#bounded boundless

[ambrosialdesire]

uhm can we get some more from bounded eren?

Like just life after it ykk

-🌷

well uhhh if you're talking about the events after bounded, since eren is in the canonical storyline... i think you already know what happens 😭

obviously, reader becomes a single mother since yk but she has the help and guidance of her friends, so it's not that difficult. i like to believe that both her and historia raised their kids together too since they're going to be roughly the same age (maybe reader's is a little older cause i think i based boundless a year before the attack on marley) and it's nice to share company with someone who also has a kid before everyone else has one.

there are days where she'll randomly start crying when remembering about eren, the good memories before everything went down, and it's even more heart-wrenching when she starts noticing how similar their kid is to younger him. that fiery attitude, the immediate instinct to help out their friends, how sometimes they'll say they don't need your help but run to you every time things go wrong. not to mention the eyes, no doubt it was unmistakably his bright turquoise-blue eyes.

otherwise than that, reader does live a peaceful life like eren had intended for all his friends to live and she does find another partner eventually, though she has this irrational fear that eren's going to somehow crawl up from hell (cause we all know DAMN well bro is not in heaven 💀💀) and start haunting her for moving on. yet a part of him would always be a part of her (not just bc of their kid) but rather how much of an impact they had with one another as childhood friends.

if the two of them do get reincarnated in another life without titans and are ever fated to meet again, maybe this time around it would end up differently. or maybe eren's possessiveness is unavoidable, finding and attaching onto the reader even throughout different lifetimes. hell, even inamorato could be considered as one of their reincarnations since they're childhood friends in that fic too LMAO

what a terrible thing, living every new life in a seemingly inescapable loop of being chained along forever to someone you can never forgive.

[boundless-ut]

Unrelated to the game, but rather the pr mention u said abt tess? Is tessliss canon?

So after I made that post, I actually went back and watched a playthrough to remind myself of how the ending went (because I don't have the time to go replay the whole game myself honestly...) I know there was something (that I felt was a bit shoehorned in, and still do...) but the actual canonical scene isn't as Tessliss confirming as I thought and actually frames them as just really good friends.

:') So it's technically not canon (or at least unconfirmed), but it was real in my heart...and that's what matters.

[shunyakainoo]

shunyakai no o

Shūnyakai no Ō: The Sovereign of the Void

In the primordial epoch before time, space, and even existence itself, there was the Void — an endless, unfathomable expanse of nothingness. From this emptiness, Shūnyakai no Ō, the Absolute Void Sovereign, emerged. Not born, nor created, but manifesting as the ultimate embodiment of that which precedes all existence, he represents the concept of the Void in its truest form: boundless, eternal, and indifferent.

Shūnyakai no Ō is not simply a being of great power; he is power in its purest form. Unlike those bound by the laws of creation, whether they be gods, entities, or forces of cosmic authority, he exists outside the very framework of reality. His essence is one with the Omni-Void, a state that exists beyond omnipotence, omniscience, and even omnipresence. To him, these concepts are limitations — mere attributes that higher beings possess but cannot fully transcend.

The Creation of Omnipresence

For most cosmic entities, omnipresence is the ability to exist everywhere within a universe or even across a multiverse. But for Shūnyakai no Ō, omnipresence is not something he achieved but something he designed. In the boundless Void that he commands, he wove the very concept of omnipresence into existence, making it a principle that could be grasped by the cosmic architects and rulers of lower realms.

Omnipresence, as understood by lesser beings, is the ability to be "everywhere" simultaneously, yet Shūnyakai no Ō surpasses this understanding. His presence is felt not only in every corner of the multiverse but also in the voids between, in realms where nothingness dominates. He exists where existence itself has no meaning. Where there is nothing, he is everything.

His mastery over the Void means that time and space collapse in his presence. He is not bound to one reality, dimension, or timeline. Instead, he redefines reality wherever he exists. To those who perceive the multiverse as infinite, he shows that it is but a fragment of the true nature of the cosmos. To those who believe themselves omnipresent, he reveals the illusion of their omnipresence, for they can only exist where reality has form. He exists where form dissolves.

Beyond Power and Control

Entities that reign over realms of Tier 1 and Tier 0 power are considered invincible by all conventional metrics. These beings often hold dominion over infinite universes, controlling fundamental forces such as time, space, causality, and even concepts like destiny. Yet, Shūnyakai no Ō stands beyond such constructs. His dominion extends into the Absolute Void, a place so detached from the fabric of reality that even the highest cosmic gods lose their influence.

In a confrontation with any Tier 1 or Tier 0 entity, Shūnyakai does not fight in the way others do. He does not manipulate energy or bend reality to his will. He merely removes the very existence of his opponent. Through his ability, Absolute Nullification, he reduces all things — power, space, time, thought, and being — to nothingness. Tier 1 and Tier 0 entities may command multiverses, but Shūnyakai no Ō commands the space in between, the Void that exists when all has been unmade.

For those that wield ultimate cosmic forces, they face a harrowing truth: power is irrelevant to him. All forms of energy, matter, and consciousness are but fleeting manifestations, fragile before the sovereignty of the Void. He cannot be fought because there is no battlefield on which to fight him. He simply exists, and his enemies — no matter their rank or mastery over existence — simply cease to be.

Creation of Omniverse and Beyond

Though he is primarily associated with the Void, Shūnyakai no Ō is capable of creating reality itself. The Omniverse — the infinite sea of multiverses, realms, and dimensions — is, to him, no more than a passing thought. The Omniverse, though vast and boundless to those within it, is fragile to him, a minor ripple in the great, unending Void he governs.

He does not create as others do, with hands of light or cosmic flame. Shūnyakai no Ō wills realms into existence by allowing them to emerge from the nothingness he controls. He has the power to create an infinite number of realities in an instant, but they hold no significance to him. His mind is beyond creation, for creation is a manifestation of structure, and he is the embodiment of formlessness.

It is whispered in the deepest corridors of the multiverse that Shūnyakai no Ō does not need to be worshipped or recognized. His power is absolute because it cannot be measured by any conventional scale. If omnipotence is a peak, then the Void Sovereign stands atop a higher peak that defines the very nature of omnipotence for those beneath it.

Beyond the Highest Realms

Among the most powerful of entities, there are those that control aspects of the entire Omniverse: beings who are regarded as architects, controllers, and even the very fabric of reality itself. These beings are feared and respected for their ability to bend infinite dimensions to their will, for they are seen as omnipotent within the context of their creation.

However, Shūnyakai no Ō holds a domain that makes such beings insignificant. While others may bend and manipulate reality, he is the fundamental constant that denies its very existence. For him, reality and non-reality are mere options, things that he can dismiss or enable. The Void Sovereign understands that power is but a limitation; only through nothingness is true freedom found. He does not control existence. He simply allows it, and when he chooses, he unmakes it.

In the face of Shūnyakai no Ō, even the most powerful beings realize a terrifying truth: their strength is derived from the framework of existence, but he exists outside of it. They bend reality; he bends the void. They are omnipotent; he is the Void itself.

A Force Without Rival

No matter how vast or infinite a being's power may seem, it will always be a part of existence. Shūnyakai no Ō transcends these beings not by overwhelming them with greater force, but by the nature of his fundamental supremacy over existence and non-existence. In the presence of Shūnyakai, reality itself trembles, and the mightiest gods find that their very concept of power crumbles before the vastness of the Void.

In the end, Shūnyakai no Ō stands alone as the Absolute Void Sovereign — not as a ruler of realms, but as the final truth that exists beyond all comprehension. His essence is beyond the comprehension of those who govern existence, and his power is the unmaking of all things. For those that claim omnipotence, they find in Shūnyakai no Ō a force that cannot be measured, challenged, or comprehended.

For in the Void, there is only him.

[ochevidets]

i am a ticking bomb at my best and my worst, and may I say my worst has made my best so much better, so much more explosive. let it free, let your worst free from the cage. nothing is stopping you. you are boundless, make sure you keep it that way.

[the-indoor-kites]

For two hours your problems are replaced with new problems that, however upset you seem, you know for a fact will be gone, maybe even resolved, by the end of the two hours.

For once, if you stick to the script, every conversation will play out exactly like it did in your head.

Whatever happens to you, whatever people think of you, for better or worse, isn't about you at all.

You are at once in total control of your situation, while simultaneously totally surrendering control to a host of other people. Total agency to do things right or wrong, total trust in others to guide you. Maybe that's how religion feels.

Being an actor keeps me sane. Yeah I have to work a day job but know what? When my day job is stressful and I want to scream I get to go hey wait. I have a scream scheduled at 7:30 tonight. Gotta save up. And then I go back to what I was doing.

[sunderwight]

Further speculation on Shen Yuan transmigrating in some kind of Beast:

Werewolf Shen Qingqiu.

And like, major emphasis on the wolf, in his case. Not wolfman. Every full moon Shen Qingqiu has to make arrangements for himself to turn into a gigantic silvery-white wolf that retains extremely little of his consciousness, and mostly just seems to want to do Wolf Things, though according to PIDW and all information he has on the matter, he ought to be turning into a violent and bloodthirsty predator.

However, it turns out that the wolf form does retain some awareness from the mind/soul of the human, meaning that the reason SJ's wolf was so incredibly unsafe to be around was because it was constantly trying to process SJ's trauma in wild animal terms. So, it was hostile towards the vast majority of humans and in a heightened state of anxiety, always anticipating violence (and reacting accordingly) whenever something unexpected happened. Matters were not helped by SJ's decision to try and lock himself up for every transformation, which of course freaked his wolf out even more (trapped) and resulted in self-harm as it desperately tried to escape. It was just that SJ interpreted the self-harm as a sign that the wolf was so extremely violent that it would cannibalize itself rather than go a single night without the taste of blood.

SY, who is a lot less traumatized, conversely has a much more calm and curious wolf. Like he's extremely cautious and nervous about the whole thing, because he's expecting it to be violent based on his information, and since he doesn't retain much awareness of his transformations he has little idea of what his wolf-self does. But he also isn't great at locking himself up like the original goods did, and he never really seems to wake up covered in blood or anything? Once or twice he thinks he might have hunted a rabbit, but they definitely were rabbits and not like his subconscious somehow going after children in the middle of a wilderness somewhere, because when he came to the wolf had brought the leftover bunny bits along back to the ruined temple he was supposed to be shutting himself up into.

The new Shen Qingqiu consequently gets a bit complacent about the whole thing. He can only blame himself. Maybe he should have anticipated Luo Binghe, with his boundless curiosity and interest in his shizun, would notice the oddities in his schedule and follow him out one night. Everyone's supposed to believe that he's just going to brothels and engaging in purely mundane debauchery, though, so why would Binghe doubt his story?

But he did, and so of course Luo Binghe ends up witnessing his shizun's terrible transformation into a wretched and hated beast. Stunned, the young disciple stands transfixed (no doubt in horror) in the moonlight. The wolf sees him, and though Shen Qingqiu doesn't retain much memory, he recollects the running, the leaping, the... uh... licking...?

Well. Turns out that even Shen Qingqiu's subconscious wolf mind recognizes Luo Binghe as pack, and thank goodness too, because at least he didn't attack him!

Although after that it becomes an extreme challenge to explain to Luo Binghe why he can't accompany Shen Qingqiu for his transformations every month. It's not safe, the wolf is unpredictable and Shen Qingqiu can't promise that he won't startle or suddenly change his tune and lash out, and even though Binghe's cultivation is progressing in leaps and bounds, the wolf also isn't limited to normal mortal strength. It would be able to track his scent and follow him relentlessly, chasing him down to catch and pin him beneath its massive paws, and... Binghe why is your face so red? Are you feeling alright? If it's too frightening, then let's not describe it any further, but the point is that it's dangerous.

