#even breathing sometimes over exerts me

[watercolourferns]

It’s so bizarre that I don’t qualify as “poor” and therefore deserve no benefits because I have a smartphone and a roof over my head but me and my cats have been starving for a week because both our foods went up unexpectedly, the USD went down all January and we can’t pay for it.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Throwback

Male Triceratops Hybrid Alpha Yandere x Gender Neutral Capybara Hybrid Omega Reader

CW: Noncon, painful to pleasureable sex, mild violence (not towards reader), time travel, sexism, breeding, impregnation, pheromones, a/b/o, musk, scent marking, scent kink, sucking on dem big man titters, biting, bite marking, claiming, exceptionally huge dick, reader inflated with copious cum, knotting

Word Count: 1.9k

(Sometimes I get stuck on WIPs and have to do something new to write again. I wrote this in two days. Hope y'all like it! Please feed me with comments ❤️)

You were an omega demi-human. Part capybara, though the only evidence of this was your soft ears. More importantly, you were a quantum physicist. Currently, you were studying and recreating what you thought to be a time travel device. Your thoughts and theories had been dismissed entirely by your peers. It didn't help at all that you were an omega. Omegas working in academia were almost universally harassed, derided, and treated with condescension. As if their omega brains couldn't work at the same level as betas and alphas.

But even if it wasn't some type of device for traveling through time it was certainly alien to the time period from which it originated. It was made of advanced alloys and components that had been flattened, buried, and heavily corroded over time. The rock in which it was embedded in was older than any ancient society.

You had been working on manufacturing a functional copy of the artifact for years. Shmoozing up eccentric rich fucks, getting help from the exceedingly few colleagues who would help you in any way, slowly analyzing every detail and carefully bringing it all together. And at long last it was complete. The zenith of your career was at hand. And after some cautious testing that you conducted privately, it was ready to show to others.

You managed to get a spot at a small conference, though you had lied about the subject on which you would be speaking, and by the time it was your turn most of the audience had left. Not many academics cared what an omega had to say. Let alone one with a reputation for being a crackpot. But there were still enough of your fellow scientists and this would all be on video.

Instead of introducing the topic of your presentation, which would be a surefire way to lose what people were still watching, you opted for wheeling out your machine onto the stage and stepping in. With a deep breath, you booted it up and the entire contraption disappeared with a flash.

When you exited the machine there was an immediate problem. You stepped out of the machine into a forest with giant trees and flowers. You had only intended to go back a minute to when your presentation started but had made an error. You turned around to step back in but something pulled you backwards by your rear. You fell back and saw before you a humongous man charging at your time machine. He wore only a ragged fur loincloth and swung a massive club. He looked human except for his size, thick tail, scaled arms, and three horns on his head. One large horn from each temple and a small one extending from my nose.

You looked on in horror as he swung a mighty club down upon your only way back to your own time, repeatedly smashing it down until it resembled the exact shape of the artifact that had been excavated in your time. The relic that you had fashioned your own machine after. That wasn't what your attention was on, however. You were much more focused on getting away from the raging beast of a man who could flatten metal so easily.

Though with his task of destroying the frightening affront to nature that had appeared from nowhere now complete, he turned his attention to you. He shouted at you in a language you didn't understand, though his intent was clear. He had a massive erection sticking out from his loincloth and aggressively sniffing at your neck after picking you up with unexpected care.

With exertion of great willpower, the trike-man managed to not breed you silly right there in the forest. Your pheromones were driving him nearly feral. Modern-day omega pheromones were many times more potent than any prehistoric omega. They had evolved through millennia to pique the interest of choosy alphas despite the steep competition, an evolutionary arms race to try to snag an alpha.

That wasn't the only appealing trait. You were exotic, had cute little furry ears on your head, and you were so small, couldn't fight back and act all defiant like the omegas from his time.

You did struggle though. You had seen his arousal and could still smell it. Almost anything would be better than being violated in such a manner by such a hulking brute. He chuckled at your struggles, they were successful only in tiring you out. On the long way to his lair, between your squirming, kicking, and punching, you had gathered that his name was Orryg. At least you thought it was. He did not speak English, but he gestured at himself and seemed to be trying to give you his name.

He found your struggles kinda cute, mistaking them for an eagerness to escape his grasp and get on with taking his cock already. Omegas were so silly.

"Don't worry. Going to breed you plenty. Better in a secluded place."

You had no idea what he said, but his voice was deep and sounded angry so you could only assume it was something in annoyance at your struggles so you went limp. The giant man could snap you like a twig if he wanted to, best not to make him too upset. And honestly, even if you did escape, where the fuck would you go? What if Orryg wasn't the worst thing prowling about in the time period?

The walk went on for a while, with Orryg giving you an occasional lick or mumbling out some words you didn't have any hope of understanding. After a fair amount of time, Orryg stopped to sniff the air. Suddenly there was a roar from behind.

Orryg turned the two of you around just in time for him to take his club and smack it into a man who was every bit as huge as he was. Swatting him away easily despite being similar in size and build.

This one had sharp teeth and clawed fingers. He spat blood and growled. Orryg regarded him with a scowl.

"Udvik! You know this is trike territory!!"

"Omega smells good, not claimed yet. Thought I'd try..."

"Go before I smash you! This is MINE!"

Udvik spat again and hobbled off. But your suspicions had been confirmed, there were definitely things other than Orryg to be worried about in this time period. You were pretty shaken up seeing a half-dino man jumping at you and watching your captor fight him off. With those teeth it had clearly been no herbivore, it probably would have slaughtered you. Your fear must have been evident in your scent because Orryg held you tighter and nuzzled you.

"That battle got my blood flowing, really need to fuck you. Sorry if it scared you, I'll breed you all better. Almost home."

You continued to have zero idea what the hell he was saying. But you figured with the nuzzling it was something comforting. Though your ability to figure anything out was pretty absent by this point. Your brain was soup. All the anxiety and adrenaline and alpha pheromones had finally gotten to you. You looked at the ground in a stupor as he continued to carry you over his shoulder.

The next thing you were consciously aware of was him entering the cave with you and placing his club at the entrance. He laid down on a slab of stone covered in thick layers of soft furs and placed you on top of his muscled body. Before you had any chance to react he began administering attention to your sensitive neck. You squirmed involuntarily, writhing in pleasure on top of him from the neck stimulation alone.

If that wasn't enough, you were practically drowning in his musk. You had been since you entered his dwelling, the cave was saturated in it, but now he was forcing your head under his arm and making you drink it all in. Smearing your face with it and marking you with his smell. Slick was leaking out of your needy hole and pooling on his abs.

"I knew this would make you feel better."

The trance you were in was only partially broken once you felt the blunt head of his much too-large member press against your hole.

"W-wait! I don-"

But he had no idea what you were saying, and even if he did he knew you'd love his dick so much that you wouldn't protest for long. At this point, you were going to be his... no matter what.

You yelped in pain as he pressed into you, spreading you like none of your toys ever had. He swallowed your shout by pressing his mouth into yours, trying to distract you from the pain with a sloppy kiss before attending to your neck again. Despite every instinct telling him to just ram in and ravage you he restrained himself knowing that doing otherwise could seriously injure you.

"Ah!"

Even with his care it still hurt as he slowly eased his prick all the way into you, he rubbed the outline of his cock through your tummy. Lucky for you omegas were extremely stretchy and pliant.

Orryg slowly thrust back and forth inside you as he hungrily took in your scent. As more precum dribbled into you and mixed with your slick you took him easier and the pain slowly began to ebb away and was eventually replaced almost entirely by pleasure. You moaned softly into his chest as you bit at his pec and sucked his nipple while he kept digging his cock into you.

Your whole body shook and spasmed for a solid minute as you came more intensely than you ever had before. Orryg grunted as the feeling of your body convulsing around him brought him nearly to his climax. The trike man upped the pace just a bit, his heavy balls smacking into you before he started knotting inside you and pumping you full of his virile spunk. One small mercy was that his knot was only a bit thicker than the rest of his cock, not over two times as wide like a modern alpha.

The volume of semen was such that it made you look heavy with child, which you certainly would be after lovemaking like this.

Now that you had been well and truly fucked there was only one thing left for your brand new "husband" to do to really seal the deal. He, with great caution, buried his fangs into your neck to mark you permanently as his to everyone who might see you. Which would be more than you might expect. This was Orryg's outpost, he stayed there while on patrol, but he usually lived with his herd.

It would be a hard adjustment for you to make. You would constantly be under Orryg's watchful gaze or the guard of his tribemates when he went to go hunt or if he went to do things too dangerous for you to be with him. You'd never be alone. Even in the safety of the herd, Orryg would obsessively treat you like something fragile. You would have to adjust your diet to what they ate, mostly fruit and vegetables though they ate meat too, though nothing was familiar to you. You would have to slowly learn their language so you could eventually communicate with the new society that "adopted" you.

But it was okay if it took you a while to get settled, you had all the time in the world.

[sweetimpurity]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ day 17!! need me a big man like Miguel right now wc: 753 *ೃ༄

It’s one of those nights you just can’t take anymore. And Miguel knows it too, but he just can’t bring himself to stop. He knows your body has had enough, he knows you’ve peaked more times than you can stand, but with the way you’re grabbing onto him, the way your voice trembles as you beg him not to stop, the way you keep sucking him back in… how could he ever end this? 

His back is already covered in scratches. If it weren’t for his healing factor, he’d be screwed and sore tomorrow. But sometimes he wishes the scrapes from your fingernails would last a little longer so he can wear them like a badge of honor. Your nails raking down his back with every pound into your pussy. Down his muscles and scratching red lines into his skin. Not that you mean to do it, you don’t want to hurt him, but it’s just the natural reaction. When you’re on the edge of coming, anticipating that perfect stroke that will send you over the edge. 

It’s both an upside and downside to loving a superhero. He’ll make you come a million times in one night but he’ll fuck you sore and breathless for hours because his stamina is unending. It’s almost like he’s on a mission and his DNA allows him to exert himself for much longer than a normal man. Another upside/downside is his size. Much bigger than a normal human man because his DNA is half radioactive spider superhuman. Your little pussy can barely handle a quickie or two. But for hours, he’ll have you worked out, stretched out, filled up and buzzing. 

Even with his genetic mutations, he is still very much human at heart. And he loves you a whole lot, would never dream of causing you pain. But when you’re gushing on him and pulling his hair, scratching his skin, begging and crying for more, he can’t say no. 

“Ah-s’too… too deep baby!” You sob, holding onto him, your fingers tangled in his dark curls and tugging. One big hand cradling your ass as he pounds into you and his other arm under your back. So only your head lies on the mattress, your body in his hold and angled just the way he needs to reach all your sweet spots, your shaking legs wrapped around his waist, he’s pushing deep and full. Stuffing you with him so his pelvic bone pushes up on your puffy aching clit. “Oh don’t stop… mmmmtoo much babe!!”

“Shhhhbaby I know- you’re so good just one more…” He smiles at your conflicting sentiments, face dipping down into your neck and panting against your skin. Tightening his hold around your hot trembling body and grinding into your heat like he’s searching for the warmth therein. 

“Ngh! Ngh ngh ngh! I c-can’t!” You whine, over and over, falling apart and your sounds are music to his ears. “Come on baby, come… you can take it… give it to me…” 

His deep voice sends chills down your spine, fingernails digging into his shoulder blades, drawing a hiss from between his fanged teeth. Feeling you clenching around his girth and squirting on him, making a mess. “Oh yes baby oh oh-” 

His cock sloshes through your cum, pumping you through your orgasm and extending it as long as he can. Growling low against your cheek, talons threaten to pierce the soft warm skin of your ass as he plunges deep, forcing your tensed walls open to accept him, all the way to the hilt as you milk him inside. His broad sweaty chest heaving against yours and holding you in a vice grip. Not wasting a drop, depositing it all deep inside for you. All yours. 

“Shit…” He sighs, rolling off of you and onto his back on the other side of the bed. His chest heaving. Dick twitching, his abdomen messy with your release. Draping his arms over his face and huffing heavy breath. Maybe tonight is the first occasion you’ve outdone him. “Dios-” He sighs when he can feel you climbing on top of him. You’re insatiable. Even when begging him to stop- begging him to keep going. 

“No más, conejita… no more…” He pants. Big warm hands going to hold your thighs straddling him. But you’re already working his tip back inside, slipping around through your slick, prodding your aching entrance. Bearing his teeth at the sensitivity he feels, the way his abdomen contracts with aftershocks. “One more, Mig… please…”

Taglist!! love my sweeties!

@spooky-sculder

@slushycoookie @xxyaoi-nationxx @snails-doodles22 @scaryplanetdestroyer @fate13

@divorcepaperz @yeahnohoneybye @zaunsin @tomalymme @drefear

@mrs-pondwater19 @saintdiior @aphinthestars @hyjionie

@palomanh @maxad99 @muuuwoppppp @reader-1290

@sp0ck136

if you'd like to be added/dropped from the taglist, please comment on my masterlist post. Or else I might not see it! thank you! 🩷

[iuchamjohta]

From dream to reality ft YooA

Words 5860

Tags: Threesome, double penetration, double blowjob, hard fuck, carry sex.

See end for notes.

You sat at the corner of WM Entertainment’s practice, heart heavy, and minds full. The room, which used to be full of energy, now felt cramped and overwhelming. Mirrors lined the walls, reflecting the fatigue and stress that filled the space. As you caught your breath, you watched your fellow trainees go through their routine.

Your recent evaluation had not gone well. Your performance, despite weeks of arduous preparation, had left the evaluators unimpressed. Their words still echoed in my mind: “If you fail again, you will be asked to leave as a trainee. There will be no more chances.”

The weight of those words was crushing. Every moment felt heavy, laden with the crushing disappointment of having fallen short. Your heart, which had once soared with the hope of debuting on stage and stepping into the limelight, now felt like it was sinking into a pit of despair. The dream that had initially seemed so attainable now felt cruelly out of reach. The idea of never achieving your goal—and never having another chance to be with YooA—was unbearable.

YooA. Her name was like a melody that had played in your heart since the beginning. Ever since you saw her on stage for the first time, it had drawn you to WM Entertainment. She was the reason you had pushed yourself so hard, the reason you had endured countless hours of practice. She was the brightest star to you in WM Entertainment. Her performances were mesmerizing, and her presence seemed to bring a sense of warmth that was impossible to ignore. It was her that gave you inspiration and had driven you to join the company in the first place, to pursue a dream that had initially felt so distant. She was your light. To be near her, to even dream of winning her favor, had initially seemed like an impossible fantasy, but now, even that dream seemed to be slipping through my fingers.

Your heart raced not just from the physical exertion but from the looming weight of the upcoming evaluation—the one that would determine your future with WM Entertainment. With your head hung low, you walked down the dimly lit corridor. You could hear the soft murmur of voices coming from the staff lounge as you dragged your feet across. To your surprise when you looked up, you noticed YooA, the girl you had admired from far, was chatting animatedly with a few other trainees. Her laughter was light, her presence radiant, and seeing her like this only served to deepen my sense of hopelessness. You knew you had to muster every bit of courage you had left.

With nothing left to lose, you took a deep breath and approached her, your heart pounding furiously in your chest. You felt a flush of embarrassment and nervousness as you stammered, “YooA, can I talk to you for a moment?”

Her eyes lit up with curiosity and kindness. “Of course! What’s on your mind?”

“I just wanted to let you know that I’ve been working really hard,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the quiver you felt. “I know this might sound strange, but I really admire you, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to go out with me sometime.”

 YooA’s eyes widened slightly, a playful smirk curling on her lips as she looked me over. “Oh, I’m flattered,” she said, her smile gentle yet teasing. “But considering your recent evaluations, I think it’s best to focus on improving first. I’m afraid I can’t say yes to that right now” A wave of embarrassment and disappointment washed over you. You felt a flush of heat rise to my cheeks as you were further crushed. “Oh, I understand. I just thought I’d ask.”

YooA saw your visible disappointment. Her expression softened, and she leaned in slightly, her voice taking on a gentler tone. “However, if you do manage to debut, if you really make it. I’d be more than happy to reconsider. I’m rooting for you, you know. Prove me wrong, and we’ll see what happens” Her words were like a spark igniting a dormant flame. Though you were stung by the rejection, the promise she held out was enough to rekindle your hope. You nodded, trying to mask the surge of renewed determination. “Thank you, YooA. I won’t let you down.”

That night, you made a promise to yourself. You would work harder than you ever had before. Driven not only by the fear of failure but by the hope of proving yourself worthy of both the debut and YooA’s promise.

Every day before dawn, you would begin your routine with rigorous vocal exercises that tested the limits of your stamina. You spent hours perfecting your technique, refining your pitch, and strengthening your range. In the afternoons, you immersed yourself in dance practice. You would replay choreography videos over and over, trying to mimic every move with precision. Your muscles ached, but you pressed on, nonetheless. You recorded your practice sessions to scrutinize your performance, adjusting to ensure every move was flawless. You practiced until your body felt like it was made of lead, until you could barely lift my limbs, but you kept going, driven by the knowledge that every improvement brought you one step closer to your goal. You were determined to impress YooA.

The nights were spent studying. You poured over videos other idols, analyzing their performances and their stage presence. You copied their gestures, their expressions, their movements. You took notes, practiced your expressions in the mirror, and worked on your charisma.

Social interactions became rare. Your friends and family grew worried about your isolation, but you were resolute. You were determined to make every sacrifice count, to transform every ounce of doubt into strength. Your days blended into one long routine of training, but you welcomed the monotony because it meant you were closer to your goal. The other trainees watched you with a mixture of curiosity and sympathy. Some offered words of encouragement, while others expressed doubt. You ignored the haters and used their skepticism as motivation. You sought feedback from mentors and took every criticism to heart, viewing each as an opportunity to improve.

As the weeks passed, your dedication began to pay off. Your stamina increased, your voice became more powerful, and your dance moves more precise. You could feel the difference in your performances. You grew more confident, and the hope of debuting became a tangible reality. Finally, the day of the next evaluation arrived. You stood backstage, heart racing with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. Your mind was clear, your body ready. You had given everything you had, and now it was time to show what you could do. The moment your name was called, you stepped onto the stage, feeling the weight of your hopes and fears pressing down on you. You gave it everything you had. Every move, every note was performed with a blend of desperation and determination. The judges watched closely; their expressions unreadable. As you finished your routine, you felt a mix of relief and uncertainty. You had done your best, but the outcome was now out of your hands. The wait for the results was agonizing. You paced the hallways, replaying every moment of your performance in your mind. When your name was finally called. You walked in and noticed the shift in the judges’ expressions, from stern to impressed.  “Congratulations,” one of them said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “You’ve made significant progress. We believe you’re ready for the next step.”

You could not believe what you have heard. After months of intense training and grueling evaluations, you’ve finally achieved your dream: your debut is set! The hard work, sweat, and perseverance have all come to fruition, and you’re on the brink of a major career milestone. Bursting with excitement, you ran out of the room and scrolling through the contact list, you found YooA name from the number she had given you after making her promise to you. Nervously, you fumbled around with the keyboard before successfully typing in a few words.

After receiving YooA’s enthusiastic reply, your heart felt like it was bursting with joy. You could hardly contain your excitement as you read her message again and again. The thought of finally spending time with her, celebrating your debut, and sharing this special moment was exhilarating. You hurriedly made plans for tomorrow, trying to decide what to wear and how to make the day as perfect as possible. Every detail seemed to matter, from picking out an outfit that would make a good impression to planning how you would express your gratitude for her support. As evening fell and you prepared for bed, sleep seemed elusive. Your mind raced with thoughts of the upcoming day, replaying the highlights of your debut and imagining the joy of being with YooA. The anticipation made it almost impossible to settle down, but you forced yourself to rest, knowing that tomorrow was a big day.

The next day you came to the dance room YooA had mentioned, curious as to why she had called you to there as the meeting point for your date. As you opened the door, YooA was already there. She wears a sleek dress that hugs her curves, and her full lips are glossed, making them look even more mouthwatering than you remembered. You walked in, captivated by her presence. “YooA, noona, you look incredible,” you said, your voice gave away your admiration that you had for her “Why did you choose this room for today?”

