#full height shutter

[shuttermanuk]

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[thecameronchronicles]

A Cup Of Sugar

TW: age-gap (reader's over 18.), dirty talk, sex without condom, manipulative behavior.

SUMMARY: Your next door neighbor and crush asks for a favor and leaves with something else...

A Cup of Sugar

The blue house with the white shutters has always been a staple to your cul-de-sac community since you could remember. Block parties pulled everyone together through fake smiles to save face for those who would more than likely be thrilled to not have to speak ever again. But in the politics of jealous wives and HOAs came one glimmer of peace in your existence.

The man in the blue house and white shutters.

Rafe Cameron.

He stood classified to his thoughts, his eyes always dancing over some shaven blades of grass paid to appear so perfect. He offered the waves to those to his caliber and always left you with a kind smile before slipping back inside. And this is how it had been for two decades. Since you were the little girl with pigtails who walked over with your parents to welcome him and his wife to the neighborhood before you could even look him in the eyes. And now, you dreamed of those eyes looking down on you for an entirely different reason.

You were always on the cusp of being noticed, putting increases effort when it was least expected. Even going out to check the mail you made yourself flawless in what you could, only ever getting the politeness from him.

At least until your eighteenth birthday. You caught his gazes lingering, your heart picking up speed, and his words a bit more adult than normal.

-------

A knock pulls you from the mundane afternoon where even the recent slew of TikTok trends over your FYP page do little to pass the time. Once opening the door, you silently curse not giving yourself a once-over in your camera before pulling it open.

"Mister Cameron. My dad isn't here..." The corner of his lips pull upwards.

"I know. I'm sorry to bother you, uh...do you have any sugar?" You stare, helplessly lured and anchored into the beckoning of him. Having always been attracted to the forbidden man across the street of blue eyes full of intimidation and cautious hands silently strong, you find it difficult to keep from showing it.

"Sugar? Um...let me check..." You move inside and hear him follow in uncertain steps before the door finally closes.

Once you come to the cabinet full of baking ingredients seldom used, already aware if you have any sugar it is probably more in brick form than edible, you play the time anyway to keep him in your company.

"Is Madison making something for Cheer or-"

"Let me help..." He stands behind you, shadowing you enough to nearly swallow you in his height alone, as he reaches over the cabinet.

"This cabinet?" You nod, facing him. His smirk remains on you as he makes no effort to actually seek out the sugar and simply holds his hand beside you as if to block you in.

"Mister Cameron..."

"Did you know that when your window is open at night that I can hear you in my backyard?" You blush, trying to imagine if there was anything embarrassing you had done. Played music too loud? Argued with your (now ex) boyfriend and it keeping him awake? Talked to yourself? Only God, it wasn't about him was it?

"Did I? I'm sorry. If I was too loud-"

"I can hear everything from the concerts you put on...to that which you do after you think everyone has gone to sleep..." He leans against you, his cologne dizzying you.

"I..." There is no mystery to his thinly veiled innuendo.

"You heard..." You can't say the words aloud, never having the chance as nobody else has ever been so brazen.

"Everything, Y/N. Or at least enough to know exactly what it is you need..." You blink in disbelief as all words thicken on your tongue, refusing to formulate.

"I-"

"You don't have to deny it. I know exactly what you need....Let me give it to you?" You swallow hard, trying to understand how this is happening. Manifestation truly works if your silent prayers had gone unanswered.

"I don't know-"

You are lifted onto the counter and he stands between your parted legs. It is a quick moment that feels as if it is in slow motion to the feeling of his hands on you.

"You want to know what else I know?" You swallow and nod, curiosity succeeding over logic.

"You can only come with my name on your tongue..." He kisses you with intent. Not to be gentle or loving but to claim. He doesn't wait for you to find breath or even steady against him as he uses the grip on your hips to pull you to him. You hold at his shirt for stability and it only makes him growl as your nails find him instead.

"You need what only I can give you, isn't that right, sweetheart?" You nod, too intoxicated by his touch to want to tempt fate to sober.

"I know nobody will be home for at least a few hours. You know how I know? Because I made sure of it. Now open those thighs for me-" You open and he scoffs, rubbing his jaw as he sees you not only eager but ready as you've completely soaked through your panties.

"I've had to listen for months while you got yourself off thinking nobody could hear you. But I did. And I wondered if you were doing it just to fuck with me or if you were really REALLY that desperate to come...next time, you say my name I'm taking it as a call and I'll make you come. Bet this sexy fucking ass on that." He grips the part of your ass exposed to him before he leans forward.

"Because I've had to hear you and now, you're gonna show me..." He pulls your panties to the side and rubs his cock up and down those lips.

"God, you're so fucking wet, it's almost pathetic." He moans before pushing the bulbous head of his dick closer to your entrance.

"Yesssss." He hisses as you gasp. He's wide, thick, and hot in every sense of the word. The coarse hair usually hidden to the naked eye is now stroking against you as he pulls back far enough to see the slickness you left behind on him.

"That's it....coat my fucking cock." He groans as he continues to thrust brutally and withdraw in almost torturous strides as you are breathless and wordlessly in awe. It is erotic, and almost painful, before he huffs.

"You sound so much better stuffed with me than whatever you were doing. What was it? Hmmm? Your fingers?" You nod, embarrassment rising up your body.

"And it was only me you thought of, yeah? None of those useless boys who can only dream of filling you like I can, right?" When you don't answer, he grips the back of your neck. "RIGHT?!"

You nod as he hoists your flat feet up to the counter so you're completely wide to him. His speed is no longer traceable as he's just pounding into you. Hand stabilizing himself in the cabinet above you, he rams into you with the force awakening something bold within you. You claw at his back and through his hair before kissing him again, instigating it all as he reciprocates with heady excess.

"Trying to get me to notice you in those bikinis and shorts like I could ever ignore you? Fuck, Y/N you're so wet for me aren't you? Gonna come hard? Maybe I should make you wait like you made me." He patronizes behind a humored growl. His head comes back, throwing it in pleasure as his face comforts, mouth wide and almost in disbelief as he grips the flesh of your hips with a punishable clutch.

"You need to come, you come to me. For me."

"Mister Cameron-"

"You call me Rafe when I'm this deep inside of you. Understand?"

"Yes R-Rafe."

"Good. Now scream it while I make you come and then I fill you up." The kitchen shudders around you as he thrusts and retracts, in and out, hard and deep. You were already sore but now you feel expanded and exhausted as he grips the back of your neck and pushes his mouth against yours. Not to kiss, to inform, and maybe even earn through a clenched repetition of "mine".

"Say it!" He calls out as you nod, agreeing in desperation as he showcases his approval on the final snaps of his hips before you feel him flood your womb in all that you were responsible for.

"Ahh fuck, yes I needed that..." He sighs as you keep your eyes on him as he pulls out of you. Without a care to clean up anything more than the space between you, he conceals himself back within his pants and shakes his head.

"So fucking sweet." He walks to the door and you're suddenly left half naked and empty.

"Wh-what about the sugar you needed?" You question, hoping it'll make him stay. With his brilliant smile and tempting lips purposed to a smirk, he grins.

"I got what I came for,. sweetheart." You sit in awe, realizing he took more than he left, including the fact you hadn't come. It was a play for power you gave him willingly and as much as you wanted to be the one in control, you knew you'd falter against him. Having a taste of him, you were eager for the next. Suddenly addicted to the man across the street you've loved and lusted for in equal measure since you could remember...

MASTERLIST

[siennashutters]

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[vkdesignsimage]

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[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

suguru wakes up, with a jolt, to the sound of a thud and a meek little yelp.

his eyes blink open, like the shutter of an old camera, raven lashes fluttering along — met only with the dim darkness of your bedroom. not quite pitch black, the light of something soon to resemble dawn bleeding in through the closed blinds, a blue kind of hue that doesn’t do much for him. everything is still dark.

but he can make out shapes, see the ceiling above him, and when he turns his head to the right he can see the contours of shoko’s face; fast asleep, snores building up in her throat and spilling from her lips.

(ridiculously cute.)

sadly, suguru doesn’t have time to savour the sight. because it takes him no less than a moment to notice that his other sleepy baby isn’t there at all — he barely even has to look, just feeling the mattress below him, knowing something is missing. he can’t feel at ease unless you’re weighing it down.

”baby…?” he rasps, deep and groggy, body moving on its own. elbows digging into the mattress, lifting himself up — a tug of alarm stirring his heartstrings.

the thud, your absence, the unmistakable yelp.

his muddled mind puts three and three together — and he sluggishly, steadily pulls himself up, almost desperate to locate you, but careful not to wake shoko. he moves elegantly, like a panther, slipping out of bed, bare feet meeting the cold floorboards as he stands up to his full height. hair a mess, a raven’s nest, sweatpants close to slipping off one side of his hips. absently wiping at his bleary eyes.

as soon as he regains his vision, stands up straight — he sees you. lying on the floor, like an abandoned plushie, while the adorable culprit is sprawled out peacefully on the mattress above you. you’re trying to get up, all disoriented and sleepy, and suguru thinks his heart might just melt down to the marrow.

this is exactly why he makes sure to sleep on the edge of the bed, most nights. exactly to prevent this — prevent his lovers from rolling over, tumbling right off. he doesn’t mind sleeping in the middle on days you want one arm each to latch onto, of course not; nothing warms his heart more than having both his babies on either side of him. but it feels good, to be the shield between you and the hardwood floor — making sure neither of you could ever fall off. it feels good, to watch you both nuzzle together like a pair of sleepy kittens. left side, middle, he’s fine with either.

just as long as he can prevent this. having to watch your small, sleepy form paw at the floorboards in search of stability. it breaks his heart in two.

