#asher is losing his mind

[therexasher]

Guys. Guys. GUYSSSSSS!!!! SOMEONE GET THIS MAN BEFORE I DO, BECAUSE WHO TF TOLD HIM TO LOOK THIS FUCKING FINE.

YALL IM A DAMN MESS RIGHT NOW, HELP, THIS AINT EVEN FUNNY ANYMORE, IM ACTUALLY LOSING IT!!!

His eyes.

His smile.

His lips.

His hair.

BRUH HIS EVERYTHING.

MWAH, CHEFS KISS.

WORDS CANNOT DESCRIBE HOW ABSOLUTELY DOWN BAD I AM FOR THIS MAN RIGHT NOW, THATS IT, IVE LOST IT, IM IN MY GRAVE NOW!!✌🏽🪦

[therexasher]

UHMMMMMMMMMM- PLEASE IVE OFFICIALLY LOST IT.

[thefirstknife]

What are the Tones?

Whomst've asked me this. You're fuelling my unending obsession, thank you.

I posted about the tones before! Most of it is listed in this post! But I'd like to add some stuff now that it's been some time since then.

The tones are noises made by the spires on Mercury (Lighthouses). Whenever someone dies, the spires emit a tone. They basically react to death in various ways, depending on how the death happens; there's different tones to dying to Light as well as different tones to a perma-death. This is peculiar because nobody could hear them except Brother Vance.

He made Trials of Osiris to study them (because it's an endless source of Guardians dying over and over). Mara knew about his research (Trials was accessed in the Reef in D1) and warned him to stop because it's dangerous. It's unclear why. Osiris did the same years later. As a matter of fact, Osiris was super dramatic about it:

"What I have discovered…" "…is dangerous enough to destroy every man, woman, and child in existence. You're meddling with forces outside your grasp," Osiris reprimanded.

The tones are interesting because they're still largely unexplained. Mara implied that they symbolise Guardians being attuned to Darkness and being able to wield it, which is true, but Osiris' reaction implies something more. And it has to be more, because Osiris detected the same tones as coming from the anomalies of the missing planets and from the Pyramids. Long post under:

In my previous post I also connected that to the fact that egregore seems to be emitting some sort of sound/frequency attuned to the same thing: anomalies, Pyramids and, obviously, to the source of it all (the Witness). So there's some sort of frequency in Darkness that is audible and comes from all places connected to the Darkness network (and that network manifests physically as egregore). And in this case, anomalies and Pyramids (and ships infested with egregore like Glykon and Leviathan) are fine; it makes sense that they link to the Witness!

But spires on Mercury? Why them? My bestie made a post recently after we went unhinged (again) because the same lore book that deals with the tones also makes a really strong implication that the Vex were deliberately led to Mercury by the Pyramid Fleet in the Collapse. There, the Vex drained Mercury of Light, hollowed out the planet and used its materials to make the spires (and the Infinite Forest, a simulation engine) and then they waited for the Pyramids to return. Which they did, in Arrivals.

To make things more complex, after Titan came back, it was confirmed that the Witness did not take the planets randomly. There was a purpose to each one being stolen. Mars was taken to search through our Golden Age and Collapse database in order to find where the Veil may have been hidden. This could've been just a random coincidence, but then Titan came back and we learned that the Witness wanted Ahsa dead because Ahsa not only knows the origins of the Witness, but also how to get through the portal (and who knows if she has any other potential powers to helps us get in there or help us otherwise).

Io is unclear, but there are many options; it may have been taken for the Pyramidion and Vex stuff which Asher got ahead of. It may have been taken to study the Tree of Silver Wings (the Witness had another seed it gave Calus in Lightfall), or it may have been taken to study the Traveler's past or the Light in general or maybe something else. The point is, there are options that we can understand.

But Mercury? Zero clue. The only thing that may have been of interest is the Infinite Forest, but Vance sealed it so if the Witness took Mercury for that and couldn't get into the Forest, then Mercury would've been useless and probably released sooner unless the Witness is just keeping it out of spite or thought that maybe it would be able to find a way inside. And of course... there's the spires and the tones. Mercury is somehow linked to Darkness and the Witness, it has to be, and we have no clue what the Witness wants with it.

Not only that, but there's another curious thing about Mercury, or rather, the anomaly of it. It was mentioned in Duality dungeon, by Calus. When Calus tried talking to the Witness on the Glykon, the Witness eventually responded and it told Calus to come to the anomaly of Mercury:

Through the Crown of Sorrow, the Voice in the Darkness called out to me, beckoning me to the absence of Mercury. At first, I feared the Leviathan would not survive the journey, as the Glykon had been rent asunder by a similar journey. By my Leviathan, it is strong. Its heart beats anew, and as it pierced the veil of creation... the Voice greeted me. There were such sights to behold.

So when Calus disappeared off the Glykon, he went back to the Leviathan and bolted straight for the Mercury anomaly in which he was able to communicate with the Witness. Why Mercury? Glykon went into the Mars anomaly. Why couldn't the Witness speak to Calus in there? Or in any of the other anomalies? Why specifically Mercury? This is driving me insane.

But if Mercury is somehow connected to the Darkness network through the spires, is it possible that it serves as some sort of a communications hub? Maybe that's why the Witness is still keeping it? And it still is! We can see it in Root of Nightmares, in the Witness' room. Titan is still obviously there as well because it came out before Titan returned, but Mercury and Io are still trapped. This is also confirmed by the tiny excerpt we can see from the TFS Collector's Edition which I talked about in here.

Or the reason for Mercury is something completely different. We have no clue why Mercury was taken and what's going on there and why the Witness called Calus there and why the tones happened and why are they the same tones that can also be heard from anomalies and Pyramids.

To fuel me even more, they decided to drop two lore pieces in Season of the Deep that relate to Mercury and the tones tangentially. I know literally everyone and their grandma thinks that Targeted Redaction is just there to be funny (and so did I at first), but I genuinely can't accept that as being just a joke. The gist of it is that Osiris has no clue who Vance is and that is, to put it simply, impossible.

Obviously Osiris did not like the Cult and they were annoying to him, but he knew Vance. He spoke to him only once, but Vance is the one who told him to "plant the seed," a message that Mara gave him years before. This literally sets up the entire Season of Arrivals. Not only that, but Vance told Osiris about the tones and Osiris was deeply troubled about them. He's the one who continued the research and went around the solar system after planets disappeared, investigating anomalies and discovering that they emit the same tones. He mentions Vance, by name, twice in Immolant:

"Do you hear that?" Osiris asks, turning to Sagira. He turns the ship's scanning array toward the anomaly. "Like the tones Vance described. From the spires, and then the Pyramids. It was coming from the anomaly that replaced Io as well."

"We could use the Crucible right now. Your trials. This will be very helpful. You mean to stay, yes?" "I will. Long enough to show you how to implement the simulation; but tonight, I must disembark," Osiris says. "So soon?" Osiris tenses his jaw in forced silence. He twiddles with code. "I'm worried about what Vance found."

At the same time, Osiris also sends us the seasonal artifact from Hunt, Fang of Xivu Arath. In it, he mentions:

The zealots that followed me to Mercury have proved themselves useful… twice now, actually. They possessed an artifact in their stores: a Hive fang.

The zealots being useful "twice" refers to Vance telling him about the seed and having this artifact kept safely in the Lighthouse (technically, it's three times: in Curse of Osiris, Vance told us where to find the machine to bring Sagira back and it was being kept by the Cult, but it's unclear if we told Osiris the details). Osiris, again, specifically mentions Vance when he recounts where he got it from, in Immolant:

Sagira had chided him for storming the Lighthouse and ransacking Vance's possessions. "They're my relics," he said to silence her protests.

I know Osiris has been through a lot, but his memories are completely and perfectly intact... Except for Vance. That's bizarre to me, given that there's several important points that tie them together, like planting the seed on Io (something he wouldn't have known to do without Vance relaying Mara's message) and research of the tones, something that Osiris spent a lot of time doing and was explicitly worried about; so worried, in fact, that he was willing to part ways with Saint just to continue that research.

In my old post I also mentioned how Osiris even went to Ana to tell her to ask Rasputin if he heard any tones in the Collapse, but Rasputin wasn't up yet. And when Rasputin was finally up, we had much bigger problems to deal with so I assumed that Osiris never asked because the priority was to find what's on Neptune. But now I think that Osiris didn't ask because he doesn't remember. Because the memory of Vance and tones and whatever they mean was deliberately removed from him while Savathun had him imprisoned. Or, perhaps, the Nezarec tea messed with it. After all, Darkness is memory.

This would obviously imply that the tones are something so important and dangerous that Savathun (or someone else) wanted Osiris' knowledge of it removed so that maybe she could have leverage or to know something we don't or perhaps for some other purpose by some other actor. This was such a big point that the entirety of Immolant part 1 is almost exclusively dedicated to Osiris inquiring into the tones.

Another possibility is also that Osiris' memory of Vance was messed with because of Io and the seed and Tree (and then as a consequence, obviously, he would also forget about the tones).

There's also a possibility that Savathun is literally right now messing with me and she did it for no reason at all just to generate imbaru or mess with Osiris or maybe she even wanted to do one nice thing for him and remove the memory of the weird Cult and the tones aren't important at all.

But I don't know. The fact that they're the same thing that the whole Darkness network uses and that ultimately leads to the Witness seems like something that should be important. However, I don't think Mercury will return before TFS, especially since TFS CE has Eido writing about how Mercury is still in the Witness' grasp. But, consider also that we don't know the timeline of when Eido's writing is set. It has to be set after Ahsa's reveal about the Witness' origins, but before TFS. We don't have enough information to tell more. There's also Vex shenanigans to consider, something that will certainly be a plot point post-TFS and Mercury is a prime location for that.

Either way, there's something going on here, added also with the second lore tab release in Season of the Deep that tangentially ties to Mercury, which is Unexpected Resurgence. In it, Shayura is approached by Sister Faora, an incredibly niche character who was leading the Cult of Osiris before Vance. She's shown still wearing the insignia of the Cult. We never learned why she stopped leading them and why Vance took over; she just kinda disappears from the lore book (Trials and Tribulations, the one about the tones). But apparently she's in the City and she's still wearing the Cult robes and she's back in the story... for some reason??

It honestly feels like some sort of a setup for something in the future, something that might deal with Mercury's return. I need to stress just how small she is as a character: she only actually appears in three lore tabs before Unexpected Resurgence, all in the same lore book. The rest of her stuff is just flavour text on the Kairos Function armour pieces from Curse of Osiris. That's it. Why return her in Season of the Deep? Mind boggling.

This whole thing about the tones and Mercury consumes me every day and night. The fact that Deep mentioned Vance in a way easily dismissed as a joke (but also, note the name of the weapon: targeted redaction) as well as Faora coming back is just too wild to me to be a random throwback or a just a joke. Not when it's beyond clear that Osiris should remember Vance, the Cult, the tones and the rest of it. It's even unclear at this point if he remembers that he planted the seed on Io.

