#because i'm adding some to my marked for later list

[all-for-the-recs]

Oh this fic??? Only my baby. Freaking LOVE emry_stars

Chapters: 24/24 (COMPLETE)

Words: 71,045

Author's summary:

Andrew Minyard is barely scraping by college with his sanity intact, bored out of his mind, until he runs into Kevin's new tutoring student. Literally.

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

exhibitionism

part V

Pairing: SugarDaddy!Ben x Fem!Reader

Summary: You weren’t just taken out��you were put on display. Ben let them look, let them want, but he never let them touch. He made sure you felt it. The weight of their stares, the slow burn of humiliation mixing with something darker, deeper. You are starting to realise how much that drink really cost.

Warnings: 18+!, Ben once again being his own warning, age gap, language, misogyny, drug consumption, smut (kissing, biting, marking, slapping, dirty talk, clitoral stimulation, overstim, forced orgasms, fingering, handjob, cunnilingus/oral, p in v, cum on face, throttling, rough sex, semi-public sex, somnophilia, sexsomnia, dub-con, orgasm control/denial), mind games, manipulation, degradation, power imbalance, I may have missed some. (There's a bunch in this one, agh!)

Word Count: 6,239

A/N: AHHHH!! I'm not sure I've proofread this properly because my brain feels like it's full of bees. I've had too much caffeine today and after doing so many tattoos at work, I genuinely think the vibration of my machine has done something to my body. Lmao. More of The Boys characters making an appearance, lmk what you thought of that, please. I lowkey (highkey, always highkey) loves writing John. The smarmy piece of shit. We are starting to see what really gets Ben going... and it's a lil bit dangerous, besties. <3 As always, please let me know what ya'll thought, I loved the desperation in this one. I felt it so bad while I was writing it so I hope that's translated across to y'all. You know what's up: if the warnings listed above aren't evident yet? They will be. Until the next one, bbys. All the love.

Without further ado: EXHIBITIONISM

Power is not taken. It is given.

A glance across the bar. A drink set down without a word. A hand at the small of your back, guiding you somewhere you don’t belong.

It starts small—a single indulgence, a breathless yes.

Then, suddenly, you are on display. Draped over his lap, diamonds at your throat, whiskey on your lips. A possession. A prize. A thing to be seen.

Because men like him do not love. They own.

Butcher barely threw the car into park before he jerked his chin toward the door.

"Go on, then. He said to send you straight up." He waved a hand, settling into his seat like he had no intention of moving. "Keepin' the car warm 'til you're ready."

You blinked. "We're leaving as soon as I'm ready?"

"That’s what I just said, innit?"

Your stomach flipped. Of course, Ben had a plan. Of course, he hadn’t told you what it was.

"Thanks again," you murmured before stepping out. Butcher just let out a gruff exhale, shaking his head like you were something both amusing and mildly exhausting.

The building loomed above you, sleek and modern, towering over the street like it owned the entire city. You swallowed, adjusting your bag on your shoulder before stepping inside, the quiet hum of wealth pressing down on you the second you crossed the threshold. The elevator ride was smooth, too smooth, and before you knew it, you were knocking on his penthouse door.

It swung open a second later, and there he was.

Ben.

Looking like every single one of your worst fucking weaknesses wrapped up in dark dress pants and an off-white button-down.

He was mid-motion, rolling his shoulders, adjusting the cuffs, thick forearms flexing as he straightened the fabric over his arms. The way he stood, the way he filled the doorway, exuding heat and control, had your stomach plummeting and your brain short-circuiting all at once.

You didn’t even try to hide the way you gawped. Couldn’t.

His smirk stretched slow, knowing. "Gonna stand there makin’ heart-eyes all night, or are you comin’ in?"

Heat flooded up your neck. You scowled, stepping inside, and Ben huffed a low, indulgent laugh.

"Got your dress ready," he added, shutting the door behind you, towering close as he reached past you to lock it.

You glanced up. "Oh? We’re going out-out?"

His response was a hand on your throat, fingers curling firm against your pulse as he yanked you in, crashing his mouth over yours.

It was messy, all heat and possession, your back hitting the door as he crowded into you, swallowing the tiny noise you made. He kissed you like he was making a fucking point, like he wanted to leave his taste in your mouth, his fingerprints against your skin. By the time he pulled back, his breath was ragged against your lips, and yours was completely fucking wrecked.

Then he grinned. "Yeah, that’s what I thought."

You scowled, breathless, and he laughed, mocking. "Fuckin’ look at you," he murmured, thumb dragging over your jaw. "Gettin’ all shy again. Jesus."

You glared, shoving weakly at his chest, but he only caught your wrist, pressing it flat against the solid heat of him before finally letting go.

"Go shower," he said, still smirking. "Get cleaned up."

You didn’t argue. Just turned on your heel and disappeared into the bathroom, heart still slamming against your ribs.

By the time you emerged, showered, dried, and painted into the deep green dress he’d picked for you, you barely recognised yourself.

The satin draped smooth over your curves, the cowl neckline dipping just enough to tease, the slinky hem skimming high over your thighs. Strappy black heels clicked softly against the floor as you turned in front of the mirror, taking yourself in.

You looked—

Like a fucking fraud. Like someone playing dress-up in a world they didn’t belong to, wrapped in luxury that wasn’t meant for them.

A thick swallow worked down your throat. You curled your hands into fists at your sides, blinking at your own reflection like you could force yourself to believe it.

And then he stepped into the room. You felt it before you saw it—the shift in the air, the weight of his presence sinking deep into your spine. When you turned, he was in the doorway, leaning, watching.

His lips parted slightly, his head tilting, slow and predatory as his gaze dragged over every inch of you.

The heat in his eyes, the slow curl of his lip, the sharp clench of his jaw—

Fuck.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, almost to himself, teeth sinking into his bottom lip like he was already picturing the ways he was gonna ruin you later.

Your breath caught. His stare was unapologetic. Unfiltered. Fucking lethal. Then he pushed off the doorframe, stepping toward you, big hands curling around your waist as he came to stand behind you in the mirror.

"You look good," he murmured, voice low against your ear, grip tightening. "Really fuckin’ good."

A shiver rolled through you. You met his eyes in the reflection, stomach flipping violently. "You think so?"

"Mhm." He hummed, dragging his thumbs over your hipbones before pressing something into your palm.

You blinked. Looked down.

A tiny, ridiculously expensive gift bag.

Your brows furrowed as you peered up at him. "What’s this?"

Ben smirked, reaching into the bag to pull out a velvet case, flipping it open with a casual flick of his wrist. A diamond necklace glittered inside.

Small, delicate, but obviously stupidly fucking expensive.

Your breath hitched, chest tightening as you stared.

"Ben, I—"

"Uh-uh," he cut in, already reaching to take it from the case. "I don’t wanna hear it."

You blinked up at him, lips parting, head shaking slightly. "I can’t—"

He laughed. Actually laughed. Then reached down, gripped your chin, and forced you to look him in the eye.

"You can," he murmured, tone all slow, deep amusement, "and you will."

Your stomach flipped violently. Your pulse slammed.

He stepped behind you again, dragging the delicate chain around your throat, fingers brushing the sides of your neck as he clasped it shut.

When he was done, he met your gaze in the mirror again.

"There," he murmured, hands settling firm on your waist, lips ghosting over your ear. "Now you look like you belong to me."

You couldn't stop staring.

The two of you in the mirror—towering and tiny, dark and delicate, predator and prize.

Ben stood behind you, impossibly broad, impeccably dressed, the stark stretch of white against dark, muscles taut beneath expensive fabric. He filled the frame, wrapped around you, making you look even smaller in comparison. His hands on your waist, large and heavy, branding through the satin of your dress.

You were perfectly put together. Painted, dressed, adorned—

His pretty little doll.

And as if he could hear the exact thought crawling through your head, he hummed, low and knowing, dipping his lips to your ear.

"Look at you." His voice was deep, indulgent, fingers flexing against your ribs. "Look at how well you fit right here."

A shiver rolled through you, sharp and unavoidable, your breathing uneven as he brushed his lips down the side of your throat, slow, teasing. The mirror trapped you in the image, forced you to watch—the way his mouth brushed your skin, the way his teeth grazed, nipped, soothed with heat.

Your pulse stuttered, but you couldn’t look away.

Ben smirked against your jaw. "You like that, huh?" His lips ghosted over your throat, warm, deliberate, possessive. "Like seein' what’s yours?"

Yours. The word shouldn’t have made your stomach flip the way it did.

You swallowed, nails curling into your palms, struggling to catch your breath. Ben didn’t let up. He pressed closer, a slow, consuming thing, his hand splaying flat over your stomach as he let his teeth sink into the side of your neck.

A quiet gasp escaped you. He dragged his tongue over the mark, holding your gaze through the mirror, daring you to break it.

"If we don’t leave now," he murmured, low and dangerous, "we never will." His fingers curled against your hip, slow and threatening. "’Cause I’m gonna rip this pretty fuckin' dress off you."

Your pulse hammered. You nodded. Just once.

His smirk stretched. "Smart girl."

The elevator ride was silent, save for the heavy press of his hand against your back, the occasional flex of his fingers against your waist like he was reminding himself to behave.

By the time you stepped outside, the car was still idling at the curb. Butcher barely looked up as you climbed in, but Ben pulled you in tight the second you hit the seat. One arm curled around your waist, yanking you flush against him, his grip unshakable.

You barely had time to process it before the city started moving past you in a blur of neon and darkness.

Ben was calm, comfortable. One hand on your thigh, the other resting on the door, completely at ease like he was taking you out for a casual drink. Like he hadn’t just spent ten minutes devouring your throat in the mirror.

Your breathing was still uneven, your body too hot, skin too aware of him. He knew it, too. You could feel the way his thumb stroked over your bare thigh, lazy, amused.

You turned your head to look at him, brow furrowing slightly. "Where are we going?"

Ben’s lips quirked. "You’ll see."

You swallowed. Something about the way he said it—something about the anticipation dripping from his voice—made your stomach twist.

You knew the place was exclusive before the car even rolled to a stop.

It loomed ahead of you—dark, sleek, pulsing with bass even from the outside. The kind of place that didn’t have a name on the front, didn’t need one. People at the entrance weren’t waiting. They were being let in, personally.

And as Butcher pulled up, the staff was already waiting.

Ben let out a quiet hum, lips twitching as he nodded toward the door. "Showtime."

The second you stepped out, the world shifted.

The inside was low-lit, throbbing with music, heady with smoke and perfume and expensive liquor. Lush, velvet booths lined the perimeter, sleek gold-lined tables filled with whiskey and cigars, women draped across men like fucking ornaments.

Everything was rich. Everything was power. And the second Ben stepped inside, people noticed. Men, women, staff, patrons—eyes followed. Not just him. You.

Your skin prickled. The barely-there dress suddenly felt like nothing at all, every inch of your exposed skin hypersensitive, aware of the stares, the weight of being seen.

Ben’s grip on your waist tightened.

Your pulse slammed. You swallowed, gaze darting through the dim glow of chandeliers, the soft flicker of candlelight illuminating powerful men surrounded by pretty things.

Ben was one of them.

And you—

Were you one of them too?

Your breath stuttered.

Ben’s fingers flexed against your ribs, warm, grounding. When you looked up at him, he was already watching, already smirking.

Smug. So fucking smug.

His brow ticked up in something almost playful, like he was reading your exact fucking thoughts and confirming them without a word.

Yeah. They’re looking at us.

A slow curl of something hot and unfamiliar twisted deep in your stomach.

Your heart hammered against your ribs, a trapped bird trying desperately to escape its confinement within your chest.

The booth Ben led you to was different. Bigger. Elevated. The kind of place that overlooked everything, but just as easily put everything on display.

And as he tugged you forward, your stomach twisted, because this wasn’t just a seat. It was a stage. The men already inside barely reacted to Ben’s arrival. They didn’t have to.

The first was blonde, striking, arrogant as fuck. He lounged back with two stunning girls draped over him, one curled against his side, the other on her knees beside him, stroking a hand over his thigh. He barely looked at them. The second was quieter, confident, composed. He sat with a woman across his lap, her body soft and relaxed against him, eyes half-lidded like she was lost somewhere far away.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them had to.

Ben wasted no time in pleasantries. Instead, he pulled you forward—hard, fast, claiming. Your breath hitched, a startled squeal slipping out as you landed in his lap, gripping the hem of your dress in some desperate attempt at modesty.

Your cheeks burned. The other men watched.

Ben didn’t care. His hand curled firm over your thigh, fingers pressing into the satin, securing you in place.

"John. Earving," Ben said smoothly, nodding once. "This is—"

"It's about time you showed up," the blonde—John—cut in. But his eyes weren’t really on Ben.

They were on you. Flicking, darting, lingering in a way that made your skin crawl. Not subtle. Not polite.

Ben just smirked. Pulled you in closer, like he was reminding John exactly who you belonged to. The pressure of his grip made your pulse stutter, breath catching as he let his fingers flex against your skin. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. Didn’t know where to put your hands, your legs, your fucking eyes.

John leaned back, exhaling slowly through his nose, still watching. Still smirking.

Earving remained silent, only nodding once in your direction—not dismissive, not interested, just acknowledging.

Ben? Ben was comfortable. Completely fucking at ease. "Got caught up," he said casually, voice smug, heavy with knowing.

John’s lips twitched. "Yeah?" His gaze flicked to you, then back to Ben. "Looks like it."

Ben hummed, dragging his palm higher on your thigh, lazy, deliberate.

The conversation flowed from there—smooth, rich with arrogance, an unspoken pissing contest that Ben won without even trying. John had this restless energy, the kind that made him lean in when he spoke, like he was always in the middle of some game, some unspoken chess-match, some performance.

But Ben just fucking was. Effortless. Smirking. Sitting like a king with you draped over him, completely unmoved by John’s little one-upmanship.

Earving only spoke when necessary, his voice low, even, unbothered. He didn’t need to prove anything.

John, however, thrived on it. The back-and-forth between him and Ben was sharp, competitive, smug as hell.

You weren’t really listening. Not properly. Because even though Ben was talking, his hand hadn’t left your thigh. Even though his attention was elsewhere, he was still holding you down, still keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

And the worst part?

You were hyper-aware of it.

Of the way the fabric of your dress rode higher. Of the way his fingers curled, flexed, pressed deep into muscle.

It was too much. Too tight, too possessive, too on display.

John murmured something low, something you didn’t catch, but it made Ben chuckle. He smoothed his palm over your leg, let it linger.

