up to wards your scalp.

With a trembling hand, you used it to touch at the top of your head. Your fingers found a small, bump that sent a shot of electricity down your spine. A gasp tore at your throat at the painful experience. But, you continued to search through your strands, finding more scattered across your scalp. There’s only about a dozen but enough to be noticeable.

You pulled away and fell a few strands of your hair tangled in your fingers. Confusion twisted your face. The hand was brought down. Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head.

A tangled mess of hair had been weaved around your fingers. A lot more than normal. As if… it was all falling out. You cried.

Hard.

The loss of your hair; your nails turning into claws; increased diet; only for a decrease in energy due to your body changing; your eyes color changing; scales appearing across your skin; the increase of height, only by a little; then, the mandibles came along to seal the deal.

At this point, it’s been about a month since the first noticeable changes. Nothing about the cure has led into anything hopeful. Just an idea. A hopeful thought to save you from a life changing experience. But, Ahtaal continued to hit dead ends. It angered him beyond belief. He wanted to help you, his mate, but… couldn’t.

One month turned into two before the last of it solidified into place. There were differences compared to a normal Yautja. You hadn’t grown quiet as large; your body wasn’t able to grow that much. That’s what he could conclude with.

The color of your scales were beautiful in his eyes. He wasn’t expecting them to change. The noticeable scales had changed to an ivory color and speckles across your shoulders, back, forearms, and the outside of your thighs. The rest of it had turned towards a burgundy red that rivaled Ahtaal’s scales.

His fingers skimmed over the prominent ivory scales. Your napping form softly resting in the safety of your shared bed with Ahtaal. Said yautja purred in his throat and ran the back of his claw down your exposed arms. You may despise the change, not even looking yourself in the mirror, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Before, your soft features, plush curves. Just the fact you were the opposite of him both fascinated and weakened him.

Nothing had changed that same love deep in his heart.

Different looks didn’t shift the way he saw you from within. Actually, he felt like didn’t have to be as easy with you. The size and physical strength differences didn’t change his mindset. Ahtaal loved you.

A gentle hum escaped your throat as you shifted around at his touch. Ahtaal deepened his purr and stopped his hand over your hip. “You awake?” he teased and gave your hip a squeeze. You whimpered quietly and rolled over onto your stomach. But, your eyes never opened.

The fur blanket slipped of of your shoulders and exposed the upper portion of your back. Ahtaal’s eyes glistened in the low light. With a grunt, the burgundy Yautja heaved himself up to hover over your back. Your scent waft up into his senses and caused him to freeze on the spot.

Worry gripped his heart. Ahtaal leaned down and brushed his mandibles against the nape of your neck. The scent strong. He peeled the blanket off of your form.

There was nothing hiding the scent from his scenes.

His eyes snapped wide. He could feel his own body reacting and had to bite off a growl from erupting. One of the blankets that made up the bed was crushed underneath his claws. He couldn’t fight off the purring in his throat. Anything to call a female to him. To lure her to him.

You were in heat.

Ahtaal’s thoughts began to clutter with ideas, but the need to breed was constant. It itched, poked, and prodded at his mind. Ahtaal growled this time and backed away from you in a hurry. The last thing he would ever wanted to do to you was harm you. Or scare you if advanced on you.

Everything was hot. A feeling burned your skin. A high-pitch whine bullying its way out of your throat and into the tense air. You cracked open an eye then the other. Something within you clawed for the sight of Ahtaal. Confusion and fear washed over you in a fast, consuming wave. You whimpered and shakily got up on your hands and knees. Your eyes scanned the surrounding area to see a familiar figure beginning to retreat backwards.

One movement to crawl forward had a hiss surging into the air. Pain sprouted to life within your stomach. You curled up on your knees with one arm against your sweaty stomach.

What was happening? Words you wished to voice were pinned in your throat. What you did know was you wanted Ahtaal. He could solve this. He could help you fix this. He’ll take away the pain.

