#have to find out if i have to lose even more so i can get sterilised

[amdiriel]

lonely

Azriel x fem!Archeron!reader

SUMMARY: Reader, the second Archeron sister, finds herself overwhelmed by the sight of her sisters in their respective happinesses one day. Luckily Azriel stops by her room in time to comfort her.

WARNINGS: feelings of loneliness (real), fluff, Azriel being hot (that’s a given), slight suggestiveness at the end, first time writing

NOTE: hey, i’m diri! been sort of a silent spectator on this tag for a while but then i wrote this and thought hell why not!!

WORDS: 2.5k

main masterlist PART 2

•••

The emptiness of loneliness burned hollowly in my chest, blooming when I entered my room at last, stumbled onto my bed.

Pathetically, I just wanted what my sisters had. I didn't dare show it, but I ached to be held, loved, to love fiercely and be happily, healthily devoted to someone.

I wanted to be touched and adored. I wanted to build a life with someone. To not have to look, wish, hope, or dream about it anymore.

My knees curled up under my chin as I sat there in the nest of my bedding, looking blankly at the wall as the tears came.

I hadn't realized that I had been softly weeping until the knock came to my door. Fuck. I heard his soft, beautiful voice announcing himself, asking to come in.

When I don't reply, frozen in terror that he'll come in and see me in this state, Azriel calls my name again in question. I know he can sense me behind the door, and when I sniff, he calls lowly, "I'm coming in."

Panic sweeps through me as he pushes open the door, eyes falling on me in concern as I wipe at my face. The book he borrowed from me goes from his hand to a side table as he comes to me, forgotten. "Hey. Hey, what's going on?" he asks with the softest tenderness I've ever heard him speak. To know that it was reserved for me makes my chest ache for it even more, and another little sob slips from me. He sits on my bed and reaches for me, hands going to my arms and rubbing up and down.

“I’m sorry,” I croak, shaking my head and trying to draw back and wipe my face. He doesn’t release me.

“No,” he says firmly, squeezing my arms. “No, you’ve done nothing wrong. Let me help you.”

I shake my head again, can’t seem to stop, trying to wave him off. “It’s not something you can help with,” I rasp. “It’s my own shit, I’ll deal with it—“

“Tell me what’s going on.” His tone brooks no argument.

I can’t speak for a long moment, for several long moments. The words are embarrassing, stuck like molasses on my tongue. To say them would be to humiliate myself. But he isn’t relenting. I realize that five hundred years of extracting information from people as spymaster had made him patient in a way I could never outpace.

“It’s just hard,” I finally settle on, not quite processing my own words. “It’s hard seeing them—my sisters, I mean. Sorry, I think I’m just tired, out of it—“ He shakes his head with a squeeze of my arms.

“Stop trying to excuse your feelings. It’s merely how you feel,” he murmurs, watching me carefully. A breath puffs uncomfortably in my chest, but I go on.

“I’ve always made myself content in the fact that something like that didn’t really happen to people like me. I’ve never known why,” I rasp, the color finally rising in my cheeks as I gear up to admit, “But I’m—“ I choke. “I just see them and I feel so lonely.”

His expression shutters and his eyes soften. “Sweetheart,” he whispers, stroking my arms. To hear that word from his lips is already a shock, but knowing it’s directed at me makes me fall apart more.

“I’m not one for self pity, ever,” I get out as another cry raises the pitch of my voice. “I just feel so alone.”

A huff of a sigh leaves Azriel’s lips and he draws me forward. “Come here.”

My breath shudders in my chest as I try not to lose it, try to calm myself as the tears stream hotly down my face. “I’m sorry,” I whisper again. “I feel ridiculous. It just hurts sometimes. Right here.” I rub my chest where the hollow ache is.

He hums and soon I’m in his arms. He gently scoops me onto his lap and tucks my head into the crook of his neck. He’s so warm, so strong, and smells so good that I shudder again and let myself break in his embrace.

His hushing and stroking over my hair lulls me as every bad feeling seeps out of my body. He holds me quietly until my crying ceases, until my shaking stills. Until I am merely breathing tiredly against him.

I could fall asleep like this, could die peacefully here. His hand strokes my hair again. “Feel better?” he asks, his voice a quiet rumble that rumbles in his chest, therefore mine.

I blush profusely at how ridiculous I’m being, but make no move. I nod. I can’t move, can’t look at him. I must be the silliest, most ridiculous woman—female, I correct mentally—at my age that he’s ever seen. He’s centuries old and has a better grip on things than I do. I know he feels bad for me, but any respect he had before must have loosened considerably in the minutes he’s seen me in this state.

As I’m trying to overcome my embarrassment, he strokes my hair softly and begins on a murmur, “I get this way too. I feel it right in my chest, like you said. I have for a long time.” I don’t dare breathe or move. He’s revealing very vulnerable feelings and I fear one move will scare him off. He sighs. “It is difficult—seeing everyone pair off and be happy. Just as difficult to see my brothers as it is for you to see your sisters that way. But you aren’t alone. You’re never alone.”

I sigh, whispering haltingly, “I know. But—it isn’t the same, is it?”

He shakes his head. “It isn’t,” he concedes, “But you shouldn’t doubt that you’ll find that. You’re more than deserving of it.”

A little flutter in my chest, and of all things, a smile blooms on my face. “You are too, Azriel.”

I feel his smile against my hair.

I sigh and draw away even as my body screams in argument, not looking him completely in the eye. “I really am sorry. For—this.” I gesture nonsensically between us, eyeing the wet stain at the collar of his shirt with a small wince. “I really am not usually like this,” I grumble.

His soft chuckle draws my eyes to his face, and I find him looking down at me softly, amusedly. “I know. You’re usually very formidable, self-assured. It was a surprise to see you so…” I raise my brows as he searches for the word, something he usually never has to. “Weighed down,” he settles on.

I don’t know what to say. I settle on a small shrug of my shoulder as I take my sleeve and wipe my face again, sighing as a calm settles over me again.

When I glance back over at him, he’s still observing me quietly. “What?” I croak.

“Nothing,” he says softly with a shrewd yet not unkind look in his eye. “It’s just funny.” I frown, but he continues on before I can interrupt. “You give yourself a private moment to let it out, then you reset. Like nothing happened.”

I feel a heat in my face at the accuracy.

“It’s funny because, well,” he shrugs, “It reminds me of myself.”

I glance warily over him with questioning tilt of my head. “You don’t seem like the type to deal in self-pity. Or crying at all for that matter,” I reply wryly.

His lip curls in amusement, and something hot curls in my stomach at the sight of it. My expression remains carefully composed, as it always is. “I have my moments,” is all he says.

I roll my eyes, shifting on the bed and sniffing. “Cryptic as always too.”

His laugh is quiet yet rumbling, and even though we don’t touch anymore, I feel the sound tumble deliciously through my muscles and bones, all over my body. “There she is,” he practically drawls, mirth lighting his hazel eyes. Cauldron bloody boil me.

Then he softens again. “But know that anytime you feel like this, you don’t need to wait for a private moment to yourself. Come talk to me,” he offers. Tingling warmth blooms in my chest. In my handful of years since turning fae and finding my place in Velaris, he’s been a kind but somewhat infrequent friend due to his busy nature. “What you feel isn’t anything to be ashamed of, and I’d rather you not bottle it all up.”

I eye the impenetrable Spymaster again, brow raised. “Bit of the pot calling the kettle black, aren’t you?”

He laughs in earnest now, and I watch in wonder as it lightens his features. And again that sound—

I’d been careful not to let my foolish mind not delve too deep in daydreaming about the silent, beautiful specter I had met in my house in the human lands those years ago. Everything about the fae then and even now had just seemed so elevated above my little life. And as hard as I worked, as skilled as I had become with my new body and abilities, I still felt like a complete novice, like a schoolgirl amongst grown men and women most days.

So no. I would not be the fool that fell for the male way above her very modest level, not when I knew he’d be too nice about it, and make me feel even more like the fool.

“What are you thinking about?” his voice breaks through my reverie. He’s eyeing me with amusement now, and a hint of fondness.

I force the heat creeping to my cheeks way down within the depths of myself, determined not to make more of a fool of myself than I already have. “Just wondering why you came in here. I wasn’t—“ A blush rises to my cheeks in earnest now. “You couldn’t hear me crying from the hall, could you?”

He shakes his head, hands creeping forward over my bedspread as though to placate me. “No, no. I just came to return the book you let me borrow,” he replies gently, and again my eyes fall to the book he had dropped on the table near my door as he came in to comfort me. Oh. Right. “You were right. I did like it.”

A small smile creeps up on my lips. “Of course I was right.” He chuckles again, and I relish that I can make him do so.

“Will it inflate your ego terribly if I tell you that you have surprisingly good taste?” he drawls. I let out a playfully indignant noise and gently shove his shoulder.

“Says you. You may be quiet, Shadowsinger, but don’t think I haven’t noticed you peacocking more than once,” I toss back. He draws closer with a little grin. Holy fuck.

“Well when I’m as talented as I am, why shouldn’t I?” he purrs, the most Rhys-like I’d ever seen him. I hold onto my composure for dear life.

“Yeah, well, you can take your peacocking and incredible talent off my bed and out of my room,” I retort with a scowl, shooing him as I fight blushing like a schoolgirl. He laughs, but slides smoothly off my bed and stands, hands raised in mock surrender.

I realize then that he had taken me from my depressive state, comforted me until I calmed, then goaded me until I smiled and bantered with him again.

His eyes go from mirthful to soft, and a beat passes where he’s looking down at me still sitting on my bed, and me at him. His lips quirk. “I’m glad you’re alright. Come to me with anything. I mean it,” he reiterates with gentle firmness. I nod my head.

He begins to leave, but I blurt his name and he halts. As soon as he looks at me again, I murmur, “Thank you.” He nods his head once, eyes kind.

I expect him to turn, to leave. But he steps toward me. I still as his hands gently hold the sides of my head, and he drops a single kiss to my hairline. I don’t move or breathe until he leaves the room with one last look at me over his shoulder.

My door snicks shut and a rush of breath leaves my mouth as my hands fly up to my face. My back finds the duvet.

I was fucked.

—

Azriel walks leisurely down the hall from her room back to his once more, musing on the hour that had just passed in her room.

He’d always found the second Archeron sister to be the most interesting female he’d ever met.

Clever, strong, funny. Beautiful, absolutely, in her own way. She was interesting to look at—that counted far more than conventionally beautiful.

The kind of person you don’t let get away.

He’d have to play this carefully. Had he had thoughts these past two-three years about the fact that they were both the remaining unmated ones of their respective sibling units? Yes. But he knew that even as it drew the two of them together in a careful dance around the line, it could also end very poorly if that was the only assumed reason that he wanted her.

Which it wasn’t.

Sometimes he curses that of his brothers, he hadn’t met her first. He could have, should have wooed her. Then, at least he could be enjoying the same felicity his damned brothers were currently enjoying with two of her sisters.

But she’s proving to be a tough one to crack.

It was no matter, he decides. He hadn’t failed to notice at least some attraction on her part. But she brushes off most things with a clever joke, much to his frustration.

Tonight had been a step forward. Even as it had killed him to see her in such a state, he thanked every bit of fate that led him to her room as she had been breaking.

So he could be the one to hold her, put her pieces back together.

He could have held her in his arms, in his lap until the day he died.

But he knew getting her to come back out, to grin and tease him again was more important than his selfish desires. And gods, what a sight she was when she did.

It was no matter, he thinks to himself again. He’d be patient. He’d be the person she’d lean on until he could make her want him. Maybe she’d allow him to touch her in the way he envisioned in his most needy moments in the dark of night. He enters his bedroom and sighs.

Fuck. It might be another one of those nights after all.

•••

NOTE: hey so uhhh if literally anyone cares i’ll make a part 2

[chancloud8]

Lose My Breath

Pairing: han jisung x reader x lee know

Word count: 5,5k

Summary: for their youtube series where they look for new hobbies, Jisung and Minho come to your studio for a lesson in pole dancing. neither of them expected to find more than a new hobby..

Tags: youtubers!minsung, pole dancer!reader, established minsung, fluff, smut, nsfw, 18+, fingering, oral (f), a bit of m/m kissing, threesome, nipple play, vaginal sex, mirror sex, creampie, pet names -sorry if i forgot anything!-

a/n: happy birthday to the lovely @staylovesmiley this one is for you! <3

‘Good morning lovely people,’ Jisung grins into the vlogging camera he’s holding. ‘Today Minho and I are going to try out a new activity in our quest to find a new hobby.’ 

You watch in silence as the gorgeous man who walked into your studio about fifteen minutes ago, explains to their audience what they’re about to do. He’s dressed in some loose grey sweatpants and a black tank top that shows off his broad shoulders. His black hair is tousled and he’s wearing black eyeliner that’s making his eyes pop. 

‘He’s a stunning little creature, isn’t he?’ a voice whispers next to you and you jump in surprise, bringing up your hand to cover your chest where your heart is beating so fast you can feel it thump against your palm.

‘You scared me,’ you laugh softly, not wanting to interrupt Jisung who’s still babbling to the camera and showing everyone the room. 

‘Sorry,’ Minho grins, bumping his shoulder against yours. ‘I have very quiet feet and you were pretty distracted by my man doing what he loves.’ 

You feel your cheeks heat at being caught staring at someone else’s boyfriend. Jisung and Minho are a very popular Youtube couple and you’ve been following them for years, silently crushing on both men as they made their way through life with their own camera’s following their every move. 

‘Oh, look who finally decided to join us!’ Jisung says then, turning the camera to you and Minho. ‘Say hi, baby.’ 

‘Hi,’ Minho says, waving a peace sign next to his face as his lips turn up in a small smile. 

‘And this is y/n, she will be teaching us today,’ Jisung introduces you and you too wave at the camera. 

Jisung turns the camera to himself again. ‘Wish us luck,’ he grins and then he lowers his arm and shuts off the camera. ‘Okay I’m all ready now.’

‘Did you bring any shorts like I requested in the email?’ you ask them, eyeing the sweats they’re both wearing. They may look ridiculously good in them, but wearing pants like that did not go well together with pole dancing.

‘Oh yes, we’re wearing some underneath,’ Minho says and then he promptly pushes down his sweatpants, revealing black athletic shorts. 

You blink and Jisung giggles. 

‘Min, baby, you can’t just start undressing in front of y/n,’ Jisung says, reaching over to help his boyfriend pull his pants over his shoes. 

‘I’m wearing shorts? It’s not like I’m naked,’ Minho mumbles, but his ears turn red. 

