#god the way it all makes sense when you see the subtle shifts in his expressions

[hwaslayer]

wildfire (cs) | 7.5

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 1.2k

—chapter content/warnings: not much here!!, cussing, mature language/sexually implied content, subtle flirting (in san's and oc's terms lmfao)

—a/n: hi! just a friendly lil reminder that these half chapters are random scenes/bits that couldn't really fit into a chapter or stand-alone as one. they're mostly in the past and will not always follow the exact timeline of the previous or upcoming chapter!

San booked off most of his day to help Christopher with this symposium. Well, actually, most of the group has [minus a select few others] in order to make room for the quick tech rehearsal and run through before its official start time in the next half hour or so. The staff is now bringing in the fruit, cheese and other pastries, along with coffee, tea and juice— setting them outside of the conference room on a long table. The symposium is supposed to be 5 hours, being that everyone keeps to their 20-min presentation + 10-min Q&A times. San is off to the side speaking with Jongho and Chris, while Mingi and Zara are fiddling with the AV system to test their own presentations for the final time. Even though this is the one time most of their schedules worked, Yeosang had to skip out due to heading overseas for a conference. As San sips on his coffee, Yunho and Iseul walk in alongside of Namjoon. Per usual, he keeps greetings to a bare minimum:

AKA, a very subtle smile and nod to both. One that Yunho reciprocates, one that Iseul doesn't like to acknowledge.

But, whatever.

"Did you guys tell your labs about this?" Chris nervously wipes his hands on his dress pants, nervous about how his first symposium is gonna turn out.

"Dude." Jongho laughs and pokes fun at him. "Relax."

"I bragged about it way too much, I don't even know if people wanna come anymore." San teases, making Chris shake him by the shoulders. "Relax! They'll come!"

"What if no one shows up? We'll be giving presentations to each other—" Chris laughs, but a few people start trickling into the conference room; providing him with a sense of relief. "Oh, thank god." The three start giving small nods to the students and other faculty dipping in, greeting them just as they set their things down and grab some food.

"Can't believe you actually thought people wouldn't come. Think you might need extra chairs." San points out as more people flood in.

"Shit, I did it." Chris beams from ear to ear, shifting his attention to two more familiar faces. "Oh! Hey Y/N, Jiung!" He says as the two of you walk towards their group, giving them very curt bows.

"Hi." You smile at all, especially San. He bites onto his straw, trying his hardest to hold back his smile.

"Thanks for coming."

"Of course! Got a good lineup, excited to hear all the presentations!" Jiung tugs on his backpack straps.

"In that case, send me a full report on it tomorrow." Jongho jokes, making Jiung playfully roll his eyes.

"Do you see how he treats me?" Chris and Jongho laugh.

"Nah, he's been talking a lot about the work you've been doing and how you're probably the best person to help get the rig together for our optical electrophysiology project."

"Aw, really?" Jiung looks at Jongho. "You mean it?" Jiung has stars in his eyes and Jongho can't help but deny the allegations. He has said it time and time again; Jiung is definitely doing great work and Jongho doesn't want him to go anywhere. If he could keep him for good, he would. He hopes he can.

He'd just never say it out loud cause he's like that.

"Hey now." He shakes his head. "I never said anything, I don't know what he's talking about." 

"We have a few minutes actually, let's talk about that real quick and follow up in another meeting later on." Chris looks at you. "Sorry to have to pull him away from you, Y/N. Professor Choi #2 can keep you company?"

"All good." 

"Be back." Jiung looks at you. "I'll save us those chairs." He points towards two end spots near the middle section. You awkwardly watch as Chris, Jongho and Jiung approach another professor to talk about said project, leaving you with San. 

"Hi." He says shyly. You've never seen him this way, and he's too fucking cute, too fucking charming. It makes you replay the dinner events in your head, only pushing your curiosity of what he'd be like if you two were completely alone. 

"Hi. Is that your nervous face poking out? Are you nervous?" You tease a bit.

"Me?" He playfully scoffs. "No. Dinner was more nerve-racking than this."

"What, why?" You giggle.

"Because it's you. I have to be extra careful with you, remember?"

"Right." You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, heat rising to your cheeks as your eyes glaze over his figure; he's dressed nicely in a white button up, tie and grey vest. They're all dressed nicely for the occasion, but it's definitely an extra weakness for you seeing San like this. 

"You're cute." He mutters as he bites his straw again and takes a sip of his iced coffee, eyes looking around the room to make his flirting not so obvious. And it isn't, except Yunho has been watching from the side while he waits for Iseul to finish up working through some presentation issues with IT. He didn't mean to, but his eyes gradually glazed over to the two of you smiling and laughing.

He can't help it, but the interaction feels different. The only time he's ever seen San that shy and flustered is when he was courting Iseul. It almost feels like he's watching something unfold all over again. 

"All good!" Iseul says, knitting her brows together when Yunho seems to be preoccupied. "You okay?" She asks, Yunho finally returning his attention to her.

"Yeah, sorry. Was just people-watching." Iseul looks over, eyes also falling on San but she doesn't necessarily get a chance to think much about it before Yunho is chiming in again. "Let's go grab some food before it starts." He laces his hand with hers and leads her to the end, front row seats.

Meanwhile, you've been too busy keeping your attention on San to care about everyone else. You're so tempted to nudge him, be a little affectionate with him. And it's taking everything in you to remind yourself who you are and where you are at.

"Stop it."

"Glad you actually made it, though."

"I told you I'd come."

"And I'm glad it wasn't just something you said to brush me off in the hallway." You laugh.

"No, never." Jiung wraps up his talk with the other professors, his eyes meeting yours with a small nod towards the seats he sat his bag down at. "Well, guess they're done. I'll see you later? Goodluck on your talk, Professor Choi." He smiles toothlessly at you.

"Thank you, Y/N." He watches as you walk off and meet Jiung, plopping down onto the seat as he debriefs you on his impromptu meeting. 

"Hm." Jongho hums and clears his throat, slowly walking over to his bestfriend while sipping his coffee.

"Yes?"

"Nothing." Jongho squints his eyes at him, a small chuckle leaving his lips. "Productive conversations going around, I see."

"Mhm." San chuckles, knowing exactly what Jongho's hinting at.

"Hey!" Zara comes over with a bright smile on her face. "We saved you some seats." She points at the front row on the left side, waving them over. "Come." 

"Sweet, thanks." Jongho leads the way while Zara tucks her hair behind her ear and walks alongside of San.

"Ready?" San shrugs as he looks at her.

"As can be."

"I'm sure it'll be great like always." He smiles.

"Thanks." He lets her slip into the seat next to Jongho before sliding into the end seat, eyes quickly glancing over at you before he gets situated and switches modes for the symposium.

Though, you are incredibly distracting, and he can only hope he can get you alone sometime soon just to show you exactly how he feels.

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @angelqueendom @barbielibra @brown88 @choisansplushie @yunhoswrldddd @hyukssunflower @vickykazuya @lucid-galaxys-world @jaytheatiny @pommelex @thespiffynerd @vixensss @santineez @nopension @domfikeluva @in-somnias-world @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @mountiiny

[venstm]

oh fuck actually thinking about being displaced remember how the galaxy garrison didn’t want his rebellious ass

[incognit0slut]

Pretty bunny

PART 1 OF KINKTOBER | MAIN MASTERLIST

Sub!Spencer x Playboy Bunny!Reader Spencer doesn’t know what to do when he recognizes you from his favorite adult magazine.

Content: (18+) 3k, boobjob, male oral, public space, and Spencer being insecure of his size but we love him just the way he is, right? a/n: "WE LOVE PRINCE CHARMING REID!" We say in unison while we hold hands and continue to chant over and over again

Issue number: 662. Date: June 2009. Centerfold, pages 36 through 42, draped in nothing but the iconic bunny ears.

Spencer shook his head. No. There was no way it could be you. There was no way the same Playboy bunny he had masturbated to was casually picking up a book in this quiet library. But there was something unmistakable about you. The familiar curve of your back, the subtle sway of your hips, the way your ass rounded perfectly as you reached further down the bottom shelf.

His pants tightened uncomfortably.

It really was you.

Dear god, what were the chances? Spencer had only come to this library on a whim. It was supposed to be a simple day—run a few errands on his free day, pick up groceries, maybe find a new book to keep himself occupied. But what he didn’t expect was to come face-to-face with the very woman he had spent far too many nights thinking about. The same woman whose body he knew too well, even if you didn’t know him at all.

He shifted nervously, trying to focus on anything else—the books, the shelves, the smell of old pages—but his eyes drifted back to you. His gaze lingered on the neckline of your blouse dipping low as you bent further, revealing the soft curve of your breasts.

His tongue swiped over his bottom lip.

“Can I help you?”

Spencer’s heart nearly stopped when he noticed you staring at him.

“No,” he rushed out, the word falling through his lips like autopilot. "I was, uh, looking for a book."

Your brow raised slightly. “I didn’t know I was part of the collection.”

He could feel the heat creeping up his neck, and he looked away, trying to think of a response that didn’t make him sound like an idiot.

“No, no, that’s not—of course you’re not… I—” He stopped, realizing he was only digging himself into a deeper hole. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

You straightened up, and he took in a sharp breath when your hips shifted slightly, brushing against the shelf as you moved.

“I wouldn’t say uncomfortable. Curious, maybe.” You crossed your arms. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who goes around staring at women in libraries.”

“I don’t,” he blurted out, his voice coming out a little higher than he intended. The way your crossed arms subtly pushed up your breasts only made it harder for him not to gawk at your chest. His gaze briefly flickered downward before snapping back to your face.

“I don’t,” he repeated in a voice he hoped sounded more confident than he felt. “You look… familiar.”

“Familiar? Have we met before?”

Of course not. Well, to you at least. He, on the other hand, had seen you more times than he could count. In photos, in dreams, in moments he’d rather not admit. “I… might have seen you in passing.” It was the truth. Sort of. “I didn’t expect to see you in a library.”

You let out a soft laugh. “I guess I don’t seem like the reading type to you, do I?”

He quickly shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I just didn’t expect to run into someone like you here.”

“Someone like me?”

"You know, someone who’s, uh, famous.”

He instantly winced when the words tumbled out, regretting how awkward and clumsy it sounded.​

“Ah,” you said with a knowing smile. “So you do recognize me.”

He paused for a moment, his eyes darting to the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but directly at you. “I… yes, I do. And I’m sorry,” he added, his second apology in less than five minutes. “I didn’t mean to make this weird.”

Your smile deepened, clearly enjoying his discomfort, but not in a cruel way—more in the sense that you found his awkwardness oddly charming. “It’s fine, I’m actually used to it,” you told him, uncrossing your arms. “And I don’t mind being recognized by someone as cute as you.”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly. “…cute?”

“Adorable,” you emphasized. “What’s your name?”

You called him cute. Cute.

What was his name again?

Oh. Right.

“Spencer.” He cleared his throat nervously. "I’m... Spencer."

“Spencer,” you repeated, and he could hear the way your voice softened, almost breathless, like you were savoring the sound of his name as it slipped from your lips. “It suits you.”

His tongue swiped along his bottom lip. “It does?”

“Mm-hmm. It has a nice ring to it.” Your eyes flickered down to his mouth for a split second before meeting his gaze again. "Strong, but gentle. You seem like the type of guy with those traits."

Spencer felt a wave of heat run through him. “I—I wouldn’t say that...”

“Well you are,” you continued, leaning in just slightly. “You seem gentle, but there’s more to you, isn’t there?”

“I… I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

"Oh, come on," you said with a teasing grin, your eyes flickering over his features as if trying to read the depths of his thoughts. "You've got that sweet, quiet thing going on. Like you're trying to be all polite and proper... but there's something else, isn't there?"

His eyes darted at the edge of the bookshelf. “No. I’m just… me.”

"Just you? Somehow, I don't believe that. I think there's a side to you that doesn't come out very often. Maybe you're not so innocent as you let on. Or maybe..." Your voice dropped lower, almost a whisper, just loud enough for him to hear. "Maybe you're not as gentle as you seem."

There was a flicker of panic in his eyes as he tried to laugh off your words, the sound coming out strained and awkward.

“I’m really not that…”

But you didn’t let him finish. You leaned in closer, just enough that he could feel the heat of your body, your breasts brushing lightly against his chest.

“Not that what?” you pressed. “Not that innocent, or not that gentle?”

His pulse pounded visibly at his throat. “I... don’t know what you mean,” he said, but you could see the way his pupils dilated, the way his fingers twitched at his sides.

“I think you do,” you replied softly, your fingers brushing just barely against his. You watched as he stiffened, his shoulders momentarily tensing as if the slightest touch sent a shock through his whole body. You smiled, leaning in just a fraction closer. “I like you.”

You felt his breath hit your face as he let out a strangled sound, almost a gasp, and the warmth of it urged you on. Your hand gently found its way to his arm, fingers tracing a path down to his wrist.

“And I think,” you continued, looking up at him with wide eyes. “You might like me too.”

Spencer couldn’t find the words to respond, he couldn’t even breathe properly. How could he when your sweet scent filled his senses? How could he when he had imagined what it might be like to touch you, to have you this close, and now it was real?

He took a deep, calming breath to steady himself, but his heart was pounding violently against his ribcage, and his mouth had gone completely dry. Your fingers trailed down his arm, lingering for a moment before slipping under his hand to guide it firmly to your waist.

He was sure he could combust right on the spot.

“Tell me something, Spencer,” you murmured. “Did you like my pictures? The ones in the magazine?”

He tenses under your touch. His pupils dilated even further, his grip tightening on your waist involuntarily.

“I—uh,” he breathed out, his voice almost breaking, eyes darting away as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to meet your gaze. But you didn’t let him retreat. You shifted slightly, pressing your soft breasts more firmly against his chest. His gaze flickered back to your cleavage.

“Come on, I bet you did. I bet you… enjoyed them.” You let the implication linger. “Didn’t you?

His eyes fluttered close. Enjoyed felt too innocent for what he'd felt, what he'd done. He didn't just enjoy those photos—he devoured them. He touched himself, imagining you sprawled in front of him in that same pose. He fantasized about you, dreamt of your pretty face, the sultry look in your eyes, the way those cute bunny ears framed your hair but left everything else bare.

He grew even more painfully hard at the thought, and you could feel his his arousal pressed against your hip. A soft laugh escaped your lips.

"Spencer,” you cooed, his name rolling off your tongue effortlessly. "What ever are you thinking?"

He tried to shift away.

“I-I’m not—” he started, but every word he tried to speak died on his lips the moment your hand brushed against his stomach. He felt like all the air had been knocked out of his lungs.

“You’re not?” You let your fingers trail down his abdomen, feeling the way his muscles clenched under your touch, before drifting even lower. “Because it seems like you've got something on your mind. Or..."

Your fingers passed over his belt buckle, grazing the edge of his waistband.

“Somewhere..."

You hovered over his bulge.

“…else."

Without hesitation, you palmed his erection, feeling the full hardness straining against the fabric. He sucked in a sharp breath. “W-What are you—”

You brought your lips to the shell of his ear, letting your breath tickle his skin. “I think you know what I'm doing."

Spencer's eyes glanced to the side, as if anyone might appear around the corner at any second, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Not when your hand was moving slowly along his length.

“We… we can’t,” he managed to choke out. “Someone could—could see us."

“Hmm? Should I stop then?” You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “Do you want me to stop, Spencer?”

The hesitation in his eyes was unmistakable, but so was the desperation. Brown orbs stared helplessly back at you. He couldn’t bring himself to say yes when every part of him screamed no. So he opted for silence, hoping that his lack of protest would tell you everything he couldn’t put into words.

You understood him clearly, so you pressed your hand more firmly on his bulge, fingers teasing the sensitive outline through his pants. The shape of him grew even more defined as you moved slowly, teasingly, with just enough pressure to make him gasp.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

His grip on your waist tightened.

“Y-yes,” he managed to breathe out, eyes half-closed as he gave himself over to the sensation.

"I bet I can make you feel even better.”

Without breaking eye contact, you began to sink slowly to your knees, hands sliding down his body. You let your fingers trace down his hips as you came face to face with the unmistakable outline of his arousal, your gaze still locked on his as a smirk danced on your lips.

An IQ of 187 was hardly enough to process what was happening now. Every neuron in his brain fired wildly, trying to make sense of the rush of sensations, the heat of your touch, the intensity in your eyes.

How was this even real?

You let your lips hover for a moment, teasing him with the anticipation before you pressed a soft, lingering kiss against his cock. He let out a muffled cry.

“Shh,” you whispered soothingly, your fingers working at the straps of his belt. The metallic clink of the buckle was faint as you loosened it, pulling it free with a soft hiss of leather. “We don’t want anyone to hear us, do we?”

Your fingers brushed against his waistband, eyes looking up at him all doe-eyed, wide and innocent, though everything about your touch was far from it.

He was going crazy. You looked so sexy, so pretty, yet so impossibly cute in that moment, like the very picture of temptation wrapped in innocence. His mind couldn’t help but flicker back to those pictures—the pictures—where you wore nothing but those bunny ears, your gaze so similar to the one you were giving him now.

He watched as you slowly peeled down the fabric, and found himself holding his breath. The cool air met his hot skin as his cock sprang free, and for a second, he couldn’t breathe.

Because Spencer knew he was different. He wasn’t like the other men you’d surely encountered, who knew their way around a woman like you, who were confident, who didn’t hesitate. And then there was the matter of size. He couldn’t help the thoughts rushing through his mind, wondering if you’d find him lacking, if he measured up to whatever experiences had shaped you into the woman that knelt before him now.

But a smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you wrapped your hand around his cock.

“You’re so…” You let out a small, appreciative laugh, your thumb brushing over his tip. “God, everything about you is cute, isn’t it?”

Spencer struggled to steady his breath, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts as your touch made it impossible to think clearly. You leaned closer, eyes still locked on his, and your tongue darted out to give a teasing kitten-lick along the base of his cock.

“Not too big,” you teased, dragging your tongue up the underside, tracing every ridge.

“Not too small…”

You let your tongue travel upward until you reached the tip, where you sucked gently, swirling your tongue around him in circles that had his legs shaking.

“You’ll fit perfectly.”

A pained groan fell through his lips. “Fit… where?”

You let go with a wet pop, his cock twitching as the cool air replaced the warmth of your mouth. Holding his gaze, you let your fingers move to your blouse, slowly undoing the buttons one by one. “Don’t think I didn’t catch you staring.”