So what are the tones? What are they indeed. They're music from the spires of Mercury that reacts to death and uses the same frequency as the entire Darkness network with the Witness at the top. What is their purpose and what is the purpose of Mercury and why did the Witness take it and what is this plotline and when will it be resolved? Summary:

[therexasher]

[sharkenedfangs]

— ☆ “SWEET LIKE NECTAR.”

— #. synopsis. because to whitney, there’s nothing prettier, downright satisfying to gaze upon the rosy cheeks you adopt in response to the invasive questioning, that pride of yours so amusing to patiently chip away at, piece by piece. in fact, if you could, you’d evade it altogether though that would mean defeat, wouldn’t it? and there’s nothing you detest more in this shitty world than to fucking lose.

— #. content warning! step-cest, dub-con, anal fucking, nipple sucking, some light degradation here and there as in the use of ‘slut’ and ‘whore’ , referring to whitney’s chest as ‘tits’ , big brother whitney being a bitch, loser male reader being an even bigger one in that respect and fuck, did I forget anything else?

— #. word count? 5.2k, if I remember correctly. this is a repost.

— #. something more to say, asher? : “I couldn’t help myself. had to bring back the classic onto here, y��know. ruining whitney’s slutty hole never gets old, specially big brother.”

Moreover, you should’ve probably have expected this one measly question to slip past your older brother’s lips, leering gaze openly taking your conflicted expression in as if taunting you to properly answer. You wouldn’t lie to me, would you? ‘Course not, like you could anyway. He’d see right past it like he usually does, testing the waters — he’d call it, laying out the fresh bait for your conscious little self to latch onto immediately.

Because to Whitney, there’s nothing prettier, downright satisfying to gaze upon the rosy cheeks you adopt in response to the invasive questioning, that pride of yours so amusing to patiently chip away at, piece by piece. In fact, if you could, you’d evade it altogether though that would mean defeat, wouldn’t it?

And there’s nothing you detest more in this shitty world than to fucking lose.

Especially to this one bastard. Too damn nosy to discreetly mind his own business, y’know? Always the one to hover too close for comfort, bated breath feathering delicately against the soft skin of your flushed ear, to keep you tightly on edge. Long past that, it’s starting to get on your nerves how self-assured he is in his flawed reasoning, simply since he had you sloppily suck him off once on the worn couch and now, it’s what? Only natural to drag you around like some sort of thoughtless puppy? Shamelessly refer to you as his trained, little bitch who’ll get on his knees for the right price?

Gotta be fucking kidding then.

It was the alcohol. Nothing, but the intoxicating substance drumming along your veins that had you act in such a debauched manner, had your painfully hard cock straining against the front of your pants. Yeah. Right? That’s all there was to it. Nothing more.

At least, that’s what you keep insistently reminding yourself of despite the growing, churning heat in your stomach, the not-so-subtle twitching of your hardening cock stirring beneath your ripped jeans or the individual droplets of sweat gently trickling down the navel of your slouched back. Alright, keep fucking lying to yourself then. Surely that’ll help you with your current predicament that you’ve stuck yourself into, muddied foot deep within the shallow trenches and a solid grasp firmly placed around your ankle, threatening to snap your dignity in half.

“Well?” Visibly irritated by your lack of answer, it’s Whitney’s increasingly impatient, snappy voice that unfortunately draws you back from your spiralling calculations — whether to respond with the humiliating truth or not. Can’t let it go, can he? Hence why he so nonchalantly has you sat on his used bed, the rusted springs hidden beneath the dusty mattress alerting your every subtle movement with a distinct creak reverberating through the thin walls.

“Well, what?” Idiot, you know very damn well what he’s getting at, it’s not like you suffer from some sort of amnesiac disease to utilise cluelessness and have him fooled with such blatant tactics.

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” Should be wiping that snide, awful smirk that instantly appears on his face as he carelessly articulates the question once more. Shameless in his pursuit, hungrily eyeing you up and down like an untouched piece of meat to greedily feast upon, sink his pearly, white fangs into.

Oh, thank the heavens that you weren’t consuming any sort of liquid right this moment because it would’ve been shot straight out of your throat, maybe your nose even considering the absurd sentence from your very own brother — step-brother, to be exact. Still in denial that you two could potentially call each other family, far too homely of a term than the puzzling relationship you both share. Speaking of, you haven’t replied to his question yet and by the looks of it, he isn’t looking too pleased with you if you were to stretch this on any further than it should be.

“N-No, I’ve actually fucked my fair share of girls.” Oh yeah, he’s definitely believing you with that stuttering, the uncertainty all too evident in your tone that only a complete, utter moron would’ve fallen for it. Fucking liar. It wasn’t as though you were entirely lying though, having indeed fucked a girl before, but does it really count if that same person were to be your younger sister, Kylar? At most, you’ve had your decent amount of experiences with others, dated a few girls here and there which is to be acceptable for the average boy of your age. However, beyond the intimate acts of holding hands and bashful kissing, you remained oblivious to the process of well, sex — save for the over the top, raunchy porn you’d occasionally watch and that sole encounter with Kylar that taught you far more than any cheap film ever could.

So, it’s still reasonable, is it not? Though this is Whitney you’re directly dealing with and you know better than to assume he’d take plain ‘no’ for an answer, often brash in his selfish desires. No, more like every time whenever he does act, it leads up to the very same, repetitive situation you’ve familiarized yourself to. You, beneath him. You, helpless in the face of his cruel actions.

Not this time though — fuck, that nasty, little scheme of yours slowly, but ever so surely lurking within the depths of your working mind, grateful for the blonde’s clear ignorance of the shit you were ready to commit to regain that minuscule shred of dignity back. None the wiser, preferring it’d remain that way.

And he can only sharply scoff back to your half-assed attempt at muttering obvious falsehoods. Too cunning of a bastard and god, does it mess with you. “Bullshit. You think I’d believe that? Fuckin’ cmon, admit it. You’ve never really fucked a girl before, huh?” That sickening, creeping nausea steadily filling the depths of your guts from the way he so arrogantly taunts you through his ‘light-hearted’ insults, inadvertently painting you as some sort of virgin loser that never so much as had the slightest chance of growing affectionate with another woman. Fucked your goddamn sister so that’s a one-up on you, huh? Hell, you know better than to let such an obscene admission escape you — since she’s your sister now too, that innocence you so greedily stripped away that one faithful evening within the four corners of her room.

Rather not indulge in such sinful thoughts at the moment, not when your prolonged silence is only confirming his self-righteous suspicions to which he so stubbornly convinced himself of. Knowing better than to reason with your older brother, it’s merely when you do finally relent with a reluctant nod of your head — still maintaining a thin layer of deceit, mind you — that his smug grin widens considerably in return. “So you’re an unused slut, basically.” Choice of words never was the delinquent’s forte, but his crude, frank vocabulary certainly is as he so eloquently puts it. “Hah — I fuckin’ knew it. Wouldn’t be cumming so quickly if you weren’t.” He huffs back in amusement at the sight of your apparent fluster, always so damn squirmy whenever he playfully pokes fun at one of your concealed insecurities. Oh, you really don’t know the dizzying effect you have on him, do you?

The numerous nights spent lazily fisting the base of his cock underneath the woollen covers placed over his bare, sweating body to at the very least obscure his depraved actions — not that he cared much whether he was scandalously caught or not. Much so, he’d prefer if it were you to coincidentally’ walk in on him mid-jerk off session, land a helping hand to big brother and let him use you however he saw fit. Fuck, yeah. That’d aid him in his ever growing lust for you, borderline animalistic in how he addictively sought you out as expected, like a sweet, sweet drug longing to be taken. A sweet nectar freshly ripe for the taking, plucked free from the gracious buds of the tree to gratefully sink his fangs into and savour the refreshing taste lingering on his tongue.

Feels so right to defile your prudish self, doesn’t it? So, don’t blame him then. Don’t blame him when he suggests— no, coldly orders you to strip off your damn pants which prompts another gaping stare of yours to the sudden command. Handsome, but so, so clueless, aren’t you? Needs to tell you to do everything for your sluggish brain to eventually catch up to his ever approaching rhythm, cocky grin plastered onto his lips signalling that your step-brother is indeed not kidding around as per usual.

“What’re you waitin’ for? I said, strip.” It’s not a gentle reminder nor a well-intentioned push in the right direction, it’s a repeated warning of his thinly veiled frustrations peeking its way through, past the useless restraints he placed onto himself when he could easily be given what he’s wanted. Not without force, though that is in Whitney’s nature to be as rough as possible, having grown accustomed to things going his way whenever he inevitably turned to bloodied brutality. After all, the bully doubts so himself that you don’t furtively desire this all the same too, conflicted movements headed towards the leathered loop of your belt as you willingly comply as tasked to. Good boy, knew you had it in y’a.

“Do I really gotta do this?” If it weren’t for the pretty, pink flush adorning the entirety of your face right now, your older brother would’ve definitely snapped back with a snarky remark of his own, however the sight itself is enough to let him have your dumb self uselessly hope a little further. What does it look like, little brother? Has Whitney ever backtracked on his truthful words?

“Yeah, you gotta cuz’ I told you to. Now just fuckin’ do it already, slut. I don’t got all day.”

“..Fine.” Having fully predicted such a response, heavy shoulders slouching lazily in defeat from the refusal, you shyly carry on with the clumsy strip tease of yours. Can never get your way with him, can y’a?

Goddamn it, shamefully reprimanding yourself for even following suit to his harsh retort though, can you really blame yourself? He’s got you — fucking, trained you like a dog. That’s what it is, a stupid, dumb mutt that can’t help but intrinsically cave in to its depraved instincts as his rightful owner happily taught him to, mindlessly huffing and wagging its fluffy tail to the sugary sweet praise whispered to him. Conditioning you to his every whim as a promising, rewarding treat awaits in exchange for your dutiful obedience, not bothering to keep your remaining underwear either. Big brother knows best, huh? Look at that pitiful expression etched along your features, averting gaze straying away from his piercing own that’s settled precisely on the drooling tip of your fat, twitching cock dribbling out an alarming amount of pre-cum. How you resist the underlying temptation to automatically press your legs together, denying Whitney of that upfront, perverted view of your spread thighs. So damn easy to get you riled up in a matter of seconds when a tight, warm hole is involved in the filthy equation.

As ensured, you’ll receive as you wish, pup. Only natural to fulfill what you so gravely desire when you’ve been so good so far, right? Offer you the bearing fruits of your well-earned efforts in return while you thoughtlessly salivate over the mere idea, yeah?

“Whitney, this is kinda embarrassing..” Kinda? Practically humiliating to display yourself so lewdly like this, however not as if you hadn’t experienced this rarely either in the past few weeks that steadily transpired. Should’ve grown used to it by now, actually. Still, the lingering shyness of brazenly exposing yourself like this was too much to bear at times, especially with the other’s daunting ogling. Really has to unabashedly eye-fuck you every single time or something. It’s.. somewhat flattering to be throughly appreciated like this despite instinctively knowing it’s out of pure, utter objectification.