‘It’s fine,’ you smile at them. ‘I’ve seen it all after six years of dancing and teaching.’ 

Jisung makes a face as he too gets rid of his sweatpants, leaning heavily on Minho as he pushes them off his feet. ‘I can’t even imagine how some people probably show up to pole dance.’ 

‘Yeah, you don’t want to know,’ you laugh, not missing the curious glint in either of their eyes. 

You put on some soft music and start warming up, instructing the man what movements are best to prep their muscles and they easily fall into your warm up routine. 

‘Very good,’ you praise them when you’re done. ‘Do you want me to show you the whole routine I’ll be teaching you first or would you rather I’ll take you through it step by step?’ 

‘Routine,’ Minho says at the same time as Jisung goes; ‘Step by step.’ 

They look at each other and for a moment they seem to have a whole conversation with just their eyes until Minho raises his eyebrows and licks his lips, causing Jisung to let out a little whine, sagging his shoulders as his cheeks turn red. 

‘Routine first,’ Jisung agrees and you let your eyes wander between the two of them. 

Sexual tension seemed to roll off of them and you’re pretty sure that if both you and the camera weren’t here, Minho would have had Jisung pressed up against one of the mirrors in a heartbeat. 

‘What just happened there,’ you ask with a chuckle as you try to ignore what their interaction just did to you. It shouldn’t have been hot, but it was.

‘Nothing,’ Minho smiles. ‘Please show us the routine.’ 

Pushing away your feelings, you nod and get in position, winking at Jisung who’s still blushing. You start with the pole in front of you and grab onto the cold metal with one hand, easily maneuvering your body around it until your back is against the pole. You move your hips in a sensual way and reach up with your arms before arching your back as you move to lower your body and spread your legs. It’s a pretty sexy, but easy routine and you let your muscles move on auto pilot. 

When you end with your back against the pole again, only slightly out of breath, you can’t help but notice how both men have moved closer. Jisung his mouth is open in a little ‘o’ while Minho has his hands in his pockets, watching you with his head cocked as if he’s trying to figure out how you just did that. 

‘You want us to do that?’ Jisung asks. ‘That was–’ he clears his throat. ‘Very sexy.’ 

‘Agreed,’ Minho nods. 

‘Thank you,’ you smile. ‘And yes I will teach you how to do this.’ 

Jisung frowns, but when Minho pats his butt, he slowly walks towards one of the poles and stands before it like you had. 

‘Put all your fingers together, like this,’ you show them your hand. ‘And place it at forehead level on the pole. ‘Then you go ahead and sink under your arms,’ you instruct, moving your body to get in front of the pole with a sexy sway in your hips. 

When you look back at Jisung and Minho, they are nodding to themselves and get in position, placing their fingers against the metal. Both men follow your instructions and move smoothly to the front of the pole, just like you showed them. 

‘Very good!’ you grin at them, clapping your hands.

You show them the next move and once again they execute it perfectly. 

Jisung beams at you with sparkling eyes and you can’t help but compliment them again. ‘You have great form! I told you, you could do it!’

Jisung giggles and moves on the ball of his feet in excitement. ‘Show us the next move!’  

You go through the next few moves with them, correcting their postures here and there, but overall they take to the routine like a duck to water. 

‘There you go, very nice!’ you compliment the both of them with a little cheer when they finish going through the entire routine for the first time. 

You give them a few more pointers and at Jisung’s request you join them for the entire routine one more time before he goes to the camera’s to shut them off. 

‘That was way more fun than I thought it would be, easier as well,’ Minho admits, sitting down next to you on the floor as you start your cool down stretches. 

‘I haven’t heard someone say it was easier than expected in a long time,’ you chuckle, leaning forward to touch your toes. 

‘Oh,’ Minho frowns. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’ 

You sit up and shake your head with a smile. ‘You didn’t, don’t worry. It’s also been a while since I’ve seen someone take to it so easily, but I guess it makes sense with your dance background.’ 

‘Did I just hear you say we’re naturals?’ Jisung pipes up, letting his body fall to the floor on Minho’s other side, his head resting on his boyfriend's thigh. 

‘Yes,’ you laugh. ‘You have lots to learn, but if you commit to it, I am very sure you’ll be upside down in that pole and spinning around in no time.’ 

‘I’d rather focus on the fact that you know I have dance experience. You watch our videos?’ Minho asks, watching you carefully. 

‘I do,’ you nod, your cheeks heating up until you’re sure you’re as red as a beet. ‘I’ve been following you guys pretty much since the beginning.’ 

'Awww, really?' Jisung coos, sitting up again to also start stretching. ‘That’s so sweet.’ 

‘Why didn’t you say so sooner?’ Minho asks. 

You shrug and lift your arms above your head to stretch your back and shoulders. ‘You didn’t ask and I was being professional I guess.’ 

They both smile at you and the three of you chat about their channel for a while as you lead them through a cool down. 

‘Do you have any more lessons after this?’ Jisung asks when the three of you get up again and you offer them a bottle of water from your mini fridge. 

You look at your watch. ‘I do, but not for a few hours.’ 

Jisung shares a look with Minho. ‘Would you want to join us for lunch?’ 

‘Oh, uhm sure,’ you nod. ‘Why not!’ 

*******

In the next few weeks Minho and Jisung come back about twice a week for more lessons from you. Sometimes they film, sometimes they don’t and you love watching them grow each week, picking up on the movements quicker than any of your other students. They often bring you coffee or homemade treats that Minho made and you can comfortably say that the three of you have developed a bit of a friendship. 

There’s lingering touches sometimes and heated gazes when they watch you do your thing on the pole, but not once have they been inappropriate. They make you feel seen, sexy and safe. 

‘I have a question,’ Jisung says on a Thursday evening when you’ve just finished your lesson. 

‘Mhm,’ you hum, moving into your stretch. 

‘What do you think about us? I mean, how do you feel about us?’ 

‘What do you mean?’ you ask, sitting up so you can look at him. ‘Are you asking if I like you? Because of course I do. I’m very happy the two of you came into my life and I’d like to think we’re friends.’ 

‘Friends,’ Jisung mumbles and his brows furrow. ‘Right.’ 

You tilt your head in question. ‘Was that not what you wanted to hear? You don’t think we’re friends?’ 

Jisung’s eyes widen and he crawls closer to you, already having finished his stretches. ‘No, no I didn’t mean it like that! I love that you consider us friends, I just..’ he bites his lip nervously and glances at his boyfriend. 

Minho chuckles from your other side. ‘What he was meant to ask was, are you attracted to us?’ 

You nearly choke on your own spit at the unexpected question and you start coughing violently. Minho gently pats your back and Jisung hands you a bottle of water, his cheeks are red, but his eyes are hopeful. 

‘Sorry,’ you mumble when you finally feel like you can breathe again. ‘Did you just ask me if I think you’re hot?’ 

Minho lets out a laugh and Jisung giggles. 

‘Basically,’ Minho nods. 

‘Wow, okay,’ you mumble, taking another sip of water. ‘I mean, how can I not? Have you seen yourselves?’ 

The two of them share another look and Jisung scoots even closer to you until his knee touches your thigh. 

‘So you are attracted to us?’ Jisung repeats Minho’s question. 

Nervous butterflies swirl in your stomach and you suddenly feel hot all over by the way they both stare at you with the same heated gaze you’ve seen before. 

‘I- yes,’ you admit, licking your lips. ‘I am.’ 

Jisung smiles and beams at Minho, causing the older to chuckle at his boyfriend and lean closer to you to reach out and pinch Jisung his chin. ‘Patience, baby.’ 

‘I’m not patient and you know it,’ Jisung pouts and both Minho and you laugh at his sad face. 

Minho lets go of Jisung and places his hand on your thigh. His touch immediately heats up your entire leg and when you look down to see his long fingers against your bare leg, you nearly groan out loud. 

‘We have a question for you, pretty,’ Minho says, his voice sounds lower than usual and it makes you shiver. ‘And I need you to answer honestly, can you do that?’ 

You nod and look up at him, meeting his eyes. ‘I can.’ 

‘Good,’ he smiles. ‘If you say no, I promise there will be no hard feelings between us and we can still be friends.’ 

Your mouth suddenly feels dry and you wish you were still holding onto that bottle of water, but you nod again anyway. 

‘You see,’ Jisung starts, placing his hand on your other thigh. ‘We’ve had this fantasy for a while now, but never found the right person.’ 

‘But now we did,’ Minho continues. ‘You fit with us perfectly and we both like you very much.’ 

Jisung nods enthusiastically, his fingers tightening on your thigh a bit. ‘We’re kind of hoping that you feel the same way about us.’  

You blink at them, your head moving left to right to look at them both. ‘I’m flattered, but I’m not sure what you’re asking of me? Is it sex? A one night stand? A relationship?’ 

‘For now it’s sex,’ Minho grins. ‘But we’re open to more if it leads to that.’ 

‘Alright,’ you say, nodding slowly, your thoughts racing about as loud as your heartbeat. ‘And you want it now?’ 

Jisung lets out a little whine and leans in to press a sweet kiss to your shoulder. ‘We wanted it yesterday, last week, hell the day we met actually, but now works.’ 

You laugh at his ridiculous babbling and place your hand on top of his own. ‘Now works for me as well, but one of you will have to get up to lock the door.’ 

You’ve barely finished the sentence when Jisung jumps up and jogs towards the little hallway where the entrance for your studio is. You giggle at his eagerness before turning towards Minho who’s already looking at you. 

‘You’re sure?’ he asks.

You nod and feeling bold, you move and crawl into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. ‘Oh, I’m sure.’ 

Minho’s hands immediately clasp your hips to pull you even closer, pressing your clothed chores against each other. You bite your lip when you feel how hard he is already and without a second thought you crash your mouth against his. He responds right away, one of his arms wrapping around your waist to keep you in place against his body while the other moves so he can grab onto the back of your neck. 

‘Hey, you started without me,’ you hear Jisung’s voice say faintly behind you before you feel a strong warmth pressing against your back. 

A hand moves your hair to the side, freeing your neck and a heartbeat later lips are pressed against your skin. Minho slips his tongue inside your mouth when you gasp and a moan escapes your throat as he tangles it with yours while Jisung leaves open mouthed kisses on your neck. 

‘Hmm if I'd known you wanted this, I would have asked earlier,’ Jisung says against your skin while gliding his hands from your sides to your bare thighs and then back upward towards your breasts. 

You can only moan again in response, too busy kissing Minho, which he is obviously very good at. It’s messy, wet and hot and you love every second of it. 

‘Hmm you make such pretty noises,’ Jisung whispers against your neck, his fingers slipping underneath the sports bra you’re wearing. ‘I can’t wait to make you scream when I eat you out.’ 

You arch your back for as far as you’re able to and a violent shiver goes through your body when Jisung teases your nipples, twirling his fingers around the sensitive buds. Minho breaks the kiss and leans back a little so he can look down at where Jisung’s hands disappear underneath your sports bra. 

‘Take it off,’ he says to his boyfriend. 

Jisung does as he says and frees your breasts in one quick motion, slipping the top over your head and throwing it behind him on the floor. 

‘Hmm beautiful,’ Minho mutters, moving his hands to caress your stomach and up towards the underside of your breasts before cupping them. ‘So perfect.’ 

You claw at Minho’s shirt, trying to take it off and make it even. He chuckles at your efforts and leans in to capture your lips again, successfully distracting you from your task. Behind you, you hear the rustling of clothes and when Minho lets go of your lips again, he turns you around and basically drops you in Jisungs lap. 

‘Hello baby,’ Jisung grins, eying your naked breasts that heave with every pant that leaves your mouth. 

He has taken off everything but his boxers and you take a moment to appreciate his lean form, smooth skin and the tattoos that cover his chest. He’s absolutely mouthwatering. 

‘Hi yourself,’ you purr, reaching out to trace the large tattoo on his side. ‘I like your tattoos.’ 

Jisung preens under the compliment and pulls you closer. ‘How much?’ 

Giggling you lean forward to press your lips against the black compass on the left side of his chest. Your tongue sneaks out to trail a wet line all over the ink and Jisung lets out a surprised grunt at the feeling. He grabs onto your neck and pulls you up to kiss you. 

His lips are even softer than Minho’s and you melt into him, moving your hands to his strong shoulders and then to his hair to tangle your fingers in the soft black strands. 

It should surprise you how fast you adapted to this situation with the two men you only met a few weeks ago, but seeing as you’ve been crushing on them for years, it probably wasn’t that hard for your brain to accept. 

A naked chest presses against your back then and hands move from your hips to the front of your black yoga shorts, cupping your clothed pussy. Liquid heat spreads through your entire body and you let out an embarrassing whine against Jisung’s lips when Minho pulls his hand away again to tug at the waistband.

‘Can I take it off?’ he asks, pressing a small kiss on your shoulder. 

You pull back from Jisung’s mouth and giggle when he pouts at you. His lips are swollen and red and his pupils are elated, he looks even prettier than usual like this. 

‘Stand up, baby,’ Minho says and you’re not sure if it's to you or Jisung, but the both of you get up with his help. ‘Good, now take it off.’ 

Minho smirks as once again, both you and Jisung follow his demand. Jisung pulls off his boxers, his dick springing free against his toned stomach, a drop of pre cum already drips down his length and your mouth waters at the sight. You quickly follow his lead and take off your shorts, shedding your underwear as well. 

‘Look at that, I’ve got two lovely stunning creatures now,’ Minho hums, licking his lips as his eyes devour every inch of naked skin in front of him. ‘Ji, baby, why don’t you get on your knees for y/n.’ 

Jisung drops to his knees right away, his hot breath tickling against your pelvis bone as he scoots closer to you. The sight of his mouth only inches away from your pussy makes your legs feel weak and you look at Minho with pleading eyes, hoping he’ll understand you’ll need his support if his boyfriend is going to make a meal out of you. 

Minho grins, drops his own boxers to the floor and strides over to you with three big steps. He pulls you against his chest, his arm hooking around your waist underneath your breast to hold you steady. 

‘Feast away, baby,’ he tells Jisung. 

One of your legs is placed over Jisung’s shoulder and then he licks a fat stripe between your already slick lips, all the way from your hole to your clit. If it wasn't for Minho’s hold on you, you would have collapsed. 

‘Fuccckk,’ you moan, your head falling back against Minho’s shoulder. 

Jisung hums and dives in again, this time putting even more pressure with his tongue. Your hips buck on their own accord and Jisung reaches up to hold you in place against Minho. 