Then in one sudden, fluid motion, you tugged your bra down, letting your breasts spill free. The movement made them bounce slightly, the soft curve of your flesh catching the light, and Spencer’s eyes went wide.

His lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out, just a strangled groan as his cock twitched visibly. The sight of you was too much for him to bear. He couldn’t decide where to look, his gaze flickering between your breasts and your face, like he was afraid to miss a single second of this moment. He followed your movement with wide, hungry eyes as you wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, guiding him to your chest.

“See?” you teased, pressing his length firmly between the soft, warm flesh of your breasts. “Perfect fit.”

His pupils dilated with full-blown lust as you started to move, slowly at first, letting him feel every inch of your warm, soft flesh sliding around his cock. You squeezed your breasts tighter together, the pressure creating a delicious friction that had him biting back a groan, his eyes glued to the way he disappeared and reappeared between your curves.

Up. Down. Up. Down. The head of his cock glistened as it emerged at the top again, only to slide back down into your cleavage, leaving a hot, wet trail along your skin.

“God… oh god,” Spencer choked out, his voice strained as his hips bucked slightly with each thrust. His eyes squeezed shut briefly, only to flutter back open as if afraid to miss a second of what was happening. His mind was a mess of disjointed thoughts, desperately trying to make sense of the scene unfolding before him. But all rationality was drowned out by the way you moved, the soft squeeze of your breasts around him, and the warm, slick glide of your sweat-kissed skin against his length.

He felt himself spiraling, the pleasure climbing higher, and all he could think was how good you looked, how perfect it felt, and how badly he wanted to paint his cum all over your face.

“Look at you all worked up.” You leaned forward slightly, letting the tip of his cock brush against your lips as it emerged, just the barest whisper of a touch. “You’re already so close, aren’t you?”

His fingers dug even deeper into the shelf, nails scraping against the wood. His voice was raw, almost desperate, as he let out a strained, “Please.”

With a satisfied smile, you lowered your head just enough to let your tongue flick out, circling around the head of his cock as it emerged from between your breasts, tasting the salty-sweet bead of arousal that had formed there. His hips slammed forward.

“Mm,” you hummed softly. “You wanna use me now, Spencer? Is that what you want?”

His grip on the shelf finally faltered, and you could hear the whimper in his throat, the way he bit down on his lip to keep from making a sound that would echo in the library. “Yes,” he gasped. “Please, I… I need to…”

“Go on,” you coaxed him, squeezing your breasts tighter around his length. “If you want it, take it. Use me.”

The moment those words left your lips, his hips jerked forward. The movement was sharp, desperate, and once he started, he couldn’t stop. He fucked himself into the tight, slick warmth of your breasts. He stammered incoherently, half-formed words falling from his lips, barely audible over the sounds of his ragged breaths and muffled whimpers.

“Please, I—I can’t… I can’t—oh god…”

He finally snapped, his body trembling violently as the sensation ripped through him, the pressure too intense, too overwhelming. His hips bucked wildly, thrusting desperately into the warmth of your body, lost in the heat, in the wetness, in the need to let go completely—

And then, everything vanished in an instant.

He jolted awake, eyes snapping open, his chest heaving as he took in his surroundings. No longer surrounded by warmth, no longer on the brink of release. Just the quiet stillness of his bedroom, sweat beading on his forehead, heart pounding in his chest, sheets tangled around his body… and the magazine lay open beside him, your image staring back at him mockingly.

Bunny ears perched on your head, delicate breasts spilling over, legs spread wide apart.

It took a few seconds for Spencer to catch his breath. He glanced down at himself, his eyes trailing to his painfully hard arousal, noticing the wetness seeping through his boxers and sticking to his skin. The rush of disappointment and adrenaline twisted sharply in his chest as reality hit him.

It was just a dream.

An embarrassing, all-consuming, impossible dream.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Just looking through some of your work and MA'AM. Not to be a straight woman, but oh m y god ohm yg od oh my g od-

So prompt: Logan is pretty good at casual possessive gestures. I wanna read a reaction to reader's possessive gestures towards him.

I'm thinking hand on thigh, hand on waist, staring, putting space between someone else and him, sky's the limit

You could make it a 5+1 format (I am a sucker for those)

Five Times You Were Possessive of Logan, and the One Time He Was Possessive of You

1. Hand on His Thigh

The first time it happens, it’s completely unplanned. You’re at the bar, sitting next to Logan as the two of you chat with some friends. He’s his usual stoic self, gruff but present, the warmth of his body a comforting presence next to you. As the conversation continues, you notice someone across the room eyeing Logan with more interest than you’re comfortable with.

Without thinking, your hand moves to rest on his thigh under the table. The action is instinctive, a way to ground yourself and subtly remind whoever’s watching that Logan isn’t available. The moment your fingers curl around the muscle of his leg, you feel him tense ever so slightly, the briefest hitch in his breath. He doesn’t say anything, just glances down at your hand before looking back at you with a raised eyebrow.

You offer him a small, almost shy smile, as if to say, This okay?

Logan’s lips twitch into the barest hint of a smirk, and his large, rough hand covers yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. He doesn’t move your hand away, doesn’t ask any questions. But there’s a look in his eyes that’s both amused and a little bit surprised, like he’s pleased with your boldness.

He leans in close, his voice low in your ear. “You don’t gotta worry, darlin’. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

2. Hand on His Waist

The next time it happens, it’s at a crowded event. Some kind of gathering at Xavier’s that’s brought in mutants and allies from all over. You and Logan have been mingling for a while, but the room is packed, and you find yourself getting separated from him as people move between you.

You spot him across the room, chatting with Jean and Scott, and feel an inexplicable urge to be close to him. Navigating through the crowd, you slip between the bodies until you reach his side, where you slide your hand around his waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

Logan stiffens slightly, glancing down at you with an unreadable expression. For a second, you worry that you’ve overstepped, but then his arm slides around your shoulders, pulling you close against his side. He continues the conversation without missing a beat, but you notice the subtle way he shifts his stance, positioning himself just a bit more protectively between you and the crowd.

His hand lingers on your shoulder long after the conversation ends, thumb tracing idle circles against your skin.

3. Staring

It’s been a long day, and you’re sitting in the common room, watching Logan across the space. He’s talking with Ororo, something serious by the look on their faces. You know it’s important, that they’re discussing something related to the latest mission, but you can’t help the way your eyes linger on him.

He’s all rough edges and raw power, yet there’s something about him that’s magnetic, something that draws you in despite the gruff exterior. Maybe it’s the way he’s always so intensely himself, unapologetically so, or maybe it’s the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention—like you’re the one thing in the world that makes sense to him.

You realize you’ve been staring when Ororo glances over at you and raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on her lips. Logan follows her gaze and finds you looking right at him, your eyes soft, full of something you can’t quite name.

He tilts his head slightly, his gaze narrowing as if he’s trying to figure you out. For a moment, you think about looking away, but you don’t. You just keep staring, letting him see that he’s the only one in the room you care about.

Eventually, he huffs out a low chuckle, shaking his head before turning his attention back to Ororo. But he’s watching you out of the corner of his eye, and you can tell that he’s more focused on you than whatever they’re discussing.

4. Putting Space Between Him and Someone Else

It’s a lazy afternoon, the kind where everyone at the mansion is doing their own thing. You and Logan are sitting outside, enjoying the fresh air, when one of the younger mutants—someone new and a bit too eager—approaches him. They start talking, standing a little too close for your liking, and you can see the way Logan shifts uncomfortably.

Before you even realize what you’re doing, you’re on your feet and moving towards them. Sliding yourself between Logan and the newcomer, you offer them a friendly smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Hey,” you say, cutting in smoothly. “Logan and I were just about to head out. Maybe you can catch him later?”

The newcomer looks a bit surprised, but they nod, glancing between you and Logan before backing off with a mumbled apology. You watch them leave, then turn to find Logan looking at you with an expression that’s both amused and impressed.

“Didn’t know you were the jealous type,” he teases, but there’s a warmth in his tone that tells you he doesn’t mind one bit.

You shrug, trying to play it off. “Just didn’t like the way they were crowding you.”

Logan’s smirk widens, and he reaches out to pull you close, his hands resting on your hips. “Gotta admit, I kinda like it when you get all protective.”

5. Hand on His Chest

The fifth time is more deliberate. You’re out on a mission, tensions running high as you and Logan work together to neutralize a threat. When it’s finally over, you’re both exhausted, adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

As the team regroups, one of the other mutants—someone who’s always been a bit too friendly with Logan—sidles up to him, laying a hand on his arm as they talk. You feel a sharp pang of something hot and possessive in your chest, and before you can second-guess yourself, you’re right there beside him.

You place your hand on his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath your palm, and lean in closer than necessary. “You alright, Logan?” you ask, your voice laced with concern.

Logan’s eyes flicker with surprise, but then he smiles, his hand covering yours as he nods. “Yeah, I’m good,” he replies, his gaze never leaving yours.

The other mutant quickly excuses themselves, and Logan turns his full attention to you. “You know,” he says, his voice low, “I’m startin’ to think you don’t like sharin’.”

You give him a sly grin. “Maybe I don’t.”

Logan chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that sends shivers down your spine. “Good,” he murmurs, pulling you even closer, his lips brushing against your temple. “’Cause I don’t either.”

Logan’s Turn

The one time Logan decides to return the favor, it catches you completely off guard.

You’re in the kitchen, chatting with Bobby as you wait for your coffee to brew. The conversation is light, filled with jokes and teasing banter. Bobby’s always been a bit of a flirt, but it’s harmless, and you’re laughing at something he’s said when Logan walks in.

Before you can even greet him, Logan is suddenly right behind you, his arm wrapping possessively around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. You can feel the solid heat of him, the way his grip is firm, almost claiming. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmurs, “What’s so funny?”

Bobby’s eyes widen slightly as he takes in the scene, and you can see the flash of understanding in his expression. “Uh, nothing, man. Just talking.” Bobby backs away with a nervous chuckle, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll, uh, catch you later.”

As Bobby quickly exits the kitchen, you turn to look up at Logan, still caught in his embrace. There’s a look in his eyes that’s both playful and intense, and you realize with a start that he’s the one feeling possessive now.

“Logan?” you ask, a bit breathless, your heart pounding in your chest.

He just grunts, the sound more of a satisfied hum than anything else, and his hand tightens on your waist. “Just didn’t like the way he was lookin’ at you,” he admits gruffly, but there’s a hint of vulnerability in his voice, like he’s not used to feeling this way.

A slow smile spreads across your face as you lean into him, your own hand finding its way to his chest, fingers tracing the familiar contours. “Guess we’re both a little possessive, huh?”

Logan huffs out a low laugh, his gaze softening as he looks down at you. “Yeah,” he agrees, his voice rumbling against your skin. “But I’m not complaining.”

You stand there together, wrapped up in each other, the world outside fading away as you both realize just how much you mean to one another. In that moment, it doesn’t matter who’s being possessive or why—what matters is that you belong to each other, and neither of you would have it any other way.

[murdrdocs]

sweet as a grape

description. ART DONALDSON lost a match, leading him to sulking at the hotel bar. when you slide up next to him he starts to feel like he won.

includes. SMUT MDNI 18+, submissive art, no challengers spoilers, fem!reader, sex w a stranger, drinking (but no drunk sex), masochism, dry humping, virgin coded/inexperienced art, choking, gagging (self inflicted), brief rimming, slight overstimulation, lots of allusions to masturbation, allusions to edging, art is a fucking freak

wc. 3.6k+

a/n: this is all based on assumption since challengers has yet to be released at time of posting. artwork is nighthawks by edward hopper. title from too sweet by hozier. some plot inspiration taken from @too-deviant's ray bans

Art Donaldson knows he's good at tennis. He knows he's great, and he knows that with greatness comes attention. Reporters always looking to get an exclusive from him, coaches always looking to take credit for the gained speed in his serve, brands, and companies looking to put his face on something, and people throwing themselves at him, begging for even a glance so they would have a story to tell their friends.

He knows this. But it still comes as a shock whenever people prettier than he thinks he deserves turn their attention to him. It's still a shock when you, a being with far too much beauty and grace, slides up next to him.

He smells you before he sees you. A sweet scent wafted to his nose, hitting him against the face with a pleasant slap. Then he senses you, the aura that radiates off of your body. Warm and comforting, even with the blistering heat from out that is attempting to permeate the hotel bar. He doesn't gather the courage to look at you until you speak. And your voice, God there's something about it. Something that makes Art's muscles loosen for the first time in hours, as the smooth lilt of your tone is a nice change of pace from the grunts on the court and the grating ridicule from the reporters asking him about the match, all disappointed faces reminding him that he lost.

But sitting here, on a barstool next to you, Art begins to feel like he won.

"I'll have what he's having," you tell the bartender with absolute confidence. You're leaning on the counter just a bit in an attempt to make your voice clearer, your ass perked up in the air enough to grab Art’s attention. He doesn't mean to look, really, but as he brings his glass to his lips he can't help how his eyes cut to the side briefly.

Besides, the skirt of your dress is long enough to cover your backside.

Art shakes his head. "You don't want what I’m having." He shouldn't be having anything right now. He might have lost his match, but this isn't the end. The alcohol will only slow his recovery, he knows this, but his half-assed reasoning of needing to drown his sorrows took over his mind, settling into his frontal lobe and steering his choices.

The bartender is already sliding a replica of Art's drink your way. You raise it and Art clinks his glass with yours. Then he watches you taste it. It's strong, straight liquor placed on ice which barely does anything to make it smoother, but you take it like a champ. You only take a sip, though, your eyes squeezed shut as it goes down before you place the glass back onto the counter and wave the bartender over again.

You flick your tongue out to catch a drip of liquor that missed your mouth. It’s so pathetic how just that one movement makes Art shift in his seat.

This time, you order something sweeter. Something more your style Art figures. Art doesn't think before he orders one for himself, too, and follows up the order by telling the bartender to place these drinks and any that will follow on his tab.

It doesn't take long before he confirms that you know who he is. But you're subtle about it. Your recognition comes in your glances. The way you narrow your eyes. The way you smile and laugh at his poorly made jokes. The way you ask him how he's doing—your tone a little firmer, as if you'd been in the stands today watching the close match that ultimately led to a loss. And it's then that Art recognizes you, too. 

He'd seen you briefly, just one glance before he was turning back to focus on the match. Your eyes had been covered by a pair of sunglasses then, but at the end of the match when everyone else was cheering for the winner, Art saw you cheering for him. Stood at the entrance to the locker rooms, your stacked bracelets glinting in the sunlight as you clapped. The sound of his blood rushing to his ears had been deafening then, the red in your eyes distorted every image. At the time, he believed that not one clap was in his favor. But yours surely was.

He can't tell if your intentions are really any different than anyone else who has tried to sleep with him, but he doesn't care. Because he just wants you so bad.

And for once in his life, he lets himself have what he wants. He accepts that he's a desired person, even on his off day, and he takes you, possibly the most desirable person he'd ever laid eyes on, upstairs to his room, and lets you have your way with him. 

He lets himself show a side he’s never shown to anyone else before. A side that is only seen when he’s tugging his cock all alone, his mind helpfully conjuring up images as he sped up the flick of his wrist, only to slow his motions down to a stop on his own accord. And he would continue the delicious torture, for as long as his mind and body could conjure, especially if he lost a match. 

This is a more compliant side. Less of a persona he’s put on for the media, and more of a man who just wants to please and be pleased. 

Tonight, with you laying back on his bed and waiting for him, he considers his options. He doesn’t know if he should continue his usual routine of self-inflicted torment. Or if he should give into you completely and lose himself amongst the nectar that’s gathered between your thighs. When he sees the imprint of your arousal, he decides that he’ll go along with whatever you want from him. 

It doesn’t take much for him to live up to his promise. 

You’re lying on your side, your head resting in your hand as you smile up at him lazily. You’d both had your last drink a while ago, and with the way they were spaced out Art doesn’t think you’re drunk. He’s not drunk, but he still feels elated. He feels like a teenage boy when you beckon him over and he complies willingly, crawling towards you until he’s sitting on his haunches. 

You lay on your back, staring up at him, blinking up at him. And Art waits. He waits and waits until he realizes you’re waiting for him to make the first move. 

He bends down and presses his lips to yours. The shape of the kiss is awkward since Art’s position forces your lips to align together at a perpendicular angle. But you don’t mind it. You let the initial press linger for a second before you place one of your hands onto his side and pull him towards you. Art interprets your pull as wanting him to land atop you and he does. 

The bed is large enough that only his feet hang off when he straddles you, placing only the weight of his bottom half over you and holding his top half up with a hand pressed into the mattress. 

His other hand settles on the thin strap of your dress. The material hangs off of the angular end of your shoulder, just close enough to fall off. Art doesn’t know if he initially intended to pull it down or push it back up. But you look up at him, your eyebrows slightly raised. It’s a look he knows well. He’s seen it on many opponents who doubted him. 

You’re challenging him. 

He pulls the strap down and that’s all it takes for you to take his face in both of your hands and pull his lips to yours. You have some unexpected strength in you. Your tug throws Art off of his balance until his chest collides with yours. You’re not deterred at all, your leg hiking up over Art’s hip as you press your foot into his lower back. 

Your dress must have slipped up somewhere along the way because Art can feel the warmth of your center pressing against his pants. He does it subconsciously, not even realizing what he’s doing until you reciprocate the movement, but he’s grinding into you with long and languid swipes of his boner into your arousal. 

There comes a point where the two of you need to pull your lips away from the other. But Art stubbornly doesn’t want to. His lungs ache for a breath. His head screams at him, telling him that kissing you can’t be more important than breathing. But for a moment there, just a single moment, Art believes that it is. 

When you pull away first, Art tries not to take it personally. 

“Will you fuck me?” You ask him through your breaths. Your question takes Art by surprise. Your words are so blunt. A little crude. But they stiffen the pressure in his trousers. He likes how assertive you are. It has his head spinning and somehow he manages to hide how desperate he is in his reply. 

“Only if you ride me.” 

Not much can be hidden whenever you’re on top of him. 

You’re staring down at him, likely with a view not too dissimilar from Birdseye. Art knows that like this, he’s probably spread out before you like he’s on an examination table. From the heavens, you’re able to notice every single thing about him that you choose to. 

