#closing his eyes because he feels safe enough to do so now

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Can’t live without your love inside me now

Tags: sextherapist!Nanami x fem!reader, nocurse!au, taboo romance, heavy topics such as sexual assault, dead dove due to the power imbalance and heavy conversation.

Synopsis: In which Kento Nanami is a sex therapist, and his client is a young neglected wife with an emotionally absent husband. He teaches you what love is really all about.

An: Was really on the fence about posting the first part to this series. i’m glad most people seem to be enjoying it though :) so sit down and let sextherapist!nanami be your comfort for today

Part one. | Part two. |

‘I guess it makes me feel like I’m not good enough for him. Every time we have sex I try to cater to him, but it just feels like it’s never enough. If he had it his way, we’d probably have sex everyday, but I just don’t have that kind of time, energy, or desire.’

Those words burned Nanami’s ears. He knows it’s only your first session, but he can see that there’s already progress being made just by having these discussions of sex out in the open..

It reminded him just why he was so passionate about safe sex measures.

“I was only going to take the tea to placate you…”

Even if he knew that was the truth behind your answer, it still left a heavy somber feeling on his heart. He nodded, keeping his face trained on an empathetic expression.

“Do you do that often..? Put your needs behind the wants of others..?”

God, why was he reading you to filth right now? You took a deep shaky breath, reaching for more tissues because you’re definitely going to need them.

“It’s just easier..” Your throat feels like it’s trying to close as you’re attempting to force back your tears.

“Shh, let it all out..” Nanami knows that he shouldn’t be taking this tone of voice with you. He shouldn’t be shushing you and cooing to you that it’s okay, but he can’t override his innate biological need to protect and nurture.

The tears begin falling down your cheeks once again, and your shoulders shake with each small sob that wracks your body.

Nanami can’t resist himself. He leans over, and his big thick palm rests on your shoulder, feeling like a secure anchor out in the middle of the ocean.

“Such a kind, caring soul..” he whispers to you, using his hand to rub on your shoulder soothingly.

You feel the urge to press your face into his chest and vent out all of your innermost feelings and thoughts to this man while he strokes your hair lovingly, but you hold yourself still in your chair, knowing it’d be highly inappropriate.

Soon, your tears dry and you take a sobering breath. That was a lot, and the session isn’t even over yet.

“So, what do I do about.. him hounding me..?” For some reason, you still can’t come to terms with using the word coercion. It feels like a betrayal to your marriage, even if you do implicitly know that he’s been coercing you to get what he wants.

“Well, what can you do?” Nanami asked softly. He eased back into his chair, preparing himself mentally to get back in his counselor mindset.

“I guess I could…” you search your mind for answers. The only obviously wrong answer is to continue giving into him. “I could tell him how it stresses me out when he does that.”

Nanami nods his head. Inwardly, he doesn’t think that’s going to be enough. If your husband was anywhere near a halfway decent person, he would be able to understand how asking multiple times is inappropriate.

“What do you think will get in your way from telling him about how it makes you feel?”

You imagine telling your husband and how he’d react. “I guess I can be scared of him going in the complete opposite…”

Nanami’s eyebrows furrow, and he pushes his glasses up on his nose. “What do you mean by that?”

“Like… I imagine telling him, and he’ll probably respond by saying that he’ll never ask again and that I’ll need to initiate sex anytime I want it.”

Nanami can feel his eye twitch. Is there any manipulation tactic that your husband isn’t using? “I can see how that’d be discouraging. You unfortunately can’t control how your husband responds, but you can control how you phrase the question. Let’s roleplay this conversation if that’s okay. Pretend I’m your husband.”

Your face heats a bit. A tiny voice in your head tells you that if Nanami was your husband, you wouldn’t be having this issue. After taking a deep breath, you try and pretend that you’re speaking to your husband.

“When you ask me to have sex with you multiple times in a day, it really stresses me out and puts a lot of pressure on me.”

“So? What do you want me to do, Y/n? Am I suppose to read your mind and know when you want it?” Kento’s voice is uncharacteristically sharp and irritated. He watches your eyes widen in response, hurt coils on your face. “Is that how he’d respond?” he adds in a much softer tone, trying to remind you that this is just a roleplay exercise.

After a long pause, “Yeah, you got it spot on somehow…”

Because I know how narcissistic assholes act, he thinks to himself.

“Let’s try that question again, but this time, I want you to phrase your statement so you put blame on the questions and not your husband, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe out, trying to find the words to say. “Those types of questions make me feel really pressured and make it hard for me to feel ready for sex.”

“Perfect. You did so well,” Nanami praises you with a warm smile.

Butterflies swarm your stomach. It’s not often you hear those words instead of hearing more things you need to work on. A small, timid smile curls on your lips.

“Do you think he’ll react poorly to that too?” you ask, wanting to know Nanami’s opinion.

“There’s no way for me to know how he’ll respond, but there’s only one way to find out, right? If we get no where with this plan, we’ll do something else,” he assures you, sitting back in his chair.

His eyes flick down to his watch. The session needs to come to an end soon, but the thought of you walking out of his home makes his stomach feel tight. He’s not ready to let you leave yet.

“Let’s briefly touch on the second thing—“

Your phone’s ringtone interrupts Nanami’s words, and you quickly apologize before fishing your phone out of your purse.

“It’s my husband. He’s probably wondering how much longer I’ll be.” You click the reject button and lock your phone, but Nanami can see how the simple act of rejecting his call makes you feel nervous. Your fingers shook lightly, and you gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“That’s okay. We can wrap it up here for today… During our next session…”

The sound of vibration fills the room this time.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Nanami. He gets worried..”

More like controlling. It’s just barely been one hour.

“Send him a small text and let him know we’re almost done.” Nanami gives a kind smile, even while he’s having violent thoughts about your husband.

He watches as your fingers fly across your keyboard, quickly typing out a small message. You then lock your phone again, stow it away in your purse, and you return your gaze back to Nanami.

If you keep your husband waiting too much longer, you’ll hear about it later today.

“During our next session, I want you to tell me how it went with your husband. I also would like to touch base on the next thing you said while we talked about your lack of sex drive. You mentioned that you try to cater to him, but it’s never enough. We’ll get into what that means next time, okay?” Nanami says, finally getting his words out without an interruption.

You swallow thickly, immediately feeling nervous for the next session. You’re not sure if you’re ready to talk about the act of having sex, but you knew it’d come up eventually.

“Okay… I’ll see you then, Mr. Nanami. Take care,” you wish him farewell before rising from the small couch. Nanami rises with you and guides you toward his front door.

His eyes can’t help but glance down towards your figure, and he feels his hatred for your husband grow. He must not truly understand how lucky he is to have a wife like you.

“Take care, Y/n. You have my number if you need to come in earlier than scheduled.”

As soon as the front door closes, you dial your husband’s number, ready to explain that the session went over in timing.

Meanwhile, Nanami also picks up his phone, and he dials a peer’s number, Atsuya Kusakabe. Nanami’s known Kusakabe since they were in graduate school together. They often shared phone calls with each other and their other friend, Hiromi Higuruma. While Higuruma wasn’t a therapist, he did work in legal, which helped Kusakabe and Nanami out a lot with legal questions.

After a few rings, Kusakabe answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, you’re not in a session, are you?” Nanami asks, holding his phone between his ear and his shoulder. He pours water into his kettle to start on some tea.

“I wouldn’t have answered if I was in one. I only do intakes today, and I finished those up hours ago. Why? You needing to talk?” Kusakabe’s voice sounds even more gravely over the phone than it does in person. Nanami imagines he’s probably enjoying a cigarette right now.

“Yeah, I just got out of a first session with a female patient. It’s weighing on me.”

“I don’t know how you do what you do, Nanami. You know, you’d probably have a better quality of life if you focused on something else.”

“Not an option. I didn’t spend years of my life researching to do something else. This also isn’t weighing on me like my other cases do.” Nanami leans against one of his kitchen counters, looking up towards the ceiling. He debates on not telling Kusakabe at all about how your case. If he tells him how he feels, that means he has to acknowledge that it’s teetering on breaking ethical code.

“Well? Go on.”

“My client has a piss poor excuse for a husband, and I’m pretty sure the story runs a lot deeper than what is being said.”

“Jeez Ken, you said this was her first session, right? Of course there’s more to the story. That’s a given. You think there’s abuse going on?” Kusakabe flicks his cigarette, looking out into his property. He always enjoyed the quiet life way more, which is why he did career counseling. It was way less stressful.

“I know there’s at least emotional abuse going on. I can tell she’s not even aware of the levels of manipulation her husband is using. I had to bite my tongue several times throughout our session.”

A chuckle sounds from the other side of the phone.

“Don’t tell me you’re already partial to this woman, Ken.”

Nanami doesn’t respond immediately. His jaw tenses slightly. Luckily, the tea kettle whistling breaks the slight tension. “I just care. That’s all.”

“You wouldn’t be doing this job if you didn’t care, but do you care too much to do your job effectively?”

Taglist: @theuniversesnepobaby @aldebrana @pandabiene5115 @petrichorvzlia @stargirl-mayaa @simssssssss5 @des-todoroki @nevvynev @dysphxriaii @rjreins @sukunawhores @nanamin-chan @mullermilkshake @thelostkira @anuncalledbridge @elliehenry24 @williamafton26 @ambiguouslady42 @airandyeah

[pedge-page]

hi mamas, lately I've been feeling a bit self-conscious when I look at recent photos of myself, and I've been going to the gym lately (pero like I be counterbalancing that with eating whatever I want :/) and think I look good in the mirror but when I see vids/photos of myself I just don't feel good. Could u possibly write post-pregnancy!reader and Joel (after either Sarah or Ellie's pregnancy) and its been months but she just doesn't feel or like herself but Joel is determined to change that perspective around ASAP!

Hi my love! I'm sorry you're feeling down about yourself, I go through those moments so frequently. Feeling dismorphia when you think you look ok and then see yourself in a different light. It ruins your whole mood. Thank you for asking this! I hope it brings a little comfort.

- - - -

Joel spent a lot of time helping you get lotioned up when you were pregnant. Even now, with Sarah out of your body and you can finally reach your toes, he still finds joy in lathering you with deep rubs as he spreads the cream over your skin. Almost obsessively. No inch of skin was left untreated. He'd even stick his tongue out as he glided a heavy palm up from your belly to tits, then back down your sides and over your hips.

you thought you'd had enough man handling when he goes to squirt 5 more pumps in one palm.

You put the heel of your foot on his forehead, stopping him from coming any closer. "Too much! I feel like I'm sweating in a oily pit."

He plants a kiss to your sole before nudging your heel down onto his shoulder. "Gotta keep your skin nourished. And hydrated. I missed a spot," He rubs his hands together greedily.

"No you didn't! You got it already!" the two of you wrestle slightly, his body draping over yours but your feet keeping his stomach at bay.

"Stop squirmin' and give me your tits!"

"You just wanna grope them and have make naked all the time!"

"...ok and your point?"

You giggle. Finally letting your guard down, he grins as he smoothes over your skin with the cream, lathering it up in hands to keep it warm. He made sure to knead it in well enough. And your body DID need it. Drinking it in like a fish out of water.

You breathe deeply, staring at the ceiling as his pays especially attention to the skin under your breasts, your stretched stomach and girthy hips, down to your cellulite and wobbly skinned thighs that used to make boys turn...

"Um..." your voice sounded meek, almost exceptionally unlike you when you're with Joel. "You're not doing it...because you think it will help my body bounce back... are you?"

He furrows his brows, not sure what you're talking about. The concern and fear in your face makes him feel a pain in his chest that he immediately needs to help settle.

"Because um... its not--my body--it's not. Gonna look the same as before... after her. Um so. This might not, make it much better. Um. I'll be saggy and wrinkly, and not very sexy anymore so--I get it if that's what you're trying to do--"

he sees the shine in your eyes as you lose your words, too embarrassed to look at him.

"No. Nononono. Baby, that's not at all what I'm doing here and don't you dare start thinking I'm gonna love you any different just cuz your body changing from our baby." He lies next to you and pulls you close, his hands clutching your to his lips. "You're still just a beautiful as the day I met, just as hot the second I put that little baby in you, and you're just as gorgeous after. I've got no intuition to change what your beautiful body is doing--performing fucking miracles. I just want you to feel safe, happy, cared for." he plants a wet kiss against your palm. "Want ya to stop going to bed with dry hands and feet. Scratching me up all Night."

You laugh with him, blinking away the tear that had built up. "That was a test. You passed."

"Mmmhmmm. Always testing me."

He spends the rest of the evening peppering your entire body in kisses while massaging your stress away. when you were finally snoring, he turned out the tight, but stayed where he was, his elbow propping his head up taking you all in.

Joel sits and watches you more than he wants to admit because he's so goddamn in love with you. You're so uncharacteristically peaceful now. Cuddled against your pillow, deep breaths rhythmically settling you. Soft and gentle as a newborn calf. Completely unlike the sassy snarky woman yelling at him all day. Even when you were berating him for dumb shit because your hormones were through the roof, he still loved you. You're the firey spitball of energy and emotions on a roller coaster that keeps him on his toes, reminding him that you're so full of personality and neediness and bursting with energy and he's the only one equipped to get it for you--the only one you'd ever feel so comfortable to ask --and demand and yell and bitch--and all of it makes him laugh on the inside because It's just you. So you. All you.

And he's amazed. Amazed every day when he gazes upon his little Sarah. A whole human your body grew inside you from start to finish. Amazed every day when he sees you rocking her in your arms, feeding her with your breastmilk. Its like your body never stops giving and giving. Amazed every day that you can move and groove, sway your hips and do cartwheels in the grass like you're a kid again, eager to make your little babygirl laugh heartily.

He doesn't care that your boobs are saggier than before. Doesn't care about the extra poof on your belly that won't go away. doesn't care about the stripes around your thighs and hips that are here to stay. When he sees those things, he doesn't see imperfections or negative changes. He sees you. A girlfriend then. A mother now. His wife always. And that brings joy to his soul, knowing you're sticking with him through it all.

He's already thinking about his tired, wrinkly, speckled worn old man hands rubbing you to sleep with lotion when the two of you are 90, so he can keep lookin at you just like he is now. and always has.

Amazed to call you mine.

[prythianpages]

So Much To Prove | Eris x Reader

Eris x Reader ft Azriel | Feeling much better now, you begin to crave Autumn pastries and find yourself missing home.

a/n: This was meant to be a little inbetween scene but the more I wrote, I decided to just call it pt 11 lol. A little under 3k.

warnings: angst, reader is pregnant, mentions of mood swings and pregnancy cravings

Azriel hated being here.

Spring remained unpredictable, its High Lord still wandering like a lost and restless beast. And yet, it was the safest place to meet. If not for the letter you’d written—the one you entrusted to Azriel to deliver safely—Azriel would’ve turned Eris’s request down without hesitation.

Azriel’s shadows slithered through the thick greenery, a bit agitated and needing to release their energy after having winnowed him here. Eris was already waiting, arms crossed over his chest, shoulder propped against the trunk of a tree. He looked the part of composed arrogance. Cool, collected, bored even. But Azriel’s shadows whispered otherwise. They pulsed with the quick, uneven rhythm of Eris’s heartbeat.

He didn’t bother masking the edge in his voice. “You said this was urgent?”

“Yes,” Eris replied. He straightened himself and approached Azriel. He stopped once he was close enough and reached for the leather satchel that had been hanging from his frame. He slipped it off, holding it out to Azriel. “I need you to give this to her for me.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed, and his shadows shifted their movement, fluttering toward the satchel. They searched for anything hidden, anything sharp or deceptive. What could Eris possibly have to give that hadn’t already been left at your bedside, opened and ignored?

After a moment, he took the satchel and opened, curiosity getting the best of him.

Azriel blinked. “You summoned me to another court… for pastries?”

Eris’s jaw twitched. “They’re not just any pastries. They’re apple turnovers, a specialty from Autumn and her favorite.”

Azriel said nothing. He simply stared at the pastries nestled within the bag, alongside a few other Autumn delicacies. They were still warm. His shadows curled around the satchel as if they were savoring the spiced scent of cinnamon and baked apples. Even he knew they were your favorite—recalling the night he first met you in the Day Court and the story your brother had told him then.

“She’s still in your mother’s care, yes?” Eris asked, voice quieter now. The real reason he’d called for this “urgent” meeting at last slipping through. “I’m not asking for details, shadowsinger. Just—” He paused, exhaling sharply, frustration tightening his features.  “Is she all right? Are they both all right? Is the power…faring well?”

The male before him unsettled Azriel more than a threat ever could. Because this wasn’t the Eris he knew. Not the sharp-tongued fox wrapped in layers of calculation and ego. Eris didn’t look like the future High Lord he always boasted himself to be. Up close, Azriel could see it more clearly now—how exhaustion clung to him. The stubble lining his jaw, the slight darkness beneath his eyes, the strands of red hair falling unkempt across his brow. 

“She’s doing much better and the baby is fine,” Azriel finally responded, keeping it short and simple.