”oh, baby,” he croons, deep and dripping with honey, crouching down beside you. effortless, as he scoops you up into his arms, one of his palms curling around your back — running down your spine.

and your eyes flutter open. hazy eyes, blinking at him, gaze almost absent, like you’re not quite sure what you’re looking at; but you’re already leaning into his touch, muscles softening, as if your very essence knows you’re safe. in his arms, in his lap.

it makes him want to cry.

(it makes him want to give you everything.)

he wastes no time in securing you, arms under your legs and behind your back as he stands up again. cradling you close, letting out a quiet coo, as if shushing a disgruntled child. the fall must have woken you up, poor thing. he wishes he could be angry with shoko, but she looks too sweet, when she’s so deeply asleep; drooling a little, groaning out something that sounds like a name. he only shakes his head, still rubbing gentle circles into your back.

”what a little bully, huh…?” 

no response. you’re already starting to nod off, again, and so he gets back into bed — guiding you to rest against the wall, safe and secure, where no sleepy girlfriends can get to you. tucking you in under his chin, making sure you’re comfortable against him.

(your shield, always. that’s all he wants to be.)

his lips find their way onto your forehead, pressing a gentle kiss between your brows. soft and chaste, holding you snugly, so eager to dote on you. his heart is still bleeding with tenderness, he can’t keep it in, it’s leaking all over the mattress and urging him to hold you tighter against his ribs. he thinks of how confused you must have been, waking up on the floor, wonders if you hurt your head on the way down — pressing another kiss there, for good measure. 

sweetly, sleepily, your lips curl up into a smile. 

a yawn slips past your lips, as you nuzzle into him, cheek all squished against his cushiony chest. looking so pleased that he almost wonders if this was your plan all along, a way to get all his attention.

suddenly, a weight drapes itself against his spine.

while he’s busy coaxing you back to sleep, he feels it; a sleepy murmur, muffled right against his bare skin, as a pair of lanky arms wrap around his waist. her voice is so raspy he just barely picks up on it, but his ears are attuned to every sound she makes.

shoko stirs behind him, fingers digging into his hips.

”… give ’em back…”

… his brows furrow.

”thief,” she yawns, again, all groggy and gruff. so, so silly. ”give them back… you’re so greedy…”

a raise of his brow, as he breathes out a scoff. ”you kicked them off the bed, you know…”

shoko only breathes out another groggy grumble, in response; her lanky arms tugging at his shoulders, using them as leverage to drag herself over his body and closest to the wall. he only lets out an amused huff, letting her manhandle him a bit — letting her snuggle up to you, warming your back. suguru feels himself smiling. watching you squirm, when her short, auburn strands tickle your sensitive collarbone, when she sighs into your neck. right in the middle of the two, right where you should be.

right where you belong.

he leans forward, brushes the curtain of your bangs away from your face, plants his lips against your forehead; smears a kiss against shoko’s cheek. he can’t help himself but to fall into you, breathe in the scent of your moisturizer, fading citrus drops and coconut oil. can’t help himself but to love you.

(his angels, he thinks, the word stuck on his tongue. his reason to be.)

suguru hugs you both close, now separating you fully from the edge of the bed, the chilly mahogany floor just waiting for impact. like the steady wall he always yearns to be, your ever-eager guard dog, even in your sleep. he’d like to jump into your dreams, make sure they treat you kindly — but he can’t. 

so this will have to do.

with a sigh, his lashes flutter shut. eyes drooping, every muscle in his body beginning to relax, sink into the mattress below. you’re safe, and shoko’s safe. that’s enough to put his heart deliriously at ease.

with the dark blue shade of the almost-morning sky bleeding in through the window’s glass, the city fast asleep beyond it — suguru closes his eyes. he whispers, breathes a silent prayer into the top of your head. he hopes you can still hear it, that it can bring you both solace, that his wish will come true.

”sweet dreams, my angels.”

(that’s all he could ask for.)

[hachiane]

ranking the LADS boys on who takes the best Instagram photos for you

a/n — just my headcanons!! may be OOC, majorly she/her reader pronouns

count : 950 words

#1 Rafayel Qi

— takes one look at your inspo photos and scoffs, “puh-leaase, i can do better than that.”. under his calm exterior, his painter's eye is roaring to life, the gears in his brain immediately turning when your phone is passed into his hands.

Rafayel matches your freak instantly and pretends he is like every photograph boyfriend every it-girl online seems to have; he's guiding you to pose, where to place your hands, tilt your face so he captures all your best angles, even the ones you didn't think you had. your personal hypeman as he snaps away, "yesss, cutie! you look so good!' "kill me with those sexy eyes of yours!" "makeup on point! show off your pretty lashes!"

it doesn't end there. Rafayel is also looking over your shoulder helping you choose the best shots, giving his small comments and suggestions as you edit them in your phone, things like "up the contrast, the shadows are dark in this one" or "why are you cropping like that? this makes you look taller".

after your impromptu photoshoot, he sings praises about you being the most beautiful muse, the cutest bodyguard. and of course, you have to take some couple selfies with him too as reward for his hard work.

Rafayel is your first like, first comment when you post, bombarding your notifications with comments. “that’s my bodyguard right there 😍” “you’re sooooooo hot 🔥🔥” “slay queen 💅🏼✨”

he'll do everything again, no doubt about it.

#2 Xavier Shen

— when you asked him the first time, he was hesitant. he says he read a book about it but never put it to practice, warning you that you might be disappointed. you shove your phone into his hands and that you're fine with whatever he gets in the end. (unintentionally that awakens his inner prince, determined to ensure his princess look her best in every frame)

the entire time, Xavier says nothing. you hear him snap away and hum to himself, but he's not saying anything to you; doesn't tell you how to pose, where to place your hands or if you should be looking at him. so most of the time, you’re by yourself testing out the poses you saw online and placing your blind, full-hearted trust that he gets the picture you imagined. 

the thing is, while poses look good on you, Xavier behind the camera much prefers your candid moments, because these says much more about you than poses other people have thought of. you in your natural state is the most beautiful to him, and he says so, “i only take pictures of pretty things and you like this is the most pretty to me”.

later, being the old soul he is, he purchases a polaroid printer to get physical copies of your photos and stashes them away in a journal or box, for these memories of you deserve to last lifetimes.

#3 Sylus Qin

— his pictures of you are decent enough. when you asked him the first time, he says he’ll get you a personal photographer if you so desire good photos, but your cutesy pleading and debating your point about the sentimental value of photos taken by him makes him give in. he follows your inspo photos to the T, but because of his height, you notice the angles are slightly higher than what they should be. like Xavier, he doesn't tell you how to pose; he just taps away on the shutter button as he moves around you here and there, occasionally hunching down for a low angle shot, with his other hand in his pocket, nonchalant as Sylus usually is.

accidentally left the live photo feature on for most of your photos, and while perturbed at first, those become his favourites; he gets to see a glimpse of your genuine smile at his ministrations before your expressions snap into a smouldering, radiant look that he would fall to his knees for time and time again. he sends the photos to himself afterwards without asking, shrugging when you question him about it when he was being so indifferent at first, “sentimental value, kitten”.

#4 Zayne Li

— unfortunately, Zayne takes photos like an aged father with two daughters; straight on, no angles, no direction, not much effort given the first few times. but after seeing your slightly disappointed look as you review the photos, even when you reassure him you're okay with them, he knows he’d done you wrong.

the next day, Zayne promptly asks his female colleagues and acquaintances with a photography hobby at the hospital for some tips and crash courses. of course they oblige him (because who could say no to the Dr Zayne when he asks for a favour?) with simple go-tos and the tricks. and Zayne being Zayne, he notes them all down in his personal notebook, studies it in his downtime, brings it home to read and practice on some "subjects" lying around the house: your collectible figures, the fresh bouquet for the living room, and so forth.

the next time the opportunity comes up, he breaks it to you he's been studying for this exact moment and asks if you would give him another attempt. although the photos end up not what you expected when he said he's been "learning", it's miles better than the first few times. Zayne would look at you expectantly for your reaction, and he heaves a sigh of assured relief when you compliment his improvement. when you post the recent photo he took of you, he cracks the widest smile he's had all week, liking and saving the photo to make it his phone background (though you've probably already sent it to him).

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Renault Estafette Concept, 2024. Renault is on a mission to make vans less boring and more useful. The Estafette is  unusually tall at nearly 2.6 metres (102 inches) allowing drivers to walk upright from the cab to the back of the cargo bay. The rear shutter door rolls away to open the up the full height of the van, whilst unloading can be done through the front offside sliding door. There are exterior LED screens everywhere flashing messages to passers by and to the driver whilst inside there's a 7-inch digital gauge cluster and a separate 12-inch touchscreen in the centre of the dash able to run apps that various tradespeople would need.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the treacherous tyrant

the wistful wyvern, chapter three

a/n: I'm just gonna take this moment as an excuse to say that if you haven't yet checked out the info or maps about this world i've created, then i highly recommend you do, it'll make it much more fun, for example when we hop around from place to place in this one? you can spot on the map where we are.

summary: halting a moment, he turned to tug your horse’s reins out of your grasp and let her stand on her own, “look, just follow my lead,” before he turned with the expectancy of you shadowing him, “I have a plan.” 

warnings: knight!bucky barnes x knight!reader, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, ex-friends to lovers, coworkers to lovers, former fuckboy!bucky, tattooed!bucky, slow burn, one-sided pinning, forced proximity

word count: 1374

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“What is it?” you asked when Bucky suddenly leapt off his horse and kneeled down to investigate a spot on the dusty path that split the treacherous terrain. 