Shen Qingqiu has to put his foot down. In the end, he has his suspicions that Binghe is still circumventing him, as he could swear he sometimes remembers running around the wilderness with company. (Binghe is absolutely sneaking out to go spend time with Wolf Shizun.) But there's nothing concrete enough to be certain. Meanwhile, Luo Binghe has at least agreed to keep it secret (for now -- probably not once the time comes for Shen Qingqiu to be put on trial) and fusses over his shizun, helping him keep track of the moon scheduling and always making sure he has a full belly before he goes into wilderness seclusion (Shen Qingqiu never says, but somehow Luo Binghe guesses anyway that he doesn't like waking up to find that the wolf had a snack during the night...)

Another hazard: lycanthropy in the PIDW setting is a curse. Like admittedly it's kind of a kickass one, but it still has tons of negative associations, most commonly befalling impoverished individuals or travelers who get bitten by wild wolf demons, and survive only to find that a piece of the wolf's spirit has gotten stuck to their own. Cultivators with lycanthropy are often associated with demons and disrepute, like Wu Yanzi, and there are countless tales of them turning on their own people or being revealed as violent, depraved criminals. It's only slightly more acceptable than being a demon outright.

In other words it's not a desirable circumstance.

And yet, for some reason, Luo Binghe is reprehensibly lapse in his protections against lycanthropy. Shen Qingqiu has told him all of the precautions he knows against it, and yet it's almost like Binghe keeps doing the exact opposite things! Listen, wolves are cool. Shen Qingqiu knows that. He's actually kind of fine with turning into one, since it seems to be less of a ravenous beast situation than he'd feared. But there are still social consequences to this kind of a thing! Luckily, it doesn't actually matter much because even with his uncharacteristic youthful irresponsibility, Binghe's heavenly demon blood protects him from ever being cursed. The only way he'd get lycanthropy would be if he deliberately let a werewolf bite him and then just refused to excise the curse, and even then, he could purge the tainted wolf spirit from him just by force of will whenever he wanted.

Seriously, though! It's only when Shen Qingqiu points out that Luo Binghe is going to make people suspicious with all his negligence towards basic precautions that Binghe finally smartens up about it.

(Luo Binghe, out in the woods during a full moon: Wolf Shizun please bite me? Bite Binghe? Then we can be together every full moon! Look here I'll stick my hand in your mouth... just, just chomp down... no don't lick... *sigh*...)

Anyway, the plot still goes mostly the same, except that when Shen Qingqiu put into the water prison it's the full moon. He expects this is part of Luo Binghe's plan against him -- Binghe probably couldn't reveal the lycanthropy without also admitting he'd known before and helped hide it, but this way, Shen Qingqiu can just get caught as a wolf by the palace guards. But Luo Binghe's just been so frazzled and distressed by everything that he genuinely forgot what phase the moon was on. Shen Qingqiu's expecting a lot of things when he wakes up after transforming in the Water Prison, but being back out of the Water Prison and snuggled up to the protagonist's chest wasn't on the list.

Turns out that after his confrontation with Luo Binghe and the Little Palace Mistress, Gongyi Xiao went to check on him and found him transformed. After Gongyi Xiao alerted the rest of the palace, the Palace Master determined that Shen Qingqiu being a werewolf was as good as a confirmation of guilt, and had the wolf dragged out to be killed. Luo Binghe intervened, Shen Qingqiu took off, and between one thing and another the whole night was spent with Huan Hua and Cang Qiong cultivators trying to catch him (for different reasons).

Of course it was Luo Binghe who eventually cornered the terrified wolf, at which point the wolf actually, finally did bite him. But when Binghe failed to react, it whimpered and went back to its usual behavior, and let Binghe lead it out of the city and off to its usual territory near Cang Qiong. The wolf then proceeded to act like an overjoyed puppy whose owner had finally come back from war, until Binghe broke down and sobbed himself to sleep. It must have curled up onto his chest afterwards.

Shen Qingqiu is deeply embarrassed, but... somehow Luo Binghe doesn't seem to be taking revenge on him?

He's going to need to treat that bite wound soon, though.

Binghe.

Binghe, you are going to treat that--

[rafecameronssl4t]

Will Rafe and readers children get arranged marriage too? If it’s traditional in reader’s family does that mean that there’s matches found for the children already? Would reader let that happen to her kids? I expect reader’s parents would push for arrangements to be made as soon as a child is born

Always repeating itself || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: lol I was think of this video for the beginning since I saw soo many tiktok comments joking abt it how it would be him walking to the car and saying kids get in the car 😭😭

Warnings: angst!!!!

Word count: 2,193

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

“Kids! Let’s go!” Rafe’s voice carries from the foyer, sharp and commanding, though not without a hint of warmth. You take a moment to smooth down Madeline’s dress, her little hands fidgeting as her eyes gleam with excitement. “Alright, sweetheart, off you go,” you whisper, giving her a gentle nudge as she bolts toward the door, her laughter ringing through the hallway.

Leo lingers behind, slower to move, his tiny fingers wrapped tightly around your hand. “Careful on the stairs,” you call after Madeline, already bounding ahead, her shoes thudding loudly against the floor. You grab your bag, glancing back one more time at Leo as he moves in front of you. His small hands gripping the railing as he steps carefully down each stair.

“Take your time, Leo,” you murmur, a soft smile spreading across your face as your hand instinctively rests on your rounded belly, the growing weight of the life inside you grounding your steps. Rafe watches from below, his eyes narrowing slightly but softening as he sees Leo’s slower pace. Madeline is already at his side, her hands swinging in his, filled with boundless energy.

“C’mon, buddy,” Rafe says, his tone firm yet encouraging as he extends his hand toward Leo. Leo finally reaches his father, slipping his small hand into Rafe’s, while you take the final steps down, your movements slower, more deliberate. Rafe’s eyes linger on you for a moment, something unreadable flickering across his face before he turns back to the children. “Got everything?” he asks, his voice low as he reaches for the car keys.

You nod softly, pressing a hand against your stomach again, feeling the light kick beneath your skin. “Yeah,” you reply with a hum, your eyes locking with his for a brief second before shifting to the children, now racing toward the front door. There’s a weight to the moment, one that neither of you acknowledges out loud, but it lingers like the unspoken words always do between you two.

Rafe steps aside, closing the door behind you as he unlocks the g-wagon with a beep. You open the back door for the kids, watching as Leo and Madeline clamber into their seats, their excitement barely contained. Rafe moves around the car, quietly buckling the kids in. His movements are precise, almost mechanical, but there’s an undeniable care in the way he makes sure their belts are snug.

You lean back in your seat, one hand tracing slow circles on your belly, feeling the gentle stirring beneath the fabric of your dress. The feeling always brings you a strange comfort, a reminder of the life growing inside you, of the future you didn’t quite plan but now couldn’t imagine without. Sliding into the driver’s seat, Rafe shifts the car into gear, glancing over his shoulder as he reverses out of the driveway. The sound of the tyres crunching against the gravel fills the silence for a few moments.

“Do you know what this is about?” Rafe breaks the silence, his eyes flicking toward you with a mixture of curiosity and mild concern. There’s something else there too—wariness, perhaps. He’s never been one to be at ease around your parents, and this unexpected meeting only stirs that discomfort. You shrug lightly, your gaze focused out the window for a moment before returning to the rhythmic movement of your hands across your stomach.

“No idea,” you murmur, your voice soft, almost distant. You can feel the tension building in your chest, an old, familiar feeling whenever your parents are involved. The tightness grows as you try not to overthink why they summoned you today, especially with the children. What could be so urgent? Rafe’s grip tightens on the wheel, and you don’t miss the slight clench of his jaw.

He’s never been good at hiding his frustration, though he tries for your sake—sometimes. There’s a part of you that wonders if he’s bracing himself for whatever demands or expectations your parents are about to lay at your feet. You glance at the rearview mirror, catching sight of Madeline and Leo in the back, completely oblivious to the tension building in the front seat.

~

“You’re joking,” Rafe scoffs, his voice dripping with disbelief as he swirls the amber liquid in his glass, the ice clinking softly. He brings the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip of bourbon, his eyes narrowing at your parents across the grand dining room. You sit beside him, frozen in place, trying to process the words that had just shattered whatever illusion of calm you thought you’d have during this meeting.

It was bound to happen, but hearing it out loud felt like a punch to the gut. “They’re still children!” Rafe’s voice slices through the tension hanging in the room, his frustration flaring as he slams the glass onto the table, the sound reverberating through the ornate dining room. “And are we forgetting the fact that she’s still not born?” His hand gestures sharply toward your swollen belly, his anger spilling over as your hands instinctively cradle your stomach.

Rafe’s gaze is intense, his blue eyes flashing with a mixture of disbelief and fury. His jaw is clenched, the muscles tightening as he glares at your parents, the weight of their expectations pressing down on him, on both of you. The suffocating traditions of your family—arranged marriages, predetermined futures, heirs before individuals—were wearing on him, threatening to tear down the fragile balance you had both tried to maintain.

Your father leans back in his chair, unfazed by Rafe’s outburst, his expression as steely as ever. Your mother, ever poised, crosses her legs delicately, her cool composure only fueling the fire in Rafe’s gaze. They’ve seen this reaction before—yours, when you were told of your own arranged marriage. To them, this is just another step in the preservation of the family’s legacy, a legacy that had been woven into every decision, every expectation.

“Rafe, we understand your concerns,” your mother begins, her voice calm, like she’s explaining a simple business arrangement. “But this is not about today. This is about securing their future. She may not be born yet, but she, like her siblings, will have her place in this family, and part of that is ensuring they all have the right alliances.”

Rafe scoffs, running a hand through his hair, his frustration only building as he listens to their cold, calculated reasoning. He turns to you, his eyes searching your face, looking for something—anything—that shows you’re as disturbed by this conversation as he is. You meet his gaze, your hands still resting protectively over your stomach, feeling the soft flutter of movement inside you.

Part of you wants to agree with him, to speak up and tell your parents that this is madness. That your children deserve a choice, a chance at a life that isn’t dictated by contracts and old traditions. But the other part of you—the part that had been raised in this world, where duty and legacy are everything—knows this was always inevitable. It’s the same fate that was chosen for you.

Rafe’s voice lowers, but the anger remains. “You’re planning their futures before they can even speak for themselves. Do you realise how insane that sounds?” He turns back to your father, who has remained quiet throughout the exchange, observing Rafe’s reaction with a measured gaze. “Rafe,” your father finally says, his tone cool and authoritative, the kind that commands respect.

“This isn’t about insanity. It’s about responsibility. You, of all people, should understand the importance of that. Our families were built on these alliances, and your children will carry on that legacy.” Rafe leans back in his chair, exhaling harshly, his fingers tapping against the edge of the table as he tries to contain the frustration boiling inside him. He’s always hated this aspect of your family—the suffocating rules, the unspoken expectations that had shaped your life from the moment you were born.

Your mother’s expression was unreadable, though you know her well enough to catch the subtle lift of her chin—an indication that she expected this reaction from Rafe. “Y/n,” Rafe mutters, turning his head toward you, searching your face for any sign of how you were taking this, his blue eyes flickering with something close to desperation.