The way his breath hitches when you sink on him. The way he’s a little lost behind the eyes, the two big blue windows unfocused enough to suggest how much pleasure he’s getting from this. He starts to feel a little insecure, but then you bring a graceful hand down and push his damp blond hair off of his forehead, providing the ventilation needed. 

Gratefully, his eyes fall closed and his head tips back. You bring your hand down to cup his cheek and Art instinctively turns his head just enough to place a blind kiss into the center of your palm. 

“Will you look at me, Art?” 

You ask him so politely, your voice just as sweet as it was earlier in the night when he’d only been imagining something like this. He wishes you were a little firmer with him, but he still obeys, slowly peeling his eyes open. 

He’s instantly grateful that he did. Because for just a brief second, he forgot just how divine the image above him was. 

Your body is almost completely bare since the top half of your dress has been pulled down to reveal your tits. They shake with each movement. With each controlled way you sink down onto him. In the same way he’s in his element on the court, he figures that you’re in your element here. You look so natural like this, stripped by the wish to satisfy your most basic need. But you’re so good at this. He wonders if you’d had as much practice at this as he has with his craft. Not that it matters to him, especially since any previous practice you could have had would have only contributed to this time, making it as heavenly as it could possibly be. But Art thinks he wants to practice this, like this, with you more often. 

The way your cunt takes him in is hidden by the skirt of your dress. With a hand more shaky than expected, Art lifts the hem and the sight he’s blessed with makes him dizzy. He has to take a controlled breath, look away, and then come back to it. 

Your pussy is so pretty. He can’t see much from this angle, and he wishes he could see more, but he can both see and feel how wet you are. In a risky move, you’d allowed Art to forgo a condom and he sincerely hopes he won’t regret it later. The last thing he needs during the height of his career is a bastard with his eyes and a monthly check written to a one-night stand. But when he’s able to feel you intimately and see how your essence is shining his dick, he can’t regret anything. 

Everything seems like it was meant to be at this moment. Even the damned neon ball that escaped his racket by just an inch that brought him to the bar this evening anyway. 

“Here,” you mumble. Art doesn’t know exactly what you’re referencing until you knock his hand away and replace it with your own. You lift your dress over your head and throw it to the floor where it joins Art’s already discarded clothes. Now you’re both even in terms of nudity. But the fields are definitely still uneven. 

You have complete control in this setting. Art doesn’t mind it one bit. 

You reach your hands down and take Art’s grasp in yours, directing his rough palms up to your body. You place his touch on your waist, but getting the feeling that he’s allowed to touch more than that, he lifts his hands up and grazes his fingertips over your erect nipples. 

Your reaction is appreciative so Art does the movement again. He’s amid his third swipe when he remembers something. The magic button one of his old hitting partners told him about one afternoon during unwanted locker room talk. 

He sticks two fingers into his mouth, unable to help the way he stuffs them a little too far back. He only stops when he gags just once, and then he pulls the digits out, satisfied by how slick they are, and brings them between your thighs. 

It takes a moment for him to find it. He curses under his breath when he misses the first time, and grunts when he misses it the second time, but the third time is the charm. He presses at first, attempting to see if he’d found it. And when your hips jerk, he begins to draw on his memory and starts circling your clit. 

You moan, your head tipping back as you start to ride Art with more fervor. More passion is behind the way you move your hips. More determination is in the way your hands press into his torso to ground yourself. You have one hand below his navel, manicured nails scratching his happy trail while your other hand slides up higher and higher. 

And just when Art thinks you’re going to reach your target, you stop. The base of your hand presses into the top of Art’s sternum while your fingers lay across his collarbones. You’re so close. Just a little …

“Higher. Please.” 

You don’t say anything, you don’t give him a look, you just do as he says. You push your hand up higher until you find the other end of the magnet. 

When your fingers wrap around his throat, Art groans from deep in his stomach. It comes from a place he’s only ever accessed during an intense game. Never during something like this. Briefly, he wonders if this could be considered a game. But if it is, it’s one he’s losing. He’s not even bothering to fight back. You’re dominating him and he likes it. Hell, he fucking adores it. 

You’re the one in control here, so it’s only natural that Art asks for your permission to cum. 

The need steadily approaches, pushing through his body, working its way through the maze until it finds the end which leads directly up into you. 

“‘m close,” he warns. “Can I cum? Please? Will you make me cum?” 

You nod fervently. Art sighs, he relaxes into the bed with a delusional belief that he’ll get to cum any moment now. 

Your words clear things up for him. “Make me cum first, Art. Then I’ll return the favor. Deal?” 

He doesn’t pout or complain. He just agrees. “Deal.” 

He uses his free hand to grip your hip and speeds up his touch on your clit. His fingerpads slip down just a bit to gather more wetness, and then he brings his touch right back up and settles it right onto the part of your clit that protrudes the most. 

The sight of you cumming is so beautiful. Just this one hit, this one time, is surely enough to make Art addicted. While he watches you cum, taking in the way your chest pushes your tits out and your head throws back, revealing the gorgeous line of your neck, he thinks that he wouldn’t mind if you had his kid. As long as it guaranteed that you would always be in his life. 

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to make his sex-hazed thought a reality as you pull off of him, ignoring the way your cunt is gripping him with resistance. You settle beside him, sitting with your legs tucked under you. Your hand comes to Art’s cock, and it only takes a few strokes before his hips are lifting and he’s cumming. 

You press your lips to his while he releases, stroking him determinedly while you kiss him messily, lots of saliva and tongue swapping between the both of you. When your hand around his throat tightens just a bit, Art’s hips stutter, and his cock twitches in your hand. He can feel you grin against his lips. 

“Let me clean you up?” You ask him with the prettiest smile. He’s dazed when he nods, not really knowing what he’d just agreed to. When you settle between his legs, Art almost backs out. He’s still sensitive, he knows it without you even touching him. But it’s rude to push a pretty girl away when she’s offering to use her mouth on him. 

So he sits through it. 

He fists the bed sheets and tries to swallow his groans whenever you lick the cum off of his torso. He accidentally whimpers when you wrap your lips around his tip. And he can’t hold off the deep moan that pushes out of him when you allow his cock to sink into your mouth. 

This cavern is different than the last. A little rougher, but the constant pressure and warmth from your tongue is comforting. He was already softening whenever you first took him in your mouth, but his dick is allowed a single moment of rest. He hardens inside of your mouth, and when he’s ready, you start to suck him off. 

It’s embarrassing how quickly he’s close. But he can’t really hold off when you use your hands to push his legs a little further apart, and you abandon his dick for a brief second to bring your tongue lower, pushing the muscle along his pink-clenched rim before you drift back up. Art’s gasp is pitiful. Even to his own ears, he sounds like something out of a porno, his voice wobbling as he moans, sounding like he’ll cry at any moment. 

His back arches and he decides he needs more of you. He takes a bit more control, even though it happens accidentally. He presses a hand into the back of your head and rams his cock up into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat more than once and triggering your gag reflex. 

When he cums this time, it’s in your mouth, and you suck him clean again. He moans your name all the while, the syllables becoming more broken each time he repeats it. He thinks he’s praising you, but he doesn’t know what he’s saying. For a second there, he doesn’t even know where he is. 

Then, when he comes down, he’s silent. He’s like a cat with the way he shudders. He’s absolutely spent, labored breathing reverberating throughout the otherwise silent hotel room. You slide up to his chest, laying your head in the center. Your hand has been taken off of his neck and delicately placed into his hair. 

You play with the curls for a second before speaking. 

“You okay?” 

He nods, letting himself catch his breath a little more before he speaks. 

“Yeah. More than okay. You?” He brings a hand to your back, pulling you closer to him. You’re staring up at him from his chest, and like this, you look innocent. Heavy eyes blinking up at him, your lips pulled into a smile. 

You hum affirmatively. “Shower? Or bath?” 

Art laughs a little when he says, “Bath. Definitely a bath.” He knows that his legs would be a little too shaky to withstand a shower, and as he follows you into the bathroom, his suspicions are confirmed. He’s satisfied to see you struggle a bit with stepping into the tub. 

Sex with you was fucking amazing, and somehow, the ease with the two of you hasn’t diminished. You’re both sober, any alcohol that could have remained in your systems definitely been expelled by now, but you’re just as charming. And Art is just as relaxed around you. 

He thinks that he could exist with you for a while. 

When he awakes on his own the morning after, he thinks he was too wishful the night before. Maybe he’d been reading way too much into something that was solely a one-night stand. He sits at the edge of the bed, head hung and tail tucked, but then his mood improves just a bit when he sees your panties laid forgotten on the floor. Even when he throws them with the rest of his clothes from his suitcase, he doesn’t let his mood improve too much. 

He has pissed, showered, and is standing over the sink to brush his teeth when he sees your note attached to the mirror. 

had to leave. thought you had things to do. call me sometime. or come visit. room 1046, here until tomorrow. xx

The note is placed carefully with the rest of his belongings. 

[boundbyeclipse]

she’s my deadly desire.

genre : fluff, slightly suggestive

word count : 1.3k

tags : witch!female!reader, hybrid!klaus, use of alcohol

a/n : i was listening to night vision by mareux while writing this, and i highly recommend this song if you like alternative/indie type of music. totally obsessed with that song. enjoy ♡

Friday evening. The bar is half filled, lots of faces known to the whole town present, including you. You sat by the bar counter, elbows on top of the wooden surface, a black plastic straw in between your fingers. Mixing the ice cubes in your almost empty glass to melt them, you huff, tired of dealing with the hybrid himself for the whole week. Chasing you here and there, he hasn’t left you alone. Subtle gifts like a necklace, roses delivered to your door, a bundle of candles and herbs. Those were at your door every single day, and it only made you want to stop accepting them in hopes of him leaving you be. Obviously, those gifts were nice, especially the herbs that you’ve been looking for to practice some new spells, but he was far from being done with you.

The door creaked open as a tall, handsome man stepped inside, an immediate smirk across his face when he recognised you. Yes, even from the back. Everyone at the bar collectively shifted their gazes towards him. His hair was slightly curly, skin soft and eyes mellow. Dressed in all black, he walked with such confidence, a slight swagger in his step. He scooched in between the bar counter and the stool, sitting down as he motioned at the bartender.

“One whiskey, please” he spoke, then turning his attention to you.

“Klaus Mikaelson. Found me yet again” you sighed, tilting your head to the side as you sipped the last of your drink. You didn’t really want to look at him right now, you were fed up.

A smile budded on his lips.

“Oh, don’t be so grumpy, love. I’m here to cheer you up yet again. Except that I don’t have any gifts for you this time” his voice dropped an octave lower at the last sentence.

You snorted and rolled your eyes, pushing the empty glass aside.

“Good. I didn’t ask for any in the first place”

“But you’re wearing the obsidian necklace I gifted you. You might’ve not asked for it, but you still have it around your neck”

You gulped as you grasped onto the necklace that you wore, holding it tightly in your fist in an attempt to hide it. The panic set in and you didn’t know how to react or what to say. Yet you had words slip past your lips.

“Obsidian protects me, okay? I just don’t understand why it doesn’t protect me from you”

“You think I have some bad intentions?,” his brows knitted together, “darling, you better trust that I don’t”

You rolled your eyes again, still avoiding any kind of eye contact with the hybrid next to you. His cologne traveled through your nostrils every time he moved, and you could not lie to yourself - it really smelled good. Slightly minty, fresh, not too spicy, yet captivating enough to your senses. It was no lie that Klaus himself was a really hot dude, and it was something you found yourself thinking about from time to time. But god knows why you chose to play hard to get and act like he annoys the living hell out of you. Things were the other way around. Only time could tell when you were going to show what you really think about him.

Klaus shifted in his seat, gulping his drink as he placed the glass down and began to spin it in circles with his fingers.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

You shook your head.

“No, I can’t have too much”

“Why? Are you lightweight?”

Just say yes, just say yes, god damn it!

“No. It makes my legs spread for dangerous men like you”

His eyebrows inched upward, as he looked upon you in stunned silence. But not for long, as he broke into laughter that he couldn’t seem to control. Why is he laughing? Does he find it funny?

“That’s not why I’m asking, love. See, I was only being a gentleman and offered to pay for your drink. But okay, if you say so” he shrugged, downing the strong liquor he had ordered earlier.

“Doesn’t change my answer” you give him a fake smile as you get your wallet and zip it open, about to hand money to the bartender. You jump as Klaus grabs your wrist and pushes your arm down.

“At least let me pay for the one you drank already”

You click your tongue and sigh heavily.

“Fine!”

Klaus lets go of your hand gently and pays for your drink as well as his own, eyes darting your way as you hopped off the chair, ready to leave.

“Oh-“ he got off his chair too, blocking the way as he stood in front of you. This man made your heart beat so loud that the entire public in this building could hear it. Except the non-supernatural ones, of course.

“Slow down, sweetheart. I’m not letting such a beautiful girl like you go home on her own this late. May I?” he fixed his jacket and offered you his forearm, giving you such a dazzling smile that made you nothing but weak in the knees. Of course you could say no, walk away and just call a taxi to get you home. Of course you could just scoff and mock him before taking off. Of course you could curse him out and tell him to leave you alone. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Your face only flushed with redness as you stood there staring at his arm, hesitantly taking it without making any eye contact.

What are you doing with Klaus? Or more like, what is Klaus doing to you? It can’t be the alcohol because you only had one cocktail, it wasn’t even enough to get you tipsy. You just couldn’t resist him, and it was strange. The cologne was intoxicating as well as the way he spoke. It was so lovely and soft, so gentle, so caring. The blood in your veins ran hot as you walked out of the bar clinging onto his forearm, embarrassed by the choice you’ve made.

You were silent the whole time until he got you home. You found no words to say to him, everything felt awkward and weird. But it didn’t matter to him that you were quiet as if your mouth was sewed up. Klaus was the brave one. So where did the hard-to-get you go to?

“I can hear your little heart, you know?” he whispered lowly, his finger brushing a strand of hair out of your face, you then unconsciously leaning into his palm.

He found it adorable.

You nodded, absolutely vulnerable in front of the curly headed hybrid.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me. Nor avoid me, or my gifts. I’m doing it all with good intentions only. I know it probably makes me a little bit of a creep, but trust me, it’s not what I am. I just know that you need some sort of a distraction from all the crap you’re dealing with. I hope what I do helps you”

“Thank you” you finally speak as you look into his eyes, really shy, really unsure, but don’t look away.

“No need to thank me. Now go ahead, get inside”

You smiled while licking your lips as you unlocked your door and opened it, stopping on the doorstep as you looked at Klaus. He gave you a warm smile, the moon right above his head shining down and illuminating the streets.

“Oh, and were you serious about the legs thing?” Klaus tilted his head as he pointed at you with his index finger. Your eyes lit up, sparkling with anticipation as you broke into a small giggle.

“Shut up. I was just joking,” you shook your head before whispering, “Or maybe not”

Klaus dropped his smile for a second before it returned.

“You know I heard that”

“Goodniiiiight” you waved as you hurriedly shut the door with the biggest grin on your face. Klaus chuckled to himself as he paused for a few seconds before stepping off of the front porch, disappearing into the distance.

[ohmynabiii]

"𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬" ; 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

switch!reader, switch!jisung, dom!minho 18+

𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫 :

This story takes place in a consensual polyamorous relationship where all boundaries have been clearly discussed and respected. Every action, whether implied or explicit, adheres to that understanding.

The depiction of Minho and Jisung in a relationship here is purely fictional and does not reflect their real-life dynamics. Their bond inspired this fictional exploration, but no assumptions are made about their personal lives.

𝐜𝐰 : unprotected sex, consensual poly relationship, mild intoxication, mostly vanilla, slow-burn (ish?), oral sex (f x m receiving), fluffy aftercare MDNI

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 5.3k

— 

"You know you shouldn’t. It’s reckless, wrong even. But when Minho's gaze catches yours, his eyes smoldering with that wicked promise—God, those eyes—you’re already lost, too far gone to stop."

The night is unfolding like a dream, spilling into the quiet warmth of a cozy tteokbokki shop, the kind of place where time seems to slow down. The scent of spicy rice cakes fills the air, mingling with the soft hum of laughter and conversation. Hours slip by unnoticed, the nine of you caught up in the easy rhythm of good food, drinks, and playful banter.  

Your senses blur under the gentle haze of alcohol, warmth pooling in your chest, but something more dangerous simmers beneath the surface. It starts when Minho’s fingers brush your thigh, his touch deliberate, subtle enough to go unnoticed by the others but charged with intent. Sparks dance across your skin, igniting a heat that lingers, no matter how much you try to ignore it.

Jisung, sitting close to you, is equally affected. You feel the way his body leans into yours, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your arm as if he can’t bear the distance. His soft, comforting presence intoxicates you, a slow burn that contrasts the teasing flame Minho has set alight. He’s been stealing glances at you throughout the evening, noticing the way Jisung’s eyes darken each time the scent of your perfume floods his senses, stirring something primal within him. Minho has a way of driving you both crazy, letting you and Jisung feed off of each other’s need as he watches you both unfold.

And now, with Minho’s dark eyes locked onto yours across the restaurant table, you feel the weight of Jisung’s body shift beside you, his hand tightening ever so slightly on your arm. You know what’s coming before either of them makes a move. It’s inevitable. Dangerous. And utterly impossible to resist…

"Hello~" A waving hand in front of your face snaps you slightly out of your haze. You blink and see Chan grinning at you from across Jisung. "Earth to lovebirds," he teases, the playful lilt in his voice cutting through the trance. You shake your head, but your gaze still lingers on Minho for a moment longer, catching the faint chuckle he’s trying to suppress as it tugs at the corner of his lips. 

You offer Chan a dazed, “Hmm?” but the flush creeping up your cheeks betrays you as you realize the entire table has their eyes on you. Felix and Hyunjin tilt their heads, their curiosity evident, and you can’t help but shrink into yourself in embarrassment. How long had you been lost in Minho’s gaze? Five minutes? Ten? Your teeth worry your bottom lip, the heat in your face now burning as you catch sight of the gentle smirk playing on Minho’s lips.

"I just asked you a question, but something tells me you weren’t paying attention..." Chan continues, his tone light but knowing. He repeats himself, his smile widening as he teases, “The rest of us are heading to karaoke. Do you three want to come along or are you planning on heading back to the dorms?”