"Not this one," Ben said.

John raised a brow, sending a quick glance toward the dance floor before looking back. "Shame."

You blinked, stomach flipping in something sharp, unfamiliar. John had sent his girls away. Earving had, too. But Ben hadn’t let you go.

John’s smirk deepened. He leaned back, exhaling slow. "You always were possessive, Benny."

Ben just laughed. Not a real one. Not a full one. Just a low, indulgent exhale as he squeezed your thigh, pulling you even closer.

And all you could do was sit there—stuck, displayed, knowing you were being fucking ogled and not sure if you hated it, liked it, or couldn’t even tell the difference anymore.

You barely heard the conversation.

Ben’s grip on your thigh hadn’t loosened, hadn’t eased—not even when the conversation between him and John turned easy, almost entertaining. It was a game between them, an unspoken back-and-forth, a competition Ben didn’t even have to try to win.

But he wasn’t just talking.

His free hand, the one that wasn’t still curled possessively around your thigh, drifted up, slow and absent, fingers ghosting over your shoulder. Tugging. Adjusting. Moving your hair aside until the side of your neck was bare, open, exposed.

And then—

His lips. They brushed, barely there, over the curve of your throat. A slow, deliberate pressure, not really a kiss, not really not.

You inhaled sharply.

Ben exhaled warm against your skin, humming low in acknowledgment to something John said, like this was nothing, like he wasn’t doing anything at all.

Like he wasn’t dragging you under, deeper, deeper.

His mouth brushed again, then pressed firmer, lingering. Then—teeth. A slow graze, a teasing nip, just enough to make your breath falter, to send a sharp twist of heat straight to your stomach.

Like you weren’t even there. Like this was just a habit, a mindless touch, something he didn’t even have to think about.

You swallowed hard, body tight, tense, curling in on itself even as your thighs pressed together.

He wasn’t listening to you. He wasn’t even acknowledging you. But at the same time, he was. A kiss, a nip, the briefest scrape of teeth before he soothed the mark with his tongue. Your fingers curled into your lap. You could barely sit still.

And then John spoke, and you realised he was actually talking to you.

"Lucky girl."

You blinked, awareness snapping back into sharp focus, stomach twisting when you found John watching you.

The way he was watching you.

Ben’s mouth didn’t stop. Another slow, open-mouthed drag against your neck, the faintest scrape of teeth before his tongue flicked soft against the spot he’d just nipped.

You cleared your throat, or tried to, heat pressing up, up, up.

"I—" You swallowed, steadied yourself. "I do consider myself lucky."

John hummed, slow and mocking. His gaze dragged over you in a way that made your skin prickle, crawl, burn.

Overt. Obvious.

Like he was peeling you apart, layer by layer, undressing you right there.

Your stomach lurched.

"And what is it you do, sweetheart?" He asked, voice all faux charm.

You hesitated. Ben squeezed your thigh.

"College student," you murmured.

The second the words left your mouth, John’s entire expression shifted. His eyes flicked to Ben, grinning wide, mockingly delighted, as he clapped his hands together in faux celebration.

"Ohhh, Benjamin’s got himself a little college pet!" He cooed, voice dripping with amusement.

Your stomach dropped.

Ben’s mouth stilled against your neck. His fingers flexed tight into your thigh. Then he bit. Sharp, sudden, full teeth sinking in just enough to make you jolt, make you gasp.

John just laughed. "Ah, come on. Don’t give me that look! You’re the one parading her around like this."

Ben lifted his head just slightly, lazily, unbothered. He exhaled slow against your neck, then smirked as he turned to John. "She’s not my pet," he muttered against your skin, lips warm, hands tightening against your thigh.

John just laughed, leaning back into the booth, shaking his head. "Oh, you could’ve fooled me, Ben. You’re about ready to fuck into her right here in front of everyone, aren’t you?"

The breath in your lungs turned sharp.

Ben laughed. Loud. "Yeah," he admitted easily, almost shamelessly, before grinning against your throat.

Your breath caught. Heat roiled deep in your gut.

"But it’s her fault," Ben continued, voice low, indulgent. His fingers curled against your hip, gripping tight. "Such a perfect little doll."

Your pulse faltered.

John hummed, taking another slow sip of his drink, waiting, watching.

Ben pressed his mouth against your neck one last time, lips trailing up to your jaw, barely ghosting against your skin as he spoke.

"I mean, fuckin’ look at her," he muttered, almost to himself, almost like he forgot anyone else was in the room.

His grip on you tightened. His voice turned ragged, something low and heated and uncontrollable slipping through the cracks.

"Goddamn it," he exhaled. "Of course I’m ready to fuck into her right now."

Your stomach twisted. Mortified. Objectified. Completely on display. And yet—the way Ben held you, the way he spoke about you like you were something he owned, something he could barely control himself around—

Your thighs clenched involuntarily, heat pooling deep, unbearable. You hated it. You loved it.

And Ben? Ben knew.

John scoffed, shaking his head, his smirk curling sharp, cruel, his gaze sliding over you like something oily, invasive, lingering too long in places he had no business looking. "You’re really not gonna share?"

The words slithered between you like something sickly, decadent, wrong. A test. A provocation. A taunt that was only half a joke.

Ben’s body went rigid.

He growled.

Low, guttural, animalistic. It rumbled through his chest, vibrated beneath your spine where you sat curled against him, the sound dragging over your skin like a brand, like a warning. Primal. Possessive. Final.

Your breath caught.

John’s eyes lit up, going wide and gleeful, something almost manic in the way he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, watching Ben like he’d just discovered a new favourite toy. Delighted. Dangerous. Unhinged.

"Jesus, Benny," he laughed, his smirk stretching, voice laced with a sick sort of amusement. Hungry. "Did you just fucking growl at me?"

Ben didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His fingers flexed against your thigh, his grip going tight, unyielding, and then his voice dropped, rough and rasped at the edges, a single word.

"Mine."

Your stomach flipped. A slow, dizzying spiral, plunging straight down.

John exhaled hard through his nose, shaking his head, laughing, his tongue running along his teeth before he leaned back again, stretching lazily. "Christ, you’re no fun anymore," he tsked, waving a dismissive hand. "Didn’t think you got this territorial."

Your head spun. Your breath hitched.

Ben had always been possessive, yes, but this? This was different. This was dangerous. A claim being laid with teeth and hands and the weight of his body caging you in, forcing you to feel the gravity of it. Of him.

And before you could fully process it, before your lungs could catch up with your racing pulse, his fingers drifted higher.

Your entire body went stiff, your breath choking short in your throat, your hands flying to his wrist, weak and useless, a pitiful attempt to stop him.

Ben barely reacted. Just gripped you harder.

"Be a fuckin’ good girl," he murmured, voice silken, razor-edged, dragging the words through your skin, through your bones, making them settle low, thick, intoxicating.

Your pulse pounded. Your legs clenched. Your vision swam.

Ben hummed low in his throat, pleased, his thumb pressing, dragging, toying.

John watched. All amusement, all smirk, all entertained indulgence.

"That’s the Benjamin I remember," he muttered, shaking his head. "Fucking insatiable."

Heat crawled up your throat, something searing and unbearable pressing against your ribcage, tangling into something hot and needy at the pit of your stomach. Shame and want warring, devouring each other in real time.

"Not gettin’ her cunt out," Ben muttered, his thumb circling slow, lazy, menacing. "Just touchin’ what’s mine."

Your stomach plummeted.

John chuckled, his fingers tapping against his knee, entirely unbothered, entirely too fucking entertained.

Ben’s voice dipped even lower, his grip tightening, his lips ghosting against the shell of your ear.

"Don’t give a fuck who’s watchin’."

Your world tilted. Your body was hot and tight and drowning, sinking, suffocating under the weight of it all.

And Ben was dragging you under.

The pressure built too fast.

Ben’s fingers moved slow, measured, knowing exactly where to press, exactly how much pressure to give, exactly how to unravel you in the palm of his hand. Casual and cruel all at once.

Your breath stuttered, hips shifting involuntarily, the sensation too much, too tight, too overwhelming. It hit you like a storm breaking open over your skin, rolling over you in thick, suffocating waves.

And Ben knew. Of course he knew.

His smirk stretched against the shell of your ear, pleased, smug, like he could feel the way you were starting to tremble, like he could hear every sharp inhale, every hitched breath, every tiny, humiliating little sound your body made for him.

You felt the exact moment he figured it out—the second his thumb pressed just right, just deep enough, and your stomach clenched, your pulse hammering, your body tightening as you neared the edge too fast.

Then he stopped. Completely. Pulled his hand away like he was done, like he was fucking bored.

You nearly whined. Nearly.

A rush of relief and frustration collided in your chest, mortified at how close you’d been, how he’d wound you up and let you dangle, hanging in that unbearable space between ruin and relief.

Your thighs squeezed together instinctively, an attempt to hold onto something, to chase what he’d taken away.

Ben just chuckled under his breath. Like he knew exactly what you were doing. His hand stayed on you, just resting against your thigh now, possessive in a way that said you don’t get to move unless I tell you to.

Then, like nothing had happened, he raised a lazy hand to flag down a passing staff member.

"Whiskey," he muttered, a single flick of his fingers. "Two bottles."

The server nodded, quick and efficient, disappearing back into the dark.

Your chest heaved, the absence of his touch almost worse than its presence, your nerves still alight, still aching.

Ben said nothing at first, just let the silence stretch, let you sit in it, simmer in it.

Then the server was back, placing two deep amber bottles onto the low table beside you. Ben grabbed one, popped the top, and poured you a glass first, an ice cube clinking softly against the crystal.

He held it out, fingers wrapped around the rim, eyes heavy-lidded, watching you. Waiting.

"Drink up," he murmured.

You took it without thinking, lifting the glass to your lips, letting the burn hit your tongue, your throat, trailing heat all the way down to the pit of your stomach.

And fuck—

Your entire body sighed. The tension inside you loosened, just slightly, enough for you to exhale, to let your head drop back against his shoulder in something blissful, unguarded.

Ben let out a low groan. His hand slid up, fingers threading into your hair, his breath fanning hot over your temple as he inhaled, deep and slow.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, his voice thick, gritted with something molten. "It’s so fuckin’ hot that you drink whiskey like that."

A slow ripple of something dangerous rolled down your spine.

He smirked, dragging his nose against your hair before reaching for his own glass, knocking back his whiskey in one smooth motion. No hesitation. No reaction. Just heat and control and power.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he poured another for himself, and another for you.

You took it without a word. Let the burn settle deep in your stomach. Let the moment wrap around you like a second skin, thick and golden and suffocating.

John exhaled a laugh, breaking the silence. "You are..." he started, smirking, tongue flicking out over his lower lip, head tilting slightly as he watched you. "Very interesting."

Your pulse skipped.

Ben’s fingers flexed against your hip. Hard.

John grinned, leaning forward slightly, tipping his glass in your direction before knocking it back. "Don’t see Benny like this with his girls."

Ben went still.

Then—

"Shut the fuck up, John."

The words were low, sharp, dangerous.

John just laughed, shaking his head, waving a dismissive hand, but his eyes were still locked on you, still watching. Still pushing.

"Oh, come on," he drawled, smirking. "What, am I not allowed to be a little curious?"

Ben’s fingers dug in harder.

John leaned in, his eyes flashing, something electric dancing beneath his smirk. "She’s different."

Your breath hitched. Ben’s hand tightened at your waist, keeping you anchored, grounded, owned.

John grinned. "You don’t like that I noticed, huh?"

Ben’s jaw flexed, something dark flickering through his expression.

John only laughed again, shaking his head. Still pushing.

"Didn’t peg you for the sentimental type, Benjamin. Thought you kept them at arm’s length. You know, fuck them, leave them, let them float away."

Ben smirked, slow and dangerous. Teeth bared, but not a hint of humour in his eyes.

"Not this one."

Your stomach flipped.

John hummed, tilting his head. "Oh? And what makes her so special?"

Ben didn’t answer right away. Just knocked back his whiskey. Then leaned in, lips ghosting against your ear.

"You feel it, don’t you?" He murmured, voice low, private, meant for you and you alone. "What we are."

Your pulse slammed.

John kept smirking. Waiting. Watching.

And you? You just sat there, head spinning, whiskey burning in your stomach, Ben’s hands branding you into his lap, knowing, without a doubt, that something had shifted.

Something irreversible. And there was no coming back from it now.

Time blurred.

John needled at Ben a little longer, smug and relentless, but eventually, the dynamic shifted. The girls came back, slipping into their places, curling against laps, draping over broad shoulders like living adornments. Earving’s remained quiet, content, while John’s giggled and whispered, feeding his ego as they sank back into his orbit.

Ben kept one bottle of whiskey for the two of you and lazily slid the other across the table to the other men. A wordless gesture. A statement.

He let you drink two more glasses—two more slow burns down your throat, spreading warmth in your stomach, making you soft, languid.

Then, just as you reached for a third, his hand caught yours, steady, firm.

"That’s enough," he muttered, voice low against your ear.

You blinked up at him, lips parting, a protest forming—but he was already shaking his head, smirking.

"I know you can handle your liquor, sweetheart," he murmured, thumb stroking the inside of your wrist, deliberate, knowing. "But I got plans for you when we get home."

You shivered. Not just at his touch, not just at his voice, but at the way he said it.

Home.

Like his penthouse was yours, too. Your stomach dipped.

Ben felt it. Of course he did. His smirk stretched just slightly before he let your wrist go, returning to his drink like nothing had happened.

And then he started on his earlier torture again. His hand drifted under the table, casual, absent, curling around your thigh, stroking smooth against the satin. A tease. A promise.

And then he pushed higher. Pressed. Moved.

A sharp inhale caught in your throat as he touched you exactly where you needed him, exactly how you needed him. Heat bloomed, sharp and unbearable, and your hips shifted, desperate for more.

Ben felt it. And then, just when you were about to shatter—he stopped. Again.

Your breath stuttered, frustration burning hot in your chest, a humiliating twist of need curling low in your stomach.

Ben just smirked. He kept you like that. On edge, wanting, hovering at the precipice but never letting you fall. Again and again, he built you up—featherlight strokes, pressure in all the right places, letting you drown in the sensation until you were trembling.

And then? Gone. Every time, just before the crest, just before relief, he ripped it away, left you raw, left you aching.

Your head was spinning. Your breath came uneven, your hands gripping his thigh, your entire body coiled so tight you thought you might snap.

Then, finally—finally—he leaned in, lips ghosting against your ear, his voice low, guttural, wicked.