You had yet to manifest the power Eris had given you, and Azriel couldn’t help but wonder if it lay dormant, waiting for the right moment to ignite. Or perhaps,  it never would. Maybe it had simply been enough to soothe your body.

You still complained of feeling warm from time to time, but nothing close to the delirious, feverish state that had once gripped you.If anything, it seemed the ember of Eris’s gift had stirred something in the babe growing inside you. The baby had grown even more restless, kicking and shifting more often now, but Madja had assured you that she was healthy and growing well. 

But Azriel didn’t think that was worth mentioning, still on edge and tense around the Autumn male.

Something broke in Eris’s expression, a mixture of tenderness and relief. It flashed in his eyes and was gone before Azriel’s shadows could study it further. He didn’t let himself be swayed, still not trusting the male before him fully. 

Yes, Eris had come to help you. He had offered you a fragment of his power—a gift Azriel never imagined the Autumn heir would part with. Not when power was the very thing Eris and his brothers always fought for. Though, after everything Eris had put you through, it had felt less like a gift and more like the bare minimum. It was the least he could do for you, even if he questioned Eris’s motives behind it all. 

“She has everything she needs,” Aziel decided to add. “My mother and I see to that personally.”

Eris nodded, swallowing hard, his eyes drifting toward the trees. Azriel’s shadows followed his gaze, mildly alert, but found nothing amiss.

“Well,” Azriel said, slipping the satchel over his shoulder. “Was this all?”

“Yes,” Eris replied and then paused thoughtfully. His expression suddenly hardened. “If anything happens, you call for me.”

Ah, there he was. 

The Eris that Azriel was used to–sharp and demanding. Azriel met his gaze and in that moment, a rare understanding passed between them. He never expected to find common ground with Eris. But now, there was you.

He’ll be honest. His reasons for approaching you hadn’t been pure. When his shadows first caught traces of Eris on you, he’d wanted information, some leverage or dirt on the Autumn heir. When he learned you were pregnant, something inside him faltered. And when he actually got to know you, he liked you. He hadn’t meant for the two of you to grow so close in a short period of time. Though he only saw you as a friend and nothing more, he had to admit the fact his relationship with you irritated Eris, was a bonus.

Speaking of you…The letter you’d given him tugged at his attention, as if it were burning a hole in his pocket. “I actually have something for you too,” Azriel muttered, pulling the folded letter from one of his pockets and holding it out to Eris.

Eris accepted it slowly. His gaze dropped to the parchment, and something in his expression shifted—softened—as he turned it over and saw his name scrawled in neat, familiar handwriting. That same tenderness from earlier flickered across his features.

And for a brief, fragile second, Azriel thought—maybe Eris was capable of being good, of kindness and love. The moment passed as quick as it had come, his shadows reminding him of all the other things Eris had done, of who Eris was. He was someone who didn’t give anything without expecting something in return… 

This could all be an act, for all Azriel knew. He’d heard of the things a bond can do to a male. So Azriel said nothing. Just turned, preparing to winnow away.

“The turnovers,” Eris said, halting him in his movements. “Don’t tell her they’re from me.”

Azriel glanced back, a brow lifting in confusion. 

“I think she’ll enjoy them more if she believes they came from you.” 

Azriel caught the meaning buried beneath the words and didn’t bother correcting him. Let Eris believe what he wanted.

**

Meanwhile in Rosehall

The cravings had come in full force since your fever broke.

Before, they had been little things. A peach caramel tart here, a beef stew there, the scent of roasted pecans. Rosanna had humored them, indulging you with gentle smiles and reassuring you it was no trouble for her as she loved cooking. You were immensely grateful for it, given your own skills in the kitchen were extremely lacking. 

All cravings had one thing in common and you found yourself missing home more and more every day. You hadn’t realized how hard it would be, to not be able to go back home. You missed the peaceful rustle of autumn leaves, missed the warm scent of woodsmoke in the air and the gleam of burnished gold across the forests of the Autumn Court.

You missed him too.

Even thinking his name hurt in that aching way that came after the worst of a heartbreak had settled. At first, you’d been shattered when he pushed you away. Then, the anger had come, sharp and fiery. You’d cursed his name, cursed yourself for hoping. Cursed the bond after it had snapped for you even.

Now… now you didn’t know what to feel.

The ache lingered and the uncertainty there grew.

When you’d fallen ill, fevered and weak from carrying his child, he came.

You hadn’t seen him but you felt him when he held your hand. You heard when he whispered those three words to you, the ones you had hoped he’d say back to you back then when you first said them yourself. You also heard him when he apologized and promised that he’d make things right, wishing that you had the strength to respond and talk. You barely had the energy to mumble out a “don’t go.” Though it had been so quiet, you’re certain he hadn’t heard.

When you found out he’d given you a kernel of his power to help you and the baby—Well, you hadn’t known what to do with that.

Eris was the heir to Autumn. His power meant everything to him, one he’d trained and fought so hard to strengthen. And he gave a piece, though small, of it to you.

It shouldn’t have mattered so much.

Yet it did.

You couldn’t pretend not to love him. You couldn’t stop missing him, couldn’t stop reaching for memories of his voice, his warmth, the way he held your gaze like you were the only thing he saw. You also couldn’t forget how he let you go.

So you sat in this awkward space, somewhere between yearning and aching, between heartbreak and hope. It made you question everything.

You’d convinced yourself that he’d wanted you back only because of the mating bond—that the promise of powerful offspring had been too enticing for a calculating male like him to ignore. You were just a piece of a future he was planning, not someone he chose. But then why did it sound like it had hurt him to walk away? 

Why did he whisper I love you? Those were not words to say so lightly, given your situation. Why give up a part of his power, the very power he’d always protected so fiercely, to protect both you and the baby? 

He could’ve let you suffer through the rest of your pregnancy as high risk as it had become. Madja had confirmed the child would have had to be born early but she would survive. It was you that Madja was concerned since your baby’s blood was slowly burning you from the inside out.

Either way, you were tired of guessing, tired of grieving a story you hadn’t even let finish. It’s what led you to finally writing him back. In the letter, you asked if he would meet you. Just to talk, to see if he’d say the things he said to you when you were unconscious again.

Rosanna had kept you occupied the past couple of days, sensing trouble on your mind. Once you were back on your feet, she continued to enlist your help with simple tasks such as gathering vegetables from her garden, sorting through old books and helping her with groceries from the morning market. 

When Rosanna caught you staring wistfully out the window this morning, murmuring about turnovers and cinnamon sugar, she had jumped at the opportunity to make them for you. However, you insisted that you were going to give them a try yourself. Under her supervision, of course. You did not want your incompetency to affect her beloved kitchen. Besides, you need to learn yourself as you could not always depend on Rosanna to be there. 

Growing up a noble lady had come with its perks. You were a master of all things expected such as crafting, etiquette, subtle politics disguised as politics. But cooking? Not so much. Eris had been the one to teach you how to turn on a stove. He also randomly taught you how to fish with your bare hands. But even he had spoiled you, taking care of everything else. 

And so you decided to give this a try. Surely, making a dessert couldn’t be so hard, right?

Well, you were wrong.

The kitchen was a mess, flour dusting every surface like a snowfall. You’d burned your first batch, undercooked the second. The third was… edible. But it wasn’t right. Not what you remembered. Not what you needed.

The tears had come so suddenly you hadn’t even had time to warn Rosanna.

Now you sat slumped at her kitchen table, red-eyed and miserable, a failed turnover in front of you and your hands cradling your growing bump.

“I can’t do anything right,” you choked out. “How am I supposed to raise a child on my own?”

Rosanna reached over and gently rubbed your back. “It takes a village, sweetheart. And you’re not alone. Now, have some tea while I try a batch myself.”

You opened your mouth to protest when another voice cut in.

“No need.”

Azriel stepped into the kitchen, his shadows retreating behind him as he moved. In his hands was a leather satchel. He pulled out a brown paper bag, carefully placing it in front of you as if the contents were fragile.

The scent hit you before you even opened it. Warm apples, cinnamon, butter. A taste of home.

Your head whipped around so quickly your neck twinged. Eyes wide with disbelief and still teary eyed from moments ago, you stared at the bag, then at Azriel. 

“How… how did you know?”

Azriel held your gaze for a long moment before his lips curved—just barely—into a small, sheepish smile. “A little fox told me,” he murmured.

You didn’t catch the deeper meaning. Didn’t think about who that little fox could be. You were too overwhelmed—too grateful—to think at all. You weren’t even aware that Azriel had come from delivering your letter. You had just given it to him, asking if he could give it to Eris next time he saw him.

You burst into tears all over again.

Rosanna barely had time to react before you were rising unsteadily to your feet, arms outstretched to hug Azriel. You couldn’t get close enough to wrap your arms around him, your stomach stopping you. It had grown over these past couple of days, more noticeably so, and that sent you into a fresh wave of sobs. All the changes you’d gone through recently, all the hormones, the emotions…

“I can’t even hug you properly because I’m too big now,” you cried, pulling back and hands flying to your face to cover it.  “I’m huge.”

Azriel looked helplessly toward his mother, his shadows shifting anxiously around his feet. Rosanna only shook her head, a silent warning to not encourage those thoughts. There was a hint of amusement that danced in her eyes as she mouthed “say something.”

It was his shadows who nudged him forward, prompting him to pull you into a gentle side hug, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. You leaned into it with a soft hiccup, your tears now easing into quiet sniffles.

“You’re not huge. You’re just carrying–”

“A fire gremlin?"

Azriel winced, his wings tensing. His shadows let out a hiss, reprimanding him once more.  He’d never live that one down. The name had slipped out in a moment of bitterness. It was aimed at Eris, not the innocent babe. He’d told you about it later, guilt-ridden, and apologized the next morning when he was unable to meet your eyes.

There was no anger in your tone, his shadows picking up on the barest hint of teasing in your voice. He let out a small exhale.

"No," he breathed. “You may be carrying Prythian’s tiniest threat… but she’s precious cargo and worth every inch of space she’s taking up.”

You let out a small laugh and Azriel let go of you. He placed his hands on your shoulder, gently guiding you back to the kitchen table. 

“Now, let’s keep her happy and give her the apple turnover she’s been craving...”

**

Eris didn’t winnow back right away.

He remained in spring, still standing in the small clearing longer after Azriel disappeared. The letter weighed more than parchment should, heavier than the air around him. He’d moved to the edge of the glade, sitting on a fallen log hidden beneath a curtain of vines. It was then that he allowed himself to unfold the letter.

He drew in a breath and read.

Eris,

I debated for days whether or not to write this but you deserve to know that the baby is safe. I am doing much better now, too. Thank you. Azriel told me what you did and I also heard all you said to me.  

I want to do what’s best for this baby and I have questions. I can’t disclose my location to you but I would like to meet to talk. Azriel said he could help us arrange something. This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you completely. But it does mean I’m not holding onto anger the way I once did.

If you want to explain, I will hear you out. I don’t know what comes after that. I’m not promising anything. But let’s meet and discuss.

Eris’s thumb swept over your signature before gently folding the letter. He pressed it to his chest and for a long moment, he just sat there, staring at the dirt and leaves, trying to collect the fragments of himself scattered over weeks of regret.

Then he stood.

His shoulders were straighter and though his eyes were still rimmed with fatigue, there was a spark behind those amber irises again. You’d finally opened the door. Not wide or enough to step through. But cracked. Just enough for light to bleed through. 

Just enough for hope to find him again.

a/n: I'm going to follow this poll & take a little break from the angst to write something lighter. So the next update will go back in time and show Eris & Reader pre-angst. As I try to sort out some details for the ending of this lol. If you have any suggestions, anything you'd like to see or thoughts you'd like to share, please do so (:

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[mintyys-blog]

Don’t want you to get too burnt out from all the invincible requests so here is a Dc rq because thankfully I am a fan of both 💐

Can you do Jason Todd & Dick grayson (idk if you write for dick) where reader is pranked by their friend but it’s a very mean prank like feeding them something they’re allergic too on purpose or paying someone to ‘pretend’ to rob them but they have a real gun. Whichever one is easier to write for or if you have your own idea of a mean prank! I love protective batboys sm

DICK GRAYSON & JASON TODD | with s/o who gets “pranked”

dc masterlist

warnings ; cruel pranks, almost dying, fear, swearing, body shaming, cyber bullying

JASON TODD

It started small.

You noticed a guy in a hoodie across the street. Then again—two blocks later. A girl standing nearby, pretending to take a selfie, phone aimed at you. Another guy laughing quietly behind you at the gas station. You tried to brush it off. Paranoia. Coincidence.

But then they started getting closer. Whispering. Filming. Following you. One of them even smiled when you locked eyes. By the time you hit the corner near your apartment, your heart was thudding so loud you could barely hear anything else. You ducked into an alley—not your brightest idea, but you were shaking too hard to think—and called the only person you knew would come without question.

“Jay?” His voice went alert instantly. “Where are you? What’s wrong?”

“I—I think I’m being followed. There’s three of them. They’re filming me. I don’t know—” He was already moving. You could hear the rumble of his bike starting. “Stay on the line. I’m two minutes away.”

And he meant it. You were backed into a wall when he found you. Three strangers standing between you and the exit, still holding up their phones. Still laughing. Jason didn’t hesitate. The motorcycle hadn’t even stopped humming before he was off it and in front of you, hand pushing you gently behind his back.

“Back. Off.” The guy closest to him raised a brow, still filming. “Chill, bro. It’s just a prank. We’re content creators—”

“What did you just say?”

Jason’s tone dropped about twenty degrees. “We’re influencers,” the girl said, stepping in like that explained everything. “We were just filming a fake stalking bit for TikTok. We weren’t gonna hurt her.” Jason’s jaw tensed. “You followed her. Scared her. Cornered her. And you think that’s content?”

The guy laughed again. “Dude, relax. It’s just—” Jason punched him so fast you didn’t even see it. Phone cracked. Nose broken. He crumpled like wet paper. The others screamed.

“You think fear is funny?” Jason barked, advancing. “You think terror makes for good likes? You ever pull something like this again, and you won’t walk away with a broken phone—you’ll leave in a fucking ambulance.” The girl tried to argue. “W-We didn’t touch her—!”

“You followed her. You made her feel unsafe. You don’t get to decide what’s harmless.” He glanced back at you, eyes softer but still blazing. “You okay, baby?” You nodded shakily.

He stepped back to you, hand on your waist, holding you close. You could feel him vibrating with fury, but he kept it in check—for you. “They’re not gonna post that, right?” you asked quietly, still trembling. Jason turned back to them, voice razor-sharp.

“If any footage of her ends up online, I’ll know. And I’ll find you.” He didn’t need to say more. They scattered. Phones off. Faces pale. You finally let yourself cry when he pulled you into his chest. “Jay… I was so scared.”

“I know,” he whispered, holding you tighter. “But I’ve got you now. No one’s touching you. Ever.”

DICK GRAYSON

The gym had always been your safe place. Until today. You knew you weren’t perfect—your form wasn’t Olympic, and your gym outfits weren’t matching influencer sets. But you showed up. You worked hard. You tried. That used to be enough. Until she showed up.

(Influencer name). Mega-popular fitness “personality.” TikTok famous. Million followers. Fake-sweet smile that never reached her eyes. You’d seen her filming herself doing deadlifts in front of the mirror for weeks now. But today… she noticed you.

“Oh my god, girl, you’re doing great!” she said, walking up to you mid-set, phone already in selfie mode. You paused, awkward. “Thanks…”

“Mind if I hype you up on camera? You’re killing it.”

You nodded shyly. Uncomfortable, but trying not to be rude. She laughed with you. Said she admired your determination. “So inspiring,” she gushed. You smiled, despite the weird feeling in your gut.

But that night… you opened your phone. And your stomach dropped. There it was. Her face. Her account. Her followers. Your body on camera. And her voice layered over it in mock sympathy: “When you really think you’re doing something, but your form’s giving ‘flailing sea lion’ and your body’s saying ‘I gave up in 2016.’” Laughter. Comments flooded in.

“Why is she even there?”

“This is why I go to private gyms omg.”

“Imagine having that confidence.”

“She thought she was slaying 😭”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until your vision blurred. You dropped your phone and sat there in your bedroom, shoulders shaking, chest tight, trying to breathe through the ache in your throat. That’s how Dick found you. He didn’t knock. He didn’t call out. He sensed it.

“Hey, babe? You home?” You couldn’t answer. He walked in and froze when he saw you. On the floor. Red-eyed. Shaking. “Y/N—what happened? Are you hurt?”

You tried to speak, but the sob caught in your throat. You just held up your phone. Dick took it. Watched the video in silence. Scrolled. Saw the comments. When he finally looked back at you, his eyes were a kind of cold you’d never seen before.

“Did she ask your permission to film you?” You shook your head. He set the phone down. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

It only took him three hours. Three hours, and:

The video was taken down.

Alicia’s entire account was permanently banned.

An apology video—stiff, uncomfortable, full of fake remorse—was posted under a burner account. “I didn’t know I made her cry…”

And your gym membership? Still active. Hers wasn’t.