From beside Minho, Changbin giggles, finishing the last of his drink. “Something tells me her answer’s going to be the latter.” His eyes flick to Jisung, and you realize just how tightly Jisung’s grip has become around your arm, his body pressing closer into yours. He’s nuzzling into the curve of your neck, the warmth of his breath tickling your skin as he drunkenly inhales your scent, mumbling something soft and incoherent, lost in the comfort of your presence.

Minho leans in closer, his voice dropping to a low, almost seductive tease. “What do you want to do, Y/Nie?” The way he draws out your name sends a shiver through you. There’s a faint rasp in his voice, a drip of lust that makes your heart race. Every syllable feels like a promise, and the dark gleam in his eyes only heightens the tension that’s been simmering between the three of you all night.

You swallow hard, your pulse quickening. Part of you wants to climb across the table, close the distance, and taste his lips—desperate for the connection as if you need it to breathe. And you know you’re not alone. You feel the way Jisung shivers beside you, second-handedly affected by Minho’s teasing just as much as you are, his body reacting involuntarily to the sultry pull of Minho’s voice. 

It takes every ounce of your self-control, but you manage to croak out, “Jisung and I are pretty tired… I think we’re gonna head back.” It’s not a complete lie—both of you feel the weight of exhaustion from the lively evening—but sleep isn’t what you have in mind. A thrill courses through you as you catch Minho’s knowing smirk, a promise of the night to come. “I’ll join you,” he states, his plump bunny lips curling mischievously. His gaze stays locked on yours, and your heart flutters with anticipation, each beat echoing with desire.

Chan, sensing the electric tension in the air, has his cheeks tinged with a slight rosy hue. He clears his throat awkwardly, a subtle reminder of the charged atmosphere. “Okay, then. Shall we go?” 

The next twenty minutes blur by in a haze of longing. The entire car ride is consumed by thoughts of Minho and Jisung, your mind racing with the whispered promises Minho has been teasing into your ear since the night began. Each passing moment builds the anticipation, igniting a fire in your core that only they can satisfy.

As soon as you enter the dorms, before Minho can even fully close the door, Jisung is on you. He slams his lips into yours in a desperate, messy kiss that takes you by surprise. The world outside fades as your back meets the wall, and you melt into him, his hands finding their way to your hips, anchoring you against him. You sigh into the kiss, lost in the warmth of his embrace. 

From behind you, you hear Minho calmly removing his shoes, a serene contrast to the intensity of the moment. But soon, Jisung is pulled away from you with a soft whimper of protest, his longing evident. Minho steps closer, his gaze piercing into yours, deeper than it’s been all night, pupils blown wide with lust and hunger. The air thickens with an unspoken need, and you can feel the heat radiating off him. 

He gently cradles your neck, his fingers brushing the quivering skin just below your jaw, sending shivers down your spine. As he leans in, his lips find yours, and he pulls you into a deep, sensual kiss that contrasts sharply with Jisung’s fiery urgency. Minho’s kiss is languid and deliberate, each movement laced with a tender intensity that feels rare and precious. You feel yourself melting into him, the world outside fading completely as he takes his time exploring the depths of your desire.

His hands slide down from your neck to the small of your waist, thumbs tracing soothing circles on your skin, easing the tension in your body. But just as your hips start to grind slowly against him, he shifts. In one swift motion, Minho pushes you firmly against the wall, halting your movements with a dominance that drags a choked gasp from your lips. The sudden change from tenderness to control sends a shockwave through your body, igniting something deeper in both of you. You can feel it—the rush of electricity coursing through Minho, matching the frantic beat of your own heart.

For a moment, the only thing grounding you is the heavy, tantalizing pressure of his bulge pressing against your thigh, sending your mind spinning. But before you can revel in it, Minho pulls away, the loss of his touch leaving you breathless. His hands fall from your body as he steps back, not sparing a glance as he immediately finds Jisung’s waist, pulling him in with an urgency you recognize. 

In an instant, his lips crash into Jisung’s, the same passion that had held you moments before now transferred to him, leaving you watching in a daze as they fall into each other, their need palpable and raw. 

Minho's hand snakes down Jisung’s chest, pausing just long enough to graze over his hardened nipples. The brief contact draws a sharp hiss from Jisung, his back arching slightly in response. But Minho’s touch doesn’t linger there—he continues downward, his fingers gliding over heated skin until they settle over the painful bulge in Jisung’s jeans. The moment Minho presses his palm firmly against the tented fabric, a ragged breath escapes Jisung’s lips, his body shuddering at the intense pressure.

Jisung’s been aching ever since he caught sight of Minho’s hand on your thigh earlier in the night, the scene sparking a relentless need that’s only grown stronger. Minho's firm grip presses harder, making his head snap back, a guttural moan tearing from his throat as the sudden surge of pleasure washes through him, overwhelming and all-consuming. The air between them is thick with desire, and every shift of Minho's hand has Jisung spiraling further, his control slipping away with each passing second.

Minho doesn’t miss a beat, using the opportunity to trail sloppy, heated kisses down Jisung’s neck, his lips moving with purpose. Each kiss grows more intense, sucking and biting at the skin until he finds that one spot, the sensitive area that makes Jisung’s cries louder, more desperate. His hips buck involuntarily into Minho’s hand, seeking more friction, more of that intoxicating contact.

The scene playing out in front of you is practically pornographic—Jisung writhing under Minho’s skilled touch, his body arching with every grind of his hips, while Minho licks deliberate stripes along his jawline, savoring every reaction. Minho’s other hand tangles in Jisung’s dark, messy hair, gripping just enough to keep him grounded as their heated exchange escalates. The tension between them pulls you in, a heady mix of lust and intensity that leaves you breathless, unable to look away. 

You can’t help yourself. The heat between them pulls you in like a current, sweeping you under. Your hand slips beneath your dress, fingers ghosting over the skin of your thigh in the same way Minho’s had earlier in the night, igniting a familiar, smoldering fire. The memory of his touch lingers on your skin as you mimic the slow, deliberate motion, your breath catching in your throat. 

Your other hand finds its way to your breast, cupping it gently at first, before the need intensifies and you squeeze, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure straight to your core. Your body reacts instinctively, your hips shifting, grinding ever so slightly against nothing as you become lost in the moment. Watching Minho’s hand on Jisung, the way their bodies move together in sync, only fuels the growing ache inside you. You can feel the wet heat between your legs building, your breath quickening as you lose yourself in the desire that’s been steadily simmering all night. 

Just as suddenly as Minho had pulled away from you, he tears himself from Jisung, his gaze snapping in your direction. His eyes are half-lidded, heavy with lust, and the second they land on you—hand slipping under your dress, the other massaging your breast, your bottom lip trembling with desire—something in him snaps. Without a word, he strides over, his grip firm as he grabs your hips and pulls you away from the wall with a force that makes your breath hitch.

“Bedroom, now,” he commands, his voice a low growl, dripping with need. The air crackles with tension as his fingers dig into your skin, the urgency of the moment sending shivers down your spine. You barely have time to steady yourself before you're being guided towards the bedroom, Jisung trailing behind with wobbly legs, still dazed and flushed, but eager to follow. You can feel your pulse quicken with every step, your anticipation reaching a fever pitch. You need Minho, and you need Jisung. 

Minho’s grip on your hips remains steady as he turns you to face him in the dim light of the bedroom, his eyes dark with desire. The air feels electric, each breath heavy with unspoken promises. Jisung stumbles slightly into the room, his hands finding their way to your waist from behind you, anchoring himself to you as if he needs that connection to ground him. He interlocks his fingers with Minho’s on your waist, a silent signal of unity, before leaning in to place gentle yet needy kisses along the back of your neck.

As Jisung’s warm lips press against your skin, you feel him brush your hair aside, tucking it gently over your shoulder. The soft caress of his fingers against your neck sends shivers down your spine, heightening your senses. He takes his time, savoring the moment, the way your hair falls away to expose your bare skin, making you feel both vulnerable and cherished. Minho watches the scene unfold, his gaze intense, as Jisung continues to pepper your neck with kisses, each one igniting a fire deep within you, drawing you further into the intoxicating atmosphere of the moment.

Minho leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a teasing whisper, just a breath away. “Do you want to keep going?” he murmurs, his voice thick with anticipation. You nod, your heart racing, knowing that tonight will blur the lines of your desires in ways you’ve only dreamed of. The warmth of their bodies surrounds you, and as Minho’s mouth captures yours in a deep, hungry kiss, you lose yourself in the sensation yet again, your body aching in their arms.

The feeling of being surrounded by warmth from your two lovers is intoxicating, a heady mix of comfort and desire that sends your heart racing. Jisung's movements behind you are deliberate as he grinds his hips against your ass and places wet kisses on your neck, the delicious friction sending waves of pleasure through your body. You can feel his need pressing against you, urging you to let go of any lingering hesitation. Meanwhile, Minho hovers above you, his lips capturing yours in a deep kiss, his tongue teasingly exploring your mouth. 

When Jisung whimpers behind you, it sends a jolt of desire racing through your veins, leaving you breathless. You pull away from Minho’s lips just long enough to whisper a choked, “I need you,” your voice trembling with urgency. The words hang in the air, thick with longing, before you sink back into the warmth of Minho’s kiss, your lips moving together with a fervor that feels both desperate and electric.

Minho responds with a low growl, his hands exploring your curves as he guides you and Jisung toward the bed. You can almost see the gears turning in his head, a mix of determination and desire igniting in his eyes. He pulls away from your addictive lips, his breath heavy, before turning to Jisung. “Lay back,” he instructs, his tone commanding yet filled with an undeniable warmth.

Jisung complies without hesitation, settling onto the bed with a soft thud, his gaze fixed on you with an expression that’s both hungry and affectionate. Minho then turns you around, his hands firm on your waist as he pushes you gently but decisively atop Jisung. The weight of your body sinks onto him, legs on either side of his waist, and you feel the heat radiating between you. The only way you can think to describe him at this moment is utterly sexy. His hair is tousled, wild from when Minho gripped it, strands clinging to his forehead with a sheen of sweat. Jisung’s eyes are half-lidded, dark pools filled with desire, his pupils blown wide with need. Each breath he takes is deep and ragged, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that mirrors the growing tension in the room. There's a raw vulnerability in his expression, paired with an undeniable hunger that sends a thrill racing through you. The combination of his disheveled appearance and the longing etched across his face makes it impossible to look away, igniting a fire within you that begs to be explored.

His fingers curl into your hips, anchoring you further down on his abdomen, a breathy “fuck” escaping his lips when your ass presses down against his rock-hard dick. The sound sends a thrill through you, igniting your own desire. As his needy hands tug at the hem of your dress, you take the hint and quickly peel it off, tossing the fabric carelessly across the room. Your fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt, a rush of anticipation flooding you until his entire torso is exposed, revealing the taut muscles beneath.

It isn’t long before Minho’s desperation for both of you overwhelms him. He positions himself behind you, grinding your hips down on Jisung harder, the friction sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through all three of you. Jisung moans loudly, his hands flying to cover his mouth as the sensation becomes too much. Minho grins at the sound, repeating the movement again and again, establishing a steady rhythm that drives you wild. He leans forward, fully pressing his body against your back, adding to the mounting pressure on Jisung’s throbbing hard-on. Minho’s warm breath tickles your skin as he sloppily kisses along your spine, only stopping to unclip your bra with his teeth before continuing down your back. 

Jisung helps you remove the rest of your bra, taking a moment to unabashedly stare at your bare tits, his eyes wide with appreciation before he leans in to massage the sensitive skin around your nipple. A whimper escapes your lips as your head thrashes back at the sensation, instinctively leaning into his touch as pleasure courses through you. Just as the pace of your movements begins to increase, Minho stills your hips with his hands, pulling away from your back to rip off his shirt. He leans in close, his breath hot against your ear as he lowly whispers, “Kiss him, baby.”

It takes you less than two seconds to obey; you smash your lips into Jisung’s, pouring all your need into the kiss. Minho’s hands glide around from behind you, assisting Jisung in massaging your breasts, his touch igniting every nerve ending. Your fingers reach down between the two of you, deftly unbuttoning Jisung’s strained jeans before carefully tugging down the zipper.

Jisung’s breath hitches as you push his jeans down just enough to reveal the tantalizing outline of his hard length straining against his black underwear. The heat radiating off him is intoxicating, and you can’t resist the urge to run your fingers along the taut fabric, feeling the urgency beneath. Jisung’s hands tighten on your hips, urging you closer. He pulls away from your lips, only slightly, to watch you with wide, pleading eyes, filled with both lust and adoration.

Minho, still hovering close, takes the opportunity to lean down and capture your lips in another heated kiss, his tongue dancing with yours as the thrill of your actions heightens the tension in the room. You can feel Jisung shifting beneath you, his need pressing against you as you tease him, the pressure building with each gentle touch. 

With a soft gasp, you pull away from Minho’s lips, locking eyes with Jisung as you slowly slide his briefs down. His cock springs free, hard and glistening with pre-cum, slapping lightly against his stomach as the cool air hits his skin, drawing a sharp hiss from him. The sight sends a surge of heat through you, your pulse quickening at the raw need in his expression. Minho chuckles low in your ear, the sound dripping with satisfaction at Jisung’s reaction, still pressed against your back, his own erection straining against his tight jeans.

Your hand finds its way to Jisung’s leaking tip as Minho slides your soaked lingerie down your thighs. The moment your fingers make contact with Jisung’s sensitive skin, both of you gasp in unison—your bodies mirroring the shared rush of sensation. His cock stands firm against his stomach, the perfect shade of flushed pink, glistening with pre-cum that drips steadily from the slit. He’s not the biggest, but he’s beautifully shaped—thick enough to stretch you perfectly, with a slight upward curve that promises to hit all the right spots. Veins run along the length, pulsing under your touch, adding to the appeal as you twirl your thumb over his tip, spreading the slickness down his shaft.

Jisung’s chest rises and falls rapidly, his breath catching in his throat as your hand continues its teasing motions. Each gentle stroke causes his hips to twitch involuntarily, the need in his eyes growing with every passing second. Behind you, Minho’s hands caress your hips, and you feel him slowly sink down, placing a couple scattered kisses just above the curve of your ass. 

And then you gasp, followed by a sharp moan, your grip instinctively tightening around Jisung's cock, making him whimper as your fingers curl around his length. The sensation shoots through him, his eyes fluttering shut in pleasure, but your attention quickly snaps to the heat blooming in your core as Minho presses his tongue flat against your throbbing clit. The sudden, electrifying contact sends a jolt through your body, causing your hips to buck back into Minho’s eager mouth, your back arching in response.

He works you expertly, his tongue swirling in slow, deliberate circles, flicking and sucking in just the right rhythm to make your knees weak. Jisung groans at the increased pressure from your hand on his cock, his hips jerking upward as your body reacts to Minho's relentless teasing. The sounds of wetness and muffled groans fill the air, a symphony of desire building between the three of you as Minho continues his assault, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. The intensity of both sensations—Jisung pulsing in your grip and Minho’s skillful tongue driving you mad—has you teetering on the brink of release, your breath coming in ragged gasps as pleasure threatens to overwhelm you. But then, just as the tension coils tight inside you, Minho pulls away, his lips returning to yours. The sudden loss of his touch makes you whine in frustration, but the second you taste yourself on his tongue, it sends a shockwave through your body. The kiss is hot, filthy in the best way, making your entire body twitch with arousal. 

You’re lost in the sensation until Jisung gasps beneath you, breaking the kiss. His voice is a desperate whimper, filled with need. “Please,” he breathes out, his words dripping with lust, “Please… fuck~ sit on my cock. Need to… feel you.” You pull back slightly, your eyes meeting Jisung’s pleading gaze before you glance up at Minho, silently asking for permission. His lips curve into a satisfied smirk as he watches you, dark eyes burning with approval. With a subtle nod, Minho gives you what you need, his hands still resting on your hips as you turn your attention back to Jisung. 

Heart pounding, you position yourself over him, your fingers wrapping around the base of his cock as you hover just above. The anticipation is overwhelming, the feeling of Minho’s eyes on you, Jisung’s needy breath against your skin, and the ache between your legs making you burn with desire. Slowly, you lower yourself onto him, the stretch of his length filling you inch by inch, and both of you moan in unison at the sheer bliss of the connection.

“Fuck, you’re both so hot like this,” Minho nearly moans beside you, his voice thick with arousal. “Fucking in front of me like that.”

His words alone send a pulse of heat through your body, making you grind down harder onto Jisung, who lets out a strangled moan beneath you. The friction between your bodies, paired with Minho’s husky voice, reignites the pooling heat in your abdomen. The pressure inside you builds quickly as you roll your hips, each movement drawing you deeper onto Jisung’s cock, the slick, desperate grind fueling the heat pooling in your core.

It’s as if the tension in Minho’s jeans becomes unbearable all at once, watching you two grind into each other as if your life depended on it. In a matter of seconds, he strips down in one swift motion, tearing off his pants and boxers in a single move until he’s fully naked in front of you. The sight of him—completely exposed, his thick cock standing proudly—makes your breath hitch. It’s bigger than Jisung’s, longer and slightly girthier, with a perfectly smooth shaft and a slightly brownish tip that’s flushed with arousal. The sight is mesmerizing, and your body reacts instantly, your hips moving faster as you grind harder onto Jisung, desperate for more.

Minho pumps his length twice, slow and deliberate, as if just trying to relieve some of the pressure. His hand glides over it, veins bulging slightly as he strokes himself, the tip dripping. Then, with a wicked grin, he crawls over Jisung’s head, positioning himself so close that Jisung has no choice but to tilt his chin up. The whole scene—Minho’s throbbing cock just inches from Jisung’s mouth, your hips moving desperately against Jisung—sends a ripple of electricity through you, making you ride Jisung even harder. The overwhelming sensation of both of your lovers intertwined like this has you trembling with need, your body pushing closer and closer to the edge. 

“Suck,” Minho commands, his voice filled with authority but cracking slightly with how long he’s been left untouched. Jisung doesn't hesitate for a second. His hands fly to Minho’s shaft, wrapping around the thick base, the contrast between his pale fingers and the darker, flushed tip making the sight all the more intoxicating. With a shaky breath, Jisung licks a stripe from the base to the head, his tongue swirling around the tip before he finally takes Minho into his mouth.

The sight is enough to make your knees weak, and the second Jisung’s lips close around Minho, you can’t help but clench around the man under you. The dual sensations of Jisung’s hardness inside you and the intense visual of him submitting to Minho has you teetering on the edge of control. You feel every twitch of Jisung’s body beneath you as he moans around Minho’s length, the vibrations of his voice sending shockwaves through both of you. 