You fought against the pain and lifted up your to meet his dull orange eyes. Ahtaal felt pinned in the moment. All of his movements stopped once you looked directly at him. The pain evident in your teary eyes. They pleaded to him. For help. He marched back across the room and knelt down at your side. Instantly, you leaned on him for support but found something else that intrigued you. The touch against your skin sent an electric pulse to your core.

A keen sounded from you. Ahtaal’s eyes darkened, pupils beginning to expand. The scent of you etched into his scales. His fingers twitched then grabbed you. You find yourself on your back while gazing up at the dark red figure hovering over your pinned form. The furs underneath you soft compared to the male Yautjas actions. Ahtaal leaned down and scent at your neck. The sharp ends of his mandibles dragged across the column of your throat. The sweet sound that arose from you had the blankets on either of your head crushed in a power grip.

This position had either of your legs on his hips and curled behind his back. His own scent washed over you. Your own mandibles chittered against one another. A heady purr vibrating from deep within your throat.

“Aht-aal… What’s ha-ppening with me?” you were finally able to ask in a broken, husky voice. Your hands twitched at your sides. A need to flip the positions began to grow inside of your mind.

Your words seemed to snap him out of his darkening thoughts. Ahtaal was able to pull himself away from your tantalizing scent and find your worried eyes. The pupils were wide but he read between the walls. He cursed lowly to himself for his young blood actions.

“You are… in heat.” A brief pause to let the words sinkin. “You know my ruts? Where I only have the thought to breed you?” Days where he usually refused to let you see him. Again, he was not able to control himself those days. He will never hurt you in way that you don’t consent to. Even if that meant locking himself away for your protection.

Alarm flashed to life in your eyes. An uncomfortable feeling crawled up the length of your spine as sweat pooled between you and the fur blankets. Your mandibles clenched tightly together. “H-heat? I…” You were about to say humans don’t do that. But, this only proves further you are no longer your original species. Yet not fully Yautja either. Just a strange hybrid that appeared mainly Yautja. “Am I going to go mad? I feel like I am.”

The insistent need that gnawed at your stomach grew more and more.

When your hands moved towards Ahtaal, he snatched each of them up and pinned them above your head. You didn’t even see it happen before they were there. His eyes turned dark for a moment before easing up on the pressure.

Ahtaal shook his head. The dark tresses on his head swaying with the move. “No, you are not. It’s natural. All Yautjas do it. Yours is a bit early,” he answered and stroked his thumbs over your wrists. He watched when something passed over your face. A challenge flashing to life in your irises. It called upon his baser instincts.

Your muscles flexed. Immediately, Ahtaal forced more of his weight upon your pinned form. You released a growl from the depths of your chest. The male responded with his own and flared his upper mandibles.

With a newfound strength, you strained against his own strength. The male strategically maneuvered his weight to keep you pinned there. You can see in his gaze that he’s fighting with himself.

“I can help you through this. But… I cannot promise I won’t be kind or gentle. Your heat is causing my rut to quicken. You know how I can be,” he grounded out, hands tightening around your wrists. You knew what he was referring to.

The few past times you’ve seen him amidst a rut has only been at your control. He’s tied down with restraints he knows he cannot break. No matter how hard he tries. He will not let himself hurt you. This time… it was different. Not only were you changed physically, you had begun a heat cycle that had his blood burning in his veins.

There was little time to tie himself down. With the added scent of your heat, he would be lost to the throes. “Do you understand?”

Though, the heat took every rational thought out of your mind, you stopped for just a second. That one moment of reprieve. Until you were nodding rapidly. “I do.” Your back arches off of the bed. The air in the room turning a few degrees hotter. Not once did the pain retreat. “Please, it hurts, Ahtaal. Help me.” You needed help. You needed Ahtaal to save you.

The male lost you once to his foolishness. He will never make that mistake again.

Ahtaal snarled from the back of his throat. One hand took both of your wrists. The other tore at the clothing you wore. A hindrance to a male servicing his mate in heat. Everything was discarded around the bedroom in shreds. You tightened your legs around his waist and tried to throw him off balance to the side. But the male was prepared and widened his stance.