"Gotta get you home," he muttered, gravel and heat, dragging slow against your skin. "Need you fuckin' stuffed. Startin' to hurt over here."

Your stomach plummeted.

You barely registered the moment he called it a night, barely lifted your head to nod your farewell to John, Earving, and their companions before Ben was pulling you up, dragging you out of the booth, guiding you through the club with a hand firm on your waist.

The second the door shut behind you, the second you were outside, his grip tightened.

You barely had time to breathe before he hauled you straight into the backseat of his car, hands groping, gripping, pulling you into his lap like he didn’t give a single fuck about anything else.

"Ben—" you started, shifting, squirming, embarrassed.

"Stop bein' a fuckin’ pussy," he muttered, low and sharp, before shoving his tongue into your mouth.

You gasped, but the sound was swallowed immediately, overtaken by the press of his lips, the dominance of his grip, the heat radiating off of him in waves.

His hands were everywhere—gripping your ass, fisting your dress, dragging you forward until there was nothing between you, just friction and heat and the thick, hard line of his cock against your thigh.

Your body reacted before your brain could keep up. A slow, shattering surrender. Butcher cleared his throat from the driver’s seat. Ben barely acknowledged him.

Butcher exhaled a gruff, amused huff. "Get a room, would ya?"

Ben broke the kiss only long enough to glare over your shoulder. "Shut the fuck up and do your job."

Butcher chuckled. "Real fuckin’ romantic, mate."

Ben growled, his grip tightening at your waist. "Keep talkin’, see what fuckin' happens."

Butcher just laughed again, shaking his head as he pulled into the city, weaving through traffic like this was the most normal night in the world.

Your mind was a blur. Ben didn’t stop touching you. Didn’t stop gripping, squeezing, dragging his hands over you like he was barely holding himself back.

And then the car slowed. The building loomed. Before you could register it, Ben had the door open, lifting you with ease, hoisting you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

"Ben—!" You gasped, squirming as he clamped a hand on the back of your thigh, keeping you still.

"Shut up," he muttered, completely unbothered, completely in control.

Butcher rolled his eyes, shouting out the window, as he threw the car into park. "I ain’t comin' up there to help if you fuck her unconscious, mate. Just so we’re clear."

Ben smirked, stepping inside the building, heading straight for the elevator. "Don’t worry, pal. I fuckin' got her."

Your stomach twisted, heat pooling thick and unbearable, nerves coiling tight.

Because you knew. You knew. You weren’t walking out of that penthouse in the same condition you came in.

The elevator doors had barely started to slide open before Ben was moving. A force of nature, a storm breaking open, hands and heat and unrelenting hunger. He stumbled out backwards, dragging you with him, his grip unyielding, his mouth already back on your throat, biting, licking, sucking, marking.

And then—

He shoved you into the wall. Hard. The impact sent a shockwave through your bones, a sharp gasp tearing from your lips as your spine hit the cold surface, your head tilting back—

And something crashed to the floor beside you.

Art. Priceless. Elegant.

Shattered.

Ben didn’t even fucking notice. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t care.

His mouth was everywhere—jaw, throat, collarbone, sinking in, taking, devouring. His teeth broke skin, sharp and unrelenting, and you whimpered, body arching into him, head spinning, your nails digging into the fabric at his shoulders, the scent of whiskey, musk, sweat, desire thick between you.

You barely had time to process the pain before he was gripping your hair, yanking your head to the side, tugging at your dress, your panties, his fingers tearing, dragging, ruining everything in his path.

Another impact. Another thud. Another piece of art sent crashing to the ground.

The hallway was just that—a hallway, leading only to his penthouse suite. No neighbours. No audience. Just you and him and the destruction in his wake.

And then the door. Ben barely got it open before he was stumbling inside, dragging you with him, the door slamming shut so hard it rattled in its frame.

You barely caught a glimpse of the dim lighting, the scattered remnants of whatever chaos he’d left behind earlier before he tripped. An empty bottle. A careless misstep. His body tilted, his grip tightened, and suddenly the world flipped.

You landed on top of him, his back hitting the ground with a solid, air-knocking thud, his hands still gripping your waist, his chest rising hard and fast beneath you.

"Ben—" you gasped, immediately bracing your hands on his chest. Worried. "Are you—"

He cut you off with a sharp tug to your hair, yanking you down until your lips crashed over his, swallowing whatever concern you might have had.

"Not a fuckin’ pussy," he muttered against your mouth, before sucking your tongue into his own, biting it, tasting it, claiming it.

You whimpered, hips shifting over him, needing, desperate, gone.

His hands were already moving. A rough yank—seam tearing, fabric giving, your panties ruined in his grip. Another shift—his belt unbuckling, his pants shoved down just enough, all harsh movement, all impatience, all fucking need.

And then—

He rutted up against you, hard, frantic, desperate, panting.

Not inside. Not yet. Just dragging against you, pressing against where you were already soaked, already aching.

You moaned. Loud. Unfiltered. Gone.

He growled, gripping your hips, dragging you against him, fucking up into you with no rhythm, no thought, no control.

Just desperation.

Ben didn’t waste a single second. Didn’t pause, didn’t give you time to adjust—just grabbed your hips, slammed you down onto him, and fucked up into you so hard it made your vision white out.

You were already too far gone, too strung out, too desperate. Hours—hours—of build-up, denial, his hands on you, keeping you teetering on the edge just to shove you back down.

Now? He wasn’t stopping.

His pace was blistering, brutal, relentless. Each thrust punching sharp little noises from your throat, your hands splaying against his chest, your nails digging deep, useless at slowing him down.

"Fuckin’ liked showin' you off," he growled, voice raw, shredded at the edges. Possessive. Mean.

Your breath caught.

Ben’s grip tightened, his fingers branding, his rhythm punishing.

"Made those cocksuckers jealous. Lookin’ at you. Wantin' you."

Your head spun, your stomach twisting at his words, at the way he said them—gritted, wrecked, adoring. You gasped, clenching around him, and Ben felt it.

His teeth flashed, baring, snarling. "Yeah. You like that, huh? Like knowin' they fuckin' wanted you?"

His thumb dragged down, pressed against your clit, started circling, teasing.

You screamed.

Ben groaned, wrecked and hungry and full of need. "Fuckin’ perfect," he muttered, almost to himself, his eyes glued to your face, watching you, devouring you.

Then, his lips curled—sharp, filthy, taunting.

"So fuckin’ good for me. Lettin' me show you off. Lettin' me own you in front of them." His thumb pressed harder, his pace somehow rougher, deeper, faster. "Good fuckin’ girl."

Your nails scraped, raked, dug in. Your body trembled, locking up, curling in on itself.

"That’s it," he murmured, voice thick, sinful, reverent. "That’s my fuckin’ girl. Look at you. Fuck. So good. So wet. So fuckin’ perfect."

It was too much.

The tension snapped. Your orgasm hit fast, overwhelming, shattering, tearing a raw sob from your throat as you came apart around him.

Ben groaned, deep and guttural, his hands dragging you down, holding you there, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"That’s it, doll," he murmured through gritted teeth, his jaw tight, his pupils blown wide, ravenous.

And then—

"Shit—fuck—can’t hold out, sorry, baby—"

A rough yank. A sharp thrust. Ben dragged you down, buried himself deep, and spilled inside you with a growl that rattled the fucking floor.

His body shook, his hands gripping you so tight you knew you’d have bruises. He was panting, wrecked, shaking, staring up at you like you were the only fucking thing that existed. And then his lips curled into a sneer, his voice dropping, wrecked and ruined and filthy.

"Fuck. Made for me. So fuckin’ tight." He exhaled sharp through his nose, eyes still locked onto yours. "Jesus Christ, baby, I think I just saw God."

You barely had time to breathe before he grabbed your jaw, pulled you down, and crashed his lips over yours again.

@mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah. @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @kayleighwinchester @lyarr24 @imtheworst123 @podiumackles @spxideyver @tinas111 @ohgodimgoungtodie @cevansbaby-dove @paristheonewhoreads <3

[mayajadewrites]

── .✦ Renaissance - Levi Ackerman .✦ ──

🪽 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ levi x fem reader

summary: levi leaves you in the underground for the scouts, only for him to find you again in marley when the war is over. however, nothing about you is the same as it once was. you are not the same person you were 12 years ago. cw: canon universe, smut, fluff, yearning ao3 authors note: there are several things in this story that are not canon to the original AOT storyline (like Levi needing a wheelchair) but I will warn you if/when those things come up.

chapter notes: bit of an angsty chapter! thank you all so much for your support and comments, it really makes me happy that you want me to continue this story. if you would like to be added to the tag list, just ask! <3

tag list: @ackerboi, @staarflowerr, @midw1nter, @glads-stuff, @nxcxllxsevens 

preface - chapter one - chapter two

CHAPTER THREE

Every part of your body wanted him. Wanted to engulf yourself in him, never letting him go again. His hands on your body felt like they belonged there, his kisses frantic as his hands run up and down your curves.

Your heart belongs to him - even 12 years later.

But your brain is screaming at you to push him away.

In today's battle, your brain won.

You push your hands on his chest a bit rougher than the last time, turning to take the cash he handed you out of your bag and giving it back to him. "I can't, Levi."

He gave you a emotionless expression, like the last few minutes didn't even happen. "You're going to refuse money like that? Good money?"

"It's not about the money, Levi!" You press your hands to your eyes, tears threatening to spill down your face. "You left me alone for 12 years! I had no one, I had to take care of myself the minute you left. But I guess it's my fault for relying so much on you."

The tension was thick in the room, silence louder than any voice could be.

You sit down on the bed, your gaze moving to the floor as a sign leaves your lips.

For the first time in years, Levi says your name with such softness that you almost don't believe it's him.

"Look at me." He moves to stand in front of you, his eyes roaming your face as if to look for some sign of softness.

When you bring your eyes to his, it takes everything in you not to completely give into him. But you have a sliver of strength left.

"Why would you even want me now? I'm... stained. Ruined."

"What makes you think that?" He moves to sit next to you on the bed, his thigh grazing against yours ever so slightly. "There's not one stain on you."

You bring your eyes to his, and it was like you were transported back in time to when you were teenagers, just trying to survive on the streets of the Underground.

"I sell my damn body for money, Levi. I'm filthy."

"Hey." He brought his left hand to your face, his index finger pressing to the underside of your chin. "That doesn't mean you're stained or dirty."

"I never wanted this." You look away from him, refusing to keep eye contact. "I had no other options."

You resented him so, so much. If he came back and told you to stop this, you would have. Without hesitation.

But this was the only thing you felt like you had control over in your life. Doing this allowed you to have a bed to sleep in and 3 meals a day.

There were nights when men would physically hurt you, and they felt that they could because they paid for it. Many mornings you woke up with a black eye, purple bruises sore on your skin with marks from the fingers of your clients. No one respects the people of the Underground, they're a subspecies to the people above.

"Please leave, Levi. You can get your services from someone else." You turn your head quickly, his hand falling from your face. "And don't come back."

You refused to look at him. You couldn't. Because the minute you did, all of the words you just said would mean nothing. You bite down on your bottom lip, the slight pain distracting you from Levi's gaze burning a hole in your skull.

He put the wad of cash back on your lap before standing up, buttoning his shirt and putting his jacket back on. But you held your ground, looking the other way - out of the window that had a perfect view of the full moon.

You could have sworn it looked exactly the way you did the night Levi left.

Tonight, he left again.

Weeks passed. Days of avoiding the street that Levi's tea shop is on.

But this morning, you woke up earlier than usual and decided to walk around the streets, enjoying the silence.

You see balloons at the front door of his shop, a sign saying "OPEN" that's almost to your hip as you walk by.

It looks different from the last time you were here. Granted, it wasn't technically open yet, but within weeks Levi really put this place together.

Through the windows, which were so clean you almost couldn't decipher if they were actually there or not, you saw gray painted walls, with plants comfortably decorating the space. Some small tables occupy the space, and then you see him. His back is to the window, the muscles of his shoulders flexing as he wipes down the tables.

Your breath hitches as you watch him, knowing he has a crease between his brows as he cleans the surfaces. He always was so meticulous when it came to cleaning that he would spend hours making sure any space he was occupying was spotless.

He's always wanted this. Always.

Levi used to tell you about how he wants to open a tea shop one day, and that he used to talk to his mom about it before she passed away.

"We used to always have tea together in the morning." He would say with a soft smile on his face. "I was the only kid in the brothel, so the other women would pinch my cheeks and tell me how handsome I am. Our tea time in the morning was what I woke up for."

"I'm sure she's so proud of you Levi. Even now." Your voice was quieter than usual as you look in his eyes, gently pressing your hand to his knee as you both sit against a brick wall, the night sky enveloping you both.

When he looked at you, he saw his entire world in front of him.

And that was the first time he kissed you.

You look above the door of the shop, noticing the small sign with the name of the shop.

Kuchel's.

A single tear rolled down your cheek before Levi opened the door to his shop. When his eyes found yours, you notice his gaze was softer than it had been the last time you were there.

You and Levi often communicated without words, only your eyes.

His eyes were begging you to come in.

[susicheng]

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ dm for prices      l.mk

chapter 6 perfect match

something that you pride yourself on is your easygoing nature. you're nonchalant. you don't really care what people think of you. it was honestly relieving, to exist in peace and not stress over every minuscule interaction you have throughout the day.

now, though, that nonchalance was nowhere to be found. it was just mark lee, seriously, what was the big deal? sure, he would be inside of your apartment. sure, you're also so attracted to him you may or may not have already had your fair share of wet dreams that can never, EVER be mentioned around ten lee (you knew he would never let you live them down). it's not like you guys were going to go at it like rabbits. he was just a guy coming over to watch spiderman movies with you. no biggie. 

a knock at the door startled you out of your thoughts. with one final glance at the mirror, you turned to welcome your (kind-of) drug dealer into your apartment. the door swung open to reveal mark lee, in all of his glory, carrying multiple grocery bags in either hand.

"hey, mark. i told you that you didn't need to bring anything." you reached out to take some of the bags from his hands, pointedly ignoring how domestic and natural it felt between the two of you to behave in such a way. 

"i know, it just felt wrong to come empty handed. it's just some more snacks and some drinks haha" he toed his shoes off and fully entered your apartment, shutting the door behind himself. "thanks for having me over, by the way."

"don't say that yet, you might be begging to escape later" you glanced up at him with a smile on your face, finding the same expression mirrored on his own face "i get more serious about marvel than you might be prepared for."

"little do you know, i'm so serious about spiderman that it's been banned at our friend group's movie nights."