Dick pulled every string he had. Called in a favor with a friend who managed TikTok security. Emailed her gym chain’s corporate office with a full explanation and screenshots. Brought up privacy violation laws and brand liability. Mentioned that if she harassed anyone else, he’d go public with it. She was done. When he came home, you were still in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Dick crawled in beside you, fully clothed, and pulled you into his chest without saying a word. You finally whispered, “Thank you.” He kissed your forehead.

“No one gets to humiliate you and walk away clean,” he said. “Not when I’m in your corner.” You smiled for the first time that day, even through the tears. And he stayed with you all night—your real safe place.

[cheolsbitch]

“Three’s Not A Crowd”PT.3

-Continuation-

if you haven’t read pt1 & pt2 please go read those first!

Summary:

You’re just roommates—best friends, nothing more. But when you admit no man has ever made you cum, Minho and Jisung take it as a challenge. What starts as teasing turns into denial, control, and desperation as they make you beg for every touch—except the one thing you want most.

Content Warning:

Explicit sexual content, oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering, orgasm denial, edging, overstimulation, spanking, light humiliation, power dynamics, dominance/submission themes, possessiveness, psychological play, polyamory (m/m/f), bxb content, emotional manipulation in a sexual context, and intense teasing. All acts are fully consensual but heavily rooted in delayed gratification and power control.

His thumb brushes your lip.

And then—

He leans in.

Slow. Careful.

And finally kisses you.

Jisung’s lips brush yours like he’s afraid you might break.

You’re still so close, tucked under Minho’s shirt, curled into his side, fingers resting on the faint outline of ink across his ribs.

His hand holds your face now — cradling your cheek with such care it makes your chest ache. His thumb strokes slowly across your skin, grounding you. Silencing everything else.

And then?

He kisses you again.

This time fully.

Soft.

Real.

There’s no rush in it. No teeth, no tongue, no hunger.

Just his lips against yours — warm and gentle, like he’s giving you something sacred.

You breathe into it.

Melt into it.

One hand drifts up to his chest, fingers curling into the soft curve of his collarbone.

He tilts his head, deepening it just slightly — his nose brushing yours, his lips parting a little more now, not to devour, but to taste.

And you kiss him back.

Slow.

Long.

Each pass of his mouth over yours feels like the kind of thing people don’t talk about out loud. Like something secret. Something quiet. Something… safe.

You sigh into him.

He kisses you again.

This one lingers longer.

He lets it drag.

Lets your bottom lip catch between his for just a second before pulling back — only to kiss you again, slower this time, like he’s memorizing you.

You feel his hand slip to your waist.

His thumb rubs soft circles under the hem of the shirt — his shirt now, technically — skin on skin, warm and lazy.

You hum into him, eyes closed, heart fluttering.

Then the kiss shifts.

Just slightly.

A little more pressure.

Your lips part more willingly now, and his tongue just barely flicks between — not enough to start something, but enough to remind you who he is.

Who you are.

Who you’ve both been holding back from being.

His hand presses gently at the base of your spine now, pulling you a bit closer.

And you let him.

You kiss him deeper — slower — your fingers curling tighter into the fabric over his chest, your knee nudging between his legs without even realizing it.

He exhales shakily.

Pulls back just enough to whisper, “You okay?”

You nod, lips brushing his as you speak. “Mhm. Just don’t stop.”

He smiles against your mouth.

And kisses you again.

Longer.

Softer.

Hotter.

The air between you thickens.

You’re practically laying over him now, his leg slotted between yours, your hand resting just over his heart as it races against your palm.

Your mouth opens more for him, and he kisses you like he’s wanted to for hours—like he’s still afraid he’ll have to stop, but can’t help himself.

Your hips shift slightly, instinctively grinding down.

You both moan.

Quiet.

Soft.

Barely there.

But then—

Click.

The sound of the shower turning off breaks through the silence.

You freeze.

Both of you do.

Jisung blinks at you, lips swollen, cheeks pink.

Your chest rises and falls against his, your mouth still hovering close to his, still tingling from his warmth.

He swallows.

You whisper, “Just one kiss, huh?”

Jisung laughs breathlessly.

But neither of you move.

Not yet.

Because your lips still remember.

And so do his.

The second the water shuts off, it’s like your whole body forgets how to move.

You’re still pressed against Jisung — your face tucked into his neck, his hand warm under the hem of Minho’s shirt on your waist, both of you dazed and quiet.

Your lips are swollen.

His are too.

You blink.

Reality crashes back.

Jisung whispers first, voice low and tight, “Shit—shit—okay—”

You scramble off of him, rolling onto your side and grabbing the edge of the comforter to pull over yourself like it could somehow hide the guilt.

Jisung shifts too, adjusting his position under the blanket, laying back and throwing an arm over his forehead like he’s always been relaxing.

You both try to breathe normal.

But the air between you still hums.

And then—

Footsteps.

Heavy. Confident. Getting closer.

The bedroom door creaks open.

Minho walks in, towel around his hips, damp hair pushed back, a few drops of water still trailing down his chest.

He stops just inside the doorway.

And looks.

At you.

At Jisung.

At the way the blanket’s a little too rumpled.

At your flushed cheeks.

At how Jisung won’t meet his eyes.

At how still you suddenly are.

He doesn’t say anything for a second.

Just shuts the door behind him.

And smiles.

Slow. Dangerous. Knowing.

“Well…”

His voice is deep and quiet, and it cuts right through you.

“Did you behave while I was gone?”

You don’t answer right away.

Your heart’s pounding.

Jisung lets out a weak little breath that sounds like it wants to be a laugh but fails halfway through.

Minho walks closer.

You shift under the blanket, forcing yourself to sit up as casually as possible.

“I… yeah,” you lie softly.

Minho tilts his head. “Yeah?”

He stops at the edge of the bed.

Leans down.

Face inches from yours.

“So if I kiss you right now…” he murmurs, voice silk-wrapped steel. “I won’t taste anything I’m not supposed to?”

Your stomach drops.

Jisung turns his face to the wall.

Minho smirks.

“Thought so.”

Minho’s face is so close it’s almost cruel.

His mouth is right there — the mouth you’ve been chasing all night — and still, he doesn’t give it to you.

Instead, he just looks at you.

“Did you kiss him?”

Your breath catches.

“I—”

Minho tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “Yes or no?”

You fidget under his gaze, your fingers curling into the edge of the blanket. “It—it wasn’t like that—“

His brow lifts. “So you did.”

You shake your head. “I—he—no—”

He lets out a low chuckle.

It’s not funny.

It’s dangerous.

Minho stands straight again, dragging one hand through his damp hair, still watching you like a cat watches a mouse trying to lie.

“You really gonna sit there in my shirt,” he says slowly, “on my bed, after I let you ride my cock like that—and lie to my face?”

You bite your lip.

“Minho…”

“Say it.”

His voice drops lower. Firmer. Unmovable.

“Did you kiss him?”

You glance toward Jisung, who’s still turned slightly away, silent but clearly listening.

You clench the blanket tighter in your fists.

And you whisper, “Yes.”

Minho hums. No surprise. No anger.

Just that fucking look.

“Good girl,” he says softly.

You blink.

But then he leans closer again—closer than before—his breath brushing your lips.

And still…

He doesn’t kiss you.

You whimper. “Minho…”

He brushes his nose against yours. “What?”

You’re squirming now, voice tight, body hot all over again. “It’s not fair.”

“Mm?”

“I’ve been so good,” you whisper, breath shaking. “You said if I worked for it—if I earned it—please, I just want one…”

Minho just watches you.

Then—

“Do you really think you deserve it?”

You nod frantically. “Yes. Please—*please—*just one—”

He leans in so close you feel his lips brush yours.

Then turns his head.

And kisses your cheek instead.

You let out a strangled sob of frustration. “Minho—!”

“You kissed him first,” he murmurs against your skin. “Now you get to wait.”

Minho’s breath ghosts over your cheek where he just kissed you.

You’re still frozen, wide-eyed, lips parted like they’re waiting—like maybe if you don’t move, he’ll still change his mind and give it to you.

He doesn’t.

You let out a soft, broken sound, somewhere between a whimper and a sob. “Minho… please.”

He doesn’t pull back.

Just stays there. Inches away. His eyes flick down to your mouth—once, slowly—and then back up to your eyes.

“Don’t cry,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb gently beneath your eye. “You brought this on yourself.”

“I was good,” you whisper. “I did everything. I came when you told me to, I begged, I—”

“You also kissed someone else.”

You look down, voice crumbling. “Because you wouldn’t.”

Minho lets out a soft hum—thoughtful, not angry. He brushes your hair back behind your ear and looks at you like he’s trying to decide what to do with you.

“I know what you want,” he says gently.

“Then give it to me,” you plead.

“I will,” he murmurs, fingers stroking under your jaw. “Eventually.”

Your body deflates—shoulders dropping, lips wobbling, tears still hot behind your eyes.

“You’re cruel.”

He leans in again.

This time his mouth brushes just below your ear, lips barely grazing your skin.

“No,” he says quietly. “I’m patient. You? You still need to learn.”

Your throat tightens as he shifts, sitting up straighter. He glances at Jisung, who’s been silent but wide-eyed through the whole exchange, still laid back against the pillows.

“Come here,” Minho says, voice smooth again.

Jisung blinks. “Me?”

Minho nods. “She’s been acting like she’s starving. Let her watch while I remind you what a kiss feels like.”

And just like that—

Minho pulls Jisung in.

And kisses him.

Full.

Deep.

Jisung gasps against his mouth before melting into it instantly, their bodies sliding together under the sheets as their hands start to roam again. It’s slower than before now, more deliberate, hotter, somehow more intimate.

You watch.

Frozen.

Soaked.

Eyes wide and aching.

Because once again…

It’s not you.

(to be continued maybe…)

A/N: ok but like i kinda ran out of ideas on what to write after this… ngl so idk if i should end it on this cliffhanger or do another part. if i get some good ideas on how to continue from here maybe i will continue it 🥸

[skwangmbyul]

rusted | thunderbolts - henny meets the team

can be read as a standalone but this story is part of a longer universe called rusted

domestic, domestic, domestic pregnancy!wife

rusted masterlist

James Buchanan Barnes never thought he’d go back to enjoying something as simple as sleeping in. For years, all it took was closing his eyes for nightmares to swarm his mind like impatient ghosts. Back then, sleep wasn’t a pleasure — it was survival. A minefield he had to cross, night after night.

Until he married Hennessy.

Hennessy, who insisted on picking the best mattresses, the softest comforters, and placed scented candles around the room with military precision.

There was always one of those artificial — yet soothing — rain sounds playing in the background, as if she wanted even the silence to feel warm. And when she slept, she wrapped around him like a koala. Her head resting on his chest, her breathing syncing rhythmically with the beat of his heart — a quiet dance that made him forget everything that came before her.

Yes, Bucky Barnes liked sleeping in.

It wasn’t always possible. Not with the new superhero life, the unpredictable schedules, and the constant missions sent by Valentina. But that Friday night, as he lay down and gently pulled Hennessy close, carefully cradling the prominent curve of her belly into a safe, comfortable position, and breathed in the familiar scent of cardamom from her hair, Bucky was sure:

Tomorrow, he’d sleep until the sun was high in the sky.

Hennessy Stark, however, had other plans.

Bucky groaned when he sensed his wife moving around the room. He’d felt Henny slip from his arms, but figured she was just making a quick trip to the bathroom and would be right back. A peek through the blackout curtain told him it was barely sunrise.

— Doll, come back to bed. What’re you doing? — he murmured groggily, turning on the mattress and reaching for the still-warm sheets where she’d been. His head sank deeper into the pillow, voice low and raspy, still clinging to sleep.

His arm stretched out blindly, lazily — but full of affection.

— It’s six-thirty, baby. Time to get up — she said, stretching with her arms above her head, her body elongating.

— Says who? — Bucky grunted, sinking a little deeper into the mattress. — You never wake up this early.

— James, your team’s coming over for lunch today. I can’t believe you forgot.

That was enough to make him open his eyes and look at her, brows arched in a mix of disbelief and drowsiness.

He hadn’t forgotten.

In fact, he’d reminded all five of his teammates throughout the entire week — repeatedly, patiently, more diligently than usual. Precisely because if someone missed it (even Walker), Hennessy would probably declare war. She was excited about this lunch, planning the menu carefully, testing recipes, asking him every other day about everyone’s dietary preferences. And Bucky, dutifully, relayed every detail.

He knew how much it meant to her.

And no matter how many years went by, he doubted he’d ever fully get used to the fact that someone like him had found a place in the heart of someone like her. A relentless ray of sunshine, illuminating everything without asking for permission. She made friends with delivery drivers, loved building connections, bringing people together, finding meaning in the most ordinary encounters.

So no — he hadn’t forgotten.

But that still didn’t explain why the hell she was already up before seven in the morning.

— Doll, didn’t we schedule for 1 PM? — he mumbled, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands, trying to shake off the fog. He blinked slowly, adjusting to the soft light seeping through the curtain.

On a mission, he never would’ve slept that deeply. His senses would’ve been sharp, body tense, always prepared for danger.

But here, in this house that was now their home, he allowed himself to let his guard down. For the first time in a long time, he was learning that peace was something he deserved too.

— Baby, that’s only seven hours until then. I need to cook, do my hair, fix my nails — they’re a disaster. And you promised you’d fix the office bathroom — she listed, counting off each item on her fingers like they were top-priority tasks in a high-risk mission.

Bucky let his head fall to the side, giving her a genuinely tired look.

— Hennessy, no one’s using that bathroom today — he said, slowly, almost dragging the words out. He sat up with a bit of effort, his body still heavy, but accepting the inevitable start of the day.

Hennessy turned to him in absolute silence. One brow arched, head tilted, eyes narrowing into that expression — the one that said loud and clear: Do you really want to argue with your pregnant wife?

She didn’t even have to speak.

Bucky already knew he’d lost.

— Fine — he sighed, shoulders dropping in a good-humored surrender. — I’ll fix the bathroom.

Her smile bloomed as if the day had finally begun. In just a few steps, she crossed the room and stopped in front of him, leaning in gently. Her hands rested on his shoulders with ease, and then she lowered herself a little more, her lips meeting his in a soft kiss, slow but full of life.

— Thank you — she whispered against his lips, lingering just a second longer than necessary. — Good morning, babe.

— Morning, doll — he chuckled, a warm hum in his chest.

Yes, he’d fix the damn bathroom.

Bucky Barnes would do anything Hennessy Stark asked of him.

___________________________________________________________

The number of things Hennessy managed to get done while Bucky was upstairs fixing the office bathroom plumbing was downright absurd. When he came back down a few hours later — a shameful amount of time for a super soldier, although Bucky had to admit he’d spent a considerable portion of it lying on the bathroom floor watching cat videos on his phone — the warm, comforting smell of roast beef wrapped around him like a hug.

He found her in the living room, sitting with absurd focus. A foil cap was perfectly wrapped around her head — a sign that her hair was, as she liked to say, being “honored” — and her eyes were half-lidded with concentration as she carefully ran a polish brush over her nails. The vibrant cyan blue popped against her skin, perfectly matching the earrings that never left her ears.

She was genuinely happy to host the team at home. Hennessy wanted to get to know everyone better, but had firmly refused to go to the Tower.

They’d agreed from the beginning: the pregnancy would remain a secret — far from the tabloids' ravenous eyes. It was a necessary boundary. But there was more to it. Every time someone mentioned the Tower, Bucky noticed the subtle tightening of her shoulders, the way her gaze would flick away, like she was trying to hide a wound still too raw.

It was the same Tower her father had built.

Tony had been gone for two years, and wounds like that — well, they never fully healed. They just took time to scar.

Bucky didn’t bother with subtlety. He knelt beside the couch when he saw she was on the last nail and waited patiently as she blew gently on her fingertips, lips pursed, fully immersed in the task.

— All done — she said, flashing her nails with a small, proud smile.

— Can I reward your hard work? — he asked softly, leaning in to place a kiss on her knee before rising to his feet. — How about a full tub and a nap before the gang shows up?

She looked up, thoughtful, but with that familiar sparkle in her eyes.

— Only if you come in with me — she replied, her voice slow and sweet, like she was proposing a little mischief. Before he could say a word, she slid forward on the couch, wrapping her legs around his waist with practiced ease. — Please...

He stifled a laugh, hands gently holding her thighs, shaking his head in exaggerated regret.

— You know I won’t let you rest if I get in there with you, doll.

— Coward... — she murmured, letting him go with reluctant amusement, though the smile never left her face.

He used the time she was in the tub to shower in the guest room — Hennessy would never let him just shower if he strip in the same space as her.

When he returned to the bedroom, he found her asleep, still in her robe, lying across the covers. Careful not to wake her, Bucky went downstairs and began setting the table with the same meticulous dedication he used on missions — just the way she liked it.