“…boot marks…” he mumbled, “fairly recent too…” 

It had been a week or so that you’d been stuck trying to navigate through the jagged landscape of The Asadånie Mountains. From climbing rocky hillsides to the crumbly trail you now followed, it had been hard to know if you were making any headway at all or simply walking in circles. 

Straightening back up to his full height, you slid off your horse as well just as a low rustling noise, from further up where the path curved, found both your alert ears. 

Swiftly, you rushed in behind the tall shrubs that grounded the thin pine trees that shot up towards the blue skies above the mountains. 

The bigger of the peaks before you appeared to open up into a dark cave. In the mouth of it, posted just outside, stood three figures that sent a chill down your spine. 

Silently nudging the knight hiding beside you, his eyes too grew wide with recognition of the uniforms they wore. 

“What are Oblén soldiers doing up here in the mountains?” he whispered, sharing a glance with you before you turned your gaze back to the guards. 

A fourth figure then appeared, marching out of the cavern and prompting the other warriors to go rigid at his presence. 

“Commander Abbot,” one of the soldiers addressed the man clad in gilded armour, “did it go as planned?”

“Well, I still have my head, you idiot,” he rolled his eyes, “so yes, it went as well as it could.” 

“So, The Treacherous Tyrant is agreeable to the king’s orders, then?” one of the others asked as their commander began to walk away from the grotto, the guard’s feet slightly shuffling to keep up, “will he strike again before next full moon?” 

“As long as we keep his dearest safe, then he will continue to do as the king commands.” 

You both stood frozen, hidden behind the flora as the soldiers from the southern kingdom passed, scarlessly even breathing at all before they were long gone. 

“The dragon’s in cahoots with them?” you uttered as you guided your horse back up onto the narrow path, “how is that even possible?”

With his gaze low to the ground, Bucky then mumbled, “The Treacherous Tyrant… I’ve heard that before… what was it…” he shut his eyes a moment, “Farrowghol,” his vision blinked open once more as he remembered, “Farrowghol, The Treacherous Tyrant.”

“Holy fuck…” you shuttered, unable to stop the terror that began to rain down upon you as you stared over at Bucky and saw the wheels in his brain still turning. 

“They mentioned something about keeping something dear to him safe?” his features crinkled up in thought before unfurling with clarity, “oh, what if–…” and before he could finish his own sentence, share his brilliant idea with you, his feet began to move. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I have a feeling,” he began to walk towards the cave entrance, “something’s off.”

“You have a feeling? You’re gonna go get flambeed based on a fucking feeling?”

Halting a moment, he turned to tug your horse’s reins out of your grasp and let her stand on her own, “look, just follow my lead,” before he turned with the expectancy of you shadowing him, “I have a plan.” 

“Fuck your plan!” you screeched, standing your ground, “I’m not going in there!”

But as you watched him get swallowed by the darkness of the cave, only a few seconds passed by before a sharp curse burst out of you and you reluctantly followed him inside. 

Catching up to him, the dark tunnel soon unfolded into a vast and echoing grotto. Stalagmites burst up from the rocky floor and surrounded various mountainous boulders that might have crashed from parts of the caved-in ceiling where light now streamed in through the cracks and lit up the dim interior. 

For a moment, you thought perhaps the beast had flown away right before you’d entered the cavern.

But that moment didn’t get to linger for long as one of the enormous silhouettes you’d assumed was just another boulder began to move. 

The deep growl that then rumbled throughout the lair caused the small rubble on the ground to vibrate around your boots. 

Its scales were such a murky brown that it nearly looked pitch black, and as it reflected in the rays of light gushing in from above, an opalescent sheen glistened on its hide at its movements as its head unfurled, towering above you and eclipsing the low light before its wide jaw unhinged and a smouldering glow began to appear in the back of its throat. 

Throwing an arm around your waist, Bucky yanked you with him as he ducked behind a nearby boulder just before the monster began to spew fire at you. 

As flames licked up the sides of the rock, the view of them cresting over the top caused you to curl further into Bucky’s side. 

But when the dragon paused a moment, reeling before another go, the man beside you unexpectedly yelled, “we’re here to help!”

Shooting a glare up at him, “what the fuck, man?” you cursed in a hushed tone, “what are you doing? Shaking its hand and offering it a fucking pint?”

The leviathan’s booming rumble then invaded the entire cavern, “Farrowghol doesn’t need the help of wheezily little insects,” his heavy stride shook the space as he circled you like a large cat ready to pounce on their prey. 

“King Ivan has something you love,” Bucky bellowed, “we can get it back for you!” 

Farrowghol then suddenly halted, the entire cavern growing dead quiet. 

“That’s why you’re doing their bidding, correct?” Bucky went on, “they took something from you?” he then shifted, slowly sliding his crossbow off his back, “you can trust us. See?” he tossed the weapon off to the side for the beast to spot, “you and I, we share the same enemy.”  

Squeezing your eyes tightly shut, you thought for sure the dragon would let you feel his wrath once more, but instead, his deep roar resounded once more. 

“Not something,” he corrected, “someone.”

“A person?” Bucky carefully stepped out, leaving your hidden frame still in his eye line as he faced the beast with his palms raised up high. 

“My kin,” the dragon bellowed, “that’s who he has imprisoned. Ready to crush each and every one of them if I don’t obey. They’re hidden deep within his walls, in a chamber made entirely of hellstone,” he spoke of the rare material, which was the only thing known to be able to withstand the obliterating breath of a dragon, “I could never reach them, even if I tried, and I have.” 

“We can get them back!” Bucky promised, “set you free from the king’s control!” 

You couldn’t help but tremble as the beast's words shook the lair once more, “I lost my mate aeons ago… Those eggs are all I have left,” he shared hesitantly, “if something happens to them,” he warned with a crackle that raised the temperature a significant amount, “I will burn down everything you hold sacred.” 

“Sounds fair enough,” your fellow warden nodded tensely, “and if we do this, you’ll hold out on their commands of attack?”

“You have one lunar cycle,” he slowly settled, “if my kin have not returned to my cave within that time, I will not hesitate to strike.”

When you finally exited the cave and the bright sunlight once more licked at your skin, Bucky’s tense shoulders dropped back down with a long exhale, whereas yours, on the other hand, did not. 

“Alright,” he muttered, passing you as he briskly walked up to where your horses were still waiting, “so we just break into the palace in Ingorn. The chamber, it’s probably like a vault or something? That can’t be too hard, right?” 

Trailing behind him, you breathed, “no, it is…” before halting your step completely as you sighed, “fuck…” staring daggers down at the ground as you then uttered, “I have to go speak to my father.”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Two Ghosts One Stone [Ghost x Reader x Ghost]

Warnings: 18+, Double Penetration, Binding/Restraining, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Stomach Bulging, Manhandling, Dirty Talk, Name Calling, Degradation (Slut-Shaming), Fem! Reader, Mentioned/Implied Aftercare, The Masks Stay On, etc.

Simon watched, his eyes dark and intentions darker, his pants drawn down his thighs. Behind you, Ghost gripped you by your hips, pulled you back so you could feel something prodding you. You gasped.

“Come on,” said Simon, a drawl in his voice; haste. “Hurry up and take her already – we ain’t got all night.” And, the demand hanging in the air, both Ghosts laughed, a joke between the two of them – one you understood all too well. As if Simon’s impatience rubbed off on him, Ghost’s fingers dug into the skin of your sides, making you wince. And, before you could breathe, you felt him – his girth, his weight – his tip had been at your centre, and now, he was halfway inside. You yelped.

“God !” he strained. You felt his stomach to your back – he was leaning against you, as if for support. His breathing, heavy, gave the illusion of exhaustion; of relent. “Fuck, you’re tight, Princess,” he rasped. Leaning forward now, his lips came to your ear. Even through the mask, you could feel his breath, scorching, against your shell.

“Let’s see how loose I can get you by the end of the night.”

Now, rubbing circles into your hips, he erected to his full height, his front no longer to your back, and pulled out. Time was but a pinprick between then and now as he slammed himself inside you – all of him, all at once. And, just as before, you let out a noise of surprise, though this one was subdued – steeped in the beginnings of euphoria. And, just as before, he was heavy. Thick and veiny, you could feel the veins along his cock, bulging and wide as he took you, his breath shuttering, his head thrown back as he let out a yell, short and sweet, a shriek.

And Simon watched. Watched you grip the bed sheets, trying to catch your breath; watched as your head rose to face him, lips parted. The image of his cum drooling from your mouth, you thoroughly used and enjoyed flashed in his mind. He pumped himself once. Twice. He’d coated himself in saliva; a makeshift solution to his aching problem.

His chest fluttered with every breath, chest heaving as he watched you, pumping himself faster once Ghost took to a rhythm. Ghost wouldn’t let you fall far; his grip on your hips kept you glued to him, his praises of “Good girl, keep taking me,” enough motivation to at least try and remain at your spot on the bed. And to send electric euphoria between your legs. You whined, and Simon, still at the wall, gave a minute gasp.

To begin with, with his founding strokes, Ghost made this task somewhat possible, the force of his hips against yours enough to knock you forward, his strength pulling you back. But, as the seconds turned into minutes and Ghost began to lose himself, his thrusts became…stronger. Insatiable.

“That’s it,” he told you through breathless praises, the feeling of his thighs against your backside becoming more frequent, bruising. “Such a good girl–” He pulled out, almost all the way. You scarcely had the time to scream as he slammed himself – all of himself – back inside, sending a stab of pain through your middle. You choked, your breath catching in your throat, and fell forward, your chest to the bed sheets, Ghost’s grip no longer able to hold you. He was gone. Truly and utterly. You could tell in the way he moaned, low and loud and filling the air with dark electricity – a call to arms. He didn’t even reassure you as you tried to regain your breath, tears burning your throat, warned off by the building euphoria in your centre.