"sounds like we're the perfect match then."

you had both gathered small snack plates, filing into your bedroom (ohmygod mark lee in your bedroom. getting into your bed. holy shit. you did not think this part through). the deep breath that you had to suck in was mildly humiliating, but the way mark almost tripped over a stray cinnamoroll plush on the ground was more humiliating, so you took that as a win. 

you felt comfortable with him. it wasn't necessarily surprising that you had managed to become so friendly with him in a short period of time, but it was surprising that you already wanted him this badly. you might need to stage an intervention for yourself, because there was no reason mark lee should look that good curled up in your bed, watching intently as tom holland flys across the screen. 

you could see why these movies were banned in his friend group, with mark's frequent commentary and analyses cutting into the movie. if you weren't so obsessed with his voice and his semi-alarmingly in depth theories, you might have even been annoyed. instead, this was filed away in your brain as "top 10 cutest things mark lee has ever done." 

you had a feeling you would be adding on to that list quite a lot in the coming weeks.

previous ꩜ .ᐟ             next ꩜ .ᐟ             masterlist ꩜ .ᐟ

⊹₊⟡⋆ mel's corner: sorryy for such a delayed update ahhh! the holidays + work are keeping me booked and busy but thank you all so much for your patience <3

© susicheng .. please do not copy, reupload, or translate my work

#: @hyuksworld @gela0205 @cyjzzl @mmjhh1998 @injvns @222brainrot @kittydollzz @tadadw @t-102 @sunghoonsgfreal @slayhaechan @nctrawberries @ryuvrsie @ttjisung @ddolbyong @purezitas @jae-n0 @ballsa420 @remgeolli @fullsungss @peterm4rker @autumngirlchim @holyhaech @njmluvr @choizzn @sewergirlfriend @ddolleri @toroufriteh @pickmedolls @haechansssun

[huellitaa]

girl's guide to academic success: ep 1! ⊹˚. ♡

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 this post focuses on: actively rooting for success! ♡ part 2 -> ♡

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 1. organisation

first off, have something to organise ur academic life with! i personally use notion (which i'll add later) but u can use anything as long as it's cute, convenient, unique and accessible to you, your life and your schedule specifically. especially as a visual learner, i like to have somewhere i can dump literally everything regarding a singular area in my life, so i do this for almost everything along with school and i highly recommend this <3

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 2. recognition of talents & improvements

analyse your strengths and weaknesses. think back on tests, exams, marks, and analyse which ones you got highest and lowest on. dont beat urself up for it, obviously; it's just to check which subjects you're doing good in and which ones have room for improvement. for example i love science but im not the best at it sometimes and we had an assessment recently and i didn't get as high as i'd like so i wrote down a little list on a piece of paper in my pencilcase for the topics i got the least in for me to study on my own to practise later.

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 3. laying out goals

set down specific goals; i like to do this week by week accustomed to my schedule that week in my school notion page along with images and vision boards based on the term/semester, but you can do it for the week, the month, the year, anything as long as its helpful to you

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 4. productive planning

plan accordingly based on ur time energy. when creating any to do list or productivity plan dont pile a ridiculous amount onto it that just leaves you stressed and overwhelmed because that defeats the entire point; this works the same for academic plans and goals and lists etc.

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 5. extra credit

put extra work in to the subjects you know will help you in the future. for example, for my personal aspirations i need to excel in english, history and textiles so i always try my absolute hardest and put my all into those lessons and do extra studying for them in my free time where i can. school is to prepare you for the future so take advantage of that

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 6. asking questions

please don't be shy to ask questions! that's what teachers are there for and you won't have them forever so take advantage of it while you can! you can even do it in that little window of time just after class if ur too nervous to ask in class. for example, on my last english exam i went to my teacher after class and asked about what i needed to improve on to get the marks i missed next time, and he told me i added too much detail and some other things so i wrote it down and am keeping a note of it to remind me to improve on that next time! (i got top of my class though so i didnt mind. still kind of pissed i added too much detail though)

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 7. participation

participate! ok im saying this as someone who still struggles with social anxiety a fair amount but if u wanna get higher marks and get on good terms w ur teacher i 100% recommend this. i don't do this in every class but i do it where i can and when i'm confident in my answer, and it's really intimidating at first but what i did is i did it first in the classes i felt most comfortable on and continued from there. it gets easier every time i swear, and nobody's judging you; they'll forget about it after five minutes. plus, what would they be judging you for? being smarter than them?

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 8. prioritising ur health

this is mentioned a lot in these types of posts but if you're tired or burnt out or overworked or just feel like you need to take a break then do. do the best you can and compromise like i said earlier if you need to, just make sure u are prioritising yourself over anything. <3

──★ ˙ ̟🎀inspo

──★ ˙ ̟🎀my notion

i also really recommend this layout by @honeytonedhottie ♡

all my love 🩷✨💬🎀💗

[rika-mmendmethings]

Terms & Conditions Apply | Sylus

Prologue I Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 dropping on 10 July

Summary: What begins as a financial lifeline quickly transforms into an emotional labyrinth once you agree to become both the surrogate and ova donor for the Qin family. With an entire year remaining under their roof, you begin to unravel the hidden truths behind their seemingly perfect façade. Worse still, you find yourself confronted with things that were never outlined in the terms and conditions.

Warning(s): Subject to change as we progress further into the story. For this chapter: Violence, mentions of guns and blood, injury to main character, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of miscarriage, some ooc characters, mild angst.

Word count: 2.9k

Notes: This won't have a schedule at least until Interdimensional Epiphany ends. This series can be considered an alternate universe because Sylus has no powers in this but still runs a criminal organization, and he and MC are married. But there's no change in the characters or places. Also, no-one come at me for encouraging affair, I'm not. You're just saying that because you don't know what will happen later into the plot, I do. So, trust me on this. Anyways, hopefully you enjoy this and decide to tune in for the series. My asks are open if you wish to know more about this series. Lmk if you wish to be added to the tag list for this ♥

You're seated in a recliner that smells faintly of antiseptic and lemon polish, its synthetic leather squeaking beneath your shifting weight. The room is quiet, almost too quiet, save for the steady tick of the wall clock overhead and the distant hum of air conditioning pushing recycled calm into sterile corners. You glance down at the folder resting in your lap, its corners slightly dog-eared from nervous fidgeting. The gynecologist’s findings were conclusive: you’re in excellent reproductive health. The report, thick with clinical jargon, has been marked with a bright orange sticker instructing you to share it with the psychologist for a full-profile assessment.

Earlier this morning, a driver, polite, and clearly instructed not to talk unless spoken to,had arrived this morning to collect you in a black luxury sedan. He told you, rather matter-of-factly, that Mikayla had arranged and prepaid the day’s medical tests. You hadn’t seen her or Sylus since the early morning check-in, assuming that they’d arrive later when they were needed.

The door swings open, and in steps the psychologist — Dr. Hayley, according to her name tag — her demeanor brisk but not unfriendly. She is followed by the Qins. Mikayla enters first, her presence like a fresh breeze cutting through the room’s sterilized stillness. She’s clad in a pastel yellow summer gown that drapes around her like liquid sunshine and her hair is pinned up carelessly, a few curls escaping to frame her face in soft spirals. She smiles at you, and it’s warm enough to melt the tension in your shoulders, if only just.

Sylus trails behind her, an opposing force entirely. Dressed in a black button-down tucked neatly into tailored charcoal slacks, he carries his blazer folded over one forearm like a knight entering court. When his crimson eyes pass over you, he doesn’t even bother with a nod. 

You’re starting to feel underdressed now in front of people of such stature. Makes you wonder again why they chose you among a million other options.

Dr. Hayley greets you with a polite nod, then motions for the Qins to take a seat on the adjacent couch and they settle in quietly. Mikayla perches on the edge, hands folded in her lap while Sylus sits back with one leg crossed over the other, his gaze dropping to examine his manicured nails.

The psychologist settles beside you and clicks her pen with a crisp finality. “Ready for evaluations?” she asks, her tone efficient.

You nod once, pulling yourself upright and crossing your legs to ground yourself.

She begins with a simple, pointed question: “Are you comfortable being both the egg donor and the surrogate? Won’t the genetic tie make letting go more difficult?”

You pause, crafting your words carefully. “I’m comfortable,” you say, voice even. “I’ve reached a point in life where stability outweighs sentiment. I’m not searching for roots or relationships. I know myself well enough to say that any emotional attachment — genetic or otherwise — won’t interfere. I love children, just... not when they’re mine.”

Dr. Hayley doesn’t smile, but her pen moves swiftly across the page. You glance sideways and see Mikayla giving you a discreet thumbs up, eyes bright with approval. You resist the twitch of a smile. Sylus hasn’t moved an inch —still languid in his seat, his fingers now idle — but when you glance his way, his eyes lock with yours. You feel the weight of his gaze, waiting for you to take one misstep. You shift your focus back to the doctor quickly, pulse skipping.

“Do you have a partner? Any family?” she asks.

You shake your head. “No.”

She makes another note, then picks up the medical folder from your lap and flips through it silently.

“I understand the important documents are already signed,” she murmurs, half to herself. “Your health is more than sufficient. If, during the surrogacy, complications arise — would you consider abortion or selective reduction?”

You inhale, slowly. “I wouldn’t default to either,” you admit. “I understand the need for caution, and I won’t be reckless, but I won’t make a choice that feels wrong for me. I’ll weigh it, but my instinct is to persevere unless I’m absolutely sure I can’t.”

A soft hum leaves Dr. Halden’s lips, contemplative, as her pen resumes its dance. The silence stretches comfortably now, filled only by the scratch of ink and the gentle rustle of paper. 

“Now, some questions for you, Mr. and Mrs. Qin,” she begins after turning to them. “Why have you chosen genetic surrogacy instead of gestational surrogacy?”

For the first time since entering the room, Mikayla falters. It’s subtle — the slight stiffening of her shoulders, the flicker of hesitation in her eyes. Her hands, previously clasped neatly in her lap, tense ever so slightly. You watch her inhale, lips parting as if she means to speak, but no words come. Sylus answers for her.

“We’re both fertile,” he begins, his voice refined like aged scotch. “But biologically incompatible.”

He speaks with the precision of someone who’s rehearsed this — who’s had to say it more times than he’d be willing to. “We discovered this the hard way,” he continues, “after my wife suffered an early miscarriage. Tests revealed that while our individual fertility is intact, my DNA is highly fragmented, and her body rejects any embryo we create together. That is why we’re opting for the traditional route since it is the only way forward.”

Mikayla, back to herself now, gives a small nod, the corners of her mouth lifting in a soft, solemn attempt at composure. The expression doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

The doctor nods, scribbles something, and then moves on, asking a string of questions you barely register — income brackets, family support, post-birth intentions. Your eyes wander back to Mikayla, who now sits with her back a touch straighter, answering with careful sincerity while Sylus remains still as though nothing in this world could ruffle his tailored veneer.

Then comes the question that grips your attention in a chokehold.

“If your surrogate undergoes complications during delivery,” Dr. Hayley asks plainly, “who would you choose to save — the surrogate or the child?”

Time halts for a beat too long. Sylus doesn’t blink. “The child,” he says instantly. His tone holds all the warmth of a winter stone.

Your breath catches slightly, but what pierces deeper is Mikayla’s silence. She doesn’t speak nor looks at you. Just lowers her eyes and folds her hands tighter, as if her silence might soften his words by omission.

Dr. Hayley’s brow furrows. “Why so, Mr. Qin? The surrogate is under your care throughout the duration of this process. Isn’t her life a priority as well?”

Sylus leans forward slightly, resting his elbow on the couch’s armrest as he taps a single finger there in quiet rhythm.

“She is,” he agrees evenly. “But this agreement exists because we are all united in our pursuit of a single purpose: the child. If, god forbid, such a moment comes... our choice would be the one we’ve invested our lives into creating. I believe our surrogate herself would understand — perhaps even agree.”

He glances toward you again, crimson eyes watching far too closely and you are a second too late to veil the conflict reflecting in your eyes. You curse under your breath, knowing that he has caught on. “It is only natural to choose the one who is yours.”

The words linger like smoke in your lungs. You know this is logical. You signed the contract and knew the risks. You are the vessel, not the destination. Still, something about hearing it aloud so easily nicks a nerve you weren’t expecting to bleed. You try not to look at either of them as your throat tightens. You clear it instead, forcing your voice into something steady.

“I mean, yeah,” you say, eyes fixed on the floor’s muted beige. “That’s what’s outlined in the terms and conditions which I... agreed to.”

You offer a small shrug, as if it’s nothing. As if your body isn’t tensing like a pulled thread that might unravel at any second. You’re not sure if the hurt came from the decision itself or from how swiftly they made it.

Dr. Hayley observes you a moment longer than is comfortable, then jots down a few more lines in her pad. You wonder if she’s writing down your answer — or the observation that your fingers are now wringing the hem of your sleeve like it’s your only anchor.

The session begins to wind down, the questions tapering into logistics and schedules. Mikayla eventually offers you a smile, tender and apologetic, as if it could patch over the earlier silence. Sylus says nothing else, and you don’t offer another glance in his direction.

“Very well,” she says as she stands, smoothing her blouse. “I’ll send both the gynecologist and my reports and within some time, I’ll come back with the compiled evaluations if everything is fit to go. You’ll receive a schedule and begin hormone treatment soon after.”

Dr. Hayley bids you farewell and shakes hands with the couple. As you and the couple step into the sterile corridor outside his office, the fluorescent lights above hum with their usual artificial buzz, and for a moment, everything feels normal. Just as you are all walking out of the consultation room, a deafening gunshot fractures the calm. The sterile halls of the hospital shudder with its echo, and within seconds, a crescendo of terrified screams rises as panic erupts like wildfire. Doctors abandon their charts, nurses duck behind trolleys, and patients flee in every direction.

From the far end of the corridor, a group of armed men in tactical black emerge, their faces obscured by balaclavas, their boots thundering against the linoleum. They carry military-grade rifles, held with the familiarity of killers. Without a word, they herd everyone into the central lobby, corralling patients, doctors, and staff alike into a trembling huddle. They keep their guns pointed at the people, fingers curled tight around triggers. You’re swept with the crowd into the lobby, your heart thudding erratically. This isn’t random, it’s orchestrated.

A man steps forward from the group of assailants. He’s built like a hammer — broad shoulders, square jaw, his stance full of barely restrained aggression. Unlike the others, he wears a dark shirt bearing a crudely-stitched gang emblem. His voice rips through the panic.