Minho’s head tilts back in pleasure, his hand coming to rest on the back of Jisung’s head, gently guiding him, setting a slow rhythm as Jisung bobs his head up and down. The sight of your two lovers, tangled in this beautiful, erotic scene, pushes you to ride Jisung even faster, your breath coming out in shallow gasps as the pressure inside you threatens to break.

The heat in the room intensifies, the sounds of ragged breaths and moans filling the space as you lose yourself in the rhythm. Your body moves instinctively, his cock twitching inside you as you feel him getting closer. The friction, the pressure, the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins—it’s all too much. You tilt your head back, your mouth falling open in a silent cry as your orgasm crashes over you, your body trembling and tightening around Jisung. 

Jisung feels you clench, and it pushes him over the edge. His hands grip your hips tighter, holding you in place as he thrusts up into you one last time. A deep, throaty moan escapes his lips as he spills into you, his body shaking beneath you. The sensation of his release only adds to the intensity of your own, sending aftershocks rippling through your limbs.

Above him, Minho lets out a guttural groan as Jisung's mouth works harder, taking him deeper. His grip tightens in Jisung’s hair, his hips stuttering forward as his own orgasm builds. With one final thrust, Minho tips over the edge, spilling into Jisung’s mouth with a low growl. Jisung’s lips remain locked around him, taking everything Minho gives, the sight of it so obscene and beautiful that it makes your legs quiver.

Minho lingers for a moment, watching the younger swallow every last drop, making sure he takes it all in before finally letting go. With a satisfied hum, he collapses onto the bed beside Jisung, his chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. The room is thick with the scent of sex and the quiet aftermath of shared release.

You slump against Jisung’s chest, his spent cock still twitching inside you. The oversensitivity sends a soft whine from your lips, your body trembling as the high slowly ebbs away. Jisung, ever tender in these moments, wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his embrace as he presses soft, reassuring kisses to your forehead. “Shh, baby,” he whispers, his voice laced with exhaustion but full of affection. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Minho rolls onto his side, his hand immediately finding its way to your back, drawing soothing circles as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. “You did so good,” he murmurs softly, his voice low and full of warmth. He brushes your hair back from your face, his fingers gentle as they trail through your strands, a silent gesture of care.

Jisung slowly pulls out of you, both of you wincing slightly at the oversensitivity. Minho watches with a soft smile, leaning in to press a final kiss to your shoulder before slowly pulling himself up from the bed, his body moving with languid grace despite the exhaustion settling in. The sound of running water from the bathroom fills the room as Minho wets a washcloth, and a few moments later, he returns with it in hand.

He kneels beside you first, gently spreading your legs to wipe away the sticky remnants of the evening. His touch is soft, almost reverent, as he carefully cleans your sensitive skin, making sure not to cause any discomfort. You sigh in relief, your body relaxing further as he takes his time, wiping away the sweat and slick. “There we go,” he whispers, pressing a tender kiss to your inner thigh before moving on to Jisung.

Jisung lets out a low hum as Minho repeats the process, cleaning him up with the same gentle care. The younger boy shifts slightly under the touch, his chest rising and falling steadily as he basks in the afterglow. Minho’s gaze is soft and filled with affection as he finishes and tosses the cloth aside, adding to the scattered mess of torn away clothes on the floor.

Once everyone is cleaned up, Minho climbs back into bed, pulling you both into his arms, making sure you're comfortable before pulling a blanket over the three of you. 

The room falls into a peaceful quiet, the three of you lying in a warm, comforting tangle of limbs. Jisung’s hand remains on your cheek, stroking your skin in slow, soothing motions. Minho’s breath evens out as he nestles close behind you, his presence grounding. You all lie there in the gentle haze, wrapped in each other's warmth, no words needed—just the quiet intimacy of the moment and the comfort of knowing you are safe, loved, and cherished.

— 

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : whew!! I had so much fun writing this, I hope you enjoyed it, as well!! don't hesitate to let me know what you think, I want to hear all your feedback. :)

HEAVY inspo credit to @skzms , she inspired me so much when formulating the idea for this. she writes so beautifully, please check out her work if you haven't already.

thank you for reading!! more to come soon...

🦋

[messylustt]

v.21.10.23 day eleven: sensory deprivation ( nsfw )

blinded — spider noir ( spiderverse ) : noir knew you had a boyfriend. he knew how wrong his thoughts of you were. but when the opportunity to touch you presented itself, how could he refuse?

marks your boyfriend’s name is kit. noir pretending to be your boyfriend. dub con (you’re consenting but u think it’s ur bf). bondage. eating out. fingering. p in v. blindfold (sight depravation).

“shh.” a man’s voice made your movements cease for a moment your brows furrowing. “…kit?” you ask, your vision black, even as you blink. it must be him. you could then feel his hands skim up your sides. “what are you—“

“just relax.” his voice was merely a low whisper, as his hands found their way under the loose shirt you adorned. it was meant for sleep. you were meant to be asleep. his stroking palms along your skin are sending shivers down your spine. you move to reach up for your eyes, feeling the fabric of a cloth, but he just grabs your wrists, the same type of material now being wrapped around them. “kit…what is this?” but he gives you no answer as he ties your wrists to the head of the bed.

then his hands are on your body again, nudging your shirt up. through his experimental grazes and brushes your core starts to heat up, your stomach contracting. his touches feel more intense, more noticeable without your usual ability to see. then his wandering hands completely leave you, leave you there on your bed to wait, your breathing coming out sharper. you lick your rather chapped lips as you then hear the shuffle of what sounds to be clothing, your ears now trained onto your boyfriend’s breath intake. it’s picking up.

you then feel the bed dip, the subtle creak making your breathing hitch. then your duvet is being pulled back, leaving your legs to curl up, but a pair of knees get in the way, spreading your legs a fraction, before fingers move to grip the waist band of your pajama pants. your hips shift as you move your feet along your sheets, your words seemingly caught. “it’s okay.” he murmurs, lifting your back up effortlessly as he pulls down your pants, leaving you in your panties and nudged up shirt.

it’s silent for a moment. no move or shift can be heard, just breathing. maybe he’s watching you, the thought leaving your thighs to press together. this must be a new kink kit forgot to tell you about. and that’s when he finally moves, placing two hands on your calves and pulling your legs apart. your skin is tingly. the heightened unexpectedness of this seemed to make your pulse beat faster. “kit…” you trail off a little lighter, trying for his name. “hm?” he hums, now gliding his hands all the way up your legs. “keep them open.” his voice is a whisper, almost hard to recognise.

the bed shifts again, as his hand moves to your inner thigh, before pressing against your clothed cunt. you were already wet as your feet shuffled against your sheets. then he begins to rub up and down your panties, pressing harder against your clit when he would pass it. small moans have begun to leave you. all your senses heightened, including touch. “i didn’t know you were into this.” you say, a tad breathless. in response he just rubs in circles, making your head tilt back against your pillow. “stop teasing…please.” you mutter.

he finally slows his fingers movements to slip them into your panties by your hips, pulling them down your legs. this time you lift your hips for him, as your pussy beats with anticipation. with your panties assumably tossed aside you widen your legs again, and you can hear an audible hitch of breath. you slightly chuckle. “it’s not like you haven’t seen me like this before.”

that’s when all of a sudden the bed is dipping closer to you, your legs suddenly being lifted onto a pair of shoulders as his mouth wraps around your clit, immediately sucking, licking and nipping. your head is knocking further back as your hands are clenched in fists in your restraints. “oh…god, kit…” you whimper out. you can feel his tongue slow for only a second before he continues, sucking harsher now. his grip on your thighs is digging in as he laps at your weeping cunt.

he teases your clenching hole with his spit, as he dribbles, only his warm breath felt after. you don’t know what he’s doing. all you want is to push his head back between your legs, your restraints audibly straining against your headboard. “please…babe, please.” your hips buck up, and you can feel his nose graze over your puffy clit, as your breathing quickens.

that’s when you feel two thick fingers instantly insert themselves into you, making your moan sound more like a scream with how much they stretched you. he begins to thrust them in and out, your head turning to the side against your pillow as your hips grind down into his fingers. his mouth is now back on your clit as his fingers curl. “o-oh fuck—“ you babble out as one of his hands creep up under your shirt, his hand splaying across your chest as he plays with your tits.

you can hear him mumble something into your pussy, something that sounds like ‘i’m sorry’. but you must have misheard with your dizzy mind and clear sound of your arousal. you soon reach the brink of an orgasm murmuring anything and begging him to let you cum. he doesn’t disappoint licking at your clit as he fingers you over the edge. all you are right now are your stuttering hips and an open mouth. panting and catching your breath.

you expect him to untie you now. kit’s preferred position was always cowgirl. but your wrists stay restrained, hellbent a little looser with your tugging on them. if you moved enough you could probably slip out of them. but that thought quickly left you the moment you heard the clank of a belt and more shuffling of clothes. “can i?” his voice is yet again an unidentifiable whisper. you nod, widening your legs again. he doesn’t waste time, kneeling between your legs as the sound of his cock slapping against his stomach meets your ears.

you’re pussy is clenching around nothing as you wait in anticipation. his cock nudges against your folds, as you bite your lip. “no teasing, please.” you say, again struggling with the restraints. almost instantly you can feel the head of his cock push into your pussy, making it instinctively clench. he taps at your inner thigh. “loosen up.” he murmurs, as you do your best, relaxing your walls. he pushes further in, and that’s when your mind pauses. maybe you were remembering wrong but kit’s cock didn’t feel as big as this. he was big but not this big.

but his cock is already thrusting inside you, finding your g-spot extremely quickly as you can hear him mutter breathless things under his breath. “so tight…” being one of them, almost in awe. his hands are gripping at your hips, pulling you onto his cock as he fucks you, his body now much closer to yours. fuck. kit’s cock is definitely not this big. the stretch is making you choke on your moans. your restraints are loosening, your consistent tugging making them give. not to mention your sweat making it easier to slip out of them.

all you can feel is pleasure as you try to focus your mind. “k-kit?” you manage. “shh…it’s okay…you’re okay.” he murmurs out a little louder now. wait…that didn’t sound like… you manage to slip out of your restraints and swiftly pull your blindfold off. you meet the gaze of noir. your eyes widen along with your mouth, because his thrusting has quickened inside you, making involuntary whines and whimpers leave you. “noir—“

noir’s gaze darts, he looks almost apologetic. but not enough to slow down as he instead swiftly leans forward and kisses you. “‘m sorry…’m so sorry…you’re just so…” noir murmurs against your lips, not being able to finish, before his kisses move to your cheek and jawline. these kisses are sweet, in contrast with his desperate fucking. “tell me to stop.” he says, brushing some of your hair from your neck as he continues to fuck you. “tell me. to stop.” he says again, this time meeting your gaze.

but when you say nothing, mind a daze as you just stare at him, lips parted, noir mutters obscenely under his breath as his head hits the crook of your neck, his cock twitching inside of you. you should stop this. stop him. but it just… “‘feel so good…” noir mutters into your neck placing sloppy kisses as his thrusts soon match. you let your head knock back as his hand moves down to rub at your clit. “can you cum? i need you to cum...” he says. he wanted you to cum first. “come on, please sweetheart.”

and that’s all it took for more pathetic moans to leave you, your orgasm hitting. noir sighed in relief, finally giving into his orgasm, his body heaving against yours. soon your heartbeats match, as you can feel him slowly pull out of you. you’re in shock, your post-orgasmic state making you gulp. noir’s fingers move to brush over your bottom lip, some of your drool coated there. your gaze is questionable. “i couldn’t...” he mutters, drifting off, as he continues to get your spit all over the pads of his fingers. “even…even if it meant…” his breath is heavy. “…pretending to be your boyfriend.”

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[emmyrosee]

👀

prompt 2 with suna mayhaps?

LITERALLY BARKING-

——-

“Can we talk?”

“That might help.”

Rintaro was anything but subtle when he gets annoyed. It was his way of asking for attention when he was too pissed to do it himself: shoulders hiked up protectively, thumb scrolling and scrolling on his phone without really processing anything he’s seeing. His green eyes swim over the screen, clearly trying to not glower at you.

Silently, you crawl on the bed next to him, sitting next to his extended legs. Your eyes flick nervously, teeth sinking into your lip and fingernails digging into your cuticles. Sensing your timidness, Rintaro groans and looks up from his phone exhaustedly.

“For the love of the gods, I’m not gonna bite you. Quit the theatrics and just say whatever you’ve gotta say.”

His words make you cower in embarrassment just slightly, but you clear your throat and crawl closer to him.

“I’m sorry, Rinnie.”

“For?”

You pout softly, and he looks you up and down cockily, “say it.”

Okay. Now your brow furrows in frustration, and you’re starting to re-hate your boyfriend.

Regardless, to save from another argument, you sigh deeply and rest one of your hands on his legs, gently rubbing the muscles with your thumb. “I’m sorry, Rin, for yelling at you… about… socks.”

“No no,” he interrupts. “You yelled at me, because I left my socks on the bathroom floor after practice, and you called me a disappointment of conception. Which would’ve been hilarious if you didn’t then whip the sock at me in rage. Like, that’s not cool.”

You lower your gaze slightly in embarrassment, “it’s not… I’m not excusing what I said, but I’m just having a bad day. I had to take it out on someone; I’m sorry it was you.”

He shifts slightly in bed before resuming his scroll, “yeah well, it’s whatever now.”

“No,” you whine, “it’s not whatever, I shouldn’t have reacted like that; you just walked in, I should’ve just left it alone.” You move closer to him, and when you gently paw for one of his hands holding his phone, your heart flutters as he laces your fingers together. “You didn’t deserve to get yelled at as soon as you got home.”

“Assaulted,” he corrects, and you poke your tongue in your cheek to try and hide your smirk of annoyance. “You’re lucky I don’t sue you for damages- thin ice, Suna.”

“Oh, last name now, huh? Revoking first name rights, Suna?”

“All I’m gonna say, is Osamu would never treat me so cruelly.”

You snort, “yes he would. But you know what?” You take his phone out of his hands playfully, and he lets you with an expectant look on his face, “I won’t let anyone else bully you except me, baby. Only me, forever. My handsome disappointment of conception.”

He groans, wrapping an arm around you, “lucky me.”

“I’m gonna jam the sock down your throat.”

[bubblewrapsnek]

Phantomarine Reread: Chapter 1

For this chapter I don't have too much to elaborate on so it'll probably be mostly stuff I enjoy about it so uhh enjoy!

Let's begin:

The cover of the chapter is just very fun and good, I love how in a full page what acts as frame is the composition itself, using the rock as both a titlecard, flat space made to have Phae stand out in the centre thanks to less detail around her, and has a couple skeletons climbing on it too making it interacted with the enviorment too, it's just very good, plus lots of cute critters

Bonus, pretty lady with pretty dress

One sword lady just happy to be there, good for her!

Cheth working like a lamp, getting turned off as soon as Phae chickens out is a very good bit xD

Something I also enjoy a lot from this chapter is just how present those godly veins are

You can clearly see them flowing into everything Cheth uses, they work at being somewhat subtle to me, at a first read I just assumed they were for flare, it's a god in the sea hopping bodies, of course he has an aura, but going back they are very consistantly threads coursing through what he touches and moves, around him at all time, and it makes the reveal that those aren't something he causes, but those are HIM very fun to go back to

Also Cheth being so unserious even when angry, giving eyelashes to a t-rex HE CHOSE TO THROUGH A HISSY FIT WITH, THIS GOD CHOSE THE DINOSAUR FAMOUS FOR HAVING TENEE TINY ARMS TO PERK THEM UP AND SHOW ANNOYANCE, love that for them

Something else I want to point out is how Phae is never still, every panel she is moving, posing with dumb bravado sometimes downplaying it a bit, it keeps her expressive and alive even when the obvious main show is Cheth's flamboyance and shapeshifting circus play, and that in itself is also a very fun thing, in a revolving door of actors, the play doesn't loose itself, Cheth's emotions are readable, a character is expressed constantly and flows nicely into a variety of states, and for both of them, keeping this bravado will pay off later in the chapter VERY well

Great visual, the veins themselves working as the smoke, showing he is loosing patience, he is fuming while being underwater

Another bonus point: Extremely rare instance where I find M!Cheth looking hot in a sense of coolness instead of the usual lovely dork clown (he is hot in both ways but this is a different taste)

Plus

The facless crowd of red eyes not playing, smiling or fooling around anymore, they are finally dead set on her, she created a play for them and he provides the pressure of an audience, more than the panel before, with her literally being portrayed in front of the t-rex's mouth, this feels like the maw of the beast surrounding her, sizing her and ready to devour her, ready to have her be part of the facless crowd of observers, very spooky

And this feeling of the maw of the beast pays off, 'cause shit gets real very fast, Cheth doesn't take it lightly and goes for the throat with a question that not only he thinks she would never know, but that hurts so so much, (and also shows what is in his mind when dealing with royalty, not the attacks towards him directly, not the damage to him, but the countless children who have been deprived of a family due to all this). This works as a tone shift, the first, altho minor, payoff from the swagger set up early in the chapter, and this question hits you in the face hard and fast

Cheth's frame while asking this is almost as big as the burden of that knowledge, a question so heavy the panel under it is quite literally being smothered, Phae's face accomapanying the reader who didn't expect the shift

And this leads to another piece of characterization that will come back later, Cheth cares for children, this isn't just a question done to hurt her but it's something he cares for, and why do I say this? well it's something I read not only in what will be said later on in other chapters, but in Cheth's reaction when Phae actually can provide an answer

He is confused, but also looks genuinely worried about her, he is dumbfounded AND concerned for the woman who showed to care about something he thought she would have only superficial empathy towards, for the girl who just admitted to being herself a lost child in grief (little headcanon, the cat showing up is there to be ready to help in case it got too far)

Something else I want to make note of that I find very compelling:

The background, Phae answers and the background goes BLANK, until now it consistantly framed her in either blue or red, either in Cheth's play or taking a step back from it, but now, this is something that wasn't part of his tease, this wasn't something he thought would happen, Phae's care and grief quite literally breaks Cheth's overwhelming, presence here, it feels as if not only is he shocked, but he is giving her a brief moment to breath, letting her have some space for just a moment, I love it

And this also leads to a moment I find very interesting, and I would like to give my reading to

The way I read it as of the time of writing this, is that Cheth has a deep fondness towards humanity, the anathema comic shows a devotion to his love for the people he fares in the afterlife, for the children of man who have all but forsaken him, and here he is ANGRY, but why would he be angry that the king actually cared for said people? I can think of one reason: at this point he has been waiting for a sign for 5000 years, made to sit back and watch for ages the humanity he loves sending their man foolishly to die in a war against him in which he isn't even participating, and I think he might have internalized how the people he loves have accepted a doctrine against him so deeply that they deem the sacrifice of their lives and the suffering of their children as worth less than fighting him. But what does he learn now? that the king, the guide of this war, feels guilt over this, that the mean leading all those people to die had to find a way to cope with how terrible that weight is, that they haven't forgotten how precious the lives of his people are, AND YET HE KEEPS SENDING THEM TO DIE, EXACTLY LIKE THEY DID FOR THE PAST 5000 YEARS. This is beyond foolish, this is pure denial of knowing that what you are doing is terrible, and thinking you can offset it by being kind instead of working on the problem at the root of it, I too would be angry if the man leading those fathers and mothers to abandon their children tried to save his conscience by doing charity instead of preventing those deaths to begin with.