A glint shone in his gaze when he peered down at you. Your mandibles flared with a snarl. This position didn’t off much with him between the legs and your arms are pinned. Ahtaal leaned down and invaded your space. “You thought you could throw me off so easy, love?” he purred then scooped up the back of your knee and pinned it to your chest.

Now, you were effectively pinned and exposed to him.

Sharp mandibles grappled at the skin of your neck and drew blood. Teeth pierced your hide. You howled and arched your back. Ahtaal growled a possessive tone and clamped down harder to get his point across.

Red blood spilled when he released the crook of your neck. It stained his fangs and dripped back down onto your chest. “Mine.” Your leg slips out of his hold and back down to his waist. He shifts back into a straighter position, your hands free.

A hand wraps around your throat the moment you made a move to sit up. Your hands fly to his wrist and attempt to peel him off of you. But Ahtaal distracts you with a thumb dipping between the exposed folds of your core. The struggle wanes. You refocused again and tried to get him off of you again. His hand tightening to a painful point. He continues to tease at your already soaked folds and rubs circles around the three clits at the apex of your sex.

The stimulation throws you into a loop. The fight lost. You tensed up, brain flooded with the overwhelming pleasure. Three compared to one was completely different thrice the amount of pleasure you felt building in your stomach. Let alone your arousal being at an all time high.

Your heels dig into Ahtaal’s back and never wanted to let him go. Your mandibles went slack as the crest was already in sight.

Just by the way your form was reacting to a light touch, Ahtaal could see the way your muscles began to lock down. Behind him, your toes slowly curling. The male couldn’t help the smirk upon his features and pressed a little hard. A gasp tore at your throat. Both of your hands slammed down at your sides and snatched up what blankets they could.

Every thought was wiped from your brain. White started to blind your vision. Ahtaal didn’t change one thing and simply watched you fall. You writhed and mewled underneath him, furthering marking the bed with your scent. A smell he wanted to bathe in. All because it smelled like you. His mate that he was going to breed and knot and fill with his seed. He was going to take care of your heat while satisfying his own rut.

Before you even came down, his hands left and pulled at the loincloth. In the same manner as your own clothing, it was shredded and discarded somewhere. Ahtaal shifted on his knees. One hand rested on the lower portion of your stomach. The other gripped the hard length standing between his legs. He guided the pointed tip towards your dripping entrance.

You felt something prod at your core and pushed slightly in. The tail ends of your orgasm still fluttering your muscles. Ahtaal slid home and felt his hips meeting the apex of your thighs. His hands fist at the flesh of your hips, claws drawing red blood to the air.

When he hilted inside of you, for a moment, there was clarity. The fog lifting. Then, it slammed back down on you ten times harder.

Nothing needed to be said. Ahtaal read it. His dug into deeper into your hips and gripped tightly. His hips pulled back far enough for the tip to be the only thing resting inside of you. One powerful, sudden thrust bullied his thick cock back into you soak, soft walls. The feeling like a drug to him. Ahtaal snarled pounded hard into you, sending your body rocking up until he brought you back down.

Each thrust made an obscene noise. The wetness you produced was plenty enough to keep slide in and out smooth in motion.

Ahtaal was back in your neck, tongue laving at your moist skin. “Pauk, so tight. Squeezing me so good. Gonna breed you. Make you mine. Need to fill you up. Gonna knot you,” he rambled and sank further into the baser instincts that drove his every move. “Mine! Never felt this good.”

On the other hand, you were a mess underneath him. The different body made you feel everything more than usual. Every sense was alit with a fire that burned brighter than the sun. Your hands grappled at his back and drew blood to the surface.

Neon green blood smeared across his bare skin. He reveled in the pain and used it to his advantage. It forced him to quicken his speed with the same amount of force behind each thrust.

“Ahtaal! You-ah,” you tried to blabber something to him. Words you couldn’t even form inside of your head. A straight mess underneath his powerful, mighty hands. “I-I lo-“ a cry cut you off. The male had angled his hips up. His tip struck a spot that made stars appear in your vision. “Fuck! Coming!”