He grabbed his phone and texted Yelena to ask where they were. The reply came seconds later:

"We’re leaving now. Alexei couldn’t decide which jacket to wear."

Bucky let out a soft laugh. Classic.

He gently woke Hennessy, knowing she’d want some time to do her hair, and she was finishing her lipstick when they heard the “doorbell” — more of a security alert, really — that someone was at the door.

— You ready, doll? — he asked, adjusting the collar of his dress shirt in the mirror. Thankfully, she hadn’t forced him into a full suit, but she had absolutely insisted on the shirt.

Hennessy turned around. She wore a green dress with a floral print, fitted at the bust and flowing gently over her baby bump, outlining her pregnant silhouette with grace. The bump was more prominent than ever, and to Bucky, she had never looked so beautiful.

— I’m ready — she said, placing the lipstick back on the vanity.

Bucky couldn’t resist. He walked over slowly, kneeling in front of her with a gesture that felt almost reverent. His hands rested gently on her thighs as he leaned in and pressed a long kiss to her belly, greeting the little one growing inside.

Hennessy smiled, her fingers threading tenderly through his hair.

— So I’m pretty, huh? — she teased, voice light and playful.

He looked up at her, still holding onto her legs.

— You’ve never been more beautiful. Damn, doll... every day you’re more perfect — he murmured, gripping her thighs a little tighter, eyes fixed on her like she was the only thing that mattered.

She leaned down, her lips brushing his ear in a teasing whisper:

— You didn’t want to take advantage of that earlier… now you’ll have to wait a while before you get to prove it.

Bucky let out an immediate, gravelly groan full of desire.

— Don’t say stuff like that or I’m sending everyone home right now.

She laughed, pulling him up by the hand.

— Behave yourself, James. Let’s go welcome your friends.

Hennessy laced her fingers with his, and together, they went to answer the door downstairs.

___________________________________________

The five New Avengers were practically stacked in front of Bucky and Hennessy’s door when it finally opened. There was plenty of space on the small porch, but somehow that tight cluster seemed to reflect the group's chaotic essence — always together, a little awkward, but strangely in sync.

Hennessy smiled when she saw them. Her smile was like switching on a lamp.

— Hi, welcome — she said, genuine enthusiasm in her voice, gesturing with one hand for them to come in. — Please, make yourselves at home.

A chorus of polite “excuse me”s rippled through them as they crossed the threshold one by one: Yelena Belova in the lead, followed by Ava Starr, then Alexei Shostakov, right behind him Robert Reynolds — who almost tripped on the doorstep — and John Walker. Bucky stood behind Hennessy, watching them all with steady, attentive eyes.

The visitors stopped just inside the entryway. A faint tension hung in the air, as if they were unsure whether to keep their hero posture or let their guard down. Their gazes wandered — over the furniture, the paintings, the scent of roast beef drifting in from the kitchen — with a mix of instinctual vigilance and curiosity.

It wasn’t every day one saw the Winter Soldier being domestic.

Hennessy stepped forward and extended her hand to whoever was closest. The formality was her way of breaking the ice. It ended up being Alexei who reached her first.

— I’m Hennessy Stark. It’s a pleasure to meet you.

But he ignored the offered hand and, before she could pull it back, pulled her into a tight bear hug, catching her slightly off guard.

— Ah, of course you are! — he exclaimed with his thick accent, voice a notch louder than necessary. — I can’t believe I’m meeting Volt!

Hennessy laughed, not quite sure what to do with her arms, her cheeks warming. It had been so long since anyone had called her by that codename, it almost felt like a distant memory crashing into the room.

— Alexei, for God’s sake... — Yelena muttered through gritted teeth, clearly embarrassed. But he didn’t back down, even gave Hennessy a little shake in his arms before letting her go.

— Alright, alright — it was Bucky who stepped in, gentle but firm, placing a hand on the Red Guardian’s shoulder and subtly guiding him back.

The effect was immediate. As if the room followed the movement of his hand, the group’s eyes dropped, involuntarily, to the round curve beneath Hennessy’s floral green dress.

There was a second of complete silence — and then Yelena broke the spell:

— Holy shit... you’re pregnant?

Her shock was written all over her face. The spy raised a hand to her mouth, like the words had escaped without permission. Her eyes widened even more as she scanned Hennessy’s body, as if trying to compute how far along she was.

— Like... really pregnant.

Ava, trying to stay composed, turned slightly and elbowed the blonde’s arm in an attempt to save her from the lack of tact — even if it was too late.

— Wow... that’s really cool, Bucky — Bob murmured, his voice low, almost hesitant. He let out a quiet chuckle, stuffing his hands in his pockets, still avoiding looking directly at Hennessy’s belly. She had to hold back a laugh. There was something almost childlike about his carefulness, as if he were in the presence of something sacred and didn’t want to ruin it. — Congratulations.

Hennessy found it endearing.

Walker was the only one who hadn’t said a word. It was a sensitive topic for him — Bucky had mentioned the discovery they’d made about the U.S. Agent’s wife and child — and as much as Hennessy found his actions during his Captain America days deplorable, he was on her husband’s team now. She’d have to trust him.

— Yeah, it’s really cool — Walker said, a bit uncertain. — Congratulations, Bucky.

— We’ve been trying to keep it within our inner circle — Bucky said then, his tone kind but firm. — We’re counting on your discretion.

— Of course — Ava nodded quickly. Her eyes, usually so technical, softened for a moment — perhaps recognizing just how much trust that request carried. — Wait... you were already pregnant when we teamed up?

— Do the math, genius — Yelena replied, rolling her eyes and giving her friend a light elbow nudge. — Obviously, she was. Sorry about her, guys.

The comment drew laughter from everyone, including Hennessy, who felt a warm wave of nostalgia rise in her chest. That kind of light teasing, the freedom to laugh and point fingers without fear — that was team spirit. She knew it well. It was the same kind of small gestures that used to fill the halls of the Tower.

— Mrs. Soldier — Alexei’s voice rang with a formality that was almost funny, catching Hennessy’s attention — I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but… we brought vodka. Would you mind if we drank, even if you can’t?

— Don’t worry — she said with a playful smile as she stepped closer to the group. — I grew up named after a drink I couldn’t drink. You’re free to enjoy yourselves.

The remark drew a few more laughs, even a timid smile from Walker, who still lingered near the back, observing with quiet restraint.

She then turned toward the dining room, her steps light, and Bucky followed close behind, his hand resting gently on her back in a protective gesture. At the same time, his gaze turned to the team with a firm nod.

— Come on — he said, motioning toward the set table with his chin.

[teslasucks37]

CW: NSFW below the cut (MDNI), ScarletSpider!Reader, afab!Reader (No pronouns), Powerless!Charlie, KindaPathetic!Charlie, SlightStalker!Reader, PowerImbalance!Dubcon, No verbal consent but no also no verbal rejection, Virgin!Charlie, College Age Characters, Mentions of Verbal Harassment/Bullying, Sub!Charlie, Dom!Reader, GoodBoy!Charlie

A/N: Holy shit wrote this in like an hour and was jerkin it the whole time!!!

Charlie Slimecicle x SpiderPerson!Reader

A Hero’s Reward

You were supposed to be a hero, a good person.

Saving people was part of your entire gig as Scarlet Spider.

And you certainly never asked for anything in return, no matter how many times people insisted.

So why now?

Why, when all you did was scare off a couple of bullies, were you finally cashing in?

Well, because it was Charlie.

He’d been cornered by some people from your college, calling him a nerd, a loser, whatever.

You both thought that name calling was only for high school bullies, but apparently you’d been wrong.

But hopefully, since the Scarlet Spider had stepped in, they wouldn’t bother him anymore.

He’d thanked you, and shyly asked if you could escort you home since it was so dark out.

You, of course, accepted.

What kind of a hero or best friend would you be if you made him walk alone.

If fact, you picked him up and swung him all the way back to his dorm, crawling in through the window and landing safely on his floor.

He seriously could not thank you enough.

He looked so cute, flustered and red from the adrenaline of being so high up.

But then he said the words.

“Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

Those words coming from his lips were what sealed his fate.

You grinned wickedly, Charlie thankfully unable to see it behind your mask. “There might be… Something you could do for me…”

He wanted to thank you, so why should you stop him?

You’d been protecting him all his life, so it was only fair that you got a little something back.

And the adorable hard-on he was sporting from being so close to you during the journey here only encouraged you.

So you unzipped your suit down the middle, all the way to between your legs, gazing at Charlie the whole time.

His face was flushed, body frozen in place as he watched you stalk toward him like a predator.

And when you slowly pushed him down onto his desk chair, he didn’t object.

He did exactly as you asked, so obedient for you.

His eyes were glossy, lids heavy as he watched you tug at his jeans, a tiny wet spot leaking through his boxers.

Maybe you shouldn’t have been doing this, considering the power balance of you being a hero and everything.

And also that you knew who he was, but to him you were someone in a mask.

But the whimpering sound he let out when you sank down on his cock made every worry vanish.

“Oh~ Fuck!” Charlie whined as you bounced on him.

You knew he was a virgin, but you didn’t think he’d be so responsive, so cute.

His head was thrown back, his hands gripped your waist in an attempt to ground himself.

You couldn’t help but moan, feeling him hitting so deep inside you.

He was much bigger than you thought he’d be, not that his size could turn you away from him, but fuck it felt so good.

You needed this, you needed this so bad.

Being a hero was stressful, on top of keeping up with school, family, friends, especially your nosy little Charlie who was constantly asking you to hang out.

You sometimes watched him a little more than the average citizen.

How could you not?

He was your friend after all.

That’s just what friends did for each other.

And maybe you had passed by his window to check on him and once or twice accidentally caught him touching himself to photos of the two of you.

And maybe you had laid back against the wall outside his window, putting your hands between your thighs and listening to him moan for you.

“Fuck, Char~” You mumbled absentmindedly at the memories, your hands slipping up his neck to tangle in his hair.

But he tensed at the nickname, your nickname, and you slowed your movements to a halt.

Shit.

“How do you…” Charlie murmured, his babbling ceasing from your slowed pace.

“God… Fuck it…” You cursed, before peeling off your mask and tossing it on the floor.

Cute and small bruises littered your flushed face, your hair messy and your eyes wild from the rush of everything.

But he could recognize you anywhere.

Charlie’s eyes went huge, taking in the sight of you, his best friend, being Scarlet Spider.

“You… You’re- Mmph~” His words were cut off by your lips, his eyes going wide again before closing and leaning into the kiss.

“I don’t… Wanna talk about it now…” You mumbled into his mouth between the clashing of teeth and tongues.

His head spun, knowing you’d basically manipulated him.

But maybe he wanted you to…

Maybe he’d wanted you to take advantage of him the whole time.

He’d liked you for so long, at this point, he didn’t even care how it happened.

He was simply thanking whatever god may of may not have been out there that you’d wanted to fuck him at all.

So when you began bouncing on him again, he moaned into your mouth, bringing a hand up to your back to help you move up and down his shaft.

You were so warm, so tight, probably flexible too…

His head ran wild with fantasies of you webbing his hands up, holding him down with your inhuman strength, helpless as you used him for your pleasure.

And in a way, that’s exactly what you were doing now.

You panted as you pulled away from Charlie’s lips, grinning at his foggy glasses that now sat slightly crooked on his face.

But he didn’t seem to notice, eyes rolled back and mouth hanging open as he seemed lost in his own realm of pleasure.

You bounced faster, holding his shoulders and trying your absolute best not to hurt the frail boy in front of you.

But he just felt so good, so so good.

So good, that you felt your legs start to shake, you thought for a moment that it was exhaustion from patrol, but the way your core tightened around him told you that you were going to cum.

You needed it so bad, you needed to cum on him and use him and make him feel good all at the same time.

And you knew Charlie would sit there and take it like a good boy.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, causing him to whimper at the slight pain.

But the way he subtly began to thrust into you, hitting just the right spot to make you cry out, was what made you see stars.

You felt your hips stutter on top of him, slamming down once more before pulling off of him and squirting on him.

The sight and sounds alone made Charlie’s cock twitch, before a strangled moan fell from his lips followed by ropes of cum spurting from his tip.

You let out a moan of exhaustion, before taking a seat again in his lap, now drenched with your mutual fluids.

Charlie’s tight grip on your hip and back didn’t release, in fact, he fell forward into the crook of your neck.

You threaded your hands in his hair, silently promising him that you were here, you weren’t going anywhere.

“Do you wanna… Shower or something?” He mumbled softly into your sweat-drenched suit.

You snickered, before pressing a kiss to his head and nodding.

Yeah, that was exactly what you needed…

[aftertheleaving]

IMPULSE CONTROL: II

Pairing: Damian Wayne x GN!Reader

Genre: Angst with a whisper of fluff, introspective, mutual pining

Word Count: 833

Warnings: None

Notes: Follows Impulse Control (I). Damian catches himself somewhere between rooftops and revelations. Love is stupid. He might be in it.

♤♡◇��☆

He doesn’t know how he got here.

One minute he was at the manor, tuning out his brothers’ noise. The next, he was on the roof opposite your apartment, crouched low beneath the cover of shadow, cape curling around him like a second skin.

You’re at your desk again. Writing, probably. That notebook always seems to be open in front of you, your pen dancing in a way that looks more like spellwork than anything mundane. The curtain’s drawn halfway, city glow spilling soft across your profile.

He should leave.

He shouldn’t have come.

But Gotham is Gotham. Even in the “safe” neighborhoods, there’s no such thing as peace.

That’s the excuse, anyway.

The real reason? He doesn't know. Maybe it was Todd’s dumb voice in his ear—“So, is she your girlfriend or what?”—or maybe it was the photo still circulating online, the one with you laughing and him in costume and somehow still looking like he’s been emotionally waterboarded.

Whatever it was, it dragged him here.

He shifts, boots quiet on gravel. You don’t notice. Or maybe you do, and you’re pretending not to.

Maybe that’s the game now.

It’s not like he’d ever tell her he was Robin.

At least… that’s what he keeps telling himself.

Maybe because if she did ever see him like this—in the suit, on the rooftops—she wouldn’t recognize him as him. Not Damian Wayne, the heir apparent. Not the boy she’s known for years. Just a masked vigilante with a sword on his back and too much weight on his shoulders.

And yet, part of him thinks she would know. Somehow. Instinctively.

He should’ve told her. He’s known her long enough. Four years now—though for the first two he insisted on calling her an acquaintance, like the distance would protect them both.

He only admitted they were friends last year.

(And even then, it came out in a growl and an eye-roll and she’d had the audacity to smile like he’d just handed her something precious.)

He’s run the background checks. The surveillance. Quiet tests, small ones—offhand comments about vigilantes, subtle provocations, half-truths said with too much meaning. She passed every single one.

She even kept his secret that wasn’t a secret: when he slipped and told her something he shouldn’t have, something that would've made headlines if it ever reached the press… she didn’t flinch. Didn’t pry. Didn’t even act surprised. Just met his eyes and nodded once.

It never got out.

She knew it was real, and she kept it.

So why hasn’t he told her the truth? Why does he still wear the mask between them—literally and otherwise?

Maybe it’s fear. Not that she’d be angry. Not that she’d sell him out.

But that she’d look at him differently.

Not like he’s a boy. Or a friend.

But like he’s something… broken. Something sharp. Something dangerous.

And maybe—just maybe—he’s not ready to see that in her eyes.

He should go.

He’s already cutting it close—his patrol window starts in twenty minutes, and if Grayson or Father realizes he slipped out early, there’ll be questions. Ones he doesn’t feel like answering.

But he doesn’t move. Not yet.

He stays crouched on the edge of that rooftop, half in shadow, watching the warm glow of her apartment through the half-closed curtains. She’s still at her desk, curled in on herself like she always does when she’s writing. Hair up. Sweatshirt sleeves too long. The lamp beside her flickers with the same golden hue as the streetlights below, and for a moment, the city doesn’t feel quite so cold.

He’s seen her like this dozens of times. More, maybe. Quietly existing, unaware of the world watching her from just across the street and three stories up.

She laughs at something—maybe something she’s written—and he swears he feels it.

In his chest.

That’s ridiculous, of course. He doesn’t feel things like that. Not normally. Not like this.

He adjusts the edge of his cape, pretending that’s why he’s still lingering.

He tells himself it’s because he’s being cautious. That Gotham is Gotham and no one is truly safe and this is just one more watch duty. He tells himself it’s habit. Curiosity. Boredom. Nothing more.

He doesn’t think about how he always ends up on this side of town when he has a spare hour. Or how his eyes search the windows for her light before they scan for crime.

He doesn’t think about how, even when she’s not in danger, he feels better knowing she’s there.

And when he finally stands, pulling his hood up and turning toward the shadows that will carry him back to the manor, he tells himself one last lie:

That he’ll stop this soon.

That he can.

But then he lands on the balcony back home, the city humming behind him, and something shifts in his chest—sharp and sudden and frustratingly obvious.

It stops him cold.

Oh.

Oh hell.

He likes her.

Worse—he loves her.

And he’s completely, utterly, dangerously screwed.