God this came out rant-y, and probably not perfectly worded

Moving on

Remember when I spoke about how the constant expressiveness and bravado of the characters is a great setup, well here we get to the first very big payoff in my opinion

Once again, Cheth's overwhelming red get's completely broken, stark white coral framing the object of something that deeply hits him and breaks his flow, he stops to a screeching halt for the first time, speechless and astounded. without all that overwhelming presence before, all that bravado, this loss of control would hit so much less and it doesn't stop here, no this is the first punch of a two hit combo, the proverbial quiet before the storm

And this also leads to another reversal in their constant duel present in this chapter, up to now all of this has been a back an forth, a dance where Phae responds in kind to Cheth's provocations, and here, she doesn't reflect an attack, but just like Cheth seeing her at a low before had him react with a look of pity, she responds here with the same concerned expression

Sadly, Cheth isn't in a place where vulnerabilty is something that can be helped with pity or comfort, not now

Now all he is, is a raging storm of emotions

And how does he get back control of the scene? he lashes out, he once again becomes overwhelming, the entire scene becomes a vortex of red and anguished faces, Phae's bright yellow gets tinted in a red glow, something deep within him has been touched

And MY GOD is the subsequent page a mic drop, the red slowly drifts to the bottom, her emotions are settling down, there is a moment of reflection and quiet, of many things she probably couldn't hope to think about for such a long time finally piecing together, and with those elements coming into place, here comes a new face that we will come to know along the way, not only is this a new face in the chapter, this is an expression of Cheth's state of mind in my opinion, as we will later learn that the sign he was waiting for, all he is doing and setting up, it was all in the name of a promise made to this face. at least, this is my read atm, we'll have to see how the story unfolds to see how well it fits

Have you ever seen a lady so beautiful you forgot you are dealing with Satan and decided to flirt? Phae sure has

And here we arrive at the reason I said Phae's tired reaction to the death of children was the "minor" payoff to the bravado shown

Cause damn here we get to the main show of her fall

But also, shock factor aside, I want to point out how this is the first truly mean spirited move Cheth has made thus far, the question of children came from a place of care, this is purely mean, nothing can come from being this petty and evil in action, it's almost parody of the demonic figure he gets painted as, almost...

Yeah you all probably know what I'm getting at, this is the first action she takes after learning of the bonefish, of the sign, and we later learn that she actively decided to play up the evil aspect Phae knows her as, painting herself as a disgusting villain because that was the role she thought would work, after all, would kindness and explaining have worked? she is basically programmed to hate them...

And with this Cheth has completely put the curtain back on, the second act of the play has started and they are both the director and the actors, the scene once more tinges itself in overwhelming red as they start their show

After this point the chapter is quite straightforward to me, tho it doesn't shy away from some very neat shots that end up being some of my favourites of the entire chapter

Like this one, it creates a very good feel of having Phae on the backfoot, the textbox itself works in presenting her driven in a corner, against a wall, even amidst a boundless ocean she has no escape, and Cheth taking center stage to the panel also works in establishing them once more in control

Meanwhile, I honestly can't even explain why I like this laugh so much, it's just so visceral, so played to an extreme, the sea itself is laughing, Cheth looks like he could fall over on their back from how the laugh is bending them, you the reader aren't safe from the thunderous laughter as the panel itself breaks down, becoming seafoam, you are seeing them explode over the question of Shoshanna's return and once again, Cheth is playing up a villain, we see later down the line how the argument of Shoshanna breaks them and tears them down, and here I think they are masking it, they play up their bravado to an higher degree than ever before, a villain so incredibly sure of themselves that they can stop and laugh so much they aren't even seeing you anymore, they are completely exposed, not a single shade has their eyes open to keep watch on you

What grief could ever deserve such a boisterous mask?

AND HE KEEPS GOING, HE KEEPS UPPING THE FACADE

He both becomes and rides a wave about to wash Phae away, he both is master of a distaster and the disaster itself, all this part feels like is him deciding to play the villain and putting on his best theatrics to deliver it, they become mean, deameaning, ruthless, the teases don't feel as fun anymore, Phae isn't in a place to make it a back and forth anymore

The chapter starts as an ebb and flow between our main characters, but by the end there is no more pushback, Cheth has become a flood and Phae has lost the ground she was so confidently standing on before

And she manages to get a hold for a last desperate second, she has been pushed so far back in a corner that she lashes out violently, but in the end, even this is futile, in the end...

The tidal wave has crushed her, and she can do nothing but break.

[tinydefector]

Could I at all request something about the car wash / power wash idea you mentioned. I just: my brain is thinking over all the adorable conversations that could happen. The fluff brings me joy. ;0;

Bubbles

Prowl x human reader platonic or romantic

Warnings: none

Word count 1.1k

________________

A huff leaves the human as they stand there tapping their foot while watching Prowl. They had finally swindled him into accepting getting an actual wash done instead of the quick decontamination spray he would normally get. "Are you going to transform or are you just expecting me to scale your frame?" They playful snip at him.

Prowl turned his attention to the human glaring up at him while they tapped their foot, his optics narrowing slightly at their playful jab. "I fail to see the necessity for such frivolous activities," he remarked, his tone sharp and snappy. "My current state of cleanliness is within acceptable parameters."

"Uh huh tell that to all the bugs you have wedged in your grill" they quip back at him as they begin filling a bucket of water as they add in the scented car wash mix.

He remained still, making no move to transform or comply with their request, "If you wish to proceed with this endeavour, you will have to do so without my cooperation," Prowl stated bluntly. He was not one to easily bend to the whims of others, especially when he saw no logical reason to do so. Once finished filling the bucket they flick the water towards Prowl as it splattered across his bonnet. "God you're such a sour puss. I can feel you frown burning into my skin, just transform please"

Prowl's optics flashed with a hint of annoyance at their persistence, The splatter of water across his bonnet elicited a faint twitch in his facial plates, his doorwings fluttering in a subtle display of his growing impatience.

"I do not appreciate being treated in such a manner," Prowl retorted, his voice clipped and cool. "I will not be swayed by your childish antics," Prowl stated firmly. "Don't make me get the powerwasher out" They threaten, standing there still pointing the hose at him waiting for him to transform so they can clean him. Prowl's optics narrowed slightly at the threat, the mention of a power washer eliciting a flicker of concern in his expression. Despite his stoic exterior, the prospect of such a forceful cleaning method gave him pause, the practicality of the situation beginning to weigh on his processor.

With a sighed vent, realising he wasn't going to win this argument, Prowl finally relented, his frame shifting as he transformed into his alternate mode. The sleek and formidable police car now sat before them, ready to undergo the cleaning process they had so adamantly insisted upon.

"This is very unnecessary and wasteful of both our time" Prowl grumbled in annoyance, had any of the other Autobots had been present he would have put up more of a fuss or simply walked off. As the water from the hose sprayed over his newly transformed vehicle mode, Prowl couldn't help but feel a sense of begrudging acceptance for the situation. The human was determined and persistent and had won out in the end, and he found himself secretly admiring their spirit and snark.

"Thank you coppa" they tease before giving his back end a slight slap before they hit him with more water. Prowl's engine hitched as his horn blew from the contact with his rear end. He goes deadly silent and they chuckle at his reaction. Once he had been hosed down enough they turn off the water and grab the bucket of soapy water. They start with his bonnet squeezing the sponge out before lathering Prowl up in a glorified bubble bath.

Despite his initial reluctance, he found himself relaxing into the sensation, the rhythmic movements of their hands soothing in a way that surprised him. hummed softly as the human began to lather him up with soapy water, the gentle touch of the sponge gliding over his bonnet slowly lures a low purr from him. The warm water and soapy suds mingling with the gentle caress of the sponge created a sense of comfort and contentment that he hadn't expected.

"Oh do I hear you purring! And you put up such a fuss over me trying to get you out here for a wash" they shoot back at him, they move further down his frame slowly working the soap into the mudflaps and rims of his tires. "I am not purring," Prowl retorted,had he not been in his alt mode he would have been glaring daggers into them. Though he denied it, the subtle vibrations from his engine betrayed him, a mix of relaxation and satisfaction at the thorough cleaning he was receiving.

"You're a terrible liar you know" they shoot back while continuing to work, dipping the sponge into the water before working at his plating again. Prowl scoffs slightly in response to the playful accusation. "Perhaps you need your hearing checked," Prowl replied, it's a bizarre tease, one he normally wouldn't state but they had him relaxing and were trying to tease him.

They laugh softly as they move down towards his rear, they snicker softly. "You're an Ass, and speaking of that, Nice ass for a cop" they state as if trying to make his processor crash. "Are you done manhandling me and removing my plating with your eye's? " Prowl managed to reply, his voice slightly stilted as he tried to regain his composure. It goes quiet between them while they continue to wash him down.

"So once I'm done with the wash down do you want me to give your Upholstery a vacuum and clean?" They hum as they wipe the bubbles off their arms.

Prowl's engine gave a curious hum. "Only if you can be professional about it," Prowl replied, his voice calm and composed. Despite his former dislike of the idea he was rather intrigued by the offer. The prospect of having his interior upholstery cleaned and vacuumed sounded delightful.

They lean down at his revision mirror as they clean off some webs. "Would you also like one of hanging air fresheners, air vent ones or one which is in a tin that just gets put in the cup holder. And if so what scent would you like? " They inquired with a smile, knowing they had him hook line and sinker at the offer. Prowl does his best to not seem overly eager when he agrees. "Both sound…acceptable," Prowl replied.

"I think I have an Ocean breeze, one or black pine" they state while moving back to hose him down and wash off all the soap of his frame. It makes a difference to his frame taking the dirt and dust off. "I've also got polish, if you want a shine up!" They tease knowing full well he was invested now. "I don't appreciate that there is a 73% chance you are doing this to avoid consequences for something” Prowl relays, but at that point he would deal with it later. “What, I can't just give you a wash without wanting something in return!” They state In fake hurt. “Prowler, I thought we were closer than that!”

“You're not making your case any better for yourself, you are aware” he quirps but allows them to continue.

_____________

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[sminiac]

i’m still thinking about your post from earlier - but i started thinking about it with eunseok who just can’t help but groan into your ear when you clench around him as you’re both trying to sleep. he’d have his arm around your waist, chest against your back .. tries his hardest to keep composed but you just feel so good clamped around his thick cock, takes everything in him to not just beg you to let him fuck you!! instead he decides the best thing he can do is make you beg for him, breathing heavily into your ear, asking you if you’re comfortable and taking note of how your voice waivers a little when you speak.. taking it as his chance to ask you “don’t you think you’ll feel more comfortable stuffed with my cock after you’ve came around it?” .. and you know it’s wrong, you know he’s friends with your ex but you can’t help but press back against him, can’t help but lace your fingers through his that are on your stomach and whimper for him to fuck you. he’s so quick to do it. fingers gripping yours, other hand wrapping around your neck as he fucks you silly. ends up pressing you onto your back and laying his weight on you, wrapping his arm around your neck and fucking you with his face buried in your skin, the way you moan his name just makes him want to fuck you harder .. told you that you’ll sleep better after you’ve came around his cock but he finds himself too insatiable to let you sleep after … promising to make you cum multiple times if you’re willing ….

aha … sorry i’ve been thinking HARD ily cutie 💗

What a thing to wake up to, Melo you, your brain. ILY.

Lemme drop in my 2¢ while we’re at it. I think that since he’d have been waiting to get you to himself for a long time coming that his attitude would be very different to what little you’ve noticed when he’s around the members, he’s still pliant in your presence, beckoned by your word so easily, but the more you pursue something way past a general friendship, or at least a mere acknowledgment of his presence- the more his phlegmatic manner starts to dwindle.

Does his best to keep himself still whilst seated in deep behind you when you’re backed up against his chest, the expanse of it new against your frame, one you find yourself subconsciously curling into more and more, it makes his jaw squeeze, legs strained by trying to hold himself back from driving his hips forward.

Squeezing around him and shifting your hips to see if you can pull out a verbal reaction from him, and though some would be satisfied just with the feeling of his tight grip you need more, need to hear him, to know that he’s enjoying it as much as you are. Is the whole act selfish? Maybe, but you knew that Eunseok being so quick to agree lessened the impact of future consequences for having your ex’s best friend’s cock keeping you full and content for the night.

At first he’d be so short with his words, almost shy in a sense, but once he realizes the mess you’re making all over his thighs under the blanket, and the the subtle rock of your body then he’s suddenly so confident, knowing you’re just as needy as him.

The hand on the neck??? I’m so weak, him pressing wet kisses anywhere he can reach, so eager to please but simultaneously so firm in his voice when telling you to: “Stay still- fuck, like that. God.. feel so good baby.” And the hand resting over your stomach part, gosh, makes me think of him guiding your hand to press further down until you can feel the faint bump of the tip of his cock pumping slowly into you, has you whining, curling your head away in sheer pleasure as he asks: “Y’never felt him here, have you? Ohh, my sweet girl, won’t ever have this spot untouched again.”

Gets off on knowing that even though there was someone there before him that he managed to easily exceed the limits set by your ex, and he’s so vocal about it, wants you to know just how much better he is.

[toomanythoughts2]

Dethklok Agere HCs: Skwisgaar Edition

🎸🐺🦅❄️💃👯‍♀️🌕🥇🎰🩲🎼⚖️🧴🚬⬜💋🍆💦🦴🍒🍑🍌

We're almost at the end, woohoo! The next one up is Skwisgaar 🎸! Him and Nathan will be my hardest challenge because I think they embody a type of regression that is very neutral but also very personalized. Anyway, this Skwisgaar 🎸! I hope to get Nathan's out soon to finish them all off.

Everything is below the Keep Reading tab.

(My blonde, tall guitar god, how I love you so. You did not deserve the shit you got.)

🎸 With Pickles being the oldest out of the bunch regression-wise, Skwisgaar's age range is most similar to Murderface's. He's definitely 5 to 9, usually hanging around the 7 mark. I like to think that a lot of his regression is around the same age from when we see him as a kid in "Fatherklok." which I think is either 7 or 8. Possibly older but still very young.

🎸 Skwisgaar's regression is voluntary, so it's Age Dreaming.

🎸 I like to think that a lot of his regression is about missing childhood experiences, much like Pickles, but less extreme. Instead of being antagonized or willfully ignored like Pickles, Skwisgaar was neglected and forgotten about. Pickles' regression is about redo-ing certain parts of his childhood that were ruined or never explored. Skwisgaar is about filling in those gaps in his childhood with those activities that he never got to do in the first place.

🎸 From a DVD Special, we know a few things about Skwisgaar's childhood. 1. He was so impoverished that he would eat snow for dinner. 2. He worked a regular job at one point in his life before he went into bands, most likely either as a legal working child or a teenager. (I'm saying before because Skwisgaar has a long history of being in other bands before Dethklok. Pickles is the oldest and had a career in Snakes' N' Barrels around the '80's - 90's starting at age 16. Brendon says that Nathan and Skwisgaar are the same age, youngest only to Pickles. That doesn't give us too much room to work with when discussing the time between Skwisgaar joins his first band and him having this regular job. So it makes sense that Skwisgaar would have this job as a minor.) With that understanding, I believe that Skwisgaar had to give up a lot of normal childhood activities that someone with more money and/or free time would experience. Along with his mothers promiscuity, I also believe that Skwisgaar had a very unhealthy living situation in terms of inappropriate sexual behavior and abuse. (I will argue that having sex in your living room with the knowledge that your son would be coming home soon and then not reacting or stopping the men when he walks in, is child abuse. Also, the things in Skwisgaar's in-character interviews scream neglect.) Skwisgaar had to grow up fast in order to survive and disassociated via his guitar.

🎸 The person to first figure out Skwisgaar's regression is Toki. Toki spends a lot of time with Skwisgaar, both regressed and not, and is very observant of his character. He notices the shift in Skwisgaar when Pickles is being particularly "motherly" around Toki. Almost like he's expecting Pickles to wipe his face at dinner or put his hair in a ponytail so it's out of the way.

🎸 Toki doesn't bring up his findings at first. He sits and watches for these shifts in his character to gather the evidence that he is regressing. After a while of watching and confirming his suspicions, he decides to put his last piece of his plan into motion. While not regressed, he copies some of Pickles' caregiver movements on Skwisgaar. They're really subtle but so is Skwisgaar's shift. Afterwards, Toki does confront Skwisgaar about it alone.

🎸 This is where Skwisgaar is different from Toki, Pickles, and Murderface. Skwisgaar did not start regressing until he started being around Toki, Murderface, and Pickles as regressors. Skwisgaar is making the conscious choice of regressing and letting himself relax under the ministrations of his bandmates. He is choosing to regress as a way to cope with his trauma and stress. Before this, he did not use regressing. He mostly used sex and playing guitar before, both coping mechanisms that he still utilizes even after he starts regressing. One could argue that Skwisgaar is experimenting with regressing and has found favor in the method.

🎸 I'm going to just say that I'm using the way these posts are published as the timeline for when each member comes out. So it would go Toki, Murderface, Pickles, Skwisgaar, Nathan. With these being said, when Skwisgaar does tell the band, they are all very supportive of him, and were already expecting it. This, of course, elicits a trip to Dr. Twinkletits by Charles since Skwisgaar decided on his own that he was going to use regression to cope. Charles has everyone's best interest in heart and wants Skwisgaar to utilize this approach the best way possible.