That’s the only warning you gave before your walls clamped down on his continuously moving form. Stars appeared behind your closed eyes. Despite him on you, you arch your back off of the messy bed. A strangled howl echoing back at you. Your claws firmly sat in his skin and refused to let him go until the ecstasy started to wane.

Your limb fell limp to the bed. Ahtaal didn’t stop. He continued to use your body for his own pleasure.

A possessive snarl ripped at his throat moments later. Teeth latched into the flesh on the other side of your neck. More red blood pooled out of the fresh marking. Ahtaal held on tightly. His hips snapped once more against yours before going flush. A pressure built just on the inside of your entrance. His cock throbbing inside of you and spilled his seed as deep as possible. It marked you from the inside out.

He leaned over your equally panting form, head slightly bowed. Finally. He had finally knotted you. The way you were so tight, constricting around him made him dizzy but feral all at the same time. The male forced himself to unstick his claws from your skin.

Red blood dripped down the blacks of his claws and onto your stomach. A palm was placed on top of the blood. Ahtaal slid that hand up between the small valley of your breasts and to rest around your neck. He had marked you with your own blood. But the wounds will leave lasting scars. Making you his. His mate.

Though, the second orgasm of the night. That heat boiled back to life. The flame reigniting. You meet his gaze and growled. “More,” you demanded.

At first, you tried to use your foot to push him back. Until you felt pain race through you. A ball of flesh locking you with Ahtaal. His knot. Not once did you think you would ever take it. The male didn’t want to hurt you. He had knotted you this time.

Ahtaal grasped the back of your knee of the offending leg and pushed it into your chest. “Stay,” he commanded and narrowed his dull orange eyes on you.

Half of you wanted to obey. The other part wanted you to take over control. Be the demanding female his species is known for. The feeling running deep in your blood.

The muscles of your jaw tensed up. “Need more,” you demanded and tried to twist your form to the side. Any way to rise up and take what you needed. That feeling in the pit of your stomach deepens, gnawing down at your insides. You needed more to quell this unbearable heat eating you up.

A dark red hand shot out and grabbed at your vulnerable throat. The male bellowed a warning. His eyes narrowed down on your lying form. “Do not move,” he snapped and tightened his hands. His touch on your throat had your muscles slowly relaxing, finally listening to his command.

When the moment came after an agonizing long time, Ahtaal tugged his hips back. The knot popped out with a gush of seed and dirtied the bed even more. You growled and arched off the bed, butt up. Ahtaal was quick to use his weight against you. Though stronger in this new form, you weren’t able to keep both of yourselves up. He was able to pin you back to the bed.

“Little vixen, fighting me,” he rumbled. His eyes were fiery with a need. Reflecting the same thing you felt. “But, I know what you need. All you have to be is patient. I’ll fill you.”

He didn’t move his hand from around your throat. The other released your leg and gripped the base of his cock again. The tip was lined up with your entrance once more. “I’ll take care of you, my mate.” Then, he entered you in single, brutal thrust.

Exhaustion and satisfaction filled your frame. A lazy, content grin painted your alien features. A low purr vibrated each of your chests. You nuzzled against his chest, panting him with your scent. Ahtaal was marked as yours. No one else could have him. You’d kill anyone who dared looked at him.

His hand petted down your back. “I didn’t even think you would have a heat, little mate.” Though, you had gone through plenty of changes with this new form, he hadn’t thought this would happen. But he had been proven wrong. “I’m not complaining though. You handled me well.”

That excited him the most.

Your purr deepened. “I told you… I could handle you.” For the most part. Both of you are thoroughly marked by teeth, claws, and cum. Ahtaal ensured you were worse of the two. Because it was the first he could lose control and not worry.

Ahtaal hummed and skimmed his sharp claws across your back. “That you did.” The exhaustion got the best of you and pulled down into a deep, peaceful sleep.