He’s waiting for you to speak up, to be the buffer between him and your parents, as you often are. You swallow hard, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. Of course, you knew this day would come. In your world, in the world of dynasties and old money, these things were decided long before feelings or personal desires were even considered. Your children were not just your own; they were the future of two powerful families, and with that came the responsibility to uphold the tradition of arranged marriages.

It’s what had happened to you, after all. “Rafe, I understand that in your family, this may seem insane…” you begin, your voice steady, though your heart is pounding with the weight of the situation. Inside, a storm of conflicting emotions rages—your loyalty to your family’s legacy, the deep-rooted traditions you were raised with, and the growing sense that this isn’t the life you want for your children.

You glance at Rafe, watching as his anger simmers just beneath the surface, his fingers drumming impatiently against the side of his glass. “Oh this is more than insane and you know it, Y/n.” His eyes meet yours briefly, a flash of frustration and disbelief swirling in the blue depths. His family may be wealthy, even powerful in their own right, but they’ve never adhered to these kinds of traditions.

The antiquated practices your parents held onto with such ferocity were foreign to him, and every time they were brought up, it was like another layer of expectation was placed on his shoulders. You shift in your seat, trying to navigate the tightrope between the world you come from and the man beside you. “But in this family—your family now—this is what’s expected,” you continue, trying to keep your voice calm, even as your own doubts creep in.

“Our children’s futures are tied to these alliances. It’s not just about them, it’s about securing the family’s legacy.” Rafe’s jaw clenches visibly, his knuckles whitening around the glass as he sets it down with a little more force than necessary. “So what, they just get to be pawns in some game?” he snaps, his voice low but filled with restrained anger. “Is that all we are to them?”

You wince at his words, knowing that’s exactly how he sees it. It’s how you once saw it too. But you’d been trained your whole life to believe it was more than that—that it was a duty, a responsibility to the family. Yet, sitting here now, with your hands protectively over your stomach, the reality of arranging your own children’s marriages before they’ve even had the chance to live feels like a cruel twist of fate. One you never wanted to inflict on them.

Your father clears his throat, leaning forward slightly, his eyes sharp, watching the exchange closely. “Rafe,” he says, his voice measured, authoritative. “This isn’t a game. It’s about ensuring the stability of the family. The world we live in requires certain… arrangements. We all made sacrifices for this, and so will our children.”

Rafe shakes his head, leaning back in his chair, exhaling harshly as he runs a hand through his hair. “Sacrifices?” he mutters under his breath, his voice tinged with bitterness. He looks at you again, the plea in his eyes unmistakable. He’s desperate for you to push back, to stand with him against your parents and their rigid traditions.

But you hesitate, your gaze dropping to your stomach once more. How can you deny the truth of what your father is saying? You’ve lived it—your entire life has been shaped by these expectations. “I know it’s hard to understand,” you finally say, your voice softening as you turn back to Rafe.

“But it’s how things are done in this family. We have to think about the bigger picture.” Rafe’s eyes narrow, his frustration palpable. “And what about them?” he asks. “What about their lives, their choices? Are we just going to take that away from them before they even have a chance?” His words hit you hard, stirring something deep within you.

The idea of your children—your daughter, not yet born—being forced into the same mould you had been, fills you with a sense of dread. But the pull of your family’s expectations is strong, and breaking away from it feels impossible. You can already sense your mother’s disapproval, the way her gaze sharpens at Rafe’s defiance, as if he’s an outsider who doesn’t understand the way things work in your world.

Rafe’s eyes flash with frustration, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I don’t care if that’s how it’s always been done,” he snaps, his voice rising slightly before he catches himself. “They’re not us, Y/n. They deserve more than this.” Your heart tightens at his words because a part of you knows he’s right. You glance at your parents, their expressions unchanged, as if they had heard these objections a thousand times before.

Your father’s gaze settles on Rafe with the kind of authority that comes from years of making decisions others are expected to follow. “We are not here to debate this, Rafe” your father says, his tone calm but firm. “This is about securing the future. Our future. Our children’s future.” Rafe lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he looks away, staring out the large windows behind your parents.

The sun is setting, casting a soft glow over the estate’s immaculate gardens, but the beauty of it is lost in the suffocating atmosphere inside. You know this conversation is far from over, and as Rafe’s hand curls into a fist on the table, you can’t help but wonder how much longer you can keep navigating this delicate balance between your family’s expectations and the life you want for your children.

“This is ridiculous,” Rafe mutters again, quieter now, his voice barely cutting through the heavy silence that lingers in the room. His fingers tap restlessly against the armrest, and just as you’re about to respond, the sound of doors swinging open pulls your attention. You turn to see Leo and Madeline barreling toward you, their shoes tapping against the polished floor, their laughter momentarily breaking the tension.

Behind them, the maid rushes in, her face flushed with worry as she tries to catch up. “I’m so sorry—” she starts, breathless, but before she can finish, Rafe stands abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping harshly against the floor. “It’s fine. We’re done here,” Rafe says, his voice firm as he looks at you, then shifts his gaze to your parents, making it clear that this conversation is over.

The weight of his decision hangs in the air, thick with unspoken words. As Madeline runs up to him, her small arms reaching for him to pick her up, Rafe’s features soften, if only for a moment, as he bends down to scoop her into his arms. You sigh quietly, exchanging a look with your mother, her expression unreadable but the disapproval still lingering in her eyes.

There’s a silent understanding between you—this conversation isn’t over, not really. You rise from your seat, your movements slow as you reach for Leo’s hand, his small fingers curling around yours. With one last glance at your parents, you follow Rafe out, the heavy door closing behind you with a finality that echoes in the pit of your stomach.

[ki-yomii]

personal taste | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader ➥ word count | 1.3k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; established relationship, teasing, bent in half, premature ejaculation, implied cum play, implied oral (f receiving), inexperienced!jk ➥ summary | jungkook gets a little too excited and cums early, but he's more than happy to make it up to you. ➥ notes | ✌️idk man, its 2 am. i hope you enjoy lol

💚 masterlist | inbox | AO3 💚

It was safe to say Jungkook wasn’t the most experienced of lovers when you first get together. Idol life consumed his adolescence, and by the time he’s a young adult, too many eyes are on his every waking move.

A quick affair is rarely worth the effort, and the ones that are leave much to be desired. Relegated to liquor-soaked make-out sessions, and quick, dirty fucks that leave him filled with more sweat and regret than satisfaction.

You’d only been dating a few months when he divulged why he got so jumpy any time your hand grazed his thigh, why he broke off your kisses before they got too heated.

He was adorably shy when he expressed how anxious he was about his performance in the bedroom; how the reality might not live up to your expectations.

But he shouldn’t have worried, having more than made up for any shortcomings with his eager to please attitude and boundless enthusiasm.

The number of times you’ve had sex since getting together can be counted on one hand, but he’s leaps and bounds ahead of where he was when you first started being intimate.

It certainly helps that Jungkook is a dedicated student; throwing himself, as he does with everything in life, full throttle into any and all efforts to learn the secrets of your body.

A quick learner, it isn’t long before he can make you cum with a skillful twist of his fingers, a harsh rut of the hips that settles him so deep inside your pussy, your thighs tremble.

Not only is he able to wring orgasm after orgasm out of you, his stamina is insane. Almost to the point where you’re having trouble keeping up with him, having to take little breaks between rounds to gulp down water and catch your breath. 

So… when it happens, it’s altogether unexpected.

But so fucking filthy hot you’re pretty sure you astral project to a higher plane of existence. 

You’d been teasing him all day: the brush of your hand across his ass, the skim of your knuckles over the crotch of his pants, pressing close against the wide berth of his back and whispering soft, nasty little nothings into his ear.

Delighting in the blush that crept up the sides of his neck. The cherry red burn of his ears as he gulped, readjusting himself before shooting you a glare.

Jungkook lasts longer than you give him credit for, though that’s most likely due to his competitive streak. He breaks all the same; however, shoving you into his bedroom as soon as the door to his apartment closes behind you.

So needy and desperate he can’t wait any longer, even if the rest of the boys are due to arrive in an hour.

You only just got undressed, the bed creaking under the combination of your weights when he cages you beneath him. His chest flexes with every hurried breath, his ribs expanding with labored puffs of air. His cock bullies its way inside your pussy, hips slotting into place against yours.

“J-Jungkook,” you whine, your toes digging into his sides as your thighs fall open across his. “So deep, I - haaah -”

The fat head of his cock nudges against your cervix with every little rut, sparks of pain fissioning out and deepening the warmth fizzling behind your belly button.

Thick and long, he stuffs your pussy to the brim every time without fail, stretching you wide until tears cling to your lashes and your nails dig into his shoulders.

It hurts no matter how long he spends prepping you, but you like it better this way. The pain only enhances the pleasure; deepens, and darkens.

And knowing he has to force his cock those last few inches because your pussy can’t take it without assistance always riles you up.

Makes you needy and desperate to take everything he can give like a good girl.

“Mm, I know, baby,” Jungkook’s breath hitches as his teeth tug on his lip ring, his eyes - half lidded and greedy - shadowed by the sweaty curtain of his bangs, “Feels so ffuh - fucking good inside you.”

“Hhn!” Your fingers inch up the corded muscles of his forearms, caressing over the whorls of ink as they shackle themselves to his elbows as he bends you in half. “Right there, right there. Jus like - ohmygod! - like that.”

Jungkook grunts, rocking into the cradle of your hips harder, the shaft of his cock dragging almost completely out only to slide to the hilt in one thrust. His pelvis grinds against the swollen bud of your clit as he holds himself there, your slick smearing into his skin.

He curses under his breath when your walls flutter, trying to milk him for all he’s worth. “Shit! Don’t - don’t do that, baby. I can’t - hnggg - I can’t -”

And then his cock throbs hard once, twice.

A litany of soft, breathy exhalations of pure pleasure accompanies the slick echo of your bodies crashing together. Then his head bends low, the dark briar of his hair clinging to his temples. His jaw drops slack, and a devastated moan punches out of his throat.

Muscles ripple into a full body shiver, Jungkook’s sharp hips stuttering against the backs of your thighs. Sticky warmth floods your cunt, and his hazy, lust-blown eyes stare into yours as he pumps you full of cum.

You groan, blinking up at him, “Did you just-?”

Jungkook’s arms buckle.

Flopping down onto you, a sweaty, panting mess, he tucks his hot face into the crook of your neck. Moist breath puffs across your skin, a ticklish awareness skittering down your spine. Goosebumps rise along your arms.

His heartbeat hammers against your ribs.

“Yeah, I - I…” Jungkook huffs, his nose dragging over the length of your collarbone, tongue flicking over your skin when he licks his lips. “I did. ‘m sorry, baby.”

Breathing in through your nose, you card a hand through his sweaty hair. Swallow down the pleading whines sitting on the tip of your tongue. You don’t want to embarrass him any more than he probably is.

He hasn’t cum this quick since the early days, and you’d rather not ruin the evening by making him spiral.

So even when your pussy flutters, trapped on the edge of an orgasm as his cum leaks out of you, you bite down on your impulses. Resign yourself to being horny for the foreseeable future until you can sneak away and take care of yourself with a vibrator.

“It’s alright, Kook. It happens.”

Your eyes close, and you breathe through your nose, trying to calm the gallop of your heartbeat.

Relaxing seems almost impossible with Jungkook’s constant shifting, but you try your best to get your body on the same page as your mind.