🎸 Skwisgaar's regression is weather based. Most of his regression happens when it's winter time, especially if it snows. I wouldn't say it's a trigger for him, but more so, a relaxer. It's easier for him to regress when it's cold and snowy and reminds him of his childhood.

🎸 Skwisgaar does not have tantrums like Pickles, Toki, or Murderface. He learned from a young age that tantrums never got him anywhere, in fact, it took the few things he had away. So he is very quiet. When he's upset with something, he goes almost completely mute. He tries to focus on his guitar playing ("Dethmas" "Dethfam") instead of the thing that made him upset. Pickles and Nathan try to work Skwisgaar through those emotions and get him to talk about what made him so upset. The point of regressing is to convey emotions that otherwise wouldn't come out. They want to know what's wrong, or at least convince him that it's ok to tell them what has made him upset. He is allowed to be upset by things and show that emotion. Skwisgaar is still very unsure about this and hasn't opened too much.

🎸 Recognizing when Skwisgaar is regressed is very hard because of his vast age range and the personalities of these ages. He emulates the type of person he was at the age when he regresses because he doesn't know exactly how else to regress to those ages "normally" (I say that in the context that he grew up very fast, thus skewing his perception of childhood.) The only one that can clock it is Toki. He's spends most of his time watching Skwisgaar and copying him that he's able to notice when something changes, like his demeanor or his stance or even his playing.

🎸 When Skwisgaar regresses, so does his guitar playing. His fingers know the cords, but they become looser, freer. Like someone who hasn't disciplined themselves on correct finger placements yet or someone who is still struggling with sweeping. Skwisgaar doesn't notice the change, and if he does, he doesn't change it. The music and the way he plays helps him regress, if he wants to willfully regress.

🎸 Skwisgaar has some thoughts on what he missed out on as a child but most of it is very vague. Unlike Pickles who wanted re-dos of birthdays, Skwisgaar wants not-so memorable activities. The band has been able to find a few of these activities, like playing in the snow, having a movie night, or having a family dinner. But there are looser activities like someone brushing his hair after a shower, someone reading his original works and giving him feedback, or someone holding him when he's sick. In regards, Skwisgaar's regression is very similar to Toki in terms of wanting "normal" activities. The band works hard to fulfil these requests as often as they can.

🎸 Sometimes Skwisgaar regresses in hopes of doing one of these activities and other times he regresses while he's already doing the activity. For example, sometimes he will regress before going outside in the cold in hopes that someone will force him into warmer clothes and help him put on his jacket and hat and gloves. However, sometimes he's not regressed and wants to go outside when it's cold but is forced into warmer clothes, causing him to regress.

🎸 Do not bring up his mother when he is regressed. It's banned.

🎸 Skwisgaar is very conflicted about caregivers. When he regresses, a lot of it is about wanting to be cared for by someone, particularly a parental figure. He does want a parental-role caregiver however, he is scared of parental role figures. He is also very angry at caregivers. His own experiences with parents and would-be parents have made him apprehensive and dismissive of them. But the want to please, to be seen, to be acknowledge is all still there. He fights it all the time.

Sometimes the want for a caregiver wins and other times the apprehensive side wins. The band tries to give him the space to make that decision on his own. They consider the apprehensive side as another portion of his regression, one that calls for how Skwisgaar wanted to act toward his parental figures and would-be parental figures as a child. It's like being able to finally get back at your parents for when they hurt you. So sometimes, the band acts like caregivers to give Skwisgaar the freedom to "tell them off" like how he wanted to as a kid. His regression is complex in that way that the band as caregivers are acting as their own, individualized caregivers and "roleplaying" as past parental figures. They conceptualize different type of adults in Skwisgaar's life, ones that he wants approval from and ones he wants to completely ignore.

🎸 Skwisgaar was an only child growing up but always longed for a sibling. Regression grants him that wish. He loves to regress when the others are regressed, and loves having them act as his siblings, as either older or younger siblings. He likes being around Pickles when they're regressed because it feels like he has a cool older brother that he look up to and hang out with. He likes being around Murderface because he always has the coolest toys that he never got growing up, and (surprisingly) Murderface shares very well with his toys. Skwisgaar likes being around Toki because Toki still looks up to Skwisgaar and likes to ask him questions about his guitar, and Skwisgaar loves talking about his passion. He loves having siblings to be a child around.

🎸 Skwisgaar doesn't want discipline initially because his regression is so controlled and experimental. However, the longer he does it for and the less conscious it becomes, he does warm up to the idea of discipline. Granted, it's usually just a verbal warning but he did get popped on the back of the head once by Pickles for being a little mean to Toki when he was really small. Skwisgaar decided he probably deserved it because he was being a bit meaner than normal. They are not allowed, otherwise, to do anything else. There are no timeouts or physical punishments, just verbal warnings and scolding's.

🎸 Skwisgaar is open to utilizing regression supplies, he's just very hesitant. A part of him still feels a little silly for being a grown man acting like a child, but the others try to encourage his curiosity. Toki is always willing to talk to him about his supplies and tools, and how they make him feel or how he uses them. He tests out different clothing too to help get him in the right headspace. So far, he's alright using child-friendly cutlery meant for children not toddlers. They make him feel special because nothing in his own house was dedicated or bought specifically with a child in mind. He used all grown up stuff, not the child friendly versions. So things that are made with a child-friendly version, he likes, such as CF! Toothbrushes and toothpaste, CF! Tablets, and CF! guitars. He likes sippy cups with the lids or straws, especially bendy straws (His mom never let him get bendy straws). He likes the graphic tees with his special interest on it, which becomes his biggest signal that he wants to regress. He doesn't like bottles or things meant for toddlers, like Toki. But he will play with a few of his toys simply out of curiosity, like wooden matching puzzles or rings. He won't use a pacifier but has been found sucking his thumb when he's deep in his regression.

🎸 Skwisgaar parallel plays the most out of the band. Sometimes he just likes doing his own thing while the others are doing their own thing. The problem is that Toki always wants to do what Skwisgaar is doing, especially if he's regressed. Skwisgaar has learned to call over Pickles, Nathan, or Charles to get Toki when he wants to be alone. Toki has learned to sneak better. They can come to a truce if Toki gives Skwisgaar two feet of space and is quietly observing Skwisgaar.

🎸 There is no sex allowed in Mordhaus when Skwisgaar is regressed. This goes for all of them but it's especially true for Skwisgaar. Because Skwisgaar grew up in a house that was so sexually inappropriate, those sounds or visuals are serious triggers for him. The band made this a rule when Toki started regressing involuntarily. But when Skwisgaar started regressing, they realized that even the mention of sex would trigger him or it would take him out of his regression. The only time where the rule was broken (accidental) Skwisgaar freaked out so bad and hid in a closet with his guitar. He would have completely ran out of the house if the door to outside was closer. He doesn't want to be back inside that house as a child, he wants to be in HIS house as a child.

🎸 Skwisgaar has found comfort in cartoons from his childhood and will watch them when regressed. He loves Moomins, Tintin, and Babar! Toki will often join in and watch with him. Pickles thinks that maybe Tintin is a little too advance for Toki but Skwisgaar tells him that Toki isn't even really paying attention. He just likes to snuggle up with Skwisgaar and watch the TV with him, regressed or not. Nathan gifts him a Moomins plush as a surprise one day to help him regress. Nathan gifted Toki Snufkin as his companion piece.

🎸 Skwisgaar is experimenting with how much help he wants with his regression. For example, he doesn't know if he wants Pickles to cut up his food for him, feed it to him, wipe his hands, clean his face, ect. Or if he wants more independence where he gets his plate and eats by himself and cleans himself off but Pickles comes by to do "touch ups" or reminders. It's like direct help vs. indirect help. He likes to do things independently but enjoys being dotting one from time to time. But he doesn't like everything being taken over for him, he likes do things independently. But he likes encouragement and observation to things he cares about. He also likes "advice" where someone will tweak something he's already doing to be more effective, like helping him with finger placement on his guitar or showing him to brush at the bottom of his hair, not the middle. He likes the idea of someone checking up on him and making sure he's alright when he's playing by himself. He's not too sure about bathing help. Murderface did bathe him once before ("Fatherklok") and it wasn't a bad feeling, but he wasn't in the right mindset to really dissect his feelings about it. He's working all of these out in real time so the band is constantly succeeding and failing at it.

🎸 Nathan has had both guitarists regressed before one either side of him, cuddling up watching a movie. Toki is a quiet babbler and was talking to himself through most of it. Skwisgaar was quiet through most of it because he was busy sucking his thumb. Nathan just wanted to eat his chips but if he tried to move his hands off either of their backs, it would cause a chorus of negative noises. They ended up falling asleep like that. Pickles has a photo on this on his phone and refuses to delete it.

🎸 Skwisgaar loves playing Rock Band guitar. He makes Toki sing and Murderface play drums. Skwisgaar will not let either of them play bass guitar. He is the only guitarist.

🎸 Skwisgaar has accidently regressed after a concert before. He as busy taking off his corpse paint when Pickles came over and helped him remove some of it that got in his hair line. It sent him reeling with how good it felt to be cared for like that and spent the rest of the night glued to Pickles.

🎸 Speaking of Pickles, because Pickles is the "mother" of the band, Skwisgaar has an affinity toward him. He's got a really shitty relationship with his mom and he's aware of it. He does not like his mom, not one bit. He wants another person to be his mom or be motherly to him. So, it's only logical that Pickles would take that role. Skwisgaar does not use different names for people when he's small, but he has, from time to time, called Pickles "Mom" and, on rarer occasions, Nathan "Dad".

🎸 When it snows, Skwisgaar loves to play outside. He gets everyone out there to build snowmen and have snow ball fights and make snow angels. Pickles, being from the midwest, and Toki, being from Norway, handle the snow very well and can play the longest. Nathan and Murderface, both southern American boys, don't. They can handle it for a little while but need to go back inside when things get too cold for them. Skwisgaar also has a nasty habit of sneaking snow down people's shirts. But it's ok, Pickles is known for grabbing his sides with his cold hands as punishment. By the end of it, Skwisgaar is very regressed, happily, and will be for the rest of the day. It usually ends with a warm shower, soup, and a good movie.

🎸 Skwisgaar is insanely jealous that Toki gets read to at night because he wants to be read to. Murderface has more or less the same feeling, not because he wants anyone to put him to bed and read to him, but because he wasn't offered it. Skwisgaar used to see other kids on TV get read to by their parents and wanted that for himself. His mom hardly ever knew where he was at "bed time" let alone put him there. But Pickles is observant and so now they have group bed time story time for everyone. Murderface comes and goes when he wants, but Skwisgaar likes it because it matches up to the idealized version of childhood from his mind. Toki is ok with it but likes it better when it's just him and Nathan.

🎸 Skwisgaar and Toki have gotten into a yelling fight over Pickles before being their "Mom". It's just a regressed version of "Stops Copies Me" but about who had Pickles as his mom first. Skwisgaar said it was him first because he joined the band first, so Pickles was his mom first, but Toki says that Pickles is his mom first because Toki is the first person Pickles acted "motherly" too and the person Pickles is a legit caregiver too. Pickles had to separate them and give the "I love you both equally and are both of your moms" talk. Toki and Skwisgaar don't buy it.

🎸 Skwisgaar finds school supplies and busy work to be soothing. He likes the idea of sitting down and doing homework as a part of his regression. He remembers the calmness of doing homework at his kitchen table or sitting in class, and he misses it. Charles has a desk in his office just for Skwisgaar to do elementary level assignments. Sometimes it's math problems, sometimes it's history "fill-in" work sheets, sometimes it's science. He likes the repetitiveness of it. Charles even found some basic-level music class worksheets for him to do about tempo and the scales. Charles always grades them as well and gives them back to Skwisgaar. He's a steady A/B student.

🎸 The further Skwisgaar gets with his regression, the more likely he will let himself slip without noticing it. Which is usually fine, until he realizes that he's slipping when others slip, especially Toki. And since Toki is a involuntary regressor, that means that sometimes he finds himself slipping in public. In these cases, Skwisgaar has been recorded by the public doing non-typical adult-minded Skwisgaar things. Though, a lot of it revolves around being a "big brother" to Toki, or sometimes Murderface.

🎸 Skwisgaar and Murderface will sneak off to watch scary movies and eat junk food when they're regressed and then cry to Pickles when they get scared or have tummy aches. Nathan finds this hilarious that they both do that both regressed and not. Pickles finds it incredibly annoying but also endearing that they find him a safe space.

🎸 Skwisgaar gets scared easily when regressed. He's flung multiple things out of his hands and jumped more time then he can count. This isn't a trauma thing, he just gets easily spooked.

🎸 Murderface and him will read comic books together in silence or while listening to music. Skwisgaar has a preference for The Crow, Sandman, Thor, Tintin, and Asterix. He also likes the Smurfs but feels silly reading them so he'll only read them in private.

🎸 A memorable time while regressed was when he got really sick with the flu. He thought he would just lay in bed for a few days, take some medicine, eat, and sleep until he got better. However, Pickles wasn't having it. Skwisgaar was looked over and pampered by his band mates so much that he doesn't ever remembered consciously regressing, he just let it happen. They all took turns looked out for him. Pickles would rub his head while laying down to help him sleep and measure out his medicine for him. Toki made sure to bring bendy straws for his drinks and help him eat his soup. Nathan helped him get clean sheets on his bed so they wouldn't smell "sick" and religiously checked his temperature. Murderface would help clean him up and wash his face and hair. He was so regressed during this time that he hardly spoke and only requested his bandmates to take care of him, not the klokateers. Pickles held his hand when he went back to the doctor to do a check up.

🎸 He practices doing hair on Toki and Nathan. Sometimes it's good. Most of the time, it's not. But he does like to brush hair so it's at least brushed really well when he plays.

🎸 Because he is experimenting with regressing, he's also experimenting with ages. He has tried regressing as low at Toki, so there have been days where he tried being bottle fed or used a pacifier or act like a toddler. But those never felt right to him. The opposite is also true. He's tried being like Pickles, a bit more "grown up" but that doesn't work either. He doesn't want to be in that age range because it reminds him too much of having to grow up fast.

🎸 He needs help restringing his guitar when he's regressed. He always manages to snap his fingers.

🎸 He doesn't like having his hair down when he's small, he needs it up. So he usually puts it in a pony tail or Nathan puts it up in a claw clip or a bun. Claw clip isn't the favorite method though because Skwisgaar has fallen backwards and hurt himself on the clip.

🎸 Skwisgaar and Pickles have sleep overs in Skwisgaar's room. Both of them are usually regressed with Skwisgaar looking at Pickles like he's the coolest dude in the world. They also practice guitars a lot when they're regressed, so it feels like he's able to connect with someone.

🎸 Skwisgaar always wants fish or soup when he's small. Something about it just reminds him of home. Jean Pierre has become an expert on Swedish dishes, and even Toki has said that some of his dishes are better than the Norwegian version.

🎸 The guitarcicles in the freezer are for Skwisgaar only and he will throw a fit if one of them are gone. (They are never gone, no one likes them but him.)

🎸 He gets shy if you compliment his guitar playing. He doesn't know why persay but it makes him get butterflys.

🎸 He has used his height for evil and will hold things above Toki, Murderface, Pickles reach when he doesn't want them to have it. Nathan usually comes by and takes it from him.

🎸🐺🦅❄️💃👯‍♀️🌕🥇🎰🩲🎼⚖️🧴🚬⬜💋🍆💦🦴🍒🍑🍌

🎸 Toki and Skwisgaar will take outside naps together when they are small. If it's winter time, they will snuggle in one sleeping bag to conserve heat.

🎸 Car rides put Skwisgaar to sleep. The movement reminds him of moving all the time with his mom and the calmness before the shit storm.

Here we are once again! I hoped you enjoyed, Skwisgaar was a challenge. I do love him though :) If you have any other HCs, don't hesitate to tell me!

[callmelyc]

Just gonna start cross posting every single bit of Twitter nonsense soooo

Lance joining Keith on blade missions post war and calling him "Captain" in the most flirty tone. He does this during meetings and such just to make Keith blush or stutter in his words.

The first time lance does this it catches Keith so far off guard his reaction isn't at all subtle.

"Excuse me, Captain~" Lance all but purrs the title in that lovely lilting tone of his and Keith damn near chokes on his own spit right in front of a room of BOM personel.

He clears his throat best he can trying to gather himself- because what the fuck- "y...yes Lance?"

"What if we went in teams of two? That way at least two people could tackle that northern section there."

Keith turns to look at the map, fluster momentarily forgotten, and sees Lance is right it would make more sense.

So plans are changed with unanimous agreement and things move on.

The flirtatious captain is forgotten until it happens again, this time in the halls.

Keith is talking to a commander for one of the resistance outpost when he feels a presence slide into his side so smooth and efficiently he nearly ignores it.

He knows it's lance, it always was, and he's more surprised by the fact Lance stays so silent.

It's not until the Commander, a man named Zyre, starts to comment on lack of trust that Lance speaks up before Keith can even get a word.

"Excuse me Commander but I can assure you Captain Kogane has it all under control" he says it with a charming smile that seems to ease all of Zyres worries.

Keith never knows how he managed it with such ease and simplicity, to calm someone's worries as if it's his living purpose.

He watches as the two talk, ending with a light laugh and a kind goodbye.

As the commander leaves Lance turns to look at him, blue eyes sparkling like the ocean "what's wrong Captain?" And there it is again that flirtatious sing song of his title that makes Keith gulp. A tanned hand smoothly slides up Keiths arm making his mouth run dry "cat got your tongue?"

Keith fights the flaming blush rising up his cheeks, he turns to rush away in place of a reply knowing it was far more incriminating thid way.

If he hears Lances twinkling laughter as he turns the corner Keith makes nothing of it.

The third time is, unfortunately for Keith, during a joint BOM and Atlas meeting.

Griffin was arguing the benefit of using some of his crew alongside one of the other branches of the resistance and it was draining Keith's patience to no end.

Sure they get along now, somewhat, but that didn't mean he found James particularly pleasant to listen to.

He drones on and on about the efficiency and things he'd already covered in his pitch but despite a good amount of the room being a tad annoyed no one seemed willing to stop him...yet

That's when Keith sees It, the look™ on Lances face and he knows oh God does he know.