[mak-be-ghouled]

i'm sorry but tou said that you want more about delta and phantom and i just thought about delta asking about phantom's scars and thinking that he added more. and i might be writing hurt/comfort about them because i think we all deserve fluff-

JESTER YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME IK WHATEVER YOU'RE COOKING UP IS GOING TO BE INCREDIBLE

(that being said don't feel pressured to write anything just bc I said more, pls only write what and when you want to)

Your quint characterization is maybe my favorite thing I’ve ever read and has ABSOLUTELY inspired my own writing and I cannot thank you enough for that. Hopefully it's ok that I ran with your lighting/scar ideas for this little ramble about Phantom/Delta bc I agree we all deserve some fluff.

I got a bit carried away here's 1.6k words of Phantom/Delta hurt/comfort under the cut

Not sure how I feel about the ending but were just gonna ignore that

Phantom who is so drawn to Delta despite being so terrified of the magic they're said to harness, it's no secret Phantom is a runt, he has the scars to prove it. Something not as obvious is that most of the scars he wears don't have heroic stories defending himself from entire ghoul packs or even from scavenging around alone hoping to get lucky enough for food and a safe place to sleep for the night. 

No, Phantom wasn't alone in the pits, not always in the physical sense at least. A particularly powerful quintessence ghoul had it out for Phantom fairly early on, a lighting quint at that. No one, not even Phantom really knows what happened during these run ins. 

Nothing to prove they even happened beyond scorched skin. wounds that never fully healed, not how they should have at least. Etching lighting bolts into delicate skin. Branding him. 

When Phantom was summoned topside he was indescribably drawn in by a particular type of magic. A type of magic that felt dreamlike in a way, familiar and yet so distant. 

The closer he got to the pack though, the more he longed to identify this elusive magic. He thought maybe it was Swiss, buried somewhere deep inside him, he was a multi after all.

Eventually Phantom began hearing rumors about another quintessence ghoul, one he had never met before, one that had changed elements, one that was connected to water. 

When Phantom and Delta first meet it's electric in every sense of the word.

Delta has tried his hardest to keep himself away from Phantom, to protect him. Phantom had gone through enough and all Delta did anymore was hurt. Hurt himself, hurt others. He couldn't do that to Phantom too, not after hearing all that the ghoul had been through, not at the hands of another lighting quint.

Phantom was entranced by Delta though, it was his magic he had been drawn to. Part of him was terrified of Delta, put off by this distantly familiar magic, but the other was so desperate for it, needed it like his lungs needed air.

For the first time since the transition, Delta can stand to be physically close to another ghoul. Not once does Phantom ever jump back in fear or hesitation or pain from his unruly element. 

For the first time in as long as he can remember, Delta is... relaxed. His mind slows its never-ending racing. The elements warring inside of him fall calm and peaceful in a way so foreign to him it almost makes him sick. 

Despite his better judgment, Delta can't resist Phantom, there's just something so special about the little ghoul that he can't deny. He's so scared of hurting him, but he's even more scared of losing him and he barely even knows Phantom yet.

Phantom and Delta begin spending more and more time together, so deeply lost in the galaxy that is the other. Stormy nights are especially special for them though, something about their connection to the stars and lighting, it's just...them in a way.

Tonight is one of those nights. It's been overcast all afternoon and just started storming as the sun went down. Through patches of darkness that can only be assumed to be storm clouds, the stars and moon just barely peak through. Almost as if they're revealing themselves just for them.

Delta had set up one of the greenhouses as a makeshift observatory, full of soft blankets and the pair's favorite snacks, made complete with the old vinyl record player Mountain insisted on having in the greenhouse for his plants.

Delta wonders if they would approve of his music selection. But truly it doesn't matter, all that matters is that he knows Phantom loves it.

Finally, Delta hears the creaking of the rusted door hinges and looks up to see Phantom’s radiant smile, his eyes shine brighter than the stars in the sky and Delta has never felt more at ease than he does in this very moment. 

"Hi lighting bug" 

Phantom says as he takes in his surroundings, crawling into the nest Delta has put together for them. Delta chuffs, pulling Phantom close to him. 

The pair lay in a comfortable silence for a while, just taking in everything. Watching as lightning lights up the night sky. Pointing out stars and constellations as they appear and disappear behind the clouds. 