Only for all efforts to go to waste when Jungkook shimmies down between your thighs. The tips of his hair tickle your skin, your lower belly jumping at the sensation.

Furrowing your brow, you peek down at your boyfriend. “Kook, what’re you--?”

Broad palms caress your hips, Jungkook using his thumbs to trace over the jut of bone. His chest glitters under the light, the muscles shifting under his skin almost mesmerizing as he settles on his belly. Forearms hook over the tops of your thighs, and his dark eyes flash with hunger.

His mouth pulls up into an impish smirk. “Can I?” he asks, dropping his gaze to the apex of your thighs. “Please?”

He giggles when he sees how flustered you get. Syrupy sweet, boyish; altogether too endearing for the current circumstances.

“...Are you serious?”

You can’t deny the fresh wave of desire the thought brings - Jungkook with his thick fingers, his tender mouth and soft tongue stroking over swollen, abused flesh - but flap a hand between your bodies in a vague gesture all the same.

“Isn’t that kind of - you just, y’know?”

You aren’t the only one affected by the idea, Jungkook’s cock jerking feebly where it rests against his thigh. A pink tongue flicks out to run along the length of his red-bitten bottom lip, toying with his lip ring as his teeth sink into the soft flesh.

He regards you with predatory anticipation.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I’ve always wondered what we taste like. Please let me.”

Well… who are you to refuse?

[ninibeingdelulu]

Lazy kisses ✧

Plot: Cuddling with your boyfriend .

An idle Sunday lazed by in sun-dappled tranquility, the midday silence cloaking your shared bedroom in a syrupy warmth.

Not even the hazy tick of the bedside clock intruded upon this blissful pocket of domesticity - save for the occasional breathy sigh escaping your lips as you lost yourself within the pages splayed before you.

Nestled amidst the cozily rumpled sheets lay Leon - your normally unshakable, clear-eyed sentinel anchored steadfastly against the world's roiling tides of nightmarish evil.

Yet within these achingly finite moments behind closed doors, even that stalwart facade softened into pure boyish vulnerability.

Gradually stirring from a deep, much-needed slumber after over a week's deployment, Leon drowsily burrowed tighter against your bare thigh with a mumble muffled by plush bedding.

Still smeared in the dregs of jet lag and weariness plaguing those steely features despite being worlds away from his latest harrowing operation.

Simply sinking deeper within your comforting presence with a reflexive nuzzle sent your chest swelling with boundless affection.

Those habitually hyper-alert gunmetal irises remained obscured beneath a heavy fringe of tawny lashes, angular jawline lax.

Leon Kennedy - the living epitome of unrelenting willpower and heroism borne from steel - reduced to nothing more than an endearingly rumpled mass in slackened repose beside you.

Just one innocuous shift of the mattress was all it took for those gunmetal blues to finally drag open through a squint, fixating upon your doting half-smile with a tender yearning.

The sort which inevitably dissolved every carefully maintained stoicism within their molten depths.

Reaching across the sliver of space between you, Leon toyed idly with a lock of your tousled hair, drifting nearer until your faces hovered a hairsbreadth apart.

Until his baritone burr ghosted over your parted lips like velvet rasping across satin.

"Hey...missed you," that chiseled visage tilted into yours ever-so-slightly, thumb sweeping reverently along your jawline with undisguised longing.

"Kiss me?"

Catching your giggle before it could fully bubble up, you nodded and carefully tucked your novel away.

Because the toweringly heroic, hyper-competent government operative you'd fallen so maddeningly hard for morphed into the gentlest, neediest lover once breaching your oasis's bounds.

Skimming the calloused pad of your thumb across his whiskered jaw, you felt that delicious familiarity thrumming beneath in the tautening of sinewy muscle and tendons as Leon initiated the achingly slow, unhurried collision of your mouths.

Yet with none of the commanding intensity one would expect from such an epitome of masculine fortitude.

Instead, the instant your lips brushed in gossamer friction, Leon melted like warmed honey into your soothing embrace.

Solid contours molding seamlessly against you as that impassioned heat blossomed steadily across your mouths and into hungry, writhing depths.

Sloppy and luxuriantly decadent, your limbs languidly tangling as scorching pants mingled on feverish cusp of perpetual collapse.

Silken muscle glided in achingly deliberate, indulgent strokes of worship. Chasing the maddening bliss only he could lure forth with such practiced reverence.

Wholly cherished and consumed, swathed in the rich cedar and gunpowder musk cloaking your senses, you both spun deliriously in a centrifuge of celestial descent - until rasping breaths and tender caresses ultimately pulled back the hazy veil.

Lids fluttered open in tandem, mere inches between your swollen, reddened lips as molten slate gray bore unguarded into yours.

A barely-perceptible smile ghosted across Leon's finely-hewn features - rare and infinitely more beautiful than any treasures hoarded across the globe.

"Thanks, gorgeous..." he purred, hoarse and thoroughly spent as you traded trembling inhales and exhales.

"Was needing that. Bad."

And with zero preamble, he reclined back into that sweet respite afforded between your cradling arms and heartbeat's lullaby like a contented infant - soaking in the solace and reprieve you alone could grant.

Peering down at your beloved, honed warrior recharging his depleted batteries while you tenderly sifted adoring fingers through his burnished forelocks, you couldn't help but shake your head through another helpless giggle.

Leon Kennedy.

The very man entrusted with safeguarding humanity from incomprehensible evil incarnate.

A deadly, hyper-lethal force to be reckoned with by hell's legions.

Yet in this sanctuary of love and tenderness you shared, he teetered forever on the precipice of simply dissolving into a huge, needy baby within your sheltering arms.

And honestly? You wouldn't have traded this meltingly sweet authenticity for all the universe's wealth and laurels.

[ambrosialdesire]

After the boundless fic how is reader handling what happened? home girl def got pregnant right?

yes, reader did get pregnant! i think i vaguely mentioned it in another boundless/bounded ask lol

she handles it horribly (as would anyone tbh) since this is kinda based off a yearish before all the s4 shit goes down, so she gives birth to eren's kid before historia had gotten pregnant. she tries to not let what happened to her get to her too much because she would just be crying all, if not most, of the time. reader's basically mentally torn between hating eren and loving him (even though the love is a mix of friendship obligation and stockholm). but how could she hate him?

eren, the boy who once wiped her tears away when she scraped her knee. eren, the boy who she once snuck into the boy's dormitory for to snuggle with him after trost. eren, the boy she once thought she could trust her entire heart to.

she feels awful for thinking wrongly of him since he has been nothing but good to her after that whole ordeal. even if they have sex again, he doesn't call her names or make a mockery of her, he's actual quite gentle with her as if she's glass in his hands.

he's her childhood best friend, what he did before was punishment for her not being a good friend in return. that's what he says at least, maybe to convince himself as well.

[redvexillum]

Hot damn, I can't believe it took me this long to finally get around to answering this ask. I would like to dedicate this story to @todash-darkness and Ms. 🍑. Thank you for being my friends and always cheering me on even when I get whiny and say "writing too hard!"

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, p in v, rough s♡x, possessive!alastor, alastor is bad at feelings, dual pov, reader is a sweetheart, established relationship, alastor is allergic to feelings, rough ♡ral s♡x, finger♡ng, miscommunication, one sided (alastor) denial of feelings

In the vast, unfathomable uncertainties of Hell, Alastor’s mind was a sanctum guarded by his own design, his kingdom of carefully orchestrated chaos. He adored unpredictability, yes – but only when it danced to his tune, his rhythm, his control. Anything else, anything beyond his boundaries, was sacrilege.  

There was no greater agony, no venom deeper, than the sensation of his world teetering beyond his grasp. His order, his routine ...demolishing right before his eyes.  

One such certainty he held with unwavering conviction was this: your soul belonged to him, irrevocably. He had claimed you in ways that transcended mere words. Every part of you – your thoughts, your desires, your body, and even the delicate cadence of your laugh – was woven into his web, bound and stitched to his very being.  

So why, then, were you here, laughing with that cur, the very embodiment of mediocrity beside you? Why did the melodic lilt of your voice drift toward that miserable fool’s ears instead of his? The sight of you smiling at such filth was an affront to everything he held sacred, and yet you persisted. You continued to share laughter with that loser, indulging his vapid words, his feeble presence.  

From his seat on the single couch, Alastor’s grin cleaved his face, a mask of delight that undercut the roiling fury within. Around him, other souls babbled, meaningless, and insipid, but he paid them no heed. His gaze was fixed solely on you – typically nestled by his side, hanging on his every word as if he held the keys to your reality.  

You, who would meet his stories with wide-eyed fascination, as if his very words spun magic into existence. You, who would follow him, entranced, into his realm.  

But now, now...his hand dug into the flesh of the couch, claws piercing through its plush surface as he fought to restrain himself, to keep from dragging you to his side where you belonged. In his mind, he could feel the invisible chains around your neck, the ones you had so naively accepted, binding you to him to the moment you surrendered your soul – for a little of wretched Hellmutts, no less.  

You were naive. Weak. Ridiculously innocent.  

But you were his.  

His eyes tracked every move you made, his gaze darkening with each soft smile that graced your lips for someone else, each glimmer in your eye cast in that foul creature’s direction. And then – then that trash, that waste of a soul, had the audacity to touch your shoulder.  

Alastor’s heart stilled, a visceral freeze rippling through him as he watched your fingers lift, as if in slow motion, to meet that filthy hand.  

And within him, something snapped. 

An uncontrollable twitch seized his left eye, a slight tremor echoed in the clench of his jaw. Rage coursed through him, an intense, molten fury tightening every muscle until he vibrated with it. A violent energy was held back only by a grin that split his face, frozen, even as his eyes bore into you, unblinking.  

Come to me, he thought, his voice a dark whisper in his mind, willing you to hear, to obey, Come here, darling. Come... 

Yet, you didn’t hear him. Not a single glance in his direction, as if the tether binding you to him had snapped. You, with those disgustingly bright eyes, filled to the brim with such boundless, grating cheer – those eyes that never strayed from his, were now fixed on someone else. They were facing the wrong way.  

The ownership he held over you was absolute, and he was certain there was nothing of value in this world next to your name – nothing but your soul. And that? Well, that belonged to him. You were his in every sense, a fact as unshakeable as death itself.  

The thought simmered, rolling over in his mind like a storm. He’d planned to speak with you tonight, to remind you of the boundaries that came with selling your soul to him. A gentle “discussion” about your arrangement, perhaps a reminder of the dangers of your reckless naivety, especially around others’ wandering intentions. After all, what did you understand of the hunger that prowled in the depths of Hell? 

But then you laughed. That joyous sound, brimming with warmth and energy – the very light he’d basked in so possessively – spilled from you for someone else. In that instant, something dark clawed up from within him, overriding every fragment of patience he thought he’d possessed.  

The lights flickered; sinners looked up and whispered, confused, looking up as the room dipped into pitch-black darkness. And in that instant, Alastor’s hand seized you, pulling you into the shadows before anyone would notice.  

The darkness folded around him, dragging you both from their prying eyes, and when he materialized in his room, any pretense of control shattered entirely.  

You’d been talking to a gentleman about butcher shops in Cannibal Town, a respectable topic considering he was a proud consumer of sinner flesh. Though you yourself didn’t indulge, you knew Alastor had a certain...fondness for the taste. This stranger, to his credit, offered genuine recommendations – shops known for prime, fresh meat. You listened attentively, committing every word to memory, already imagining the gleam in Alastor’s eyes when you surprised him with a choice cut of fresh deer sinner’s flesh.  