YooA turned to you, her eyes glinting with confidence. “Thank you. I needed a special place for something important,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of mischief. “I have to test something first before we get any further.” You raised an eyebrow, feeling a surge of curiosity. “What do you need to test?” YooA took a step closer, her gaze intense yet inviting. “I want to see if we can connect on a more intimate level and if you can satisfy my needs,” she said candidly. “It’s important to me that we’re on the same wavelength before we move forward.” Your heart raced as you processed her words. You understood the gravity of the situation and appreciated her directness. Of the million other possible outcomes, this was not one that you had expected for your first date. Before you could fully process everything that was happening. YooA closed the distance between you, her lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss. The softness of her lips was mesmerizing—one of the most tender and enchanting experiences you’d ever had. Each touch was a delicate promise, a dance of intimacy that left you breathless. You continued, backing her against the wall before crushing your lips against hers again. Her lips tasted indelibly sweet, and you groan as her tongue tangles with yours. Her hands roam over your body, igniting the fire burning within you. The kiss deepened, growing more passionate but just as you both were losing yourself in the moment, the door to the dance room swings open. Frozen in place, you watch as another man steps into the room. He's younger, with curvy hair and a lean frame, and he wears a similar look of surprise on his face. You recognise him from yesterday’s evaluation and remembered that he too had passed the final round of evaluation and was set to debut. His name was Jin-Woo if you had remembered correctly. Was, he going to be your future band member? That you do not know. You were more curious as to why he was here at the dance room too.

“Noona, who… is this?” you asked sounding puzzled. Yooa pulled away from you, her cheeks flushed. “Well… Let’s just say I made a promise to him too, that I will consider him if he succeeds too.” She explained. The realization hit you like a wave. The romantic promise you had felt so deeply connected to was part of a larger plan, a test of sorts that extended beyond your own moment with her. “Actually, I only promised that I would consider both of you and this is your final evaluation, to see which one of you can satisfy me the most”. You glance at Jin-Woo, jealousy and curiosity warring within you. YooA seemed to have noticed your hesitation and disappointment. She gives you a wicked grin. "Don’t worry, I am sure I can take on you both" she says, her voice low and enticing. "Let me show you." “Fuck it” you said, you were not going to miss out on this opportunity with your dream girl offering herself in front of you just cause another guy joins in. If anything, you were confident with your body and believed you would come up on top. You stepped forward, determination fueling your desire. The other man follows suit, and YooA positions herself on a nearby couch, patting the space beside her. "Let's see what you've been hiding, boys," she coos, and her fingers trail down the neckline of her dress, exposing her generous cleavage. You waste no time, shedding your clothes and stepping out of your pants, your cock springing free. YooA's eyes widen at the sight of your thickness, and she licks her lips in anticipation. The other man joins you, his length slightly shorter, but impressive as well, and YooA's breath quickens. "My, my," she says, "Looks like I'm in for a treat."

You both join her on the couch, your cocks twitching with anticipation. YooA takes a moment to admire you both, her gaze burning with desire. Then, with a sultry smile, she leans forward and takes you both into her hands. Her touch is electric, her palms soft and her grip firm. She strokes you slowly at first, her fingers tightening around your shafts. You groan, your head falling back as pleasure sparks through you. YooA's touch is expert, her palms sliding up and down, teasing the sensitive tips. "Mmm, you both feel so good," she purrs, and you can feel her warm breath on your skin. Then, with a swift movement, she leans down and takes you into her mouth. Your cock disappears between her full lips, and you gasp as her wet heat surrounds you. She sucks slowly, her tongue swirling and her lips gliding over your length. It's the best blowjob you've ever experienced, and you struggle to hold back your orgasm as she works her magic. She had the best dick sucking lips in your opinion. YooA hums in satisfaction, vibrating around you, and you bite your lip to stop from crying out. She takes her time, sucking and licking, exploring every inch of you with her mouth. Her hands roam over your thighs, squeezing and caressing, encouraging you to thrust gently into her mouth. As you thrust into that hole made by her mouth, her tongue and lips working in harmony, suction just perfect. Every time your thrust meets her face, she slurps, the sounds so dirty and sexy. You can see why she took you both on at the same time. You cannot imagine how anyone can last for a few minutes if she focused on just one man. YooA releases you from her mouth with a wet pop, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. "Tasty," she murmurs, before turning her attention to the other man, devouring him with equal enthusiasm. Your eyes drift to the other man, and you see him thrown back in pleasure, his hands clenching and unclenching as YooA swirls her tongue around his tip. She takes him deep, her throat constricting around him, and he gasps, his hips jerking involuntarily. You stroke yourself as you watch, unable to tear your eyes away from the erotic display. YooA bobs her head down unto Jin-woo, her lips stretched around his thickness, while her hand started pumping the base of your cock. She sucks and licks, her tongue never ceasing its skillful dance. She started alternating between both of you, switching after a few bobs on both of your shafts. You can't take your eyes off her as she deep throats you both with ease, her lips wrapping tightly around your girth, her eyes fluttering closed in pleasure. She moans as she works, the vibrations sending shocks of pleasure through you.

Jin-Woo is the first to lose his battle, grunting as he fills YooA's mouth with his release. YooA hums in satisfaction, swallowing around him, milking him dry with her lips and tongue. You were not far behind, when she takes your cock in again you thrust your hips, burying yourself in her mouth and you explode. YooA takes every drop, sucking and licking until you're spent, then releases you with a satisfied smile. You both collapse on the couch, breathless and sated, while YooA sits back, a self-satisfied smile on her face. She runs her tongue over her lips, tasting the remaining cum on her lips. "That was incredible," you both manage to say in union, still reeling from the intensity of your release. YooA laughs, a husky sound that sends a thrill through you. “Now let’s see which one of you can satisfy me better”.

Jin-Woo didn’t waste any time.  He immediately positioned himself between YooA's thighs and started eating her out. “Someone’s eager” YooA chuckled. Jin-woo continued to feast on YooA’s pussy, lapping away eagerly, desperate to please YooA. You watched as Jin-Woo licked and sucked on her clit, his tongue dancing over her sensitive bud. YooA moaned softly, her hands running through his hair, encouraging him. You stroked your thick cock, feeling it pulse with anticipation. You knew you could do better than this guy. YooA needed something harder, something wilder but you were going to patiently wait for your turn before giving her what she wants. Jin-woo then stood up, his cock rock hard and ready for her. Positioning YooA with her back on the dance floor, he rubbed his cock up and down her slit, wetting his tip before entering her slowly. Their eyes locked as he filled her up and YooA wrapped her legs around him. "Fuck me, Jin-Woo," YooA moaned, her nails digging into his back. "Yes, Noona” Jin-woo responded, thrusting himself into YooA. Jin-woo moved his hips at a slow pace. It appears he was relatively new to this and wanted to take things slow. He slowly built up a rhythm, grasping her thighs, pulling her towards him as he thurst, forcing his cock even deeper inside her. However, YooA seemed to have gotten inpatient and wanted to control of the pace. Flipping Jin-woo unto his back this time, YooA straddled Jin-woo, positioning his cock in front of her pussy and in one fell swoop, sank herself down, swallowing his entire length. “Oh my God, Noona, this feels so good” Jin-woo grunted. YooA continued riding him vigorously, lifting her hips before lowering it down quickly again causing Jin-Woo eyes to roll back slightly and let out a moan. The sight of YooA ass bouncing with each thrust and her tits flailing was too much for you to handle. Getting impatient, you went behind YooA and lifted her off Jin-Woo’s shaft, causing her to pout from a temporary emptiness.

“My turn now” Positioning her on fours, you lined your cock, before driving it deep inside her with a swift, powerful thrust. YooA lets out another moan a mixture of surprise and pleasure. This was a very different treatment as compared to Jin-Woo. Grabbing her shoulder, you begin to set a fierce pace. You fuck her with long, hard strokes, your cock plunging deep into her wetness. "Oh fuck, yes!" YooA cries out, her head tipping back. "Harder, Y/N Give it to me harder!" Her words spur you on, and you began to pull her towards you with every thrust, forcing your cock even deeper inside her. You feel her pussy clench around you as she became increasingly wet. The sound of your passionate fucking soon filled the dance room. Then grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling her head back, you slammed harder into her. You feel her walls stretch to accommodate your thickness, and the sight of your cock disappearing into her sends a jolt of arousal through you. You continued to fuck her with abandon, your balls slapping against her clit with each forceful thrust. "You like that, don't you?" you grunt, pulling her hair slightly to expose her neck. "You like it when I take control and give you what you need." "Yes!" she pants, her eyes wild with lust. "I want you to fuck me senseless. Make me cum around your big cock." Her dirty words send a bolt of desire through you. Looking around the dance room, an idea crossed your head. You grabbed YooA by the waist and lifted her effortlessly, positioning her in a standing doggy-style pose. Using the sofa now as leverage, you continued to thrust into YooA with force. Her juices were already flowing, coating your cock with her sweet nectar. You slid your hand between her thighs, rubbing her clit in circular motions, never slowing his relentless thrusts. YooA's breath quickened, her moans filling the room. "Fuck, yes... harder, YN," she pleaded.

Obliging her request, you quickened his pace, pounding into her with forceful strokes. Using your hand, you lifted one of her legs, giving you an even deeper angle to plow her hungry pussy. YooA's nails dug into the sofa, leaving marks on the surface as she struggled to maintain her balance amidst the barrage of pleasure. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, you executed your original plan of placing her in this standing doggy position. You led YooA towards the full-length mirror at the other end of the dance room, the whole time your shaft was still buried deep inside her. Grabbing her hair, you lifted her head and forced her to look at her reflection. YooA watched herself getting fucked, her chest heaving with each sharp intake of breath. She saw her dishevelled hair, her flushed face, and the way her body moved in perfect harmony with yours. "Look at yourself, YooA," You growled. "Look at what a fucking mess you are. Can't control yourself, can you? promising two trainees this, because you want us to fill you up. You're nothing but a slut for cock." YooA's eyes shut with arousal, relishing the filthy words. Seeing everything that transpired through the mirror served to turn both of you even more. You reached around, grasping YooA's throat with one hand while still mercilessly hammering into her. He squeezed gently, applying just enough pressure to heighten her arousal without restricting her breath. "Take it, YooA," you grunted. "Take my cock like the good little slut you are." Then from the corner of your eye, you see Jin-Woo approaching, while stroking his cock. It seems he too have gotten incredibly aroused and impatient after seeing the scene before him. Without needing instructions, he moved in front of YooA, offering his length to her waiting mouth. She opened eagerly, taking him in, sucking and twirling it with her tongue while you relentlessly fucked her from behind. Jin-woo started to thrust into her mouth, his balls slapping against her chin. YooA gagged slightly, but her skilled tongue and lips showed her expertise, making it clear she loved it. You got a little annoyed that the view of the mirror was now blocked, but you could imagine YooA's expression—her eyes rolling back in pleasure—and you knew she was getting closer to the edge from. You knew from feeling her pussy clenching around your cock, milking you for all your worth. You leaned forward, whispering into her ears “Cum for us, Noona. Let me feel that tight pussy clench around my cock." That was all it took. YooA's body stiffened, and she cried out around the cock in her mouth as she reached her climax. Her pussy walls contracted, pulsating wildly around your embedded shaft. As YooA's orgasm washed over her , Jin-woo also reached his limit, his hips bucking wildly as he filled YooA's mouth with his load, his eyes screwed shut in ecstasy. You watched, feeling YooA's pussy pulsate around you, and it pushed you over the edge. Gripping YooA's hips tightly , you unleashed your own orgasm, flooding her with your hot cum. All of you remained in this position for a moment, catching your breath, before YooA turned her head, her lips glistening with cum, and flashed you a seductive smile. "Now that," she purred, "was an impressive performance." “But we are not done yet, there’s one more hole you both have not filled.”

Stirred by her words, and the opportunity to fuck her ass, you and Jin-woo’s cock slowly began to come to life again. Even if both of you were spent, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity you would not want to miss out even if you must force out one more orgasm. You took a step forward, placing yourself directly behind YooA. "Are you ready for this, Noona?" you asked, your voice hoarse with anticipation. She nodded, her eyes sparkling with excitement and a hint of nervousness. "I want you to fuck me. Both of you. At the same time." You smiled, feeling your dick twitch with excitement. This was a fantasy come true. You reached out and grabbed her hips, pulling her towards you. She gasped as the head of your cock teased her tight asshole. With both hands, Jin-Woo reached between her legs lifting her up as you guided yourself to her entrance. "I'm going to stretch you out so good. You're going to feel so full and satisfied." You whispered. As Jin-woo lowered YooA down unto you, you slowly pushed your cock into her ass and she let out a loud moan, her body tensing momentarily before relaxing and allowing you to enter her. You felt the tight ring of her asshole surround your cock, and you couldn't help but groan at the sensation. "Fuck, that's tight," you muttered. "So fucking perfect."

Once she had taken your full length, you reached underneath to hold her thighs, supporting her weight and spreading them for Jin-Woo to enter. Jin-woo grabbed YooA’s hips and positioned himself at her pussy entrance. With a swift thrust, he slid into her, filling her completely. YooA cried out, overwhelmed by the sensation of being filled in both holes. She felt stretched and satisfied in a way she had never experienced before. "Oh my God," she breathed. "It feels so good." You started to move in sync, slowly at first, finding a steady rhythm. Then, you withdrew your cock almost entirely out of her ass before slamming back into her, feeling her tight hole clench around you. Jinwoo matched your pace, his hips slamming against YooA's, his cock sliding in and out of her pussy. The three of you formed a perfect symphony of carnal pleasure, your bodies moving as one. YooA's breasts bounced with each thrust, her nipples hardening as the pleasure built inside her. You reached around and squeezed her tits, pinching her nipples gently, causing her to cry out and buck her hips back against you. "That's it, Noona" you encouraged. "Take it all. You're doing so fucking well. You love getting fucked in both holes like a slut you are" Your words sent a shockwave of desire through her body, and she could feel her orgasm building. "Yes," she moaned. "I'm a slut. Please, make me cum. Fuck me harder." You obliged, grasping her hips tightly and slamming into her with full force. Jinwoo did the same, their balls slapping against her sensitive skin with each powerful thrust. The room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, mixed with the three of your lustful moans and profanities. YooA's pussy clenched around Jinwoo's cock as she cried out in pleasure. "I'm cumming! Oh God, I can't hold it anymore." Her ass tightened around your cock as she came, her body shaking and shuddering with intense pleasure. The feeling of her orgasm sent you over the edge, and you could feel your own release building. However, both of you were exhausted from this position of carrying and thrusting, eventually you and Jin-Woo’s thighs gave way, slumping unto the dance practice room floor with your cocks leaving her holes in the process.

“Don’t stop, fill me up” YooA moaned.

Jin-Woo smiles, and you can see the hunger in his eyes as well. This time you wanted YooA to ride you. Jin-Woo pulls out of YooA, and she got the message and turned to straddle you, taking your cock in her hands and positioning it at her entrance. She sinks down onto you, letting out a sigh of satisfaction as she fills herself with your length once again. Her eyes flutter closed as she begins to ride you, her hips moving in slow, sensual circles. But it's not long before she picks up the pace, her breath coming in short gasps as she rides him harder. Her pussy clenches around your cock with each ride, and you can feel her tightness squeezing him.

"Oh, fuck, YooA, you feel so good around my cock," you groaned, your hands grasping her hips as she rides you.

Moving your hands higher, you reached forward and begin to play with her tits, your fingers rubbing circles around the sensitive bud before giving them a firm squeeze. YooA lets out a sharp cry, her body tensing as a pleasure shock through her.

"Yes, Y/N, right there," she pants. " Harder. Fuck my pussy”

You obliged, your hips snapping up to meet her downward thrusts. The sound of their flesh slapping together fills the room, along with YooA's moans and cries of pleasure.

"That's it, fuck me like that," she cries. "I need all of you inside me."

Your cock is buried balls-deep inside her, and you began to thrust up roughly, your hips slamming into hers. YooA throws her head back, her long hair falling over her shoulders as she cries out. Jin-woo sees the lust and hunger on her face, and he knows she wants more. He positioned himself behind her again, his cock lined up with her tight hole. He pushes slowly, feeling the resistance, and then YooA relaxes, taking him in. Oh, fuck, that's it," she moans, as she continues to ride you, her body sandwiched between two hard cocks. Jin-Woo begins to thrust slowly, building up a rhythm as he fills her ass. It was his first anal experience, and he was doing his best not to cum too quickly. She was so tight and was squeezing the life out of him. Meanwhile, your hands continued to massage her breasts, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh as you watched Jin-Woo fuck her, slowing down your thrust to let Jin-Woo fit himself in.

"That's it, Jin-Woo, fuck her ass," you grunted. "She looks so damn hot like that."

YooA is lost in a haze of pleasure, her body being pleasured from both ends. She lets out a string of profanities as the two men fuck her, your cocks stretching her, filling her with pleasure. "Oh, God, I'm gonna cum," she cries. "Don't stop, keep fucking me!"

Jin-Woo feels her ass clench around him, and he knows she's on the edge. He reaches around and plays with her clit again, rubbing it in tight circles. "Cum for us, YooA," he says. "Let us feel it."

YooA screams as the orgasm rips through her, her body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure hits her. Jinwoo groans as he feels her pussy clench around him, and he can't hold on any longer. “I want it on my face this time” YooA declared sensing both of your impeding orgasm.

You and Jin-woo quickly pull out of her. You see a satisfied smile on her face. Her hair is wild, her makeup smudged, and her body glistening with a layer of sweat. She looks like a goddess who has just been thoroughly worshiped.

 "Do it, I want to feel both of your cum on my face." she says, looking at the both of you

You and Jin-woo need no further encouragement. You stand in front of her, your cocks already beginning to stir as YooA gets down on her knees, her face expectant.

You stroked your cock, your eyes never leaving YooA's face. You can't wait to coat her pretty features especially those lips with his cum. Jin-woo is doing the same, his eyes glazed over with desire.

"That's it," Yooa says, her voice husky. "Stroke those cocks and cover me with your cum."

You feel the pleasure building as you watched Jinwoo stroke his cock, the head already glistening with pre-cum. You know it won't be long now. "I'm gonna cum soon," you groaned.  "Me, too," Jinwoo adds.

"Then do it," YooA says, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. "Cover my face with your hot cum."

You couldn’t hold back any longer. With a sharp cry, you came, your load shooting out in thick ropes, landing on YooA's face. You see your cum coat her cheeks, her nose, and her lips, and you keep stroking to get every drop out.

Jin-Woo cums a second later, his cum mixing with yours on YooA's face. She closes her eyes, a look of pure pleasure on her face as she feels the warm liquid cover her.

"Oh, yes," she moans. "That's it. Cum for me." You and Jin-woo are utterly spent, your cocks beginning to soften. YooA reaches up and gently begins to rub the cum into her face, smearing it across her skin like a cream. She licks her lips, tasting the salty mixture, and then opens her mouth, sticking out her tongue to catch any last drops.

"Mmm, delicious," she purrs, her cum-coated face looking incredibly sexy. You and Jinwoo collapsed onto the floor; your bodies exhausted but satisfied. After lying on the floor for some time, you finally recovered and cleaned up all the mess that three of you have made. Grabbing some paper towels, you helped YooA cleaned her face as well. Taking this opportunity, YooA leaned into your ear and whispered, “You have passed my final evaluation with flying colours, I will contact you for a second date”. That day, after a magical afternoon with YooA, you returned to your cozy apartment, your heart still dancing with joy. Every detail of today replayed vividly in her mind. You knew that this day will be forever seared into your memory. The feel of YooA's body, the taste of her skin, and the sound of her cries of pleasure will fuel your fantasies for a long time to come. More than that, you are happy that you are given a chance to date the light of your life, the reason you have strived so hard for. Knowing your achievement, you drifted off to sleep with a big smile.

Thanks to the anon for the support to this piece! Hope you enjoy it. Feel free to send request ideas (refer to masterlist for details on which groups I accept) or commission a piece if you enjoy the writing.