Aimlessly losing yourself in the middle of your straying thoughts, it’s the recurring shuffling of fabric carelessly being thrown onto the wooden, creaking floor that draws you back to the hazy reality before you. Fuck, a wet dream is a far more suitable term with how this is stereotypically playing out, the confident, sure movements of your older brother’s calloused hands busying themselves with the hem of his waistband and — oh, he’s surely tugging his sweats down, okay. His.. fucking dick, god — how didn’t you conveniently notice how rock hard his cock was beneath that cotton thin material? Leaving you to breathlessly gawk at the free view of Whitney’s drooling tip roughly smacking against the tensed muscles of his stomach, briefly connecting strings of pre-cum to meld with his cooling sweat. Retaking that relaxed, slouched position along the single bed as if he isn’t currently stark naked in front of your unmoving eyes. That distracting to you, huh? Horny mutt.

“Like what you see, slut?” That fucking conceited tone of his makes you want to respond with anything but an affirmative yes, though through the thick lump you swallow down your throat, it’s the muted nod of your head that further serves him to grin widely in satisfaction. Wanna prove him wrong so badly, so damn so. Yet, how can you when he’s shown you all the reasons not to?

Should’ve been paying closer attention then, baby brother. How your brain immediately shuts off in a haze of confusion, numbing static prickling at your empty mind once the blonde instead settles himself comfortably onto your awaiting lap. “Fuckin’ nice seat.” Would’ve been a more comedic remark if it weren’t for the provoking press of his bare ass flush against your pulsing cock, questionably twitching in approval from the brief physical contact. Christ, get a grip on yourself, you moron but, oh — Fuck. You could just.. fucking slip it in and it wouldn’t hurt to let Whitney take the lead as predicted, greedily relish in the slippery warmth fervently welcoming you? Since at the end of the day, you’re just a man, no? A simple man with stupidly horny urges and needs to gratefully sink his cock into the nearest wet hole that merely happens to be his big brother’s whorish one.

Still, that portion of your mind beckons you to reason along with the weirdly alluring pull of plainly muttering out fuck it, shove it in and— and, do the nastiest shit possible, y’know? Yeah, you should do it. Actually, no. No way in fucking hell should you proceed with it. Uselessly humping your hips upwards with a sickening jolt that draws a relieving sigh from the both of you. Stop it, you pervert. You’ve become no better than him, have you?

“W-What’re you doing..?” Is all you can pathetically muster to his blatantly obvious actions, knowing full well what he’s truly doing. Riling you up. Teasing along the edges of your withering limits till it collapses fully onto the ground. It’s what he does best, driving you insane on the daily from school, to outside, to home and his room you frequently pay visits to at night.

“What does it look like I’m doin’? I’m about to fuck your cute cock, pretty boy.” Pretty. Ah, that shouldn’t be your main focus with how he announces it so casually, essentially admitting he’s planning to ride you. Struggling to grasp onto the foreign concept of him, well— being on the receiving end of sex. Doesn’t he like, usually prefer to be the one in the dominant position? In fact, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he had selfishly decided to fuck your ass next, fill it to the brim with his seed. Yet, here he is, contently rubbing himself on your flushed, oozing tip, swearing gently as it barely grazes his puckered hole, thoughtlessly clenching around practically nothing. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m only doing this to stake my claim on you, alright? Not fuckin’ fair if some bitch gets to fuck your virgin dick first so, hah— I’m making you into a proper slut. My slut.”

Very convincing, Whitney. Not so much so when he’s shuddering eagerly above you like a man about to be given the slightest taste of heaven itself, namely your cock it seems. Hot. Shit, it is a pretty hot sight, you’ve gotta admit.

So, is this purely a flimsy excuse of his to fuck himself stupid on your dick? Need that much to blindly persuade you he isn’t some sort of drooling cockwhore deep down? Nice try, big brother. Well, you can effortlessly see through his nonchalant act, the barely discernible, rosy flush dusting along his cheeks confirming his secretive, depraved and filthy desires simmering deeply within his core.

“Fuckin’ — ah, help me put it in already.” The resounding gasp escaping him is so breathy, so unlike the dominant, assertive Whitney you’ve familiarized yourself with that your lethargic brain hardly registers his direct order, sounding more like a frantic plea than anything else. Put it in? The little, stuck-up bastard is having difficulty sliding it in, resorting to your aid to lend a helping hand to his futile struggles? That’s cute. The indiscernable trace of a smirk beginning to form onto your lips from his uncharacteristically submissive demeanour, still withholding a decent amount of control in this situation here. Ah, what’re you even saying? He’s given you full leverage to wreck his tight, little hole as you happily please, fuck yourself deeper in that wet warmth you’ve been subconsciously seeking out. You’re the one cupping him within the palm of your hand, oddly contented with this newfound revelation, this switch of power dynamics.

“Can’t you put it in yourself then. It’s not that hard, is it? You’re the one always wanting to everything so I think it’s only fair you do it.” Indulging in the scowl that appears shortly on his straining features only to dissolve under another one of his tough exteriors. “Fuck, you want me to? Can’t put it in yourself, huh?” He counters snidely, grasping for the bottle of lube conveniently placed on the night dresser nearby, accompanied by barking out a sharp huff of laughter as you cuss out loud a fuck! from the cooling, sticky mixture squirted plainly onto your cock.

“Shit! That’s cold! Why’d you pour it on me? Aren’t you supposed to put it in your— y’know? Your—“ Pausing bashfully in your tracks, immaturity running so deeply you couldn’t even properly stammer out the term if you wished to.

“My what? My ass? I’m not putting that in there, I can fuck myself on your cock just fine without that crap.” Lewd. That’s so lewd how he outwardly states it, blazing face hidden behind your cupped palms as though such a gesture would make this alright, make whatever he’s doing — smoothly grinding on the tip of your lubed, quivering length, how his hole teasingly snatches onto your flushed, leaking cock head only to disappointingly let go again. Fuck, fuck — Fuck. Doing this on purpose, isn’t he? Intent on driving you mad before he even manages to shove it in.

But, as previously stated before, there’s nothing you hate more than to lose, don’t you?

Really, he should be the one blaming himself for your rash and impulsive movements, shouldn’t be letting out that surprised yelp, silenced by a high-pitched gasp as you finally have had enough of his provoking mockery to mutter out a sharp fuck it and drive your increasingly impatient cock right in. Head stupidly thrown back in sheer shock from the unfamiliar yet admittedly pleasurable sensation of having his tight, virgin hole stuffed full of your cock right about now. Clear outline of your entire length pulsing deep within him by the noticeable quivering of his toned tummy, which you don’t hesitate to firmly plant your palm against to draw another satisfying, strangled whimper past his lips. Whore.

“Ah, fucking shit— You’re so fucking tight. Relax a bit for me or I can’t move.” Might as well be snapping your dick in half from the unbearable clenching of his unused insides, warm insides that you’re pervertedly staining white with every glide of your forceful thrusts, every harsh slam of your hips against his ass. Can’t stop yourself though — God, no. Not when the addictive heat of his hole envelops you so damn fucking well, rendering you both to mindlessly cling onto each other, entangled bodies slick with hot sweat trickling steadily down the navel of your arched backs. Namely his. And oh, he really does feel so good. Never mind all the shit he’s done, the stingy tugs of his fists deep within your messied hair, urging you to fuck yourself deeper into his trembling frame. This is the sweet taste of revenge you’ll so dearly savour, hungrily imprinting every choked moan to memory for later reminiscing.

Isn’t he so cute too? Tightening fingertips digging harshly into your shoulders for proper stability, an immediate roll of his eyes to the back of his skull whenever you angle your hips to hit that overly sensitive spot that sends a sickening jolt up his spine. Bound to be leaving marks, though that’s the least of your concerns with how goddamn pretty he looks when fucked stupid, fucked utterly brainless to match the feverish haze of his glazed over eyes. “See? I think you secretly enjoy it, Whitney. I think you— hah, fuck — enjoy that I’m taking the lead for once. ‘S that it? You like havin’ my cock inside you, huh? Like it when your little brother fucks you?” No matter how many times he may blatantly refuse and deny it, through the clawing of his nails, etching bloodied scars into your back that are sure to reside in your skin later on— You fucking know by the squeeze of his slutty hole, ring of cream having settled nicely around the base of your cock.

“F-Fuckin’—“ Big brother having trouble speaking? “Bastard, shut— ah! up!” The pitiful whine echoing deeply from his throat almost makes you want to cease your endless blabbering, but y’know what? Fuck that. May as well endure the severe consequences of his actions, from the second you had arrived here, it was bound to end solely in one conclusion. You, balls deep in his ass. You, stupidly drunk off the mere act of ruthlessly fucking your older brother cuz’ shit, does it feel so amazingly good. “If you keep looking at me like that, it only— hah, makes things harder for me here. God, Whitney.. Don’t fucking stop squeezing me, ‘kay?” Not really doing any better than him either, any semblance of control within you possibly thrown out the window with every pleasurable stroke of your cock being sucked so sloppily by his stretched out hole. One thing the delinquent was right about — You being the equivalent of a dumb mutt. A dumb, drooling mutt huffing over his bare chest, depraved instincts kicking in to suck on whatever happens to be nearest and that consequently leads to your dazed gaze zeroing in on his swollen nipples.

Pretty, so fucking pretty. It’s not fair.

Deserving of every torturous inch his tight hole greedily swallows up, the sight of his neglected, puffy nipples almost too much to bear for your watering mouth.

A little taste wouldn’t hurt, would it?

How careless of you to overlook such an area that so desperately needs your loving attention too. Bad little brother you are for that, huh? “Promise to make you feel so good.” Sighing out a guttural groan as the softened pad of your thumbs find home to idly flick at the erect glands, eliciting another strangled curse from the delinquent once again. Sensitive here, isn’t he? “Shit.. Every time I touch your tits here, you tighten up like crazy, hah. Want me to suck on ‘em too?” It’s more of a fervent heads up for your upcoming actions than a polite request, pink tongue curiously poking out to glide along the sheen of sweat settled thickly on the rosy buds. “M-Motherfucker.. Don’t you fuckin’ dare— hmph!” Hastily cut off by the palm of his own hand clasped upon his mouth, he can’t help but to cave in at your perverted antics, specifically that weird obsession of yours with his chest or tits as you so obscenely call ‘em. Shivering lightly at the rhythmic lapping at his nipples which is soon followed by the roll of your tongue against the sensitive flesh, fully latching onto on of them to appreciatively suckle on. The things you do to him, a full on body shock simply from having his pretty tits toyed with, his nipples coyly sucked on by the moist engulf of your warm mouth. “W—What?? Stop, ah, that!” How the fuck do you get to him like this every damn time?

And why the hell does it have to feel so fuckin’ good too?

Screw you, really.

Having managed to get past his carefully placed barriers he put upon himself, a means of protection for his fragile pride that you so selfishly tear away. Because it’s fun to, an absolute power rush to intently observe your slutty older brother fall apart on your fat cock, split his ass open while you’re at it. Teary eyes threatening to spill free more droplets down the length of his scarlet cheeks, bitten lips oozing fresh blood from your nipping teeth and tongue to gently suckle at as a well-deserved reward. Golden locks becoming increasingly more disheveled from every bounce on your cock, the guidance of your hands locked firmly onto his hips to witness the disappearance and reemergence of your leaking tip to reach that one single spot deep inside him.