The best part? Each piece came with the sinner’s full consent. Nothing could be more natural, organic, and you supposed, humane in a macabre way, than that.  

Your smile grew brighter as you pictured his reaction, and out of courtesy, you kept the conversation flowing. After all, Alastor had always instilled in you the importance of politeness, of maintaining grace, especially in the realms of Hell. When the man touched your shoulder and praised your kindness, you felt a warmth spread through you. Kindness was a rarity down here, and it was refreshing to be in the company of someone who appreciated it without ulterior motives.  

But then the lights flickered, and instantly, the room plunged into darkness. Panic flared, voices rising in confusion, and before you could fully process what was happening, a cold hand clamped around your wrist. A sensation, chilling and immediate, enveloped you, and the world melted away.  

When you blinked, you were in Alastor’s room.  

The sudden brightness left you blinking against the light, your vision adjusting. But when you finally looked up, you were met with a sight that sent a shiver down your spine.  

Alastor stood there; his eyes ablaze with a crimson fury that bordered on madness. His grin stretched wider than you’d ever seen, jagged and vicious, as if it had been carved from his very rage. His gaze cut through you like a knife, every muscle in his frame taut with anger. Twin streams of red trickled from the corners of his mouth, and in that silence, you could swear you heard the crackling of something deep within him breaking.  

Before you could even form the words to ask why he seemed so upset, Alastor summoned the soul chain. A sickly green chain flickered into existence, snaking around his wrist, and in the next, you felt a sudden, brutal tug around your neck. Your teeth gritted at the sharp pull, and he yanked you forward until you were barely an inch away from him, his nose almost brushing yours as he bent down to meet your gaze.  

The dial in his chest swung wildly, ticking back and forth like a metronome set to a frenzied beat.  

“Uhm, Alast-” you started, confusion clouding your mind. You knew he was eccentric, yes, prone to outbursts and fits of emotion, but they always carried some purpose, a hidden logic that only he could fully understand.  

“Who do you belong to?” he demanded, his voice frigid and sharp. The chain clinked as he pulled you even closer, the heat of his body blazing through the air between you.  

“Y-you,” you stammered, searching his eyes, your hand trembling as you gently touched his sleeve. “It’s you.” 

For a fleeting second, your answer seemed to calm the storm raging in his gaze, his crimson eyes softening back to their usual dark slits. “That’s right,” he whispered, his voice low and deceptively soft. “You belong to me.” His hand slid to your waist, his fingers digging in possessively. “And yet,” his voice dropped to a hiss, “you had the gall to let another sinner touch you.” 

A wave of bewilderment washed over you, leaving you scrambling to make sense of his anger. Physical contact was far from uncommon in the hotel – just yesterday, Angel Dust had clapped you on the back after you told him a joke. Surely, Alastor wouldn’t be so enraged over something so trivial? 

But Alastor pressed himself against you, his body taut and seething with an intensity that left you breathless. “My, my,” he murmured, voice pitched with a mocking chill, “thinking about that wretched sinner already? Right here, in my presence?” 

“That’s not-” you started to protest, realizing with a sinking dread that you’d indeed just thought of Angel Dust. But surely, that alone wouldn’t justify this terrifying fury, this raw possessiveness radiating from Alastor? 

He let out a bark of laughter, sharp and scathing, before pressing his forehead to yours, his lips grazing dangerously close to your own. “I own your soul, darling,” he whispered, his voice laced with a dangerous, velvety edge. You felt his claws inching up your skirt, his fingers scraping against your bare thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “I don’t share what is rightfully mine.” 

Unexpectedly, his mouth crashed onto yours, urgent and bruising, teeth grazing with a hunger so fierce it stole the breath from your lungs. You whimpered against him as his sharp tooth nicked your lower lip, the sting mingling with the taste of blood as his hot tongue lapped over the wound, a low groan reverberating from his chest.  

When he finally pulled back, his lips stained crimson with your blood, he gripped the front of your dress, his eyes blazing. “Who do you belong to?” he demanded again, his tone laced with desperation, as if even your words might not be enough to satisfy him.  

“You. It’s always you, Alastor,” you whispered, your hands gently cupping his face, placing a soft, tender kiss on his lips – a striking contrast to the bruising passion he’d unleashed moments before. “The contract says forever, remember?” You tried a slight, playful grin, but his gaze held none of his usual amusement, his eyes fixated on yours with an almost haunted intensity.  

“The contract,” he repeated slowly, his fingers loosening their grip on your dress. “Yes...that’s right.” His hands trembled for a fleeting moment before he forced them behind his back, his posture rigid. “I own your soul,” he said, voice hollow, “your servitude, I suppose.” 

It was as if he were no longer fully present with you, his gaze dark and distant, a hint of revelation in his eyes that seemed to tear him apart even as he chased it. You could see it, how this realization – this twisted revelation – pained him, even though he seemed oblivious to its source.  

You’d been here before, watched him spiral from bursts of passion to bitterness and then back to his lonely solitude. So, as always, you took that first step forward, drawing closer until your arms circled his waist. You smiled up at him, that bright, open smile he so often brushed off with sharp words, though you knew it softened him beneath the mask.  

He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, a breath escaping as he murmured, “My, you're suddenly so clingy.” But you caught the waver in his voice, hiding behind his usual teasing edge.  

“Because it’s you,” you replied simply, hands trailing up his back until they slid into his hair, guiding him down to meet you. “Besides, you haven’t kicked me to the curb yet, Alastor.” You giggled, only for the sound to be cut off as his lips claimed yours.  

His movement slowed, each kiss lingering, his fingers finding the front of your shirt, hesitating there. “I don’t share,” he murmured against your mouth, his claws grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “This chain,” he whispered, tracing it with reverence, “it binds you to me. I own you.” With each word, he deftly unbuttoned your dress, his gaze smouldering as the fabric fell open.  

“I know,” you answered softly, sinking beneath him as he lowered you to the hard floor, his arms and legs caging you in. “I haven’t forgotten,” you murmured, your fingers trailing down the front of his red-pinstriped suit, savouring the rough texture beneath your touch.  

He stiffened, a flash of raw anger crossing his features. “Then why,” he snarled, his voice dripping with possessiveness, “why let that waste of breath near you? Why laugh, why smile, why seek his company when I was right there?” His words tumbled out, unbidden, raw and unrestrained.  

At that moment, as his heated words filled the space between you, you caught a flicker of shame and horror in his eyes, as if he hadn’t meant to reveal this part of himself. But before he could pull away, you wrapped your arms around his neck, anchoring him to you.  

“No one touches me like you do,” you whispered, pressing soft kisses along his cheek, to the corner of his mouth, until you kissed him fully. And I don’t think anyone else can make me smile until my cheeks hurt.” You laughed softly, fingers combing through his hair, each touch soft and grounding.  

His response was immediate, his lips pressed against yours, his hips grinding against you with desperate fervour. His soft groans mixed with your sighs, and he gently took your wrists, guiding your hands back to the front of his pants. His lips never left yours, his hands tracing a slow, searing path as you undid his pants, feeling the heated weight of him pressing against your stomach as you freed him.  

“Darling,” he hissed as our fingers wrapped around him, stroking from his tip down the length of his hardened cock, slow and tantalizing. The fire in his eyes darkened, his pupils widening to pools of obsidian as he shuddered beneath your touch. “How should I make you remember,” he murmured, voice a low growl, “that you belong to me always?” 

His lips traced down your jaw, his breath hot against your skin as his hands slid up your thighs, pushing your skirt to your waist with a deliberate slowness that made you ache. “Perhaps,” he breathed, his fingers pressing against the damp cloth covering you, feeling your desire seeping through, “I’ll make your body remember.”  

Without hesitation, he tore your underwear away, his fingers grazing the slick curve of your inner thighs, drawing a gasp from you as his touch lingered there. “Enough times,” he muttered, his voice thick with want, “That you never forget who I am to you.” 

Two fingers slipped inside, filling you in one firm stroke. The sensation sent a sharp tremor through you, and your breath hitched as your walls clenched around him. “Alastor...” His name fell from your lips in a shiver, and his eyes darkened at the sound, a wicked grin spreading across his face.  

“Shh, darling,” he cooed, his voice a velvet command. His fingers moved slowly, plunging into you with an unhurried intensity, dragging your slice over every sensitive spot before plunging them back in. His head dropped to your shoulder, lips brushing over your skin as he pumped his fingers, his own arousal pressing hot and hard against your thigh. “Tonight, I’ll make certain you’ll never consider anyone else.” 

Pleasure flooded through you, erasing everything except the feel of him, each pump of his fingers building heat within you. You wanted to tell him he was always in your mind, to confess that you’d never once thought of leaving his side. But words tangled and dissolved into moans, as if even trying to say them would break the spell.  

Things like, I like you.

Things like, I cherish you. 

Things like... 

A gasp tore from you as his mouth latched onto your breast, tongue flicking over the sensitive peak as he hummed in satisfaction, the wet sound of his fingers moving within you intensifying with each movement. You arched against him, hips moving of their own accord, desperate for more, clinging to every sensation.  

And just as you teetered on the edge, his fingers slipped free, leaving you throbbing, gasping from the loss of him. He rose above you, his cock fully erect, tip glistening. He lifted his fingers, coated in your desire, to his face, watching with fascination as he pressed them together. A glistening thread stretching between them before he spread too far apart, breaking it with a hungry grin.  

Then, without looking away, he brought them to his lips, sucking each finger clean with slow, deliberate motions, a satisfied groan slipping from his throat as he tasted you.  

“Who do you belong to, darling?” he murmured, eyes heavy-lidded as he gazed down at you. His hands moved to pin your wrists above your head, pressing his hips forward, his cock nudging against your slick entrance, sending a shiver of pure heat coursing through you.  

Your breath caught as he began to push in, the head of him stretching you with a slow, delicious pressure. Instinctively, you tried to shift your hips, to take him deeper, but his grip tightened, keeping you firmly in place. “Say it,” he whispered, his voice edged with a fierce tenderness, his eyes locked onto yours, demanding.  

“You,” you whimpered, voice trembling, and Alastor rewarded you by sliding himself just a bit deeper, the stretch trying to accommodate him making you gasp.  

“That’s right,” he crooned, his grin sharp, eyes narrowed to slivers of wicked delight. “Tell me,” he murmured, his lips brushing hot against your ear, the words like fire igniting every nerve, “tell me how much you want me. Go on.” 

When you hesitated, struggling for breath, he drew his hips back, leaving you painfully empty. Every nerve in your body was alight, humming, craving more. Embarrassment coloured your cheeks, but the heat, the need, drove the words from you. “Please,” you whispered, voice soft and fragile, “please Alastor, I-I want you.” Your eyes closed, the vulnerability tightening in your chest, sending waves of desire flooding your veins.  

The moment the words escaped your lips, Alastor surged forward, filling you to the hilt, his hips flush against yours, a shuddering groan escaping him. His length throbbed inside, stretching and filling you perfectly, leaving you breathless as he began a steady rhythm, each thrust pulling a whimper from your lips.  

“That’s right,” he rasped, finally finding his pace as he withdrew and slammed back into you, your breasts bouncing with every relentless stroke. “Say you want me,” he breathed, his voice rough, almost breaking, with the intensity of his need.  