‘Hmm you taste delicious, baby,’ he murmurs against your folds, nipping at them with his teeth. 

‘Unnghh,’ is all you are able to let out, your brain feeling hazy with lust and pleasure. 

Minho starts placing wet open mouthed kisses against your neck as his free hand plays with your nipple, while Jisung keeps lapping at your clit with his skillful tongue. Heat curls in your stomach and when he adds a finger and curls it just right, you cry out so loud that it startles you a bit. You’ve never been this loud before. The thought immediately leaves your brain when another finger is added to your heat and your legs are starting to shake.

‘Please, Sungie,’ you moan, trying to buck your hips again. 

Jisung picks up the pace, moving his tongue and his finger in tandem. 

‘That’s it, kitten, let go for us,’ Minho whispers in your ear as his fingers twist and pull your already sensitive nipple. 

‘So close,’ you whine, the coil in your belly getting tighter and tighter. 

When it snaps your eyes roll back and you moan Jisung’s name. Your legs give out, but Minho’s hold keeps you up as Jisungs keeps moving his fingers until he’s sure you’ve ridden out your orgasm. 

‘Hmm so sexy,’ he says against the inside of your thigh, pressing an open mouthed kiss to your skin there. 

Your legs shake and Minho gently lowers himself and therefore you to the floor. He sits you down in his lap and moves your limbs around like you're a doll. 

‘Look at that,’ he hums, leaning his chin on your shoulder. 

‘Hmm?’ you hum, still a bit hazy from your release. 

‘Look in the mirror,’ Jisung says, moving to sit behind Minho. 

You do as he says and gasp at the sight that greets you. You barely recognize yourself, naked, flushed skin, big eyes and wild hair. Your feet are on either side of Minho’s thighs, causing your legs to stay open and displaying your glistering pussy for all of you to see in the mirror. 

Minho moves his hands from your breasts towards your core and when his finger gently dips into your soaking folds, you shiver. 

‘Mhhgh, sensitive,’ you mutter, but you don’t slap his hand away. 

‘You can take it,’ Minho whispers, biting the skin between your shoulder and neck. 

Jisung moves to your side and lays down onto his stomach, his chin resting on your thigh as he stares at your pussy with big hungry eyes like he hadn’t just eaten you out already. His tongue is peeking out of his lips and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he was drunk or at least a little tipsy. 

‘Can I go again?’ he asks, looking up at Minho. 

‘No,’ Minho growls. ‘It’s my turn to play.’ 

Jisung huffs, but stays where he is, pressing a soft kiss on your thigh. You reach out to pat his hair and he smiles up at you. 

‘You ready, kitten?’ Minho asks, his free hand coming up to circle your throat lightly. ‘I want you to keep looking in the mirror the entire time, okay?’ 

All you can do is nod, your gaze connecting with his through the mirror. 

‘Good girl, now watch how easily you’ll take my finger.’ 

Minho slips his finger inside and your mouth falls open at the sensation. It’s only one finger, but it still feels so unbelievably good. Your head falls back against Minho’s shoulder, but you make sure to keep your eyes on the mirror, watching as he starts pumping his finger in and out of you. Wet slopping sounds fill the studio and soon your moans echo off the walls as well. 

‘More, Minho, please,’ you beg, the sensitivity from before completely gone. 

Minho’s fingers leave your throat to play with one of your nipples again, pinching the bud between his thumb and forefinger. Jisung sits up beside you and takes the other nipple in his mouth, sucking and twirling his tongue around it until you’re a shivering mess. A second finger is added to your core and your eyes fall close as the pleasure nearly overwhelms you. 

‘Eyes open,’ Minho growls in your ear, pinching your nipple so hard a yelp leaves your mouth. 

It’s a good type of pain and when your eyes lock with Minho’s once more and his thumb brushes over your swollen clit, you fall over the edge for the second time. Your legs are shaking violently and it takes everything in you to keep your eyes from rolling back inside your head. 

‘Such a good girl,’ Minho murmurs, kissing your neck as he fingers you through your orgasm. ‘So tight and responsive.’ 

‘She’s perfect,’ Jisung says, his mouth still attached to your breast. 

‘God,’ you groan, coming down from your high. ‘You guys are.. fuck.’ 

Jisung laughs and pulls back to look at you, his hand coming up to push a sweaty piece of hair behind your ear. ‘We’re just Minsung, baby.’ 

You smile at hearing their nickname and reach out to touch his chest. ‘That’s enough for me.’ 

‘Good, because we’re not done with you yet,’ Jisung smirks. ‘How’d you feel about riding my di–’ 

You don’t let him finish and push yourself up against Minho’s thighs to basically launch yourself against him. Your legs still feel like jelly, but Minho’s hands on your hips help you straddle Jisung who laughs in pleasant surprise at your attack. 

‘I guess that’s one way to answer,’ he grins. ‘You’re that desperate for me, huh?’ 

‘Oh shut up,’ you laugh, lining yourself up with Minho’s help. 

‘You can just say you want to be fu–’ Jisung’s mouth falls open when you sink down, your walls clenching around him. ‘Fuck, fuck fuck,’ he groans, throwing his head back and exposing his long neck. 

You waste no time to lick a fat stripe from his collarbone all the way to just behind his ear and he shivers beneath you. Minho moves to sit beside you and grabs onto the back of Jisung’s neck, pulling his head back up. 

‘How does she feel, Jagi?’ he asks Jisung when you roll your hips forward before bouncing up and down. 

‘So good,’ Jisung whines. ‘So tight and warm.’ 

Minho groans and leans forward to catch Jisungs lips with his own, kissing him feverishly. The sight of their tongues tangling is breathtaking and you can’t help but slow your movements to enjoy the view. 

Jisung moans and grabs onto your hips, his tongue still battling Minho’s, but the instruction is clear and you slowly increase your speed again before leaning in to press open mouthed kisses against Jisung’s neck. 

When Minho pulls back and Jisung whines at the loss, you tilt your head up and press your lips against his instead. The kiss is messy and wet and your rhythm fails again as you’re too focused on both the kiss and the noises Jisung makes. 

‘Such pretty noises, right?’ Minho murmurs, burying his face into your neck and biting down on your skin again. 

You hum against Jisung’s lips and arch your back when Minho’s fingers twirl around your hard and abused nipples. They're so sensitive that it sends a shock through your body and you moan into Jisungs mouth, your hips faltering. Both their hands find their way to your hips and help you move. 

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room and the feeling of being sandwiched between two hot bodies makes the coil in your stomach tighten once more, heat spreading through your veins as your third orgasm approaches. 

Jisung comes first, his hips rutting up with little shocks as he moans into your mouth. Minho quickly moves his hand down to your folds to circle and pinch your clit. You’re a withering mess in seconds and when he bites down on your shoulder you actually come with a scream this time. 

Your body sags against Jisung and for a moment the three of you just sit there, hugging each other and catching your breath. 

‘Do you think you’d have one more in you?’ Minho asks when the sweat on your skin is starting to cool down enough for you to shiver in their arms. 

Never in your life have you come more than three times in a row, but the thought of saying no doesn’t even cross your mind, especially when you feel his cock twitch against your ass. 

‘Only if you take me against the mirror,’ you tease, looking over your shoulder to wink at him. 

You’re only partly joking, but Minho just grins at you and stands up. He gently pulls you off of Jisung, chuckling softly when the both of you shiver when his softening cock slides out of you, before he easily hauls you up in his arms and wraps your legs around his waist. 

‘I’ve had a dream about this,’ Minho mumbles as he approaches the mirrored wall and presses your naked back against the cold glass. 

‘I’ve thought about this too,’ you admit, blushing. ‘But it was actually you fucking Jisung against the mirror.’ 

‘I want that!’ Jisung squeals behind you.  

Minho laughs and repositions you in his arms so his cock is teasing your soaking entrance. ‘I’m sure we can make that fantasy come through as well.’ 

Your eyes widen and that’s when he sinks home, pushing all the way into you with one smooth movement. 

‘Oh, fuck,’ you moan, his cock stretching you deliciously.

‘How are you still so tight,’ Minho pants, his hands squeezing your ass. ‘Fuck.’ A droplet of sweat drips down from his hairline to his chin and you follow it with hazy eyes before focussing on his lips where his teeth are biting into his bottom lip. 

‘She feels amazing, doesn’t she?’ Jisung has gotten up from the floor and is now pressed up against Minho’s back, his chin leaning on his shoulder.

‘So good,’ Minho agrees, squeezing his eyes shut as he ruts his hip upwards. 

‘Mhmh,’ you moan, pleasure is already building in your belly again and your eyes flutter shut as your head falls back against the mirror. 

This time Minho doesn’t scold you to keep your eyes open, he just buries his face in your neck and attacks your skin with his tongue and teeth. If there’s one thing you’ve learned about him today, it’s that he likes to bite and leave marks.

The sensation of his cock pounding into you, the cold mirror at your back and the warmth of his tongue against your neck is almost too much. Your muscles tremble and when Jisung reaches around Minho to let his hands travel all over your body, you start to feel dizzy. 

‘Please,’ you murmur, clenching your walls around Minho. ‘Please, Minho.’ 

You’re not sure if you’re begging for him to come or to go faster, you just know that it’s all getting too much. Tears start to leak from your eyes as your body doesn’t know what to do with the overload of sensations. 

‘I’m close, Jagi,’ Minho murmurs against your neck, nipping at your collarbone. ‘Let go for me, yeah?’ 

You sob and dig your fingers into his shoulders as the strongest orgasm you’ve ever had takes over your body. Your mouth opens in a silent scream, your limbs are spasming and your vision turns black for a second or two. 

A grunt leaves Minho’s throat as he comes inside you, his hands holding you close as he presses soft kisses all over your shoulders, neck and face while Jisung runs his fingers through your hair and whispers sweet praises in your ear. 

When your body goes lax in Minho’s arms he sinks to the floor and cuddles you close. Jisung curls his body around your back and once more the three of you just sit there and cuddle into each other's warmth for a while. 

‘Next time we’re doing this, we need to pick a more comfortable place than the floor of your studio or against the mirror,’ Jisung says, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. ‘As hot as it is.’ 

‘But the mirrors,’ Minho pouts. 

You and Jisung both giggle and you reach out to tap his bottom lip with your finger. ‘So you want to do this again?’ you ask, smiling up at him.  

Minho raises his eyebrows at you and tightens his arms around your waist. ‘Don’t you?’ 

Oh fuck yes.

a/n: i'm still pretty new to writing smut so uhm I hope that was good lmao. (it was a lot of fun to write hehe) If you enjoyed reading, please consider leaving a comment and/or reblog <3

shoutout to @staybabblingbaby for helping me brainstorm, u rock <3

general taglist: @jaeminie-cricket @jeonginsbaee @staylovesmiley @newbbystay @cashtonsbetch @mariahxrrera @kaleigh-2002 @silencionyx @smileykiddie08 @my-neurodivergent-world @yaorzu-blog @yoongiismylove2018 @staytinyluv @bookswillfindyouaway @queen-thiccness @notastraykid @ateez-atiny380 @estella-novella @furfoxsake22 @hyunjinhoexxx @insomnjen @girl-in-love-with-kpop @vivilovesuu @velvetmoonlght @skz8love @corgilover20 @littlelostdemonofthelight @stephanieeeyang @zulie-and-cats @chanshugsaretherapy @pizzalove5000 @dazzlingjade @milie-com @thequibbie @channiesrightasscheek @strawbrriz @delulustardust

[ramorazinn]

I don’t hate people. I mean, I have specific people that I hate. I think everyone does. But I have a “work husband” and “work friends” and whatever. I’m not sure what you’re imagining about my life, but my contempt and hostility is for The Neurotypical Code™️, not the concept of interpersonal connection.

I’m sorry, you can gussy it up, but I can’t parse it as anything but NTs tricking me into asking what they want me to ask. “Nothing” as a response to “what did you do [time period]?” gets “aww, surely you did SOMETHING fun?” because The Neurotypical Code™️ has mysterious rules about balancing how much each person talks, so I have to give a “good” answer or they can’t talk about the half-marathon they ran and the funny thing that happened at dinner afterward.

I have had work-friends tell me “so-and-so-you-don’t-know-well is upset you didn’t ask about X after she asked you,” like we’re in kindergarten. I have had my old BOSS tell me to remember to reciprocate small talk questions. (I am not front-facing; small talk is not part of my job description I was failing at.) And I do try, but again, threading that needle of not lying but not telling the truth is WORK. I don’t always have anything left to remember my cues with. People largely don’t accept that.

NTs in my new office (where, as my prev tags stated, old hiring practices have left about half the seats filled with NDs) tend to spread out their visits more, and they come right in and start the conversation with what they want to talk about. They have learned that cornering somebody is not the way to have an enjoyable conversation. And I don’t always get them or care about their specific drama or even remember who they ARE, but doing the call-and-response where the onus is not on me to come up with a “correct” answer is ORDERS OF MAGNITUDE less stressful. And they get the validation or attention or encouragement or connection they wanted! Everybody wins! (Except when it turns into #3 above, losing 2h to chatting.)

But most people stick with that “I have to ask you first before I talk about myself or it’s rude” Neurotypical Code™️ bullshit. I assume you will object to me characterizing that as them not caring whether I’m comfortable. But again, I don’t know how else to parse that. I don’t read social cues well, obviously, but if someone stammered and um-er-ahhed and never seemed to have a good answer when I asked about their weekend, I feel like even I would grok that I shouldn’t ask about their weekend? Eventually?

And yes, I’ve learned to lie without lying. I can dodge “OMG isn’t she the cutest baby you’ve ever seen?” with “she has your nose” or “I love that outfit” or whatever true thing I can find, because no, that is not the cutest baby, but my wife trained that social hack into me. I don’t like it, because it still feels like lying, but I do it. I don’t understand why people would phrase things that way if they didn’t want you to lie and agree. I was always told “don’t ask a question you don’t want an answer to.”

(P.S., it’s often uncomfortable when they “return the favor,” because I cannot always read the cues of when I am supposed to stop talking, either, and they are bound by The Neurotypical Code™️ not to make it more clear, because that would be “rude.” I read an article when I was 8 or 9 that said conversation had two parts: talking about yourself and waiting to talk about yourself. That sounded horrible to me, so I vowed to talk about myself as little as possible, until people got mad about that, too. Still haven’t found the sweet spot.)

But also… I don’t understand why I can’t just love people because they do their job and that means I can do mine. That’s way more important to me as a trust exercise – and when you know you can trust people, you have REAL conversations instead of “small talk.”