♤♡◇♧☆

I have no fucking clue what this is but oh well. Bye bye 👋.

[koyagifs]

Sue Me

pairing: seonghwa x reader au: 9th member | idol | poly genre: angst with comfort word count: 2.2 k synopsis: getting into an awful argument, things were said and feelings were hurt. warning(s): takes place during golden hour pt. 1 era , slight mean hwa,

“Ugh, I’m so glad to be home. Recording sucked today,” Mingi groaned as he flopped onto the bed beside you.

You laughed, scooting over to give him space as he sprawled out with a dramatic sigh and his face buried in a pillow. Just as you turned to tease him, movement at the doorway caught your eye.

Seonghwa and San passed by, both offering a quick wave.

But something was... off.

Seonghwa didn’t even glance at you.

Your smile faltered. Before you could fully think it through, you slid out from under the blanket.

“Yn?” Mingi called after you, voice muffled, but you didn’t answer.

Your feet carried you to the hallway in quick strides. You spotted them just as they turned the corner.

“Seonghwa-oppa! Wait—” you called out.

But before your voice could fully reach him, his door slammed shut. Hard.

You froze.

San, still a few steps behind, blinked in surprise and poked his head back out of the now-closed door.

He looked at you, confused. “What just happened?”

You stared at the door, brows furrowing. “Did something happen during recording?”

San shook his head slowly, his tone quiet. “Not that I know of. He was just… quiet. Didn’t say much on the way home either.”

You looked down at the gift bag in your hands, fingers tightening around the soft ribbon until it crumpled slightly beneath your grip.

Something in your chest tugged uncomfortably. You hated when he shut down like this—when he pulled away without explanation, left you trying to guess what you’d done wrong. Or worse, if he even wanted you around.

Determined to find out, you stepped past San, gently knocking on Seonghwa’s door.

A beat of silence. Then a muffled, “Yeah. Come in.”

You pushed the door open slowly.

Seonghwa sat on the edge of his bed, back slightly hunched, phone resting in his hand but not being looked at. His eyes flicked up to you, unreadable.

Still, you smiled softly, stepping inside and shutting the door behind you.

“Hi, baby… how was recording?” you asked, your voice gentle as you crossed the room, holding the gift bag in front of you like a peace offering.

He didn’t answer right away.

Didn’t even reach for the gift.

Just looked at you like your presence felt heavier than it should.

“Fine,” he said finally, but it didn’t sound like it.

The silence that followed wasn’t like the soft, safe ones you were used to with him. This one had teeth.

You sat down carefully beside him, leaving a small gap between you. “Are you mad at me?”

His jaw tensed. “No.”

But his voice lacked warmth. Lacked you.

You placed the gift on the bed between you anyway, swallowing down the ache rising in your chest. “I got you something. I saw it the other day and… I don’t know. I thought it’d make you smile.”

Seonghwa looked at the bag, but didn’t touch it. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” you said softly, trying not to let your voice crack. “You’ve been distant lately and I just… I miss you.”

He scoffed under his breath, just barely loud enough for you to hear.

Your stomach twisted.

You furrowed your brows, confused, hurt. “Did I do something wrong?”

Seonghwa exhaled slowly, like he was already tired of the conversation. “No. You didn’t do anything.”

You waited, heart pounding, hoping he would just look at you the way he used to. But he didn’t.

“That’s not really an answer, Hwa,” you said carefully. “Because something’s clearly off, and I can’t fix it if you won’t talk to me.”

His eyes finally met yours—and they were colder than you expected.

“That’s the thing,” he said flatly. “You always think there’s something to fix.”

The words hit you square in the chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Seonghwa stood, running a hand through his hair, frustrated. “It means you don’t stop, Yn. You hover. You smother. You always have to be doing something to make everything perfect and—sometimes I just want you to leave it alone.”

Your throat tightened. “So me caring is a problem now?”

“No—” he started, but the damage was already done. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it?” you snapped, standing now too. “Because all I’ve done is try to make sure you're okay, and instead of talking to me like someone you love, you're treating me like I’m... too much.”

Seonghwa didn’t look at you. His eyes were fixed on the floor, jaw tight.

“Maybe you are too much sometimes,” he muttered.

Silence dropped between you like a stone.

Your breath caught, the air thick in your lungs. For a moment, all you could do was stare at him—trying to decide if you’d actually heard that right. But the way he refused to meet your eyes told you enough.

You scoffed under your breath, nodding slowly as the sting worked its way into your chest.

“Right,” you said, voice low, but sharp enough to cut. “Good to know.”

You grabbed the gift bag from the bed and tossed it down with a soft thud, the tissue paper crumpling as it landed.

“Great then,” you said, taking a step toward the door. “Talk to me when you actually want to talk. Not when you feel like making me your punching bag.”

Your hand was already on the doorknob when his voice came, quieter this time. Almost like he regretted it.

“Yn—”

But you were already walking out.

And this time, you were the one who shut the door.

-

Everyone noticed it.

The way you and Seonghwa barely looked at each other. The space where there used to be gentle touches and soft smiles now sat cold and unspoken. And no one knew what to do with it—because it was always you two who smoothed things over when things got tense in the group. You were the glue. And now… the glue was cracked.

Hongjoong sat on the edge of your bed as you curled beneath the blanket in your pajamas, eyes fixed on the muted glow of your bedside lamp.

“Baby, you gotta talk to Seonghwa,” he said gently.

Your eyes stayed on the blanket as you pulled it closer to your face. “No. Can we not do this now, Joongie?” you asked softly.

Hongjoong sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “I know you’re hurt. But avoiding it isn’t helping either of you. He’s been completely shut down. San said he didn’t even touch his food tonight.”

You closed your eyes at that, jaw tightening. “That’s not my fault.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I’m not saying it is. But you love him, right?”

You nodded, the smallest movement under the blanket.

“Then you can’t leave it like this. Not forever. He messed up—badly—but Seonghwa… he’s never been good with his words when he’s overwhelmed. You know that.”

You exhaled slowly, blinking up at the ceiling as your chest twisted. “He said I was too much, Joong.”

Hongjoong’s expression broke for a second, like it physically hurt him to hear it. “I know. He told me. And he’s been beating himself up over it ever since.”

You looked at him finally, eyes glassy. “Then why hasn’t he come to me?”

“Because he thinks he broke something he doesn’t deserve to fix.”

Silence.

“I’m not saying you have to forgive him tonight. Or tomorrow,” he said gently, brushing a knuckle against your arm. “But don’t shut him out forever. Talk to him when you’re ready. Not for him—for you. Because you love him. And whether you want to admit it or not, he’s tearing himself apart missing you.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, the weight of his words settling deep in your chest. Then, with a groan muffled by the blanket, you turned over and glared at him half-heartedly.

“I hate when you get all captain on me,” you muttered.

Hongjoong’s lips curled into a soft smile, eyes warm with affection. “Yeah, but you know you love it.”

Before you could protest, he slid under the blanket beside you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close to his chest. His touch was steady—familiar, grounding.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a second before his lips found yours—slow, sure, comforting.

You sighed into it, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. No matter how heavy things felt, he always knew how to bring you back to center.

-

Hongjoong gave you a small nod as you passed by, still deep in conversation with the choreographer. You barely noticed, eyes locked on your target.

Across the studio, Seonghwa stood with San, both of them talking to the behind-the-scenes camera crew about the new choreography. His laugh was soft, a little forced, but it faded the second his eyes found yours.

San clocked your approach immediately and, without a word, patted Seonghwa’s shoulder before turning to join Mingi and Wooyoung across the room—leaving Seonghwa alone, face taut with nervous energy.

He started fidgeting with his fingers, something you’d always noticed he did when he felt unsteady. You wondered if he realized he was doing it now.

Your steps were slow but sure as you approached. You didn’t stop until you were close enough for your presence to swallow the distance.

“Hey,” you said softly.

Seonghwa looked up like he’d been holding his breath. “Hi.”

Silence stretched for a beat. Then another.

He dropped his hands, forcing himself to stop picking at his fingers. “Can we… talk?”

You looked at him for a long moment, searching his expression—really looking.

“Yeah,” you said finally. “We can.”

His shoulders dropped just slightly, like he’d been bracing for you to say no.

“Not here,” you added, glancing briefly at the camera crew nearby. “Outside?”

He nodded quickly. “Anywhere you want.”

As he followed you quietly toward the side exit, his pace just a step behind yours, you could feel his hesitation like static between you. You didn’t know yet if you were ready to forgive him—but you were ready to hear him.

You led him into one of the empty dance rooms, the low hum of the building barely audible through the thick silence between you. The lights were dim, the kind of soft warmth that made the mirrors along the wall look gentler than usual. You walked over and hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the door, clicking it shut behind you.

Seonghwa stood near the center of the room, hands clasped in front of him like he didn’t know what to do with them. His eyes were fixed on the floor, only flicking up when you turned to face him again.

“I—I, uh…” he began, voice catching.

You didn’t move. You didn’t rush him. You just waited.

He swallowed hard and tried again.

“I haven’t known how to start,” he said, forcing himself to look at you. “Not since I said it. Not since I saw your face after I did.”

You still said nothing, your expression unreadable.

“I didn’t mean it. That night—I was frustrated, and tired, and stupid, and I lashed out at the only person who’s ever made me feel completely seen. I said something cruel because I didn’t know how to say I was scared.”

That last part made your eyebrows twitch slightly. You didn't speak, but you were listening now. He could see it in the way your shoulders softened just a bit.

“Scared of what?” you asked quietly.

Seonghwa let out a breath. “Of how much I love you. Of how much I need you. Of how it feels when I think I’m not enough for you or the others. You’re so good at holding all of us. At holding me. And sometimes I feel like I’m just… dragging you down.”

You took a step closer, arms still crossed. “So you decided to push me away before I could let go of you?”

His lips parted, but no words came.

“I’m not too much, Seonghwa,” you said, voice steadier now. “I’m not sorry for loving hard. And I’m definitely not sorry for loving you. But what you said… it made me feel like being me was a burden. Like I was suffocating you.”

“I know,” he whispered, eyes rimmed with red. “I hate that I made you feel that way. I’ve been trying to figure out how to make it right, but I… I didn’t want to make things worse by showing up when you weren’t ready.”

You finally let your arms fall to your sides, stepping forward until there was only a foot between you. You looked at him—really looked at him. Exhausted. Gutted. Drowning in regret.

Then, slowly, a small, shaky smile broke through.

Your hands reached up, trembling just slightly, to cup his cheek.

He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, his hand reaching up to gently wrap over yours, holding it like a lifeline.

For a long moment, the silence between you was filled with everything words couldn’t say—the apologies, the fear, the love.

Finally, his voice came, soft and raw: “Please don’t ever doubt that I love you.”

You pressed your forehead against his, heart swelling and breaking all at once.

“I won’t,” you whispered. 

taglist: @soso59love-blog @misteez @yeosionist

(bold means i am unable to tag you)

[tryandbehappy]

this realization completely changes how I used to see the love triangle and how I see it now.

Before, it seemed like she carried long-standing guilt, and that she still loved Luke maybe as a person, as her past, as the father of her child. Like, even if the passion was gone, there was still some kind of bond, that she wanted to stay with him because he was a “good partner,” reliable and safe. That’s what I used to think.

But if we look at it through the lens of psychology, then it’s not love. Because not a single marker of mature love is there.

What June actually feels toward Luke:

— Guilt: He waited for me, and I loved YOU (I think Nick saw she’s abused 😭 this man is somehow really understands relationships)

— Shame: I started a whole other life in Gilead and I’m so ashamed— we saw this when she recorded that tape for him.

— Obligation: He waited for me (again)

— Fear of being the bad one: “You should be with someone you deserve” “How can you still want me after everything I’ve done?”

— Illusion that he’s better than her: Which makes her feel like she has no right to leave.

This has nothing in common with real love, which is about:

freedom, acceptance, emotional and physical closeness, joy, openness, honesty, laughter, lightness, passion.

She has none of that with Luke. Even respect is questionable because true respect means seeing your partner as an equal. And he constantly talks down to her, like a child.

“I’ll protect you.” While she fights back: “I don’t need your protection.”

So what does that mean?

She doesn’t love him. She feels a victim complex around him. It’s unconscious emotional dependence, built on guilt and shame. She doesn’t want him, she wants to feel “enough” in his eyes. And that has nothing to do with him.

It’s about her trauma which he continuously reinforces.

That’s what keeps her near him. That’s what stops her from fully choosing Nick and what’s breaking her down as a woman (oh god I feel so sorry for her now, I wanna hug her 🥹)

And if she finally realizes that if she lets herself see it she’ll know the truth: “I haven’t loved him in a long time. I’ve just been trying to earn his forgiveness.”

I also really don’t think it’s a coincidence that they showed us just how awful Luke was with his ex-wife how messy and ugly the beginning of his relationship with June actually was, with cheating and dishonesty.

It was shown very clearly: Look, this was already a red flag. But June didn’t notice it. Because like so many women she probably thought, “He’ll be different with me.” “Maybe the problem was with her.” And honestly, that’s pure internalized misogyny. Because as women, we’re supposed to have solidarity with other women and be able to recognize when a man behaves badly.

[spitefulsatanfics]

°= AS FLESH LOVES FLESH =°

❝ I rebelled… because I was afraid. Because I was in love with humanity. ❞

— Castiel, Supernatural 6x20 “The Man Who Would Be King”

Pairing: Castiel x Fem!Reader (She/Her)

Fandom: Supernatural (Mid-to-Late Season 6)

Tone: Canon-Compliant, Romantic Slow Burn, Sweet & Sensual First-Time Sex, Angel x Hunter, Domestic Intimacy, Vulnerable Masculinity, Awkward!Castiel, Lovesick!Cas, Yearning, Safe Love, Low Light Motel Room Aesthetic

Rating: Mature / 18+

Warnings: Graphic depictions of sex, first-time intimacy, sensuality, emotional vulnerability, religious themes, canon-typical angst.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Synopsis:

He crashes through your door again—bloodied, frayed at the edges of grace and mortal exhaustion. But tonight, something shifts. His lips seek yours, urgent and trembling. What began as silent healing transforms into a quiet worship of flesh and soul. Tonight, the angel does not want to be saved. He wants to feel.

I. The Angel Falls (Into Her Lap)

The first time you patched Castiel up, you barely dared to breathe as you dabbed at the fresh gash across his cheek. The sharp scent of peroxide burned the sterile motel air, slicing through silence like a holy intrusion. He flinched—not from pain, but surprise, a flicker of fragile humanity. The small, quick intake of breath was like a whispered secret lost to the dark.

“Sorry,” you’d murmured then, voice barely above a prayer.

But tonight? Tonight he doesn’t flinch. He stumbles through the cracked motel door, coat shredded, one sleeve soaked in blood that glows faintly with leaking grace beneath his skin—like a dying star in his veins.

Your heart thunders as you rush to his side. “Cas,” you whisper, voice sharp with worry. “Again?”

His eyes, heavy and rimmed with exhaustion, find yours. “I’m sorry,” he rasps, voice roughened like gravel on parchment. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

You never doubt him.

You pull him toward the sagging bed, shedding layer after layer—his trench coat, jacket, shirt—until his skin blazes warm beneath your fingertips. Grace flickers and pulses beneath the surface like fire caught in ice.

“I’m fine,” he lies, voice cracked.

“You’re leaking angel-juice again, Cas,” you tease gently, fingers tracing a raw, angry welt just beneath his sternum. The skin there is bruised like a holy brand.

He shivers, blue eyes fixed on you—intense, vulnerable, like he’s waiting for you to see him not as a soldier, but as a man.

“You always touch me like that,” he admits, voice trembling.

“Like what?” you ask softly, hand lingering against the steady thrum of his heart.

“Like… I’m not a soldier.”

Silence stretches like a prayer. You don’t pull away. You don’t want to—not yet.

II. The Kiss That Unravels Everything

“You’re safe now,” you whisper, the words soft, sacred.

His breath slows, a deep exhale that seems to carry the weight of eternity. “Only when I’m here,” he says, voice thick with something fragile and real.

You realize your knees brush his, your palm pressed against the rapid beat of his heart, and that you’re dangerously close. The space between you dissolves—thick with longing, weighted with the quiet ache of years spent apart from this kind of touch.

Then, ever so slowly, Cas leans in.

His lips brush yours—a tentative, featherlight kiss like the first drop of rain after a drought. His nose bumps awkwardly against yours. You taste the faint metallic tang of his blood, the sweetness of worn leather and whispered prayers.

He doesn’t pull away.

His hands tremble as they settle at your waist, grounding himself in the mortal warmth beneath his skin. You feel his grace quiver, an electric pulse beneath his touch.

When he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his voice breaks. “I’ve wanted to.”

“Me too.”

You don’t wait. You climb into his lap, straddling him like a whispered promise. His hands map your curves with trembling reverence—hips, waist, small of your back—learning the language of skin.

His mouth trails kisses down your neck—slow, worshipful, aching. His groan when you tangle your fingers in his thick hair is raw, desperate, full of need and wonder.