One hand pinned your wrists above your head, firm and unyielding, while the other squeezed your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple, sending electric shocks of pleasure through you. His hips moved in a hypnotic rhythm, the wet, smacking sound of skin on skin mingling with the sharp cries and moans filling the air. Each one tore through you as you clung to him, helpless against the power of his thrusts.  

“I want you,” you cried, voice trembling, head tilted back, your body limp and yielding beneath his strength. Every nerve was alive with a searing stretch, his cock grinding into your most sensitive spot as he drove deeper, forcing pleasure to crest higher and higher. His name fell from your lips in broken cries, each syllable dripping with the intensity of your desire.  

With a raw groan, Alastor shifted, grasping your hips firmly as he rose onto his knees, lifting you with him. Your body arched upward, shoulders and head the only parts still anchored to the floor as he drove into you harder, faster, every thrust meeting no resistance. He slammed his hips against yours, the force of it stealing your breath, pushing you to the brink, an overwhelming spike of pleasure building with every powerful relentless motion.  

Your lips parted, gasping, as his grunts filled your ears, his low, primal sounds mixing with the wet, sinful noises of your bodies colliding. The world around you faded to nothing but the feeling of him, the ecstasy of his touch, and the unstoppable climb toward a blinding, shattering release.  

His eyes locked on the place where your bodies joined, a hunger darkening his gaze as he thrust into you, each movement hitting that perfect spot, dragging every pulse of pleasure from deep within you. Your stomach tightened, thighs shaking, and as he drove in again, the pressure burst.  

You came with a shattering cry, your fingers scraping at the wooden floor, desperate for anything to hold as your walls clenched around him, wave after wave of ecstasy crashing through you.  

He pulled out suddenly, letting your body drop as he rose to his knees, his cock slick and throbbing against your parted lips. His hand wrapped around his length, pumping himself with frenzied strokes as he looked down, his gaze fierce and covetous.  

“I should mark you,” he rasped, his voice thick with need, his cock grazing your lips as he leaned forward. “Make sure my colour stains that smile.” His grin was wild as his hand moved faster, his muscles tense, his breaths shallow and ragged.  

You lifted your head, mouth open to take him in, your lips wrapping around the tip as your tongue swirled, savouring the mingling taste of him and your own desire. A moan tore from him, and he let his head drop back, his hands cradling the sides of your head, guiding himself deeper as his hips moved in slow, deliberate thrusts. His length stretched your lips as he pressed to the back of your throat, the guttural sound of his groans and the slick noises filling the air.  

Your own moans vibrated around him, spurring him on. His hips moved faster, his hands clinging tighter as his moans grew sharper, each thrust sending him closer. With one last hard thrust, he shuddered, and the first hot pulse of his release spilled down your throat. He withdrew, letting the rest spill over your lips, dripping down your chin in thick streams as he marked you. His eyes locked on your face, a wild satisfaction softening his gaze as he watched.  

The warmth of his release lingered on your skin, drying as your breaths filled the space between you. Your tongue darted out, tasting the lingering saltiness on your lips, and he groaned, his cock twitching in his hand as he watched, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with yours.  

As if coming back to himself, he gently cupped your face, wiping his release from your skin with his sleeve, his expression caught between wonder and something deeper. His touch was unexpectedly soft, eyes holding a vulnerability he rarely let surface, the unspoken question hanging between you as his gaze searched yours.  

“We could be more,” you whispered, heart pounding as his fingers tilled on your skin, “if you want, Alastor.” 

His movements halted, his gaze slowly focusing on yours, a flicker of confusion slipping beneath his usual veneer of confidence. “I already own your soul,” he murmured, his voice edged with something darker, guarded. “There is nothing more you could give me.” His words were resolute, as if trying to cling onto their simplicity, yet the way his brows furrowed, and his head tilted betrayed a hesitation – a lack of understanding for the weight of what you meant.  

For all his power, Alastor had taken your heart without ever offering his own in return. The notion of “more” was something he danced around, something he coveted without daring to hold. He wanted you fiercely, hungrily even, but in ways he could still control – never in ways that would strip him bare and vulnerable.  

You placed a gentle hand on his thigh, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin. With a soft sigh, you felt the truth of it settle heavy between you; until he could meet you on level ground, until he was ready to open himself as wholly as he demanded of you, this fragile back-and-forth was all you’d have. This quiet ache, this unspoken ache, would remain hidden, cloaked in omissions and denials.  

It wasn’t entirely his fault, either, this painful standoff. After all, there were things you held back too – things that lingered on the edge of every kiss, every touch, words that clung desperately to the walls of your heart, refusing to release themselves. The word that waited to change everything.  

Things like, I like you. 

Things like, I cherish you. 

Things like... 

I love you.  

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[guardianofnightmares]

Sunrise

Faint beam of artificial light from a surface danced off yellow armor of an Autobot, giving it a color of a newborn star. Bumblebee graced the Decepticon with a broad smile, its warmth making the hostile gloom around his facial features to dissipate.

To Blitzwing a minibot reminded a stray ray of hope which arrived to safe lost souls from a long dead and forgotten world.

A true rising sun in the realm of darkness.

----------

Alright, fellas, next entry to the @blitzbee-week event is finally here)). The prompt of the second day was "Sunrise" and I decided to go more figuratively with it rather then depicting a literal "appearance of the sky" at a particular part of a day. As you can guess by a provided description, Bee basically becomes a "leading star" for a brooding Blitzwing, who, as it seems, is not that thrilled by discovery of his partner.

Just as a previous entry to a mentioned event, this picture is dedicated to my fanfic called "TFA: Icarus". Here's a [link] for the series "folder" which also includes an existing teaser (future prologue) for a story if anyone wants to give it a try. Again, can not thank you enough for all the support you've shown for it so far, I will try my best to come up with updates soon enough.

As it usually goes with such works of mine, I will provide the full snippet of one of chapters, which a depicted scene is taken from, under a cut line for anyone wishing to read more about the scene. Hope you'll enjoy it)

To the surprise of many comrades he’d worked with, the Triplechanger proved to be the most patient mech on a team when it came to long lasting missions. Usually he didn’t find it difficult to lay low and wait for orders to come, even if it meant to stay idle for several solar cycles. It was a useful trait of character which Decepticon rightfully prided himself of. 

Yet, even a seemingly boundless patience had its limits. 

“Can you see anything of use out there?” Blitzwing finally asked his unfortunate “partner in crime”.

A brightly colored mech slipped on the spot upon hearing Con’s voice but managed to regain his balance. 

“Not yet, Blitzwing, give me a klik!” A minibot shouted over his shoulder, holding on the steel bar for dear life. “Climbing is not as easy as I’m surely making it look in your optics.”

If Bumblebee planed to cheer up a Warframe with such a comment, he failed miserably, for it only seemed to sour up an already bad mood of a tall mech. 

To a Decepticon, it felt like forever since the minibot began his ascend up a steep scarp of a crumbled wall. One would think that, thanks to his light frame, he’d manage to reach the top level in no time. But even this uneven terrain, made of torn sheets of metal and broken cables, proved to be a challenge to an agile Autobot. 

The damned energy chain, which linked limbs of both mechs to each other, clearly was the greatest obstacle for Bumblebee, barely giving him a chance to move as far away from a somber mech as possible. Not to mention that a Decepticon was forced to stand on one pede in order to accommodate his companion’s slow conquest of new heights. 

Admittedly, a Triplechanger considered an option of tearing the bug’s pede he’s bound to off. But that type of cuffs always latched onto anything in their vicinity (while being activated). Meaning, the chances of getting tied to a nearby wall, as a result of said actions, reached more than 90%. 

Tearing his own pede off was not part of a Warframe’s plans. 

“If you haven’t noticed it yet, Bumblebee Prime, we don’t have plenty of time left to hide in these tunnels,” A “former” convict grumbled in response while surveying his surroundings for an up-tenth time. He didn’t notice how a Bot winced at the mention of his new title.

Minibot knew he deserved that snide remark. But it did not make him feel better about his recent promotion to an Elite Guard. Or about a decision to become one for that matter. The decision which led to a situation where an Autobot and a Decepticon got lost under an Iacon city. 

They had to hide in maintenance tunnels from the times prior to a Great War. Tunnels built by Decepticons for Autobots’ use, and left by them to slowly rot in an utter disrepair after the said War was officially ended. Sealed off since the banishment of Warframes from Cybertron, eventually the structure turned into an urban myth not many of currently living mechs remember or even know about.

An old complex Blitzwing and Bumblbee were currently navigating in was once part of the major supportive structure. Meant to protect veins and tubes once full of energon, that section was made of sturdy materials which stoically passed the test of time. 

The Decepticon would’ve lied if he’d said he’s not pleasantly surprised by that discovery. 

But it did not bright up his mood by much - they still needed to find a way to the surface level of a planet. 

“Foolish of me to expect a scout with no field experience to do a Warframe’s job,” the mech muttered under his breath, words bitter on his glossa. “Perhaps I should have been the one to search for an exit after all”.

Blitzwing had no intent for the last sentence to be heard by his peer, but an aforementioned scout, apparently, had nicely tuned audials. 

Figures. 

“And to risk exposing your Decepticon signature to raging authorities? No, thanks!” Bumblebee chirped after successfully reaching for a rod sticking out of a long abandoned structure. “It was already enough of me putting everything at risk by making stupid decisions - I don’t want to see you following my lead.”

Somehow the fact that a minibot admitted his mistakes helped to somewhat cool Blitzwing down. He said nothing in return but did glance at him once prior returning to surveying desolated surroundings. 

Bumbler’s changed since the promotion to the ranks of an Elite Guard. He seemed to act more mature, even if he’s still naive about most things happening around him. For strangers it’d be an unexpected change of character for such an optimistic and energetic Bot as Bumblebee. But Blitzwing was no random outsider, whether he liked to be on closer terms with a current companion of his or not. 

Death of a teammate has effected the minibot on a much deeper level then he’d ever admit to anybody, even to himself. Yet, despite how horrible it might’ve sounded, the Decepticon thought that that was an important lesson every soldier had to live through. And as a mech, who’s witnessed deaths of many of his comrades throughout the Great War, he had to agree that Bumbler was holding up pretty well for someone so inexperienced in mentioned matters. 

Even Blitzwing, who did not know Prowl as well as a yellow Bot did, felt the loss of a mech effecting him as well to a certain degree. No matter how secluded and cold the cyber-ninja seemed to be, he always had a special aura around him, the one that made people feel at ease in his presence. Though how he could so freely speak to a Con about importance of life and probability of peace among Cybertronians remained a mystery to him to that solar cycle.  

What was that thing black and golden Autobot’s talking about during the last conversation of theirs? 

“To have Faith not in Primus, not in The Allspark, but in each other”?

What exactly made him see it being possible back then and, especially, at a current stage of the reignited conflict between factions? Triplechanger had no answer to that question either. He didn’t view how the world should work the same way Prowl did. Could not fully comprehend the intricacies of a philosophy of an Autobot, but, at least, did not lack the courage to make it very clear during a mentioned discussion of theirs.

Blitzwing didn’t have Faith in anyone anymore, and he surely wouldn't in a foreseen future. 

For who could remain being supportive of their unhelpful, unwanted partn-… Autobot, while being lost in Allspark forsaken place with no means of escape?

…

“… -es! I see the gap in a wall!.. Blitzwing, I actually see it!”

The joyful voice tore Triplechanger from a deep melancholy state he slipped into while looking down a dark tunnel to his left. He raised his ruby optics, their faint glow barely lighting sharp features of his blue faceplates.