“Fuckin’ Hell, Ghost – be gentle,” came Simon, whose voice, gruff as usual, was sharp with territory. His breathing, though hitched as his hand stroked himself, particularly close to his agitated, reddening, weeping tip. Pre-cum beaded from his slit, collecting on his palm as he slid it down his shaft.

“There’ll be nothin’ left of her the way you’re pummelin’ her.”

Even though he was behind you, you could feel Ghost’s smile beneath his mask, felt a weighted darkness pressing on you.

“That’s the goal.” He pulled out all the way and tore his way back inside. You shrieked, moaned, your mouth pressed to the sheets, muffled by the mattress. As little as you wanted to admit it, you wanted them to destroy you, to fill you so utterly and entirely that nothing else existed except them. And it seemed they wanted that, too. Especially with the blackened gleam in Simon’s eye as he picked up the pace, fisting himself with an almost voracious sentiment, his eyes narrowing as he refrained from succumbing to the tidal euphoria building within.

You felt that the ecstasy building between your legs mirrored Simon’s, exceptionally so when Ghost, still slamming into you, forcing you deeper and deeper into the pillows, ceased, pulled you close to him by your hips, and continued, hitting a hidden, wanton angle. Electricity spasmed through you, and you gasped, letting out a breathy moan. Ghost laughed, sly and slender, his hand sliding up your thighs, straying between your legs, drawing ornate patterns into your skin. You shivered, the feeling of his incongruously gentle touch with his harsh, biting thrusts almost too much to bear. You could feel yourself clenching down on him, lips mouthing his cock as if choking on his girth.

His hand, large, rough, warm, slid from between your legs. His palm rested on your stomach while he rolled slow circles against your clit. The static building in your core spasmed, a phantom tendril lashing out. By reflex, your legs tried to close, but Ghost was having none of it. His other hand gripped your thigh, hooked around it and forced it apart. You wailed, unable to shield yourself from his attack. Not like you actually wanted to.

“Oh no, Princess,” Ghost said, his voice a low purr. Simon’s breath quickened, the slick sounds of his solo excursion the vocals to the symphony of ghost ploughing into you. “I want to see all of you,”

 And see you, he did. In fact, he watched, observed you – like an experiment. Not that you could see it, rather felt its palpable presence – Ghost’s stare was sharp, razor. He took in the red, sodden, aching mess you’d become, friction marks from where his thighs met yours in a slapping, thumping manner, crescents where his nails had dug into your skin and kept you tethered to him, to the outcome he was forcing you closer and closer to. You could tell you were soaked; the brief chill hitting your backside and thighs whenever Ghost pulled away gave you a horrendously honest look at how desperate you were for the two men. That, and the collation of fluids collecting and rolling down from between your thighs.

“‘F only you could see her, SImon,” came Ghost. His breath shuttered, wavered as he worked to keep his pace, his skin slapping against yours, his hand becoming drenched between your thighs. “If only you could feel her,” he pressed his palm into the bottom of your stomach. And you wailed. Of course, you’d felt Ghost’s dick weighted inside you, but to have you feel him more, pressing your stomach so you could feel his cock against your skin, felt unreal.

“Bet you couldn’t fill her like this.”

Had your euphoria not built to a point where everything was muffled to you, you may have seen the room darken, the atmosphere grow heavy. But alas, you were past the point of oblivion, innocent to the pointed, glaring, fiery stare Simon gave Ghost, and the immediate ceasing of his strokes. Even Ghost seemed to slow, though kept pumping into you, rubbing you, agonising you.

You didn’t hear Simon’s footsteps, the heft of his boots against the floor as he approached the end of the bed, and, with his free hand, grabbed you by your hair. He yanked your head up to meet his, and while you gasped, a shriek died in your throat as Simon shoved his cock into it, stifling you, choking you. You let out a yelp, tried to retract, but Ghost’s frame behind you and Simon’s painful grip on your follicles made such a manoeuvre an impossibility.

“Suck it up, cum slut,” said Simon. Now, looking up at him through bleary eyes, you saw the steel in his stare. He didn’t let you accustom yourself to his intrusion before he pulled out and slipped back in, protruding deeper into your mouth, the taste of salt smattered against your tongue.

“Yeah, wouldn’t want Ghosty here to get upset,” came a voice from behind. You almost turned around, flashed a pleading look to him, asked him if he were intentionally trying to invoke Simon’s wrath on your behalf. But an ache formed in your jaw as Simon used you as he had his hand prior. And, just like Ghost, he was anything but gentle.

The longer he had you wrapped around his shaft, the more potent the taste and viscosity of a foreign substance coated the insides of your mouth, painted it white, drooled and dripped down your chin like saliva. And all the while, you couldn’t stifle or help the moans Ghost drew from you, the vibrations of which seemed to reach Simon as his mouth dropped open he threw his head back. “Fuck,” he breathed, his Adam’s apple thick and protruding just beneath the lip of his mask. Ghost smiled, lips drawn thin beneath his mask. “Looks like Simon’s close,” he said. You could say nothing in response, to which Ghost gave a short, stark laugh – a scoff. A hand reached up to your jaw, gripped you by the cheeks. And squeezed. You could feel Simon’s cock slick against your gums. And so could he.

Before you could accustomed yourself to this feeling, Ghost’s crushing grip about your cheeks, Simon’s pounding, unrelenting rhythm, Simon twitched in your mouth and, with a lasting, gruff cry, became blinded by ecstasy. The after-effects of which you felt fill and drip from your mouth and down your throat.

As if like clockwork, Ghost, his breathing remaining laboured, began to feel loose behind you. His killing pace remained but there was a softness to it there had not been before – a bluntness. With Simon panting above you, his release dripping down your throat, making your chest sticky, and Ghost’s increasingly rhythmless strokes bringing you both closer and closer to your end, your body scorched, ached where you had been used – where you were being used. You’d have cried for a moment’s respite had it not been for how Ghost’s hand slipped to your breasts, held them, squeezed them to his palms. The way he held you had stray electricity shock between your legs, tipped you ever closer to the edge.

“Go on, Princess,” Ghost rasped. His voice was deeper now, serrated – as if his throat was seared with…something. “Cum for me,”

Not that you’d been holding out for Ghost, but something about the authority in his voice, the fact that you had warranted his permission, sent you spiralling. Still gasping around Simon’s girth, he finally looked down at you, and, instead of pulling out, gripped you by the hair again.

���I wanna feel your screams, angel,” he said, eyes half-lidded yet still piercing. And you couldn’t hold it anymore.

White-hot euphoria took your senses, had you hostage to the whims of the two men before and behind you. You clenched, gripped Ghost, to which he made a strangled noise that not even his mask could contain, filling the dense, moist air with a primal growl. You practically shrieked, the reverberations of your staining voice stimulating his softening, sensitive appendage. He grunted, glowered, sucked breath in between gritted teeth.

“God, Darlin’ – fuck – you’re so tight,” panted Ghost, his strokes becoming slower, almost stilled by the force with which you held him. 

The fireworks within evolved, dimming with each wave that flowed from your core outwards, leaving you limp. Simon took the liberty of removing himself from your mouth, stroked your bottom, puffed lip with his thumb. You scarcely made out his praise, him calling you his “Good girl,” between Ghost’s panting, his low moaning, and the static in your head.

“(Y/N) – I-I’m–”

Ghost didn’t have chance to finish his sentence for his climax tearing through him, reaching into his soul and withdrawing from him a deep, guttural moan, breathy yet weighted at its centre. You felt warmth filling you from within, felt Ghost still, his pounding no longer stoking your fire, letting you ride the wave with your cheek in Simon’s hand, eyes glazed and lips parted as you tried to regain your breath.

A stillness settled, rearing its head.

At some interval of this quietude, Ghost pulled out, the only indication being the sound of liquid friction and his weight falling back onto the pillows behind. You’d felt little of this – merely a blunted retraction, your lower half growing numb with every second that passed.

“Almost milked me dry,” said Ghost, and while there was a distinguishable whine to his tone, he wasn’t complaining.

“Yeah,” came Simon, taking a step towards the bed. “Thought you wouldn’t be able to hack it, Love.”

You did little in reply save for a smile, reserved and quiet, but a response all the same.

You hadn’t realised yet, but your body was much weaker than before, being that Ghost had thoroughly enjoyed and used you; Simon, too. But somehow, you knew that wouldn’t let you off the hook, warrant an ‘early night’. No, not if the feeling of Ghost all but sneaking up on you from behind, his arms enclosing your waist and pulling you into his chest was anything to go by.

You whined. Ghost growled, gripped you by your jaw and forced your chin to point heavenward, making swallowing very difficult and making some form of eye contact with him facile.

“Oh no, Sweetheart,” he drawled. “We’re not done with you yet,”

“He’s right,” Simon said. The same Simon whose belt now lay wrapped around his wrist like a serpent, one knee on the mattress, his chest puffed with newfound vigour. “He might’ve had his fill of you,” his eyes flickered down to your stomach, a bump having formed there, the culmination of Ghost’s thick load still oozing from between your legs. “We can’t stop ‘til I’ve had you, too.”

Everything happened so fast it may as well have been a technicolour show of memories, time skips and jumps, for during the scuffle (which was really just Ghost forcing your wrists together, Simon tying them, and you whining when Simon forced your legs apart, exposing your already sensitive parts to more punishment) you were bound, restrained and defenceless.

Ghost had finished what Simon had started, prying and keeping your legs apart by digging his ankles between yours, spreading your legs as far as you could allow. Simon slid your bound wrists over the back of his neck, keeping your front open. The look he gave you – veiled almost entirely by his mask – was visible in his eyes; a rabid determination seen only in those with nothing left to lose.