Lance smiles when he notices he's caught Keiths eye and tosses him a knowing wink.

Keith fights everything in him not to groan as Lance shifts to cut Griffin off without even looking at the guy. Those blue eyes zeroing in on Keith from across the room with terrifying accuracy and focus.

"Captain Kogane" he says oh so sweetly it shuts everyone up in an instant. Lance even bats his lashes for extra effect because his new favorite thing to do is apparently publicly torture Keith.

"I-" Keith starts far too distracted to even notice the way some have started giggling at his demise. Too far gone for this boy that his loss for words is so heavy for something so small.

"You had a contact in that Sector didn't you? Why not utilize them?"

It's not until after the meeting that Keith realizes others have taken notice to Lances....well, whatever it is he's doing.

Keith tries to ignore the look, the whispers, the focus. He really does. But then Shiro has that shit eating grin on his face as he walks up next to him and Keith would rather be literally anywhere else.

"So Captain Kogane huh?" Shiro asks smugly.

Keith glares at him "shut it grandpa, he's just being respectful."

That makes shiro snort "yeah sure respectful is definitely the word for that."

Keith reserved to say nothing as they walked to the cafeteria and did his best to ignore every giggle and whisper thrown as he passes.

If he thought that was bad he wasn't ready for the way people mockingly called him Captain at lunch. They'd say it with that same flirty lit and over the top gestures that made his skin crawl. Its not in a mean way, he knows. It's more in the they were clearly mocking Lances tone kind of way and Keith found that unacceptable.

It irked him to no end. If they were gonna poke fun at him fine! But don't bring lance into it.

So Keith did the only rational thing left. He left the cafeteria.

He tracked down Lance because even if he was the cause of the teasing Lance was still far better company than anyone else on this god forsaken ship.

He found him in the ships artificial courtyard humming to himself as he played with the vines.

He sits next to Lance enjoying the simplicity of the moment since they usually don't get much time like this and returns the smile Lance throws his way. It's comforting when they're together like this. Just the two of them with no prying eyes or mission discussions.

"What brings you here Samurai? I would've thought you'd eat lunch with Shiro."

Keith huffs a bit "with everyone jokingly calling me Captain I'd rather sit somewhere relaxing."

Lance frowns "do...do you not like being called Captain?"

Keith looks at lance dumfounded, he's unable to reply before lance continues "should I stop?"

"NO!"

The two look at eachother wide eyed for a moment.

A beat pases.

Two.

Lances surprise fades into a small smirk, a dangerous understanding filling his eyes "oh so you do like it when I call you Captain?"

"I- well..." He stutters trying to fight the rising heat on his ears. Keith wouldn't dare admit it out loud he can't. He can't give lance a weapon like this, his heart wouldn't survive.

But despite the lack of voicing his agreement Lance picks up on it anyways. Those sharp eyes always on target, lazer focused, and amused much to Keiths dismay.

Lance chuckles standing to leave "well, I'll see you around then Captain~"

And Keith has never wanted to smack himself more for being such an oblivious idiot.

[the-slasher-files]

[[CALL OF DUTY]]

THESE BOYS - HEADCANONS

Hi friends! Welcome to my new fixation lol. I just wanted to start out with some headcanons just to kind of bulid them how I would like... Hope you enjoy🔪💕

MASTERLIST

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY

As he says in the game, Simon has a heart, a very cold one, however to the people he truly loves and holds close you get to see his heart and it is one of gold. He is a man that has seen a lot in life and been through too much bad that he thinks there is no way he could ever be good or meant to find love, however that is completely untrue and sometimes Simon needs that reminder. It may take a solid year before he even smiles at you under the mask or let alone share a deep conversation with you. It takes a long time for him to trust, but when he does, you are his family. No if ands or buts.

Because of this Simon has a very small social circle. Ghost knows many due to work and connections, people he has worked for and favours he'd have favours to return, however Simon only knows a couple people, truly knows them. And when he knows you he reminds all of your subtle mannerisms, your childhood stories, want you like and what you hate. No detail will be forgotten and it is a pleasure to know him.

Ghost watches everything.... absolutely everything. On missions you often see him stepped aside or behind the others but that definitely doesn't mean he will stand there and take it, we all know that well, and at home is no exception. He likes to observe you in all ways from making your coffee in the morning to just watching you get ready for bed. This carries over into the bedroom, that's right, Simon loves to give orders and watch you do so much for him. You're his perfect little baby and he wants to see you a mess.

Also one of his favorite things is to have you sit in front of him and please yourself, watch you struggle to get the feeling only Simon can give you. Normally he doesn't have the patience of a God but for moments like these he will take his time to watch you fall apart for him only because Simon knows the world of pleasure and pain he will give you after.

Surprisingly however, this man is an incredibly giving person behind closed doors, just for you to see. Simon enjoys getting you little gifts after long grueling missions, buying your favorite food, he just doesn't like the kind of gifts that are overly showy like walking around with a bunch of flowers is not his style. Speaking of giving behind closed doors, Ghost loves to push you to your absolute limit in the bedroom, with all his observations of you he takes every little hint and move forward to get the best results so to speak. He simply cannot get off if you haven't at least twice before him.

However, do not let that pleasing and giving nature in the bedroom lull you into a false sense of security because Simon is a big fan of edging you over and over again, making you cry and squeal, hit him and claw at him, he wants to see/hear it all. Ghost is a sadist after all (just not as much as König).

Nights are the hardest for him, even though he will never admit it. Simon has a horrendous time trying to sleep and when he finally does it is very light, waking up if he hears a truck pull up or if you move too much in bed. No matter what you try he will just brush it off and say "Nothing to worry 'bout, love" but it does worry about you. Often times you will try to stay up with Simon and he appreciates it everytime but will always hush you to bed and watch you on his chest.

KÖNIG

He may have severe social anxiety but when he is out in the field he gets so hopped up on adrenaline and stress that he becomes outgoing and more than capable of everything the mission needs, even becoming a leader when he needs to be. The problem comes when he is on the bases and in meetings, he shifts a lot in his seat, bounces his leg and even nibbles on his lips so badly they begin to bleed behind the mask. Even when König is home, the anxiety sets in so he relies on trying to keep constantly busy so he doesn't have to sit with his own thoughts.

With that, he surprisingly has a major caffeine addiction, it keeps him awake, alert and oddly makes him calm when he is on that high. Always the day has to begin with a black coffee then a redbull then whatever else he can get his hands on, even if he is on a mission König will try anything for energy drinks.

Although this man is a mountain, good luck keeping him still and being able to relax for the day. König will try for you to have a relaxing day on the couch and just watching movies, however, he just finds it impossible. If you want a day in bed, he doesn't have an issue but it just means you will be getting busy the whole time.

König is a big boy and that doesn't mean his stamina is low, no, no. It's the absolute opposite. One round is never enough for him, never, ever. When he gets home to see you, there is no way you are getting out of the primal, animalistic urges he has. There is a reason his name is "king", he always gets what he wants in not exactly the softest way. König's energy is more rough and needy, desperate I'm a way as he takes you in anyway possible, even forcing you to take it when you can't any longer. The man loves to use ropes as well, tying your writhing body down to watch you beg and cry with overstimulation as me makes you cum over and over, forcing you and breeding you animalistically. It will be hours before his knife comes out to cut the ropes and lap up any blood that comes from it.

Speaking of knives and blood, König has an honest love for it. He is gross the field, brutal and a 250 pound beast. His passion for knives is unmatched and sees pleasure in the kill when he plunges the blade within a body or when he gets a sniper shot.

König might be a huge mountain with anxiety, a passion for the thrill of the kill, often a stubborn bastard who can be a prick and his the libido of a God but when König finally finds his partner as awkward as he might be at first, he falls hard and is full of fire, feeling deeply and truly just wanting someone to talk with on the nights he can't sleep, although he sleeps like a fucking immovable rock. Now, you won't go out much to bars or movies or restaurants for dates, he just loves the quiet places and long drives.

[steviewashere]

This may be a bit out there request (also feel free to ignore) for a small oneshot, but can I request some pure steve angst? him and hop sharing a drink, no ships, just two dudes talking about shitty things that have happened to them over the past few years. My boy desperately needs a father figure.

Okay, I'm so sorry this took so long to answer. I literally started writing it, forgot about it, and then came back and couldn't think of anything. And I also didn't have Hopper share too much, but I hope this suffices some. This was a fun challenge. <3

Pairing: Steve Harrington & Jim "Chief" Hopper CW: Discussion of Canon Traumatic Events, Brief Mention of Canon Violence Tags: Post-Canon, Post-Season 4, Angst and Hurt/Comfort

🫂—————🫂 He’d been sitting outside with his head between his knees for the better part of half an hour when the door creaked open behind him. Even as the footfalls, heavy and slow, made their way towards him, Steve didn’t dare drag his eyes up. Kept them securely at his feet. To the wooden step underneath him. On the off chance that whatever world existed around him was a mirage.

The person sits down next to him with an unceremonious grunt. Their breaths are as heavy as their steps. A swallow clicking in their throat, probably dry and overused. Something chilled is pressed against his denim clad thigh. And that’s when Steve finally draws enough effort to look up.

Hopper sits hunched, head pointed at the trees beyond his cabin, eyes darting between them. In his right hand is an offered, cold bottle of beer. A firm outstretched bridge. And Steve tentatively takes it. He’s not quite old enough to be partaking in this, Hopper should know that, but also—he’s not the chief anymore, is he? So, why should he care?

His beer is already uncapped when he raises it to his face. Knocking it back and taking it in with a deep swallow. The foam churning on his tongue, sugary between his teeth, and moist on his lips. He heaves a sigh. Mutters, “Thanks.”

Another bottle is drank from. The slosh against the sides of the glass an easy sound. Hopper smacks his lips together. “Looked like you needed one,” he states gruffly. A swig. “God knows I did with all that damn commotion in there.”

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs back, “it’s too loud for me.” He takes a small sip at his drink. Shifts the bottle back and forth between his palms, relishing in the crisp condensation on his skin. Begins to pick at the label where it looks like it’ll peel away easily, if he just gave it his full effort. “I don’t even know why I came over. I can’t stand noisy shit.”

“Feel like the old Steve Harrington that I’ve met would say otherwise,” Hopper muses. Instead of dignifying it with a response, Steve just nods his head in silent agreement. Because yeah, pre-November, 1983 Steve would be doing keg stands and chanting at the top of his lungs. Not moping around on the front porch of the ex-chief of police. Sharing beer of all things.

The noise inside the house floats out from under the crooked front door. A mixture of birdsong and laughter. The subtle soft chirps of crickets beginning to wake up. It’s good outside, the air cold on Steve’s face and the sun nearly set. He takes a deep breath and just absorbs.

“Sometimes,” Hop starts softly when their shared silence stretches too long, “sometimes I look at you and see myself.”

Steve swallows around nothing. “That a good thing?” He asks just as quiet.

“No,” Hopper answers honestly. “You look like you’d rather be under the dirt than be anywhere. There’s…you’re a lonely lookin’ nineteen year old.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, well—“ Steve sighs. “—maybe I’d rather that. All things considered, Hopper.” There are eyes on him, he can sense them through the aching joint of his left shoulder. They burn him. It hurts to have attention like this on him, after so much time alone. And he knows that he’s got Robin and the party members—he’ll maybe have Eddie if he pulls through in the hospital. But that doesn’t make his house any less silent, or his parents’ room any less dusty, or his bed any less cold.

“You got anybody you can talk to, kid? Outside of Robin?”

Steve sniffs. Picks at the label on his beer bottle. Tries not to notice his shaking hands. “Who ‘m I gonna talk to?” He asks lowly. “A shrink is gonna think I’m crazy, put me away. And y’know how my parents are. They aren’t going to believe me, let alone listen.”

Hopper’s leg bumps his. Beer bottle clinking against the porch as he sets it down. He ducks down, enough to make direct eye contact with Steve. His eyes are fierce, yet inviting and soft. Steve’s stomach churns. “Talk to me, then. You need an adult who will understand you? I’m right here.”

He scoffs. “What do you want me to talk about?”

“Anything. Everything. Something, Steve.” A hand lands gently on his shoulder. The warmth a lull, a sweet thing. And something inside of him begins to melt. But he doesn’t say anything, still. Hopper sighs long and winded. And the touch dissipates, leaving Steve drifted and yearning.

Behind them, Hopper’s cabin swells with noise. That raspy laugh of Robin’s. And Mike’s honk snorting. Even Jonathan is adding something, a few loud comments here and there. “I can’t believe we won!” Dustin crows and the others join in intense agreement. And Steve wonders why he can’t celebrate like they can. What happened to him. Where his joy lays in all this.

Hopper sips his beer again, looking out at the trees once more. Smacks his lips together. “I don’t know how to celebrate this shit,” he admits quietly. “I’m…Part of me is excited to not see my girl use those powers of hers again. To hopefully see her hair grow out. But another part of me is—I just remember all the bad shit that happened before we got to this point.”

“Yeah,” Steve croaks. He gulps a good third of his beer in one go. The sour bitterness of the drink burning his throat alive. When he pulls the bottle away, he absentmindedly rubs at the dark red demobat scar on his neck. “Especially when my body remembers and is covered in my failures,” he mutters.

Beside him, Hopper makes a noise of agreement. A hum. A grunt sort of thing. “I used to be a fat guy.” He half-heartedly chuckles. “Now I’m just this skinny dude with real short hair and the eyes of a World War Two soldier.”

Steve snorts. “And I used to have plain, blemish free skin. Now look at me, Hop.” He gestures loosely at his own face and neck when Hopper does turn and look over. “No amount of coconut oil—or whatever—is going to get rid of this shit. Like my mom keeps insisting on. I mean…She doesn’t know all the shit I’ve been through. The—The plate I took to the crown of my head or the needle to my neck or those Russian shitheads that knocked me senseless.”

Hopper’s breath hitches. Steve curses at himself internally. Remembers the haunted body that pulled him in close when they reconvened. Remembers the frantic calls from Jonathan, of all people, asking what to do when it comes to nightmares—“Not mine,” Jonathan had said, “Hop’s. He just…He just yells.” And even remembers the faint hints Hop gave: the relief in finding a jar of peanut butter, the biting cold, the labor, and the cells. The separation from who he used to be. The loneliness within what he’d gone through, which Steve knows all too well. “Russians?” Hopper softly implores anyway.

And part of Steve knows what he’s doing. The crack to his shell deepening, stretching. But he answers despite it all. Keeps his voice leveled, careful as to not be heard from inside the cabin. “Yeah,” he whispers, the syllables cracking. “Robs and Dustin and I, we all decoded this tape, right? There was Russian speech on it or whatever and I ended up finding the source of the intermission. It was coming from underneath Starcourt. So, y’know how stupid we all are, we went ahead and found these assholes and…Well I—“ He rubs the lip of his beer bottle to his own bottom lip. Eyes glossing over, remembering. “They were going to hurt Robin,” he states, his own voice like gravel, “and Dustin. And little Erica. So I did the stupid thing. Answered their interrogation. They didn’t like the answers; I earned a few punches. Went unconscious. Got hit with some truth serum drug bullshit. Threw up my guts, ended up with a concussion, saw a guy die in front of me, went home and threw up again in the shower, and then I went to bed.”

All at once, the world narrows to just them. Hopper’s completely silent though and Steve doesn’t want to glance over. See the pity written on his sullen, aged face. So he shrugs, takes another swig of his beer, and burps lightly when the carbonation comes up. Nonchalance. “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. Right, Hop?” Steve pokes quietly. “Throw myself in danger for the people around me. Try to keep them on my good side. Show them I’m worth giving a shit about. Save ‘em. Love ‘em for a bit. Wait until they turn on me or whatever.

“I know you do it, too. So don’t try to lecture me,” Steve mutters, “At least we don’t have to do it again.”

He’s not sure what to really expect to any of that. But he doesn’t think he’d ever expect a firm, heavy arm to wrap around his shoulders. To tug him in close and warm. To hold him gently.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Hopper murmurs.

Steve tries to pull away, but the hand on his opposite bicep squeezes him back. “It’s not your fault, Hop. It’s—“

“You’re a kid, Steve,” he emphasizes. “A kid with a long fucking life ahead of you. And you’ve already seen enough for, well, for lifetimes. You should’a never been in any of this shit, none of you teens should’a. Not just those Russians, Steve. But for everything.”

He doesn’t feel like a kid. Doesn’t really feel like anything, but Hopper doesn’t need to know that right now. Sure, he’d understand. That liminal space after losing his daughter, right after war, before his world quite literally turned upside down—Hopper lived that nothingness for a long while. Maybe he lives it again, Steve isn’t sure.

But he just sighs. “You shouldn’t have been there, either,” Steve murmurs. His face is warm and his eyes sting. And before he really knows what’s happening, he’s crying. Hot tears that sear all the way down to the underside of his jaw. That don’t really produce much noise from him, but he supposes the terrible stuttering in and out is something.

“C’mere, kid,” Hopper mutters.

His beer gets set aside somewhere. Pulled even further in. Head nestled on Hopper’s shoulder, the fresh shave of his beard burning on Steve’s forehead. A hand between his shoulder blades and the other on the back of his head. Steve’s arms sit limp at his sides. But within Hop’s warmth, the musk of aftershave and Irish Spring soap, and his firm and careful hold—Steve finally breaks.

It’s not a catastrophic thing, like he had expected. It’s not all that quiet either.

Shoulders shaking, eyes heavy, and nose burning—Steve cries. Cries with the force of a sudden summer downpour. Heaves giant breaths as if he’s just come up from drowning. And he sobs against the bare skin of Hopper’s neck. Open mouthed. Wet exhales. Big globs of spit sticky between his lips.

When he can finally catch his breath, feel the exhaustion into his bones, he pulls back.

Hopper lays his hands on either side of Steve’s face. His own cheeks wet with tears. Sniffling. “I know, okay? I know, kid,” he says quietly. “You need a home to run to? A shoulder to cry on? You just need a good dad hug? Come over, okay? Steve, you just gotta come over.”

And with that, all Steve can do, is give in.

He cries again into Hopper’s shoulder.

Later, he’ll listen to Hopper in turn. Hug him just as fiercely. Laugh at the absurdity of it all. But this is nice. Just this for a little while longer.

For the first time in his life, though, he feels like he’s got a home to return to. An ear to hear him. And a heart to care about him.

🫂—————🫂 Thank you for the ask, this was an interesting one!