[taurasiluvr]

WE GOT A DOPE LOVE, WE GOT A BOND THAT THEY SPOKE OF / TWO GUNS WE DON'T GIVE THEM HATERS NO LOVE ── BUECKERS⁵

how you can help palestine part one part two

★ i got a some requests for a last part for my paige fic, so here it is!! ★ "girlyy u shld add another part to ur paige fic where reader finally breaks up w her bf and ends up giving back to paige?? (p receives) queen ur literally feeding us rn🙇🏽‍♀️" /// "and NOW i think you should do a final third part of the paige x reader where reader leaves that bum ass boyfriend and finally gets with paige 😜😜"

 ⠀ ── ⠀warnings ;; nsfw under the cut, mdni. homophobia (from ex), arguing, singular physical altercation (if you can even call it that), oral + fingering (r giving), lovey-dovey sex, break-ups.

 ⠀ ── ⠀word count ;; 3.8k

 ⠀ ── ⠀rylin's notes ;; requests are open for those who want to send them in :p

you and your boyfriend walk hand-in-hand into the crowded gymnasium, paige's jersey clad on your body. as you made your way to the bleachers, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of nervousness. again, you were wearing paige's jersey, a silent testament to the bond you shared, and you knew it would be noticed by everyone, including your boyfriend.

he glanced at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. "you're really supporting her, huh?"

"mhm," you replied, squeezing his hand. "she's important to me, you know that."

he nodded, his expression softening. "yeah sometimes i wish i played basketball so you could support me like you do her," he joked as you gave him a nervous laugh.

the worst part of that was – you kind wish he did, too.

you found a spot in the bleachers, settling in as the players warmed up on the court. the sound of basketballs bouncing and sneakers squeaking against the floor filled the gym. you scanned the court, your eyes quickly finding paige; she looked focused and determined, her movements fluid and confident. you felt your lips curve up into a subconscious smile as you watched her, and it filled you with adoration knowing how much she loved this sport, it made you fall in love with her even more.

as the game began, you cheered along with the rest of the crowd, your excitement growing with each play. paige was on fire (per usual), her skill on full display. you couldn't help but feel a surge of pride every time she made a basket or a crucial play. your boyfriend cheered too, his competitive nature coming out as he got into the game.

at halftime, the score was close, and the tension in the gym was palpable. you turned to your boyfriend, who was animatedly discussing the game with the dad next to him. he seemed to be enjoying himself, and you felt a small sense of relief. maybe things were starting to settle down.

as the second half began, the intensity ramped up. UConn was behind by a few points, and the pressure was on. you watched her closely, her determination evident in every move she made. with just a few minutes left on the clock, she made a play, stealing the ball and driving it down the court for a layup that brought the crowd to its feet.

you jumped up, cheering loudly, your heart pounding with excitement. your boyfriend joined in, his enthusiasm matching yours. as the final buzzer sounded, UConn emerged victorious, the gym erupting in cheers and applause.

you made your way down to the court, weaving through the throngs of celebrating fans. paige spotted you and jogged over, a huge smile on her face. she looked radiant, her eyes shining with triumph.

"my god, that was insane!" you exclaimed, wrapping her in a hug.

"i know!" paige replied, her breath still coming in short gasps from the exertion. she glanced at your boyfriend and gave him a nod.

he smiled, watching the interaction between you two. "you played a hell of a game, never thought women's basketball could be that entertaining."

you cleared your throat, nudging him slightly as you gave paige a sympathetic smile. "babe," you gave him a sigh, earning a shrug from him.

paige laughed, ignoring the comment. "well uh, maybe that's your sign to watch more."

"yeah, maybe."

there was a moment of awkward silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. you felt caught between the two people who meant so much to you, each with their own place in your heart (at least, that was what you were trying to convince yourself).

paige's teammates called her over for a group photo, and she glanced behind her. "aaliyah's boyfriend is hosting an after-party, if you're down," she didn't really acknowledge your boyfriend, her gaze fixed on you.

your lips curved up into a genuine smile as you nodded, and it felt like it was just the two of you for a moment. "yeah, we're down."

"okay, perfect." paige grinned before she turned around toward the team. you watched her go, your heart swelling with a mixture of emotions.

your boyfriend squeezed your hand, pulling you out of your thoughts. "babe, we have my function tomorrow morning, remember?"

"yeah, we won't stay out too late." your gaze stayed on the blonde before you glanced at your boyfriend, forcing a smile.

he nodded, though his expression remained wary. "okay, just don't want you to be too tired."

the drive to aaliyah's boyfriend's house was filled with a tense silence, your boyfriend focused on the road while you stared out the window, lost in thought. when you arrived, the house was already crowded, music and laughter spilling out into the neighborhood.

you spotted paige as soon as you walked in, her presence a comforting anchor amidst the chaos. she waved you over, her smile bright and inviting. "hey! so glad you guys could make it,"

"of course," you replied, returning her smile. "wouldn't miss it."

your boyfriend trailed behind you, glancing around the crowded room. "nice place," he commented, his tone neutral.

paige nodded, her attention shifting to him briefly before returning to you. "yeah, it's pretty great. come on, let's get you some drinks."

as your boyfriend found some of his friends, paige led you to the kitchen where a variety of beverages were spread out on the counter. as you poured yourself a drink, paige leaned in closer, her voice low. "you okay? you seem a little tense."

you gave her a small smile, grateful for her concern. "yeah, just a lot on my mind."

paige's eyes softened, and she gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "i'm here if you wanna talk."

"thanks, p," you replied, feeling a warmth spread through you at her touch.

the evening wore on, and you found yourself relaxing more and more as you mingled with friends and enjoyed the party. however, there was an underlying tension that you couldn't quite shake, a constant reminder of the complicated situation you were in.

toward the end of the night, you found yourself alone on the back porch, taking a moment to breathe in the cool night air. paige soon joined you, her presence a calming balm to your nerves.

"needed a break?" she asked, leaning against the railing beside you.

"yeah, just a little overwhelmed," you admitted, staring up at the stars.

paige nodded, her gaze thoughtful. "i get it. tonight's been a lot."

you turned to her, the unspoken tension between you palpable. "paige, you know i... i think that, um..."

paige's attention was fully fixed on you now, her eyes never leaving your face. "you think what?"

before you could finish, the door to the porch opened, and your boyfriend stumbled out, his expression exhausted but he immediately straightened up as he saw how close you and paige were. "hey, there you are. everything okay, what's goin' on?"

you sighed, your frustration bubbling over as you glanced back at him. "yeah," you muttered, annoyance taking over. with a scoff, you shook your head and began walking back into the house.

your boyfriend seemed confused and maybe even a little angry as he glanced toward you and paige. "the fuck is up with your attitude all of a sudden?"

"god, nothing," you retorted, rolling your eyes as you tried to push past him. "get outta my way."

"no! you think i'm fucking stupid?" his voice grew louder, anger seeping into his tone. he blocked your path, his presence imposing.

"just let me through," you insisted, trying to sidestep him.

"you've been acting weird all night, and now i find you out here with her?" he jabbed a finger towards paige, who had been watching the exchange with a concerned expression.

"jesus, you're overreacting!" you snapped, the tension in the air thickening. "it's not what you think-"

"oh, really? cus it sure as hell doesn't look like it," he spat back, his voice rising. he grabbed your arm and pushed you back outside, his grip tight as you let out a yelp.

the force of his grip was jarring, and the sharp yank backward sent you stumbling. your breath caught in your throat as you struggled to regain your balance, the pain from his grip making your arm throb. paige's eyes widened in alarm, and she took a step forward, her voice urgent.

"hey, asshole, let go of her!" paige shouted, her tone steely as she tried to pull you out of your boyfriend's grasp.

his grip tightened around your arm, his eyes locked onto paige's as his face contorted with anger. "don't fucking touch her," he hissed through gritted teeth. "you think you can just waltz in and steal her from me? you're a fuckin' girl and you're over here, corrupting her."

"corrupting her?" paige scoffed, her voice firm, her hands raised defensively. "what is this, the fuckin' 60s? are you kidding me?"

your boyfriend's grip on your arm tightened once more, and he turned to face paige, his eyes flashing with rage. "stay outta of this, you little bitch."

the insult hit you like a physical blow, and you flinched, your heart pounding in your chest. "don't call her that!" you shouted, your voice breaking with emotion. "let go of me!"

"or what?" he sneered, his grip still unyielding. "think you can just walk away from me?"

you could feel your anger and frustration reaching a boiling point. "god, just shut up! you're acting like a complete asshole."

"yeah, and who's the one sneaking around with this bitch?" he shot back, his words dripping with venom.

"i told you to not call her that!" you shouted, your voice cracking with emotion.

"or what?" he stepped closer to you, his face twisted in rage. "you gonna leave me for her? is that it?"

before you could respond, paige stepped between you, her gaze locked onto your boyfriend's. "you need to fuck off!"

"oh, so you're her knight in shining armor now?" he sneered as he finally let your arm go with a push, causing you to stumble backward. "fuckin' pathetic. you think you can take her from me? you're just a sad, desperate bitch who can't stand that she'll never want you like she wants me."

paige's jaw clenched, but she didn't move. "i don't need to take her from you. you're doing a fine job of that yourself."

"fuck you," he growled, pushing paige back roughly.

"don't fucking touch her!" you screamed, before getting his face.

the aggression in his actions was the final straw for you. "we are done," you declared, your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and hurt.

he turned back to you, his eyes wide with shock. "what?"

"you heard me," you said, stepping away from him. "i'm done with this. i'm done with you, no more breaks no more... no more of this, i'm done."

your boyfriend stepped back, his chest heaving with rage. "you think this is over? you think you can just walk away like this?" he shouted, his voice echoing in the quiet night. "for a girl?!"

paige stepped forward, her expression nothing short of pissed. "yeah, it is. you needa leave her alone, seriously, this shit is getting bad."

he glared at paige, his jaw clenched. "you think you're so tough, don’t you? just wait. you'll see what happens when i get back inside."

"oh yeah? i'm not fucking scared of you, i don't care who you think you are," paige snapped, she'd had enough of this guy the moment she met him – this was her last straw. "but what you're not gonna do, is step into my fucking place and threaten me or my girl."

"your girl? you gotta me fuckin' with me," he let out a bitter laugh as he took a menacing step toward paige, his eyes blazing with fury.

paige didn't flinch, her stance firm and unyielding. "yeah, my girl," she said, her voice laced with a dangerous edge. "and if you think i'm just gonna stand by and let you grab her like that, you're fucking crazy."

he sneered, his face contorting with contempt. "you really think she wants you? you're just a pathetic rebound, a distraction."

paige's eyes narrowed, her fists clenching at her sides. "this isn't about what you think. this is about you being an abusive asshole who can't handle the fact that she deserves better."

the words hit like a slap, and he recoiled, his face twisted with rage and denial. "you're fucking delusional," he spat. "she'll come crawling back to me. you'll see."

"not if i have anything to say about it," paige retorted, stepping forward to close the distance between them. "now get the fuck out."

the air thick with unspoken threats and barely contained anger. you stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, feeling torn and overwhelmed. this confrontation had been brewing for a long time, and now it was finally coming to a head.

he glanced at you, his eyes flashing with a mix of betrayal and desperation. "is this what you want? to be with her?" he demanded, his voice breaking with emotion.

you took a deep breath, your hands trembling. "i wanna be happy. i want to feel safe. and after tonight, i-i don't feel that with you."

for a moment, the silence was deafening, the only sound the distant hum of the party still going on inside. your boyfriend stared at you, his expression a mix of anger and disbelief, before finally turning on his heel and storming back into the house. the door slammed shut behind him with a resounding bang, the noise echoing in the quiet night.

you let out a shuddering breath, your knees feeling weak. paige wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into a tight hug. "it's okay," she murmured, her voice soothing. "he's gone."

you clung to paige, the reality of what had just happened crashing down on you. the fear, the anger, the confusion – it all seemed so overwhelming.

"he'd... he's never grabbed me like that before," you murmured, your voice trembling as you clung to her. "never put a hand on me, ever."

paige held you tighter, her hand gently rubbing your back. "i'm so sorry you had to go through that," she whispered. "now you know his true colors,"

you buried your face in her shoulder, the tears finally breaking free. "don't know what to do," you admitted, your voice choked with emotion. "i don't know if i can handle this."

paige pulled back slightly, cupping your face in her hands and looking into your eyes. "you're stronger than you think," she said softly. "and you're not alone. i'm here for you, always."

you nodded, taking a deep, shaky breath. "thank you, p," you whispered.

she pulled you into a tight hug, her warmth and strength surrounding you. "you don't have to thank me," she murmured. "i care about you. and i won't let anyone hurt you, especially a 5"8 frat guy,"

you let out a tearful laugh, shaking your head as your grip tightened around her.

she gave you a small, reassuring smile. "come on, let's get you home and away from all this shit,"

you nodded again, allowing her to guide you back into the house. the noise of the party seemed louder now, a stark contrast to the quiet tension of the porch. as you walked through the crowd, you felt the weight of curious eyes on you, but paige's steady presence beside you gave you the strength to keep moving.

 ⠀ ── ⠀

"i'm sorry," you buried your face in paige's neck, the warmth of her bed comforting. the events of the night had left you emotionally drained, but here, wrapped in paige's embrace, you felt a sense of safety.

paige's hand gently stroked your back, her touch soothing. "you don't have to apologize," she said softly. "none of this is your fault, i promise."

you sighed, the tears still threatening to spill. "i just feel so stupid. i should have seen the signs, should have ended it sooner. i should have listened to everyone when they said he was toxic,"

paige pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting yours. "hey, don't blame yourself," she said firmly. "it's not easy to see things clearly when you're in the middle of it. what's important is that you're safe now."

you nodded, grateful for her understanding. "thank you for being there," you whispered. "don't know what would have done without you tonight."

"you don't have to think about what could've happened," paige's expression softened, and she pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "i'll always be here for you," she promised.

you felt a surge of warmth at her words, the sincerity in her voice reassuring. you looked up at the blonde, the warmth in her eyes making you feel fuzzy inside. "i have to find a way to repay you for everything."

"nah, you don't have to, princess." her lips curved into a smile. "you know i woulda killed him right then and there if you weren't there, baby."

the petname made your face flush as you smiled up at paige, your heart beginning to race. "not just for tonight... i meant all the times you fucked me good,"

paige let out a breathless at the vulgarity in your words, her own face flushing as she licked her lips as they curved into a smirk. "really, princess? you're gonna make me blush," she teased, her voice dropping to a playful whisper.

"mhm," you batted your eyelashes up at her, making paige let out a laugh. your hands travelled to her naked stomach, your hand flush against it. "let me make it up to you, p,"

paige's breath hitched as your hands moved against her stomach, your touch sending shivers through her body. her eyes darkened with desire as she looked down at you, her smirk widening. "oh, baby," she murmured, her voice thick with anticipation. "what do you have in mind?"

you grinned, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her collarbone, your lips trailing a path of fire down her skin. "think you deserve a little pampering," you whispered against her skin, your hands sliding lower, teasing the edge of her waistband.

paige let out a low moan, her hands tangling in your hair as she arched into your touch. "fuck, you drive me crazy," she breathed, her voice trembling with need.

you continued your slow exploration, your lips and hands working in tandem to elicit more sounds of pleasure from her. you could feel the heat building between you, the air thick with anticipation. "relax and let me take care of you," you murmured, your voice soothing.

paige's eyes fluttered shut, her breath coming in shallow gasps as you continued your ministrations. your heart raced at her sounds, a surge of desire flooding through you. your moved with purpose, paige's hands roamed over your back, her nails digging into your skin as she struggled to hold on.

you moved downward, finding your place in between her legs. her hand was weaving through your hair, her eyes fixed on your face. you moved her underwear to the side as you licked a stripe against slick pussy, earning a low groan from the blonde.

"fuck, keep lookin' at me like that," paige let out a breathless laugh as she gripped your head.

you looked up at paige, maintaining eye contact as your tongue moved against her. her breath hitched, and her grip on your hair tightened. "god, you're so good at this," she moaned, her voice breaking with pleasure.

encouraged by her reaction, you continued your movements, your tongue and fingers working perfectly to bring her to the edge. the taste of her arousal and the sight of her coming undone because of you sent waves of desire coursing through your body.

paige's moans grew louder, her body trembling as she struggled to maintain control. "don't stop, baby," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. "fuck yeah, princess, oh fuck,"

you had no intention of stopping, your focus solely on her and the pleasure you were giving her. you increased your pace, your efforts rewarded by the way her hips bucked against you and the cries of pleasure that escaped her lips.

she was close, you could feel it in the way her body tensed and the desperate sounds she made. you began flickering your tongue against her clit, quickly pushing her over the edge. paige's entire body shuddered, her back arching off the bed as she came with a loud, guttural groan.

you kept going, drawing out her orgasm for as long as possible until she finally collapsed back onto the bed, her body limp and trembling. you moved back up to her, pressing soft kisses along her stomach and chest as she caught her breath.

"fuck, that was incredible," paige managed to say, her voice hoarse. she pulled you up to her, capturing your lips in a deep, sloppy kiss. "you're incredible."

you smiled against her lips, your heart swelling with pride and affection. "love making you feel good," you whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

paige's eyes softened, and she cupped your face in her hands. "and i love you," she said, her voice filled with emotion. "more than anything."

"i love you too, p."

paige's eyes glistened with a mix of love and contentment, and she pulled you into another tender embrace. you nestled into her warmth, feeling a sense of peace wash over you that you hadn't felt in a long time.

"let's just stay like this for a while," you murmured, your voice muffled against her skin.

"absolutely," Paige whispered back, her hand gently stroking your hair. "just you and me, no one else."

the two of you lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, the world outside fading into insignificance. in that moment, it felt like nothing could touch you, like you were both cocooned in a bubble of safety and love.

after a while, Paige shifted slightly, her hand trailing down your arm. "how about we get some sleep?" she suggested softly. "its been a long night."

you nodded, feeling the exhaustion of the evening catching up with you. "yeah, that sounds good."

paige helped you settle into the bed, her movements gentle and caring. she tucked the blanket around you, then slid in beside you, pulling you close once more. you could feel her heartbeat against your back, a steady, comforting rhythm that lulled you into a sense of security.

"goodnight, princess," she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

"goodnight, p," you replied, your eyes already drifting shut.

as you lay there, on the cusp of sleep, you felt a profound sense of gratefulness. despite the turmoil, you knew you had someone by your side who truly cared for you, someone who would stand by you no matter what.

if you enjoyed, any interaction is greatly appreciated!

with love, rylin 𝜗𝜚

[lunajay33]

Migraine🕷️

Summary: You get frequent migraines but they’ve been mia since the apocalypse but even since you got to the farm they’ve returned but you didn’t wanna bother anyone until Daryl finds you balled up on the floor in pain

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader

Request by @avrmee

•Masterlist•

Soul crushing migranes were always a struggle to deal with before the world ended, but there was ways to try and relieve them, medicine, piercings, acupuncture but now that it’s been about a year and there was no more medicine or anything really the migraines came back and almost stronger than before

They’d come on when the heat was high and the sun was near blinding, triggering what ever it was in your head to cause crippling pain that no matter how much pressure you applied to your eyes or the amount of water you drank it didn’t matter, but in this world you couldn’t afford to take a day off especially with all the work the others were putting into the prison it was only fair you pull your weight even through the pain

Walking out of prison, opening the door to the blinding white light that was the Georgia sun stung just hoping it didn’t flair up another episode, walking out to the court yard where Daryl was tinkering on his bike you sat next to him

“I missed you this morning” you said leaning your head against his shoulder as he used a wrench against…..well you have no clue but you loved watching him work

“Sorry ya know I’m an early riser plus ya’ve been sleeping lot longer now, ya okay?”