And it’s real adorable when you draw your hips further only to be halted by the weight of his legs wrapped securely around your waist to prevent you from pulling all the way out, so stubbornly too. “Oh, want me to cum inside?” The derisive pitch of your laughter has the blonde simmering in his humiliating position, too caught up in the intoxicating pleasure of being fucked so mercilessly like this to bother uttering out a curse of denial. Fangs bared, seething glare shot solely towards you, its you. Of course, it’s you who has the final say, the upper hand regardless. As always. “I-I swear to fuckin’ god, if you pull out now— I’m going to fucking kill you, asshole.” He threatens as per usual, but the shaky incoherence of his speech riddled with whiny moans discredits his shitty attempt at intimidation, coaxing you to readily follow suit to his orders.

Ah, look at him. Fucking bitch in heat.

Can’t say no to that face, can you?

“Wasn’t planning on it anyway, Whitney.” You mutter out soothingly in the shell of his ear, slightly unsettled by the softening tone you’ve taken on to address him. Is it due to the pathetic appearance he’s took on from your relentless bullying? ‘S not fair he gets to look all cute and pouty while you’re struggling to keep up here, stuttering hips clumsily humping forward to make up for the messy pace because ah— fuck, you’re nearing your fill and so is Whitney, by the looks of it. “You can’t—“ Cutting himself off in a soundless gasp as your balls heavily smack against his ass, mind gone completely blank from the sheer euphoria of having his hole filled to the brim. Can’t? Sure, he can handle just a little more, can’t he? Cmon, he can do better than that. Drool dripping freely from his parted lips for yours to plant sloppy kisses against, stifling his open moans. Drawing your hips one last time to relish in the tight warmth of his wet insides— really, you’ll miss it, fuck— you barely get to process the thick ropes of cum spurting out of his bobbing cock, accompanied by your own climax shortly after. “S-Sorry, oh my god— I’m so sorry, you feel too good. I can’t—“ You sputter out uselessly, a hollow excuse when you continue on with your sloppy thrusts, burying yourself to the hilt to shoot your thick load into. Staining his walls white with your seed since your hips can’t stop themselves from fucking your cum deeper till the both of you tirelessly settle down in a heap of bodies on the creaking mattress.

Alright, so maybe you did end up going a tad bit too far this time, but it’s not like he didn’t ask for it. Or so you mumble to yourself to soothe your ever growing worries of where this may lead after the shortly lived, euphoric high you’ve just experienced. Nervously lifting your gaze to seek his as you’re greeted with.. ah, it seems you did fuck up. If anything, you’ve dug yourself a hole so steep you couldn’t possibly climb out of it now. Okay, he looks pissed. Doesn’t mean you don’t have time to mend things, right between the two of you, right? It’s as you finally muster up a foolish smile to meet his sour expression, that his frown significantly deepens in return.

“..So, uh. Did you like it?”

You’ve got a death wish, don’t you?

Should’ve probably expected this one. The shockingly loud slam of the wooden door closed shut on your face, promptly interrupting your frantic pleas and apologies. Heaps of dirty clothes thrown right into your arms for you to awkwardly pick up from the floor soon after. “Whitney, don’t be like that. Whitney, c’mon. I’m sorry—“ You’re not actually all that sorry, it’s just he looks too cute when angry, really.

“Fuck off!!”

Stubborn as ever, huh? At least, you’ve got to imprint those slutty sounds to memory for later use, having gotten your answer to leave him be for the time being. And oh, glancing down to be met with the sight of your still-hard, neglected cock tented pitifully against the front of your jeans. Seriously? Didn’t you just cum too?

..Well, you’ve always got the bathroom to take care of that.

[undying-love]

Hi!! Could you make a compilation of all the times their relationship is compared to a marriage (or something similar), either by them or by people close to them?

"Marriage", "love affair", "girlfriend", "wife", etc: A Compilation

“I think it was like he was married to Paul. And now he was married to me so it was like a situation that he didn’t feel like he wanted to go back." (Yoko Ono)

"Why this odd little Japanese lady? The reason, many people believed, was that more than a trophy wife, a model or an actress, John needed a chum. His love affair with Paul McCartney was ending." (Peter Brown)

“That’s very hard to delve into. They were great friends, and had great mutual respect, but they were also quite different from one another. I don’t know. Human relationships are tough to analyze. It’s like trying to talk about someone else’s marriage.” (Peter Asher)

“I still think at the back of John’s mind was this fascination of wanting to get back with the first girlfriend... and that was to get back with Paul, who he had so much history with.” (Tony Barrow)

"It's like a marriage. These two broke up. And it took Paul a long time to get over it. John too, but he was just too macho to show it. But they had a marriage before Yoko arrived, although they both had girlfriends before." (Ray Connolly)

"It [Mick and Keith's relationship] had all the irrationally and passion of a love affair. Lennon and McCartney had a similar bond between them." (Marianne Faithfull)

"Paul and John kind of knew that they were growing apart, and Let It Be was almost like a marriage that’s failing, and they wanna go on their date nights again" (Giles Martin)

"There’s no hard feelings or anything, but you just don’t hang around with your ex-wife. We’ve completely finished." (Paul)

"Then also we were like married, so you got the bitterness. It’s not a woman scorned this time, it’s two men scorned — probably even worse. And I had to make way for Yoko. My relationship with John could not have remained as it was and Yoko feel secure.” (Paul)

"It was as if I was another girlfriend, almost. Our relationship was a strong relationship. And if he was to start a new relationship [with Yoko], he had to put this other one away." (Paul)

"I've compared to a marriage a million times and I hope it's… understandable. For people that aren't married. Or any relationship. It was a LONG relationship." (John)

"With Yoko present, Paul's reign as Lennon's princess was doomed."(Peter McCabe)

"In a marriage, or a love affair...there comes a point where the marriage collapses because they can’t face that reality, and they go seeking what they thought they should be having, still, somewhere else. I get a new girl, it’ll all be like that again; I get a new boy… But for all marriages, all couples, it’ll all be the same again. But what you lose is what you put into that… relationship." (John)

"..an old, estranged fiancée of mine called Paul." (John)

"Paul and John were emotional partners in a powerful, creative and loving way." (Paul Saltzman)

"Julian and Sean had lost a father; Cynthia, her knight in shining armour; Yoko, a fellow artist, contemporary and house husband … and Paul? Well, call me crazy, but he lost the wife. I’m certainly not implying anything of a carnal nature here, but to almost all intents and purposes (as John would have put it), what they had was a marriage.” (Ruth Mccartney)

"When John and Paul split up (think of them as a couple for a moment) their second mates had to stand by them." (Francie Schwartz)

"For a reason to hold a grudge [against Yoko], think about the possibility of this: She took John from him. And she didn't particularly want to share John with his "ex significant other" on certain levels." (Francie Schwartz)

[freedomfireflies]

Remedy*

Summary: An extra for Mine*

You've been feeling a little empty and needy lately. Thankfully, your mafia boss boyfriend happens to have the perfect remedy.

Word Count: 4.1k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞 You are much more important!*

Knock. Just knock.

Your fist shakes as it hovers near the door, heart thumping wildly in your chest from the impending implication.

Harry and Asher have been tucked away in Harry’s home office for over two hours now. You know they have a lot of work to get done, and an important phone call to sit through. And you don’t mean to disturb them, you really don’t. 

But there’s something…wrong.

The faint tingling and fuzzy sensation has been slowly sneaking up on you all week. Occupying more and more space in your mind as the days go by. You’ve wanted to talk to Harry about it, but he’s hardly been around. And when he is around, he’s on edge. And you don’t like pushing him to talk when he doesn’t want to.

But you’ve felt so…alone. So distant from him. He’s here…but he’s not. And you know he’s trying his best to be attentive. Remind you that he loves you and that you’re still his favorite girl.

 But it’s hard. He can’t put his focus into you and his work. He’s only one man.

Normally, you’re all right with that. After all, his job is incredibly important, and you’d never want to take him away from it.

However, the strange feeling in your head and in your gut has urged you to his office door today. And despite the way your mind is attempting to warn you that this might upset him, you can’t seem to help yourself. He’s the only one that can fix you. Fix this thing that’s gone wrong inside your body.

So…you knock.

There’s a brief moment of silence before you hear his voice call, “Come in.”

Somehow, even that rough, familiar drawl does wonders for the ache in your chest, and you nearly whimper as you twist the knob, and push your way inside.

Both men are looking at something on the desk as you hesitantly step further into the large space, seemingly unaware of your presence as they murmur quietly. 

And then…Harry looks up.

“Hi, mama,” he says before glancing back down at the table. “You doin’ all right?”

He’s distracted. They both are, focus solely on the array of papers, documents, and blueprints sprawled before them. 

You nod, hands gathering in front of your stomach nervously. “I’m…I’m okay.”

“Good,” he replies, omitting to look at you this time around. “Do you need anything?”

You nod again, an anxious whine getting trapped in your throat. “Mhm.”

“What?”

You stare at the concentrated man a moment longer before you finally find the nerve to step closer. “You.”

His head lifts, eyes flicking to yours from across the room as Asher leans back in his seat and glances over his shoulder.

“What?” Harry repeats, tossing his pen onto the desk as he straightens up. “What’s wrong?”

You swallow thickly and glance down at your fingernails. “M’just…I don’t know. Something doesn’t feel right.”

“What? What doesn’t feel right?” he asks a bit sterner, voice laced with apprehension.

You bob one shoulder up and clear your throat. “I just…it feels really…wrong. It feels…feels empty.”

You catch the way Asher’s eyebrow raises as he looks toward his boss, while Harry crosses his arms and settles back into his chair. 

“Empty?” he repeats, studying you closely. “Empty how, honey?”

You look toward your feet, toe digging into the floor to avoid his scrutinous gaze. “Don’t know, just…I feel wrong. Like something’s missing, like…like I miss you. It hurts.”

You see his expression soften as he nods once himself. “Missing me is hurting you?”

Your eyes fall to his chest as you mumble, “Mhm.”

“Oh, sugar,” he sighs. “Are you feeling a little lost? Did Daddy lose you?”

With a small sniffle, you whisper, “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He contemplates this, tongue running over his bottom lip. “You feel empty, is that it? Need something to fill you up?”

The mere suggestion has you straightening eagerly, thighs already squeezing together as you say, “Yes. Yes, please.”

He smiles to himself, sneaking a glance at Asher before he motions for you to approach. “All right, honey. I’ll make you a deal, yeah? As long as you’re quiet, you can come sit on my lap while Asher and I finish our discussion. How’s that?”

However, you’re already halfway across the room, nearly flinging yourself onto his thighs as he scoots back to welcome you in.

Once sat, he chuckles and loops his arm around your waist to keep you secure, fingers settling atop your leg as you nestle back into his chest.

“Better?” he murmurs, lips ghosting your shoulder as you hum contently.

“Better,” you whisper, snuggling into his warm embrace. “Thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank me yet,” he tuts, tossing a smirk toward his right-hand man. “Said you needed to feel full, yeah?”

You perk up.