I'm trying to figure out a good way to say "you really should actually learn the basics of small talk" with sounding like I'm biased against autistic people.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Ref

Hardersson x Reader

Summary: Cards always fly when your girlfriends play against each other

It's not often that your girlfriends argued with each other.

On the contrary, they were fairly even keeled when it came to each other. You were more likely to find them kissing or watching tv than arguing even when they were grumpy with one another.

You sigh to yourself as you nudge open the front door.

"You know that yellow card was your fault!" Pernille's voice floats through the house as you make your way to the kitchen to grab a snack.

"My fault?! You crashed into me!"

"You were tugging on my jersey!"

"So you decided to suddenly stop and ram into me?!"

"You were trying to cheat!

"You were cheating!"

The sound of the tap filling up your bottle drowns out the argument briefly as you wonder whether it was acceptable to just get back into your car and go to a bar to wait this out.

Taking a few shots sounded kind of nice in this situation but you didn't want to take the risk of calling Magda and Pernille to pick you up while they were still arguing. That wouldn't go well for anyone.

So, you take another long gulp of your water, steel yourself and walk further into the house.

"You were both at fault for the yellow cards," You say plainly, arms crossed over your chest as you regard your girlfriends," Magda, you were already on thin ice. I warned you one more infraction, you would get a card. Pernille, suddenly stopping and ramming back into Magda was unsportsmanlike and also the reason you got a card."

"But, babe-"

"No," You cut Magda off with a raised hand," They were both deserved. You were both at fault. There. Done."

"I wouldn't have rammed into Magda if she hadn't pulled on my shirt first," Says Pernille like this somehow absolves her of any guilt.

"Pernille," You say," You're thirty-two years old. I think you're a bit too old for that excuse."

"Yeah, Pernille," Magda teases," You're too old-"

"You're too old as well," You cut her off quickly," You're both too old. I don't know what it is when you're put on the pitch against each other but it doesn't fly when I'm involved too, got it?"

Both of your girlfriends look thoroughly chastised at your words, nodding solemnly as you stare them down.

"One match between you," You say through gritted teeth," I just want one match between the two of you where I don't have to card either, is that too much to ask? Is it?"

"No..."

"Well clearly it is!"

You throw your hands up into the air in annoyance, shaking your head to get rid of your anger. "I'm going to take a long shower," You say," I'm going to shower and calm down and then we'll have dinner."

You spin on your heel as you head upstairs. Your girlfriends stare straight at your back as you go.

"She's not very happy," Magda states the obvious, eyes tracking your path until you disappear around the corner.

"No...Do you think we made her job a bit difficult earlier?"

"Maybe."

"We're going to have to make this up to her, aren't we?"

"Definitely."

Pernille bites at her lip as she thinks it through, eyes darting around the room for something that she can do to help. Her eyes settle on the overflowing laundry basket in the corner of the room.

"I'll do the washing!" She says, darting for it before Magda can catch her," You can do the bins!"

"Wha-What? Hey! That's unfair!" Magda says though there's no actual anger in her tone.

"You snooze, you lose!" Pernille laughs," I'll do the washing. You do the bins and then we'll start on dinner. Can you still make that meal she really likes?"

Magda frowns. "Have we got all the ingredients?"

"I think she went shopping before our match. We should do."

"Then yes."

Taking long showers is normal for you. You can take up to two hours in the warm spray of the showerhead that you'd made Magda change to get the exact right pressure.

You can take even longer when it comes to letting out your anger.

You take your time to wash it all away, scrubbing off the sweat from running up and down the pitch after your childish footballer girlfriends and their teammates. You even go so far as to wash your hair even though you just did that yesterday, delaying having to get out from under the water.

Then, you made sure to take (most likely) more time than needed to blow dry it all, brushing through your hair to make sure not even one strand had even a hint of dampness to it.

But, finally, you decide that your extensive routine has wiped all of your previous tension and anger from your body and you could finally show your face downstairs again.

The curtains had been closed and a few strategic lamps had been turned on to bath the house in the soft glow that you loved after a long day.

You peak into the living room, expecting Magda and Pernille to be sitting side by side with each other as the tv blared with a rerun of whatever match they'd missed recently.

Neither are there but the overflowing laundry basket and bins have been emptied. Your lips quirk upwards briefly in a hint of a smile.

Clearly, Magda and Pernille want to make it up to you.

"Hey," Pernille says softly, her arms gently winding around your waist as she rests her head between your shoulder blades," I'm sorry for being childish with Magda. We won't do it again, promise."

You relax back into Pernille's warm body. You laugh. "Don't make promises you can't keep, my love."

"Well," Magda says as she joins you both, weaving her way to your front so she can press a soft kiss to your neck," We'll try not to be so childish next time. You know we don't like making your job harder."

"I don't know," You tease with a smile," It seems every time I officiate for you two, cards are flying."

"We'll try really hard?" Pernille offers up and you grin at her, craning your neck back so you can rest your head back against her shoulder.

"So, if the both of you are so serious about making this up to me...What have you made me for dinner?"

[blackdykegirlblogger]

nsfw werewolf abby hcs ^^

a/n: this is 1000% inspired by @abbyscoochiecruncher and her werewolf abby drawing. ilysm consider this a "be my mutual" proposal. anywayssss

side note istg i'm going to get to all the other fics i have planned eventually. consider this a side quest <3

you can claim to be a freak all you want, but sex with abby will genuinely make you reconsider your belief in god. 

first and foremost. the strap is long. and mean. and knotted. and goes so deep you swear to everything you love it tickles the back of your throat. none of that "it won't fit" shit is flying with her. she'll wait until you're properly aroused, lube you up as much as you need in order to take her, but um, you're taking her. every inch. until she bottoms out.

she likes when you whine about it being too big. It fuels her ego like nothing else. 

has body hair everywhereeee. arms? hairy. legs? hairy. happy trail? more like a happy forest. (unrelated side note: she’s surprisingly not musty. i like to think she smells like cloves and pine cones)

her stamina is…well…frightening, but that's to be expected when fucking a supernatural creature. rounds go well into the double digits. it could go much longer than that tbh, but you always find yourself tapping out (much to abby's dismay).

if you’re on your period it’s literally game over for you. she’s already obsessed with your pussy as is, but when it’s all bloody and ultra sensitive and bloody and sore and BLOODY??? nothing is getting her to pull out bro. nothing.

practically owns the mating press, especially during full moons. she loves watching the way her cock glides in and out of you, loves watching the stretch and the struggle as you try to take all of her girth. and watching your cum ooze out of you as she keeps on pushing herself in. she also adores pronebone and fucking you on your tummy in general.

breeding kink up the wazoo, but are any of us surprised? i think not. when i say she wants to give you babies, i mean babies (or maybe a litter in this case). like, she will dig her claws into your hips to hold you down as she (in her head but shhh don't tell her that) pumps you full of so much cum that you can't even hold it all. she'll stay inside you for hours while you're passed out due to her brutally fucking all the energy out of you, giving a slight thrust every now and again to make sure nothing tries to leak out of your (horrifically abused) pussy.

outdoor sex! outdoor sex! outdoor sex! yes ma'am chasing you into the woods and eventually catching you and shoving you into the ground and tearing apart your dress and-

yall are gonna boo me for this but no fingering :( i'm not that much of a freak chat i'm not trying to get my coochie all scratched up. but hey if you're into that then follow your heart ig.

often gets carried away when giving head. believe it or not, the overstimulation isn't even on purpose. she's so just enamored and pussydrunk and stupid that she loses all track of time and physically can't pull her lips away from your clit.

werewolf!abby isn't as big on dominance as regular!abby. like she still won't bottom (i'm a bit of a pillow princess but ntm on that) but she's a lot more open to you "taking control" via riding her, tying her up, maybe choking if you catch her in the right mood etc. she thinks it's beyond adorable.

if you're not into biting then don't even bother laying with this woman bc by the time she's done with you....

throatfucking! next question-

^^^^ now if yall will excuse me, i have to grab my rose rq-

[sloaneispunk]

“friend or foe” pt.2

soft!frontman (hwang in-ho) x you

when frontman joined the games, he thought it was solely to see gihun fail, but his intentions shifted when a certain player number 455 caught his attention…

──── ●▲■ ────

the next day, you ate breakfast with in-ho and the team. they discussed different strategies and games in which they might have to play.

naturally, in-ho had given his milk to you even after much protests. he explained how it would help you get stronger and ready for the games.

“where’s my milk?” jung-bae sulked as everyone laughed.

you stayed beside in-ho the entire time. since after the second game, you had grown very fond of him. and luckily for you, so did he.

he felt protective of you, he wouldn’t let you out of his sight. even more so in a place like this. when you were caught up with thanos’ team, trying to save yourself after bumping into nam-gyu

in-ho made sure to step up, teaching thanos and his friends a lesson for laying a hand on you, or even threatening you.

he would have went feral if you hadn’t stopped him by pulling him away into a corner, helping him cool off.

“it’s okay, i’m okay.” you told him as you tried to get him to tear his eyes away from glaring at thanos.

“did they hurt you?” he simply asked, ignoring everything else you had just said.

‘no’. you shook your head.

after that, he made sure he always had you within feet from him.

──── ●▲■ ────

when it was time for the third game, in-ho held your hand as everyone walked towards the game room.

“i hope it’s something we can play in teams.” he said to you, making you smile.

“why? so you can team up with me?” you teased.

“of course.”

when you reached the game room, a large carousel sat in the center of the room. around it were different colored doors with numbers on them, 1-50.

“what is this?” in-ho wondered out loud as a voice came through the speakers.

‘the game is mingle. the carousel will move when the music plays…once it stops, a number will be called out. the number is the number of people you will need to have in your group before you enter a room of your choice.’

“shit.” you cursed under your breath.

it was going to be a bloodbath.

of course, in-ho already knew this. he might have been acting scared, but deep down, he was. how was he to garuntee your safety in a game like this.

if he didn’t come up with anything quickly, he could mess up the game, or worse, lose you.

──── ●▲■ ────

‘start’

ring-a ring-a ring-a ring-a ring-a ring-a ring-a

as the giant carousel began to rotate, in-ho’s grip on your hand became tighter.

‘10’

“we need 5!” gi-hun yelled over the chaos that insued.

“we’re 5! let’s go! green door!” player 120 said as both teams ran for the door.

inside, in-ho made sure you were okay first before he checked on the rest.

“you should be thanking me!” a woman suddenly declared, throwing her hand up in the air. “without me, you all would have died!”

“geez! the ego on this woman.” jung-bae scoffed.

then, she whipped her head around, finger flying to your face as she stopped inches away, almost hitting you.

“can i help you?” you asked.

“you… you’re here for a purpose.” she said.

in-ho pulled you aside, stepping in front as he glared at the woman.

“you talk to her again and i’ll make sure you’re locked outside.”

the woman could only gulp.

just in time, the door unlocked, saving the lady’s ass as well as yours.

──── ●▲■ ────

“fuckin’ crazy sharman lady.” in-ho muttered to himself as he got back up onto the platform.

you giggled. it was funny how he was affected by everything else but the deadly game he was in the midst of.

‘4’

shit. someone was going to be left behind.

“gi-hun! take her, i’ll find others!” in-ho instructed as gi-hun nodded, grabbing your arm and dashing into a room.

“young-il!” you screamed as you were being dragged away from him.

he was so selfless, he only cared about saving you and his ‘friends’.

“he’ll be okay.” dae-ho told you as he stood beside you, peeping through the hole in the door.

the next few minutes were excruciating. you couldn’t find in-ho in the running, desperate crowd.

little did you know, in-ho was in a room on his own, locking it before anyone could enter.

he catched his breath as a guard came up to the doorhole, aiming his gun at him.

“stand down.” in-ho ordered, making the guard turn away, walking off.

when the doors unlocked, you sprinted out.

“there!” gi-hun called out, pointing to in-ho who was running towards you.

you practically flung yourself onto him, taking him aback as he laughed.

“oh my god, i was so worried.” you told him as you pulled away.

“you can’t rid of me that easy.”

“ah! we thought you couldn’t find enough people in time!” jung-bae chipped in.

“i’m a very likeable man, i do well in these games.” he joked.

──── ●▲■ ────

when it came down to the final round, a thick air of tension filled the atmosphere.

the last number was announced, ‘2’. you knew exactly what they were doing. around 150 people left, 50 rooms, you were going to have to fight for the rooms.

the team had split up, in-ho naturally sticking eith you as you both ran for the nearest room.

just as you were about to enter, you felt a strong push, knocking you to the ground onto your back as the man took your place, shutting the door as the timer hit 0.

“y/n!” in-ho shouted as tears started to fill your eyes.

“young-il… don’t let me die.” you cried.

oh, he was angry. angry wasn’t even actually able to cover it. he was fuming.

he picked up the man by the collar, punching and kicking him as he yelled in frustration.

as the guards approached you, you heard his voice.

“standdown! now!” he said, “that is an order.”

just like that, the gun held up towards your temple was gone. the guard walked over to the room, using a set of keys to open it before standing behind you.

in-ho however did not step out. he simply grabbed the man who was already fighting for his dear life, locking him in a headlock.

“w-what?” you asked, backing away from in-ho as his eyes pooled with anger.

“take her upstairs.” he said to the guard as he nodded, lifting you up and dragging you away.

the last thing you heard was the loud crack of the man’s neck echoing through your ears.

(i am going insane)

[myownwholewildworld]

OKAY SO… where do i even begin with this?! i think i might have gone into arousal shock (is that a thing? must be) after reading this MASTERPIECE, odi. like the way you set the pace, the back and forth, how reader was adamant at first that she just wouldn’t be “another one”… UGGGHHHH it hit all the right spots for me!! also, your writing is so immersive, i was right there in the party and then in the bar with them. you write so beautifully i can only aspire to be like you one day when i grow up 😭 the dynamic between them was so natural, i can only say THAT MUST BE LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. can’t convince me otherwise!

so, without any further ado, let me dive in because I HAVE THOTS i need to let out before i pass out!

Javier danced his way onto the makeshift stage in front of your bestie, spinning his hat off and tossing it with a flourish into the crowd. Almost causing a fight between a few of the women to break out.

YUP, that’d be me. i’d be fighting wars on a muddy pitch just to grab his hat!!!

Javier stood unabashed and grinning in a leopard-print thong that left very little to the imagination.