“Right where you’ve predicted it to be,” The Autobot added after turning around in order to face his unfortunate companion, unintentionally giving him quite a peculiar view of his small form.

Faint beam of artificial light from a surface danced off yellow armor of an Autobot, giving it a color of a newborn star. Bumblebee graced the Decepticon with a broad smile, its warmth making the hostile gloom around his facial features to dissipate.

To Blitzwing a minibot reminded a stray ray of hope which arrived to safe lost souls from a long dead and forgotten world.

A true rising sun in the realm of darkness.

...

Blitzwing huffed in mild annoyance at himself and his artistic side of a processor - it was not the right moment for poetic comparisons. Hope and Faith had no place in a situation he was stuck in, only cold calculations. He and Bumbler had to get out of that place, no matter the cost. And the sooner they’d get rid of an energy chain, the better.

[anantaru]

— how he kisses you

including neuvillette, wriothesley, lyney, childe x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff & suggestive (heavy descriptions of making out), very cute

— neuvillette + slow and passionate

neuvillette sighs out heavenly, a satisfying trace of you captivating his drunken lips when he takes your cheeks in his palms to make you look at him, then the man slowly slants forward until your body was drawn against the bed ever so softly.

a strong feeling of reverence— they always come back to his mind whenever he misses you and was forced to be apart from your soft lips, it's then and there, while neuvillette was occupied with his duties, that the man recognized that kissing you alone was bringing forth pure lightness in his life, an affection like no other and a state of simply being alive and living for the sake of it.

his lips now, finally gliding over yours a bit shaky and slow, but after a while it was followed by a passionate lap of tongue clashing across yours, a once gentle kiss that would always develop into much more than that— his tongue now, repeatedly nudges in the thick of your parted lips before he circles his wet muscle across your own, pricking at the nerves beneath the soft slide of your lips.

this form of love was shared by you, only you, and to neuvillette it was greatly more intimate than the act itself.

to note, but it was quite comical when you take his line of work into consideration, because the way the iudex kissed you felt stolen— like he'd take as much as you would give him, yet also more, he needs more, and he would indulge in it all, aside from eagerly gnawing down on your bottom lip before pulling away, his warm, lingering breathing so tenderly thumping over the saliva-stricken flesh of your lips.

then he deepens the kiss when you glissade your fingers into his long and lustrous hair, rounding your lips on top of his before a sheen outline of a satin-like whine travels from the expanse of your tongue and slithers into his tensed limbs— an eminence of a deep red manifesting, blazingly scarlet on the soft features of his face— holding a passion in this, in tasting you, and it's so unique to him that neuvillette's love for you was a boundless emotion, secured underneath his ribs, free to receive but only for you.

— wriothesley + strong and needful

an impassioned shortness of breath— and the shuffle of two frames moving beneath velvet sheets and darkened shadows when wriothesley holds your face gently in his hands before he skillfully shapes his wet muscle across your lips, spaciously molding and awaiting for entrance.

those revealing quickened breaths, they escape from his chaste kisses like they're bound to go with one another, interlace together at each new long sweep of his tongue running miles between your hearts— and ugh, the duke almost parades in a daze of your taste penetrating him, your fragrance manifesting on him until he smells of you, giving a little sigh of happiness as his bare lips were continuously hot and searing on top of yours.

but with your bodies relaxing in addition to your fire infused cheeks revealing a blossoming smile, your eyes are aglow, in a way wriothesley would never forget, not when such expression was the cause of deep happiness in him, one only you can bring forth.

desire floods your veins when wriothesley wraps his strong arms around your waist to press you close to his chest, weaving his fingers into the expanse of your shirt before his cologne planes over your flaring nostrils, adding a dot of pressure to your attempt to even out your quickening breathing.

it's almost too much— and your body was beginning to overflow on warmth, to the point where you were noticing your pulse thumping in your ears— and his broad body resting against your own was only aiding your current state, your lips pressed together and shifting, a mirage of faint sighs, cute smiles that were unveiling against you, unable to let go, not wanting to let go.

to say, wriothesley's kisses were always strong and curious, you noticed it from the very first day he had kissed you, and you wouldn't want it any other way.

because he wasn't like that— your wriothesley doesn't kiss you slow nor does he do it inexperienced, yet purely meshed in lust and need, and the man believes that it gets better each time he tastes you on his tongue, gripping you tight and refusing to let go when his head leans to the left ever so slightly before you mewl into his lips to make him swallow your sounds, only to give them back to you, his divulging noises hanging on every lap of his tongue spoken without requiring words.

— lyney + quick and excited

for starters, your boyfriend lyney will always leave you gasping for air, and when he first tastes you— there are no thoughts, no precise way and no plan, only a flame of a warm glow rising up on his face and somehow, you could tell his cheeks had to be deep red by now.

with the nuance of his spontaneous ministrations, lyney tilts his head before sliding his tongue past your glossy lips, that were a little wetter now, a bit hotter as well when you, audibly this time, whine into him but let yourself float in his wet laps of tongue and teeth faintly clashing together.

he mimics your movements, parades and calls out your weak spots, then recognizes the way he had to go on about it.

there's waves of saliva exchanging, it turned into an unending dance of barely touching each other but your lips slithering in tandem, slightly jittery when another shiver reglects inwards your figure, an indicating weakening of your knees as they shake— your boyfriend noticing how you're hanging on a thread.

your lips never break away from him all night, and you sigh contentedly at the feeling of becoming one with lyney— the reason? it's simple, because it shows a connection between two individuals, a sort of compliment to the eyes and the delicate sweetness within yourself, a smile of shyness coming from some deep emotion.

and that's a beautiful thing to lyney, to someone who demonstrates a fake personality as a well known magician— that for one, there's something real he was able to feel and experience through you.

— childe + intense but delicate

in the general run of things, no one has ever made you feel like this except for childe— never has someone treated you with such devotion as he did, like you were something so fragile that he needed to protect, had to hold your face in his warm palms ever so gently, ever so featherlight.

to be treated delicately, just as a brief touch from a ray of sunlight, it's soft, and warm, and comforting— and for one, ajax gave you a smile of pure innocence, one that wasn't usual for someone holding the title of a harbinger, but with you it's like he can show a real connection, a hidden tenderness towards the person he desired.

don't panic, don't think, just focus, just let ajax focus on your lips and taste them on his tongue, outline them with the tip of his muscle as he nibs down before pulling away, a string of saliva keeping you both connected and intwined, his thumbs stroking slow circles on your warm cheeks before he draws himself back in again.

your mouths move upon one another intensely, then slowly, as he prances his tongue upon your mouth for another greedy taste— his flushed face an utter mess when you sigh out heavenly, his cheeks blushing brightly as he follows the motion of your pink muscle and glosses through your mouth with lust— like it's a natural force for him to suck on your tongue.

but he lifts his head for a little to regard your eyes that had been barely open, inhaling deeply and cherishing a moment such as this one when your bottom lip quivers of glossy saliva— the mere sight of you pulling apart every sense he had and impassioned him with terrible feverishness, like childe was about to take his shirt of due to experiencing intense swelter.

how precious of ajax to act out from a couple innocent kisses, right?

although remember— the man was seldomly home, and the sensation of having his gravel-bathed groans mingle together with your own sobs relaxes your shoulders greatly before you open your mouth a little more, your bodies struggling against each other.

who was allowed to touch more? experience and taste more, feel more, fuck, something that was turning you close to your breaking point.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[truevedicastrology]

What Makes You Irresistible? 🌟

Ever wondered why people are drawn to you? Your Venus sign might hold the key! Here's what makes each Venus sign utterly captivating

♈ Aries Venus:

Your bold, fearless attitude 🔥

Being unapologetically yourself 💁‍♀️

Strength that turns heads 💪

"I'll try anything once" spirit 🚀

Refreshing straightforwardness 🗣️

Confidence that lights up a room ✨

Daring, experimental style 👗

Knowing exactly what you want 🎯

Carefree, infectious energy 🌈

♉ Taurus Venus:

Graceful, dancer-like movements 💃

Rock-solid reliability 🏔️

Fierce independence 🦁

Admirable work ethic 💼

Unwavering loyalty 🤝

Nurturing nature 🌱

Strong morals and values ⚖️

Sensual presence 🌹

Appreciation for life's pleasures 🍷

♊ Gemini Venus:

Quick wit and sharp intellect 🧠

Insatiable curiosity about everything 🔍

Laid-back, worry-free vibe 😎

Childlike sense of wonder 🌟

Humor that keeps everyone laughing 😂

Open-mindedness to new ideas 🌈

Eyes that sparkle when passionate 👀✨

Gift for teaching and active listening 🎓

Adaptability in any situation 🦎

♋ Cancer Venus:

Soft, nurturing presence 🤗

Deeply emotional nature 💖

Leading with your heart in all things ❤️

Touching vulnerability 🕊️

Fierce protection of loved ones 🛡️

Heart of pure gold 🌟

Genuine care for others' well-being 🤲

Unconditional love that knows no bounds 💞

♌ Leo Venus:

Show-stopping style and confidence 👑

Boundless creativity 🎨

Knowing your worth and owning it 💯

Passionate expression of love ❤️‍🔥

Loyalty that never wavers 🦁

Effortless authenticity 🌟

Ability to make others feel special ✨

Thoughtfulness in grand gestures 🎁

♍ Virgo Venus:

Selfless desire to help others 🤲

Intellectually stimulating conversations 🧠

Confidence in your knowledge 📚

Well-ordered priorities and life 📅

Generous spirit 🎁

Mature outlook on life and love 🧘

Effortlessly polished appearance 💅

Attention to detail in all you do 🔍

♎ Libra Venus:

Sweet and kind demeanor 🍯

Natural, effortless beauty ✨

Curated, aesthetic social media presence 📱

Hopeless romantic nature 💘

Self-love and self-care prioritization 🧘‍♀️

Go-to friend for relationship advice 💌

Childlike joy and wonder 🎈

Creative flair in all aspects of life 🎨

♏ Scorpio Venus:

Deep trustworthiness and devotion 🔒

Ability to discuss life's depths and shadows 🕯️

Authentic to the core 💯

Intriguing air of mystery 🕵️‍♀️

Unbreakable loyalty 🤝

Safe haven for others' secrets 🤫

Magnetic, almost hypnotic presence 🔮

Smoldering sensuality 🌹

♐ Sagittarius Venus:

Always up for the next adventure 🌍

Contagious humor and generosity 😂🎁

Life of every party 🎉

Laid-back approach to life 😎

Refreshing honesty and directness 🗣️

Surrounded by loving friends 👥❤️

Enthusiasm for trying new things 🆕

Optimistic outlook that inspires others 🌞

♑ Capricorn Venus:

Ambition that commands respect 🏆

Success-oriented mindset 📈

Polished, put-together image 💼

Mature beyond your years 🧓

Impeccable taste in all things 👌

Fierce independence 🦅

Clear, achievable goals 🎯

Self-investment and growth mindset 🌱

Deep sense of responsibility 📝

♒ Aquarius Venus:

Judgment-free zone 🚫👨‍⚖️

Fascinating intellect and chill attitude 🧠😎

Life of the party energy 🎉

Ability to converse on any topic 💬

Authentic to your core 💯

Embracing and celebrating uniqueness 🦄

Innovative perspective on life 🔭

Impressive, often unexpected talents 🎭

♓ Pisces Venus:

Boundless compassion for all 🤗

Deep love for animals and nature 🐾🌿

Ethereal, otherworldly beauty ✨

Kindness that touches hearts ❤️

Head always in the clouds, dreaming big ☁️

Hopeless romantic soul 💘

Craving for soulmate-level connections 🔗

Safe harbor for others 🏡

Wearing your heart on your sleeve 💖

Innocent spirit in a complex world 🕊️

[mamiobesssionfics]

Let's Get Physical

Rhea Ripley x Reader

Summary: In which her love language is physical touch.