“Well…I can’t exactly help with that right now,” he explains, his touch moving for the soft hem of your dress to encourage it up. “But you can. So, I want you to take your pretty little fingers and fill yourself up for me, okay? Get ‘em nice and warm for me until after our meeting, and then we’ll see how you feel.”

Your chest just about caves in, heart sinking to the depths of your stomach as you whimper and look over at him. You don’t want your fingers. You don’t want him to finish his meeting. You want him. All of him. Right now. Always.

“Uh-uh,” he warns, eyebrow cocking up. “None of that. You said you felt empty, and I’m giving you an answer. If you can’t be grateful, then I’ll send you back out there. Is that what you want?”

You feel your lips pull down into a pout but he merely clicks his tongue, unfazed.

“No,” you finally breathe right as he hooks onto the band of your underwear to help pull it down your thighs. “Be good. Promise.”

He hums, nose nuzzling into your neck. “Good girl. I know you’re feeling a bit floaty today, so I need you to trust me, yeah? Trust that I’ll take care of you, bring you back. Can you do that, honey? Can you trust Daddy?”

The use of the dominant title makes you squirm over his lap as your cunt is exposed to the room.

“Yes,” you whisper, nails scratching down his arms in an attempt to keep his hand between your thighs. “Yes, I do. I will.”

“Good,” he murmurs before slipping himself from your grasp. “Go on, then. Warm those pretty fingers for me, okay?”

With a deep breath, your eyes trail down to where Harry is gently pulling your legs apart, creating a bit more space for your hand.

Then, he lets go, and you nearly wilt as you crawl your touch toward your cunt.

Truth be told, you’ve been soaked for days. While Harry has been rather distracted and distant, he’s not forgotten to offer a few teasing touches or taunting words throughout the week. Even when you sleep, his knee seems to find itself against your pussy, subtly grinding into it until you wake up drenched.

Or when you come out of the shower, he makes sure to smack your ass or press a kiss to your bare back on his way out of the room. 

So it’s easy for you to slip your finger inside now, the much smaller digit pushing past your walls until it can settle inside your cunt.

And it is good but it’s not what you’d needed, and you writhe a bit across his leg before huffing.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, glancing down. “Don’t you feel full now?”

You shake your head and pout.

“No?” he nearly taunts. “Need another?”

Your response only comes in the form of a sigh as Asher smirks.

“Then add another,” Harry instructs, jutting his chin forward as an instruction. “Go on.”

Left with no other choice, you do, your ring finger effortlessly slipping in beside your middle one as you release a deep breath and will your body to unwind.

And once the ache has begun to subside—barely, but still enough to satiate you—you sigh with relief and allow your lashes to flutter closed.

Finally settled, Harry tightens his arm around your waist and returns to the discussion at hand, seemingly convinced you won’t cause any further trouble. “And how’s Parker?”

“He’s good. They don’t suspect him yet but he’s working his way up.”

“And we still have contact?”

“For now, but he’s worried that once he’s infiltrated the inner circle, it’ll be a bit harder to make the drop.”

Harry clicks his tongue in thought. “Are they still tailing him?”

“Not from what I can tell, but I wouldn’t be surprised. They don’t trust him yet.”

“I’ll ask him on the call,” Harry decides, and you open your eyes in time to see Asher nod. “He’ll need to go dark if this is going to work.”

“I agree,” Asher replies, running a hand through his hair. “Do you trust him to do that?”

Harry shrugs and allows his focus to drift toward your legs. “Not exactly. But that’s why we have our alternate plan.”

You’d been trying to be subtle about it, but both men seem to catch onto the way the heel of your hand has begun to grind down against your clit.

It’s not exactly your fault. Hearing them talk about their work has always been rather erotic, and today is no different. Despite the position you find yourself in, you still need more. So much more than what Harry has allowed you, and you can’t help searching for it. 

But Harry tsks when he realizes, snatching hold of your wrist to bring the motion to a stop. “Mama…what did I say?”

You wiggle across his thigh and rest your head back onto his shoulder. “Need…need it—”

“No,” he says simply, tightening his grasp. “Did I tell you to do that? Or did I tell you to keep them warm?”

You pout, gaze trailing across the desk to Asher, who watches with an amused smile.

“Warm,” you finally answer, your voice small and rather desperate. “Just…s’not enough. Need…need more.”

“More?” Harry repeats, looking to his partner as well. “Feeling greedy today, hm? Your fingers not enough, mama?”

You shake your head quickly and turn your face into his neck. “No.”

“I see,” he whispers, lips ghosting across your forehead. “Then what do you need?”

You whine again and push a bit deeper into your cunt. He knows exactly what you need but he loves to hear you say it.

“Do you need to add another finger?” he pushes, moving to tap your knuckles. “Would that be full enough?”

Again, your head moves back and forth fervently.

Asher chuckles under his breath.

“No?” Harry taunts, and you can feel him grin against your skin. “Why not?”

“Too small,” you mumble, nudging your nose under his jaw. “They’re too small…please.”

“Too small, huh?” His palm runs down your arm until he can intertwine his hand with yours. “Do you need my fingers then?”

You go deathly still when you feel him travel his touch between your legs.

He pushes one large digit in beside yours and you gasp as the sensation travels up the length of your spine.

And it is so much fuller but even with three fingers inside your neglected cunt, the tingling, empty feeling remains.

“How’s this, hm?” He begins to stroke your walls softly, ignoring your attempts at squirming. “S’this enough?”

“No,” you breathe, looking down at where his tattooed arm lays beside yours.

“No?” he repeats. He’s far too entertained by this interaction and the cocky glances between him and his second-in-command certainly don’t help you. “What about two, then?”

He adds a second digit, ghosting it through the arousal pooling between your thighs and dripping down onto his pants. 

You’re moaning before you can stop yourself, eyes squeezing shut as you reel. He’s so warm, and strong, and safe. And being cocooned by him is everything you’ve been needing this past week.

“Harry,” you whimper, your other hand gripping onto his shirt to brace yourself.

“How’s that?” he asks again, pumping himself in beside you. “D’you feel full now, mama? Gonna let me finish my meeting?”

It is full. So deliciously full and sweet but it can’t comfort you the way you need. Can’t aid the ache that continues to reside deep in your belly, and you frown as you attempt to thrust up into his touch.

You whine again and take a deep breath, looking for the courage to speak up. But your throat has gone dry, and this overwhelming sense of urgency has overtaken what little common sense you had left.

“Still not enough, huh?” he hums, curling his touch up until you gasp. “Then what are we gonna do, sugar? How are we gonna fix this?”

You wiggle back into his chest once more, your ass grazing the growing bulge beneath his pants almost mockingly.

“You,” is all you have the strength to say. “Please…please, Harry.”

“Me?” he repeats, raising an eyebrow. “You already have me, mama.”

“More.”

“More of me?” he reiterates, and you nod, ignoring his condescending smile. “Oh. You need something bigger than my fingers, is that it?”

Another nod.

“Yeah? Well, why don’t you go ahead and ask me, then?”

You’d likely be frustrated with him if you had the mental capacity but as it is, your cunt does all the decision making for you.

“Need your cock,” you whisper, once again burying your nose into his neck as if to hide. “Please…please, need it. Hurts, Harry, please.”

“Need my cock to help you feel full,” he says, glancing down at you while you nod. “Oh, honey. Why didn’t you just say so?”

With that, he swiftly pulls his fingers from your pussy and grabs onto your hips, hoisting you off his lap and onto your feet.

Then, he turns you around.

“Take it out,” he instructs softly, curious but loving eyes meeting yours. “S’okay, mama. Can have whatever you want.”

Feeling rather giddy, you eagerly reach for his nice trousers, and undo the belt and button so you can slip inside.

A bit of shuffling follows as you pull him out and take him in your hand before kneeling onto the chair beside his legs.

He helps you along, settling you into a straddle while watching as you guide the tip of him through you. And the chills that explode across your back nearly have you twitching as you begin to sink down.

He’s rather coy and unbothered by the affair but even he can’t resist groaning softly as he helps tug you all the way to his lap. 

Your hands brace to his shoulders while your lips press into his neck. You allow your body to stretch around the large cock splitting you open, gasping when he’s sheathed completely. 

He releases a shaky exhale before wrapping an arm around your back and pulling your chest to his. 

“Okay,” he murmurs softly. “Gonna sit here and stay quiet for me, yeah?”

You nod as you cuddle into his embrace, cheek meeting his collarbone as you sigh. 

“Good girl,” he praises while reaching for the phone. “Asher and I have an important call we have to make. And I don’t want you to make a fucking sound, is that clear? Daddy’s gotta concentrate right now.”

“Promise,” you whimper, knees hugging his hips as you shift.

He hisses between clenched teeth when you do, smacking his palm against your ass. “None of that, either. Want you nice and still.”

Doing your best to stay relaxed, you nod quickly and snuggle further into his warm body. You’ll be good, you will. He’ll see.

You hear him sigh before he calls to his partner, “You ready?”

“Yeah,” Asher replies, his chair scooting closer. “Go.”

Harry’s finger punches into the keypad before the office fills with the sound of shrill ringing. But the moment Parker answers the phone, your eyes flutter shut, and you focus on the feeling in your tummy. Everything is so much better now. So much better and you almost want to cry with gratification.

However, you don’t want to upset Harry by moving or making any sort of noise, so you choose to settle into the comforting cadence of his touch and voice as sleep begins to carry you away.

You make it about halfway into dreamland when you suddenly feel him readjust in his seat, hips subtly thrusting up into you as a surprised pant catches in your throat.

But you remain quiet, hands fisting his shirt as you keep your muscles rigid and unmoving. He told you to be good, so that’s what you’ll be.

Then…he does it again. But this time, your clit is softly grazed by his abdomen, and you can’t help the desolate moan that comes free.

His arm tightens around your lower back in warning, forcing your throat to constrict out of apprehension…

…until he does it again.

You jolt, lip between your teeth as you begin to shake your head swiftly. You can’t stay quiet if he’s going to do this. If he’s going to fuck his cock into you while forcing you to remain unperturbed.

It’s cruel, and sadistic, and somehow…you expected nothing less.

“We’ll need to arrange a safe location,” Harry says to the man on the phone before he rolls forward and makes your nails scratch down his chest. “Make sure you aren’t being followed.”

“Copy that,” Parker replies. “Matthews has two on detail and three that take the night shift. There’s a small window between four and five a.m., but I’m not sure—”

You don’t hear the rest when Harry suddenly uses his grip on you as leverage to grind you down into him once more.

He’s trying to break you. Trying to find a reason to punish you. 

You know this is just as torturous for him as it is for you. You can feel him twitching every time you take a breath and subsequently flutter around him. Can feel his breath hitch whenever you sigh into his neck and rest your lips on the vein below his ear. Can feel his fingers pressing indents into your hips as he fights the urge to throw you onto the desk and split you in half.

But he won’t be the one to cave. After all, he promised to take care of you, and he’s trying his goddamn best to do that.

You’re just making it so hard.

“—which won’t be a problem,” Parker continues. “Unless there’s a complication with the shipment, in which case—”

“Fuck,” you mewl before you can stop yourself, the sound of your arousal coating Harry’s cock filling your ears.