Between the numbness between your thighs and the newfound proofing feeling at your back, Simon edged closer, held himself in his hand, stroked once. He almost twitched, his eyes narrowing.

“Now, Angel,” he said. He leaned closer, his nose an inch from yours. You felt his tip against your lips. “I don’t wanna what any complainin’ or cryin’ unless it’s because your pathetic little cunt can’t take any more of me,” a hand came to your throat, stroked the ridges – your Eve’s apple – still stretched by Ghost’s grip.

You said nothing, but a look of hazy resolve in your eyes told Simon all he needed to hear. He looked past you, to the man behind you, who, when Simon nodded, released your jaw. You almost wanted to celebrate. In unison, they lifted you, Ghost by your waist and Simon by your thighs. The next thing you knew, you were full – painfully so – pressed between two walls of men.

You let out a winded cry, jostled between the idea of leaning against Ghost or taking to Simon’s chest for comfort. The former made the decision for you, taking his hands from your thighs and bringing them to your waist. He shushed you, gently, voice free from condescension and irritation. It was an imitation of comfort, a gesture.

“It’s okay, Princess,” he whispered in your ear. He massaged slow, calm circles into your sides, his hands coming to rest upon your stomach. “It’s alright, breathe for me – there’s a good girl.”

Simon’s expression seemed to mirror Ghost’s, for a softness possessed his gaze, one which encouraged a hand to trail to your cheek, holding it. He wiped a lone tear. “I know, Sweetheart,” he said. “It won’t hurt for much longer, promise.”

Perhaps their altruism was only a show. Perhaps they were true in their comforts, purveyors of their reassurances, for the pain did pass in the minute that followed. And, when you nodded, told them they could continue, the air changed.

Simon and Ghost brought you up and slammed you back down on their lengths, following a rhythm to which, accustomed now, but no longer numb, you tried desperately not to get lost in. Not again.

The embers of your last orgasm ebbed within as the two took you, Ghost’s hands resting on your waist, feeling him and Simon inside you, your stomach swollen. You hadn’t even noticed until you felt Ghost give a short laugh in your ear, and spoke over you.

“God, Simon – have you felt her ?” he said. Simon, looking to where Ghost’s gaze rested, gave a groan. He could see perfectly well what Ghost was talking about; having two men inside you at the same time, two particularly well-endowed men, no less, was bound to have some physical effects on your body, but Simon hadn’t anticipated them to be so immediate, rather assuming them to be an aching between your legs the next day or the inability to walk properly.

You couldn’t help but pay attention to their conversation, one which, while about you, did not include you. Or so you thought.

Simon’s hand came to lay upon your front, and, while he ploughed into you, he felt himself inside you. “God, (Y/N) – ‘m surprised you ain’t burstin’ from the seams,” he said, a deep drawl in his voice. You wanted to retaliate, say that you were, but the vigour with which he slammed you onto him now knocked the air out of you, made arguing pointless. And, as if in competition, Ghost followed suit.

“Seein’ as you’re so eager to get ahead,” said Ghost. “How’s about we see who can ruin her first.”

It wasn’t a proposition.

Simon smiled.

He pulled out, entirely, and threw himself back in. You let out a moan, something between a scream and a whimper. Whatever hopes you’d had of holding out for the whole night were dashed in that instant. 

And you couldn’t be happier.

The coil in your centre tightened, the telltale sign that you wouldn’t last another ten minutes if you were lucky. And, given your track record of the evening, you weren’t going to place any bets.

Simon and Ghost’s breathing was deep, heaving, and you had no doubt the masks and the physical excursion did little to help things. Though, the sounds which poured from them – micro-whimpers and whispered moans – existing within the crevices of these pants were too enticing for you to care.

Simon’s hands came to rest on your thighs, where he squeezed your skin, grabbed any conjuration of muscle, meat and fat he could, and uttered more praise to you. “My girl,” he said. “You’ll always be my girl – no one else’s,”

Ghost did nothing to dispute Simon, but the squeeze to your sides suggested he wasn’t agreeing. Or going down without a fight.

A mere ten minutes into this fresh Hell and you already could feel yourself going numb again, the electricity at your centre having grown, your nerves burning with a need for release. You’d have conjured the words if you’d known them, but you feared your mind had been turned to jelly under the competition of the two military men.

You could tell they were close to finishing, what with their breathing growing deeper and more uneven by the second, their thrusts becoming uncoordinated, desperate, seeking any and all solace they could glean from burying themselves within you. And, of course, the praises.

“Doin’ so well, Angel,” one would rasp, while the other would show you their gratitude, moulding your breast in his hand and sucking his mark into your throat.

There came a point where you weren’t even sure you were human anymore, with you still remaining conscious yet limp amidst this exchange. Save for the need to let go, to have the energy inside you now burst free, you felt a mere toy to these men. And you loved every second of it.

“I c-can’t–” you managed to choke out. Simon and Ghost kept at their attack, their pursuit of that which they coveted most; your pleasure. The room, heavy with everything you’d done, was filled corner to corner with your gasping moans, Simon’s guttural growls and Ghost’s grunting. All the orchestra of a dream come true.

“Cum for me, Princess,” heaved Simon. A desperation lay in his voice – one which sought the same release as you, and that only through your climax could he achieve his.

“Yeah, Darlin’,” came Ghost, thick and hot behind you. “Show us how we make you feel.”

And that was the last straw.

You moaned, long and hard, and you came. Your body scorched with fire and electricity, a storm you could hardly keep to yourself as you threw your head back against Ghost’s shoulder, your stomach arching into Simon’s. Your coil snapped, combusted, and you were left a heaving, panting, near-crying mess.

You gripped Simon’s shoulders while Ghost’s front pressed to your back. Within quick succession, one finished after the other, their growled moans carrying through the room and into your mind as, still impaled and overcome with a euphoric exhaustion, you rested against the two men. 

You knew they’d take care of you – run you a bath and tend to your every need in the minutes following. But right now, you just wanted to be here with them, feeling their hearts thunder like drums against your skin.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

Taglist: @montenegroisr @projectdreamwalker @animarix @konigsblog @sweetirilly @crystaljade22 [will not be adding ageless blogs]

[heian-era-housewife]

Not in a Thousand Years

Synopsis | Ryomen Sukuna, King of Curses, thought he had seen and heard it all...until now.

Content | Fluff, brief Sukuna tears

Word Count | 657

While no day on earth with Ryomen Sukuna could ever truly be considered "normal", this one was, you thought to yourself quietly, as normal as they ever may come. And while you reveled in awe at the unique and utterly unparalleled situation from which your relationship with the King of Curses was blossoming, this simple moment, free of transcendental fanfare, was easily the best you could remember.

Ryomen Sukuna, creature of the night, God of the Heian Era, looked out of place -- anachronystic -- sitting beside you on a park bench, four crimson eyes squinting against the warm afternoon sunlight. Your feet swung slightly as you traced the veins in his chiseled hand, humming softly into the rugged arm on which you were leaning.

All day long a seed of affection had been growing within you, and as you sat there drinking him in, feeling his warmth, both of you here in this deliciously ordinary moment, you found yourself smiling up to meet his gaze, words spilling beyond your lips before you could fully comprehend their weight.

"Ryomen...I love you."

=CRACK=

In an instant the glowing sunlight was sucked away, replaced with darkness that threatened to swallow your soul. Dumped harshly from the park bench, you landed on hands and knees, bloodying them from the intensity of the impact. Your brain reeling from the sudden change, you barely registered that you were kneeling in water that reflected the skulls and bones strewn about the darkened chamber. 

Fear shot through you in panicked waves. Not from your gruesome surroundings, but from the sudden realization you were no longer beside Sukuna.

Wide-eyed and half-crazed you strained your eyes against the darkness. Had he been attacked?

"RYOMEN?!" You cried.

Getting up from the sodden ground, you spotted his shadowed form against the chamber's scarlett glow. Footsteps echoing as you splashed your way toward him, you watched as the King of Curses, knelt on all fours as if wretching onto the ground, lifted a powerful hand and struck himself brutally across the face.

"RYO!!!" You shrieked, closing the gap with inhuman speed and reaching out to take his face in your trembling hands. As you cupped his graven cheeks, something warm and wet met your palms. You tilted his face toward you to find four delicate streams of salty tears glazing his stricken face.

"Ryo... I-"

Closing his eyes against the shame of being seen in such a pitiful state, he lifted a single imposing hand to halt your faltering words.

Eyes still closed, he spoke to you in a low and gravelled voice.

"Forgive me." A phrase the King of Curses seldom dared to utter. 

"Ryo where are-"

"I've brought you to my domain." He answered before you could finish the question.

Swallowing hard and drawing a shuttering breath, he drew himself to one knee, water rippling around his robes, as he took one of your small, worried hands into two of his.

"I have been alive for over a thousand years." He continued. "Housed in vessels across the eras. At times, sealed away biding my time with nothing more than my own thoughts. I've seen war and famine. Peace and prosperity. Ruled a nation. Basked in the awe of worshipful subjects...I thought I had seen and experienced all that was and ever will be."

He drew another breath as he lifted his face to meet your mournful gaze.

"But never once, across a hundred lifetimes, has anyone spoken those words to me."

Your expression grew quizzitive as you fought to keep up with what he was saying. Seeing the question in your eyes he drew himself to full height, wrapping his arms around you, engulfing you fully in his towering embrace. 

The darkness melted away as he released his domain. Sunlight shone beyond your closed eyelids. Warmth rejuvenated your trembling body.

Placing a tender kiss upon the very top of your head, Sukuna answered, "I love you too."

[juliasgoodusername]

Sometimes a girl has to go a little crazy. Sometimes a girl has to make a book-accurate floorplan for 300 Fox Way. These things just happen, sometimes.