"Sylus Qin!" he bellows, his eyes scanning the crowd. "You treacherous bastard. You really thought you could cross our boss and disappear like a ghost? Step out. Now. Or I swear on his name, I’ll put a bullet through every skull in this room.”

The words hang in the air like poison. You barely have time to process what’s just been said — Sylus Qin, the man you had just agreed to become a surrogate for, is apparently entangled in something far more lethal than his façade of a wealthy, aloof exterior let on. And then he moves.

Sylus steps forward with a calm that is unnerving. His face is unreadable, but there is a smoldering fire behind his crimson eyes. With a slow precision, he unbuttons his cuffs and rolls his sleeves up to the elbows, exposing forearms marred with faint scars and veins.

“So desperate theatrics is what he’s indulging into lately?” His voice is smooth, but laced with a cutting edge.

In a blur, he steps into the leader’s space, striking the man’s rifle upward with the heel of his palm. The gun clangs out of the man’s grasp. Before the leader can register the disarm, Sylus lands a brutal right hook across his jaw — the crunch of bone audible even over the gasps of the crowd. The gang insignia bearer crumples without resistance. The others hesitate — but only for a moment before charging at him.

Five of them fan out, rifles raised, but Sylus is already in motion. He dives forward, low and fast, sweeping the legs out from the closest attacker. As the man falls, Sylus grabs his rifle mid-air, twists it around, and slams the butt into another soldier’s knee, shattering it with a wet pop. The scream is short-lived — Sylus spins, driving his fist into the man’s throat. He collapses like a puppet with severed strings.

Another aims for Sylus’ chest. Sylus twists, grabs the barrel, and shoves it upward as the rifle discharges. The bullet punctures the ceiling. He twists the weapon from the attacker’s grasp and uses it like a club, knocking out the man beside him with a single, controlled swing.

Bullets slice through the lobby — glass shatters, potted plants explode into leaves and soil, and the pristine reception desk is torn apart by stray fire. Shards of glass rain down like jagged confetti.

By now, the floor is littered with groaning bodies, broken rifles, and blood — not Sylus'.

And in the midst of it all—a child.

You see him in your peripheral vision. A boy, no older than five, bolts from beneath a gurney someone had shoved him under. Hands pressed to his ears, tears streaking down his cheeks, he runs blindly toward his mother’s voice—soft and desperate amidst the chaos.

Then you see a soldier, bloodied but still conscious, leveling his rifle at Sylus, his finger twitching on the trigger. Sylus hurls a body at the shooter. The impact jolts the rifle, and the bullet veers—

Straight toward the boy.

You don’t think. You act.

Your body throws itself forward, a desperate burst of adrenaline and instinct. You crash into the child, wrapping him tightly in your arms as the bullet whistles past and grazes your left temple. Pain sears through you like fire, blood running hot down your face.

You don’t even notice Sylus spinning around.

The shooter who fired doesn’t get another breath — Sylus lunges with a feral rage, tackling the man, and without mercy, snaps his neck with a sickening crack. Silence reigns for a moment. Then, the final soldier falls. The air vibrates with the aftershock of what just happened.

Police sirens wail in the distance, faint but growing louder. Someone must have managed to call them.

You sit with your back against a wall, your pulse thunderous in your ears. Your arms release the child when you hear his mother cry his name. He stumbles away from you, unharmed. You’re thankful — but the world is beginning to blur, your head heavy, vision dim.

Staff moved quickly and quietly, their faces pale but focused. Some were assessing structural damage — checking for what could still be saved. Others tended to the injured who, like you, were caught in the crossfire.

You watch through hazy eyes as Mikayla speaks with arriving officers, briefing them on the situation. That surprises you — her husband a criminal, yet she speaks to law enforcement with familiarity, even authority. Strange.

A nurse hurries toward you with a first aid kit. But before she can reach you, Sylus intercepts her, takes the kit from her hands, and kneels at your side. He’s bleeding ten times more than you — gashes down his forearms, a nasty cut above his brow, yet he focuses only on you. He’s breathing hard, but his hands are steady as he unzips the kit and pulls out antiseptic, gauze, and cotton.

His hand is deft as he presses antiseptic-soaked cotton to your wound. You wince as the sting cuts through your skin like ice.

“You realize what you just did, don’t you?” His fingers work to bandage your wound. "You realize you threw yourself in front of a kid right before you're supposed to carry mine. What am I supposed to expect later — suicidal heroics every trimester?"

You can’t help the soft groan that escapes you — whether from the pain or the sharpness of his words, you’re not sure. Your shoulders slump, the weight of pain and exhaustion finally pulling you downward. Darkness presses at the edges of your vision, warm and inviting, and your eyelids begin to flutter shut. 

Sylus's free hand rests against your arm, and his fingers tap rhythmically giving a silent command: stay awake. It’s not gentle, but it’s grounding — like an anchor in the spiraling fog trying to drag you under. And somehow, that small, repetitive motion is enough to keep your consciousness tethered to the present. 

And you answer, breathing shallow but voice steady.“You can expect that if your child’s ever in danger... I won’t hesitate to protect them. Just like I did for that one.”

Sylus’s hands pause, the bandage halfway tied. His gaze pierces into yours, unreadable. “That one wasn’t yours.”

You meet his gaze, unwavering despite your fading strength. “Didn’t have to be.”

There it is — the difference between you, etched like a scar. He sees lives as assets, threats, liabilities. You see them as something else entirely. You don’t need a blood tie or legal bond to see worth in innocence, to feel protective of it. 

He finishes tying the bandage. His crimson gaze drifts over your face — searching, as if trying to unravel you. He scans your face, then the rest of you, ensuring you’ve taken no further damage. His gaze lingers a moment longer than expected.

A loose curl falls over your cheek. His fingers twitch — then reach. He brushes the curl back, tucking it behind your ear with an unlikely gentleness that startles you more than the violence he showed ever could. You blink, caught off guard.

“This part wasn’t outlined in the terms and conditions.” Your voice is weak, laced with wry humor.

There’s a flicker, barely there, but his lips twitch in something resembling a smirk. It's gone in a blink.

“Couldn’t risk an infection,” he mutters, tone neutral, brushing imaginary dust from your cheek as if to mask the gesture.

Your head lolls slightly and the last thing you remember is being lifted up before you surrender to sleep.

Check out my other works if you liked this ♥

[ruh--roh-raggy]

Home Sweet Home (William Afton x Wife! Reader) - Pt. 1

Hello hello! So, I'm fully insane about this man rn. I can't help it. The brain rot has taken over my life and here we are lol. I wanted to write something that really focuses on the domestic fluff side of Reader's life with William, of course there will be some smut thrown in there too because I simply can't help myself 😂😂 Reader and William have just bought their first house together. This story follows their week long escapade of unpacking, making their home perfect, and going down memory lane. Lots of super cute stuff, chapters containing smut will be updated with proper warnings. If you enjoy this story and would like to be added to the tag list, please let me know!

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, MDNI, 18+ CONTENT AHEAD, smut marked with divider, age gap (reader in 30's William in 40's/50's), some swearing, face sitting, cockwarming, size kink, a singular (1) spank to readers ass, slightly dom! William, praise, Will just wants to give his wife some tender TLC after a long day of lugging boxes around (if I missed any please let me know!

You can find my Masterlist here!

Word Count: 3,538

Part 2

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“I want to paint the living room green, I think it would look nice with our couch.” William drove down the road, a soft smile on his face as he listened to you ramble on about all of your plans for their new house. Business at the pizzeria had skyrocketed, which meant that he could finally give his pretty little wife the front porch, white picket fence house of her dreams. You should be pulling in about a half hour before the moving truck is scheduled to arrive, allowing the two of you time to empty out his trunk. You stood at his side with a giddy smile on your face, William thumbing through his key ring to find the new shiny gold addition to his collection. He slides the key into the lock, chuckling at your excited squeals as he pushes the door open. He grabs you by the wrist, stopping you from running inside ahead of him.

“Isn’t there some old wives tale about carrying your wife over the threshold of a house?” He mumbles out the vague details he could remember. You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck with a giggle.

“It’s for good luck. Why? Do you want to carry me inside?” You smile coyly up at him.

“Well I’m not going to be the one bringing bad luck into our house.” He proclaims proudly, jabbing a finger into his chest. You let out a shriek as he scoops you up in his strong arms. You press a kiss to his scruffy cheek as you pass through the door. “Well, Mrs. Afton, welcome home.” He smiles down at you.

You spun around the empty living room floor, broom in hand as you did a quick sweep before the furniture got brought in. “Oh, Will, I'm so happy. Our own house.” You beam up at him. Your husband breathes out a chuckle, sweeping you up in his arms as he places a kiss to your forehead. Both of your attention was drawn to the windows as the moving truck rumbled into the driveway.

“Don't lift anything too heavy.” He orders with a firm point of his finger. “I hired movers so you don't have to struggle, if I see you doing too much you're going to be in big trouble later bunny.” You roll your eyes, wrapping your arms around him as you place a kiss to his chest.

“I promise I won't work too hard.” You fidget with the hem of his shirt. “I just want everything to be perfect.” You sigh with a slight shrug of your shoulders.

“I promise it will be, we have the whole week to get everything exactly how you want it.” He smiles, his thumb rubbing languidly across your waist. You excitedly threw open the front door, directing the movers inside before clamoring out to the truck yourself. William trailed after you, keeping a close eye on your excited figure. Your husband loved how passionate you were about everything you did, but you also had a tendency to overwork yourself. He sighs as he sees you struggling with a box, gently taking it from your hands and propping it against his hip. He glances around the trailer. “Here.” He nudges a box with his foot, one he had made a subtle marking on to signify it was one he packed light enough for you to easily carry. “Take that one, we’ll go put these in the bedroom.” He hops down from the back of the truck, taking your box from you and wrapping his hands around your waist to lower you safely to the ground. You practically skipped up the porch steps, scooting past the movers as you raced up to the master bedroom. Your mattress sat in the middle of the room. The white, sheetless bed was a stark contrast to the nearly black hardwood.

“We’ll need to go get a bed frame.” You sigh, setting down the box before collapsing on the mattress. William groans as he lays down by your side.

“I’m sure we’re going to have to get a lot of things.” He chuckles, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you to him. “We’ll take care of everything, doll, don’t worry.” You spent the rest of the afternoon sliding furniture around downstairs while the movers brought in the rest of the boxes. The sun had already set by the time everything was brought in. You collapsed onto the couch with a tired groan, finally kicking your shoes off as you sank into the worn leather of the cushions. William sits beside you, lifting your feet only to drop them back in his lap. You let out a pleased hum as you feel his strong hands knead into your aching muscles. “Day one is officially over.” The two of you exchange a sleepy high five. A soft smile spreads across your lips as you take a moment to look at your husband. His gold, wire framed aviators sitting low on his nose, his large calloused hands massaging your feet with the utmost care and delicacy. You were William’s entire world.

“Honey,” he perks up at your soft voice, calling out to him, “how about I throw something together for dinner so we can get to bed.”

“I don’t think we have any groceries bunny.” He rebuttals with a chuckle. “Are you up for a drive? We could go pick up some pizza.”

“But it’s so cold.” You pout.

“I’ll go grab you one of my coats, sweet girl.” He cups your cheek, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he passes by you. You let out a soft hum as you buried your face into the soft fabric of your husband's coat, the comforting smell of his spicy, musky cologne, machine oil, and cigarettes filling your nose. He had an arm wrapped around your shoulder, allowing you to cuddle into his side as he drove up twisting back roads. The radio crackled softly, whatever song was playing was barely audible over the car's loud blower. You rested your hand on his thigh, William glancing down quickly, the sight of your wedding ring glinting in the soft light bringing a smile to his lips. He loved the fact that you were all his, his pretty wife, his little bunny. He loved how sweet and delicate you were. He had been hardened by years of working in his workshop and other strenuous jobs he had throughout his life, he barely registered this evening was brisk let alone cold. But he definitely wouldn't complain about you cuddling into his side for warmth, how your cheeks and the tip of your nose dusted pink from the chilly night air, how your fingers trembled as you tucked them under his thigh. He shuddered softly as you pressed your lips to his neck, the buzzing, yellow light from the pizza shop's sign illuminating the cab as you and your husband exchanged a look filled with need.

“Hurry back.” You shoot him a coy smile as he stumbles from the car.

The smell of warm crust and greasy pepperoni filled the car, the pizza nicely heating your lap. William’s arm draped over your shoulder, you allowed the rumbling car ride to rock you into his side. Your eyelids grow heavy as you try to keep yourself awake, a sleepy smile crawling across your features as you pull into the driveway. You sighed as you looked around at the mess of moving boxes, your dining table tucked away into a corner that would be too much work to get to. “Why don’t you go sit on the couch doll, I’ll be right back.” William’s hand quickly slips into yours, giving it a gentle squeeze as he passes by. You flop back into the cushions, letting the pizza box rest next to you. Even with the short amount of time you’ve spent in the house you could tell how different it was from your old apartment. You and William had moved to the middle of the woods in Hurricane, your nearest neighbor at least ten minutes down the road. There were no sounds of your neighbors talking quietly through the walls, no footsteps of the dog that lived upstairs. The house was completely silent, outside completely pitch black. You jumped as William’s feet started to thud down the stairs. He pushes into the living room with a groan, dragging your mattress behind him. He drops the bed in the middle of the floor with a dull thump, twisting side to side in order to stretch out his back. “I’ll go grab some pillows and blankets.” He smiles at you.

“It’s just like our honeymoon.” You laugh as he pulls you up from the couch. He tilts your chin up with his finger, capturing your lips with his.

“Oh, trust me,” he starts in a sultry tone, “I wish I could spend this entire week in bed with you.” You dropped down onto the mattress, a soft sigh falling from your lips as he massages your shoulders. You smile at him as you watch him disappear upstairs, returning a few minutes later with a box full of your bedding and some pillows. Deciding you weren’t up for the challenge you left the sheets in the box. You piled your comforter and a few throw blankets onto the bed, you crawled in before your husband joined you with the pizza. You two sit side by side, your head falling to rest against his shoulder.

“It’s no Freddy’s.” You grumble at your lackluster pizza. William chuckles in response to your pouting.

“How about we swing by and see Henry tomorrow, I’m sure I can sneak you a piece.” He winks with a lopsided grin.

“That sounds perfect.” The two of you chat quietly as you eat your dinner. Your new house feels too big for just the two of you. You laid on your back, staring at the exposed wood ceiling, you blinked a few times to adjust to the all consuming darkness after William had turned off the light. You felt the blankets shift as he crawled into bed next to you. His silhouette outlined by the soft, pale light of the moon that streamed through the window.