But your outburst brings the office to a quiet halt as Harry licks his lips and grunts beneath a strained breath.

“Problem, sir?” Parker asks.

Harry’s nails dig into your side in yet another warning before he grits, “No. Not at all. Proceed.”

Parker does as instructed while Harry presses his mouth to your ear and mumbles, “What did I fucking say, hm?”

“Can’t…can’t help it,” you whisper back. “You’re being mean.”

“Daddy is not mean, little one,” he retorts darkly. “I’m providing you with a nice cock to keep warm and you’re disobeying my one rule. How is that mean?”

You whimper again and press your face into his chest. “Trying to be good, promise.”

“Are you? Doesn’t feel like it with the way you keep clenching around me. Thought you just needed to feel full, hm? Yet here you are, trying to use me to make yourself come.”

“No,” you argue softly, head shaking yet again. “No, swear—”

“—by the river. Does that work?” Parker suddenly calls, forcing Harry’s attention back.

“Yes. That’s fine,” Harry grumbles, and you peek out from where you’ve hidden yourself to see his reaction. His eyes are on Asher, brows furrowed and frown heavy. “We’ll send for your location then.”

“Copy. Matthews doesn’t seem to have the file with him, but I believe if I can—”

Harry thrusts up again, chest knocking into yours as you turn away and stumble over a rather depleted whine.

“There you go again,” he scoffs quietly. “Disobeying me after I’ve been so good to you. Should I have Asher put you in the other room? Make you sit there, all empty and tingly until I’m done?”

“No,” you just about gasp, arms wrapping around his neck almost as if trying to cement yourself to his body. “No, no, Daddy, please—”

“Thought I told you to be still,” he hisses, and you swallow thickly. “Think I can’t feel you trying to brush your little clit against me? Think I can’t feel your thighs shaking?”

“Mean,” you whisper, fingers tangling in the material around his collar. “Trying to be good—”

“No. No, I don’t think so. Think you’re trying to make Daddy mad.”

“Not. Swear—”

“Then stay fucking still,” he snaps as the call suddenly grows quiet.

“Sir? Still?” Parker repeats as your cheeks warm. “Would you like me to suspend the mission?”

“No,” Harry growls, turning toward the phone. “Not you. I’m dealing with something rather frustrating over here.”

And even though Parker can’t see you, the idea that he’s now in on the compromising position you find yourself in makes you shiver.

Of course, Harry notices, groaning to himself when he feels the way you tighten around him. “Fine. You wanna come so fucking bad? Then do it, mama. Come on my cock right now. Let the boys hear you.”

And perhaps on any other day, that thought would push you over, but today…it makes you whine. You don’t want anybody else to hear you. You just want him. You want the only person in the world who can satisfy this floaty feeling in your head. The only person who can make you smile, make you happy, make you feel full.

Truth be told, you’d like to crawl inside his skin and live there but you suppose having him hold you is as good as it can get.

Of course, he knows this. Knows exactly how to treat you when he’s lost you to your subspace. And while you know he’s keeping a careful eye on your mental state to make sure you aren’t being pushed past your limit, you also know he enjoys dragging you along for the ride.

You like when he gets rough—when he gets mean. Something about trying to please him when you’re feeling this vulnerable does something for both of you. It’s thrilling and just a bit frightening. You never know what might set him off and you live for it.

“What’s the matter, hm? Gone all shy on me?” he taunts in vicious sneer. “Thought you wanted to come, honey. Giving you exactly what you want and now you don’t want it?”

You do want it, you do. But you don’t want to share this with them. Don’t want anybody else to get in the way of you and him. Even if they’re simply sitting there listening.

“Go on,” Harry repeats sternly. “Don’t test my patience, mama. I haven’t much left to offer.”

His hands move to your hips in an attempt to help grind you over his cock and the moment his touch sears through your flesh, you gasp.

The first few seams of your orgasm unravel quite quickly as you release a loud and depraved moan. 

It rings through the room, bouncing between the walls until Harry’s touch tightens and you feel his chest vibrate with a rather barbaric growl.

You aren’t afforded the chance to wrap your head around the sudden turn of events before Harry is ripping you off his lap and slamming your ass onto his desk.

Out of your peripheral, you catch Asher standing up as well so he can pick up the phone and drop it back down to effectively end the call.

Once Parker is gone, Harry’s eyes flick to his second-in-command. “Get out,” he seethes, fingers already curling around your thighs as he spreads them. “Shut the door.”

Asher does nothing more than nod before turning on his heel and heading for the hallway, leaving the two of you alone.

And once you are…everything changes.

Harry’s hand finds your throat as he pushes you down into the wooden table so he can loom above you.

“All right, mama,” he begins deviously, face hovering only inches above your own.

You pant excitedly as his cock brushes against your clit. 

He smiles.

“It’s my turn now.”

Next Part:

~ Pillowtalk* (A Mine Extra)

~ Full Mine Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Taglist (If you ever need or want to be taken off, or simply excluded from certain fics like this one, please let me know!! 💞) : @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @vamprry @acesofspadess @stylesfever @narry-heart @virqinvirgo @keepdrivingkisses

If your tag doesn't show up, it's because your blog is empty, and Tumblr is really weird about that 😭 But I swear I tried!!

[therexasher]

FAM I JUST OPENED TUMBLR WHEN THIS POPPED UP, I DAMN NEAR DIED YO😭😭😭 HE LOKS SO GOOD THO, THE LIPS, THE LIIIIIPPPPPSSS!!! (I’m a mess.)

[caramelt4me]

Secret. - Part I

(Yandere Idol X Kidnapped Reader)

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

Prologue Part I Part II

"Welcome to another episode of Guilty Files, the true crime podcast," a smooth, steady voice resonates from the speakers, breaking the quiet of the cabin. "I’m Liza Lee, and today, we’re diving into the twisted world of a once-revered artist whose obsession blurred the line between inspiration and imprisonment. Picture a cramped underground cell, buried deep where not a trace of daylight can reach..."

𝕋he words rolled over you as you popped another piece of chocolate into your mouth, the crinkling of the golden wrapper slicing through the eerie silence of the cabin. In your other hand, you gripped your tablet, eyes darting between the podcast on the smart TV across the room and the game on your screen. You tapped, swiped, keeping your character alive in a never-ending digital fight, but your attention waned, drifting back to the story Liza Lee was telling.

"Concrete walls press in like silent witnesses, their cold, gray expanse offering no comfort, no reprieve—only an endless reminder of isolation."

The imagery was haunting, yet somehow familiar. You shifted under the plush, oversized blanket draped over you. The half-crocheted flower bouquet beside you slipped down the side of the bed, one of the chunky needles clattering to the soft rug below, muffled by its thick fibers.

In this cabin, you had everything you could ever want. Soft blankets, a bed that felt like clouds, endless books, music, and streaming—all set up by the person who insisted you stay here. Asher, your lover. Or was he your captor? If you were being honest, the lines had blurred a while ago. He’d kept you close, away from your old life, the outside world fading like a dream. But he treated you so preciously, as though you were something rare, something he couldn’t bear to lose.

"But here’s the unsettling part—why was she taken? Was this about money? A ransom demand? Or perhaps the twisted satisfaction of a serial abductor?"

The voice from the podcast tugged your focus back, pulling you into the story of Mary Gomez, trapped in an underground cell. Your brows knit together as you listened. Mary had been taken, not for money or revenge, but because of an artist’s obsession. He saw something in her, something he needed to capture, even if it meant keeping her caged like a bird with clipped wings.

You tried to concentrate on your game, fingers dancing over the screen, but even that failed to hold your interest for long. In this luxurious prison of yours, you had come to know restlessness intimately.

However, it wasn’t as stark as Mary’s despairing cell. Here, there were warm fires, soft lights, books, snacks... every comfort, every amenity you could want. And he visited often, bringing you gifts, spending hours talking with you, looking at you as if you’re something exquisite, something he can never get enough of.

"Imagine your shock when I tell you that her captor wasn’t after money, vengeance, or some misguided obsession with power. No, the reason she was confined, cut off from the world, was far more chilling."

Your mind flitted to your lover, his face flashing in your thoughts—his deep gaze, that intense stare that seemed to see through to your core. You weren’t locked in here, not really; you could leave if you chose.

But whenever the thought crossed your mind, his face, his words, his touch all came back to you, lingering like the faintest, sweetest perfume, coaxing you to stay.

This wasn’t a prison, you tell yourself. Not like Mary’s.

And yet...

"Her captor was none other than Ethan Hawthorne, the celebrated artist whose portraits once graced galleries worldwide. And his only motive? She refused to be his muse."

Liza’s voice felt sharp, unnervingly close to your situation, though you quickly shook off the thought.

Your blanket slipped further, leaving your shoulders cold, so you drew it back up, cocooning yourself in its softness. You glanced around the cabin, absorbing the contrast—the wide windows that open to endless forests, the soft, golden lights casting a cozy glow, the warmth that lingered in the air.

But beneath the comfort was an echo of something else.

How different, really, was your situation from Mary’s?

You shifted in bed, restless, caught between enjoying the comfort around you and feeling trapped by it. The podcast droned on, the story growing darker.

"Ethan, obsessed with preserving her raw, unyielding spirit, imprisoned her in his hidden studio, using her as his living, breathing canvas. With every stroke of his brush, he drew from her the emotions she tried so hard to hide—hope, despair, defiance, and, eventually, resignation."

A shiver ran through you. The parallel wasn’t lost on you. You had felt his eyes on you just like that, watching, waiting, always intent, as if he was trying to absorb every nuance, every fleeting emotion. But he wasn’t a mad painter, you tell yourself. You weren’t his muse.

Yet here you were, tucked away from the world, drawn deeper into his orbit, just as Mary was.

"Then came Ethan’s final piece, hauntingly titled Peace. The painting was his last, capturing Mary in a moment of final, tragic release—her last act of agency."

Your finger paused mid-swipe, frozen above the screen. You think of Mary’s tragic end, of the way she lost herself to him, bit by bit, until there was nothing left. And how Ethan, too, met his end shortly after. Your heart raced, and for the first time, you wondered what your lover might do if you ever tried to leave, if you ever finally grew tired of his quiet, smothering devotion.

"This is the story we’ll unravel today, piece by piece, exploring the mind of a madman and the victim who became his tragic masterpiece."

The podcast hummed on, filling the room with its haunting tones, but you barely cared to listen anymore.

Minutes blurred into hours as the voice from Guilty Files looped again and again due to the auto-reply setting – like a haunting lullaby as the night deepened and stretched into dawn.

You couldn’t remember when exactly you stopped feeling afraid, when the days of forcing yourself to stay awake, tense and watchful of his every move, faded into a quiet, almost comforting vigilance.

Your body hardly held up against the sleep deprivation anymore—the growing dark circles beneath your eyes, a permanent reminder of the restless nights.

A half-smile tugged at your lips as you realized how things have changed.

You once stayed awake out of sheer instinct to protect yourself, to be alert in case you needed to run or fight. Now, it was almost the opposite. Without him here, sleep barely found you. Nights felt endless, stretching on with a kind of hollow ache in his absence.

You shook your head with a soft chuckle, wondering how those intense feelings of repulsion, resentment, and distrust had morphed over time.