HOWLING TO THE FUCKING MOON YOU DID THATTTTT omfg someone sedate me RIGHT ABOUT NOW I’M BEGGING YOU

Your face burned as your gaze dipped lower, catching a glimpse of something even more scandalous. The tiny scrap of leopard print couldn’t quite contain him—on the sides, the curve of his balls was slipping free.

the way i pictured this instantly, i ain’t joking i think at this point i started running a fever???

Your pulse fluttered wildly as he worked the crowd, making his way closer, dancing toward you.

i don’t know how reader kept it together, i would of died right there and then. like he’s DIABOLICAL FOR DANCING HIS WAY TO HERRR ASDSFKDÑLKJ

“Oh, I don’t think you’re good. Not yet, anyway.” He leaned closer, his voice just for you now. “But I’m more than happy to change that.”

HAHHHHAHHHHAHALJLADJA BYE. the fact that she stood her ground?? she’s the strongest of us all. kudos to her honestly.

“I don’t bite.” He winked. “Not unless you ask nicely.”

gnawing at the walls of my fucking coffin right now. i wouldn’t have asked, i would have begged.

the whole text exchange had me on a chokehold because that man was on a mission he was not about to lose. he knows what he wants and he gets itttttt ugh to be chased by a man like that, DREAM. and when he sends her his pic saying that he’s feeling lonely? DAMN RIGHT HE KNOWS WHAT HE’S DOING. also loved when they are at the bar and Javi opens up about being a DEA agent letting her see some of his real self? like, yeah. he’s down bad, i knew at this point this couple was meant to be. i’ll die on this hill.

“Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out,” you replied. His smile was slow, almost lazy. “Careful, sweetheart. I just might take you up on that.” 

HAHHAHJAHAGTYWIWM,. i was about to fight if he didn’t go into the room, extremely relieved he did.

“Do me a favor,” he whispered. “Touch yourself. Just a little.”

ODI, YOU- YOU BEAUTIFUL SOUL 😭 from this point on i just completely lost my shit and i was a trembling bundle of nerves throughout. if you looked up the definition of “feral” in a dictionary, my fucking face would be besides it. i shouldn’t have read this in a public space but with every word it just got better and better, hotter and hotter, i just couldn’t stop. i was heavingggggggg. anyways…

Your fingers faltered for a moment, your breath catching as your focus shifted entirely to him. He stood before you, stripped of all pretense, his movements deliberate and sure. When he pushed his pants and boxers down in one smooth motion, your gaze locked onto him, and your thoughts scattered.

your thoughts scattered??? beautifully put considering how wild this made me feel… i was not having demure thots at this point.

Slowly, deliberately, you adjusted, letting your slick pussy tease the length of him. The anticipation was maddening, and you could feel him trembling beneath you, his restraint barely holding. Then, with a deep breath, you angled yourself just right and began to lower yourself onto his length.

put me in horny jail, i beg you. i was suffering. i am suffering while rereading this.

it would be wrong of me to just quote the whole pussy eating scene so just know i was so not normal about it. grab a shovel, might as well go dig my grave now.

and then the end, when they both come undone and he says “give me one more”??? IS THAT SENTENCE EVEN LEGAL??? gonna have to check the law because i feel like it shouldn’t be. and the promise of a second round????? 🥵

i am so glad i finally got to read this because I WAS SO MISSING OUT. the whole fic was a fucking tease and a masterpiece, i truly cannot describe it any other way. PLEASE I BEG YOU, WILL YOU WRITE A SECOND PART TO THIS??? i hope so 😭

Strangers

Stripper!Javier Pena x f!reader // almost 9k

Time stands still and it's only us, what we feel started way before we ever touched... must be from a different life been here before and it just feels right

summary: you meet a sexy stripper at your bestie's bachelorette party and he tries his absolute hardest to get your number

warnings: mdni, 18+, javi is a stripper, he wears a man thong and gets pretty close to stripping it all off in public, there's cock and balls, unprotected p in v, f!oral receiving, lap dances for days, reader has breasts, a dress, and hair that can fall around her face and is internally conflicted about this man and his leopard thong, javi has a pov in this too

notes: i really don't remember what sparked this but here we are... it's been like a month or more of me working on this. I thought I was done and then I heard a single song and it pushed me to write even more. This was supposed to be just a smutty fic and then got some depth and I was like wtf. Anyway on to the thank yous, thank you to the 5000 people I have screamed to about this, and a massive thank you to @thundermartini for listening to me go on and on about this guy for a long time and then reading it for me love you baby! A special mention to @gothcsz for the thong idea, @evolnoomym, @milla-frenchy and @sawymredfox for being so supportive of this idea to @joelslegalwhre for reading and @syd-djarin for the moodboard

masterlist

The music thumped so loudly it seemed to shake the floor, the kind of bass-heavy track that rumbled through your chest. Your best friend’s bachelorette party was in full swing, and the rented penthouse buzzed with laughter, shrieks, and a significant amount of tequila-fueled chaos. The party planners had spared no expense, from the towering stacks of champagne glasses to the flashy male entertainment just about to take the stage.

And then, he walked in.

You couldn’t ignore the way the room seemed to shift when he entered. The man—Javier, as the MC introduced him—had an undeniable presence. Dressed in a tight police officer uniform complete with aviators, a fake badge, hat, and handcuffs, he adjusted his badge with a grin that screamed trouble. His dark eyes surveyed the room with the kind of confidence that could only come from knowing he was the main event. 

Every woman in the room, including you, took notice.

While your friends ogled and whispered not-so-subtle comments, you tried—and failed—to keep your eyes elsewhere. He was gorgeous, sure, but this wasn’t your scene. Loud parties weren’t really your thing. 

The first performance was for the bride-to-be, of course. When the lights dimmed and the music shifted to something playfully seductive, the room erupted into cheers and Javier made his way to the bachelorette. 

“Ladies,” he announced, his voice smooth and teasing as he pulled a pair of fake handcuffs from his belt. “I hear there's a bride-to-be here who’s guilty of breaking hearts. I’m afraid I’ll have to take her in.”

Your best friend shrieked with laughter as he arrested her, securing one cuff around her wrist and helping her onto a nearby chair. The room buzzed with excitement as he began to dance, every move deliberate and designed to tease. 

You watched the scene unfold, biting your lip to stifle your laughter. He was undeniably good at what he did. But you couldn’t focus on the theatrics as much as everyone else seemed to. Your attention had zeroed in on him—his broad shoulders, the way his shirt clung to his chest, and the effortless way he commanded every inch of the massive penthouse, the man was sex on legs. As he began to set up for the big finale, you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

Javier danced his way onto the makeshift stage in front of your bestie, spinning his hat off and tossing it with a flourish into the crowd. Almost causing a fight between a few of the women to break out.

His aviators followed, revealing deep, smoldering eyes that locked with yours for a moment too long. He’s just playing to the crowd, he has to look at all the women right?

The bassline shifted to a slower, dirtier rhythm, and he rolled his shoulders back, his body falling into perfect sync with the beat.

Then came the shirt.

He gripped the edges, peeling it off slowly, revealing inch by inch of sun-kissed skin stretched over a perfectly sculpted chest and arms. When he finally tossed the shirt aside, the room erupted in cheers and whistles.

And yet, all you could do was stare and clench your thighs together. Why was this affecting you so much? It’s just a party. It’s just a guy. Get a grip. But no amount of inner scolding could make you look away. Something about this man pulled you in.

His chest glistened under the soft glow of the light, each bead of sweat tracing a slow, tantalizing path over the chiseled contours of his body. Your breath hitched, captivated by the sheer allure of him—the way every ridge of muscle stood out, accentuated as his hand drifted slowly down his torso. He moved with deliberate ease, fully aware of the spell he was weaving, and the teasing smirk playing at the corner of his lips made it clear that he was savoring every second of all the attention he was receiving.

But it was when his fingers moved to rip off his belt that the real show began.

The collective energy in the room surged as Javier teasingly ran his hands down his sides, and in one swift, practiced motion, he reached for his waistband and yanked.

The rip-away pants came apart with a sharp, satisfying sound, sending the crowd into a frenzy. The noise, a mix of gasps, shrieks, and raucous laughter, echoed through the penthouse. But none of that registered as you stared at what had been revealed.

Javier stood unabashed and grinning in a leopard-print thong that left very little to the imagination. Every inch of his sculpted body was on display—toned legs, powerful thighs, and that tiny scrap of fabric barely holding itself together. The cut of the thong framed his hips perfectly, the deep lines of his V cutting down, drawing your eyes exactly where he wanted them to go. The thin fabric of the thong clung tightly to him, leaving the unmistakable outline of his cock on display, straining the limits of the material. Javier seemed completely unbothered by how much was on show.

Your face burned as your gaze dipped lower, catching a glimpse of something even more scandalous. The tiny scrap of leopard print couldn’t quite contain him—on the sides, the curve of his balls was slipping free. You swallowed hard, your pulse fluttering as he shifted his weight, the motion only emphasizing how precariously the thong was holding itself together.

The room exploded excitedly, women fanning themselves, throwing bills, and shouting over one another. But you could barely breathe.

And then, just when you thought the spectacle couldn’t get any more outrageous, Javier turned around with a deliberate, teasing spin, giving the room an uninterrupted view of his backside.

The thong was practically nonexistent, the thin fabric disappearing completely between the firm, sculpted curves of his ass. His glistening, muscular cheeks were on full display, round and perfectly defined, drawing another deafening eruption of cheers and whistles from the crowd.

Javier struck a pose, bracing his hands on his hips as he arched his back slightly, flexing for effect. He glanced over his shoulder with a devilish grin, clearly relishing in the chaos he was causing. The lights caught the sheen of sweat on his skin, highlighting every curve and line of muscle, leaving no question as to just how perfect he was from every single angle.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away. Your breath hitched and your pulse pounded so loudly in your ears it almost drowned out the music. Heat flushed through your body as your gaze lingered shamelessly on his backside, every inch of him a deliberate invitation.

After what felt like a torturous eternity, Javier turned back toward the crowd, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest as he surveyed everyone's reactions.

He strutted forward, running his hands up his torso and tossing a playful wink to the bride-to-be, who was practically falling out of her chair from laughter and shock. But his gaze kept flicking to you.

Your cheeks burned as he moved closer, spinning on his heel to give the audience another view. His movements were fluid and sensual, every roll of his hips and flex of his body perfectly in time with the music. When he leaned down to grab the bride’s hands to feel up his torso, his back arched in a way that emphasized the curve of his ass, and you bit your lip without thinking.

This man was a problem.

When he finally ended the dance with a flourish—dropping to his knees in front of the bride-to-be before flawlessly almost jumping back up to a standing position—the applause was deafening.

Javier laughed, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. He took a playful bow, blowing a kiss to the bride-to-be before gathering his discarded pants and shirt. His bare torso glistened under the soft glow of the party lights, and the lingering smirk on his lips suggested he knew he had the entire room wrapped around his finger.

The girls were still cheering and clapping, their voices a mix of exhilaration and tipsy enthusiasm. But while the others were caught up in the wild energy of the moment, you felt a strange tightness in your chest, like the room had closed in around you.

You weren’t used to reacting this way to someone, and it unnerved you. The heat creeping up your neck was impossible to ignore, and no amount of pretending to be distracted by your drink could hide the fact that your eyes kept darting back to him.

And he noticed—like a magnet—his eyes locked onto yours.

Your stomach flipped.

For a split second, everything else faded; the noise, the laughter, even your own internal protests to look away. It was just him, standing there, looking at you with that maddening confidence.

Then he moved.

Javier began to dance again, hips rolling in slow, hypnotic circles to the bass-heavy beat. The fabric of the thong strained with every motion, but he didn’t shy away. If anything, he seemed to lean into it—one hand trailing down his torso to brush along the waistband, teasing as if he might remove it completely.

Your pulse fluttered wildly as he worked the crowd, making his way closer, dancing toward you.

Your breath caught as you tried to focus on literally anything else—your drink, the flickering candles on the table, the way your best friend was still howling with laughter. But there was no escaping the fact that Javier was now standing right in front of you, every inch of him radiating heat and presence.

“Having fun?” he asked.

You blinked up at him, your mouth suddenly dry. “Uh… yeah. It’s been… something.” Your voice wavered, betraying how flustered you felt. Something? Really? That was the best you could come up with? You scrambled for words, your brain short-circuiting. “I mean—great. It’s been great.”

Smooth.

His smirk widened. “Just great?” He leaned in slightly, the scent of his cologne—something dark and woodsy—mingling with the musky sheen of sweat on his skin. “Because you’ve been staring like you’re enjoying yourself a little more than tha?t.”

You nearly choked on your drink. “I—I wasn’t—”

“Relax,” he teased, his grin softening into something warmer, more inviting. “I’m just messing with you. Now come on, sweetheart,” he encouraged. “Let me make your night.”

“I’m good, thanks,” you replied, though your cheeks burned with the effort of maintaining composure. You crossed your arms to emphasize your refusal, but Javier didn’t look the least bit discouraged.

“Oh, I don’t think you’re good. Not yet, anyway.” He leaned closer, his voice just for you now. “But I’m more than happy to change that.”

Despite your best efforts, the laughter bubbling up from your chest betrayed you. He grinned, clearly enjoying your reaction. But when you refused—again—he didn’t press. Instead, he winked, gave an exaggerated shrug, and moved on to another guest, leaving you strangely disappointed.

————

Later, after the performances ended and the room was quieter, you found yourself sitting on a chair in the back corner of the room scrolling idly on your phone, trying to drown out your lingering thoughts about him. A few drinks had loosened your resolve. You noticed a stack of glossy business cards on the table where he had tossed his hat earlier. Curiosity got the better of you, and you picked one up.

The card was sleek, black with gold lettering. At the top, in bold, elegant lettering, it read:

Elite Heat’s Javier Peña

To the left, there was a neatly organized list; a phone number, a Facebook link, which you immediately ignored, and a website address. But it was the bottom that made your breath hitch.

On top of a gold banner, the words Elite Heat: “The Best Sex Therapy” were printed in bold, confident lettering. 

To the right was a photo of Javier himself.

It wasn’t a professional headshot - far from it. It was one of those casual yet devastatingly attractive pictures that looked effortless but likely required perfect lighting and timing. He wore a grey long-sleeve shirt that framed his broad chest perfectly, the top buttons undone just enough to tease without giving away too much. His hand, however, made it impossible not to stare—casually slipping beneath the fabric, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his defined abs. The way the light hit his skin added a subtle sheen, making the whole image feel like a deliberate invitation.

For a moment, you just stared at the card. The combination of professional polish and brazen confidence made your stomach twist in a way that annoyed you.