“We should get a dog.” He suddenly whispers, making you giggle. “I don’t want you to get scared all by yourself.” He teases.

“Maybe that’ll get you out of that workshop earlier.” He playfully rolls his eyes as he wraps an arm around your waist.

“You know, there’s nothing stopping you from coming to visit me.” He argues with a slight shrug.

“Except that everytime I do I end up sprawled naked on your workbench.” You smirk at him, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the soft material of his tshirt.

“Occupational hazard.” He responds quickly. You both laugh as you cuddle into his chest. He cards his fingers through your hair, his lingering gaze studying your features. “You’re so beautiful, bunny.” Your eyes flutter shut as his lips brush over yours.

His hand paws at your thigh, dragging your leg over his waist as he crushes you against him. You cup his face, deepening the kiss, his beard tickling your palm as you melt into him. Your legs lock around his waist as he rolls on top of you. His large, calloused hands wrap around your sides, pushing your hoodie up and over your head in one swift motion before his lips connect with yours again. You shivered slightly as the cold night air hit your naked body. He practically purrs at the sight of you, his lips hovering over your neck. Your fingers slid into his hair, a small squeal escaping your lips as he bit down hard on your sensitive skin. You bite your lip, letting out a soft hum as he pushes his hips into you, his already growing bulge noticeable through your thin shorts. “You couldn’t keep your eyes off me today, could you rabbit?” He smirks against your skin. You practically drooled over the sight earlier. William had a box resting on each shoulder, his skin glowing with a thin sheen of sweat. He paused as he caught sight of you leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over your chest as your eyes raked over him. He smirked, knowing that playful glint in your eye. He smiled as he noticed your cheeks reddening from your position laying below him. He hooks his fingers into the band of your shorts, placing featherlike kisses down your stomach as he eases them down your legs. You moan softly as you feel him nip at the skin of the inside of your thighs. Your back arches off the bed as he brushes his thumb over your sensitive clit, a broken moan leaving your lips. With how busy you had both been due to the move it had been a while since the two of you had been intimate. Your skin was already on fire from the small touch alone, William smirked as he watched your reaction closely. Your hands fisted in the blankets as he tossed your legs over his shoulders, his hot breath bouncing off your already soaked core. His arms slip around your hips, holding you firmly in place as he dove into hungrily lap at your folds. You moan out his name, already attempting to squirm away from his assault. He growls, dragging you closer to him. His fingers dig into your thighs with a bruising force, sure to leave marks behind. Your fingers tangle in his hair as his tongue swirls around your clit through your lace panties. He ate you out like a man starved, your soft gasps and quiet moans echoing in the empty room. You whined, tugging on his hair. “What’s the matter bunny?” He pushes your panties out of the way with his fingers, his skin growing slick with your arousal.

“I need you.” You whined, looking down at him with pleading, teary eyes. William gives in immediately with a soft chuckle, never one to deny you what you wanted. He tugs down your panties, placing soft kisses to your legs as he removes your final article of clothing at an agonizingly slow pace. He slides an arm under your back, pulling you on top of him as he collapses into the mattress. Your hands landed on either side of his head as you lost your balance, you blushed as you realized you were sitting on his broad, strong chest. He brushes your hair behind your ear before both of his hands wrap around your thighs.

“Come sit, bunny.” He coos, your face burning at his casual command. William absolutely loved whenever you sat on his face. However, he was well aware he would have to warm you up to the idea whenever he suggested it. You were always worried you were too heavy, you hadn't shaved, or you hadn't showered, and your husband always reassured you that none of those things were going to pose any problems for him. His beard tickled the inside of your thighs as you hovered over his eager mouth. His hands squeezed at your hips, groaning as your soft skin squished between his fingers. You cry out as he pushes you down onto him, his tongue lapping at your clit before he shoves his way in between your folds.

“Oh, fuck! Will!” You moan, your hips moving on their own. You let out a soft sob everytime his nose bumps against your clit. He growls, pressing hard into your hips as you try to wiggle away, his assault on your already sensitive cunt threatening to push you over the edge mere minutes after he starts. “Baby, it's too much.” Your voice shook as you tried to plead with him, years slipping from your damp eyes onto your cheeks as the coil of pleasure in your core wound tighter. William’s eyes were hazy as they met yours, his face smothered in your thighs as he greedily sucked your clit into his mouth. You tug his hair, making you groan against him. “I'm gonna cum.” It was all too much for you to handle, your body losing its rhythm as your climax threatened to rip through you. William let out an affirmative hum below you, knowing you were close by the slowing of your movements. He decides it's time for him to take over, determined to make you cum on his tongue. His fingers dig into the curve of your ass as he gradually increases the pace of your hips. You yelped as one of his hands suddenly connects with your skin, the mixture of pleasure and slight pain causing your soaked cunt to throb. Broken moans and whines rumbled effortlessly from your mouth, the fine tuned roaming of his hands paired with his expert tongue knowing just how you wanted to be touched to fall apart in his hands. William never got tired of making you finish. The way you would fall absolutely silent and still for a moment, mouth hanging open as no sound dared escape, your body taking time to catch up to the immense pleasure you were feeling. Now was no different. William felt his cock twitch at the sight of your eyes rolling back in your head, that brief moment of absolute silence making his ears ring before you screamed his name. He forced your hips to keep moving, never allowing your pace to slow as he felt your thighs shaking against his cheeks. You practically collapsed as he finally pulled his mouth off of you, a firm hand on your lower back keeping you upright as you shakily moved yourself back onto his chest. William reaches up to caress your cheek, wiping away tears that streaked down your skin. Your eyes felt heavy, you struggled to keep them open and on your husband as you came down from your high.

“Do you want to lay down?” He asks in a soft tone. You nod, collapsing into the mattress with a happy sigh. You hear the soft shuffling of William getting undressed before he gets under the blankets with a groan. You could feel the heat radiating off of him as he moved closer, his fingers ghosting over your waist before your pulled back against him. You can't help but giggle slightly as you feel his erection pressed firmly against your back.

“You want some help with that?” You press yourself into him, his breath catching in his throat at the contact as he tries to stifle a growl.

“You can't even keep your eyes open bunny.” He chuckles, you smile as you feel it rumble in his chest. You let out a dismissive sound, giving him a slight shrug. “How about we compromise?” You glance over your shoulder at him, curiously raising an eyebrow. Your eyes slide shut, letting out a soft hum as you feel his rough hands roaming over your skin. His fingers dip in between your thighs, gently coaxing them apart. You gasp as you feel his member prod at your entrance. “I could always fill you up before we go to bed.” He offers with a smirk, your face instantly flushing at the thought of cuddling up with your husband, trying not to squirm too much as he impaled you on his thick cock. You give him a nervous yet excited nod, the sight of you looking at him so sweetly as you chewed on your lip making it hard for him to not flip you over and pound you into the mattress. William assisted you holding your legs open, one massive paw wrapped around your thigh to allow him room to attempt to fit inside of you. You gripped tightly onto the sheets as he slowly began to push inside, the stretch from making it barely past his tip intense due to the lack of prep. “That's it sweetheart, just relax.” He purrs in your ear, pressing his lips to your shoulder. Another roll of his hips makes you whimper, feeling him slip slightly deeper into your fluttering cunt.

“Fuck, ‘s too big, ‘s not going to fit.” Your words slut as you tried to focus enough to speak. His pace was agonizing, you could feel every inch of him and every thick vein sliding over your velvety walls. You let out a shuddering breath as he finally bottoms out in you, the tip of his cock pressed snugly against your cervix. You felt like you would break in half at the smallest wrong move, even your slight shifting as you cuddled up with William had the edges of your vision going fuzzy.

“Such a good bunny, taking all of me so well.” His lips trail over your neck, you feel him smirk as you clench around him, repeatedly kissing and teasing what he knew was a rather sensitive spot of skin.

Your fingers intertwined with his, his strong arms wrapped protectively around as you're held flush to his chest.

“I love you.” You say quietly, feeling sleep trying it's hardest to pull you under. He gives your hand a soft squeeze.

“And I love you, sweet girl.”

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Tag List: @yellowbunnydreams @zoey5252 @redflowery @loudchaosking (I think that's everyone, if I missed you or you would like to be added please let me know!)

[queereads-bracket]

ANNOUNCEMENT: SO I MADE A STORYGRAPH CHALLENGE

~Behold, a link

How it works:

Step 1. Join the challenge (you will need a Storygraph account)

Step 2. Read one book that was submitted to each of the six tournaments (with bonus winners category) anytime between September 7th, 2024 and [TBD one year from whenever we finish the last bracket of this cycle]

How to choose/add your books:

Option 1. I already added All Of The Books (including sequels) to the categories. You can scroll through the list and click the little + button to use a book to complete a category

Good if you're a visual person! But unfortunately books are in No Logical Order, despite my best efforts. Apparently Storygraph scrambles orders, alas

Option 2. Use the “add a book” option to enter the name of a book (please verify that it was actually part of that bracket, either via this blog or the handy dandy spreadsheet)

Please do not add additional books that weren't in a tournament, so we can keep the prompt lists the same as the bracket submissions

Other deets:

If you read a book anytime from September 7, 2024 onwards, you may use it to complete that category (unfortunately it doesn't detect eligible reads automatically; you'll still have to select the book to count it). Sept 7 is the day I posted the first queer fantasy poll, so I'm letting you retroactively count any reads you've done since the start of this blog

If you select a book you read prior to September 7, 2024, it does not count towards completing the category—let's read new things!

You can also select a book(s) that you intend to read in the future to fulfill that category, and it'll mark the category complete once you mark the book read

Some books were submitted to multiple brackets. In the interest of a CHALLENGE and READING MORE, let's aim to use a different book to fulfill each category!

Historical fiction, books from history, and nonfiction are obviously blank right now because we don't have submissions yet. I'll add those myself later; in the meantime, you can get started on the other categories

I don't have any prizes if you complete the challenge, but I will clap for you and bake you cookies on the astral plane, and you can feel awesome and hopefully enriched for having read some cool new books!

[devondespresso]

FINALLY

after NINE. HOURS. (NOT including meals and sleep) ITS FUCKING DONE.

A complete floorplan of the entire Harrington house. Including too much thought about random, throw-away lines from characters and squint-to-see-it background glimpses inside.

plently of stuff in the actual house is altered or straight up ignored in favor of following the fiction logic and because I Wanted To. A lot of this is motivated by my headcanons for the Harringtons and how I'm writing them in my fic, but I'm also certainly not an architect so it's by no means perfect. It is, however, unreasonably canon compliant in the few bits we do see.

Thought Process (for context):

the darker shaded floor areas are lower than the rest, some bits like the garages having stairs and some areas like the sun and dining rooms list being like a step lower. Windows are marked with dashes along the outside, sliding doors are two thin lines slightly overlapping, stairs change color as they diverge from the level we're looking at, and furniture is eyeballed so don't look to closely a the scale.

not all closets are labeled, just the ones i figured could be confusing. Steve and the guest rooms have closets i promise.

the laundry room and pantry are not the same size but by the time i noticed i was exhausted. so pretend they're both more reasonably sized.

i don't know what the floorplan symbol for garage door is and then i forgot to look so the headlights point to where the doors are and you can see them clearly in photos so yeah.

The general layout is based on the idea that the Harringtons are or were into hosting dinner parties and business meetings in their home, especially as a young rich couple looking for respect in their circles (Mr. Harrington taking on his father's business and reinforcing that power, Mrs. Harrington climbing her own social ladder and building an image).

So the house is laid out with hosting areas towards the right with the office big and near the dining room because it's more than just a workplace, it represents him as a businessman. In canon the entryway and living room both have very high ceilings and no second-floor above them, so I'd imagine they're also aware of how the top floor looks from below, hence the fancy double/french doors to the master bedroom which is in plain view from below. Steve's room and the guest room are's nearly as visible.

As for the kitchen and sun/pool rooms, I see them more as secondary hosting areas that aren't used as the main location most of the time and are more this background setting to these events that still feel rich. The kitchen is massive and mostly for dinner-parties and Mrs. Harrington's social events.

The kitchen and main bathroom's placement is based on a line Steve said to Barb giving her directions to the bathroom: "down past the kitchen, to the left". With the massive living room on the left and wanting to keep the dining and office close by, i interpreted the "to the left" part being like "find the kitchen, then turn left". And with the rest of the area being open-concept, the bathroom would be the only normal door over there and easy to find. it's a bit of a stretch with just that line, but it makes sense to me with the rest of the context for the layout.

the basement is similar to this, though not as openly displayed so I imagine its for slightly closer friends. Theres a garage door down there so I figured Mr. Harrington might have a cool car he shows off, like he's letting people in on a personal detail about himself. There's also a guest room down there (the only one still considered 100% for guests, more on that later) for those people.

beside the basement garage, there was originally one main garage that holds two cars, obvious Mr. and Mrs. Harrington's cars. I imagine they bought the house before having kids, so a third one wasn't on the mind but after having Steve they added the front one (either turning the carport into a closed garage or they never had a carport and added a whole new addition, up to you)

Both garages lead to the same part of the house, and that area is the only one besides the water heater room that is purely function over effect. It still looks good like the rest of the house but it's not made to be fancy because guests would rarely need to be over there if at all and it's not noteworthy from other parts of the house.

In my headcanon, Steve's room used to be a guest room, staying his room from nursery to present with Mrs. Harrington renovating every now and then. Its one of those places in the house that doesn't have to look perfect for all to see, so she gets creative and has fun with it.

The upstairs guest room is also unofficially Mrs. Harrington's room, based on a line where Tommy mentions a fireplace in "his mom's room" instead of "guest room" or "parent's room" or "master bedroom". I belatedly realized this could be a solidarity thing with Steve hating his dad and calling the master bedroom his mom's room, but that was after 9 hours of this and im not changing it but there you go. In this version, I imagine she leaves the master some nights because her marriage with Mr. Harrington is failing (cheating and all, I wouldn't want to be in the same bed with someone who cheated either)

the master bathroom was an executive decision, just looking at the house in canon and not having enough space in my first attempts, i decided the triangle roof part above the dining and office could fit a master bathroom.