You didn’t wanna worry him and tell him that after these long days of over exerting yourself in the heat that the pain in your head kept you awake late into the night causing you to wake up later than everyone else

“Oh yeah I’m fine, just tired is all, plus I got a beautiful sight next to me at night it’s hard to fall asleep” you laughed poking his side making him gruff out a laugh

“Well I have to go work on the crowd of walkers around the fence, if you need me I’ll be there” I said leaving his side walking down to the entrance gate, using a pole to take down as many walkers as you could working your way down the fence, working for hours when you felt an aura around your head, the groans and snaps of jaws became louder and overwhelming, your knees became weak, you became nauseous as your vision became blurred and specked with black dots, all topped off by the painful pressure in your head

Losing control you dropped to the gravel clutching your head in your hands, knees tucked up to your chest, whining from the pain, this is one of the worst it’s ever been, in the distance you could hear your name being yelled but everything was so overwhelming you couldn’t even process it until the screams got closer

“Y/n baby what’s wrong” Daryl asked holding your body close to his, your head in his lap as he rubbed your back

“It…….it hurts so much” you whined as you clutched your head more wishing for this pain to fade

He just held you for what felt like half an hour trying to comfort me, the walkers noises started to dwindle someone must have came down with Daryl to take them out, you huffed out a breath as the pain subsided a bit giving you enough strength to sit up, seeing his worried expression

“What happened?” He asked brushing my disheveled hair back

“I get this awful migraines, I didn’t wanna say anything and use it as an excuse but they keep me up at night but sometimes they get so bad, like this and I don’t know how to stop them”

“Darlin ya should have said something, we’d understand, I could’ve tried to help ya at night”

“I know how hard you work all day you need your sleep”

“But if yer feeling sick yer more important, promise me you’ll let me help ya”

You bit your lip hesitant not wanting to be a burden

“Y/n” he said sternly

“Okay I promise”

“Good, ya know yer damn stubborn”

“You love me” you said smiling

“Yer lucky I do”

[taintandviolent]

From smut prompts can you do a combo of 2 and 57 for Remy Lebeau x female!Reader?

Love your writing and can’t wait for part 2 of Taco tuesday!

warnings: smut (doggy-style), dirty talk, uhhhhhh i dunno what else. mirror sex? yeah.

His groans are more frequent, breathing ragged. Suddenly, he reaches around to your face, his strong hand gripping your jaw, straightening your head gently. Your eyes are still closed, painfully heavy with arousal. He’s fucked you senseless, and without his current support, you can barely hold your head up. 

“Look at your reflection, cher.” he murmurs. His voice is sultry, laden with arousal and you peel your lids back, swallowing hard. You’re suddenly faced with your own reflection; the mirror on the back of your door. It’s parallel to your bed, and until right then, you somehow forgot that. To Remy, it had been an intentional, calculated move. The position you two were currently in was one that felt impersonal to him sometimes, but because you had a mirror, he still got to enjoy all the subtle nuances of your arousal, and the way you responded to his body.

Doing it doggy-style, you’re on your knees and elbows, and Remy is tall behind you, all brawn. Your eyes flit to your own image somewhat apprehensive, for no man has ever made you look at yourself during sex and you’re not sure what you’re about to find. To your surprise, it’s not embarrassing, nor is it something that kills your high. 

The way the light filters in from your bedroom window casts you in a dreamy yellow haze, flushing your skin with a light glow. Your gaze is lust blown, your cheeks are flushed, your ample cleaveage is rocking back and forth with the force of his movements, and your hair mussed up from where he’d been holding onto it. He thrusts his hips into you once, hard, and your expression contorts into one of pleasure, body shuddering against the action. Seeing it in the mirror is a new experience, but the visual turns you on even more. If you were going to be honest with yourself, you were hot.  

You grip the sheets, making fists in the fabric as Remy hammers into you. Your jaw drops, and a low, erotic moan of pleasure tumbles out over your flushed lips. He, too, looks so good – the way his handsome features look almost tormented with pleasure, the way he’s moving against you, his muscles rippling with each exertion. 

“Look at how gorgeous you are.” He continues, his words choppy from the power of his thrusts. Despite that, his voice is deep and commanding, and he holds your hips, using them as leverage for his thrusts. “So gorgeous when I’m fuckin’ you like ‘dis. So pretty for me, and only for me, huh?”

You’re only able to moan in response as the sensations overwhelm you. He’s hitting all the right spots, taking you in a way that you’ve never experienced before. 

“Ain’t ‘dat right, cher?” He urges, watching you in the mirror. You nod, breathlessly. He cocks a languid, half-smile; pleased that you’re appreciating yourself, even a little bit. If you saw yourself through his eyes… 

He suddenly leans forward, pressing his toned stomach against your back, and urging himself farther inside of you. His voice, when he speaks, is husky and low, almost a growl. 

“I ain’t sharin’ you with anybody. You’re mine, and mine only, and Remy gonna’ make you remember ‘dat.”.

The way he fucks you then is ruthless, staying true to his previous claim. His hips hammer into yours, cock bullying your cunt with reckless abandon. Your arousal climbs higher, and higher until it reaches a peak; you can’t hold it back any longer Your eyes fly open again, brows pulled together in tortured lust, as the coil snaps and you collapse the front half of your body forward, soaking him and arching your back up until it aches.

Remy’s close behind you, but his stamina is better than yours. Another new experience; men usually come first (too quickly, at that), but not him. He’s got you in ten different positions, three orgasms deep before he paints your insides. 

“Ah, cher… c’mere.”

[lilacliquors]

kinktober day ten: fucking machine

pairing: phillip graves x reader

word count: 807

notes: welcome to day ten! i've been so looking forward to writing this all day even though i had a nasty nail break at work whoops but LOOK IT'S MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN

phillip graves was a busy man. he was the ceo and commander of one of the world’s largest private military companies, and he was running back and forth like a mad man. he always tried to make time for you, but sometimes, there just weren’t enough hours in the day. and he missed you like crazy, it was no secret. he knew it, his men knew it, and most of all, you knew it. and that was why a recent purchase of his didn’t shock you too much.

“it doesn’t replace the real thing, but it’s good enough,” he’d said when he showed it to you, and after laughing a bit, you had to agree.

he’d purchased you an automatic fucking machine, something for you to use in his absence. and while you both preferred the real thing, it was damn near close enough to him, you had to wonder if he’d done one of those molds, just for you.

and now, it was time to break it in, and send him the evidence.

he was busy, off in mexico on an assignment, when he got the message from you. worried, he excused himself from a debrief and went off to his private quarters, a bit of anxiety welling in his chest. when he was alone, he opened his phone and saw that it wasn’t a text, or an audio message, but a video. arching a brow, he clicked on it, and it began to play. 

thank god he was alone.

the sight was obscene, deliciously so. you were on your back, your phone propped up at just the right angle, and the brand new toy he’d purchased for you was slowly pumping in and out of you. his eyes hungrily gazed at the recording, watching one of your hands grip your breast while the other reached down you spread those pretty folds, and rub gentle circles on your clit. the sounds of the machine mixed with your moans, and god, how he missed you, how vocal you were, how eager you were.

“oh, phil …” your voice whispered, just loud enough to hear over the whir of the machine. this was downright sinful, and he was glad he’d left religion behind long ago. he could feel himself growing hard in his jeans, so with his free hand, he unbutton them, and slipped his hand under the waistband of them, and his boxers. his hand wrapped around his leaking cock, and as he watched that pretty pussy of yours get stretched, he pumped his hand in time with the rhythm of the machine.

“that’s it, baby,” he muttered, watching the video intently. “so good for me …”

he continued to stroke his cock, watching your face as you let the machine hit just the right spot to make your toes curl, and he could feel an almost primal growl bubble up in his throat. how badly he wanted to be there with you; on top of you, behind you, inside of you …

he continued to watch intently, his heart pounding his his chest as he watched your lips part slightly, your eyes squeeze shut, and your brows pinch together. he knew you were so close to that orgasm, and so was he. he watched your chest heave, your muscles tense, all of your tells in one perfect video. and just as you were about to cum …

“o-oh my god, oh my god, oh - oh phillip! oh!”

that sent him over the edge. his legs nearly buckled beneath him as he came over his hand and boxers to the sound of you crying out for him in his absence. he had no idea how badly he’d needed to hear that until just then. he leaned back against the wall, his face damp with sweat and hot with exertion. but the video wasn’t over yet.

he watched as you fumbled for the remote to stop it, and whirring sound died. the room was silent, save for your soft, panting breaths. then, you looked at the camera with those beautiful eyes he loved so much, and you smiled. it was a soft, blissful, fucked out smile.

“i miss you, baby. come home soon,” you said, your voice soft. then you blew a kiss to the camera, got up, and crawled over to stop recording. despite what he’d just seen and done, he smiled, and he closed the video to go back to his text messages. he hit the microphone icon, and began to record an audio message for you.

“appreciate the gift, darlin’. i’ll be back as soon as i can. be good for me, love you.”

he hit send, then exhaled a bit. he had some cleaning up to do before he went back out to his men. 

and he had a cover story to whip up.

[drabblesandimagines]

I absolutely love how you write Halsin, can I request a fic with a fem Tav having a nightmare sometime after Orin's kidnapping. The possession scene still haunts me to this day and keep imagining Tav seeing that over n over on top of struggling to rescue him. It ends with him waking and comforting her. Keep up the great work!

Thank you, lovely anon! I hope you enjoy - please let me know! xxx

Nightmares

Your limbs feel heavy, vision somewhat blurred around the edges as you walk past strangely empty tents in the camp on the outskirts of Rivington.

There’s an overpowering smell of rust in the air as you approach the barn, the dirt soon growing damp under your boots and it isn’t long before a squelch accompanies every step.

A sinking feeling in your stomach as a large figure emerged from the shadows.

Halsin – your sweet, caring druid - looms over the lifeless bodies of Gale, Astarion and Shadowheart. They’re splayed out almost atop of one another, arms and legs at unnatural angles, gruesome tears in their flesh, the straw sodden with red that matches the splatters across Halsin’s bare chest.

“What…?”

“Go,” Halsin growls between gritted teeth. There’s a look in his eye you haven’t seen before, his muscles shuddering with exertion as he tries to catch his breath. “Go - now - before I do the same to you.”

“No.” You shake your head, furiously, as if it might change the scene. “This isn’t real. it can’t be. You wouldn’t, Halsin-”

“It’s this city,” he grunts, thumping his chest with his fist as he glares at you. “The corruption, I cannot hold it back any longer. Why did you bring me here? I said-“

His eyes flash gold for a split second before the light engulfs his entire body – fur swiftly taking its place as he transforms and emits a mighty roar.

You take a step back in retreat and immediately trip over something – an arm or a leg – falling and knocking the back of your head upon stone. Above is no longer the ceiling of the drafty barn but what appears to an endless chasm. You sit up, scrambling back on your hands, heart pounding as you recognize your surroundings.

The Temple of Bhaal.

Halsin lies on the altar, his knuckles grazing the floor as his arm hangs off the side. You stumble up to your feet without further thought, not even checking for any Bhaal cultists or Orin herself, only focused on reaching him.

His eyes, once so full of warmth and love, stare blankly skyward - lifeless and bloodshot.

You’re too late.

There’s a scroll clenched in the fist resting upon his still chest. You tug it out with gentle fingers and unfurl it, only for to burn into ash immediately, only allowing you a glimpse of what was written at the top.

Speak with the dead.

Halsin’s body is illuminated in an eerie green glow. Not the greens of nature that he so adored, but something entirely unwordly. His neck cracks as he turns his head to face you, a hollow, foreign voice emitting from his mouth.

“You did not come for me.”

“No, I did. We did. We were just-” Cold fingers encircle your wrist, keeping you in place by the altar.

“No.” He cuts across, emotionless. “You left me here to die – alone.”

“No, Halsin. No, I swear. I don’t know what happened. We were just in camp and-“

“I called out for you.” His fingers squeeze your wrist so hard you swear the bones are about to break. “I called your name over and over and over, until my voice grew hoarse.” He places his other hand at the base of your throat, fingers splayed out over your collarbones. “I called for you, the one who lay with me, claimed to love me… yet still you did not come.”

“Halsin, please, listen-”

“You killed me.” He trails his fingers up your neck, pausing to cup your chin. “And, now, with the Oak Father as my witness, I will reset the balance of nature.”

With one powerful squeeze around your throat, your breath is cut off.

--

Whilst most elves favour four or so hours of trance, Halsin has proved to be quite the heavy sleeper in comparison – most likely due to the time he has spent in his ursine form – though a whimper from your lips is enough to wake him immediately, concerned.

He releases you from his spooned embrace, laid upon the pile of furs upon the ground, in fear that he’d somehow caused you pain, perhaps squeezed a little too tight in his dreams as he sought your warmth.

The furrowed brow, twitching limbs and mumbled, somewhat frantic protests, however, suggest you are in the throes of a nightmare. The druid swears his heart breaks, knowing it is best that you wake under your own steam rather than him call or shake you.

Mercifully, he does not have to wait long. You sit bolt upright with a desperate, gasping breath, drenched in a cold sweat, eyes flitting furiously side to side as you try and work out where you are now.

Your heart is pounding dangerously loud in your ears, so much so you can’t hear how hard you’re trying to gulp down mouthfuls of air, but it’s as if it stagnates at the top of your lungs, never truly getting deep enough.

Tears burn at your eyes at the effort and Halsin cannot hold himself back any longer. He places a large hand against the small of your back, hoping his gentle touch would help ground you.

You flinch at the contact, eyes widening as you finally see him in the dim light of the tent. There is a momentary flicker of fear across your face that Halsin prays to Silvanus that he will never see again.

It’s a short, gasp of a breath in and out and the colour now drained entirely from your cheeks that drives him to act. He pulls you onto his lap in a smooth motion, pressing your back snug up against his chest, ignoring another flinch as he places a palm between your collarbones.

“Forgive me, my heart,” he bends his head to speak directly into your ear, too aware of how hard your heart is beating and wanting to be sure you’ll hear – he can feel the dull thud against his own chest. “I need you to breathe with me.”

His body feels warm. You twitch, trying to turn to face him, check his face over for injuries, feel his heart beat beneath your fingertips, but he has you nestled perfectly between his thighs, keeping you still.

“I have you, petal. I promise you are safe.” His breath dances across your neck. “Close your eyes, focus on my touch and breathe as deep as you can. Please.”

Dark spots are dancing around your vision now, so it’s easy to close your eyes. Halsin is breathing deliberately slowly - exaggerating his inhales and exhales so your body shifts with each of his breaths in the hopes that you’ll mimic the movement.

It is trial and error - more than a few resulting in short, sharp gasps and spluttering breaths – but, slowly and surely, your heart beat slows and your breaths grow more productive.

The scent of moss, wood smoke, various herbs and flowers permeate through the panic and you finally recognize where you are in – in your dwelling in the commune.

It has been four months since the fall of the Nether Brain.

You twist in his lap again, desperate to see his face, to check if his eyes are still lifeless. Halsin permits it this time and it is with a sigh of relief that you see your druid whole and alive.

“My love?” His tone is so cautious that you break into a sob.

Halsin pulls you back against his bare chest in an instant, maneuvering you into a more comfortable position with ease as you cry. He does not make to hush you, or ask you what is wrong, only rocks you back and forth in his arms, pressing periodic kisses to your crown as he does.

Even when your sobs eventually cease into teary, pathetic hiccups, he does not press for details, remaining in silence until you build up the courage to speak.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble into his chest, unsure if he has even heard.

Halsin presses a final kiss to your crown. “There is nothing to apologise for, petal.”

You look up at him, shaking your head. “No, there is. I was too late. T-the Bhaal Temple. I was too late. You-”

“You were having a nightmare. Please”, he lifts a hand to your cheek, stroking away a stray tear with his thumb, “do not torment yourself with recollection of such dark dreams. All is well – we are both safe.”

His other hand leaves your side for a moment, grabbing something you can’t see. You make to protest – it’s not safe, it’ll never be safe, Bhaal still exists, what if it was a message, or a threat? – but it dies on your tongue as he holds up a small bouquet of dried flowers under your nose, the scent calming you almost instantly.

“Humour me a moment, do you recognize the scents?”

“Mm-hm.” You take them from his hand, twirling them between your thumb and forefinger. “Lavender, roses, daisies…”

“Very good. I feared I had been somewhat distracting during our lessons.”

Lessons – that coaxes a soft, breathy laugh from you. Long, leisurely walks around the lands surrounding the commune, all with the intention of Halsin imparting his knowledge of the natural world had often turned into anything but.

Of course, he had always started off with pure intentions, he’d even keep his hands behind his back in an attempt to give focus, but all that seemed to break it was you bending down to inspect a sapling, or take in the perfume of a flower he’d pointed towards and then somehow you’d find yourself pinned against a nearby trunk or tackled oh so gently down into a flower bed, hot open-mouthed kisses pressed across your throat and collarbone…

“Mm, a little. But not enough that I don’t recall what you’ve taught me,” you look down at the dried bouquet. “For I do know that these are all known for their calming properties.”

“Indeed.” He chuckles. “I find placed under the pillow works wonders for troubled sleep, as well as keeping bad dreams at bay.”

You look up at him then, brow furrowed. “You have trouble sleeping?”

“I did – not for a while now. I find that having you nestled in my arms, my heart, is more soothing than any of the Oak Father’s creations.”

You feel the warmth prickle across your cheeks – Halsin’s compliments never fail to leave you a little flustered. He chuckles again as you drop your eyes back into your lap, a tell he has come to know well during your time together. He tilts your chin back up and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Do you think you can go back to sleep again, petal? Dawn is still a way off.”

Tomorrow will be another long day. Though the commune continues to fall into place more and more each day, there is always so much to be done.

“I can try.” You concede.

“Here,” he plucks the dried bouquet from your hand and slips it inside your pillow, giving it a firm pat to make sure it remained comfortable. “With the hopes that it makes your dreams as sweet as you are.”

Halsin coaxes you to lie down wordlessly, spooning you against his chest and draping an arm around your waist with a light squeeze.

“Comfortable?”

You inhale deeply, the bouquet of dried flowers seeping out from the pillow, the warmth of Halsin behind you, the way his hand begins to rub gently up and down your side.

“Mm.” You mumble, closing your eyes. “I love you, Halsin.”

Halsin smiles as he feels the tension leave your body fully at last – he hated seeing you in any sort of distress, whether it be minor or major.

“I love you too, my heart.” He bends his head down and starts to kiss your neck slowly and softly -  a favourite spot of both his and yours for a few moments before he retreats.

“Now, sleep, petal. Regain your energy so that I can show you precisely how much I love you in the morning, hm?”

He is unsure you have heard for sleep seems to have claimed you once more...

..but that doesn't mean he won't keep his word when dawn breaks.

---

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Duet of Fire and Fate

Part Three | Series Masterlist

Summary: tensions between Aemond and the pianist reach boiling point | Word Count: 4.6k~ | Warnings: smut, semi-public sex, forced proximity, mummy issues

There was a sense of unease about being awake at this time. An early riser, Aemond was, but even this was pushing it for him as he sat on the creaky bus, having to listen to the way plastic and metal jolted his bones with every little divot in the road, only amplifying the disquiet that was equally happening inside his head.

Glancing at his watch, the gold hands mocked him once more. 5:49 in the morning.

That morning, Alys had made her stance painfully clear: their encounters had to end. She seemed to realise that their relationship had become merely a means to an end, a way for him to escape his pressures. The implication that she felt used weighed heavily on Aemond, even though she framed her decision in practical terms.

"You need to focus on your music, not me," she had said, her voice firm, leaving no room for argument. It was a logical decision, one that should make perfect sense to a disciplined musician like him. Yet, as he turned her words over in his mind, they struck a dissonant chord.

The thought of facing Otto's incessant messages about organising a meticulous solo practice session, only to nitpick at his every perceived flaw, was unbearable. So, Aemond sought refuge in the numbing scroll of social media, anything to ward off the encroaching silence of the apartment.

As his thumb flicked mechanically across the screen, a thought struck him, a reckless impulse that had been lurking in the back of his mind. He paused, his heart rate ticking upward with the audacity of what he was about to do. Swiping out of the mundane updates and into the search bar, he typed her name, the pianist who had so effortlessly invaded his thoughts and challenged his perspectives.

Her profile wasn’t hard to find, her public persona was as vibrant and engaging as her performances. There she was, in photos and tagged videos, her presence as dynamic online as it was in person. Each post, each snippet of her life and art, pulled him in deeper, her world unfolding before him through the glow of his phone screen.

The more he watched, the more he realised how much she had begun to permeate his thoughts, challenging not just his musical ideals but the very way he viewed his art. It wasn’t just professional curiosity, it was something more, something deeper. A connection he hadn’t anticipated, one he wasn’t sure he wanted, but also one he couldn’t seem to deny.