“Cas,” you breathe, breathless. “We can stop if you want.”

His voice cracks open, rough with longing. “I want to feel it. I want to feel you.”

III. His First Time

Undressing is slow—a ritual. Each piece of clothing shed with reverence, a prayer to flesh and spirit. When your shirt slips over your head, his breath catches, rough and sudden. His eyes drink you in, not with hunger, but awe—the reverence of a soul seeing the divine in flesh for the first time.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, voice thick and trembling.

You guide his hands gently, placing them on your body. “Touch me, Cas. It’s okay.”

His hands are tentative at first—light as feathers—but when they press firmer, tracing your waist, cupping your breasts, sliding down your hips, it’s like watching an angel learn to worship.

His mouth follows, planting kisses low on your belly, shy, earnest, filled with wonder.

When he finally sinks into you, your breath hitches, sharp and deep. Thick and trembling, he fills you in a way that’s clumsy and perfect all at once. Your skin flushes as the slick sound of flesh sliding against flesh fills the quiet room—wet, warm, utterly intimate.

You move together slowly, deliberately. His hands grip your thighs like rosary beads, his eyes wide and glazed with awe and something raw.

“Is this…” he pants, voice broken, “…right?”

You cup his face, voice thick with affection and heat. “It’s perfect. You’re doing so good, Cas.”

He thrusts once, tentative, and you moan—a slow, breathy sound that unravels him.

Again, stronger. His rhythm builds—a sacred, slow crescendo. His hands roam with growing confidence, fingers digging into your hips as he buries himself deeper. His moans fill your ears—raw, ragged, soaked with need and reverence.

You respond by moving against him, riding him softly—each motion a silent prayer, a giving and receiving. Your breaths mingle, hot and trembling. Your skin slick with sweat glistens in the low motel light.

His lips find your neck, biting gently, nipping between kisses. You whisper his name, soft, encouraging. His response is a broken groan vibrating through your chest.

When he finally unravels inside you—his voice cracking as he calls your name—it’s not just release. It’s salvation.

You collapse into his arms, breathless and trembling, his fingers threading through your hair as he holds you close—like he never wants to let go.

IV. Pillow talk and Perfect

The world falls away.

The motel room is quiet but for the soft hum of the fridge and the mingled sound of your ragged breathing. Your bodies are tangled, skin warm and sticky against each other.

His fingers trace lazy, gentle circles across your back—curious, tender.

Then, hesitant and unsure, he asks, voice soft as a prayer, “Did I… do it right?”

You laugh softly, love and heat threading through the sound. You press gentle kisses to his cheek, then the curve of his jaw, then the delicate shell of his ear.

“Cas… you were perfect.”

Relief floods his features. He sighs, the tension in his body unravelling like a whispered blessing.

Maybe it’s foolish. Maybe it’s terrifying. But lying here—naked, tangled with the angel of the Lord—you feel something dangerously close to peace.

Something like love.

°= THE END =°

[lightheartedislandboy]

Sora exhaled calmly as Riku's arm wrapped around him, a comforting gesture, something that calmed him. Maybe he was a little too calm, given the subject matter, but...this was a safe space, wasn't it? To finally just talk.

He hated that Riku could relate to him. Thinking about dying. Maybe wanting to, even. But in a way, that, too, was a comfort, because he knew he wasn't alone, in any capacity. But it drove him to cry. Forced the tears out of his eyes. Riku was right. There were tears on his face, and Riku saw them, even if Sora tried to hide them from him.

"A big deal," he mumbled, "yeah." He sniffed and wiped at his eye again.

Riku's question gave Sora pause. He took the question a bit literally, trying to calculate exactly how long he'd been feeling this way- and then he realized.

"Too long," he replied. "Far too long."

He went silent again. There was a lot to say, but he couldn't figure out exactly how to say it, given it...wasn't a fun conversation. At all. Serious conversations still made him want to run and hide, sometimes. But this wasn't something he just wanted to do. He needed to. He just did.

"Doesn't it ever get to you sometimes? The burden of it all...even normal things are hard. Like eating or sleeping. Everything is just so hard..."

Nothing to say again. Sora stared at the floor blankly, still leaning against Riku with almost his full weight- maybe if he stayed like this long enough, face against Riku's shoulder, eyes closed, he could run away from his problems and never face them again. Alas. Things weren't so simple.

"Sometimes I just wish it'd all go away. Maybe if I...y'know?" For some reason he couldn't say the word again. He was afraid he might just start bawling now.

Sora did as he was told, scooched over just a bit to give Riku some space. When Riku was done taking off his boots, Sora leaned against his shoulder. Didn't talk. Instead he just closed his eyes and leaned against him, suddenly feeling like everything was right with the world for a few brief, fleeting moments.

His mind was still loud, thoughts screaming inside his head, refusing to be silenced. All things he'd rather not think about. Not-so-nice things. Really mean, actually. All his fears- burden, failure, other choice words- forced to the front of his mind thanks to his dream. Nightmare. Whatever.

He rubbed his eyes to hopefully hide the fact that he was crying- or about to, at least- and he turned his head downward slightly. Tried to cover it up further with a yawn. Yeah, he was just tired. Exhausted after this mission. In need of more rest.

That part wasn't a complete lie, but still.

"Hey, Riku..." Sora paused. He wanted to break the silence, but he didn't like the way his voice itself sounded broken, not quite right, even he could hear it. A subtle waver, a hollowness, maybe...

"Do you ever think about- I mean...when we finally figure out what's going on and fight who we need to fight...do you ever think about those battles? Do you ever think about dying?"

That last part escaped Sora's lips without meaning. He meant to dance around it, say it in a different way...or just not ask it at all- and then there it was.

[tojbnuy]

highly requested part 2 of roommate!sukuna :) part 1 !!

cw: lol. humping, rubbing thru panties what’s the proper term for this? soft!dom sukuna he thinks he’s mean but he’s a softie, sub!reader, she’s bit of a bimbo we love her, tit fucking, feelings if you squint. MDNI.

a/n : not proofread but thank you for all the love on part one, any suggestions for the jjk roommate series are greatly appreciated :)

sukuna had been thinking about it all week. been creating an intervention in his mind about your way of living. he was putting an end to this. the past week itself was enough to finalize it for him. nearly every night you guys had sat down on the couch together to binge watch your current show. and every night you had been in your underwear and a thin tank top. sometimes he even turned the ac on so you’d feel colder and put a cardigan on. that backfired however when you were still cold and decided to seek heat from your big warm roommate. sukuna had dug his own grave because for the next one and a half hours he had your tits pressed up against his side and your ponytail draped over his arms. he could feel your hard nipples, could smell your shampoo and could see practically the entirety of your ass. safe to say he had a very long and cold shower that night while you ran along to your bed. and last night you had walked past him in the kitchen and ran your fingers up and down his back ogling his tattoos.

‘i really like your tattoos kuna’ you had said with the sweetest little smile on your face. you really had no idea what you did to him.

so tonight was the night. sukuna was gonna tell you what was on his mind. and you had presented the moment perfectly by tiptoeing into his room at 2:13am with your bunny plushy squeezed tight in your arms. sukuna was shocked to see you, he was planning to make his was to your room where he knew you were awake scrolling on your phone.

‘kuna i wanna sleep with you.’

his eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. knowing you, you would talk about sex so carelessly.

‘what??’

‘i wanna sleep with you.’ your voice was all tiny and whiny and you had that same fucking adorable tone that made him want to shove you in his pocket.

but to his relief (sort of) you peeled back the blanket and climbed into his lap, curling up like all the pictures of baby deers that you showed him. you made yourself comfortable by shuffling around some, your legs were around his waist, arms dropping to your sides.

‘why can’t you sleep in your own room.’

‘because i watched a scary video and it’s too cold in my room for me to get eight hours of sleep.’

Right. well his life just got ten times harder. he thought he’d have this problem sorted yet said problem was now in his lap. there were two ways he could do this. stroke your hair and pat your back as he explained what was bothering him. or pull your hair and smack your ass. unfortunately sukuna had never been much of a nice person.

‘listen doll there’s only so much i can tolerate.’

that had your attention, he rarely ever used this tone with you so you’d clearly made him mad.

‘i need to know exactly why you have no respect for me-‘

‘what? i respect you’

‘no you don’t. if you did, you wouldn’t be treating me like i’m one of your girlfriends. running around my place in your underwear. shoving your tits in my face every goddamn second of the day. grinding your little ass on me every time you fucking sit down.’

you had no words. you never thought sukuna would call you out on your behavior.

‘what? cat got your tongue now doll?’

‘i don’t like wearing clothes! i feel more comfy with no clothes on. i’m sorry.’

okay now he wasn’t tryna make you feel bad.

‘and you shoving your tits in my face every chance you get? jumping into my lap like a cat.’

‘i just. i feel nice when im close to you.’

‘nice? nice how?’

‘i don’t know how to say it. just feels nice.’

‘you mean nice here?’ he said as his hand cupped your warm cunt. immediately you gasped and shoved your face into his chest.

‘answer me.’

‘yes.’

‘knew you had it in you.’

‘now i would ask if you want me to carry on. but id say you deserve a little punishment for the way you’ve been acting don’t you think.’

he said as he lightly massaged you through you underwear. sukuna was so mean.

tiny little whimpers left you as his thumb drew circles over your clit through your panties, his other hand harshly gripping your ass cheek.

‘no no please. please kuna.’

‘please what doll? you think you deserve anything nice after acting like that? always so desperate aren’t you.’

‘please please, it hurts.’

you were growing frantic now, grinding your hips around and chasing for any more friction other than his single thumb.

‘only cos i’m feeling nice today. but i’m not giving you anymore than this. you need to learn a lesson.’

he pressed his index and middle fingers harder against your clit rubbing frantically as you all but wept into his chest.

‘sensitive baby aren’t you?’

‘feels so good kuna’

his fingers were relentless on your pussy, but he made sure never to move your underwear out the way. it didn’t take long before you were coming in your panties, tiny sighs breathed into his neck.

‘now doll. take your shirt off for me.’

‘mm okay’ and so obediently you lifted your shirt off and threw it to the floor.

sukuna took a minute to admire you. such pretty tits that he was finally seeing in their full glory. he grabbed a fistful of each and pulled harshly at your nipples.

‘you wanted this didn’t you? s’that why they’re always in my face?’

‘no no i wasn’t trying anything.’ you said with your eyes shut firmly at the slight burn. you couldn’t deny having his hands on you had that tingly warmth growing inside you again.

‘get my dick out for me doll.’

you knew not make him repeat himself. sukuna watched as your smaller hands (those trademark pink nails) shimmied his sweats down and reached into his boxers. he was already throbbing and you gasped at the sheer size of him in your palms.

‘please will you. can you-‘

‘what you wanna get fucked? you think you deserve that?’

‘yes i do please kuna’

‘yeah well i dont, now lay down here.’

he maneuvered you onto your back and peppered small kisses along your jaw. somehow kissing you on the mouth felt slightly too intimate.

‘push your tits together for me doll.’

‘like this?’

you said with the sweetest expression on your face, your small hands pushing at your breasts.

‘just like that doll.’

then he was straddling your chest and he began to thrust himself through the small gap between your pretty tits. fast and hard cos that was the only way to do it.

‘stick your tongue out for me’

and of course you did as told. this sight was all he needed from today onwards. you with the fat of your breasts spilling out your hands. eyes slightly teary and your tongue out licking at his tip.

he was quick to come himself, moving fast so he could cum directly on your tits.

neither of you spoke as he caught his breath. he could sense your shy demeanor coming back and as mean as he was, he wasn’t like that.

‘hey doll.’ he said with a little tap to your cheek to bring your eyes to his. he left hand stroked your cheek as his other used his shirt to wipe away the mess he’d left on your chest.

‘you still wanna sleep in my bed?’

‘yes please?’

‘always so sweet aren’t you?’

he picked you up and placed you on his chest. he wasn’t much of a cuddler but you obviously were. you snuggled your face into the crook of his neck and you warm tits were squished against his own pecs. it was still quite cold so he held you close, there was a lot more for the two of you to talk about which kept his mind busy while he attempted to put you to bed.

just as he had thought you’d drifted off, your little voice spoke up.

‘kuna?’

‘yeah doll.’

‘does this mean i can still not wear clothes in the house?’

he couldn’t help but laugh at that. your biggest worry being if you’d have to wear clothes from now on.

‘nah doll your good. you can keep em off’

‘yay.’

taglist: @totallygyomeiswife @26xidk @kamospeach @desi-laila @chaestwbryz @blueemochii @wrldtups

[ridingthatd]

❝ FUCKABLE! ❞

gojo and geto are assigned a significant task by their teacher, they have the duty of returning you to tokyo jujutsu high. but what would happen if they both find you fuckable?

warning : heavy smut, degrading, breeding, a lot of cum, phone sex, masturbating, three sum, anal sex, pussy talk, dirty, filthy, very kinky

fucking pervert. gojo spit out these harsh words out of his mouth, as he run his fingers through his wet hair. he's been in the shower for quiet awhile now, rethinking whatever he has done an hour ago, what happened to him? is he this desperate?- is he this desperate to fuck his cock with a thong who belongs to the girl he has to keep safe.

satoru thinks and thinks and thinks staring at his hard cock in the shower should he- no no he already did enough, but maybe if he just let it out maybe he will feel better? maybe if he beats his cock in the shower enough he will get tired of beating it, then he wouldn't have to worry about being hard anymore- well at least thats what he thought.

grunts and groans fills the shower, but it wasn't as loud as the water that was running down his body, satoru groans thighs shaking as he stroke his cock in away he never had- so fast, so hard he wouldn't be surprised if the skin of it tear off from how hard he's gripping it, head on the wall of the shower, water dripping down his face, he can't breath, he can't breath because of how suffocating it is to feel this hot- from the warm shower running and of course from the thoughts he's having right now.

having you here with him, bending you over pushing you into the shower wall, boobs squeezing into it, and head rolling back as you desperately give him a sloppy kiss sucking his tongue into your mouth- he looks at the shower wall it was covered with multiple cum spots- his cum, he had came 4 times fucking 4 times and this is about to be his 5th- he wishs you were the one who's covered with his cum shots instead of the cold wall of the shower, his eyes crossed as he imagine your ass- tits - face - thighs covered with his cum, and this seem to send him to the edge as he cums one more time with a long groan and shaky legs. he slides down the shower to shaky to even stand up.

"satoru~" you teasingly call out his name, looking for non other then your favorite sorcerer, you glance inside the kitchen and there he is- his back facing you as he seems to be putting something in the oven, rolling his eyes because he knows once you call his name this way- it means you're up to something annoying.

you sneakily snuck behind his back and warp your ice cold hands inside his shirt- in intention to freak him out, but your silly little action has started a fire- that will break open you.

gojo freezes, standing still, you start giggling thinking you finally caught him off guard, screaming a-

"gottcha that's what you get-" you weren't

able to continue your sentence because gojo is already on you, he was so fast that you let out a yelp as he painfully grabs your hips between his hand and pick you up pushing you toward the kitchen counter, pushing his forehead against yours- your warm breath is mixing with his from how close he was, nose bumping against each other-your breath hitch not understanding what's happening.

"gotcha" gojo whisper lowly against your lips as he stare at them, you can basically feel them faintly brushing against yours as he mutters those words out, you didn't reply- you couldn't, to busy staring at his lips, as he do the same.

satoru doesn't know what got into him- he surprised himself as much as he surprised you.

"satoru" you whisper against his lips, having no motive of pushing him off, so gojo get enough courage to slowly stroke his hand up your thighs, as he keep staring at your lips, he can feel your breath hitch as he squeeze your thighs, trailing his hand up and up till he reachs the skirt you were wearing- he fucking love your skirts, he adore the collection of your skirts, how it let him catch a glimpse of your peachy ass and your plumpy thighs, and most importantly he always think about how easy the access is, he could just bend you over, sliding your panties to the side and shove his cock in with no hesitation.

his hand hovers on your skirt, gojo lick his dry lips, as he look in your eyes asking for permission to slide his hand inside that little skirt of yours. as if you knew what he wants you slowly place your hands on top of his- pushing it inside your skirt placing it on your upper thighs, his fingers gazing against your panties.

he groans against your lips, pushing against you more- because you just gave him the permission he needed so he won't have to hold back anymore.

you let a whimper when gojo squeeze your thighs hard, "you like that yea?" he darkly questions as he knead them harshly.

you nod eagerly, pushing yourself against him, pressing your boobs into him- and gojo finally snaps, picking you up from the counter, squeezing your ass between his hands, as he finally take your pretty mouth against his- finally.

you moan in his mouth and he growls in yours- fuck it tastes so good so good, your tongue against his swirling around together, he pulls back, a string of spit connecting both of your tongues.