Obsessive annotations under the cut ✨ but be warned, there's a LOT

Exterior

Okay first of all, I'm no architect, and my only knowledge comes from work experience in the real estate industry + a lot of Sims. The style is sort of neo-rural French colonial. I didn't set out to adhere to that standard so much as I made an amalgamation of homes in Blue Ridge Mountains-adjacent towns in Virginia. Specifically, my headcanon Henrietta template is Orange, VA (I'll save that explanation for another post) so I took inspiration from real estate listings from there.

Alright alright I know there is supposed to be one bathroom, but I simply can't tolerate that in a house with 6+ residents. I can't. There was a possible contradiction in the descriptions of "the single shared bathroom" that I used as an excuse to add a 3/4 bath, and I threw in a powder room for free. Because technically there is still only one full bathroom! But seriously with that many women over 30 most of them probably have IBS or chronic constipation and I'm not making them all share a toilet.

Officially we only have 4 bedrooms listed in text: Blue's, Persephone's, Maura's, and Calla and Jimi's shared one. Everyone else gets rooms that don't qualify as bedrooms via Virginia residential building codes (such as the attic, obviously, which falls below the combined ceiling height and square footage requirements). That really just leaves Orla unaccounted for but I'll get to that later. Other aunts and friends seem to visit during the day and live somewhere else, because in The Raven King only Jimi and Orla were described as needing to move out of the house during the demon stuff.

I designed the entire interior floorplan before I even touched the exterior, so there's a few issues, like how I'm totally missing shutters on the windows that functionally need them most. 🫶 I didn't feel like making the windows smaller to fit them, and I could have added faux-shutters but I think those are stupid. 😘

First floor

"This house is lovely. So many walls. So, so many walls," Malory said as Blue entered the living room a little later.

- Blue Lily, Lily Blue, Chapter 30

Right off the bat, we have an insane number of doors and walls. Old colonial houses are pretty much the opposite of open concept. Functionally I believe that's because it's easier to control heat with closed off rooms, but Virginia is not particularly cold so idk. As for the number of doors, I mean....😤😤😤 I prefer archways/doorless frames in small high-traffic spaces, but every time I thought I could get away with it Maggie would specifically describe doors opening and closing (For example BL,LB Ch 41 gives the reading room double doors, and even the living room gets one in Ch 11. What kind of living room needs a door???). I'm actually missing one of the doorways described in canon, but if you know which one I'm talking about I DARE you to find a place to put that thing!! But I digress.

“Mom," she said as she jumped down the crooked stairs.

- The Raven Boys, Chapter 3

I'm liberally using "crooked" to establish the corner turn stairs. Blue steadies herself on the stair railing when she identifies Gansey for the first time (TRB Ch 15), so I wanted the stairs to have good visual access to visitors. It also sort of has a feng shui-ish effect of separating the public and private energy zones in the house. If that statement made zero sense, I think one of us doesn't know enough about feng shui 👀 and it might be me.

I'm also using that quote to establish Maura's room downstairs, if Blue generally expects to find her mother there, but mostly because everything else was upstairs and it was getting hard to fit. Granted, at one point Blue leads the boys "up the stairs to Maura's bedroom" (TDT Epilogue) but since they were just arriving at 300 Fox Way those stairs could easily be the outdoor ones. There's a handful of little things to support me here, such as Adam grabbing a scrying bowl from Maura's room to use in the reading room (BL,LB Ch 41) implying that her room was the closest place to find one. And speaking of Maura's room-

Calla was overwhelmed by how much shit Maura had in her room at 300 Fox Way, and she told Blue this.

... The mess was taking years from her life. ... Maura liked chaos.

... The psychic hotline rang in the room next door. Calla's concentration fluttered away.

- Blue Lily, Lily Blue, Prologue

Maura is my favorite hypocrite. She claims to detest clutter (TRB Ch 34) and yet her room is literally described as chaos. She probably treats her room like a college student and moves the furniture every time she gets bored/stressed. Thus, I gave her the most insane furniture configuration I could think of while still matching all the contents described.

The phone ringing next door might imply that she neighbors the phone/sewing/cat room, but that area is pretty well described and Maura's room is never mentioned there in any other instance. That leaves us with the kitchen phone (TRB Ch 27) which I put in the hallway with kitchen access as a compromise so it would technically still be in a room next to Maura's.

In the reading room, the man looked around with clinical interest. His gaze passed over the candles, the potted plants, the incense burners, the elaborate dining room chandelier, the rustic table that dominated the room, the lace curtains, and finally landed on a framed photograph of Steve Martin.

- The Raven Boys, Chapter 13

There are so many quotes about the reading room that I just don't feel like citing them, but other details include the mismatched chairs, the shelves, doors etc. It's also described specifically as Maura's "front room" (TRB Prologue) so it's one of the cornerstones that I designed the rest of the layout around. Because of the plants, it makes sense that this room would be south-facing too. (Although idk how much light they get with the wraparound porch awning in the way. Oops lol!)

The outside suddenly seemed vivid in comparison to the dim kitchen. The April-bright trees pressed against the windows of the breakfast area, ...

- The Raven Boys, Chapter 3

Blue Stormed into 300 Fox Way's kitchen and began a one-sided interrogation with Artemus, who was still hidden behind the closed storage closet door.

- The Raven King, Chapter 9

Likewise, I'm using the particularly dim kitchen to place it on the north side, where we also know there's trees in the backyard.

I'll say the kitchen layout is weirder than it strictly needed to be because in the Virginia homes I referenced I adored all the strange kitchens, especially with old timey 'servants area' vibes where laundry kitchen and pantry are all connected. Instead of a kitchen island, they get one of those rolling kitchen carts which I doubled as a bar cart for the drinks they have in the living room.

The kitchen has a doorway to the hall (TRB Ch 13) and the living room is within view when Blue's on the kitchen phone (Ch 27).

Speaking of chapter 27, that's when we get the description "The morning light through the windows turned the drinks a brilliant, translucent yellow." So I put the living room on the east side of the house, where the rising sun would cast really strong light like that.

Second Floor

When she woke up, her normally morning-bright room had the breath-held dimness of afternoon. In the next room over, Orla was talking to either her boyfriend or to one of the psychic hotline callers.

- The Raven Boys, Chapter 3

Blue headed toward the red-painted door at the end of the hall. On her way, she had to pass the frenzy of activity in the Phone/Sewing/Cat Room and the furious battle for the bathroom. The room behind the red door belonged to Persephone, ...

- The Raven Boys, Chapter 11

Blue's room and the Phone/Sewing/Cat room are our cornerstones for this floor. In several examples we know that the Phone/Sewing/Cat room faces the street and has a window (TRB Ch 15, BL,LB Ch 4). While Blue's room is "morning-bright," we also get descriptions of guests at the front door "backlit by the evening sun," (TRB Ch 15) so once again we're probably talking about south windows if it's sunlit at both times of day.

Adam sat awkwardly on the edge of Blue's bed. It felt strange to have so easily gained access to a girl's bed- room. If you knew Blue at all, the room was unsurprising - canvas silhouettes of trees stuck to the walls, leaves hanging in chains from the ceiling fan, a bird with a talk bubble reading WORMS FOR ALL painted above a shelf cluttered with buttons and about nine different pairs of scissors. Against the wall, Blue self-consciously taped up the drooping branch on one of the trees.

- The Dream Thieves, Chapter 49

We get some great descriptions of Blue's room (especially TRB Ch 43), although the above one is my favorite (#wormsforall). Every piece of furniture is accounted for exactly as described except the desk which I added because it seemed practical, and Blue is nothing if not practical™.

Persephone's room is also very well-described, all the way down to the furniture and lighting placement (BL,LB Ch 4 and TRB Ch 11) and it's surprisingly similar to Blue's room, if not a bit smaller. Her room gets strong afternoon sunlight, so I put it on the south too (BL,LB Ch 43).

Calla and Jimi share a room that's also upstairs (TRK Ch 16). Because they are the only two who have to share a room, I have justified that it must be the "master bedroom" (sorry for using that term) and is far bigger than the other bedrooms. I managed to fit two queen beds in there, but some scholars [me] would argue that Jimi and Calla might also share a bed because they are in love. Can you prove me wrong? No, you can't.

As for the bathroom, remember when I mentioned a possible contradiction? Famously, Maura draws the ley line symbol in the steamed up shower door (TRB Ch 1). However, much later we get Maura, Orla, Calla and Jimi all sitting in the bathtub for some kind of ritual (TRK Ch 9). No matter how I picture it, I can't put 4 full grown women in a bathtub together without someone partially sitting on/spilling over the side. But that would be impossible in a combo bath/shower enclosed by glass doors!! Thus, I gave The Bathroom a nice tub and put a small shower in the en suite of Jimi and Calla's room. I know this is a stretch but I don't really care.

Attic

Blue had never been a big fan of the attic, even before Neeve moved in. Numerous slanting roof lines provided dozens of opportunities to hit your head on a sloping ceiling. Unfinished wood floorboards and areas patched with prickly plywood were unfriendly to bare feet. Summer turned the attic into an inferno.

... In one of the narrow dormers, two full-length, footed mirrors faced each other, reflecting mirrored images back and forth at each other in perpetuum.

- The Raven Boys, Chapter 34

Trying to fit the attic access in after everything in the second floor was my biggest challenge, because stairs normally take up a lot of space and you have to be careful about head room. I'm the end, I decided it was one of those fold out attic doors that you have to reach from the ceiling of the hallway. We might get a lot of instances of the attic door being opened (😤 seriously, Maggie... 😤) but technically a trap door in the ceiling is still a door!