“The best sex therapy, huh?” you muttered to yourself, raising an eyebrow at the audacity.

Curiosity got the better of you. You grabbed your phone and typed “Javier Peña” into Instagram. After scrolling through a few accounts that clearly weren’t him, you found the right one.

The profile itself was… an experience.

Picture after picture of Javier dominated the feed—some in his infamous uniform, others in casual attire, and far too many shirtless to be accidental. Every post was a masterclass in confident allure, and his captions were just as bold.

The comments were what really got to you, though. Endless lines of hearts, fire emojis, and thirsty declarations filled each post.

“Find something you like?”

His voice startled you so much that you almost dropped your phone. You looked up to see Javier standing in front of you, his shirt slung casually over his shoulder and he was wearing his uniform pants again. How long had he been there?

“I was just…” You trailed off, trying to think of a plausible excuse for stalking him online. His smirk told you he wasn’t buying it.

“Don’t worry,” he said, leaning in closer than necessary. “You can follow me. Might even follow you back.”

“I’m not interested,” you replied, though the conviction in your voice wavered as he placed a hand on the back of your chair, caging you in.

“You sure about that?” he asked, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. Your heart raced as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’ll make you a deal sweetheart, one dance. If you hate it, I’ll leave you alone. But if you like it… well, you can give me your number when it’s over.”

You swallowed hard, your resolve crumbling faster than you wanted to admit. After all, what was the harm in one dance?

Javier’s confidence was infuriatingly contagious, and your curiosity was louder than the protests in your head. You nodded if only to prove to yourself that he wouldn’t get under your skin. A small, victorious smile curved his lips as he straightened, offering his hand. “Good choice.”

He didn’t give you much time to second-guess as he guided you to the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the penthouse. Some of your friends hooted and hollered, clearly thrilled to see you in the spotlight. You, however, were hyper-aware of every step as Javier led you to a chair he had conveniently placed in the center of the room.

“Sit,” he commanded, his voice smooth but firm. His dark eyes gleamed with mischief as he waited for you to comply. Against your better judgment, you did.

The music shifted to something slower and sultrier. Javier grabbed his shirt from his shoulder, tossing it onto the floor. The movement was casual, but there was nothing casual about the way his toned chest and large arms drew every pair of eyes in the room. Including yours.

He stalked closer, and suddenly it felt like the room had disappeared. Just you, the chair, and the dangerously attractive man who seemed to thrive on the tension hanging in the air.

“Relax,” he murmured as he noticed the way your hands gripped the edge of the chair. “I don’t bite.” He winked. “Not unless you ask nicely.”

Before you could reply, he began to move.

It wasn’t the kind of dance you expected. Yes, it was provocative—every roll of his hips and glide of his body was designed to tease—but there was something more deliberate about it. He kept his gaze locked on yours, watching every flicker of emotion on your face. His hands didn’t touch you—not yet. Instead, they skimmed close enough to make you ache for the contact, only for him to pull away at the last moment.

He straddled the chair, his thighs framing yours as he dipped low, his chest hovering just inches from your face. His scent filled your senses, and your pulse quickened as he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You’re even more beautiful up close,” he whispered.

Your breath hitched, and you hated how easily he could see the effect he had on you.

Javier straightened, his hands gripping the chair on either side of you as he moved his hips in a way that felt borderline illegal. He was close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him, but he still didn’t touch. The lack of contact was maddening, and the glint in his eye told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

The song ended too quickly, and he stepped back, leaving you feeling both relieved and oddly bereft. Your friends erupted into cheers and applause, but you barely noticed. Your eyes were fixed on Javier as he extended a hand, helping you out of the chair.

“Enjoy yourself?” he asked.

You swallowed hard, refusing to let him see how much he’d gotten to you. “It was… okay.”

He laughed—a deep, rich sound that sent another shiver through you. “Just okay, huh? I’ll have to work on that.”

Before you could respond, he winked and disappeared back into the crowd.

——

An hour later, the party was winding down. The penthouse was quieter, and most of your friends had migrated to the couches or left altogether. You were nursing your last drink of the night when Javier appeared again, a shot glass in each hand.

“For you,” he said, offering one with an easy smile.

You eyed it suspiciously. “You didn’t put anything in this, did you?”

He looked genuinely offended, clutching his chest dramatically. “I’m hurt you’d even ask.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine,” he admitted, leaning in closer. “I did put something in it.”

You froze, and he smirked, finishing his sentence with a devilish twinkle in his eye. “It’s called tequila.”

Your laugh surprised even you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously charming,” he corrected, clinking his glass against yours. “Now drink up.”

Against your better judgment, you downed the shot, the burn of the tequila grounding you for a moment.

“Good girl,” he said. “Now, how about that number?”

Javier’s smile didn’t waver as he set his empty shot glass on the table. “Still hesitant, huh?” he asked, watching you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

You shrugged, trying to appear unaffected. “I don’t make it a habit to give my number to strangers, especially ones who…” You gestured vaguely to his naked chest and the police hat perched crookedly on his head. “...do what you do.”

“Fair enough,” he said, the teasing edge in his voice softening. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, holding it out to you. “At least let me follow you on Instagram..”

You stared at the phone, then at him. The sincerity in his tone threw you off balance, and the way his dark eyes searched yours made it hard to hold onto your skepticism. Against your better judgment—again—you took the phone and followed your account.

“Here,” you said, handing it back after following him.

Javier glanced at the screen, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he promised, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”

And just like that, he was gone, disappearing into the night with the same confidence that had drawn every eye in the room earlier.

Javi 

Javier leaned against the balcony railing outside the penthouse lighting a cigarette, the cool night air doing little to temper the heat still coursing through him. The party was still going inside, but his thoughts had drifted elsewhere—to you. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head at himself. He’d performed for hundreds of women, charmed his way through countless parties, but tonight felt… different.  

You’d thrown him off balance in a way he wasn’t used to.  

Sure, you’d laughed at his jokes and taken the shot he offered, but there was something in your eyes—an intoxicating mix of curiosity and resistance—that had him hooked. He wasn’t sure what it was about you. Maybe it was the way you tried to keep your guard up even as he chipped away at it. Maybe it was the way you watched him when you thought he wasn’t looking, like you couldn’t quite help yourself.  

Or maybe it was the way he couldn’t stop replaying that moment on the dance floor in his head. The way your breath hitched when he leaned in. The way your lips parted, as though you were holding back words—or something else entirely.  

The music from the party shifted the song echoing in the distance. Javier’s mind wandered as the melody pulled him into his own thoughts. It wasn’t just lust that gnawed at him—though, hell, that was definitely part of it. No, this was something deeper, something that felt unsettlingly like longing.  

He ran a hand through his hair, the grin he’d worn all night slipping away. He’d never been one for complications, especially when it came to women. His job was to entertain, to tease, to flirt—but he’d never felt this kind of pull before. It was like a spark had ignited when he locked eyes with you, and now it wouldn’t go out.  

For the first time in a long while, Javier wasn’t sure if he was in control.  

The lyrics to the song playing in the penthouse hit him square in the chest.  

Must be from a different life, been here before, and it just feels right. No, this ain't the first time for you and I, we ain't strangers.

The words struck a chord, leaving him standing there, staring out at the city lights, wondering how a single dance, a single moment, could unravel him so completely.  

It's like it's driving me closer to you, every step back pulls me right back to you…

Maybe you wouldn’t give him your number. Maybe this would end here, tonight, like all the other nights before. But as he grabbed his phone from his pocket and opened Instagram, his thumb hovering over your profile, he couldn’t help but think—this didn’t feel like an ending.  

It felt like the beginning of something he wasn’t ready to let go of.  

———

Back in your hotel room, you flopped onto the plush bed with a groan. The events of the evening replayed in your mind, Javier’s smirk and the heat of his gaze lingering longer than you cared to admit.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered to yourself, reaching for your phone. A quick check of Instagram confirmed what you suspected—he’d already followed and sent you a message.

Javier: See? Now we’re not strangers anymore.

You rolled your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips. His confidence was irritatingly endearing.

You: I don’t think Instagram follows count as a formal introduction.

His reply was almost instant.

Javier: What would count? Because I’m pretty sure that dance was more personal than most first dates.

You bit your lip, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. He wasn’t wrong, but you weren’t about to admit that.

You: Is this your usual routine? Flirt with everyone at the party, then slide into DMs?

Javier: Nope. Just you.

You stared at the screen, your stomach doing an annoying little flip at his words.

You: Why me?

The typing indicator blinked for a moment before his reply came through.

Javier: Because you didn’t throw yourself at me like everyone else. And because you’re cute when you’re pretending not to be interested.

Your cheeks burned as you read the message, but you couldn’t help smiling.

You: I’m not pretending.

Javier: So you are interested?

You: I didn’t say that.

Javier: But you didn’t deny it, either.

You sighed, realizing this conversation wasn’t going to end anytime soon.

You: Don’t you have better things to do than bother me?

Javier: Nope. Not tonight.

Before you could come up with a snarky reply, another message popped up.

Javier: You could come over, you know. Save us both the trouble of texting all night.

Your heart raced at the suggestion, and you hesitated, typing and deleting a dozen responses before settling on one.

You: Not happening.

Javier: Why not?

You: Because it’s late, and I’m not that kind of girl.

Javier: What kind of girl is that?

You: The kind that sneaks into a stranger’s room after one tequila shot and a few texts.

Javier: I’m not exactly a stranger anymore.

You stared at his message, your lips twitching at the boldness. Before you could type out another response, your phone buzzed with a notification. It was a photo. From Javier.

You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the image preview before finally opening it. The picture was simple yet devastatingly effective: Javier, shirtless, sprawled on a hotel bed, the faint light casting shadows that only emphasized his toned chest. His dark eyes smoldered into the camera, and his messy hair added to the whole “devil-may-care” aesthetic he wore so well.

Javier: Feeling really lonely over here. Could use some company.

Heat pooled low in your belly and you groaned, tossing your phone onto the bed as if distance could break the spell he seemed to have on you. But of course, curiosity won out, and you grabbed it again, typing out a response before you could second-guess yourself.

You: Flattery and thirst traps won’t work on me.

Javier: Who said it was flattery? Just being honest.

You: Still not happening.

Javier: Okay, how about a compromise?

You: What kind of compromise?

Javier: Drinks. Just the two of us. Down at the hotel bar. Public place, no pressure.

You bit your lip, weighing your options. Saying yes felt like walking into a trap, but a part of you was curious—and maybe, just maybe, a little tempted. The idea of sitting across from him, away from the crowd, felt… different. Safer. Almost.

You: Fine. One drink.

Javier: I’ll take it. Meet you there in ten?

You: Fifteen. I need to change.

Javier: You don’t have to change for me, sweetheart. You already look perfect.

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips as you tossed your phone onto the bed and rifled through your suitcase. Fifteen minutes later, you stepped into the elevator, your heart pounding with anticipation and nerves as you descended to the hotel bar.

The bar was dimly lit, with warm amber hues reflecting off the polished surfaces. The low hum of conversation mingled with the clinking of glasses, creating an atmosphere both intimate and unassuming. You spotted Javier immediately.  

He sat at a corner table, leaning back in his chair. He’d changed into a simple black button-down that clung to his frame in a way that was almost unfair. His gaze locked onto you the moment you entered.  

“Right on time,” he said, standing as you reached the table. He pulled out a chair for you, a small but unexpected gesture that caught you off guard.  

“Don’t get used to it,” you replied, settling into the seat.  

“Noted.” His smile widened as he slid into the chair opposite you.  

The server appeared almost instantly, and Javier gestured for you to order first. You requested a simple cocktail, while he opted for whiskey on the rocks. As the server walked away, his attention returned to you and it wasn’t long before they returned with them.

“So,” he began, leaning forward slightly. “What convinced you to come down here?”  

You raised an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance. “Curiosity, I guess. Wanted to see if you were as charming one-on-one as you are with a crowd.”  

“And?” 

You took a deliberate sip of your drink before answering. “Jury’s still out.”  

He chuckled, “I’m not worried. I’m good under pressure.”  

The banter came easily, the conversation flowing in a way that surprised you. He was quick-witted, teasing without being overbearing, and as much as you hated to admit it, he was easy to talk to, it felt like knew him without knowing him. The more you spoke, the more you caught glimpses of the man behind the cocky facade—sharp, observant, and surprisingly thoughtful.  

Still, you made him work for it.  

Whenever his compliments grew too bold, you deflected with a teasing remark. When he leaned in a little too close, you leaned back, though you couldn’t ignore the thrill that ran through you each time he tested your resolve.  

“I like this game you’re playing,” he said after a while, his whiskey glass nearly empty.  

“What game?” you asked innocently.  

“The one where you pretend you’re not interested.” His gaze was unwavering, the heat in his eyes unmistakable.  

“I’m not pretending,” you replied, though the words sounded less convincing than you’d hoped.  

He tilted his head, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “No? Then why are you still here?”  

You opened your mouth to respond, but the truth caught in your throat. Why were you still here?  

Before you could come up with an excuse, he reached across the table, his fingers brushing yours. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but it sent a jolt of electricity up your arm.  

“Listen,” he said, his voice softer now, the teasing edge gone. “If this isn’t what you want, just say the word, and I’ll back off. No hard feelings.”  

For the first time that night, you saw something unguarded in his expression—genuine sincerity that made your heart stutter.  You hesitated, your walls cracking under the weight of his words. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, or the way his thumb brushed against your knuckles, but something in you shifted.  

“Okay,” you said quietly.  

His brow lifted. “Okay, what?”  

“Okay… you’re not completely unbearable.”  

He laughed, the sound genuine and warm. “High praise.”  

“You know, I didn’t say I wasn’t interested,” you admitted finally, your voice quieter than you intended. “I just don’t know if this is a good idea.”

His smirk softened into something gentler, his fingers still lightly brushing yours on the table. “Not everything has to be a good idea to be worth it, sweetheart,” he said.

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Is that your life philosophy, or just your way of convincing women to give you their number?”

“Both,” he said with a shrug, his grin returning. “And it’s worked out pretty well so far.”

You rolled your eyes, but the tension between you eased slightly. The conversation shifted after that, the teasing banter giving way to something more genuine. He asked about your life, your work, your dreams—and for every question he asked, he shared something about himself, too. 

“I wasn’t always this guy,” he admitted at one point, swirling the remnants of his whiskey in his glass. “I used to be a cop. A real one. Back in Colombia.”

You blinked, surprised. “A cop? Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah. DEA, actually.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? What made you leave?”