He thought perhaps a nice, hot shower would clear his thoughts with heavy ribbons of steam, near-scalding his pale skin as droplets of water slid off his body. His hair clung to his neck, falling in strips around his face as he stared at his reflection on the drain cover. Sometimes he could not bear to even look at himself.

But even with his eyelids pressed tightly shut, he did not know peace.

He was sixteen again, standing on the stage of a packed auditorium. The applause had faded, and he was left alone with Otto, whose presence loomed larger than the praise had ever felt. Otto's face was stern, his eyes dissecting not just the performance, but Aemond himself. "That was adequate, Aemond, but only just," Otto had said, his voice cold and precise. "Your bowing was sloppy in the second movement. You must control every motion, every emotion." Aemond's hands had trembled with a mix of exertion and suppressed anger. He had poured his heart into that performance, felt every note resonate within him, but Otto saw only flaws. "Control, always control," Aemond muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on the neck of his cello. Otto had caught the muttered defiance. "What was that?" he snapped, stepping closer. "If you have something to say, speak clearly, boy." "Nothing," Aemond replied, his voice low, but inside, a storm was brewing. Otto’s relentless criticism after every performance, his inability to see anything but the mistakes, Aemond felt like a vessel about to burst. That night, back at the music academy, in the solitude of the practice room, Aemond stared at his cello. The beautiful instrument, which had always been his voice, now felt like a chain. In a moment of blinding rage, a desire to break free from Otto’s relentless grip, he did the unthinkable. With a shout that echoed through the empty room, Aemond lifted his cello and smashed it against the floor. Wood splintered, strings snapped, a harsh, discordant noise that was the antithesis of everything he had been taught to produce. The destruction was quick, but the silence that followed was heavy, filled with the weight of what he had done. But didn’t regret it one bit.

Aemond opened his eyes, the memory leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He had eventually replaced the cello, and Otto had never mentioned the incident, assuming it had been an accident. But something inside Aemond had changed that day. The act of destruction, though regrettable, had been his first real rebellion, his first step toward finding his own voice amidst the oppressive expectations placed upon him.

Now, years later, as he considered reaching out to the pianist, he realised he was standing at another crossroads. Would he continue to conform to the stringent demands of his classical training, or would he dare to explore the emotional depth that she so effortlessly embodied in her music?

Stood there, beneath the stream of water that had now ran cold, Aemond felt the old, familiar stirrings of rebellion. This time, however, it wasn't about destruction but about discovery. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to smash through the invisible barriers he had erected around his music and his heart.

The loud chattering and messy runs of various instruments made it difficult to concentrate. She found herself blinking hard and tiredly, willing the exhaustion away. Lyonel Strong had yet to arrive to conduct today's practice, and so everyone had taken it as an excuse to not practise at all.

"Can you believe this?" Jason called out from across the room, his voice tinged with annoyance. He was leaning against the wall, his violin hanging loosely in his hand. "Lyonel's late again. We could have started at least half an hour ago."

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I know, Jason. But complaining isn't going to make him appear any faster."

Maris, with her fiery red hair and a perpetual scowl, was plucking at her strings, each note more discordant than the last. "It's not just Lyonel," she snapped. "Half of you can't even play your parts right. Couldn't organise a piss up in a brewery.”

The others chimed in, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of complaints and criticisms. Jason and Maris continued to bicker, their frustration with each other and the situation palpable. She tried to mediate, her soft voice lost in the din, while others muttered under their breath or joined in the argument.

The pianist tuned out the noise, focusing instead on marking her music sheets. She meticulously made notes, adding small annotations to help guide her through the piece. The process was calming, a small island of order in the midst of the chaos around her. She could hear snippets of the ongoing argument, but she chose to ignore them, her mind drifting.

Their band was a far cry from Aemond's. His ensemble operated with a precision and unity that seemed almost unattainable for her group. Every member of his band knew their role, their place, and they worked together seamlessly. In contrast, her band felt like a collection of individuals, each with their own agenda, their own frustrations.

When Lyonel eventually decided to join them, having had his fill of several espressos, their practice could finally begin. The tension lingered, a constant reminder of the disunity that plagued them. As she played, her thoughts drifted to the upcoming competition, the inevitable clash with Aemond's band. She knew they needed to be better, to be more cohesive, if they were going to stand a chance.

"Can I have a word?" Lyonel asked authoritatively as she was packing her things away with practised efficiency. The room had cleared, others wanting to escape the confining claws of his teachings.

She nodded, trying to mask the fatigue she felt. "Of course."

Lyonel glanced around the now-empty room before speaking. "I wanted to talk to you about your solo performance."

She had known for a while that she would have a solo, but the way he said it now made her stomach twist with unease. "Yes, sir?"

Lyonel studied her for a moment longer, then sighed, his stern demeanour slipping. "Look, I know our chemistry as a band isn't perfect," he admitted, his voice softer. "But that’s exactly why we need you to shine. Your solo can elevate the entire performance. It can make up for the lack of cohesion."

She bit her lip, feeling a mix of frustration and resignation. "I understand the importance of my solo, but wouldn’t it be better if we worked on our chemistry as a band? If we played better together, maybe the pressure wouldn’t have to fall entirely on one person."

Lyonel’s expression hardened again, though not unkindly. "I know it’s not fair. But with the time we have left, we need to play to our strengths. And right now, you are our strength."

She wished he would address the root issue instead of putting all the pressure on her, but she knew better than to argue further. "I'll do my best," she said finally.

Lyonel placed a hand on her shoulder, a rare gesture of support. "I know you will. Just remember, it’s not just about you out there. It’s about all of us. We’re counting on you."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She stood there for a moment, letting his words sink in. The pressure was immense, but so was the opportunity.

“Music is in your blood, my dear.”

Memories of her family surfaced unbidden. Her father, a renowned classical musician, had always been a looming figure in her life. His talent and success were legendary, casting a long shadow over her own musical ambitions. Yet, despite his fame, he had left her mother for another woman within the same industry when she was still a child. The betrayal had torn their family apart.

Her mother, once supportive of her daughter's musical pursuits, had become bitter and resentful. The very sight of a piano seemed to deepen the rift between them. "You'll end up just like him," her mother would say, the words dripping with disdain. "Consumed by music and blind to everything else.”

Their relationship had deteriorated to the point where they barely spoke. Communication was limited to snotty texts, her mother’s disapproval seeping through every word. Her mother couldn't understand why she wanted to follow the same path that had destroyed their family.

On the other hand, her father would occasionally reach out, but his messages were infrequent and perfunctory. His busy schedule left little room for meaningful connection. When he did find time to call, his conversations were often laced with criticism.

She often found herself caught between two worlds, one that resented her passion and another that demanded perfection. She longed for approval, for a sense of belonging that seemed always just out of reach.

Her fingers hurt but she didn't care. She stood on stage, feeling like a million dollars, soaking in applause that rang in her ears, the first place medal cool against her chest. But as her eyes scanned the crowd, searching desperately for a familiar face, for her mother, she felt her stomach sink. Her heart pounded harder than it had during her performance, but for all the wrong reasons. The rush of victory, the adrenaline that should have been pumping through her veins, was rapidly replaced by a hollow feeling. She stepped off the stage, clinging to the hope that maybe her mother had just been late or stuck in traffic. Maybe she’d be waiting outside, apologising for missing the performance, but there nonetheless. She checked her phone, scrolling through her contacts until her mother’s name flashed on the screen. Her hands shook as she dialled. It rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Voicemail. The third call, the fifth, the eighth, it all blurred together as she wiped at her eyes. By the tenth attempt, her hands were trembling, and the high of winning was a distant memory. She dialled again, fighting back tears that threatened to spill over. When the voicemail beeped once more, she paused, then finally spoke, her voice breaking. "I won, Mum…” She stared at her phone for a long moment before slipping it back into her bag. The title, the first-place medal,  they felt like nothing now.

Packing up her sheet music, she made her way towards the practice rooms, and as if on cue, a text buzzed in her pocket. With a sigh, she opened the message from her mother, bracing herself for the usual criticism.

Your father mentioned you have a competition coming up. 

She rolled her eyes. As if her mother had expected her to bite when that is the bait.

No ‘how are you’ or ‘how is music school’. No. It was always about how she had to not follow the same path as her father and not let music consume her like it had him.

Whenever her thoughts drifted to him, she found herself sinking into confusion. However distant he was, she still craved his approval. Longing for him to say he was proud of her. Just once.

She slipped through the doors with the hotheaded mindset that she would do better. Determined. But she halted when she heard the familiar whine of a delicate instrument she had come to know so well. If her shoes hadn’t squealed against the varnished, wooden floor, she wouldn’t have disturbed him from his practice. But like an animal primed for distractions, Aemond’s head whipped up from his cello, his expression hardening once he saw her.

“I have this room booked.”

She narrowed her eyes, her jaw tightening. "Funny, because I do too."

Aemond's lips pressed into a thin line, his annoyance palpable. "You must have made a mistake."

She shook her head, stepping further into the room. "No mistake. Maybe you're the one who needs to check the schedule.”

She slipped her bag off her shoulder, searching it with her back turned to him. Her hands shook with frustration, the build-up of the day lingering with fire in her blood. She froze when she stared at her blue tinted screen, seeing that somehow…

Double booked.

“You're not going to leave, are you,” Aemond muttered annoyed.

She turned to face him, an eyebrow raised. “Why should I? I have as much right to be here as you do.”

Aemond smirked, leaning casually against his cello. “Is that how you justify it? Riding on the coattails of your daddy’s fame?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“You know,” he continued, his voice dripping with condescension, “the big famous musician embroiled in scandal. Must be tough living in that shadow.”

Her jaw clenched. “You don’t know anything about my family.”

“Oh, but I do,” he said, setting aside his instrument to taking a step closer. “Everyone does. It’s quite the story, isn’t it? Daddy leaves Mummy for someone else in the industry. Must be quite the inspiration for your music. I knew I'd seen your surname around somewhere. Turns out it was the tabloids.”

Her hands tightened, her nostrils flaring with irritation.

“Aw, sore spot?” he taunted, enjoying the way her eyes flashed with anger.

She took a deep breath, trying to keep her composure. “You think you’re so much better than everyone else, don’t you?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe I am.”

“That arrogance is going to be your downfall one day,” she shot back.

“And your baggage is going to be yours,” he replied smoothly.

Without warning, she stepped closer, their faces inches apart. “You want to talk about family baggage? Let’s talk about yours.”

Aemond’s eyes darkened. The smile, victoriously wiped from his face. “Careful.”

“Why? Can’t handle it?” she challenged. “Maybe you throw accusations of daddy issues because you have them yourself—”

“Watch it.”

“Or what? You’ll keep me from practising? You’ll sabotage me?” she retorted, stepping closer. “You're a fucking coward—”

The door to the practice room opened abruptly, and the sound of footsteps interrupted their heated exchange. Without thinking, Aemond grabbed her arm and pulled her into the storage room, shutting the door quietly behind them. They stood in the cramped space, their breaths mingling in the darkness.

The footsteps in the practice room slowed, followed by the unmistakable murmur of voices. Aemond stiffened, his body going rigid against hers, and for a split second, all he could smell was her perfume and feel the rapid fluttering of her heart against his chest. The weight of the voices hit him hard, and he recognised them immediately.

Otto.

And Lyonel.

His heart pounded harder now, not only from the closeness of her body, but of the two men outside the door.

Otto's voice carried through the thin walls. “I trust you’ve got a firm hand on your group.”

Lyonel made a noise of agreement, but there was a subtle edge to his tone. “They're a bit disjointed, but not as much as I hear yours are.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched. Neither of them dared to breathe too loudly, straining to hear the conversation outside, but the pressure between them, physical and emotional, was unbearable.

“That is none of your business,” Otto's voice was guarded. Icy.

Aemond’s breath hitched, and she felt the sharp intake of air against her ear, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. His hand slid to brace himself against the wall beside her, his body pressing more firmly against hers not out of seeking comfort, but simply because he had no choice.

“Hmm, your grandson I hear is a bit of a wild card.”

“He’s difficult, but I’ve trained him for this. He just needs focus.”

The footsteps shifted, and for a moment it seemed like they were heading toward the door of the storage room. Her mouth opened but Aemond’s hand shot up, covering her mouth as he leaned in even closer. His eyes widened in silent warning. 

Her pulse quickened.

"Your grandson is a good player," Lyonel said, a hint of frustration in his tone. "But from what I've seen, he’s too rigid. No room for improvisation. He might fall apart when things get unpredictable."

Aemond’s teeth clenched, his hand now gripping the edge of the shelf beside her. She could feel the tension vibrating off him, and she fought the urge to push him back and say something. But they couldn’t risk being heard.

“That’s why you’re counting on her, aren’t you?” Otto’s voice was quieter now, almost conspiratorial. “Your pianist, what’s her name again? She’s your only shot at taking the solo.”

Lyonel chuckled softly. “She’s going to win it for us. I have no doubt about that.”

The footsteps began to fade, the two continuing to speak about where the final performance would be held, and she heard the distant click of the door closing. Aemond finally released her, but the tension between them was far from gone. The room seemed smaller, the air heavier with the weight of everything unsaid.

She pushed against his chest suddenly, a sharp shove that didn’t budge him an inch. “What the fuck was that for–”

I am no fucking coward.

“Just stop fucking talking," he growled, cutting her off with a kiss that was as furious as it was desperate.

She felt the hardness of the wall behind her as Aemond shoved her against it, grounding her as he deepened the kiss, exploring with an urgency that made her breath hitch. Coupled with that was the hardness that pressed against her stomach. It was a fight in that of itself, the clashing of their lips and teeth only intensifying what was already a fiery dynamic.

There was something exhilarating about it. And as her fingers weaved into his hair, pulling him closer, no matter how small the gesture, it solidified the simple fact that he needed this. She was intensity personified. And he was drawn to it like a moth to a flame, in his personal and in his musical life, combined in one dangerous cocktail that was her. It wasn’t only lust, it was an addiction to the thrill of the chase, the danger that came with being so close to her. His rival, his obsession.

He trailed kisses down her neck, feeling the pulse of her heartbeat beneath his lips as she arched up against him in silent encouragement. But he was the one who pulled her legs around him, rucking her black skirt up to her hips and ripping ladders into her tights as he shoved them down her legs, his movements frantic and needy, as if he were a man starved of water. She was soft and yielding beneath him, yet there was a strength in her grip that intrigued him still.

Clothes. Fucking clothes.

He perhaps thought that if he tried to mould himself to her. If he could just be inside her for a moment, would he be able to understand her? To absorb her.

The urgency of their actions felt reckless, yet a part of him revelled in it. It was the kind of intimacy he craved, the kind that made him forget everything else. 

She gasped against his mouth as if completely not expecting the blunt head of his cock against her, his fingers having wrenched the gusset of her underwear aside to press against her bare skin. And she felt heat rise to her cheeks when she glanced down between them, watching the way his length glistened as he teased himself against her slit. The spontaneity of the moment meant that while she was not completely wet, it was embarrassing that she was at all.

She dare not look him in the face. He was doing this to prove he knew what he did to her. To let her sit in this feeling of resentment for responding to it.

And yet she would not admit how it stole her breath away when he firmly pressed into her. There was something exciting about the feeling of being partly unprepared. Her ego somewhat inflated that he simply couldn't wait a moment more. But the sting of it as he slid to the hilt reminding her that she would most certainly be sore the next morning.

He wanted her to feel it.

But equally, she wanted him to want it. And the breathy whimper he gave when he pulled back to push his hips back against her, made her think that he absolutely did.

And he didn't wait. His movements became frantic, each thrust igniting a fire deep within. Her breath hitched, and he felt a flicker of satisfaction at how easily he could provoke such a response from her. There were no words. If there were, they would have carried the same fire that had simmered for days, weeks.

Had it only taken weeks for him to crave her.

Her nails dug into his back, grounding him. And so his grip tightened around her thighs as he drove into her, as if holding on to her could tether him to something solid, something real. He could feel the tension in her muscles, the sharp gasps escaping her lips, the way she arched into him. And he knew, he knew this wasn’t just him.

They were both lost in it, both fighting against and succumbing to whatever this was. He wanted to hate her, to despise her for how easily she got under his skin, but in this moment, all he could feel was her, the way she wrapped around him, the way she pulled him deeper.

She wasn’t supposed to mean anything to him, just another obstacle, another rival to conquer. But her taste was on his tongue, her scent filled his lungs, and her body felt like the answer to a question he’d been too afraid to ask.

He raised his gaze from where they were joined, plunging into her with abandon, less about pleasure and now more about the release. 

Aemond's grip shifted, his hand trailing up her neck, his fingers curling gently around her throat. Not in a way that threatened, but in a way that demanded attention.

“Look at me.”

She hesitated for a beat, then her eyes flickered up, locking with his. A flush spreading over her cheeks, a soft pink bloom that travelled down her neck. His gaze was relentless, searching her expression.

Look at me.

He could see it now, the way her composure was slipping, the way she was coming undone beneath him. That small, vulnerable break in her guarded facade was everything, and it only drove him deeper into the need to witness her fall apart, to be the one who made her unravel.

Aemond felt the shift in her body first, the subtle tremor that ran through her as she neared the edge. Her head tipped back against the wall, her eyes fluttering shut as she finally surrendered to the intensity between them. He felt her body tense and then shudder as she came apart beneath him, the quiet, breathless moan escaping her lips like music. Soft, involuntary, raw.

It wasn't the feeling of her trembling around him, more the sight. He couldn't hold back any longer. His grip tightened around her hips as he followed her over the edge, his body trembling with the force of his release. His forehead dropped to her shoulder, his breaths ragged, the tension that had been coiled inside him snapping with a fierce, undeniable rush.

After, they stood still, bodies pressed together, the lingering heat between them slowly dissipating. For a brief moment, as he felt her skin warm under his hands, there was a flicker of vulnerability. But as quickly as it came, it was drowned out by something darker. Regret. A sharp, suffocating regret that sank deep into his chest.

He had given her power. Ammunition. She could use this, twist it, turn it against him. The walls he had carefully built around himself felt as if they had cracked in her presence, and that thought made him recoil internally.

She let out a quiet breath as he pulled away, feeling the loss of him instantly, followed rapidly by the warmth dribbling down her thigh. His hands worked swiftly to do up his belt, his movements mechanical and detached. He couldn’t look at her. Couldn't let her see the conflict etched across his face.

If he had looked. He'd be more irritated by what he saw.

She stood there, half-naked and breathless, the flush of their shared moment still on her skin. He didn’t stop to think about how she might feel, the confusion, the embarrassment, the sense of being used. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t let it matter.

She was never going to see that side of him again.

Without so much as a glance back, Aemond turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving her alone in the suffocating quiet, half-naked and stunned.

Aemond snatched up his cello as he left.

Leaving her behind, vulnerable and half-dressed, he had merely traded one form of destruction for another. But he’d rather face the self-imposed torture of his strings than the unpredictable vulnerability of human connection.

Swapping one prison for another, the cello felt safer. At least this was a pain he knew how to manage.

General Taglist: @1lluminaticonfirmed @aemondsfavouritebastard @all-for-aemond @bellstwd @blackswxnn

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@primonizzutto @qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @sheshellsseashells

[koiiiji]

weaknesses

tw ; ooc(?), nostalgia, can be both platonic and romantic

pairing ; gun x reader x goo

what was Goo Kim thinking while waiting for Samuel's call? he probably was reminiscing about distant memories, in details remembering a past life, when everything seemed a little simpler. when Goo knew everything about his friends, even their weaknesses.