You hadn’t erased them from your memory—no, the past lingered somewhere in your mind like a hazy bruise, its details blurry, softened by months of peace. But now, those feelings felt foreign, detached from who you had become.

It should feel wrong, this quiet dependency.

But instead, there was a numbness, a void that only grew the longer you were alone.

Without him, hours slipped by, each minute swallowed up by the white noise in your mind. The days bled together, your once-sharp memories of the outside world fading with each passing sunrise.

You shifted on the bed, feeling a strange pull in your chest, something close to yearning.

He had been the only person you had seen, touched, spoken to for over a year then.

The only one whose warmth had brushed against your skin, whose heartbeat you had felt under your fingertips, whose gaze had persisted on you like a steady, consuming flame. His scent lingered; faint but intoxicating, grounding you even in his absence.

His azure eyes could pierce through you, could see you in a way no one else ever had. And despite the circumstances – despite everything, the thought of his presence was enough to quiet your mind.

He was your lifeline, you realized.

But still, a flicker of doubt remained, persistent and insidious. A small voice whispered from some dark corner of your mind, wondering if, one day, you would end up like Mary and Ethan. If their story—so far removed, yet so disturbingly familiar—might someday become your own. The thought clawed at you, fed your anxiety, a spiraling threat you couldn’t shake. You closed your eyes, the intrusive thoughts circling, until—

A familiar voice, low and steady, broke through the fog.

“You’re still awake?”

You turn, eyes wide and heart pounding, as his silhouette fills the doorway. He was here. Just the sound of his voice pulled you back to yourself, the steady beat of his presence grounding you.

You remain frozen, eyes fixed on the partially open door, waiting for him to step into the room. It had been nearly two weeks since you had last seen him, and by then, you weren’t sure if it was just another trick your mind was playing to keep you company. Normally, you would have leapt up, rushing to the door to greet him, craving his presence like a lovesick puppy. But that night, fatigue held you down, a heaviness that stilled even your reflexes.

The podcast still played softly in the background, its dark tale echoing through the room for him to hear. The voice of the host was sharp, unforgiving as it detailed the spiral of obsession and control. For a brief moment, you considered turning off the TV, dousing the flames before they ignited something. But the small voice in your head urged you to let it play. You weren’t forbidden from watching what you wanted—but the choice of a story that cut so close to your reality would undoubtedly provoke him. And that night, some reckless part of you wanted that.

It had been a long time since you’d felt the fire of rebellion. These days, your resistance had dulled, your heart no longer set on escape. But a strange desire lingered to test his patience, to push him and see what might lie beyond that endless restraint he showed you. If he could shatter into the darker version of himself that you had glimpsed once, if he could give you a reason to feel that old, familiar defiance… maybe then you’d feel the spark to resist, to remember the drive to escape.

You finally heard his footsteps from the dim hallway, and then he was there – standing at the edge of the bedroom, his gaze locked on the TV screen.

He looked… different. The warmth that usually softened his features was gone; his face was unreadable, lips pressed tight, eyes focused intently on the flickering screen. In the pale glow of the TV, he looked cold, a shadow of the man you’d caught a rare glimpse of when he was with his manager. Mr. Baek was his name, you remembered.

But then, his expression shifted. His shoulders tensed, and you watched his throat bob as he swallowed, seeming to struggle against something unsaid. His azure eyes met yours, and for one wild, exhilarating moment, you braced yourself, expecting the crack of anger, the explosion of emotion you had tried to provoke. But instead, his gaze wasn’t clouded with betrayal or fury—it was softened, tingling with something like… worry.

A pang of frustration twisted within you, and you felt yourself frowning slightly. Every time you tried to defy him, to lash out or make him question you, it would be always the same.

Rather than reacting with the anger you expected, he looked at you with concern, as if worried you might have accidentally hurt yourself in the process. Your resistance had become something almost… childish, a temper tantrum to him, and he was the unshakable adult, the one who only wanted to make sure you were safe.

You were caught between loathing and surrender when he finally walked toward you, his expression softening further with each step. He reached the bed, his hands warm and steady as they brushed gently against your face, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch melted something deep within you, that stubborn knot of defiance uncoiling despite your best efforts.

“Are you mad at me?” His voice was barely above a whisper, raw and vulnerable. His eyes searched yours with a quiet, heartbreaking sincerity, like he was on the edge of breaking himself.

You opened your mouth to say something sharp, something that might salvage a piece of your independence, but the words catch in your throat.

“No,” you said instead, your voice small, subdued. You looked away, guilt creeping in despite yourself, a feeling that maybe letting the podcast play had been a step too far.

Maybe you had miscalculated the game, and were, instead of the satisfaction of resistance, were left with a hollow ache in your chest.

He leaned down, his lips brushing your forehead with a tenderness that nearly let you loose. “I’m sorry, baby. I kept you waiting for too long this time, didn’t I?”

The question hung between you, heavy and painfully intimate. You don’t answer, keeping your gaze fixed downward, hoping he wouldn’t see the storm of emotions threatening to break through. Your fingers clutched the edge of the blanket, grounding you, as you struggled against the pull of vulnerability he drew from you so effortlessly. In your silence, he lingered, his thumb brushing over your aching lips, a gentle reminder of the hold he had over you.

And as the light outside began to creep in, you couldn’t help but wonder if there was any part of you left that could still muster the will to leave.

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

@shadowytravelerlover

[lynzishell]

The Past 💛 Atlas

Upstairs, the club is already full and alive with music and lights and people. While the others walk out on the dance floor, making their way toward the DJ booth, I stay back, allowing myself a few minutes to acclimate. I find a spot in the back, out of the way, and watch the crowd on the dance floor as they smile and cheer and dance, some goofing off and laughing with friends, others serious and focusing only on the music as they move. It occurs to me that it’s been years since I’ve been to a club. Dawn used to drag us out all the time when we were in college together, and I got kind of burnt out on it after a while, but I’m glad I came out tonight.

I look past the dancers to the booth and recognize the DJ as our co-worker Kamryn, her signature bright pink ponytail swaying as she dances behind the decks. I had no idea she did this kind of thing, but she’s good.

It’s not long before I find myself moving my head and shoulders to the beat, the rest of my body itching to be set free and move as the bass thumps in my chest and a familiar warmth radiates through my limbs. As I expected, the tablet Lex gave us contains MDMA and something else, and whatever that something else is multiplies the sensation and I feel it hit me all at once as my entire body flushes with heat and a gentle euphoria lifts my anxiety up and away.

I look around to try to spot Ash, and as if I manifested him with my mind, I see him walk out of the crowd right toward me. His black t-shirt is soft and thin and hangs on him just right, and my mind flashes briefly to the exposed skin underneath. Catching myself, I take a breath and look up quickly to see his playful smirk. “Are you gonna come dance, or what?” He asks.

“Yeah, I was just about to.”

“Let’s go then.”

He extends his hand to me, and I take it, letting him lead me through the crowd to the middle of the dance floor where the moving lights and loud music and energy of the dancers take over. I let it envelop me and flow through me as I let go and dance and become part of it all.

[music]

I look over at Ash and am immediately mesmerized by the way he moves, weightless and fluid. I’ve seen him dance dozens of times, and he always looks good, even when we’re just fucking around in his living room trying to make each other laugh, but this is different. His footwork is quick and smooth and hypnotic, his weight shifting, pulling him side to side, crossing over and back again. It’s a style so distinctly urban that I can’t help but wonder where the fuck in Brindleton Bay he learned to dance like that. I can’t take my eyes off him.

Part of me is tempted to reach out and pull him into me, but I also don’t want to interrupt him. I watch as someone else comes up behind him and tries to dance with him, but he shrugs them off and shakes his head, clearly wanting to be left alone to do his own thing. So, I leave him be and dance beside him, keeping my hands to myself. It’s probably for the best anyway… I have an image of Lex popping up between us if we get too close, as if I’m a teenager again at a church dance being monitored to “save room for Jesus”. Little did they know what Henry and I had gotten up to earlier that day. I smile to myself at the memory. He may have broken my heart in the end, but that day… that was a good day. It feels nice to be able to enjoy a happy memory without being dragged down by all the sad ones attached to it, even if only temporarily. I silently thank Lex for whatever she gave me… and thank myself for only taking half. The night is already starting to blur around me as it is.

Soon, a song comes in that drags me gently out of my wandering thoughts and wraps around me like a warm blanket. It’s beautiful, layered and flowing like waves, the beat quick but more subtle than the others, a welcome reprieve. I look over at Asher and he smiles at me, nodding; he likes it too. Letting the beat guide me, I close my eyes and move to the music, feeling it wash over me as I lose myself again.

[1:50] The song slows and gets quiet sooner than I’d like it to, but I take advantage of getting a moment to breathe. Ash is grinning up at me, and I get the distinct feeling he’d been watching me.

“What’s that look for?” I ask.

“Having fun?” He was definitely watching me.

I laugh a little, more flattered than embarrassed, “Yeah, you?”

He shrugs casually, but, judging by the size of his pupils and the grin on his face, I’d say he’s feeling as good as I am.

“Where’s Lex?” I wonder, realizing that I haven’t seen anyone else from our group in a while.

Ash searches the crowd for a moment before pointing to the far end. I turn to see her familiar mop of ginger curls, and smile when I see her laughing and dancing with her friends.

“Enjoying her birthday, I see.”

“Yep.”

[2:20] The music dips quieter as the layers are removed bit by bit. When I turn back to Ash, my smile falters as I look him over, the image of his shirt lifting up refuses to leave my mind, and my body trembles from the effort of holding myself back from reaching out to him.

My desire (or desperation?) must show on my face because he peers at me through his long lashes, gives me a playful grin, and asks, “What?” The way he says it comes out like a dare, and I watch as his eyes dip down and then slowly follow the lines of my body back up until they meet mine again, making my heart race and turning the last ounce of my willpower to dust at my feet.

[2:40] The music is starting to rise, so I gesture for him to come closer. When he leans in, my body reacts instantly, as if each and every individual cell is reaching for him, so I take his hand and I put my mouth to his ear and say the only thing I can think of to say, “I want you to kiss me.”

Our cheeks are so close that I feel the disturbance in the air between them as he smiles. He pulls back, and holds up a finger, telling me to hold on. I watch curiously as he listens to the music, nodding his head to the beat, as if waiting for something.

[2:55] A second later, he looks back at me with an excited smile, and in one swift motion, he reaches a hand to the back of my head and pulls himself into me. The second our lips touch, I feel the energy rush through my entire body as the music drops and the crowd around us erupts in cheers and dancing.

Maybe it’s the drugs, maybe it’s the music, maybe it’s him, or maybe it’s the combination of it all, but it’s the best kiss I’ve ever had.