Feel free to use or reference this in your own fics! Feel free to block out my furniture or walls and make your own version. If you share my image please credit with an @ mention!! (again, 9 hours) (thank you fhalsfhd)

[panevanbuckley]

how do u mark a fic as read?????????? I don't have that button! what is this sorcery???!!!?? :O

ahh okay sorry it's literally a month late 😭

a lot of people saw this post and apparently didn't know the mark as read feature existed (which ??? i'm 95% sure y'all will recognise it once you read this post)

so anyways. say you're like me and are scrolling for a very specific fic but during that scrolling you pass a fic that also intrigues you. but you don't wanna read it yet. you also don't trust yourself to open a new tab and not lose it so you use the mark for later button!

you'll see it at the top of any fic (example below)

click this. and boom! fic has now been added to your mark for later list. which can be found under history and marked for later on your account

but if you're anything like me you probably won't actually use that list because you switch hyperfixations far too often

it does come in handy still though because when (read: if) you return to this ship/fandom and are yet again scrolling for a good fic it can help you identify fics you've read before or not. usually i'll see something that sounds interesting, open it, and either it will be bookmarked already or it will have this new button at the top:

mark as read my beloved 🥰 means this fic caught my eye in the past but i never got around to actually reading it. so yay! new fic to read!!

(unless, like in the original post, i somehow either forgot to then mark the fic as read after reading it or for some reason never bookmarked it and then i trick myself into thinking i've not seen it 💀)

[wings-of-ink]

Hi!! I have a bit of constructive criticism, if I may 😅 English is not my first language, so pardon me if I sound rude, it's definitely not my intention!

Something that confuses me is how people act when the MC has to lift their shirt, when in comparison characters like Oswin and Duri can be shirtless/completely naked and people not batting an eye at it. It's funny and confusing why people jump at MC taking out their shirt as if it's scandalous 😅. I guess if that was the reaction to all the characters it wouldn't be as weird, but MC seems to be singled out. For example, on that scene where the characters ask to analyze MC's mark and they say "I can just cover what I'm not comfortable showing", that answer doesn't really make sense to MC's who consider "it's just skin", as can be stated if you choose to take a bath on the river after meeting Nathan; I'd imagine my MC just lifting it naturally, or even taking out his shirt completely without any problems, going as far as being confused as to why Oswin is making a big deal of it. This is just one example of something that happens some other times, if you want I can list them, so it's easier for you to check them out! The characters reactions seem pretty on point, tho! Zahn and Duri don't seem to mind anyone naked, Rune is respectful regardless, and Oswin seems to only be affected by MC's nakedness (which can be explained by his apparent feelings for MC? I'm not on his route but it looks like he has a crush on MC, I could be wrong😆). The problem comes mostly to how MC responds, I think? As in, couldn't they be as comfortable about being naked as Duri is? So just a bit of a twist on MC's answers and it would flow naturally! Coding wise, maybe putting a choice of how comfortable your MC is with showing their body at some point in game/the beginning? Like, "never comfortable", "uncomfortable with strangers", "choose as happens if they're comfortable or not", "always comfortable", etc.

Anyways, sorry for the long text and thank you for your time! I absolutely love the game and constantly replay it, thank you for your hard work and good job! :)

Hello dear and thanks for stopping by! And not to worry, I didn't think your message was rude. Below I've explained where my thinking is in the way I've written what you're discussing.

The reason those parts are written that way is not because it is intended to seem "scandalous." Nudity in general isn't really considered as such in the world and it's entirely up to personal preference. The reason those scenes are written in such a way is that I'm writing from the eyes of many MCs with many different possible comfort-levels. I didn't find it necessary to track code for the MC's feelings on being exposed when it is easier to write a general statement that suggest the MC does or does not cover themselves and the like (where I could, I added reaction choices). And sometimes, it's better to error on the MC being a little bit discreet because of that. Could I add code for this? Yes, but overall I didn't see the purpose in it (I have a mountain of variables as is and some things just need to be trimmed).

I also need to consider that situationally, each MC will react different. With the variety of situations in the story, even when MC is comfortable, there could be situations that they would not be. Getting an exam from a stranger is different from your crush walking in on you or you wanting to tease and such.

During the forest-bathing scene, the MC also needed to take consideration for keeping their mark concealed. Oswin was cautious because they just met Zahn and he knows that Nathan has a unique curiosity for magical goods. As we learn in later chapters, this is wisdom since some people covet magical things and are willing to do horrible things to get them.

Oswin also has a particular protectiveness over MC, especially depending on a few choices about MC's feelings for him he may react different in certain scenes.

I hope that covers it in a satisfactory way. At least for now, I don't think I will set any code variable for this at least for the time being. I'm not sure how often MC will end up nude either, lol. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me! I'm glad you're enjoying the game! ^_^

[twiniverse]

Temple Redesign for Twiniverse fan project thingy

Since I'm redoing a lot of old pages, it's probably time to update the Temple Fusion. Considering it's just an Obsidian made with Rose, Pearl, Jasper, Peridot, and Lapis... and then I just took out Jasper's gem and added Amethyst and Ruby... that's kind of boring. She's beautiful imo but she's just not unique to Twiniverse.

Sooooo I'm going to be redesigning her. And her name will be Onyx, based on black onyx with white and golden markings. She'll have some kind of crown that has both Pearl and Peridot's gems... and I'm thinking of maybe making her somewhat... cryptid-ish? Like a mothman kind of thing but less... animalistic?

Anyway I'm telling y'all this because... I am not good at designing monsters lol. That's a big reason I didn't redesign Obsidian to begin with. Soooooooooo what I'm gonna do is I'm gonna ask you guys for ideas.

This is not a contest. There will be no prizes. But I WILL reblog every "entry" and show them off later in a livestream.

Just kind of a fun thing. I most likely won't choose any one design, it will just really help me solidify a design by having lots of new ideas from fans!

All you need to do is make a post with your ideas, which can be something you've drawn or just a bunch of reference pictures and a description of what you think Onyx would look like. She does NOT have to be based on Obsidian or the Twiniverse Obsidian. She also does NOT have to have any design components I mentioned above (the crown, the cryptid thing, etc). Just whatever you personally feel like the fusion would look like =)

@ me in the post and tag it 'twiniverse' and I'll add it to a list of all the ideas I've got! And when I start getting the feeling I've gotten an idea of what the final product will be I will do a livestream and feature all of the suggestions as I work on the concepts for Onyx.

Just as a reminder, here are the five components! (Technically six lol). The outfits aren't important, so don't feel like you have to tick too close to them. And, just in case you want it, here's the OG Twiniverse Temple, but remember any design you might have does NOT need to be based off of this.

I just thought this all would be fun! Something to let people feel like they're apart of Twiniverse in some way. I understand that without prizes a lot of people won't want to join, and that's completely fine. I get it! And I won't be upset whether I get "entries" or not.

Thank you all once again for your patience and all that jazz. I'm trying to still be active even while I'm swamped with a million other things, and throwing myself into Art Fight on top of it, lol. Love all my followers! See you soooooon!

(AND IF I DON'T GIVE YOUR POST A LIKE/REBLOG AFTER A FEW DAYS PLEASE MESSAGE ME, I MAY HAVE MISSED IT. The like will signify it's in a queue)

[agirlandherquill]

the twenty-fourth day of writemas

day 24, christmas eve, our final day of the game has arrived! words cannot explain how much i have enjoyed seeing you all participate, be inspired and come up with such incredible pieces of writing! and seeing as today marks the final set of prompts, i thought i'd include some extra - and a little note, keep your eyes out dear writers because a writemas surprise will be on its way later today! (later for me at least, because this'll be going live at midnight-ish like usual, and goodness knows i need sleep to prepare for the final push of the holiday rush (cough, conclude my evening as i always do on christmas eve and watch arthur christmas, cough)) but for the meantime i simply cannot wait to see what you all come up with!

the rules, for those of you that are new or simply need a refresher: choose a prompt from the list, write something and share your creation with the rest of writeblr, and share the game with others, because as we all know writing is a gift and it deserves to be shared! and of course, tag me in your responses because i cannot wait to see them!

p.s - the game is open to all, as discussed in the invitation post - which, if you'd like to be added to the tag list, is still being monitored for newcomers and late additions - all are welcome to the game!

now for the part you're all here to see - the prompts!

Prompt List:

Dialogue Prompts:

"One day, everything we know will be gone. Until that time, you owe it to history to enjoy it."

"Stand with me. Stand for as long as it takes."

"What do you mean you don't know how to dance?"

"Look at that... It's hope."

Setting Prompts:

A choir

A road

A castle

A stable

Narration Prompts:

She gave chase, laughter echoing louder than her footsteps on the ancient floors.

He sighed his heart out and plastered on a smile, the smile would be his armour, for a time.

The heart was the heaviest burden they had, their minds were strong, their bodies never weak, but the heart was the fragilest thing of all.

The bards struck a gentle chord, one that broke the hearts of everyone in the room, everyone but the two who danced alone.

Feeling Prompts:

The chill of rain

The beauty of tears

The scent of dew

The heaviness of lies

(because i'm insanely overeager, this post like its predecessor will be going live at 00:01 UK Time, apologies to those of you that receive it early but hey, early presents are still pretty good presents :) )

eagerly awaiting your creations, and as always, happy holidays!

~ A Girl And Her Quill

the invitations have been received so here you all are, i bestow upon you the gift of writemas! p.s if you want to be added to the tag list, interact with this post <3

@365runesofthesystem @glasshouses-and-stones @tildeathiwillwrite @nothoughtsjustmhaandotherthings

@willtheweaver @theverumproject @phoenixradiant @thatuselesshuman @melpomenelamusa

@loverboyxbutch @i-hate-happy-endings @corinneglass @whatwewrotepodcast @aalinaaaaaa

@aseriesofsmallthings @kelseyjade @lauravanarendonkbaugh @i-do-anything-but-write @nuclearr-wessels

@95angeltears @sunflowerrosy @thebadphilosopher @ellowynthenotking @xarrixii

@the-ellia-west @myniceisniceblogbloglog @kitty-is-writing @girl-with-bones @crimsonlyinglilly

@fantasy-things-and-such @shiningstars-world @purplehandshumanfeelings @mxxnlightwriting @aquadestinyswriting

@17panicattacksinatrenchcoat @seastarblue @sacratos @afyerarchive

@sabba-tumbling @aurumni-writes @burntblanc @angelfevr @lead-to-code

@inkoherentbabeler @selfemployedmess @theeccentricraven @sarandipitywrites

@kaylinalexanderbooks @rickie-the-storyteller @grace-thomas @wonda-ch @nyoxy-ghostie

@calliecwrites @happypup-kitcat24 @woodnymphdancinginmoonshine @storycraftcafe

@rhikasa @buffythevampirelover @moltenwrites @vesanal @foyle-writes-things

@thesorcerersapprentice @diabolical-blue @elsie-writes @pepsiwriteswords @sharkblizzardblogs

@zmwrites @satohqbanana @avian-king @wordwizards @theimperiumchronicles

@ryns-ramblings @thewritingcoroner @the960writers @m-r-levine @writingsfromspace

@detective-bird @k--havok @saharasunset @the-letterbox-archives @katwritesshit

@thebookishkiwi @that-expat-girl @lyssthewriter @elligatorrex @fablesandfragments

[nefaricussims]

My "Choices" Sims-ematic Universe

Many years ago, my friend got me into the app "Choices", which is one of those apps were you play through choose-your-own-adventure stories. Pixelberry's quality has decreased drastically in recent years but I'm still a big fan of their older works. I'm also a big fan of the Sims and CAS so over the years, I've grown a collection of Choices characters remade as Sims which I lovingly call my "Choices Cinematic Universe" (you know...like the marvel cinematic universe...) because they're all living in one save lmao.

I didn't think I would ever share these Sims here but people actually noticed I used Blades of Light and Shadow for the promo of this posepack and the lovely @simsillagrim asked me to share my other Choices Sims sooo here they are!

I didn't always make the whole cast of a book because, well, I only made my favourites lol. Some of these are from 2019 and some were made in the last year so the quality and likeness varies a LOT. I never said I was good at this. 😂 I'm also weird and couldn't decide whether to add MC, the default names or my own so expect a mix of all lmaoo.

Another important note is that 95% of the "It Lives" Sims were NOT made by me. They're made by the AMAZING @alltimefail-sims. I'll explain more when we get to them.

ANYWAY, let's finally start:

I think these were some of if not THE first Sims I made. You can tell by the kind of clothes I chose for some of them 💀 although I did slightly update them for this post. I only made my LIs and Diego & Varyyn because they're one of my favorite choices couples ever.

I cannot tell you how MANY times I've changed Edward. There's something about his face that I just cannot get right. 😭 I do like how my MC looks though. I'll forever mourn this book, it deserved a sequel. :((

Made them around the time I bought Horse Ranch bc duh. BSC was such a silly book, I loved it. And yes, I accidentally called my MC like a character in the book. It was hilarious.

The most recent addition to the CCU! And a joint effort between me and my friend @thatwinglessthing, and by that I mean they did all the work and I just tweaked things on Donovan a little. 🤣 And made my MC of course.

To prevent this post from becoming too long, I won't list every picture individually. Shreya and my MC are almost as old as the ES Sims I think. I've always wanted to make the rest of the Pend Pals but never really got around to it. Ironically, Shreya wasn't even my LI, it was Beckett. 😂 Nik & MC are fairly new and I'm quite proud of Nik tbh.

Random combo but we're nearing the end of the smaller groups haha. Guinevere is still missing her Lancelot, I honestly don't know why I still haven't made her. 😔 I'm super proud of the ROD Sims tbh, especially Mona. They were fairly easy, too. On the other hand, I struggled with TCH, especially Jack. 😭 I LOVE his canon ouftit but I just couldn't get anything remotely close and at one point I just gave up lmao. I do like Kieran's outift though.

Alright, now we're entering It Lives territory. 😂 As I've mentioned before, a huge thanks goes to @alltimefail-sims who made ALL of the It Lives characters and gave them away for free!! I marked it in the pictures as well but every Sim except MC, Noah and Jane were made by them!! And yes, I made an adult Jane. 💔 Her design as well as some of the others are based on the characters' looks in ILW instead of Woods bc that's basically the canon time in my CCU. It's only very slightly visible in the Noah/Jane photo and later in the ILW photos but I even built the cabin where most of Within is set in because I have problems. 😂 If you wanna see that too, let me know! I'm actually quite proud of it haha.

Listen, I know Parker is missing.....but I just do not like him. 😂 Or at least I didn't care about him enough to put him in my game. There are countless other characters who deserve to be added to the CCU before Parker LMAO.