Goo never sought out weaknesses in Gun; he believed that his own strength and talent would be enough to defeat his black-eyed opponent. however, there was one weakness of Gun's that Goo was aware of: Gun hated being tickled. it wasn't because he feared it or disliked being touched, but rather because Gun despised laughter. not the wild, maniacal laughter he would sometimes emit during fights, but the sincere, pure laughter that comes from the heart - whether it was at a friend's joke or warm memories from the past. Gun considered such laughter to be inappropriate, unprofessional, and entirely beneath him.

all of Gun’s pompous snobbery, however, would evaporate when your nimble fingers slipped to his ribs or neck and began tickling him mercilessly. of course, he could easily try to throw you off or toss you onto the bed, but in the brief moment of vulnerability while he was attempting to do so, you’d dig your fingers even deeper into his ribs, leaving him no chance of escape. Goo remembered clearly how Gun had once been human in those moments - cursing at you, almost begging you to stop, kicking away your fingers, and laughing like any other person. it was a sight to behold, seeing Gun so vulnerable, so... alive. the cold, hollow semblance that Gun had become over time - the hardened warrior who would never allow anyone to get close - wouldn't allow his girl-friend to straddle his hips and tickle him to death, expecting Goo to pull you off by grabbing you from behind and throwing both of you onto the bed next to Gun. but then your energy would be redirected at Goo instead, your fingers attacking with relentless enthusiasm. what a pity it was that you left your back exposed to your former opponent. seizing the opportunity as soon as he caught his breath, Gun would dig his fingers into your ribs and the crook of your neck and shoulders, launching a counterattack with surprising agility.

unfortunately for Gun, he struck a sensitive spot, and your elbow reflexively slammed into his chin, while your other hand accidentally hit Goo right in the groin. gasping in horror, you immediately rushed to apologize, seeing both men hissing in pain. Gun wasn’t truly hurt, but he acted out the scene convincingly, his face contorted in mock agony. you clasped his cheeks with your hands, apologizing non-stop and gently caressing the bruised area. hearing Goo’s pitiful groans behind you, you turned to him, wrapping your arms around him in an even greater effort to apologize. after all, a blow to the groin was much more painful, right?

“i'm so sorry, Goo! i didn’t mean to hit you there,” you pleaded, your voice full of concern as you lightly kissed his cheek. Goo winced, though a playful glint was already returning to his eyes. “yeah, well, next time try not to aim for vital areas, cupcake” he teased, his lips curling into a grin. Gun, who had recovered from his mock injury, chuckled softly.

you blushed, smiling sheepishly. “you both just need to be more careful around me,” you quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

the three of you eventually collapsed onto the bed, the energy from the playful tussle slowly fading. you lay nestled between them, one arm draped over Gun and the other resting on Goo’s chest. for a moment, the room was filled with a peaceful silence, broken only by the soft sounds of your breaths evening out after the laughter and exertion.

“when was the last time we had such a peaceful night?” you admitted quietly, staring up at the ceiling. “it feels... strange.”

“strange, but good,” Goo added, turning his head to look at you. “it’s nice to have these moments. just us... just peace.”

you smiled, feeling a deep sense of contentment wash over you. “you know, it doesn’t always have to be about fighting and money. we can have more moments like this,” you suggested, your voice gentle.

Gun hesitated for a moment, his dark eyes searching yours. “i dont remember the last time i laugh like this...maybe it’s not so bad with you two.”

Goo smirked, nudging Gun playfully. “don’t get all sentimental on us now. we might start thinking you actually care.”

“maybe i do,” Gun replied, but this words never been said, as it was only his thoughts. yet with a rare, genuine smile, his hand finding yours and giving it a small squeeze.

you felt your heart swell at the sudden feeling of Gun’s huge palm and you reached out to take Goo's hand too. the three of you lay there, basking in the warmth of your connection, teetering on the edge of friendship and something deeper, something that didn’t need to be defined right now...

all the warmth and cuddly nostalgia dissolved with the sudden, annoying ringtone of the phone. Samuel had an answer from Gun.

[starryevermore]

the house of snow (22) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his. 

chapter summary: you and coriolanus adjust.

word count: 1,733

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: fluff, mention of morning sickness, pet name (petal), not proofread

The benefit of being pregnant was that Coryo and Coriolanus have seemed to become the best of friends. The drawback was that they became united in their overprotective tendencies. Coryo would insist that you stay in bed longer, and Coriolanus would sit on your chest to make sure you didn’t try to sneak away. Or Coryo would deny invitations to balls because of your morning sickness, and Coriolanus would attack the skirts of your gown to make sure it was in no occasion to be worn when you tried to convince your husband that you were well enough to be in attendance. It would have been infuriating if it wasn’t also so damned sweet. At least Coryo didn’t become the sort of husband who would keep you from your work. Probably because you were seated beside him and he could ensure that you weren’t doing anything that could potentially harmed yourself or the baby. 

You leaned your head against Coryo’s arms as he shuffled around some papers on the desk. He looked down at you, his brows pinching together. 

“Do you need to rest?” he asked. “Should I get the physician?”

You turned your head to press a kiss to his bicep. “Worry wart.”

“Forgive me if I’m concerned when my wife is entering the most dangerous part of her life—carrying another’s life,” Coryo said. He reached up, his cold hand resting on your warm face. His thumb stroked over the swell of your cheek. “I’m not going to take any chances when it comes to your health.”

There it was again. You knew of Coryo’s anxieties about your eventual pregnancy, but with everything happening so quickly, it was easy to be frustrated with his behaviors. With the exception of his adoration for you, Coryo kept his feelings so close to his chest. Even when it was obvious why he was being so overprotective, you sometimes forgot that part of him was still the broken boy who lost his mother. You took a breath, trying to steady your own overwhelming emotions.

“And I will tell you if I’m over-exerting myself. I may have never been with child before, but I know myself well enough to know when I’m pushing too far.”

A sigh escaped Coryo’s lips. “I just worry. I cannot lose you. In fact, I demand that I be the one to go first.”

You giggled. “I don’t think you get to demand things like that.”

“I am King. The only person who can tell me no is you, so, please, let me be the one to go first.”

You kissed his bicep again. “Very well. But you better live a long, long life with me before you go.”

“I wouldn’t dare sacrifice a single minute of a long life with you.”

“Would you sacrifice a minute to walk in the gardens with me?”

Coryo smiled and nodded. He stood first then held a hand out to you so he could aid you. Once you were standing, your hand slid to the crook of his arm and Coryo led you out of the office. He gave a curt nod to the Peacekeeper who was stationed outside the door and the two of you continued out of the palace and to the gardens.

The moment the sun hit your face, you couldn’t hold back your smile any longer. You had been holed up in the palace for the better part of the week, both because of Coryo and because of the morning sickness. It was nice to finally been the sun on your skin, the breeze in your hair. Maybe pregnancy would be easier if you spend the entirety of it outdoors. You looked up at your husband. Even the weight on his shoulders seemed to be lifted once he was out of the palace. 

You took a seat on a bench, and Coryo sat beside you. You reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “It’s nice to be out here,” you said. 

“It is. We should come out more often,” Coryo agreed. He caressed your face, a soft smile curving across his face. You leaned in, stole a kiss. “I am sorry if I have been overbearing.”

“It’s sweet. I am sure most husbands would only be concerned if the child I had was a boy,” you said. 

“Boy, girl, I don’t care. As long as you and our child is healthy, I will be happy.”

Leaning your head against Coryo’s shoulder, you said, “I probably will take a step back from our public engagements, though. It was exhausting just coming down here, and we haven’t even left the estate.”

Coryo barked out a laugh. “Well, if I knew it would be that easy to get my way, I would’ve taken you to the gardens sooner.”

“Oh hush!” But still, you giggled. “One a month, I think, will suffice. Fewer than that when I am further along, of course, and if the physician advises otherwise.”

“Ah, so I could have also been bribing the physician?” Coryo teases. 

You gave his chest a light smack. “Stop it, I’m being serious here.”

“I know, and I greatly appreciate that.”

“Now, what do you say we shirk our duties and spend the rest of the day in bed?”

Coryo grinned. “I thought you would never ask.”

You sat in the library, legs curled up under you, a book on your lap. Coriolanus sat at your feet, blinking curiously at you. You hadn’t intended for Coriolanus to have joined you, but despite you and Coryo coming to an agreement about your health, Coriolanus seemed to be certain that one wrong move would mean your end. 

“Well, this is a very non-traditional royal portrait,” Coryo said, stepping into the library and up to the painter. He watched as the artist. took delicate care in painting you. 

“This isn’t for my royal portrait,” you dismissed as you turned a page in your book. “We had that done weeks ago. Some finishing touches still need to be done before it can be unveiled, of course. But this is a personal portrait I’ve commissioned.”

Coryo looked over at you. His brow raised. You could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to figure you out. “Is that so? What do you need a personal portrait for?”

“Well, there will soon come a time when I am too tired and too pregnant to be in the office with you. I thought a portrait hung over the desk would serve as a good reminder of who you must consider in ever decision you make.”

The painter’s brush stilled. You watched as he slowly looked back at the King, undoubtedly waiting for a typical man’s rage—to yell at you for being so audacious, to destroy the painting, and to ensure that the painter never would be able to make art again. But your Coryo only laughed. 

“As if I could ever forget you, petal. I was planning to bring our work into the bedroom—”

“There is nothing less attractive you could say than that.”

The color continued to drain from the painter’s face. Poor fellow. Perhaps you should tell him to take a break while you speak with your husband. 

“Perhaps you are right.”

“No, I am. If you bring work into our bed, you will be swiftly removed to the Queen’s Chambers.”

Coryo smiled still. “Very well. Then I should thank you for being so courteous to not wholly deprive me of your presence.”

You flipped another page in the book. “I’m think of having another painting commissioned in a few months.”

The painter looked to you, his demeanor finally relaxing. “It would be an honor to paint you again, Your Majesty,” he said. 

“Have you done any maternity portraits?” you asked. “I know it is as non-traditional as this portrait, of course, but I thought it would be another nice present for my husband.”

The painter glanced back at the King standing over his shoulder. “I am certain His Majesty will be pleased with anything you present him. Your Majesty.”

“Something in the gardens, I think. Coryo has these beautiful rose bushes. We should incorporate them somehow.”

“I love when you pretend I’m not here, petal,” Coryo said. He patted the painter’s shoulder. “If you continue to capture my wife’s beauty as well as you have been, you will be the official royal portraitists.”

You watched as the painter flushed. “It would be a tremendous honor to be bestowed such a title,” he said. 

Coryo nodded at the painter then stepped around the easel. He walked over to you, bent down, and kissed you softly. “How much longer will this take?”

“Only an hour or so until we lose the sunlight,” you said. “Why? Are you becoming anxious without me by your side?”

Coryo smiled, his pretty blue eyes twinkling. “You know I always want you by my side.” He kissed you again. “I shall return in an hour then.”

“I eagerly await your return.”

He turned to Coriolanus and pointed a finger at the furry baby. “And I expect you to alert me if this ends even a second sooner.”

Coriolanus meowed in return. 

As Coryo left the library, you found the painter staring at you. You expected him to resume painting, but he continued to stare. “Is there something the matter?” you asked. 

“I have painted many couples in my time,” he said, “and I have never seen a husband as devoted as His Majesty. If it would please Your Majesty, I would love to come another day and paint a portrait of the two of you together.”

You smiled. “To add to our gallery of non-traditional portraits?”

“Of course,” he said. “Anything that the two of you wish for.”

Oh, you liked that. You grinned ear-to-ear as you asked, “And if I wished for another portrait of myself, done in the style of the goddess of old?”

He flushed. “Anything you wish, Your Majesty.”

“You are going to be quite handsomely paid by the time we are done with you.”

You turned back to your book, still smiling as you considered the various portraits you were going to gift your Coryo. He could give you a library, yes, but you were going to give him a gallery. If he didn’t appreciate art in all its glory before, he would soon enough. 

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 8)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

GIF: Originally posted by @darklinsblog

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Nightmares. Violence. Dub/non con. Kissing. Nudity. AFAB + AMAB penetrative sex. Unprotected sex. Plot related cigarette use. Language.

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: Hello there! I wasn't intending on posting this chapter until I had the others finished but I guess Tumblr took that decision away from me and published instead of saving! Oh well, guess I'll roll with it. As always, I hope you enjoy and would be very happy to hear your thoughts. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

---------------------------------------------

The combination of the darkened clouds and the even more desaturated décor is making the room despairingly claustrophobic.

Sporadic breaths rattle up and down your trachea; a remnant of the fear that had been created by the tail end of that conversation. You are struggling to make sense of the direction it had taken; the barrelling downward spiral whereby you discovered your newfound status.

No longer do you hold the lone title of soulmate. You are a captive.

At least that's what Morpheus made it sound like. The word is shudder inducing and a fresh trickle of bile spills into your mouth.

The door he left through, the one blocking your freedom, you are standing close enough to it that you can see every grain and groove of the ebony wood - and the curious absence of a handle or lock. With a flattened hand you gingerly press against the varnished surface, upping the pressure when you don't appear to have tripped any alarms. There's no movement no matter how hard you push, not that you really anticipated any. Morpheus said locked in for a reason. Regardless, you feel that you needed to try just in case he had changed his mind. Again, an eventuality that you do not expect.

You get the sense that Morpheus' grasp of stubbornness would rival that belonging to a group of at least 100,000 people; he is a ruler, and a centuries-old one at that. Accustomed to being in control, well versed in the art of exerting it.

He's chilling too. That nightmare quality really won out just now. You have seen darkness in his eyes before, (brought on by intense moments including sexual desire) and the effects he can have on the environments surrounding him, but this was a whole new breed.

The deflection. The disdain. The remorselessness. How the shadows had danced around him like crude oil twisting in water, a cloak of obscurity and energy to drive you away and leave you isolated.

And your relentlessness was the catalyst for it being unleashed. You're unsure as to why you brought up the theoretical consequences of refusing to be his soulmate. It had just slipped out. There were numerous other ways in which you could have handled the situation yet that was the conversational path you took.

You shudder again, wrapping your arms around your middle in an attempt to self-soothe. It provides a measure of relief but also draws attention to the fact that he should be doing this. Morpheus should be holding you. Talking this through with you.

Instead he left you standing on the marble floor, the intrinsically endothermic nature of the material causing iciness to seep up your legs via your bare feet.

Seeking warmth, you move back to the bed and dejectedly lie down.

The usual covered plate of food has appeared on the bedside table; your expression is so obviously rattled that you can see every detail despite the metal's distortion. You roll over, not wanting to contemplate eating for even a second.

Your entire body is tense, with epicentres in your tight chest and thought-clogged brain, the latter of which is showing signs of inducing a migraine. You breathe with steady intent, a review of the encounter relentlessly replaying.

One question keeps rising to the surface, getting louder and more insistent with each iteration:

Why was he doing this?

He had said it was to protect you. That it was dangerous outside. Was the dream world suddenly that different now that you had free will? Surely he would have led with that if it were true. Found a way to make it safe...

He's been unfalteringly devoted to you in every other way thus far. The aftercare looked to be proof enough of his character. The reassurance, and explanations during the soul-tying. Holding you. Staying beside you while you slept, even though he did not require the rest himself.

But then there is the distinct lack of sharing, both of his internal and external worlds, and of course the 'it is not your place to do so' comment.

That one really stings. You had been convinced that you were his equal. Yet the way the words fell so easily from his mouth, without hesitation nor any sign of an underpinning emotion - it sounded like a response that was not uttered in the heat of the moment.

How were you to know though?

You've not known him for that long and it's not like you can tell from the bond between you, even now after days of longing to and trying to pick up on something, anything that would inform you of his heart. The one thing you can attempt to read into is the state of the ceiling sky; you are getting a sense that it is linked directly to his moods. Its sudden deterioration the moment you had voiced your concerns couldn't have been a coincidence, could it?

The more you grapple for meaning, the harder you are finding it to reconcile the evidence before you, so conflicted on your opinion of him, of the situation. Yet no amount of speculation and reframing could take away from the few facts you have:

The Fates had told you of an unfathomably long imprisonment that Morpheus had endured and suffered in.

So why was he putting you in a parallel of that?

How can someone who is supposed to be your soulmate be so unreadable to you, and so inexplicably cruel?

You curl into a ball, groaning out loud in frustration.

You ponder if there is something defective within you, if he can see something that you are too human to perceive. Maybe you deserve this on some level because you are not quite enough for him.

"No," you say out loud, firmly casting that contemptuous thought out of your mind.

You will not go in for self-loathing or self-pity. You are strong and capable and compassionate. Morpheus is still your soulmate. You can fix this. Once he's back, you will talk about this.

The resolution seems to lessen the lingering despair enough that you unwittingly fall asleep.

-----------------------------

There's an anticipatory undercurrent to the chatter being passed back and forth across the circular tables spaced evenly across the function room.

You're sat at one such table, the hands folded in your lap occasionally brushing against the heavy dark blue velvet draped over the wood, the feel of the material's sumptuous pile triggering pleasant goosebumps.

Ice laden water jugs and bowls of savoury snacks occupy the middle of the table, and each seat is designated by a placeholder. Your name is displayed in a bold font across the folded piece of stiff card in front of you and the names of all your colleagues have been typed out on matching markers.

The lighting could be described as ambient, moody even - a strange choice for such a celebratory event. The strongest source of light is directed towards a projection screen, where the order of events are being presented.

You thumb the lock screen button on the right hand side of your phone to check the time. 20:28. The scheduled break is due to end soon. You take a sip of water from the tumbler stamped with your lipstick and wait.

The microphone on the podium clicks and crackles as it is brought back to life and all heads turn in unison towards the man standing there. A spotlight provided by the professional lighting rig suspended above is ignited, the light from it so bright that it obscures every feature on his face.

His tone is light as he reels off a few formalities, making a joke about the speed of which some individuals had headed to the bar come the start of the interval, eliciting a sequence of throaty laughs from the crowd. He then jumps back into the award giving.

"This person, I know for a fact has really been putting in the effort with developing the traits required to truly embody this accolade and everything it stands for. Taking gullible to the next level, allowing themself to be debased and shutting down all logical reasoning. A veritable inspiration of inconsequentiality; therefore, it comes as no surprise that the award for most worthless human goes to -"

He pauses for effect, and the entire room watches on with baited breath.

Condensation beads slip down the outside of the jug closest to you, mirroring a perspiration bead that has begun to slide from your nape. You look away from the stage, feeling an impending sense of doom slink into your stomach with the nausea that suddenly washes over you. Your intuition is well-founded.

The microphone wheezes as the man inhales the breath needed to deliver the announcement.

He says your name.

The applause that follows is rapturous; a chorus of hollers and whistles punctuating the clapping. It's like you're at a rock concert.

None of it aligns with the damning description of the award name. Under no circumstance do you want to go and accept it; doing so would show that you agree with the committee.

You sneak a glance over your shoulder, wincing at the harsh fluorescents spilling in from the foyer through the set of double doors - that is where you quietly need to get to.

You're pushing your chair back slowly and carefully, about to attempt this surreptitious exit when a spotlight hits you. The hand going for your bag freezes mid-reach.

It's as if a tractor beam has been activated. You cannot stop yourself from standing, cannot stop yourself from walking on the scuffed wooden floor, made that way from years of dancing.

The journey to the stage on your shaky legs is long, given your distance from it, intensified even further by the stares of your peers. You go up the steps at the side of the stage, jelly legs adding risk with the slight elevation. You grip the handrail in a white-knuckled fist.

The award waits on the podium: an oversized key on a black plinth, the golden colour of the metal glints temptingly. With your gaze turned downwards, the man shakes your hand with the pressure of a constrictor, praising you with words that you can't hear above the continued applause.

You force your mouth into a smile and ready yourself to take the award, telling yourself that being gracious is the best approach you can take.

Unfortunately, in your moment of acceptance, someone decides to take advantage.

There's a blow to the back of your knee caps.

You cry out from shock and pain; the sound doesn't last long for as soon as your knees make impact with the boards, a gag is forced into your mouth.

The situation and the gag make it hard to breathe in any way other than frantically, pulse just as agitated in your tight-feeling chest.

The crowd's clapping doesn't stop even as intricate restraints are added at your wrists, even as burning tears and sticky snot stream down your face.

The agony intensifies when you are hauled up by your hair and then herded by several pairs of hands towards the wings of the stage. Your eyes fall on the opaque box that stands just out of view of the crowd.

Its purpose is clear. It is to be your cage.

You're now screaming despite the gag, thrashing as you're dragged towards your doom. Not even allowing yourself to be a dead weight can save you; the cloying fingers are too numerous, too zealous.

The door to the cage opens and the presence of the oppressive void within ekes out towards you like a disturbing fog. Whatever is in there, you can sense it will smother you. Obliterate you slowly. And the people in this room seem to believe you are worthy of such a fate.

The hands anchored on your body begin their last pushes. You whip your head around, making a last attempt to search for an escape when you see a figure out the corner of your eye.