Prev // Next

[sigmathesillyenigma]

redacted characters w kids 💥💥

not to be mistaken for dad!redactedboys

david :

gets clung to at every pack event. something about the nonchalant, reserved man with the cute partner who gives them candy is extremely alluring. he’ll be sat in a chair, arms crossed with a “😒” expression as he has like 4 toddlers screaming in his ears, pulling on his hair, little hands iron-clad around his arms.

asher :

is “the fun one”, but not in the way he would have liked. the pack children definitely bag on him (obviously lovingly), milo acting as their little (literally) leader. outside of the teasing, asher is truly well-loved amongst the children.

milo :

picks fights w the teenagers LMAO. he sees them like a different species; how could someone be so intelligent yet incapable of basic manners and maturity? it makes his head spin. at the end of every argument (which he inevitably loses, because he is arguing with pre-teens who don’t quite grasp his large words yet), milo will be rambling to sweetheart during the car ride home about how he was never like that (he most certainly was).

darlin :

unlike milo, they get along well with the teenagers. it's a mix of their relatability and strong sense of personal justice, which aligns closely with them. unfortunately, the curse of having an older southern partner is all too real, so their name in their phones in meemaw/peepaw. it made their eyes roll the first time they saw it.

sam :

while i don't think he'd be super popular amongst the pack kids, he'd definitely be a safe space for the quieter teens to hang around. sam doesn't speak to them unless spoken to, which they like. every pack gathering, sam will have like two teens glued to their phones just following him around, avoiding smalltalk.

porter :

idk this man's an enigma. he either hates kids or is really good with them (maybe both lmao). it's not often porter finds himself in an environment where there would be children, but in the off-chance that he does, i think they'd find him funny. his wit is great for all audiences, and he doesn't even have to try. or he pisses them off. again, probably both.

vincent :

good with kids in a big-brotherly way. i picture him (headcanon alert) as having had a sibling or atleast a younger friend before he was turned, which gives him this brotherly vibe. nice for the most part, but again, i don't imagine vincent would find himself in a place that involves kids. unless he like. hangs out near playgrounds at night now cause he isn't in the house 😭😭😭

gavin :

pretty good. gavin doesn't mind entertaining them for a while, but he finds his humour is better suited for adult audiences. he could listen to a kid ramble all day, (interested “hmm?”’s and “ohh, is that right?”’s are his specialty) but when it comes to making conversation himself AND cracking kid-friendly jokes? yeah he's lost. short-lived social battery.

@skunkox @vividmilk @definitelynuwonhere

hi evie yes u got added to the taglist no u wont be removed i lvoe you

ir’as 12a,wm ngoomdight

[therexasher]

YESSSSS, I LITERALLY HYPERVENTILATE!! I WANT HIMMMMMM😩😩😩😩

This outfit does something to me. Idk what or why, but he is just… 😫🔥👑✨

[therexasher]

pssst!

lil bro I have something super important to tell you….

Isn’t he just so FINE!?!!???

Anyway, I love you!

Byeeeeeeee

AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! BIG SIS, HOW COULD YOU? IM MELTING AT THE PURE SIGHT OF HIS BEAUTY, HES SO GORGEOUS 🤧🤧🤧✨✨🌟

[aragaki]

Darlin' x Milo.

I know I'm all alone in my little boat here but Darlin x Milo has me in a chokehold and I need to get it out!!

For one, Milo would absolutely call Darlin' Tank instead.

Thinking about Milo and Tank, they've been around each other since they were teenagers. Maybe there was some feelings, some fights. Two stubborn, strong-willed wolves with Asher always going on and on about their will-they-won't-they dynamic, much to Milo's chagrin.

Then they vanish off with some fancy-talking vamp and Milo's left with a yearning he refuses to admit to. He's got other things on his mind. He pretends that Tank's absence from pack meetings doesn't bother him but knowing they're gone, and in a worse place, weighs on him.

Then he finds them, battered and bloody, crumpled outside on his way home. They're hurt. They're half-delirious from blood loss and couldn't help themselves from going somewhere familiar - to someone familiar.

Milo patching them up as best he can, trying to get information out of them but they fight him tooth and nail at every turn. Just like the old days. All he knows is there's someone they're out for, someone they want to kill, and Milo can't tell anyone they're back in Dahlia. And just like Milo says to Sweetheart, as long as it doesn't affect the pack, he can do what he wants.

But it does and he doesn't know it.

Milo's place becoming Tank's safehouse, Milo trying to help Tank as much as he can but they're so tight-lipped about who they're hunting. But the two of them are getting closer. And Milo learns just how out of place Tank felt in the pack, with them, never feeling like they were really accepted.

David confronting Milo, absolutely pissed that two members of his pack are going behind his back. Milo and David, who are at this point more distant after the death of Gabe, and Milo having something to prove to David but has disappointed him.

Milo telling David that Tank doesn't think of themselves as a member of the Shaw pack, and hasn't in a long time, even before they left. Milo having to tell David that he didn't ask who it was Tank was hunting, scared that if he pushed or if he told David and they found out, they'd probably run and they'd never get them back and he doesn't want to lose them again.

Tank confronting Milo at the pack meeting, convinced he was the one who told, furious, hurt, and betrayed again, so tried of being betrayed, but Milo defending himself. Making it clear that he didn't tell David and Tank didn't tell him about Quinn either.

Tank's body being covered in scars from fights and Quinn. Being ashamed and disgusted as Milo, who spills compliments like a fountain, kisses each one of them. Milo's body-worshipping habits coming out at every unhappy frown Tank makes when they see themselves.

Milo buying Tank good looking clothes, fully at his wit's end with their unironed white tank top and jeans. Tank liking the clothes but never wearing them cause they seem so expensive, they should be for a special occasion. Milo's insistence that mulberry silk or not a shirt is a shirt so please fucking wEAR IT.

Asher's vindication when Milo and Tank finally make the leap into being mates. He's been on this train since they were teens, he's been suffering from an IRL slow-burn romance for half of his life!! Will not shut up about the fact that the "pack scrappers" finally got together.

"Bite me, Milo. 😒" "Not in public, sweets."

[nevaroonie]

Amazing Right

WC - 1043 TW - One-sided love AN - Enjoy

This was the day. This was it, Milo would finally stop hiding behind the skirts of his pants. He would confess.. He would tell Asher how he felt. That and he was tired of that stealth teasing him. At one point, they threatened to asher themselves, and that's when Milo drew the line. 

If anyone were going to be telling Asher anything it would be him. Especially if it concerns his feelings for him… he just had to build up that confidence.. To you know.. Actually.. Say the words- 

It’s only 3 words.. ‘’ I Like You ‘’ yet they hold so much weight. Maybe it wasn’t the weight they carried it was the actions after. What if Asher didn’t understand what he meant? What if Asher just turned him down? What would the pack hierarchy think? He is the beta after all. 

There was so much to consider, for 3 little words. 3 little words that meant everything to Milo. 3 little words that can break his heart. Or make it burst with joy. So much could go wrong. But he needed to do this. He didn’t really need to.. More of he wanted to get these feelings off his chest. 

But at the same time, he didn’t want to lose the person he cared for the most. 

He was busy right now, but he’d talk to Asher later today. If he could distract him with the promise of games. The blow wouldn’t hurt as much as he was thinking. Yeah.. grabbed his phone out of his pocket.. Maybe they could play some Smash together. And maybe he’d let him win. A smirk covered his face. Yeah.. 

~~~~~~~

After a long day at work, all they wanted to do was go home and rest. But it seems the universe had other plans.  And maybe they felt their heart stop when they heard the elevator stop. They had forgotten about the other person here. The 2 of you were talking.. Then the elevator stopped. 

‘’ I don’t think the button is gonna work..- ‘’ Asher stalled a laugh, this is not how he expected a drop-off to go. That and almost breaking covert for the second time this week- what David doesn’t know can’t hurt him. 

Maybe the elevator could just kick-start itself, and all this be over.. He looked over at the stranger. They looked like they were freaking out.. How could he help…hmm

‘’hey'm Asher.. And seems we are stuck for a bit ‘’ he was trying to break the tension. 

They had a nice name. He could bet they had an even better smile. They looked scared.. He wanted to help with that. 

‘’ hey, why don’t you come over here..? ‘’ waving his hand over. They looked at him and back at the closed elevator doors. Before taking a seat next to the man they now knew as Asher. 

Asher attempted his best to make conversation with them. After all who doesn’t like to shit take their coworkers at i right? How could they not have a water cooler?! All the TV shows have them. The bathrooms being semi-clean wasn’t surprising. 

‘’ you’re a funny guy Asher..’’ 

There was the smile he wanted to see. He knew it was beautiful. 

‘’ well tell me what.. Let me give you my number and we can have all types of conversations.. ‘’ he was hoping the beads of sweat rolling down his face weren’t obvious. 

‘’ sure! Let me see your phone..’’ they reached out, and he practically dropped his phone, though it ended up in their hand eventually. 

‘’All alright I’ll see you Asher! ‘’ they waved him off before they got off on their floor. 

Now that Ash was actually looking at his phone; he’d noticed the message he got from Milo earlier today. 

Wanna Get Your Ass Kicked In Smash? 

He smirked at the message. As if Milo could beat him. Ash’s jiggly puff could easily beat Milo. 

Bet. 

See you at 7 

That was a fast response. Ash shook it off and waited for the elevator to land on his floor. 

~~~~~~~~~~

How many times had Milo lost now? He’d lost track.. One thing was on his mind. And it wasn’t the game, it could have been Asher's smile. That laugh he did whenever he knocked him off the map. Why was this hard? 

3 words.

That's all he had to say. And those 3 words were the hardest things that he could say at this moment. Everything was perfect after all. Games, snacks.. This could be the moment. He could say the words. The ones he’d been longing to say. The ones that were plaguing his mind. 

That's all he had to do. All he had to say. 

I Like You. 

Those words. Why was it so hard to say those words? 

‘’ Milo you good? ‘’ asher looked at him. He looked so lost in thought, and he wanted to tell him about the cool person he met earlier today. 

‘’ y..yeah I’m good. ‘’ milo gulped.. He had to tell him now. The beads of sweat rolling down his face were just a form of liquid encouragement. Yeah.. after all, doesn’t sweat cool the body down? 

‘’ well, that’s good! I would’ve responded to your message earlier but I got stuck in an elevator. ‘’ he chuckled. 

That laugh. 

Fuck. 

He couldn’t do this.

‘’ and I met this really cool person, they like Halo and Smash! ‘’ asher stated pausing the game now and looking directly at Milo. 

The sparkling look in Asher’s eyes made him look so pretty. Milo had stopped paying attention to what he was saying. 

‘’We were talking while the elevator was stuck.. And eventually, I got their number! And we should be going out on our first date next week. ‘’ 

Wait what. 

Date. 

Next week? 

‘’ w..what? ‘’ 

Asher very happily recounted everything that happened in the elevator. And Milo’s heart shattered with every word. He had waited so long for this one moment. And he lost it to a panicked stranger. 

He waited his whole life. And lost it all to a damn elevator. 

‘’amazing right?! ‘’ asher had been talking. And he wasn’t paying attention. 

All he could do was nod and hope Ash didn’t notice the tears threatening to spill. Maybe in another life. Asher would be his. 

[therexasher]

Lowkey, les be real, Mike was the first e-boy with all that jingling he doing, sounding like Christmas bells☠️☠️☠️

" who's Bad "

🔥 Michael could say anything and his words would always become iconic 🎥 i love these vibes from BAD 1987 music video