His expression darkened briefly, a shadow crossing his features. “Let’s just say… the job took its toll. And I realized I wanted something different. Something lighter.” He glanced at you then, a hint of humor returning to his voice. “Though I’m not sure stripping is what my father had in mind when I told him I was switching careers.”

The two of you laughed, and the conversation continued to flow. By the time your drinks were empty, you realized you were leaning forward, hanging onto his every word.

Javier glanced at the time on his phone and then back at you. “I hate to say it, but the bar’s closing soon.”

You nodded, a strange mix of disappointment and relief settling over you. “Guess I should head back to my room.”

“Yeah.” He hesitated, as if weighing his next words carefully. “Can I walk you to your door?”

Your pulse quickened at the question, but you nodded. “Okay.”

The two of you rode the elevator in silence, the charged tension between you filling the small space. When you reached your floor, he stepped out with you, his presence at your side was both comforting and exhilarating.

When you finally stopped outside your door, you turned to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Well… this is me.”

“Home sweet hotel,” he said, his tone light but his gaze intense.

You fiddled with your key card, unsure of what to say. He didn’t push, didn’t try to move closer. Instead, he simply smiled.

“I had a good time tonight,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “Thank you for giving me a chance.”

You swallowed hard, his words sending a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the tequila. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you was thick with unspoken possibilities, each one more tempting than the last. Then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned in and kissed him.

It was soft, hesitant at first—a test to see if this was really what you wanted. But the moment his lips moved against yours, everything else fell away. His hand cupped your cheek, his touch warm and steady as he deepened the kiss. 

When you finally pulled back, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes searching yours for any sign of regret. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out,” you replied.

His smile was slow, almost lazy. “Careful, sweetheart. I just might take you up on that.” 

As Javier lingered, you found yourself hesitating. The way he kissed you had ignited something within you—something raw.

You opened your door but didn’t step inside, glancing back at him. "Well, you coming?”

He arched a brow, that teasing smirk returning. “You sure?”

You laughed softly. “I think I’ll take my chances.”

Javier followed you inside. The dim light of the room cast shadows across his face, softening the sharp lines of his features. He shut the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment as he studied you.

“So,” he drawled, his tone playful but low. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

You swallowed, heat rising to your cheeks. “I think you know Javier.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he shrugged off his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Before you could respond, he stepped closer, his fingers lightly grabbing your wrist. He guided you to sit on the edge of the bed and his voice dropped an octave. “If we’re doing this, I’m in control, ¿entiendes?”

You nodded, and it must have been obvious how nervous you were.

“Relax,” he murmured, his hands brushing your knees as he stepped between them. “This is supposed to be fun.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, your body responding to him in ways you couldn’t control. He leaned closer, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Do me a favor,” he whispered. “Touch yourself. Just a little.”

Your eyes widened, your pulse skyrocketing. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said. “I want to watch you.”

When you hesitated, his hand trailed up your thigh, his touch light but maddening. “Go on beautiful,” he urged. “Show me how you make yourself feel good.”

Your breath hitched, heat rushing to your cheeks and pooling low in your belly. Javier leaned back slightly, giving you space but never breaking eye contact. His gaze was dark, commanding, and utterly unapologetic. He wanted this. Wanted you vulnerable, open, and completely at his mercy. 

You hesitated, your heart pounding like a drum, but the way his fingers skimmed over your thigh made it impossible to think straight. “Don’t be shy,” he murmured, his voice coaxing yet dripping with authority. “I want to see every bit of you, mi amor.”

Your hand trembled as it moved to the hem of your dress. Slowly, you slid it higher, exposing more of your thighs to his burning gaze. He walked back and pulled up a chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest, but his eyes never wavered from you. The way he looked at you—as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world—was both thrilling and terrifying.

“Good girl,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. The praise sent a shiver through your body. You could feel your arousal building, the tension crackling between you like a live wire.  

Your breath shuddered as your fingers brushed the fabric of your panties, the dampness betraying just how much his presence, his words, his command, had affected you. You glanced at him, unsure, but his gaze was steady, his jaw tight, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your pulse race. 

Slowly, you slipped your hand beneath the fabric, the first tentative touch drawing a quiet gasp from your lips. Javier's expression darkened with hunger, his composure unraveling ever so slightly as he leaned forward. 

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Let me see how beautiful you are when you can’t hold back.”

Your fingers began to move in slow circles, your body responding to your touch almost instinctively. The heat between your thighs grew, and your hips shifted slightly, seeking more pressure. The room seemed to shrink, the air heavy with the sound of your breathing and the faint rustle of your movements. 

Javier's eyes never left you. His own restraint was evident in the way his fists clenched, the way his chest rose and fell a little too fast. “I want to hear you. Don’t hold back from me.”

You whimpered, your movements becoming more confident, more insistent as you lost yourself in the moment. Every sound you made, every twitch of your body, seemed to light a fire in him. His control was slipping, and it was intoxicating to know that you were the one unraveling him. 

“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire. “Keep going, just like that.”

Javier’s gaze burned into you, the tension in his jaw betraying how tightly he was holding himself back. But then, he shifted, his hands moving to undo the buttons of his shirt, one by one, exposing the golden skin of his chest. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if daring you to keep watching even as your own hand continued its rhythm. 

“Don’t stop,” he murmured, his voice dark and commanding, the sound vibrating through you. His shirt slid off his shoulders, and he let it fall to the floor. Then, his hands moved to his belt, the metallic clink making your breath hitch. He undid it in a single, fluid motion, the sound of the zipper following shortly after. 

Your fingers faltered for a moment, your breath catching as your focus shifted entirely to him. He stood before you, stripped of all pretense, his movements deliberate and sure. When he pushed his pants and boxers down in one smooth motion, your gaze locked onto him, and your thoughts scattered.

He was breathtaking. The sharp angles of his hips, the sculpted planes of his abdomen, the sheer strength of his frame—it was as if he had been carved just for you. Heat coiled low in your belly, a visceral reaction to the undeniable evidence of his desire for you.

Your eyes traveled over him, lingering shamelessly, drinking in every inch of him. His dark eyes burned into yours, filled with a heat that left you both vulnerable and electrified.

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling exposed under his gaze despite still being partially clothed. The way he looked at you—like you were the only thing he could see—made your pulse race and your chest tighten with need.

The air between you crackled with an unspoken hunger, and you couldn’t look away, couldn’t hide how deeply he affected you.

His hand wrapped around his shaft, a groan slipping from his lips as he began to stroke slowly, matching the rhythm you’d set for yourself. “Look at me,” he said. “Don’t hide from me, nena.”

The sight of him, so confident, so completely at ease with his own pleasure, made your own need intensify. Your movements quickened, your body arching slightly as the tension in your core built. His gaze flickered over you, drinking in every shiver, every gasp, every movement of your hand.

“Dios mío,” he murmured, his strokes becoming faster as he watched you. “You’re so beautiful like this. I could watch you forever.” 

Javier’s hand stilled suddenly, and you watched as he got up, his body exuding confidence and unrelenting command. He stepped closer, towering over you where you sat, his dark eyes still heavy with desire. He leaned down, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his voice a seductive rasp as he said, “Come here.”

You hesitated, your heart racing, unsure of what he was asking. But he took your hand, pulling you gently to your feet, and his lips brushed your ear. “I want you to dance for me. Just for me.”

“I—I don’t know if I can,” you stammered, your cheeks burning. The idea made your pulse race, the vulnerability and intimacy of it all was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

His hands moved to your waist, steadying you. “Yes, you can, you’re perfect.”

His words wrapped around you, melting your hesitation. Slowly, you began to sway, your movements tentative at first, but his gaze never wavered, filled with encouragement and raw need. 

Your fingers found the hem of your dress, and you began to lift it, inch by inch, exposing your skin. His eyes tracked every motion, his breaths deep and heavy, fueling your confidence. The dress fell to the floor, leaving you in your underwear. You turned away from him, your fingers trembling as you unclasped your bra, letting it slide off your shoulders before finally slipping out of your panties. 

“Fuck, you are so beautfiul.”

You felt the power in his words, the way they stoked your courage and your desire. With each slow sway of your hips, you inched closer to him, the magnetic pull between you was impossible to resist. His heated gaze anchored you, igniting a fire that coursed through your veins.

You ran your hands down your body, over your curves, letting him watch as you closed the distance. His chest heaved as you straddled him and the tip of his cock brushed against your core, you froze, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. 

“You’re doing so good,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your collarbone. “Just like that. Take your time, baby. Feel every second of it.

“Javi,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “I don’t know if I—”

“Yes, you do,” he interrupted, his hands sliding up your thighs to rest on your hips. His touch was firm, guiding but never forcing. “You’ve got this, baby. Dance for me—on me. Take your time.”

The raw hunger in his voice undid you. He guided your movements as you began to grind against him, slow and sensual. Your body aligned with his as you slid against him, teasing him with every slow grind. His head fell back against the chair, his jaw clenched as he groaned your name. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, his hands tightening their grip, encouraging your movements. “Just like that. Feel me, nena. Let me feel all of you.”

Slowly, deliberately, you adjusted, letting your slick pussy tease the length of him. The anticipation was maddening, and you could feel him trembling beneath you, his restraint barely holding. Then, with a deep breath, you angled yourself just right and began to lower yourself onto his length.

The sensation stole your breath as you took him inch by inch, your body adjusting to his size. His growl of pleasure rumbled through you, his hands guiding you down until you were completely seated. The stretch, the fullness—it was overwhelming and it felt so good.

“Now move, baby,” he urged, his voice strained. “Show me how good you can make us feel.”

You began to roll your hips, your movements slow and deliberate as you rode him, your bodies perfectly in sync. The connection between you felt electric, every thrust and grind drawing you closer together. His hands explored your body, his lips tracing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck and collarbone as you moved, his murmured praises driving you to the brink.

Each undulation of your hips sent a new wave of pleasure crashing through you, and as you rode him, the world melted away, leaving only the two of you tangled in passion and ecstasy.

The sensation made you both gasp, his hands tightening on your hips as you began to move. “That’s it,” he groaned. “Ride me. Just like that.” 

The tension coiled tighter with every roll of your hips, the friction building to a fever pitch as Javier groaned your name like a prayer. His hands gripped your waist firmly, guiding your movements, his thumbs pressing bruising circles into your skin as if to anchor himself. The entire time his gaze stayed locked on yours, dark and intense, as if he wanted to memorize the way you looked in this moment—completely undone above him.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped. “You feel so damn good.”

The words lit you up, your pace quickening as you chased the edge, that blinding release that teased just out of reach. Your breaths mingled with his, sharp and ragged, the room heavy with the sound of skin meeting skin and the delicious symphony of your pleasure.

“Javi,” you gasped.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his hands sliding up your back to cradle your face. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

Something in his voice broke you, the sincerity laced with desire, the unshakable promise that he wouldn’t let you fall. Your body tensed, your movements stuttering as the first shockwaves of pleasure crashed through you, and you cried out his name as you shattered around him.

Javier didn’t falter. He held you steady, his grip firm as he ground his hips up to meet yours, pulling you through the aftershocks until you were trembling in his arms. The intensity of it left you breathless, and you slumped forward, resting your forehead against his as you tried to gather yourself.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice still thick with need, though his concern for you was evident.

You nodded, chest heaving as you caught your breath. “Yeah,” you whispered. 

“Your turn to relax. I’m not done with you yet.”

Before you could respond, he scooped you up effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as he stood. A soft squeak escaped you, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he carried you across the room.

“Javi, I can walk,” you protested weakly, though you made no effort to pull away.

“I know you can,” he teased, “but I like having you right where you are.”

The bed was cool against your back when he laid you down, but his body quickly chased away the chill. Javier followed you down, his weight settling between your thighs.

“Now,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face as his gaze softened. “Where were we?”

Javier’s lips captured yours in a kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, savoring every second, and you couldn’t help but melt into him.

His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a path of heat as he paused to suck and nip at the sensitive skin. His hands explored you, tracing the curve of your waist and the swell of your hips before sliding lower. Every touch sent shivers through you, and you couldn’t hold back the soft gasps escaping your lips.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured against your skin. “Every inch of you.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you arched into him, your body aching for more. “Javi, please,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He chuckled softly. “Patience, sweetheart. You just taste so good.”

Your hands gripped his shoulders, your body arching involuntarily. “Javier, I need… I need you.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re so beautiful like this. All mine.”

As his lips moved lower, he pressed kisses to the sensitive skin of your thighs, his hands spreading you gently. The anticipation made your body tremble, your legs parting instinctively as you felt him pause, his breath hot against your core.

“Perfect,” he whispered, almost to himself, before he leaned in.

The first touch of his tongue made you cry out, your fingers clutching at the sheets as he worked you with slow movements. Javier groaned softly, his grip firm on your thighs as he held you open, the sound vibrating through you and heightening the pleasure.

Your hips bucked against him, and you gasped, “Javi, please, I’m so close.”

He lifted his head slightly, his lips glistening as he smirked at you. “I love hearing you beg for me, come on let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

His tongue and suddenly his fingers moved together in perfect rhythm, lapping, sucking and moving just right. The tension in your belly coiled tighter until it snapped, pleasure crashing over you in waves that left you trembling. Javier didn’t stop until your body softened beneath his touch, his movements slowing as he kissed your thighs and worked his way back up your body.

By the time he reached your lips, you were breathless, your body buzzing with aftershocks. He kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

“How was that beautiful?” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours.

“Incredible,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the strong lines of his jaw.

Javier groaned softly at your touch, his restraint visibly fraying. He kissed you harder, his body pressing into yours as his arousal became impossible to ignore. “You sure you’re ready for more?” 

You answered by rolling your hips against him, earning a sharp inhale as he gritted his teeth. “I need you, Javi. Please fuck me.”

That was all it took. He positioned himself, his gaze locked on yours as he pushed into you in one slow, steady motion. The stretch was intense, and you gasped, clinging to him as your body adjusted.

“Jesus,” he groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder. “You feel so fucking good, so damn tight.”

“Move..please,” you urged softly, your lips brushing his ear.

He obeyed, pulling back before thrusting in again, setting a rhythm that was slow but deep. Every movement drew you closer until you couldn’t tell where he ended and you began.

His hand slid between you, his thumb finding your most sensitive spot, teasing it in time with his thrusts. “You’re taking me so well.”

Your nails raked down his back, the pleasure building impossibly fast. “Javier,” you whimpered, your body tightening around him as the tension reached its breaking point.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his pace quickening as he chased his own release. “Come for me, give me one more.”