"satoru" you mummer staring at him with high eyes and he pull back into a kiss again, wet kissing noises filled the hallway as he makes his way into the living room with you in his arms.

he doesn't make it halfway because he push you against the wall instead, rocking you against his hard cock. you break the kiss, throwing your head back moaning at how good his cock feels- dry humping you.

gojo trails his nose against the side of your neck, huffing as he whisper harshly. "you needy baby? you needy for my cock?"

he pushs harder- it felt to good for you because you thankfully wore a skirt so he's directly stroking his closed cock against your panties, it felt to good because the feeling of the harsh fabric of his jeans rubbing against your clit takes you on cloud nine.

he grabs your hair and turn you around, pushing your face and whole body against the hallways cold walls, he immediately start grinding his hard on against your ass- but the only difference is that you no longer feel his pants- he's only wearing his boxers.

"look what you do to me y/n, you feel this hard cock hm?" he says as he grab your hair pushing your head back to look at him.

but you were to out of it to answer to busy focusing on the way you're so close to cumming, you only snap out of it when gojo pushes your panties down your legs, and shove his finger in without any warming, causing you to yell out.

"I asked you a fucking question didn't i?"

he says harshly as he scissors his fingers inside of you, groaning in your ear from how tight you felt around him.

"ple- please please" this is the only words that managed to come out of your mouth,as you rock against his fingers, mouth half open.

"aw you poor baby you wanna cum on my fingers hm? you wanna squirt on them?" he coo at you sucking on your neck, as he shove them into you faster.

"yes yes yes" your eyes roll, as you roll your hips into him matching his pace. only to whimper when you feel him removing his fingers and licking them clean moaning at your taste.

you were about to complain but gojo already picked you up, throwing you against his shoulder as he makes his way toward the living room throwing you on the couch, freeing his cock out of his boxer, it sprungs out hitting his abdomen. your mouth water out from how big he is- fuck he was so beautiful, pinkish red, veins, and a trimmed white hair. he strokes his cock looking at your wet pussy, he was about to do what he has been fantasizing about till- a ring sound fills the room.

it was your phone laying on the couch next to you, gojo was quick to grab it before you smirking at who's calling- geto.

your eyes goes wide as he click the answer button and put it on speaker placing it next to you. "hello sweetheart, where tf are you? I have been waiting for the past 30 mins" as your hands made their way towards it, gojo shoves his hard cock inside of you.

you moan out loud, he was so big so big, gojo eye rolls, he's shaking, he doesn't know why but he's shaking so bad, after all it was his first time fucking a pussy this tight and the feeling of your tight wet pussy clenching so hard around him has him overwhelmed, "y/n?" geto on the phone confusedly ask.

but you were to busy staring at satorus shivering body, as he leans in placing his forehead on yours, eyes clenched shut, mouth opened.

you completely forget about geto as you slowly flip him and get on top of him. he holds you by the waist gazing at you with adoration. you slowly sink on his cock, he groans fingers digging inside your hips, to your surprise he whimpers. and it turns you on so much that you fully go down. whimper after whimper leaves him.

"y/n" he chokes out, you lean in giving him a sloppy kiss that he returns, "yes baby I'm here" you say.

"please move or I might lose it" he breaths out harshly, you slowly start rocking your hips, to scared to do anything more then that- but what catch you off surprise is when gojo lift you up and push you down hard against his cock, both of you moaning at the same, he repeats it lifting you and tugging you down, you're basically jumping on his cock right now, eyes crossed from how harsh gojo is handling you- like you're nothing but a fuck toy.

"gonna cum inside of you, gonna fill you with my cum" gojo groans out, as he sit up and hug you into him, just to push up your shirt, taking your nipples into his mouth, biting them, and swirling his tongue around them, as he fucks up into you. bouncing you on his cock, oh how much he loves this view.

"fucking hell-" a moan comes out- but it's not from him or from you, it's from the phone, it was geto, he was still on the line clearly listening to what's happening, but that does nothing other then turn you on even more.

"satoru stretch her ass out for me, make sure her little tight ass is stretched out for me" geto speaks out his dirty words, you thought gojo will be made at his friend for ordering him around but to your surprise his eyes sparkle at the idea.

"mm y/n im gonna stretch your second pretty hole for geto yea? we can't be selfish can't we?" he spit this venom out as a smirk slowly creeps out on his face from your shocked expression. "what are you-" his fingers spread your cheeks apart, trailing circles on your hole.

"awe dont tell me you actually thought I would be jealous of my friend-tch i thought u were smarter then that sweetheart, how can I be jealous of my own fuck buddy" you couldn't even react to his words, because geto already shoved a finger up your tight ass- it was a new feeling for you, to overwhelming that it had you squirting on his dick creating an embarrassing wet sound.

"fuck- did she squirt" geto groan out from the phone. your body was drained out from the shockness of both- gojos confession and the new feeling.

but that didn't stop gojo as he pick you up and push you down his cock, bouncing your body on it.

he feels you clenching around his cock tighter "is geto hearing me fucking you turn you on? huh sweetheart" you moan loudly at his dirty words.

"does it turn you on to know that you're fucking his friend?" he says setting you and himself on the edge. " fuck fuck fuck im cumming fuck ima turn your insides white, fill you in, keep you warm and nice".

and that makes you cum again, clenching so tightly around him as you feel his hot cum spilling inside of you, he keep rocking his hips as he bring his mouth to yours, sucking on your tongue.

"never came this hard from masturbating before" geto moans out, indicating that he also came. satoru stare at your sleeping figure as he slowly brush your hair out of the way, he was lying about not being jealous of geto- because of course he is, but was he lying about the fuck buddies part- no he didn't.

[eraserbread]

Obsessed with your Nanamin ♡ Also obsessed with the idea of our boy being a virgin before he meets his wife so she's his one and only. Wow I wish he was real.

four weeks into dating, and kento's barely even grazed your hand. it's not that he doesn't like you, because he does a little too much. you're all he thinks about -- all he pines and stews over when he's alone.

you two met in the odd space between high school and the thought of university where nanami was finally feeling the toll sorcery was taking on him, only going out once a week to drink his guilt away. it’s there, at dinner with co-workers that he meets you — a mutual friend of his desk mate who had a little too much to drink one night.

now, nineteen-year-old nanami was not the nicest. he drank and spent his sleepless nights staring at walls, begging for a reason, or just purpose.

he has terrible insomnia because he sees the ones he lost to curses every time he closes his eyes. it’s why he left sorcery in the first place. he’s not strong. he’s barely capable of keeping his own head up. call it teenage angst, but nanami will call it his burdensome state.

eighteen year old you was full-spirited and beautiful. you always had friends begging to go out drinking and partying. that year was a whirlwind of nasty hookups, terrible hangovers and love-lust. safe to say, you and kento were complete opposites.

all that to say — opposites do attract, and nanami's been obsessed with you ever since that fateful drunken night.

it was one particular morning date over two cups of strong coffee that you finally poke a little further than the stupid childhood stories and plans for the future. you want him to touch you.

"i won't lie, i've been waiting for you to touch me this whole time." it feels embarrassing to finally say out loud, but you didn't know how many more hints you had to give him.

he stills over his sip of coffee, vibrant hazel eyes going stagnant. you can tell you finally got him -- you sparked a reaction.

that day, as soon as he gets you home, he's pushing you on the bed. nanami's all heavy breaths as he crawls over you in the afternoon light, biting over his bottom lip as he meets your gaze.

"i'll try and be gentle..." he whispers before sliding down and tucking his head under your loose t-shirt. kento fits so perfectly there, purring against your warmth as he kisses up your stomach, lips finding their home against your lower sternum.

you're blushed down to your toes, rocking your knees together under kento's lanky frame. he's got you on lock, left hand finding your wrist against his sheets to hold you there.

you've never been this intimate. he's closer to your heart than you are.

"can you breathe down there?" you whisper, breathing harder when you feel him drag to your left nipple.

"mhm." he responds, vibrating the entirety of your body. he gives your nipple a little experimental lick, stopping to gauge your whining reaction. "breathin' you."

"fuck, kento."

he's blushing so fucking hard when he comes out from under your shirt, golden hair ruffled with static. it gives you something adjacent to cuteness aggression, you just want to kiss him already.

it's missionary that first time -- he hovers over you like a angel, pretty eyes screwed shut as the tip of his cock drags slowly through your slit. it's driving you crazy, all this build-up, but nanami can't stop. he fucking loves the way touching you like this felt, this was enough.

"you won't... it's not gonna hurt me, just do it. put it in." it's your final, desperate plea for more, but he's too caught in his head. he shakes it.

"i can't... i can't cause i'm gonna - I'll finish." he's tucking his cheek into his shoulder, whining low as he guides his tip across your entrance. it dips so perfectly there like it's meant to fit, but he just doesn't do it.

it's actually starting to get annoying.

deep down you have an inkling he doesn't really know what he's doing. but, it's okay because neither do you. you know that his lips on your sternum felt good, but the thought of his body inside of yours felt even better.

you just wanted him to take you. you've never wanted something more.

you whine. "nanami, what are you so afraid of?" you try, snaking hand up his naked back to the base of his neck. he shivers hard at your touch but he loves it.

"don't wanna... oh, baby..." he murmurs when your fingers find the tension knot just at the base, using strong fingers to massage over it. "just don't wanna hurt you."

"the only thing that'll hurt me is if you leave. just don't leave me," you pull him close, hugging both arms around the back of his neck.

"so, just put it in... please, please please."

[dollgxtz]

Hide and Surrender

Word Count: 5.1k

Summary: A simple game of hide and seek turns way more intense than you thought it would.

“I caught my prey, it’s only fair I get to eat my catch right?”

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, cnc, cunnilingus, predator play, predator x prey, hide and seek with roleplay, restraining, chasing, slightly rough sex, creampie, unprotected sex, overstimulation, forced blowjob

AN: Another fic idea that wouldn't leave my head. Can't remember which Touring in Love chapter it was, but in it Sylus plays hide and seek with us. And I was like, yknow what would make this 100x better? Predator play :3

"What would you like to play? I'll join you."

Those were the words that started it all.

You had half-expected Sylus to scoff at your suggestion, to find you childish for wanting to indulge in a game meant for children. But to your surprise, he agreed without hesitation, not even asking why. There was something in the way he said it, though—something that made your pulse quicken.

"You've played this before, right, Sylus?" you ask, covering your eyes with your hands to demonstrate. "You cover your eyes like this and count to ten. Then you come find me."

A moment of silence stretches between you, thick with something unspoken. Then, warm fingers wrap around your wrists, prying your hands gently away from your face. Your breath catches as you find yourself trapped beneath Sylus’ gaze—two crimson eyes watching you with something unreadable, something dangerous.

Those eyes—burning, searing, all-consuming—lock onto yours with something unreadable, something dangerous. It’s not just amusement or curiosity; it’s something deeper, something that snakes around your ribs and makes it hard to breathe. The way he looks at you is slow, patient, as if he has all the time in the world to take you apart piece by piece, as if he’s already thought of a thousand ways this game will end.

You feel your heart hammering against your ribs, loud, deafening, a traitorous thing that gives away too much.

He tilts his head slightly, as if considering something, as if studying you. The corners of his lips twitch—not quite a smile, but something just as unsettling.

"I didn’t have time or interest for such games when I was a child," he murmurs, his voice low, almost predatory. His lips curl into something between a smirk and a smile, and the way he looms over you makes you feel smaller, caged. "But for you? I’ll learn quickly, kitten."

The pet name slithers through the air, coiling around you, sinking into your skin like a brand. A shiver ripples down your spine, slow and deliberate, leaving a molten trail in its wake. Heat pools deep in your underwear, an unwelcome warmth that you fight to ignore. Your throat goes dry, and you tear your gaze away, desperate to escape the weight of his stare. But it’s too late—he’s already seen it.

A low chuckle spills from his lips, rich and smooth, yet laced with something dark. Something knowing. The sound wraps around you, thick with amusement, but there’s something beneath it, something that burrows under your skin and makes your pulse falter in a way that has nothing to do with fear. It’s dangerous—not because of what it is, but because of how your body reacts to it.

Like a predator toying with its prey.

He lingers, close enough that the heat of him prickles against your skin, close enough that you can see the glint in his half-lidded eyes. Yet, just as your breath catches in your throat, just as the tension coils so tight it threatens to snap, he takes a step back. Barely. Not enough to be safe—never enough to be safe—but just enough to keep you teetering on the edge.

His head tilts slightly, gaze lazy, his voice dipping into something slow, syrupy, dangerously smooth.

"Go on, then."

The words are soft, but there’s no playfulness in them anymore. No lighthearted teasing. Only promise. A single word, unspoken but heavy in the air between you.

"Hide."

There’s definitely no playfulness in his voice now.

Your pulse roars in your ears as adrenaline surges through your veins. Fine. You weren’t going down easy. This was just a simple game of Hide and Seek—nothing more. You force yourself to ignore the way your stomach twists, how your breath feels too fast, too shallow. You're overthinking it. Sylus loves to tease you, to get under your skin, to watch you squirm. He loves making you flustered, and you know that. But still…there's something in the way his lips curled into a smirk before he turned around to count, something in his tone when he called out, that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

"One…two…three…"

The second his eyes leave you, you bolt. Your feet pound against the tile floor as you dash up the stairs, each step groaning under your weight. Your movements are clumsy, fueled by nothing but instinct. You wince at how loud you are, practically announcing your location, but at this point? Who cares. The only thing that matters is finding a place to hide before—

"Ten." His voice is slow, deliberate. You swear you hear amusement laced in it.

You don't stop running. You throw yourself into his room, nearly tripping over your own feet as you spin wildly, scanning the space for the perfect hiding spot. Your chest rises and falls in quick succession, air burning in your lungs. The bed? No, too obvious. Under the desk? Not enough coverage.

Then, you hear it.

"Let's see where my little kitten decided to hide."

Your blood turns to ice.

Without thinking, you dive toward the closet, yanking the door open just enough to squeeze inside before gently—so gently—pulling it shut, leaving only the smallest crack to peek through. Darkness swallows you whole, the scent of Sylus’s cologne thick in the enclosed space, invading your senses. Your back presses against the wall, every inch of you wound so tightly that your muscles ache. Your breath comes in rapid, uneven pants, and you clamp a hand over your mouth to silence yourself.

Your heart pounds violently against your ribs, so loud it feels like it’s betraying you, threatening to give you away. You try to steady it, to slow your breaths, but every little sound—the creak of a floorboard, the soft click of a door opening—sends another jolt of panic surging through you.

Then, footsteps. Slow. Measured.

Getting closer.

You hear him before you see him.

The door creaks open, a slow, deliberate sound that cuts through the silence, sending a shiver down your spine. The room seems to shrink, the air thickening as his presence fills the space. It’s not just the sound of his footsteps—it’s something deeper, something intangible, an unseen force that presses against your chest, making it harder to breathe. Your heart pounds in response, the steady thump-thump-thump filling your ears like a war drum. Even as fear coils in your stomach, there's an undeniable thrill laced within it, a rush of something you refuse to name.

Through the narrow crack in the closet door, you finally see him. Sylus moves with practiced ease, unhurried, precise, like a predator that knows its prey has nowhere to run. His crimson eyes flicker with something unreadable as they scan the room. He doesn’t fumble, doesn’t hesitate. There’s an unsettling certainty to his movements, a quiet confidence that makes your pulse quicken.

His fingers trail lazily along the back of the couch before he crouches, peering beneath it. “Not under the couch, I see,” he muses, his voice smooth, almost casual. But there’s something beneath the words, something sharp, something laced with amusement, as if he already knows exactly where you are.

"Behind the curtains, maybe?" He doesn’t sound like he’s searching. He sounds like he’s toying with you.

He straightens, then shifts his focus to the glass windows, where the heavy curtains hang still. He moves toward them, fingertips grazing the fabric before he suddenly jerks them aside. You tense instinctively, though you know you aren’t there. He pauses, as if savoring the moment, before releasing the curtain and letting it drift back into place.

Your chest rises and falls in shallow, uneven breaths. Your lungs burn with the effort of staying quiet, of keeping still.

Then he turns, and your heart stutters violently in your chest as his gaze lands on the bed. No way he doesn’t already know where you are. No way his senses are that dull. You watch, frozen in place, as he slowly kneels, resting a hand against the mattress as he leans down to inspect the space beneath the frame. He hums softly. "Hmm...not under the bed either."

The moment he stands, you know. His next stop is the wardrobe.

A faint chuckle spills from his lips, low, knowing, as he starts toward you with slow, deliberate steps. Every cell in your body screams at you to move, but you remain paralyzed, pressed against the back of the closet as if you could somehow will yourself into the shadows. You can barely hear over the deafening thud of your heartbeat.

"Y’know, kitten," he drawls, his voice a lazy, syrupy purr that drips with something thick, something dangerous, "the sooner you come out, the gentler I’ll be with you."

Your breath catches violently in your throat. His voice alone sends a jolt through you, a sharp, involuntary response that leaves you feeling raw, exposed.

Then—he stops.

He tilts his head slightly, as if considering something, before abruptly turning away. "Oh right, I almost forgot to check the living room."

This is your chance. Your only chance.

No time to think—just move!