Dormers pretty much cemented the French colonial style for me. And you know the drill by now: a hot room probably means a lot of sun, which means I give it a south facing window!

Mud Room/Cellar/Basement

This cellar has absolutely zero mention in the text, but my justification is based in the architecture. So far we've got a funky old colonial house, built without a garage, lots of walls etc. Especially in a low-income/semi-rural area, it's not crazy to assume that 300 Fox Way was built before most residents had refrigerators (1930s-40s). Besides iceboxes, a major way to keep food fresh was root cellars. Modern renovations for old homes convert these to concrete basements, but that's why the basement is so small and connects to the kitchen.

My headcanon is that Orla originally shared a room. Pick whoever you want: Maura, Blue or Persephone, any of them would easily be such a chaotic roommate that Orla snapped and in a fit of teen girl rage moved herself down to the crummy dark basement. Over time, she made efforts to glamorize it, such as a vintage dressing screen to hide the flood drainage pump. The privacy also allows her to bring boyfriends over, even sneaking them through the mud room.

This is really just my artistic license, but I swear it makes a surprising amount of sense in context. There's cases of Orla sneaking into the kitchen (easier if she has a back entrance) and she's almost always using the phone upstairs or in the kitchen (because a basement would get bad reception) even though her calls get kinda ~intimate.

Aaaaaand I think that's everything. Sorry it doesn't look like the photo from the wiki at all, but I couldn't find a source for it and Victorian style wasn't super common in the areas I researched. Let me know if I missed anything major! I'll probably cry myself to sleep if so.

[woodcraftshutters]

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[calamiitywrites]

— qimir x reader

trigger warning: graphic scenes and descriptions of violence, blood and death. please proceed with caution.

request via ask: "I actually would like to request a one shot or maybe even a story where the reader ( or an oc doesn't matter ) is hunting Jedi for her own reasons and is on her way to becoming a sith, but she's terrified of her force because it's not only powerful, but full of rage so needless to say it stems from the dark side. I don't want her to replace Osha or Mae, in fact I want them included in the story. however, I do want Qimir to end up teaching this character. Add some seduction of course, some mystery and I want it from the character's pov. I know this idea is all over the place and I'm not giving you much to work with but I would definitely like to see him interact with this character who could learn a lot from him but has the potential to be a stand alone character herself."

note from author: I think I understand the gist of what you're requesting so I will definitely interpret it in my own way. Please let me know if this is what you had in mind :) also, sorry it's so long, I had to introduce the character first haha!- calamiity

There's a distant hum that tickles at her brainstem and finds itself traveling down to the pit of her stomach. she should be weary of this sensation because it was nothing more than the force riddling through her body. decorating her veins in a fire that could coat the 7 levels of hell in different degrees of flame. What kind of beast had she become to worship a power that made her feel this way? The moonlight, a silvered blade slicing through the night did nothing to hide her or shield the outside world from seeing what she truly was, a beast in human form. it whispered to the stars about her, but the sky was her only companion. Without judgement, It listened to her battle cries and the pleas of the Jedi that she cut down mercilessly. Crimson clung to her robes and dripped slowly down the exposed pieces of her face outlined by the fabric that covered her nose and lips. the deep red of it was in complete contrast to the darkness reflected in her irises. She had allowed the force to nearly consume her from the inside out and the eerie abundance of obsidian that nearly took over her entire vision told her that she had gone too far tonight. Her power — a forbidden curse with a seductive allure. The force must be exercised and properly managed, but the emotions beneath the surface of her consciousness were far too powerful for tradition. Wrath, Loss, Pain and Vengeance. They all danced the danse macabre within her soul, drenching it in affliction. there was no turning back now. Her veins were like molten lava, but they were chilled by the sound of the whimpering jedi that lay at her feet. Before she could stop herself, her eyes wandered to the delicate skin under his chin and she could feel the power of the force expand and contract around his throat. It took half of a second for her to realize that he was choking. a gentle tilt of her head was the only give away to her true curiosity. could she really end his life this way? how long would it take? A thread, a piercing silver stream of light slid through the forefront of her mind and she followed it. It broke off to her left and her eyes caught movement behind the shop window that sat uncloaked. It occurred to her that the 4 jedi she had murdered in front of the shop window was witnessed by someone. rather or not she was wearing a mask didn't matter, the idea of being seen in her most volatile state nearly made her shutter. however, there was no turning back now. With the distraction of the hidden bystander, the once choking jedi had gotten up and began sneaking away. She couldn't let that happen. Refocusing, she retrieved his lightsaber and ignited it with deliberate slowness. Aligning her gaze with his position, she extended her left arm to match his height, letting the dark blue blade hover above her other hand. Once she was certain of her aim, she harnessed the Force and propelled his saber like an arrow. It flew straight and true, embedding itself in the center of his back and causing him to collapse lifelessly where he stood. She turned back to the glass in search of the movement that she had seen before, but there was nothing. although she was sure that the person was still there, there was no reason to pursue them. instead, she flexed her force once more to create a smoke screen and vanish into the night where she had come. The night’s embrace was both her refuge and her torment, and as the echoes of her power faded into the void, she was left with the haunting realization that the greatest battle she would ever face was not against her foes, but against the seduction of her own darkness.

Her ragged gasps were the only thing that filled her ears as she removed the bloodstained robes that clung to her skin. A bath would do her some good, but it wasn’t until she was completely bare that she noticed the weight missing from her belt—the sai dagger made from cortosis was gone. Panic surged through her as she realized she must have dropped it during the chaos. however, she couldn't go back to that shop now. the bystander from before had already seen her cloaked figure, if she chanced it now then he would most likely get a glimpse of her. her best bet would be to return in the morning disguised as a merchant.

At first light she followed through with her plan to return to the shop where she had committed the atrocities from the night prior. it was strange to see that the fallen jedi had been removed, the ground cleaned and the sound of murmuring voices questioning if the chaos they heard about last night was even real. "I heard it was a rumor." said one store vendor. "No way, there have been many Jedi killings over the past few days. You heard about that cloaked figure that went after Indara a few nights back?" another spoke.

She paused for a brief moment at the name, she had never killed a jedi named Indara....perhaps there was another seeking out revenge? either way, it made her job easier. one less monkey for the zoo.

"I heard it was a drunk bar fight that went wrong and that they turned on each other." she chimed in. if everyone was going to put out some gossip, she might as well add her tidbit to throw them off a bit.

"There have been a lot of them spotted at the pub lately." the older woman agreed.

She hid the half hearted smile that graced her lips when she turned away from them, but her heart sank as she locked eyes with her missing dagger prominently displayed, as if it were for sale, in the window of the shop from last night. The idea of it being displayed as a trinket for someone to snag it nearly made her mouth run dry. She knew she had to retrieve it before the blade—or its significance—fell into the wrong hands. but how?

[mymegrokosmos]

"You good?"

Your head whipped around at the voice, the laughter warm in every word. He was smiling when you craned your head from where you knelt, struggling with the zipper on your backpack, to look at him. Of course he was. Jeong Yunho, class clown and unofficial prince of your whole cohort.

You snorted, rolling your eyes at the pretty man fiddling with the strap of his bag. "I'm fine. You can check off your quota of helping out damsels in distress for the day and find someone else to fulfill that requirement."

His expression shuttered at your harsh tone. The deadpan way you parroted the words like you were reading them off a script while your fingers worked furiously in an attempt to charm the zip unstuck. It was silent for a minute and you almost thought he'd left, only you hadn't heard any footsteps.

He was still there when you glanced up again, chewing on the end of one of the strings hanging perfectly from the talisman of truth hanging off the shoulder strap of the beat up messenger bag he wore slung over one broad shoulder.

"Are you always this mean?"

You shrugged.

"I'd say I understand why you have no friends, only that isn't true. You always have those two wolves hanging all over you. Your pack maybe? That would explain why they put up with you."

You sighed.  "Do you always speak every thought you have out loud? It's rather annoying. I'm trying to focus."

Instead of leaving like you hoped, because why on earth would you ever be so lucky, he knelt beside you instead. Talisman forgotten completely as he ducked his head to get a better look at what you were doing. He nudged your hands aside and with a few deft movements of his own he had your stubborn zipper sliding back into place in no time.

"You didn't have to make that look so easy."

He wiggled long fingers in a way that sparked something familiar in your brain. You knew those gestures. Or, you should know them, anyway. You recognized a sigil of smoothing and a charm of repair. You sighed. Why did he have to be good at all the subjects you shared?

"Thanks."

You didn't spare the man another glance as you stood, swinging your newly functional again bag over one shoulder. He sprang back up to his full height with a grace you usually only saw in shifters and you remembered he was also an athlete. Of course there wasn't anything the golden boy of year 9 couldn't do.

You suppressed another roll of your eyes, just barely, and glanced over at your desk to make sure you'd gotten everything. It wouldn't do to leave any of your things behind, not here. It would be easy for any of your classmates to read too many secrets into any notes or objects they found lingering around. You couldn't have that.

You turned to leave, narrowly avoiding bumping right into Yunho's sweater clad chest. You put a hand out to stop yourself colliding with him, hand landing right on the soft cheery yellow fabric, and quickly pulled away at the little electric zap that followed. He frowned at you. You didn't stop to explain, just pushing past and angling your hip so no more of your body brushed against his as you hurried out of the room.

"I'm Yunho by the way. If you even care to know."

You threw the steely haired man a look that you hoped conveyed your disdain. Something you weren't entirely sure you were feeling but he didn't have to know that. The faux flame lighting crackling overhead along the lecture hall ceiling gave the silver of his hair a blue tone you found oddly appealing. You blinked those thoughts away and shook your head to clear it.

"I know who you are Jeong."

"Good, then can I call you by your first name next time we meet like this?"