There's no questioning who it is; the person who has been on the periphery of so many dreams these past weeks, you would know him anywhere.

You see a glimpse of movement. Perhaps the raising of a hand. A ripple of power courses through the scene - you feel it vibrate in your chest. Everything freezes, and in that sudden silence you hear Morpheus' solemn and decisive words:

"This dream is over."

You startle, a shriek echoing about the sunless space as you are ripped from the dream. The sheets have you wrapped up like a python; you try with desperation to get free, half-convinced that those relentless hands are still trying to ferry you into that cage.

Floundering, you work and work against the fabric, crying out again when your progress is minimal.

"Soulmate."

Morpheus' deep voice sounds, speaking your name next in such an intimate and gentle way that you instantly halt in your struggle.

He is beside you.

All the attributes of concern are in his facial expression and body language, eyes glistening with an emotion you can't quite place.

"It is over now," he confirms, dissolving the sheet into nothing.

He comes closer, stroking your face with one hand, the other atop your chest with the palm centred on your soul. It's a welcome feeling, his attentions and being free from the tangle of sheets, but you are too far gone for it to stop the fear that the nightmare has set in motion.

"When you said that it was not my place to accompany you, is it because you think I'm less than you?" You ask in a cracking, pitiful voice.

Morpheus stills for a heartbeat, before bending his head to look you straight in the eyes. "No," he breathes. "My soulmate, I could never think that."

He kisses you softly.

It's not what you expected but nevertheless your hands cling to him on instinct, kissing him back and then he's suddenly straddling you. Covering your body with his own to give you a feeling of safety and it's exactly what you require.

You're on the verge of tears from it all, touching the back of his neck, gripping his shoulders to keep him close.

"Morpheus," you call.

"I am here. I am not going anywhere."

He kisses you deeper this time as if to corroborate his statement. It incrementally lessens your doubts and anxieties but there's a call for communication too.

"We need to talk about what happened," you say with quiet assertion.

For a moment, you wonder if he has even heard you for he claims your mouth again.

"I do not wish to talk," he eventually replies, immediately diving back in for yet another kiss. "I wish to take away your anguish."

"But -"

He hushes you, a soothing shut down that would be infuriating if not for the lingering unease of the nightmare clogging your emotions. "Let us forget what was said. Let us instead indulge in the pleasure of each other's bodies."

You blink, slowly processing his explicit inference, taken aback by the very obvious physical reactions they inspire. You force yourself to adopt a professional expression as your arousal begins to leak onto your gown.

"I want to talk to you."

He's smiling smugly as he tilts his head to the side. "Your emotions betray you dearest, as does your body. I know exactly what you want and it is not conversation."

Shame rises but is quickly blotted out by Morpheus' next action.

You feel bare skin against yours; he's used his power to disrobe you as well as him. A protest forms - he stifles it with his mouth. Your eyes are wide as you take it, as he shifts his weight ever so slightly to align your hips.

His own eyes stare you down after he pulls back, unblinking like an apex predator who has caught sight of its favourite prey.

Easy prey.

That's what you are.

He arranges you as such too; grasping your legs and moving your knees to your chest to bend you in half. Pinning you underneath him.

Neither of you last long with the tightness of the angle once you allow him to enter you.

To say you are dazed afterwards would be an understatement. The events of the past few hours have been persistently erratic. If Morpheus feels the same then it isn't apparent. The colour of his eyes are as clear and stable as the weather above, hand warming his favoured spot on your chest.

Your own hands wander up and down his body, running smoothly over his enticing skin.

"You have not touched your food," he comments quietly.

One of your palms moves absentmindedly to trail lazily across your abdomen. "If I'm being honest, I've been struggling to eat since I got here. For some reason I have no appetite or thirst."

"That would be a result of the immortality."

Your hands freeze up, brain doing the opposite as it spins out in a hundred directions.

"W-what did you say?" You stammer, praying you have misheard him.

"The immortality," he clarifies. "My power is within you and with it, comes certain endurances."

You sit up and put some space between you both. This was a serious matter. Despite your empty stomach you feel like you are going to vomit.

"How long have you known that?"

"It does not matter."

Red rag to a bull doesn't come close to covering what his dismissive reply makes you feel. The set of your jaw is so tight that a section on the left side begins to feather. You talk through gritted teeth, levelling a furious glare at him - making it transparent that you are not going to tolerate his evasiveness any longer:

"Tell me how long."

He makes the smart decision to pause to select his reply, though you decipher from the suddenly overcast sky that it is not going to be one that you will like.

"Since our souls joined."

Your hand flies to your chest, to your soul as tears start to brew.

"That was days ago!"

Morpheus simply looks at you.

"Did you not think that I had a right to know about something as life changing as that?"

He opens his mouth to respond but you cut him off before he can issue a syllable.

"Please can you give me some time alone?"

Morpheus' intense stare - the one that had gone from intimidating to exhilarating - has now become distressing and you need to get out from under it.

To his credit, he does what you asked and the moment the door is closed, the tears you have been holding back start to flow freely. The ceiling sky is so crowded with dark clouds that you are convinced that it's going to do the same as your eyes.

You feel like you've been tricked. You didn't ask for this, nor were you consulted.

The gilding has fully tarnished now, revealing that things were too good to be true. And had been from the very beginning. You had been swept up in the haze of sexual satisfaction, too blinded by the soul bond to see clearly. The nightmare had spelled it out flawlessly: gullible, debased and without logical reasoning.

The previous success in derailing your self-loathing falls short now. You are bolting down the path of internal admonishment.

How could you have been so naïve?

The answer is your hubris. It had felt good to be finally wanted, chosen to be a part of something bigger than yourself by making a difference to the Dreaming. Unless you had misunderstood.

No, the Fates had told you it in no uncertain terms. What they hadn't done however was provide a time frame. You had stupidly assumed it would be effective immediately. Instead you could be looking at decades, centuries even with this newfound information.

Even with the promise of eventual fulfilment, there was little chance that you would last for years in this room with your sanity intact.

You need distraction from the demoralising thought so you bluster through your bathroom routine like a whirlwind, slamming containers down where possible and huffing out exasperated sounds.

While the gown has re-materialised on the hook by the shower, you are dead set against putting it back on. You go to the bedside table and dive into the drawers to find your clothes from the night of the award ceremony, uncovering the cigarettes and lighter you forgot had been hidden there.

You don't even think before lighting one up, hoping that the nicotine will take the edge off your despair. You are quick to finish it and the clarity it brings encourages you to have a second. And then a third.

From the combination of your reclined position on the sheets and the dainty way you hold each cigarette, you can't help but feel like a 1940s starlet. It injects a bit of delirious humour, and also gumption into the mix.

"You are not at fault here," you whisper out loud. "He is the one who has an understanding of how soulmates work. He withheld that. You are allowed to be pissed off with him and you should let him see it."

-----------------------------

By the time Morpheus returns, you are in full possession of your wits and sit perched at the foot of the bed. You regard each other; he appears a touch drawn out, eyes subdued and a small line marking the space between his eyebrows.

"You have been smoking," he states flatly.

Buoyed by the confidence gifted to you by said activity, you inhale the scent of the lingering bluish fog, flashing a sardonic smile as you audibly breathe out, labouring the point with the pleasurable sigh.

"What else was I supposed to do while I waited for you to come back?" You cross your legs and smooth out a non-existent wrinkle in the bedclothes you meticulously rearranged.

The effects of your sarcasm are immediate; the air is becoming ominously dense, threatening to unleash a storm of epic proportions. Morpheus' fists clench and the pressure is dampened a fraction.

"Give them to me," he asks in a monotone.

"No."

Your connection is so devoid of dissonance at this point. Morpheus is stone carved. The kind of impenetrable that would shred and destroy finger nails; there is no point in trying to claw your way to the being beneath. The apathy sends your anger to new heights, compelling that shamefully vindictive part of you into lashing out. You want to hurt him just as he has hurt you.

"They're the only thing I have left from my real life."

A lethal quality seeps into his reply, "That life ended the moment you stepped out onto that street."

"Well then I should have run from you that night," you provoke further, tone biting as glacial ice on exposed skin.

The same shadows from before are crowding about his person, settling in his eyes - a tell that you have unleashed the nightmare form. You have to actively remind yourself to breathe at an even pace. All things you had queued up to say to him are long gone as you gaze upon his dark majesty.

"Even if you had been able to evade me, hide your physical body, I would have found you the moment you fell asleep."

The tether on his control slips as a single bolt of lightning turns the room to a white-out. The thunder never comes, instead the rumble of his voice.

"Do not think that I had not anticipated a refusal. I was more than prepared to use force to get what I wanted. What I was promised. I will not share you with anyone. You are mine. My soulmate. You -"

He stops unexpectedly and head snapping to look at the door.

You roll your eyes. "Let me guess, something requires your attention."

He takes in a deep breath. "I will return shortly."

You watch sullenly as he leaves you behind yet again, about to resume smoking when you feel an urge to re-examine the door. It is as pointless as before; no handle nor locks. Your fists hit the mahogany once, then twice before your composure fully deteriorates and you begin to hammer on it. Not because you are hoping to snag someone's awareness, for you heard it from Morpheus that no one could find this place. Sadly, you do it because you are losing hope.

Dejection momentarily quelled, you resort to staring at the door with such concentration that you fear it may trigger another headache.

"How the fuck do you work?" You ask it.

If there is no tangible way of holding it then that left the metaphysical as its locking mechanism. Metaphysical power that came from him - that now resided in you.

Maybe you could use it to break out...

You huff out a laugh at your optimism. There is no harm in trying.

Decision made, you make a quick trip to the bathroom to get the ruby ring you put by the sink. There's no chance you're escaping and leaving a beloved family heirloom behind.

You walk confidently to the door and plant yourself a forearm's length from it. The gold of the ring glimmers on your right hand as your press your palm to the glossy wood.

You do not want to be the person you were in the nightmare; forced into a box-encased void and cut off from the universe. You want to learn, to experience, to love. You want to have dreams and you're willing to make them with or without their master.

You are going to get out of here.

-----------------------------

Tag list: @herfantasyworldd @kpopgirlbtssvt @littleblackcatinwonderland @1950schick @lollipopsandlandmines

"I'm walking down the line that divides me somewhere in my mind. On the borderline of the edge, and where I walk alone."

[multi-fandoms-posts]

Passion in Chaos

X Men Masterlist

X Men Masterlist 2

SMUT

The Xavier Institute is unusually quiet. Charles has left for a few days to handle some matter, leaving Erik and Y/N in charge of the institute. But tonight, with all the students finally in their rooms and peace settling in, they’ve found a rare moment for themselves.

In the soft light of their bedroom, Y/N lies beneath Erik, their bodies entwined. He is deep inside her, his movements fast and intense, muscles taut. His gaze is soft, filled with affection.

Y/N lets out a loud moan, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly. “Erik…” she whispers, her voice husky with desire and closeness.

Erik, his face resting near her neck, murmurs softly, “You’re incredible.” He quickens the pace, and Y/N can feel how close they both are to the edge. Her nails lightly dig into his back, and she moans again as Erik thrusts deeper and harder.

Suddenly, a deafening bang echoes from inside the building. The entire institute shakes, as if something heavy has toppled or exploded. Erik pauses briefly, his instincts immediately focused on the danger.

But before he can pull away, Y/N grabs a fistful of his hair, gently tugging his head back. Her eyes gleam with determination and desire. “Erik, I swear, if you stop now, you’re sleeping on the couch.”

Erik stays silent for a moment, then raises an eyebrow, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “Is my wife threatening me?” His voice is quiet and teasing, but there’s no trace of anger.

Y/N pulls him closer, her voice demanding. “Yes, and you know I mean it. Finish what you started.”

Erik grins, almost helpless against her resolve. “Impossible,” he murmurs, his words soaked in tenderness. Without another word, he resumes his pace, his movements stronger and more deliberate.

As Y/N moans beneath him, her breathing quickening, a knock suddenly sounds at the door. “Erik! Y/N!” Hank calls from outside, his voice laced with concern. “There’s a problem. Something’s happened out here!”

Erik doesn’t stop, his movements only becoming more intense as Y/N writhes beneath him. “Erik! Y/N!” Hank calls again, louder this time, almost panicked.

Erik, breathless and nearing his own release, finally shouts toward the door, “I’ll… be right there!” The double meaning of his words isn’t lost on Y/N, and she chuckles softly, wrapping her legs even tighter around him.

Erik flashes her a grin before fully focusing on what they’re about to achieve. The world outside their room seems to vanish for a moment as they both finally let go in a shared, intense climax. Y/N cries out, and Erik stays buried deep inside her, his muscles tensed as the last waves of pleasure roll through him.

After they finish, Erik lingers above her for a moment, his forehead resting against hers, both of them panting, savoring the aftermath. Then Erik presses a gentle kiss to her lips, his affection clear in the gesture. “That was worth it,” he murmurs softly, before slowly pulling away.

Y/N, still smiling and completely content, watches him as he stands and grabs his boxers from the floor. He pulls them on and reaches for his shirt, tossing it over his shoulders but leaving it unbuttoned. His chest, still glistening with sweat from their exertion, rises and falls quickly as he leans against the bed.

“Erik!” Hank calls again from the door. “It’s important!”

Erik gives Y/N a knowing look, murmuring with a mischievous grin, “Sometimes, I wish this institute wasn’t so chaotic.”

Y/N laughs quietly, sitting up with her hair tousled and her skin flushed. “You can’t avoid responsibility forever, love. Besides, who would’ve thought the great Magneto had trouble multitasking?”

Erik shakes his head, the grin still on his lips. “You don’t make it easy, you know that?”

“That’s my job,” Y/N replies playfully, giving him one last kiss on the lips.

Erik chuckles softly before standing and heading to the door, where Hank is visibly anxious, waiting.

“Finally,” Hank sighs in relief. “There was a loud bang, and it looks like something exploded in the library. We should check it out.”

Erik nods, throwing Y/N a glance over his shoulder before following Hank. “Let’s go see.”

Y/N grabs her robe and joins them.

When they reach the library, they see a large hole in the wall and a group of younger mutants standing around, looking guilty. Some of the bookshelves have toppled over, and pages are scattered everywhere. Erik lets out a deep sigh as he surveys the destruction.

“What happened here?” he asks in a deep voice, eyeing the students.

One of the students steps forward hesitantly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lehnsherr. I… I lost control of my powers. It was an accident.”

Y/N stands beside Erik, watching the scene with a mix of amusement and understanding. “It’s always like this when Charles is away,” she murmurs quietly.

Erik shakes his head, but a hint of a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Alright,” he says finally. “Let’s clean this up.”

[lovelyunholyc]

heyo :)

what are your thoughts on nanami with a breeding kink lmao

why hello my dear, i'm so glad u asked 🤭

nsfw !! minors and blank/ageless blogs will be blocked !!

fem! reader, breeding kink, pregnancy mention but no actual pregnancy (yet?!), unprotected sex, creampie.

"more," you breathe, in spite of your lungs protesting, in spite of the way your heartbeat thuds so loudly in your ears you can hardly hear the faint, whispery little whines that escape you with every deep, intentional sweep of his hips.

"more?" nanami asks, his tone playful, cocking his head to the side in question as he pauses to brush away the damp hair sticking to your forehead with those long, elegant fingers. "you want more, darling?" he moves your legs over his shoulders, shuddering along with you when that shifts him into a different angle - a deeper, more precise one that nudges the tip of his dick right up against your sweetest spot, making you whine again. "can you take it? for me?" his voice grows more strained the longer he speaks, gasping as he tries to keep his composure when your walls are so snug and tight around him, when you're practically sucking him in, arching into his warmth and writhing against your bed in pure pleasure.

you're so wet it's been beyond obscene, the evidence of your arousal and his making a mess of you - it drips out of you from the countless times he's cum and made you cum, you've lost track of how many times at this point, especially with the way he always puts your pleasure above his. your thoughts are all muddled, brain fuzzy and overwhelmed in the best way, but you can't get enough, pulling and squeezing at him and deliriously begging for more, more, more, lost in ecstasy and the adoration you hold so deeply for him.

nanami is all too happy to comply, just as lost in his bliss, in the carnal, nearly animalistic need to fill you until you can take no more, to pleasure you until he's certain he is all you can see, feel, think about.

and nanami does not often consider himself a selfish man - he actively tries not to be, but above all else, you make it so incredibly difficult.

"yes, ken, p-please, i need you," you're whining, nearly begging, nodding your head desperately at his queries as he draws his hips back, slow and deliberate, just so you can feel every ridge and vein of him along your walls. he gets his desired effect, that sweet little gasp of yours, the tears glittering across your pretty eyes and leaking out of the corners like diamonds in the low light of your shared room. and when he glances down, the practically mouthwatering sight of your combined juices coating the base of his cock as he inches it out of your sweet cunt, the way it glistens on your skin.

for someone so meticulous, he sometimes still wonders why the mess of it, the inherent debauchery it symbolizes, fascinates him so.

he stops just before the head of his cock pops free, turns to press his lips across your knee over his shoulder, chuckles a little bit into your skin as he slowly - excruciatingly slowly - slides himself back into the velvet clutch of your walls. "need more, hm?" his voice is like honey, just the right amount of gruff at the edges from heat, desire, maybe exertion. it sends pleasant chills down your spine, your fingers searching blindly until you find his grasp and weave in between his own.

"i can give you more, my love," he murmurs, leaning in to mouth at your jaw, nipping lightly at your skin just as you gasp at how he slides home just like that, buried to the hilt in you once more. "everything i have, it's all yours."

you moan as he starts moving again, undulating his hips steadily, slowly building up your pleasure once more.

"anything you want," he's at the edge of your jaw, his breath tickling your ear, teeth picking at your lobe, "i'll give it to you." his voice is so deep and low now you think you can feel it thrum through your entire body.

even in your delirium you search for his lips, tilting towards him until he kisses you without question, letting go of your hand only to cradle your cheek as you open up for him, sucking on his tongue and moaning so sweetly.

nanami pulls away to get you to breathe, smirking a little at how insatiable you are, how lovely you look spread out underneath him, heart squeezing at how much you trust him with this most vulnerable part of you; it is never lost on him, and he thinks he'll be more than happy to worship you and your body for as long as you'll have him.

"ken," you pant, one hand on his cheek too, the other gliding down to rest just underneath your own stomach, where you tap lovingly, gifting him a weak, albeit mischievous little smile. "wanna feel you."

nanami groans from deep within his chest, marveling at how quickly and easily you can spark that inherently depraved instinct within him.

he falters for only a moment before his pace quickens, and he's pounding into you so ferociously, you're clawing at his back, barely coherent, tugging at him and whining encouragingly.

he had never been this selfish, not until he met you, not until you'd ripped his heart wide open. not until you'd given him everything you had, and asked for nothing in return, not until he'd attempted to give you the world, and all you wanted was him.

would it really be selfish, then, to give you what you'd asked so sweetly for? to fill you up, as much as you like, to shape you to his cock and paint your walls with his seed, until it drips onto your skin and your sheets and makes a mess of you like he's been doing for lord only knows how long now, to give it all to you until your belly's full of him, until you're full of him...?

and if you still wanted more of him, would it really be so selfish to fill you with his babies, to prop your hips up like that and make sure it takes, to make love to you every night until you're round with life, with his life, his and yours, and beyond that?

nanami leans in just to kiss you, just to swallow up your lovely little sounds and tell you how much he loves you, though you already know. he slides his hand between your bodies to rub mercilessly at your clit, nipping at your neck as your whole body writhes beneath him, follows each forceful thrust of his hips. he savors your broken cry of his name when you cum - he isn't sure which one this is, he can't be bothered to keep count, but you're just as beautiful each time, just as addicting to watch, to feel as your walls clench and flutter around him, and you lose yourself to this little slice of heaven only he can give you.

he digs his hips into yours until he can't, the tip of his cock shoved up against your cervix, and he can't hold it off any longer, he spills into you with a shudder and your name on his lips, your fingers in his hair and your heart against his ear.

he doesn't stop until he's spent, and undoubtedly sure he's fulfilled his promise of giving you everything he has.

.