Experiencing love they'd never had, loved they didn't think they deserved.

At some point Delta's eyes drift from the sky, settling instead on his own universe, the ghoul laying just beside him. Delta wasn't sure he'd ever be able to love like this, and yet, here he is.

Phantom glances over to Delta, only to be face to face with the most loving look Phantom has ever seen, at least the most loving face he's been the receiver of. Phantom is overcome with emotion, can’t believe he's experiencing this type of connection with another ghoul, he's not sure he deserves it but when he's quite literally face to face with it, he isn't so sure anymore, and his eyes well with tears.

"Can-Can I kiss you, Nova?

Delta asks acting fully on impulse, not thinking, just doing. He hasn't kissed anyone since before he changed elements, hell he's hardly touched anyone since the transition, but before he can overthink anymore the corners of Phantom's month pull up into a small smile and he gives a shy nod.

Before he knows it Delta's hand is cupping Phantom's cheek and their lips are connecting in the softest, most genuine kiss. 

Delta feels like he's floating, like nothing will ever matter again as long as he has Phantom. 

Just as Phantom goes to pull away though, just for a breath, smiling against Delta’s lips the whole time, to wipe the tears that had fallen, Delta is ripped back down to reality. 

All of a sudden Delta is hyper aware of the lightning bolt shaped scar slashing through Phantom’s face, the scar that he has been holding in his hand.

Delta rips his hand away from Phantom's face, looks into his eyes and sees tears.

Why was Phantom crying? Did he leave that scar? Is he the reason for the lightning bolt tearing through Phantom's face? Did he hurt Phantom? The one ghoul he thought was safe from his own pain?

Delta tries to get away, thrashes and growls and realizes he...can't? 

Somethings holding him down and he's back in the summoning room, he’s back being strapped down and used as an experiment, just to see if a ghoul really can change elements. If a ghoul can be tamed, be useful again.

Distantly Delta hears Phantom's voice calling to him, floating off somewhere into the void. Slowly the warring elements begin to calm again and Delta is looking at Phantom face to face again.

He hates himself. Hates himself for the scar he left. The damage he did to such a beautiful innocent creature.

Deta hurts everyone he touches, he knows this, has seen it happen. Why did he think Phantom would be any different?

"Delta. Love. Look at me. What's going on?" 

Phantom's trying to act calm, to bring Delta back to reality, but he's scared too, he's not sure what happened, if he did something wrong.

"I- Im- so- sorry." 

Delta heaves out between panting breaths, and Phantom's never been more confused.

"Delta, what?"

"You- your face- I"

Phantom grazes his hands over the scarred side of his face, over the lighting bolt, Delta flinches back again- and 

oh

Phantom realizes he's never really thought about that, never really considered the connection between Delta's magic and his scars, never considered why he had been drawn so strongly to Delta, to Delta's magic. 

"I- I need to go, I don't want to - I can't hurt you anymore"

Delta sobs out, stumbling and trying to stand.

"Delta, please."

Phantom calls out and he sounds so desperate.

Delta was supposed to be a healing ghoul, he can't just leave Phantom hurting now. 

Delta tries to call on his magic but he just... can't. It's like he's run dry. 

He heaves into the ground and his mind starts clearing once again, he becomes distantly aware of a hand rubbing up and down his back, he tries to flinch away but he doesn't have any more fight left in him.

Phantom just keeps whispering to Delta, soft and loving words, words he knows Delta doesn't think he deserves, but Phantom couldn't think of a more deserving ghoul, keeps a steady hand on his back hoping to help ground Delta, he'd use a bit of his magic too if he didn't think it would make everything worse, so instead he settles on only affecting the physical realm. 

Finally Delta comes back down to earth, Phantom is able to explain as much as he remembers from the pits to Delta, how he thinks he got those scars. How it wouldn't be possible for Delta to have hurt him like that because in the pits he was a water ghoul. 

Delta tries to accept Phantom's words, he does, but can you really blame him for being so scared? It's not like hurting someone he loves, even if on accident, was something he hadn't done before.