And we conclude the It Lives section with the Within crew! One could also say the founders of this little project as I've made Choices Sims before but it wasn't until I added all the It Lives Sims to my game that I actually made a save file and started playing with them. 😅 MC #2 is missing their blind eye (where the scar is) because I just cannot find any CC for a blind eye on that side, it's always either the other or both eyes?? Technically, they should have 2 cyan eyes as well as they're my Shadow Rowan buut. I wanted to keep the heterochromia.

Annnd last but certainly not least the Sims that started this post. 😂 Technically, you've seen them (minus Kade) before but this list felt unfinished without them soo, here are the Blades Sims again. 😂 Nia and Valax are definitely my favorites, I think they turned out really good and Nia's outift is just PERFECT. They're all a mix of their book 1 & 2 outifts because I did try to make book 3 outfits as well but failed miserably. 💀 So I just chose those I could remake the best. Except Kade because he deserves a cool outift too and not just the same fit for all 3 books. 😭

And that concludes this massive list. 😂 I haven't made new Sims in a while but I definitely wanna keep adding to this save. I'm not sure if anyone out there will ever see this AND read everything but if you did: thank you! And I hope you enjoyed this little insight on my mediocre CAS skills. 😆

[being-of-rain]

Now that the whole series has been released, I binge relistened to all of Once and Future. And wrote down all my thoughts, of course.

Definitely the series' main problem is something that affects a lot of Big Finish; it wants to have a story arc, but clearly the writers barely planned with each other or put any effort into that aspect. There's no flow or natural build-up to the finale, unlike what the premise and first episode might lead you to expect. Without much of a compelling arc, the only thing the series has to mark it as a special occasion is its many cameos and crossovers ...but in order to have more of those than the average Big Finish series, they had to pack so many in that most episodes struggle to handle it (in one way or another).

As a series, it unfortunately adds up to less than the sum of its parts.

With all that said, it's a series that I enjoyed a lot more during my relisten, since I could adjust my expectations. I forgot my desire for a grand or satisfying larger story, and just took each standalone episode on its own merits. There's a varying level of quality, but overall its not as disappointing as I remembered.

I decided to rank the episodes from my least to most favourite, and write a paragraph on each one.

8. Time Lord Immemorial I was told this was added to the series at the last minute, and I believe it; it features the imminent destruction of every universe thanks to the use of the degeneration gun, and this little fact is not mentioned at any point before or afterwards. The plot is about a dull and generic all-powerful Time Lord fairytale with an incredibly convenient rhyme to tell everyone what to do. Not that anyone actually does much of anything in this episode. It's mostly descriptions of some impressive visuals and the trading of some half-hearted banter. The only thing of any substance at all in the story is the slightly interesting (though not as interesting as it could've been) relationship between the Lumiat and the Doctor, which is okay if you like that, and unfortunate if you wanted Liv and the Unbound Doctor to have any focus at all.

7. Two's Company This episode is the poster child of being assigned a long and truly random laundry list of characters by the producers. All elements of the episode feel like they're thrown together haphazardly, from the total disregard of the previous episodes' plot hook onwards. But the friendship of Jackie and Lady Christina, two of the least likely characters to be teamed up with the sixth Doctor, is perhaps the highlight of the episode (even though Jackie is written rather stereotypically). On the other hand, Harry Sullivan doesn't really add anything, and the bizarre introduction of The Two borders on the insulting. Back when The Eleven was first introduced, the audio took pains to note that his mental illness was not the cause of his villainy. Later authors seemed to have missed this memo, and none fly in the face of it as much as Two's Company. On top of it all, I think Lisa McMullin is just an author I do not vibe with. She's the only one who wrote two episodes of this series, and they're my two least favourite.

6. The Union I'm not a big fan of finales written by Matt Fitton, which is bad news for me because he's been Big Finish's Go-To Finale Guy for over a decade now. He always makes the plot a bit too busy and never quite lands the emotional moments for me. Once and Future's climactic episode gets a lot of fanservicey moments (some that I can enjoy and some that feel like an obligation), but the story arc that the series had been stumbling and crawling towards concludes with the Doctor winning a nonsensical moral argument about how he's fine with being and meeting himself, something that isn't demonstrated in this anniversary special and is contradicted in most others. The villain/s are a bizarre choice and rather unthreatening- but at least River and Susan are fun to listen to.

5. A Genius For War It's slightly baffling that in the middle of a series that flaunts its random character line-ups is a fairly standard Time War episode, with characters you'd expect to see in it (except for the Seventh Doctor I guess, but he doesn't feel that out of place in a Davros story like this.) I refrained from calling it a "bog-standard" Time War episode, because it does actually put some effort into being relevant to this series specifically, and is a fun little action movie to while away an hour (and celebrate the Doctor's longest-running alien foes in all their mediocre glory). Still, the fact that this ep is just before halfway through my ranking means that I enjoy this series more often than not.

4. Past Lives This is a charming episode, largely due to its fun cast of characters. It takes its time with its story, being literally halfway done by the time all the characters have been brought into the plot together, but I'm not saying it's badly paced. I'm certainly fine with it just giving us the Doctor and the Monk for the first 15 minutes. But the moment of this episode that always sticks in my head the most is the Doctor and Sarah reacting to all the pictures of the Doctors in Osgood's house, having a little bit of an existential crisis about it. It's amazing how taking even just a small break from the action for some genuine emotion can add to a story. See number 1 on this list for more. Oh I do wish it did more with the King Arthur/Once and Future theme though, especially seeing as it was what gave the series its name.

3. The Martian Invasion of Planetoid 50 Michelle Gomez and David Tennant are so good together. I don't have an awful lot more to say about this one, it's just solid entertainment. It's got great characterisation and a lot of funny lines. The episode really understood the Master when it said "Only one Time Lord would ever do something so mind-bogglingly, time-consumingly ridiculous."

2. Coda—The Final Act The final episode is second only to Two's Company in how random and long its list of returning characters is, but it handles them with much more grace and a satisfying story. I mean I do wish that Vienna Salvatori had a bigger role, but that's just because I'm a fan of her series, she works fine narratively (and there was a Jexie reference to appease me). Really my biggest complaint about this one is that it doesn't quite commit to the Doctor vs Doctor premise as much as I wish it would, with it all being a contrived trick, but it doesn't do that badly, it's fine. Wait, maybe my biggest complaint is the title: why give it two? Why not just call it Coda? Anyway, Bernice was a great choice for this episode, she's always been great at speaking her mind to the Doctor. And it was easy for me to forget this this is Jo Martin's first audio because she sounded so at home. Great stuff.

1. The Artist at the End of Time This might not be the episode I go back to listen to the most, but I think it is the best made, with the most time to breathe and the most coherent themes. (And it also happens to be the episode with the least amount of returning characters heaped upon it. What a coincidence.) The degeneration giving the Doctor something of an existential crisis, compounded by the end of the universe and the presence of the Curator, gives the series some much needed time to reflect on a key aspect of the franchise for its anniversary; the Doctor themself. It certainly works a lot better than whatever The Union tried to do in its last 15 minutes. Aside from all that, Five and Jenny and the Curator are just a rather sweet team to listen to, with an interesting problem to investigate and a lot of witty dialogue.

[intoedvin]

Why The Next Prince Series is going to be the BEST BL OF THE YEAR! (a chaotic thread because we waited so long for this)

I might or might not finish this today...depends on my ADHD brain.

EDIT: i decided to finish it now so if you are ready to read a long a** yap then be my guest.

Like, listen. We’ve waited 84 years (okay, like two) for The Next Prince, and at this point, it’s not just a series—it’s a spiritual experience in the making (you cant argue otherwise) So my crazy, unorganized, bl induced mind decided to come up with this list.

The typos are for added jazz. 🤭

1. The Return of the Kings

I'm not even being overly dramatic which tells a lot because IM ALWAYS DRAMATIC WHEN IT COMES TO ZEENUNEW.

I mean, let’s be real. When these two first graced our screens in Cutie Pie, we were all hooked.

Their chemistry was palpable, their performances were stellar, and their fanbase was born overnight. Which also explained why everyone was SOOOO hyped when TNP was announced. Then it got delayed, again and again. So just imagine how starved we were, right?

And we're ready to actually eat good (or like rewatch Cutie Pie until first ep actually airs but whose complaining? Not me)

For this one, the stakes are higher, the emotions are deeper, and the characters they’re playing are royal. I mean, can we even process how hot they look in royal attire (i'll yap about this later. I swear).

So basically, TNP brings back Zee and NuNew in the roles that couldn’t be more different, yet have one of the most exciting dynamics in the upcoming BL universe. This dynamic, the classic is something fans have been craving.

And nope, they’re not just here to look pretty (though they do that very well), they’re here to deliver an emotionally charged, character-driven narrative.

And let’s not even get started on the fan reactions. Fans have already built an entire world around these two—posts, fan fiction, theories, the list goes on. And the anticipation? CRAZY!

It’s undeniable that TNP is going to build on the already rock-solid foundation of ZeeNuNew’s chemistry. We’re in for a treat, and it’s a good thing we’ve had some time to mentally prepare for the emotional rollercoaster this series will undoubtedly take us on. If their previous performances were any indication, we’re going to be crying, screaming, and swooning in no time.

2. A Production Fit for Royalty

Here’s where TNP really takes it to the next level.

Forget what you know about typical BL production; this isn’t a quick, low-budget, two-camera setup filmed in a small studio. No, no, no. This series is a cinematic masterpiece that looks like it’s been ripped straight from a high-budget period drama (which explains all the delays y'all).

Think of it as a BL show that meets historical epic. We’re talking about lavish sets, royal costumes, intricate props, and everything down to the lighting and camera angles being meticulously planned to give the show a larger-than-life feel. I mean, have you seen the post from their official X account? Everything looks EXPENSIVE!!

The production value of TNP is off the charts. And understandably so.

The series is set in the fictional kingdom of Emmaly, and it looks like the creators didn’t spare any expense to bring this world to life. From the grand palace halls to the opulent royal chambers, everything about the series screams high budget. The lavish sets aren’t just for show—they actually enhance the story. The setting feels like another character, with the palace serving as both a prison and a sanctuary for Prince Khanin. And then there’s the wardrobe...oh my gosh, the wardrobe.

Imagine Prince Khanin in royal robes fit for a king, draped in intricate fabrics that shimmer under the light, and Charan, the loyal bodyguard, dressed in military-inspired attire that screams "I will protect you at all costs."

Like mark my word, the costumes will be nothing short of breathtaking. Even Nunew mentioned multiple times his costumes are stunning.

These outfits aren’t just there to look pretty (although they will); they’re there to tell a story. Every stitch, every piece of jewelry, and every fabric choice is designed to reflect the political tension, personal struggles, and emotional growth of these characters. This is the kind of detail we’re not used to seeing in BL series, but it’s exactly what The Next Prince will deliver.

3. Delays That Built Anticipation

Okay, let’s address the elephant in the room—the delays.

At first, the news that The Next Prince would be delayed was a tough pill to swallow. After all, we had been teased with trailers, teasers, and behind-the-scenes footage that got us all hyped up, only to be met with an indefinite wait. But now that we look back, those delays were actually a blessing in disguise.

Think about it: as we waited, the anticipation only grew. We had time to think about the potential of this series, to dissect every bit of information released, and to theorize about what the plot might bring. The longer we waited, the more we *wanted* it. And with each update, each snippet of news, the fanbase grew even more ravenous. It was like a long, slow burn that only made the payoff sweeter.

In fact, the delays allowed the team to ensure the highest quality for the series. A lot of times in the entertainment industry, things get rushed—projects are rushed into production to meet deadlines, and corners are cut to save time and money. But with TNP we can see the effort that went into every detail. The longer production took, the more careful they were in making sure everything was perfect. The delays gave the series a chance to breathe and evolve into the **masterpiece** that it’s shaping up to be.

And let's be honest: the delays only made the excitement more intense. Fans have been counting down the days until the premiere, and each new update feels like a **reward** for our patience. Now that the series is finally approaching release, the anticipation is at an all-time high. It’s no longer just about “seeing the show”; it’s about experiencing something historic. Every delay added fuel to the fire, and now we’re all sitting on the edge of our seats, ready for the explosive debut.

4. A Fresh Take on Classic Tropes

At this point, we’re all familiar with the usual BL tropes: the shy guy and the bold guy, the school setting, the forbidden love, and so on.

While these are still beloved tropes, * TNP dares to take things to a whole new level with its royalty setting and the Bodyguard romance trope. There’s just something about that dynamic that never fails to hit hard. A prince who is expected to rule but has no interest in the throne? Genius. A loyal bodyguard who is sworn to protect him no matter the cost? Epic. It’s a twist on the typical power dynamic that makes everything feel bigger and more intense.

The royalty AU has always been popular in fan fiction. I mean, I dont know how many ao3 fanfics with the same trope that I actually read and pretty much got addicted to but this series brings it to life in a way that feels fresh, modern, and cinematic.

Prince Khanin is not your typical prince—he’s a young man burdened by expectations, but with a heart that longs for freedom. And Charan, his bodyguard, is not just an instrument of protection; he is a man who will have to confront his own feelings as he becomes more involved with his charge. Their journey will be one of personal discovery, as both characters navigate the treacherous waters of palace politics, duty, and, of course, their growing feelings for each other.

This dynamic adds a layer of depth that is rare in many BL series. The stakes are higher because they’re not just two teenagers falling in love in high school—they’re two individuals caught up in a complex web of political intrigue, family pressure, and societal expectations. It’s the perfect recipe for an emotional rollercoaster that fans will be living for.

5. Costumes That Slay

One of the most exciting aspects of The Next Prince is the incredible attention to costume design.

If there’s one thing this series is going to do right, it’s fashion. From the first sneak peeks of the characters in their royal attire, we knew this show was going to **slay** when it came to fashion. The costumes in TNP are not just about looking fabulous; they tell a story (i cant emphasized this any further).

Prince Khanin’s regal robes speak to his position and royal lineage, but they also reflect his personal struggle with his identity as the heir to the throne. His wardrobe will evolve throughout the series, subtly mirroring his emotional journey and his complex relationship with his responsibilities. Charan’s military-inspired

Also, Nunew looks so good. Like really really good.

Even Zee. I mean that guy is handsome but with his bodyguard uniform? Just another level and hotness.

And don't even get me started with Nunew's hair. I LOVE HIS HAIR COLOR.

I think its a pretty good decision to actually dye his hair different color. Like, it adds another layer to the 'royal blood' plot. I dont know but everything about the styling, I AM OBSESSED.

Anyway there you have it. My head is fried at this point but let me know what you think????