.

in other words, yes.

and he doesn't realize he has it until you bring it up, and doesn't get super vocal about it until he's comfortable in your relationship, and you've actually talked about it and your future and whether or not you want a family because he's a respectful king and will always and has always taken precautions either way

[nemo-writes]

𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚜 ; 𝚘𝚗𝚎 - 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

➝ steve harrington + eddie munson x loser-club!reader

➝ synopsis; leaving derry behind, you set out to the sunny promise of california. but when your bike breaks down, you’re forced to make an unexpected stop in the enigmatic town of hawkins.

⚠️ warnings; none

➝ series masterlist, moodboard

➝ next chapter

Sunday, January 26, 1986, Derry, Maine

The sun filtered through the towering trees as you pulled yourself up the final ledge of the cliff. Your muscles burned with exertion, clearly unused to the effort. Tight-fitting jeans and the constant chain-smoking were doing you no favours either, weighing heavily on your lungs.

Standing still for a moment, you caught your breath and surveyed the landscape. A rush of familiarity swept over you. The forest was thick and vast, just as you remembered it. You had spent countless hours exploring this place as a child—it was your sanctuary, your playground, your refuge from the world.

You made your way to the nearby quarry, settling down by the edge with a grunt. Reaching into your jacket, you pulled out your crumpled pack of cigarettes, plucking one out with your front teeth and lighting it with your busted but trusty lighter. Taking a long drag, you let the smoke swirl in your mouth before exhaling slowly through your nostrils. You rubbed your thumb over the carved initials, B.M., etched into the lighter as your gaze shifted to the shimmering water below. The surface rippled slightly under the touch of the breeze.

From the corner of your eye, you spotted movement—a familiar figure emerging from the thick foliage. Mike. The confusion on his face melted into a smile the second he saw you.

“Sorry, I took a wrong left and wandered for a while. It’s been ages since I was up here,” he apologised, making his way over. You waved him off, already settled in. Knees knocking against yours, he eyed the cigarette between your fingers with a raised eyebrow. “Didn’t you quit?”

You shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “I’m working on it. The move’s got me on edge.”

He let it slide, leaning back on his hands as he asked, “So, how’s the packing going? That new motorcycle of yours ready for the highway yet?”

“Yeah, everything’s good to go,” you replied, taking another drag. “Even managed to get a decent deal on the apartment.”

“For real?”

You weren't offended by his incredulity. The apartment was a total dump. You were glad to be rid of it, especially after your grandmother’s passing a year ago. Her death had been a moment of clarity—a breaking point.

That’s when you had properly decided to leave Derry for good.

The money you got from selling the apartment helped pay for her funeral and cleared her debts. You then put some toward a motorcycle and the licence to go with it—the rest, you saved up. 

As you exhaled the smoke away from Mike, mindful of his discomfort, you mentioned casually, “Mr. Keene’s taking the place for Greta. You know...”

You made a rounded motion over your belly with your free hand. Mike’s eyes widened.

“She’s pregnant?!”

His shock slowly faded into a thoughtful frown. “Wait, that explains why I haven’t seen her around. She wasn’t even at graduation...”

“Turns out it’s Pete’s,” you said, tapping the ashes from your cigarette.

“Pete? Sticky Fingers Pete?” Mike’s mouth dropped open in scandalised surprise. “No way!”

Pete Brown was the resident bully ever since Henry Bowers had been locked up. His nickname came from his nasty habit of unabashedly sticking his fingers into people’s stuff. He’d openly stolen from you and your friend’s, sometimes with a fist raised high above his shoulder, others without you even noticing until hours later.

You and Mike exchanged a long look before breaking into laughter. You choked on the smoke halfway through, and he patted your back, grinning.

“You good?” he asked.

You gave him a thumbs-up, eyes watering. “All good.”

When the laughter died down, Mike asked a little more seriously, “So, where are you headed to?”

“California,” you hummed, but your voice wavered slightly.

“California, huh?” Mike echoed, catching your hesitation. “You don’t sound too sure.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, not quite ready to share your real reasons for aiming west. It felt a little silly, honestly. “It’s a long ride. Who knows what’ll happen along the way?”

The sun hung lower in the sky now, casting long shadows across the jagged edges of the quarry. The air was thick with the lingering warmth of the day, and the only sounds were the rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets.

“They’re not coming, are they?” you asked, breaking the quiet.

Mike looked startled for a second, fumbling for an excuse. “They’re busy with stuff and—”

“Don’t make excuses for them,” you cut him off, disappointment creeping into your voice. “You’re here, and you’re just as busy.”

A heavy silence followed. Deep down, you had expected this. It had been years since the Losers had biked together or even hung out like they used to. Conversations had grown shorter, turning into awkward nods in the school hallways. Still, knowing it didn’t make it hurt any less.

Mike sighed, his shoulders slumping. “You’re right. Life gets in the way, and it’s hard to blame them... but it sucks.”

But you did blame them. Even more now, seeing Mike’s disappointment. You fought the urge to light another cigarette and scooted closer to him instead.

“I get it,” you said softly. “I’m the one who’s upset, not you.”

He fiddled with the paper bag he’d brought, then held it out to you with a hesitant smile. “They wanted me to give you this.”

You stared at the bag, tempted to refuse it out of pride. But Mike’s puppy-dog look made you relent. With an exaggerated sigh, you took the bag, feigning annoyance.

Inside you found a fistful of the granola snacks you liked, a new sketchbook, a box of those fancy-pencils you had been eyeing for months, a neatly packed medical kit, a small wooden turtle charm on a braided leather strap, and lastly, a pack of cigarettes with two missing. You snorted at the last oneㅡthe tightness in your chest loosening. 

Mike pointed at the turtle. “That little guy’s from me. It’s not much, but...”

You shot him a mock glare, silencing him. Pulling out your motorcycle keys, you looped the leather strap through the keychain. “I’m naming it Mikey.”

He snorted, bumping his shoulder against yours. “Alright, Mikey it is.”

Standing up, he offered you a hand. The nearly identical scars on your palms brushed as you clasped hands, a silent reminder of your shared past.

“Don’t forget,” Mike whispered, his voice tight with emotion.

You held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “I won’t.”

You stood there for a moment longer, your hand still gripping Mike’s. The familiar warmth of his palm anchored you to this place, to this moment. A part of you wanted to freeze it—hold onto the feeling of belonging, of not yet having to say goodbye. But you knew better.

Some things weren’t meant to last.

With one final squeeze, you let go and shoved your hands into your jacket pockets, feeling the cool metal of your motorcycle keys clink against the lighter inside. Mike gave you a soft smile, a wordless goodbye, and together, you headed back down the trail.

.

.

.

Thursday, February 20 1986, Outskirts of Hawkins, Indiana

As the sun dipped behind the horizon, casting long shadows over the empty highway, you felt a chill seep into your bones. The open road, while freeing, was unforgiving, especially when the weather turned. Your motorcycle, faithful through rain and snow, had become both your escape and your burden. 

The journey so far had been long—longer than you'd anticipated—but that was by choice. You weren't rushing, and in some ways, you couldn't afford to.

From Maine to Indiana, your route had been an intricate web of backroads, motels, and the occasional kind stranger offering directions or a hot meal. However, you had learned quickly that being a young woman travelling alone required a constant balance between caution and determination. Every rest stop was carefully chosen, each small-town diner scoped out before you dared to settle in a booth. You’d developed a knack for reading people, for sensing when a conversation could be friendly and when it was best to keep your head down and move on.

Your new sketchbook and fancy pencils had quickly become your companion on those quiet nights in cheap motels or campgrounds. The sketchbooks cover was scuffed now, a little worse for wear from the miles it had travelled with you, but its pages were filled with glimpses of your journey: the snow-dusted peaks of the Appalachians, a rundown gas station lit by a single flickering bulb, even the faces of strangers who left an impression. Each smooth stroke of your pencil was a way to hold onto fleeting moments, a reminder that though you were always moving, you were still here, still tethered to something tangible.

Pulling into a nearby rest stop, you parked in front of the mechanic's shop. The sign, weather-beaten and faded, swung gently in the frigid breeze. The shop’s exterior was old but well-kept, with faint traces of oil and rubber clinging to the air. Stepping off the bike, you stretched out, hissing at the stiffness in your legs and back from the relentless hours on the road. You guided your bike inside the shop, the engine’s growl fading into a low rumble.

The interior of the shop was warmer, the hum of the radio filling the space. Walls lined with tools, parts, and mechanical odds and ends in various states of use gave the place a sense of organised chaos. Taking your helmet off, you spotted a tall, middle-aged black man in greasy coveralls sitting on a nearby workbench. He wiped his hands on a rag, his gaze appraising but not unkind.

“Yeah?” he greeted, his voice gruff. “What do you need?”

“My bike needs a look,” you replied, your voice raspy from days of disuse. “It’s been running rough the last few miles.”

“Uh-huh,” he muttered, nodding curtly. “Pull it into the bay, and I’ll take a look.”

You nodded in thanks, rolling the bike into the service bay. The man, who soon introduced himself as Sam, pulled on a pair of gloves as he walked over, eyeing your bike.

“You look like you’ve been on the road for a while,” he remarked, his tone a weird mix of curiosity and indifference as he glanced at the frost still clinging to your jacket and the dirt caked on your motorcycle.

“Yeah, been riding for almost a month,” you replied, offering a small, tight-lipped smile.

Sam grunted in acknowledgment, crouching down to inspect the engine. His hands moved carefully, precise in their movements, as he fiddled with various parts of your bike. You watched him work silently, admiring the way his hands seemed to know exactly what to do, even if his demeanour remained brusque.

After a while, he spoke again without looking up. “What’s a young lady like you doing out here alone? Shouldn’t you be in school or something?”

The question came out of casual curiosity, and you knew it wasn’t meant to be intrusive. You shifted slightly, uncomfortable but not thrown off.

“I graduated last year,” you replied flatly. “I’m not one for sticking around.”

Sam grunted again, a sound that could’ve been understanding or dismissal, but he didn’t press further.

He continued his work, and you let your gaze wander around the shop. Eventually, you took a seat on a nearby bench and pulled out your sketchbook, this place would make some good practice. You flipped through the pages, absentmindedly sketching the lines of the mechanic’s shop, the bike, the worn tools scattered around. It felt good to focus on something else, even just for a moment.

After a long while, Sam stood up, wiping the grease off his hands. He rubbed his chin with a frown, giving you a quick look. “Well, looks like your spark plug’s shot, and your ignition coil’s about to go too. I can fix it, but the parts are gonna take a bit of time to get. Won’t be cheap either.”

His words made your heart drop deep into your stomach. “How long?” you asked, trying to keep the urgency out of your voice.

He sighed, scratching his forehead with his thumb. “Could take a couple weeks, maybe more. Depends on how soon I can get the parts. This isn’t exactly a prime location for quick deliveries.”

Your heart sank, knowing full well that being stranded in the middle of nowhere wasn’t part of the plan. “And how much is it going to cost?”

Sam crossed his arms. “Well, like I said, parts aren’t cheap. But...” He eyed your worn-down bike, then glanced at you. “I can work something out. You any good at keeping promises?”

You raised an eyebrow, unsure where this was going. “Depends on the promise.”

He grunted in amusement. “My ex-wife runs the bar over in town—The Hideout. She’s always lookin’ for help. You take a job there while I work on your bike, and we’ll figure out the bill in instalments.”

You hesitated. Working in a bar wasn’t exactly in your plans, but then again, you didn’t have many options. “And what’s she like?”

Sam’s lips twitched into what could’ve been a smile. “Don’t slack off, and you’ll be fine.”

You crossed your arms. “.....I’ll think about it.”

He gave a short nod, as if that was enough of an answer. “You’re gonna be in town for a while anyway.”

As he turned back to the bike, Sam’s gaze flicked down to the sketchbook on your lap. “What you got there?”

You shrugged, not bothering to hide the sketch you were working on. “Just passing time.”

He peered over, eyeing the drawing. “Not bad,” he admitted. “You got some talent.”

You felt a flicker of pride but didn’t show it. “It’s just a hobby.”

Sam gave you a look. “That right? How about you give me a sketch as a show of good faith? Consider it an advance for the first round of work I’ll do on your bike.”

You blinked in surprise. “You serious?”

He nodded, leaning back against the workbench. “Deal’s a deal. You give me that sketch, I get started on the bike. Fair enough?”

You nodded, appreciating the unorthodox offer. Tearing a page from the sketchpad, you handed it over. “Deal.”

Sam inspected the drawing and gave a small nod of approval before carefully folding it and tucking it into his coveralls.

As the minutes passed, the sound of Sam working on your bike faded into the background, replaced by the steady scratching of your pencil against paper as you started another sketch. Sam glanced over from time to time, his expression unreadable, watching you work in silence. There was something calming about the way he moved around the shop, the quiet efficiency of someone who had spent years mastering their craft. 

For a moment, neither of you spoke, a rare shared silence settling between you.

Suddenly, the door to the shop swung open, the peace you and Sam had shared dissolved instantly. The figure that strolled in brought with him the distinct smell of cigarettes and an air of bad intentions. 

"Hey, boss," he called out, far too casually as he sauntered over. He didn’t even try to hide the fact that his eyes lingered on you for a moment too long. His smirk was cocky, almost predatory, and you could feel his presence encroaching on your space without even looking up.

Sam didn’t react immediately, just sighed, his shoulders sagging a little. The dismay on his face was clear as day. He didn’t want this guy around either.

"Jesse," Sam finally said, his voice filled with reluctant resignation. "Drive her over to The Hideout, will ya?"

Jesse’s grin widened as his eyes flicked over to you. He was white, tall, and lanky, with a shaved head that only emphasised his sharp, almost fox-like features. His murky blue eyes gleamed with mischief, scanning you with a kind of lazy curiosity. Unlike Sam, whose work-overalls were always neatly kept despite the grease and grime of his trade, Jesse’s version was a sloppier affair—stained, wrinkled, and barely buttoned properly. 

“Well, well, well…”

Your gaze met his coldly, shutting him down before he could try anything. "Not interested," you said sharply, leaving no room for debate.

Jesse raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No need to bite."

Sam shot him a warning look, voice firm. "Cut the crap. Just take her to the bar and do something useful for once."

Jesse shrugged, clearly unfazed by Sam’s scolding. "Sure, boss. Whatever you say." He motioned for you to follow him. You stood up, giving Sam a nod of thanks. He returned it with a quiet grunt, his expression still disapproving as Jesse walked ahead of you.

"Good luck," Sam muttered under his breath, almost too low for you to hear, as you grabbed your things and followed Jesse out to the truck.

The air inside Jesse's truck was thick with the stench of cigarettes and cheap cologne. He shot you a sideways grin as you settled into the passenger seat, clearly enjoying himself despite your earlier brush-off. Without a word, he started the engine, and soon you were rumbling down the high-way and into the city.

"So, what brings a girl like you out here to a place like this?" Jesse asked, tone dripping with sleaze. "Don’t see many like you passing through."

You kept your gaze on the road, the passing scenery of small houses and barren fields a welcome distraction from his presence. "Just because," you replied flatly, signalling that you weren’t interested in making small talk—or any talk for that matter.

He didn’t seem to care. "Yeah? Well, Hawkins isn’t much of an escape. This place is a hell-hole if you ask me."

You didn’t respond, eyes still fixed on the landscape outside. But Jesse, apparently not one to take a hint, kept going.

"Strange stuff happens here," he added, his voice lowering as though sharing some secret. "Murders, disappearances, all sorts of weird shit. Cops don’t do anything about it either. Makes you wonder if the place ain’t cursed or something."

You shrugged, unimpressed. "Sounds like every other small town."

Jesse shot you a sidelong glance, but you didn’t bother to look at him. "You’ll see. Stick around long enough, and you’ll feel it too. This place… it’s not right."

The conversation died again, but Jesse wasn’t done being a nuisance. "Anyway," he tried, voice oozing with false charm. "If you ever need someone to show you around town, I’m your guy. There’s plenty of spots I could take you. Keep you entertained."

This time, you turned to him, unflinching. "I told you, I’m not interested."

His grin faltered slightly, but he quickly recovered, forcing a laugh that sounded weak. "Cold as ice, huh? Suit yourself."

After that, Jesse finally shut up. The rest of the drive passed in tense silence, and you relished it. Hawkins didn’t look like much as you drove through its streets—just another tired, forgotten town. Nothing about it screamed cursed to you, just a place stuck in its own slow decay.

Eventually, he pulled up in front of The Hideout, the bar looking as rundown as you expected. Neon lights flickered weakly in the windows, and the paint on the sign was chipped and fading.

"There you go," Jesse said, cutting the engine with a sharp twist of his wrist. "The Hideout."

You muttered  small thanks as you stepped out of the truck, the gravel crunching under your boots. His eyes lingered on you, leaning against the steering wheel with that same lazy grin, clearly waiting for some other type of thanks. When you didn’t offer him anything else, his grin twisted into something uglier.

He scoffed, his voice dropping into a mutter as he spat out, "Stuck up bitch."

You didn’t turn around and with a flick of your wrist, raised your hand and gave him a firm, unapologetic middle finger before walking away. Behind you, you heard Jesse curse again under his breath as his truck roared back to life. He peeled off, the tires kicking up gravel as he sped away, the sound of his engine fading into the distance.

The door to The Hideout creaked loudly as you pushed it open, stepping into the dimly lit space. The smell of stale beer hit you immediately, and the low hum of voices filled the air, mingling with the muted sound of rock music coming from the jukebox in the corner.

A few heads turned your way as you walked in, but no one gave you more than a second glance. You headed straight for the bar, your boots scuffing against the worn wooden floor. The place was exactly what you’d expected—rough around the edges but not without its charm.

Behind the bar stood a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and dark hair pulled into a messy ponytail. She glanced up as you approached, sizing you up with a quick, practised look.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her tone curt but not unfriendly.

You nodded. "Sam sent me. Said you might have a job for me?"

Her eyes narrowed briefly in recognition, then she tossed the rag she’d been using to wipe down the counter over her shoulder. "Ah, motorcycle girl, huh?" Her lips twitched up into a small grin. "Sam called. Figured you’d swing by sooner or later."

The woman set her hands on her hips, giving you another appraising look. “Name’s Bev. And you are?”

You gave her your name, watching as her sharp features softened ever so slightly. She didn’t seem like the type for small talk, but something about her made you feel like you were in the right place.

“I like your name,” you said, surprising yourself with the admission. 

Bev raised an eyebrow, but then her face split into a wide, genuine grin. She let out a loud, hearty laugh that seemed to fill the entire bar, turning a few heads.

“Oh, honey, a pretty girl like you saying something sweet like that? You’re gonna light this place up,” she said, still chuckling. “Now, let’s get down to business. You want the job?”

You hesitated for a split second, thinking back to Sam and your earlier reluctance. But something about Bev—her straightforwardness, her no-nonsense attitude—won you over. The hesitation melted away, replaced by a simple, instinctive decision.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice steady. “I’ll take it.”

Bev nodded approvingly, wiping her hands on her apron. “Good. Now, here’s the deal. It ain’t glamorous. You’ll be workin’ the night shifts—cleaning tables, serving drinks, dealin’ with the usual crowd. Pay’s shit, but the hours ain’t too bad, and you’ll get tips. Think you can handle that?”

“Sounds fine to me,” you said, already feeling more at ease.

“And Sam already talked to me about your situation,” Bev continued, her tone softening just a little. “If you want, I can send half your pay to him directly. Save you some hassle.”

You blinked, surprised. “You’d do that?”

Bev shrugged like it was nothing. “Sure. But that’s not all. I got a little extra for you, if you’re up for it.”

She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice like she was about to share a secret. “I own a trailer over at Forest Hills Trailer Park. It ain’t much—kind of a dump, honestly—but it’s got running water and electricity. You can stay there while you’re working here, no rent. What do you say?”

It wasn’t much, but after days on the road and no solid plan for where to sleep, it was more than you expected. The relief hit you hard, but you kept your expression controlled, only a small nod revealing how grateful you felt.

“I’ll take it,” you said, meeting her gaze with sincerity.

Bev’s grin widened again. “Good. You start right now, and we’ll get you set up at the trailer tonight. It ain’t a palace, but it’s yours as long as you need it.” She paused, giving you a wink.

“Welcome to Hawkins, kid.”

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