Your body reacts before your mind catches up. With a burst of energy, you shove the closet door open and bolt. The sudden shift from stillness to motion is disorienting, but you don’t stop, don’t hesitate. Your feet slam against the floor as you propel yourself forward, the only thought in your mind being run.

You don’t dare look back.

But then—air shifts behind you.

A sharp inhale. A pivot of movement.

And then—footsteps. Fast. Closing in.

Panic surges through you, raw and electric, as you push yourself harder. Your legs burn, your lungs ache, but you don’t stop. You just have to make it downstairs. Just a little farther. Just a little—

A rush of air. A presence at your back.

And then—a hand. Wrapping around your wrist.

You scream, a sharp, startled sound that barely has time to leave your lips before Sylus yanks you back with a firm tug of your wrist. The sudden force sends you stumbling, crashing into his chest, your breath hitching as his arm snakes around your waist, keeping you locked in place. He’s warm, solid, unyielding, and far too close. His scent—something dark and intoxicating—invades your senses, making your already racing heart hammer harder.

“Found you, kitten,” he murmurs, amusement dripping from his tone. His lips curl into a smirk as he tilts his head slightly, eyes glowing with satisfaction. “I was starting to worry I lost you forever.”

The mockery in his voice is unmistakable, but inwardly, you’re grinning, nearly laughing. This was exactly what you wanted—a chase, a fight, a chance to push back. But you don’t let him see that. Instead, you put on your best scowl, defiance burning in your gaze.

"Your acting’s gotten worse," you spit, jerking against his hold. You bring your knee up sharply, aiming for his groin with all the force you can muster.

But he’s faster.

Before your knee can make contact, a thick tendril of red mist swirls around you, his Evol surging to life in an instant. The energy coils around your limbs like living chains, locking you in place just as he moves.

In the blink of an eye, he shifts, twisting effortlessly, using his grip on you to throw you onto the bed with little more than a flick of his wrist. The mattress dips beneath your weight, and before you can even think of scrambling away, he’s already on top, looming over you, his expression smug, too amused.

You lash out.

Your fist shoots toward his face, but he leans back smoothly, just enough for your knuckles to miss his jaw by mere inches. You shift, twisting your body, using the momentum to kick upward, aiming for his ribs. Again, he dodges—his body shifting effortlessly, as if he already knows exactly what you’re going to do before you do it.

“Tsk, tsk,” he hums, easily maneuvering around another wild swing from you. “You’re getting sloppy, kitten. I thought you were actually trying.”

You grit your teeth, frustration bubbling beneath your skin. You manage to free an arm from the tendrils of mist, and without hesitation, you try to land a punch to his shoulder. This time, he catches your wrist mid-air, his grip tightening just enough to still your movement.

“You bast—” You twist your hips sharply, using every ounce of strength to break free, but he barely even moves. If anything, he looks bored, like he’s humoring you.

Sylus chuckles, low and deep. “You really don’t know when to give up, do you?” His grip on your wrist shifts slightly before he suddenly pushes you down hard, making you gasp as your bodies gravity shifts, forced into submission once again.

You feel your pulse jump when his lips brush the shell of your ear, his voice dropping to something even smoother, even softer, but no less dangerous.

“And here I thought we were just playing.” His fingers tighten ever so slightly around your wrists, his body pressing just close enough to remind you how little control you actually have in this moment. “I guess it’s my turn to get serious, hm?”

Your breath catches.

Something shifts in the air.

"S-Sylus, wait—" you gasp, your words catching in your throat as the sound of fabric tearing fills the room. In one swift motion, he's ripped your shorts apart, leaving your legs exposed to the cool air, the sudden chill a stark contrast to the heat still simmering between your thighs. Your underwear is the only thing left, a flimsy barrier between his intentions and your already soaked folds.

You start to protest, a mix of shock and anticipation swirling inside you, but the words die on your lips as Sylus shushes you softly, his voice a low, calming murmur. "Shh..." he whispers, his breath warm against your skin, sending a shiver racing up your spine.

"All that fighting, and yet you're soaked down here, kitten".

With deliberate slowness, he lowers his head between your thighs, the anticipation building as his lips hover just above the thin cloth. His tongue flicks out, tracing the outline of your folds through the fabric with agonizing precision. Each stroke is slow, torturous, a teasing promise of what's to come, and your protests dissolve into soft whimpers of need.

"An orgasm or two should get rid of that feistiness," he murmurs against you, his voice a rich, dark promise that leaves you trembling with anticipation.

Sylus's fingers deftly hook into the elastic of your panties, pulling the cloth aside with a practiced ease that leaves you exposed to him, vulnerable and aching. The cool air brushes against your skin for a fleeting moment before his mouth descends, and all coherent thought shatters as his tongue finds your aching cunt.

"Ah!"

The first touch is electric, a jolt of pure pleasure that arches your back off the bed, your hips lifting to meet him with a desperate need. His tongue works with a deliberate, maddening rhythm, alternating between long, languid strokes and quick, teasing flicks that have you gasping for breath.

Your hands find their way into his hair, fingers tangling in the strands as you hold him to you, guiding him closer even as your mind spins with the intensity of it all. He doesn't mind in the slightest, his low, satisfied hum sending vibrations through you, drawing a gasp from your lips.

"This—is c-cheating..." you manage to whine between ragged breaths, though your actions betray you as your hips move of their own accord, grinding against his mouth, seeking more of the pleasure he's so expertly giving.

“I caught my prey, it’s only fair I get to eat my catch right?” he says, before continuing his assault on your clit. His words send your head spinning and you suddenly feel like you can barely breathe.

With a renewed dedication, his tongue delving deeper, exploring every inch of you with a hunger that leaves you trembling. The world dissolves around you, leaving nothing but the exquisite sensation of his mouth on you, driving you relentlessly toward the peak of ecstasy.

The sensation of his tongue slipping inside you leaves you reeling, each thrust a masterful stroke that has you feeling drunk on the sheer ecstasy he’s delivering. It’s a skill that seems almost divine, the way he knows exactly how to unravel you, how to make you moan and whine so uncontrollably that it borders on begging.

Your body responds helplessly, hips bucking against him as your hands clutch at the sheets, trying to anchor yourself in the storm of pleasure. His tongue moves with purpose, each flick and thrust pushing you closer to that precipice, until finally, he shifts his focus, sucking on your clit with a precision that sends you spiraling over the edge.

The orgasm tears through you, leaving you breathless and shaking, your cries echoing in the room as you ride out the waves of bliss. But even as you begin to descend from the high, you’re dismayed to find that Sylus isn’t stopping, his mouth still working you with relentless dedication.

“P-please...no more...” you plead, trying to twist away, your body oversensitive and overwhelmed. But he simply adjusts his grip, his hands firm on your waist, holding you in place with an easy strength that keeps you from escaping.

“Still a little feisty, hm?” he teases, a wicked glint in his eyes as he looks up at you. “Like I thought. One more should do.” His words are a promise and a challenge, and as his mouth returns to its task, you know you’re helpless to resist the pull of his mastery, your body already surrendering to the inevitable wave building once more.

"Mgnh...ah..."

And just as promised, the fight within you starts to ebb away, like sand slipping through fingers, as Sylus's tongue continues its relentless, masterful assault. The pleasure builds higher to the point where it almost hurts, a crescendo that leaves you breathless and trembling, unable to do anything but call out his name, your voice breaking as your body jerks and shakes under his skilled touch.

"Sylus!"

The second orgasm crashes over you, pulling you under its tide, leaving you riding the waves of ecstasy until you finally collapse, utterly spent, like a boneless heap of jello. Your chest heaves with each ragged breath, tears of overstimulation gathering at the corners of your eyes, evidence of the intensity that just ripped through you.

Sylus leans back, a satisfied gleam in his eyes as he licks his lips, savoring the taste of you. He studies you with a mixture of amusement and triumph, taking in your ragdoll form sprawled before him. "Going to try and fight me again?" he teases, a smirk playing on his lips.

You manage a weak shake of your head, trying to suppress the smile tugging at your own lips, despite the exhaustion. Damn this slick bastard and his godly tongue, you think, a mixture of exasperation and admiration swirling within you.

"Good, just how I like you," he murmurs, his voice a low purr that sends a shiver through your already sensitive body. His hands move to his belt, fingers working with deliberate slowness to undo it, each click of the metal buckle a promise of what's to come. "Seems you're ready for the last phase of our game," he declares, his dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with a hunger that promises there's much more yet to be explored.

You lay there, your body still humming with the aftershocks of the intense pleasure he had delivered, your eyes heavy-lidded, your breath coming in short gasps. Sylus, ever attentive, noticed your gaze drifting downward, a mix of anticipation and desire in your eyes as you took in the hard and prominent bulge in his pants.

Your cheeks flushed as you realized the effect you had on him, his hard length straining and throbbing against the fabric of his pants, a testament to the pent-up desire that had been building throughout your little "game." He had only eaten you out and yet his cock seemed like it was about to burst and break the zipper.

Sylus finishes undoing his belt, the soft clinking of the metal a rhythmic counterpoint to your pounding heartbeat. The anticipation is electric, a live wire thrumming between you as his pants finally fall away, revealing the impressive length of him. Even after all the times you’ve had each other, his size never fails to elicit a sense of awe.

Your eyes widened as Sylus, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, moved closer, his hard length throbbing in front of your mouth. You shook your head, a silent refusal, playing hard to get, but he was having none of it. With a swift motion, he cupped your chin, tilting your head back and guiding his throbbing cock towards your mouth.

"Open up, sweetie," he whispered, his voice a low command. "Good little prey does as they're told."

Your heart raced as you felt the heat of his cock against your lips, his hands firm on your head, guiding you to take him in. You strained for control, but his grip tightened, and with a gentle yet insistent pressure, he pushed his length past your lips, filling your mouth with his hardness.

You gagged slightly, your eyes watering, but he held you firmly in place, his cock sliding deeper, his hands holding your face still, ensuring you took him all the way down your throat.

"Good girl," he moaned, his voice thick with pleasure. "Breathe through your nose, kitten."

You did as he commanded, your mouth working around his length, your tongue swirling, your throat constricting around him, the sensation of his hardness and the taste of him overwhelming your senses. He began to thrust gently, his hips moving in a slow, controlled rhythm, his cock sliding in and out of your mouth, his moans filling the room.

"That's it," he whispered, his breath ragged. "Take all of me, claim me as I'll claim you."

His words sent a thrill through you, and you redoubled your efforts, your mouth and throat working in unison, your hands gripping his thighs as he used your mouth for his pleasure. But just as you thought he would climax, he pulled out, his cock glistening with your saliva.

"Not yet," he said, his voice hoarse. "I won't miss the chance to claim my freshly caught prey with my seed."

He catches the wide look in your eyes and grins again, a wicked gleam lighting up his features as he moves closer, positioning himself between your trembling thighs. The head of his cock teases your entrance, brushing against your slick folds with a touch so light it sends a tremor of anticipation through you.

"Stay still." he murmurs, his voice a low purr that vibrates against your skin. You nod, breathless, as he begins to push forward, the slow, steady pressure parting your folds and stretching you inch by inch. The sensation is both exquisite and overwhelming, a delicious burn that leaves you gasping, feeling impossibly full as he sinks deeper inside you. You unknowingly tense up, and Sylus pauses.

Sylus's voice, low and soothing, filled the room as he slightly broke from his rough and demeaning role. His hands gently caressing your hips, his body still poised at your entrance. "Might as well relax" he whispered, his breath warm against your neck. "You have no choice but to take it anyways, kitten".

His words, spoken with tenderness and experience, were a balm to your nerves. You recognize this as his way of checking in and reminding you to relax without fully breaking the mood. He began to move with slow, gentle thrusts, his length sliding into you with deliberate slowness, allowing your body time to accommodate his size. "That's it, squeeze around me," he encouraged, his lips brushing your ear. "Feel me filling you, stretching you, making you whole."

The pain began to subside, replaced by a building pleasure as your body accepted his intrusion, the discomfort transforming into a unique blend of sensations. You moaned, a mix of relief and arousal, as he continued his slow, steady rhythm, his body moving in sync with yours, his hands guiding you through the waves of pleasure and discomfort, until the pain was a distant memory, and all that remained was the exquisite sensation of being filled by his hard length.

Your fingers curl into the bedsheets, clutching them for support as he begins to move again, each thrust firm and unrelenting, setting a rhythm that has you moaning helplessly beneath him. The friction is intoxicating, the sound of skin against skin mingling with your cries as you arch into him, your body alight with pleasure.

Sylus's breath came in short, sharp gasps as he thrust into you, his voice thick with desire. "So tight, so fucking wet," he growled, his words a testament to the pleasure you were providing. His hips moved in a relentless rhythm, his powerful strokes driving into your core with a force that left you breathless, your body trembling with each impact.

As the pleasure mounted within you, swelling like a storm threatening to break, Sylus transformed his movements into a slow, torturous dance. Each thrust was languid and deliberate, a teasing rhythm that played your body like a finely tuned instrument. You were on the brink, right at the precipice, but he held you there, tantalizingly close yet agonizingly far from the release you craved.

"Please, Sylus..." you whimpered, your voice a desperate plea, raw with need. "I need to...I need to finish..."

He leaned in, his breath a scorching whisper against your ear, his lips brushing your skin with feather-light caresses. "I'll let you cum, my love, if you tell me who won."

This bastard. Of course he wasn't going to make this easy.

The challenge in his words sent a shiver racing through you, a heady mix of excitement and frustration. You yearned for the release, but admitting his victory felt like a concession too steep. "Fuck you" you spat, your voice caught between resistance and the relentless pull of longing.

Sylus's pace slowed further, each thrust a deliberate tease, his body a contradiction of slow, sensual movements and the raw, simmering desire you could feel pulsing in every inch of him. "Mmm, not quite the answer I'm looking for. Tell me, sweetie," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck, sending tingling sensations along your skin. "Who won this little game?"

Your body trembled beneath him, caught in the crossfire of need and stubbornness. The sweet torture was a dance of agony and ecstasy, and it was almost too much to bear and you snapped. "You w-won," you finally admitted, the words spilling from your lips like a confession, tearing free as you surrendered to the pleasure he offered, your body arching toward him in a silent plea. "Please...let me cum!"

"That's my good girl," he growled, his voice a low, primal rumble that resonated through your very core. "Now, cum for me."

His pace shifted, each thrust gaining force and urgency, driving deep and hard, a relentless rhythm that pushed you over the edge. Your body convulsed around him, muscles tightening in a wave of release, the climax ripping through you with a sweet, shuddering ferocity that left you breathless and utterly spent. In that moment, the world dissolved, leaving only the blissful aftermath of his mastery, the sweet torture finally giving way to a bliss that wrapped around you like a warm, comforting embrace.

As your body shudders around him, gripping him with the aftershocks of your orgasm, Sylus's thrusts grow more frantic, driven by his own approaching climax. The room fills with the sounds of your combined moans and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin.

His movements become erratic, each thrust deeper and more urgent, as if he's chasing the very edge of his own orgasm. You can feel the heat building within him, a primal energy that seeks release, and you arch into him, encouraging him to finish inside you.

With a final, powerful thrust, Sylus groans deeply, his body tensing above you as he finds his own release. You feel the hot rush of his climax inside you, a flood of warmth that fills you completely, making you feel full. His body shudders, muscles taut, as he pours himself into you, the sensation a sweet, intimate mingling of pleasure and finality.

Sylus, his breath ragged, withdrew from your body with a slow, deliberate motion, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent understanding passing between you. He laid down beside you, his body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, his hand gently caressing your sweat-slicked skin, his touch tender and possessive. He peppered kisses on your lips, cheek, forehead and neck before settling next to you.

Both of you lay across the bed, chests rising and falling in sync, the aftermath of your "struggle" leaving a lingering heat in the air. The sheets are a mess beneath you, tangled from the chaos of it all. Your limbs feel heavy, aching from exertion, but there’s still a stubborn pout on your lips as you turn your head to glare at Sylus.

“Not fair!” you huff, breath still uneven. “I should’ve known you’d pull your dirty tricks…You owe me a new pair of shorts, by the way.”

He merely chuckles, the sound deep and rich, and before you can react, he shifts, wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you flush against his side. His warmth seeps into your skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest oddly soothing despite everything. He squeezes you playfully, pressing his face against your hair as his laughter rumbles through his body.

“I could buy you a hundred new shorts if you wanted,” he murmurs, his tone amused.

You roll your eyes, but you don’t fight his hold. Instead, you melt into him, letting your body relax as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck. His scent is familiar now, something dark and warm, laced with a hint of something uniquely him. It’s comforting, even if you’d never admit it out loud.

For a moment, there’s peace. Just the steady rhythm of your breathing, the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the ghost of a smirk still tugging at his lips.

Then, his voice, soft but teasing.

“I definitely wouldn't mind a second or third round if it ends like this every time. What do you say?” he says, his breath hot against your ear.

Your breath catches, and you pull back just enough to look at him, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

The way his smirk deepens tells you everything you need to know.