Rhea was known far and wide for her boundless love and affection for those she held dear. 

Her love language was physical touch, and she expressed her feelings through hugs, kisses, and playful punches on the arm. 

To Rhea, there was no greater joy than showering her loved ones with physical displays of affection.

Her friends and family often joked that Rhea's love was so strong, it could knock you off your feet. 

Literally.

But everyone knew that under her tough exterior, was a heart made of gold.

She was always ready to lend a helping hand or give a comforting hug. Rhea's physical displays of affection were her way of showing just how much she cared and loved.

One day, you got home feeling under the weather due to work. Your boss was an asshole, and you just had it.

Emotionally drained, you dropped your keys into the bowl.

As soon as Rhea saw you, without hesitation, she swooped in with a bear hug that lifted you off the ground. 

"I love you, Darling," Rhea said with a smile. 

You couldn't help but laugh at her, feeling the warmth of Rhea's love wash over you.

"I love you too, Babe." you replied as you fully let yourself go in her embrace.

You instantly felt better.

Later that evening, you two cuddled on the couch, allowing Rhea to run her fingers through your hair as you two watched a new series.

The bad day you had was long forgotten every time you were in her arms.

It was your safe place.

Rhea's physical displays of affection were a testament to the depth of her love for those around her. 

Especially to you.

Whether it was a bear hug, a playful punch, or a comforting embrace, Rhea's love knew no bounds. 

And those lucky enough to receive her affection knew that they were truly cherished by someone who loved them very much, in her own unique way.

[mtchee]

I would love to read a story about Nanami from jjk with someone who’s his polar opposite!since he’s stoic and serious I think it would be interesting to see him interact with a bubbly and affectionate person. I was thinking it could be something along the lines of, him and reader not really getting along at all. Like reader tries really hard but he doesn’t really care for her :(. But she’s so persistent 24/7!! Which eventually leads to her being in a coma for a while and he visits her every day! I’m a sucker for angst/comfort…

Anywayy I hope you get to seeing this! I find stories like these to be especially interesting..

Time to Spare - [Nanami Kento] GN

blurb:

Nanami's never met someone so bubbly, so willing to go out of their way for others. You remind him of Haibara, almost. Someone who will inevitably lose themselves for the sake of others. He sees no point in getting attached. You're simply co-workers, another sorcerer in the city. Always so generous with your time, when Nanami would rather spend his alone. Soon, he learns that maybe, he doesn't mind sharing his time with you as much as he had thought.

requested by: anonymous

cw: not edited, second-person-pov, minor angst/comfort, fluff, sunshine x grumpy, i may rewrite some of this at a later time, sorry this took so long??, live laugh love nanami

[1.8k]

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Nanami's never been more exhausted.

Every aspect of work sucked, whether it be in a stuffy office or the backstreets of Tokyo, it's all the same. Conforming to society's improbably standards, sucking up to the higher ups--pointless.

And when he thought that his salarywork sucked the life out of him, integrating back into jujutsu society was like a slap in the face.

He's come across many new faces since his return, most of whom he couldn't care less for; he sees no reason to involve himself unneccessarily, unlike a certain someone.

That certain someone being you.

You're not new to the jujutsu world, but you certainly act like it. Oohing and awing at all the different techniques, boundless questions spilling from your mouth like a waterfall.

And just like a rushing waterfall, you're loud and transparent. You reminded him of Haibara. You wear your heart on your sleeve, every word you say true to your soul. It would do you more harm to tell a lie than the actual lie itself.

And you're smiley. So very smiley.

Your cheer has those around you perking up ever so slightly, your positive aura seeping into their gloomy mood and transferring over. Your energy is infectious, and your kindess knows no bounds.

But where some see kind, others see naive. And Nanami knows that it's only a matter of time before you get yourself hurt. But that will be no one's fault except your own.

To his ire, you've attached yourself to him for reasons unknown to all but you it seems. Your face brightens whenever you see him, whilst his remains as passive as stone. When your pearly eyes seek his in approval, his remain sharp cut in the opposing direction. Although you speak to him sweetly, excitedly, he remains curt and brief.

He sees no reason to get attached, and he's not inclined to make new friends.

At times, your company is so grating he'd almost perfer to be in the proximity of Gojo.

Almost.

He'd never truly stoop that low.

Such a subjection would be much too cruel, even for you.

"Nanami-san!" You approached him one day with a lightly crinkled paper bag, "is your mission in Roppongi today? I saw the bakery you normally go to was closed this morning, so I made you a sandwhich instead! The lettuce I had isn't as fresh, but it should still be crunchy!"

He had acknowledged you with a nod, but only took the lunch offering once you'd nudged it into his hands.

"[last name]," he had addressed you curtly, "don't go out of your way to do such needless errands. It's better to conserve your energy for your own sake." You had only giggled and shook your head fondly in response.

You had been there when Gojo first placed Yuji under his supervision, snickering in the corner when the young sorcerer greeted him with an ecstatic "nanamin!"

He could only deadpan at your not to secret conspiratorial whispers with the boy after he had scolded him for the nickname.

"Pssh, don't mind him," He could hear the smile in your voice, "he's actually really nice once you get to know him."

Nanami disagreed with you. He is not quite nice.

He is well mannered, and can read social cues decently enough. He's observant to a point he can depict when one's mood switches at a particular point in conversation, letting him know when to diverge the topic at hand. He knows when to keep his mouth shut, unlike some. But opposingly, he will not stand to be walked over, strictly knowing his boundaries.

In Nanami's opinion, he is not nice. He's just a decent human being.

You, on the other hand, suit the definition of nice in its purest form.

"Nanami-san! I like your hair today!"

It's the same as every other day.

You're the type of person to go out of your way to make someone feel good, whether it be complimenting someone's outfit, or sending a stranger a quick wave and charming smile. Unlike him, you're quite agreeable in conversation. Even on conversations you might not agree, you carefully express your contrasing opinion while keeping the other's thoughts in mind. Your niceness gets you talked over sometimes he's noticed, though you never let it hinder you.

"Oh, Nanami!" You had gasped once, too in shock to remember your formalities regarding him, "your jacket is all torn up!"

Hardly. There was a tear in the seam of his shoulder from an altercation with a curse. The higher ups had neglected to inform him of the apropriate number which he would be facing. He had handled it nonetheless.

He had shrugged off the garment after tucking away his wrapped blade. He would have simply folded it over his arm to deal with later if not for you reaching out and tugging it from him.

He didn't quite put up a fight in you taking it from him, letting it slip from the crook of his elbow.

"I actually have some thread at home. The colour might be a tad lighter, but it'll be hidden in the seam, so you can't even tell!" You smiled at him, all teeth and reassuring eyes, "I can drop it off for you tomorrow--it'll save you the trouble of finding a tailor. Oh! When I do, how about we get lunch together too?"

You're much too generous with your time, in Nanami's opinion.

When he'd rather bask alone, tie loose, shoes off, with a glass of whiskey on the rocks and a book in hand in the low light of his living room, you're skittering around; out and about either chattering away and wishing someone a pleasant evening, or walking from one place to another, street to street to pick out what you want for dinner before treating yourself to a series of desserts that you're more inclined to bring to jujutsu high the next day in a share box.

You'd more willingly spend your nights tending to someone else's problem than settle in the quiet of your own company.

Hm.

True to your word though, the next day you turned up at his door with his jacket neatly sewn and pressed across your arm. By your feet was a carefully placed reusable bag of his favourite luncheon accompanied by a sheepish, but nonetheless heart-warming smile on your face.

Nanami thinks you're much too generous with your time indeed.

Now though, seeing you laid across the medical bed in Shoko's sanction, skin losing it's colour while your lips dry by the day, he can't help but be a little selfish, seating himself in your eerily quiet company.

You've never been so quiet before. It's unsettling.

Your latest mission landed you in a hot zone with four first grade curses. You held your own, but ultimately knew you wouldn't leave unscathed.

You'd successfuly excorcised the curses, ridding them of their existence. But with them went your consciousness, partly an after effect from one of the fiends, and partly due to your imminent exhaustion.

For two weeks you'd been silent.

In that time Nanami realised that in your generous sharing of time, your deeds were gradually returned. Many others visited you in the times Shoko allowed, heavy hearts and occassionally teary eyes sparing every second they could to stay a little longer at your side, hoping that their share of time would transfer to you, and you would awaken once more.

Though none gave their time quite like Nanami did.

The moment your weary body reached the med bay, Nanami remained seated by your bedside.

He hadn't said anything at first, only taking place by your side, sitting quietly, listlessly, until Shoko ushered him out for the night.

The next day, he sat with his jacket folded over his arm. The seam had yet to come undone--a sure sign of your impeccable work. He breathed in time with your slow breaths.

On the third day, he brought lunch with him. He got it from a place he knows you frequent, choosing something he thought he'd seen you favour the most. If you didn't eat it today, he was sure you'd eat it during the night if he left it there.

He simply turned a blind eye to the sight of the untouched lunch when he returned the following day.

In the second week, he approached your form with three flowers--an admittedly meek sight in comparison to the slowly fraying boquets others had left in their visits. The white gardenias would compliment the tint of your lips once you reach good health.

He believed you would.

The world would be damned if it snuffed out one more gleaming light.

He added three more flowers two days later, white jasmines, to accompany the others. They'd been placed in a pretty vintage vase that Gojo has scounged up from somewhere on one of his visits. One of the few things the man has been useful for, Nanami supposed.

He noticed your breaths weren't as shallow anymore. And although your lips were still dry, your skin had begun to flush slightly with your colour.

He decided to read to you that day, sure that you were sick of the snivelling silence.

Another two days pass, and it's on the brink of the third week of your unconsciousness that Nanami walks in with three more flowers to add to your collection, beautiful red roses to add some colour to his otherwise bland concoction. You'd appreciate some more colour, he's sure.

Nine pretty flowers posed in a healthy posture by your bedside table, and Nanami took his seat by your side as he always did.

He picked up the book he had been reading, glancing at the door for any guests unwelcome in his space, before continuing on from where he had left off.

His voice is low, not quite emotive, but ensnaring nonetheless. He reads for an hour or so, passing a good few chapters before he decides he's sick of his own voice. He'd realised over time that he preferred yours more.

He silently promises to continue reading after a moment, placing the book open and down on his knee while he clears his throat, shifting for more comfortability.

A quiet hum eminates from his left, and he pauses.

"...I like that chapter," your voice, uncharacteristically hushed and croaky from lack of use, rings in his ears, and he stares at you with carefully placid features despite his racing heart.

You hadn't move much, only tilting your head on your pillow to better face him.

Your cheeks look fuller all of a sudden, and despite your obvious malaise from laying stiff for so long, you smile at him warmly, like you always do.

Then, your eyes flit to his jacket discarded over the back of his chair.

"The seam hasn't broken, right?"

The corner of his lips twitch into a downward smile.

Nanami thinks you're too nice. You're much too generous with your time. But he'd never dare complain when you spend it all with him.

And he too, thinks that he enjoys the sound of you more than his own quiet company.