"There won't be a next time."

You'd have to make sure of it. You couldn't afford friends. None besides the two you couldn't shake anyway. You really couldn't afford any distractions. Yunho was a very very big distraction in the making. You didn't give him time to get any more words in. This was the first, and last, conversation with Jeong Yunho you'd ever have.

Or so you told yourself.

[multiwreckedmess]

Kinktober Day 9

Prompt: Stuck in Wall Pairing: CampusCrush!Wooyoung x fem!reader WC: 1.8k Summary: Instructions unclear, stuck in the new IKEA Bestå. This is a work of fiction, it does not represent Wooyoung or any Ateez member. On top of this it is an 18+ work. For my comfort and boundaries please if you are under age do not interact with this. TW/CW Under the Cut!

TW/CW: just so fucking stupid. little bit of ass fixation, slight dry humping, protected sex, really fucking stupid

 “I cannot believe I’m stuck in some cheesy porn script. Oh this sucks. Oh my god this sucks,” you yell.  The assembly instructions for your new television console clearly stated that it was a two person job and yet, you were stubborn and went ahead. Now, almost two hours later, you’ve somehow pretzel’d your way through one of the cubbies with no way out.  “Wooyoung help! Can you hear me, you moron, help! You’re going to go deaf if you keep listening to music that loud you little-SHIT,” a sharp slap to your ass interrupts your tirade. “WOOYOUNG!”  His witch cackle gives him away. Presumably somewhere behind you, your leg kicks blindly back.  “I dropped the screwdriver and now- it’s too heavy I’ll get squished if I knock it over,” you gesture at your predicament.  He cackles again. The cold snap of a camera shutter echoing in your mind.  “Did you just take a picture of my ass?” You practically scream. “Help me or the second I get out of this thing I’m going to end your entire short twink-y life you GREMLIN.”  Sighing, Wooyoung places his phone on the kitchen counter. Appraising what exactly had you helpless in front of him. “You can just go back the way you came?”  “No moron. If it was that easy I would've done it. Now can you please PLEASE pull me?”

 One hand bracing the frame of the console, the other holding your waist Wooyoung pulls. You don’t budge an inch. He huffs, blowing a tendril of hair up and away from his face. You bounce on your tippy toes with frustration, the fat of your ass jiggling alluringly. You don’t even know you’re doing it as he’s chubbing up inside of his sweats.  “Help me out on this would yah?” Wooyoung asks as he readjusts his arm placement. “I”m holding the shelf just focus on pulling back with me, three, two, one, GO!” Both of you tug down, your ass grinding into him, adjusting the height as you push back harder and harder. Still you stay trapped between plywood boards and what’s worse is you can feel him slowly hardening in his loungewear and you don’t hate it.

 You’d had a soft spot for Wooyoung, how could anyone not. Handsome with the right amount of self awareness and unique strange charm. In part you wanted to surprise him with the fully built furniture as a way of impressing him, showing him how sufficient you were, as if singlehandedly setting up the entire apartment would win his heart. Dumb, but crushes make you do dumb things.  “At least your ass looks great like this,” Wooyoung laughs, taking a handful of flesh in his grasp. “God, I never understood how people could be into those cheesy porn plots but… damn. Really is all out there, vulnerable and whatever.”  You stamp your feet, “Wooyoung it isn’t funny.” It wasn’t how you wanted to catch his attention but if it was working who were you to stop it. “What am I gonna do?”  Having had a fondle with one hand his other joins, grabbing the opposite cheek, massaging in large slow circles. “Maybe if you relax a bit,” he trails off. “Take advantage of the situation, meditate…or something.” As if hypnotized by his own languid touches, his hips drift forward to meet your butt. He rests there just leaning into you as blood rushes from his brain to his dick.

 You aren’t doing much better, practically melting in your pants from even this slightest of touches. It was ill advised to move in with him, but you thought that living together would kill the small flame you’d been carrying. Instead the spark had become a full kitchen fire and now it was spreading to the living room. Your head swimming with his suggestion to “take advantage” of your current predicament. “I’m not very good at meditating, could you help me relax?”  “You know, it’s really convenient that I’m home right now. Right when you’re building this. If I’d gone out you’d really be out of luck.” Wooyoung’s teeth catch his lower lip, fighting back a moan as you adjust yourself, ass rubbing against him in the process. “Here’s the problem. I also need help with something,” he pauses, leaning forward and pressing his bulge into you harder. “I think you know what with.”  “Mhm,” you nearly whine, lips pressed together hard, making a thin line across your strained face.  “It’s sort of your fault, if you think about it. So you should be the one to help me. Take responsibility and all.” He fully settles his clothed bulge between your cheeks, dragging them along his length.  “Yes, really, god yes.  It’s totally my fault,” you capitulate easily, voice tightening as need sinks heavily into your core. “However you want me to take it, I will. Responsibility I mean. Take responsibility. I can take it in whatever way.”

 Wooyoung is ready, just waiting for your word before he drops his waistband to his thighs, a small damp spot already formed in his underwear. Running the length of his shaft along the smooth spandex of your tights gives him goosebumps, a tremor of elation passing through his spine. Tentatively he presses the head into the stretched fabric, watching it dimple and pucker under his microthrusts.  “You can take it however I want you to?” His cheshire smile spread wide across his face, tinting his tone. “Even if it’s just this?”  “Mhm,” you desperately want more than just this. Fingers gripping the slats of wood as he jostles you. A short sad wheeze escapes through your nostrils. Despite your best efforts to tamp down your desire your body betrays you.  Wooyoung laughs again, a short outburst, hand coming down hard on your ass before wrapping you in a hug, as best he can. “You sound so distressed! How will you relax if this is all I give you?” Hand snaking south he presses on your mound, the wet squelch of soaked underwear against his fingers sends another shiver down his spine. “You really want me, don’t you?”  “Fuck Woo, yeah I do.”

 The response of your pussy to the telltale crinkle of foil is almost pavlovian, walls fluttering in anticipation of fullness. Feeling the warmth of Wooyoung’s palm on your lower back you can picture the packet between his lips, tearing it open with one hand, not wanting to be too far from you.  The console rocks as he roughly pulls your leggings just under your ass, just enough to give him access to what matters. Strings of your wetness cling and shine as his fingers slide along your slit.  “I was going to prep you but-” he wiggles two fingers in, your walls sucking him deeper. It’s enough to interrupt his train of thought, his persistent teasing. All he can think about is the comfort of your sex. How inviting it is, how ready you are, how much you must want it. “-fuck that’s hot.”  “Please Woo, please, hurry.” You beg. You don’t need to as he quickly replaces his fingers with his cock. Grabbing the frame of the furniture he pulls you back onto him in one smooth thrust. The fullness twists in your gut, knocking the breath from your lungs. “OH! Shit, you feel-why are you so big?” You sound almost offended as you moan, adjusting to the pressure.  “You don’t know that,” he kneads your lower back, rocking closer. “God I wish I could grab your tits. They’ve always looked so fucking delicious. Just sitting there, taunting me.”  “Grab them later fuck me now.” You groan, swirling your hips on him. The wood of the console keeps you from doing much more than rocking and twerking on him.  “Show me how much you want it.” He demands. “I know you can do it. You set all this up. Show me how much you need me to fuck you.”  Whining you arch your back, wiggling your hips side to side. It barely shifts him within you. He still doesn’t move to fuck you. Bouncing on the balls of your feet, you try humping back on him as best you can. Jaw slackening a dry hiccuped sob escapes you. “I’m stuck, you have to. You have to!”

 With a smirk he grabs your waist, tugging back on you to hold you in place. Leaning back and away he rolls his hips, the ridges of your walls dragging along his length. Driven by crazed lust, it isn’t enough to feel how you grip him, he needs to see it. Wooyoung holds the hem of his shirt between his teeth, watching how his abs flex as his bodyline rolls again, your lips tugging with the slow thrust of his cock.  “Woo,” you moan as he slowly fucks you. It’s nice to moan his name aloud for once instead of just in your head. “God damn it Woo. Ssooo good.”  “Hmph,” his response is muted by the cotton shirt. Speeding up little by little.  Your eyes glaze over, mind hazy. Getting fucked by your crush in the living room you shared. Nothing matters except for the insistent drag of his cock against your walls. His hips feel like magic, melting your tension with each stroke. Your leg shakes as your orgasm builds, the entire structure swaying.  Wooyoung’s hands migrate from you to the wood, gripping it and using it as leverage to pound into you harder than before. The ripple of your ass with each percussive slap of his hips has him hypnotized. Lost to the friction of your walls, he thrusts deliriously with abandon, uncaring of the precious nature of the situation. Chasing the delight of your punched out moans and groans.  Core contracting, air is forced from your lungs. The wave of pleasure crashes over you, every muscle bracing as it hits hard. At the same time the console creaks, your top half jolting free. A choked yelp escapes you, unable to warn Wooyoung. The structure crashes forward, fear clamping your walls tightly down on him.  “Shit!” He yelps, eyes wide he spills into the condom unceremoniously. “Fuck!” He continues a steady stream of swear words as he pulls from you, stumbling backwards as you crumple to your knees, panting.  “Can’t believe that worked-”  “I came,” Wooyoung sounds dejected, red and panting. “FUCK! I came so quick.”  Your eyes dart under the sofa, a glimmer of the a loose screw hiding underneath. Looking from Wooyoung to the screw you scoot and reach your arm towards the glimmer, instead grabbing the crossbar of the couch. “Uh…I hate to say it Woo but-”  His eyes twinkle, “you’re stuck? What a dummy, getting stuck twice. I’m going to start thinking you’re doing this on purpose.”

I just love giving Wooyoung the most ridiculous of prompts. He’s fun to write for me.