His words were your undoing. You shattered around him, your cries filling the room as pleasure consumed you. Javier followed moments later, his movements faltering as he buried himself deep, a guttural groan escaping him as he found his release.

For a while, neither of you moved, the room quiet except for the sound of your ragged breaths. Eventually, Javier rolled to the side, pulling you close against his chest. He pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips soft and tender.

He chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath your cheek. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

You laughed softly, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You’re not so innocent yourself, Javier.”

His smirk returned. “Get some rest, baby,” he murmured, pulling the blanket over you both. “You’ll need it for round two.”

[ivy-elle]

“This is not gonna happen”

Or: How He Defends/ Protect You

Feat. Albedo, Scaramouche

Albedo

The sunset is already about to start while you hurry through the streets of Mondstadt, trying to avoid any of the Knights of Favonius in case you get talked off by them.

You’re supposed to meet up with Albedo in front of the city to watch the sunset at the cliff – or rather, Albedo wanted to paint and had invited you to keep him company. Only, your work has held you up longer than expected and now you fear Albedo has either gone without you or, poor guy has been waiting all alone by the bridge.

“By Barbatos! Are you completely-“ You come to a shrieking halt at the same moment a middle-aged man stumbles a few steps backwards, clutching his chest in shock.

Swallowing back a curse you hastily squat down to reach for the firewood he dropped in his distress. “I’m so sorry, Simon. Are you alright?”

“Am I-?”

When you glance back up, you’re surprised by how red his face has turned. Perhaps ‘alright’ wouldn’t be a suited term indeed.

“Say, are you out of your mind! How dare you startle me that immensely?”

Slowly, you rise back up, the woods now secure in your arms.

“Have you got not manner – You should be ashamed of yourself!”

While Simon keeps insulting you, you are admittedly a bit taken aback by his sudden outburst. Of course, it’s not nice to be startled out of now where but – no need to act so harsh, right?

But when he keeps raising his voice and is now basically screaming straight into your face, you get back on track and steady yourself, because how dare he just treat you like that?

“Sir, there is no need to shout” you interfere his triage of rage, feeling your own anger rising, “I can hear you quite well. Besides, no huge enough damage has been done to justify losing one’s civil tongue.”

Simon's eyes flash in fury at your words. “Civil tongue? Have you lost the last of your senses? You should be begging for forgiveness for me not to report the incident to the Knights of Favonius.”

Before your frustration gets the chance to slip through your lips in a way less than civilised response, you feel the gentle touch hand on your shoulder.

“Excuse me. Is something the matter here?”

It’s only when you turn and see Albedo at your side, do you also notice some bystanders who have stopped at the commotion and are now exchanging curious glances.

Great. This is gonna be the talk of town tomorrow.

But despite the situation, Albedo’s presence has its usual calm effect upon you, and you feel your anger settle. A bit at least.

Even Simon seems to paddle back and settle down in his current outburst.

Albedo’s eyes find yours, searching for answers he probably already concluded himself. “Are you alright?”

You nod slowly. “I’m alright.”

His eyes sweep over you once more, before he turns to Simon. “Sir, has there any harm come to you or any of your goods?”

Simon huffs, crossing his arms defiantly. “As far as I can tell, the woods are fine.” Only then does he seem to realise you’re still holding said woods in your arms and his eyes dart to you, narrowing. 

As if sensing another upcoming dispute, Albedo subtly steps in front of you, before declaring in his own appeasing and soft-spoken manner, “While I understand your discomposure, Sir,” he states and you notice his voice also contains a certain firmness, “it is not right to treat your opponent with such approach. It will fuel only more ire, and the outcome won’t serve any of the parties.”

You keep your eyes on Simon, watching the different emotions swirl through his face. Anger, frustration, confusion, and then something akin to disappointment. He nods slowly, but also a bit taken aback by Albedo’s calm demeanour, not knowing where to disseminate his emotions now.

Simons huffs again, almost unsure how to react, so he grabs the wood out of your arms, while deliberately avoiding looking at you and grumbles. “Alright, well, uh, I might’ve just lost my nerves there.”

 “I apologise for startling you," you respond to which he nods once, still avoiding your gaze. His eyes dart to Albedo before clutching his wood and stomping off.

Albedo, who notices the bystanders starting to whisper to each other, gently takes your wrist and guides you past the gates, to the outskirts of town.

The sun is already setting as you stroll quietly along the bridge. You feel his hand on the small of your back, gently leading you forwards.

After a while Albedo breaks the silence. “I apologize if I overstepped by interfering in the dispute. But I did not appreciate the way Simon talked to you, let alone reacted to the incident.”

“I think you handled it fairly eloquent.” A smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you glance at him from the side. “The People of Mondstadt are all prone to temper their anger at your demeanour. You’re quite liked among them.”

Albedo gives a soft, amused huff, meeting your eyes. “My dear, I believe you are merely biased in that matter.”

Scaramouche

“With all due respect, Ma’am, but I’ve already been assigned a different role for this mission.”

Your superior Nomura regards you with a sharp look – not even your averted eyes could alleviate the goosebumps crawling down your skin.

“We’ve established this change of plan to be the best strategy, Agent. Are you refusing your duty?”

“No, Ma’am.” You cross your arms formally behind your back, trying to keep your frustration at bay. It’s not unusual for you to be subjected to whatever hell she offers, but normally she at least knows to inform you in an appropriate timing about something as important as that.

“However, I would require time to assess the new circumstances and gather the needed information.”

Nomura tightens her lips as if she’s annoyed by your presence alone. “That won’t be necessary. We do not have the time, and I believe your skills to be sufficient to assess the situation when it arises. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Again, you keep your voice neutral and expression unbothered while you watch her return to the rest of the divisions, which are waiting by the river.

Archons, why couldn’t Nomura inform you earlier? But alas. At least she has trust in your skills.

You huff quietly to yourself as you head to your new division, however Scaramouche’s sudden presence next to you holds you back. How can this man be so fast all the time?

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Even though Scaramouche outranks your Superior – and following that logic you as well – by a long shot, you feel your posture loosen up almost immediately. A familiar calm settling down your bones.

“I am off to act as a scout at the front. To make certain, the area is clear.”

Scaramouche’s eyebrow arch at that “You’re tasked with reconnaissance?”

“Not quite,” you explain, trying to overplay your irritation, but failing miserably. “I’m to remain there until the rest of the division arrives.”

Almost instantly his expression hardens, knowing the dangers and risks of that position. “Who distributed these roles? And more importantly - why have I not been informed?”

You cross your arms in front of you, suddenly feeling like you have to defend yourself in some sort. “It was a last-minute change. I was also informed just now.”

“Are they truly that incapable of decent strategizing? How utterly predictable.”

He lets out a slow, disdainful sigh before he flicks his gaze over to you. “And just so you get this straight, you will certainly not go.”

“What?”

“Are you deaf?” He scoffs and adjusts his collar, feigning nonchalance. “I will not risk my agent for some stupid reconnaissance task. You will remain at my side at the front, as it was originally planned and where your skills are suited best.”

The tone of his voice makes clear there’s no room for discussion left and yet you take a deliberate step closer to him.

“Scara,” you say, wanting to make sure no misconception remains, “this mission needs scouts to clear the area. I can manage that by myself if needed.”

“We’ll manage without scouts.” Scaramouche lets his gaze linger a moment too long, then his eyes narrow. “Or are you questioning my leadership?”

You huff. “This is ridiculous. My role isn’t that important to risk an entire mission for.”

The hardness in his eyes melts away and then he turns to the side, as if suddenly bored of the conversation.

“It is to me.”

Scaramouche keeps his gaze focused on the forest. His voice devoid of any emotion, merely an irritated frown has settled between his browns. “And now shut it, we’re heading off. I’ll handle your superior.”

[brokenmutations]

Angry Little Wolverines

Logan Howlett • She/Her Pronouns • Mutant!Reader [Speak to Animals/Mind Reader for Animals] • Have you even seen a Wolverine before? • SFW • TW: Minor injuries

“Okay, you’re called the Wolverine. Have you ever seen one before?” Y/N scoffs when questioning Logan as he was left speechless given it was indeed true. He’s never seen one before. “Jeez, Logan! You can’t take their whole style and not know what they look like”

“I didn’t name myself! How the fuck am I supposed to instantly know what they look like?”

“You lose your memory. Find out you’re named Wolverine…you weren’t curious?”

All the man did was shrug to such, making his partner scoff at him again before heading toward the garages promoting him to quickly follow in confusion.

“Where are we going?”

“To the worse place in the world” Y/N snatches the keys to his truck off the hook. “The zoo”

“How is that—-“ Logan stopped himself when she whipped her head quickly back at him in anger. “Right. Animal captivity. But why go if you hate it there so much?”

“Because I’m not driving all the way to western Canada to find wolverines in their natural habitats. Plus…”

“We ain’t doing a prison break. The cops are still pissed last time”

“UGH fine” Y/N sighs, opening the drivers side and letting herself in while Logan got in on his side.

The drive was pretty quick given Y/N went on and on about wolverine facts.

Did you know that the scientific name for wolverines is Gulo gulo and it comes from the Latin word glutton?

They average around a weight of 30-50 pounds and can take on grizzlies!

Wolverines chirp and coo at their young maybe that’s why you have a softer tone with Marie compared to everyone else

Not a part of the wolves family! Weasels actually

And she went on and on, Logan found himself irked in the beginning but eventually ease into the comforting rambling that came from Y/N about the creature.

Once they arrived at the zoo, Y/N couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed when they arrived given she could hear everything the animals were talking about. More specifically what they were complaining about. Logan expected to go straight to the wolverines but stuck by Y/N as she went to every animal talking to them to make them feel a bit better.

That stupid child wouldn’t stop tapping the viewing glass! The lioness roared at Y/N from the exposed area of the enclosure as she instantly turned to glare at said kid only for Logan to block her gaze.

“Are you going to fight a kid?”

“I will if I must!”

“Fight the parents instead, sweetheart. But also let’s not get kicked out of the zoo before we see this animal that shares my name”

Your boyfriend is the Wolverine? Another lioness came up to her friend on the perch, chirping at Y/N as she nods. Resulting in a huff from the lioness. Do you know what the exhibit has?

That brought a bit of anxiety to Y/N as her tensed posture made Logan instantly wrap an arm around her shoulders to ease some of it.

Even if the worry was toward nothing once it revealed the few signs at the wolverines enclosure that “There’s a hero named after us” and has images of Logan that he didn’t even know was taken of him.

“Least the rest of the world knows what wolverines are, Wolverine”

Logan scoffs as he watches Y/N approach the railing, she leans over to find a few wolverines huddled around something.

Need to escape

Need to escape

Baby doesn’t deserve this

Baby needs to escape

Let’s just say, Logan shouldn’t have turned away when he heard some bird cawing in a different part of the zoo.

“Well now I know what they look like and I should change my name”

“No! You’re a hero to them too yknow” Y/N gave him a soft smile as she sits in the passengers seat this time around, holding her chest for a moment that concerned Logan until it started to move. “What?”

“…You gotta stop reading their minds”

“What are you even talking about?!”

Logan squints at her leaning back in his seat crossing his arms. “They have a baby, a baby doesn’t deserve to live in captivity!” He repeats her words back at her, same words she uttered when they left the enclosure and INSTANTLY left the zoo. “Charles isn’t going to let you keep it”

“Well he can argue with me til he’s blue in the face!” Y/N opened the first few buttons of the flannel she wore to reveal the wolverine cub. “You can’t blame me!”

“This is kidnapping!”

“Not when the parents consented and helped me get the baby!”

“HOW DID YOU EVEN GET THE CUB OUT?!”

Angy The small cub started to growl at Logan, only for the man to growl back resulting in the baby hiding in her shirt.

“DONT BE MEAN TO OUR BABY!”

Logan face palms to such, but to her surprise, he started the car and started the drive back to the mansion.

Someone else can argue with her about whether to keep it or not…and to make sure zoo security doesn’t ban her.

[j-partneringrime]

tr!aimsey is such an interesting character especially their relationship with death, they’re someone who has become so intrinsically linked with death, starting as a morbid fascination with learning more about it which became more and more obsessive until he eventually overstepped trying to directly mess with it. And now it is a more desperate fascination with it and specifically trying to figure out how to reach it for themselves which unlike the normal curiosity that they went too far with, this is the opposite, a much more serious and desperate curiosity which he have basically given up on trying to figure out at this point. Because once death wants something, it gets it, which normally isn’t that big a deal because death normally wants you to die, which is gonna happen eventually, so no big deal. But if you mess with death too much and it decides it doesn’t want you anymore, that isn’t as simple, death actually gets to show its power, so it takes your magic you used to disrupt it to begin with, but that’s not enough for death, so it gives you immortality, or more accurately curses you with never dying since they can still feel the pain and the dying but without any of the relief of death and the pain stays with them even after coming back, with the burns from losing her magic, losing his eye from the enderman/creeper and now the sword slash from ros. They had nothing anymore except their studies and so she put everything into necromancy and learning more about death, and they did good, they got close, so close that death didn’t like it, so then they truly had nothing, not even their magic, they lost everything, even the one thing you always have in life, the certainty of death, was gone.

That could make you become such a deeply lonely person, I mean imagine if you lost everything, had no one, not even death itself wanted you, that would mess you up, but she has had a long time to come to terms with it and grow from it, which also means she’s one of the most intelligent, especially emotionally intelligent, people, which meant that when they did get close to people again, they were a massive help for advice and help for their friends, which is good for their friends but also for aimsey themself, having that connection that they need after so long, having meaningful talks gives a connection you can’t explain, even if those meaningful talks are mostly one way, since aimsey is very secretive about themself and her past and almost refuses to say anything about herself and dismisses any attempt to try to get him to open up, but even with all that, it is still massively helpful for a character who needs connection so much.

Until eventually his friends, especially tr!ros get too strong an idea in her head on what they should do or what she “needs” to do that even though she’s still coming everyday for advice, she doesn’t seem to actually be listening anymore, it didn’t matter how many times they tried to help ros, she just wouldn’t budge from this inherently flawed idea that she is convinced will help her, and everyone else, which isn’t just bad for ros but also for aimsey, who has needed this connection so much and has begun to rely on it, even if it’s annoying that he’s seemingly the only person who actually has common sense or foresight with how much advice she’s having to give out, they’ve gotten used to being able to express their thoughts and opinions on situations and having their friends listen and care so seeing that they’re no longer really listening and are just doing their own ideas anyway would really hurt. Trying to help and make plans to help ros, only to show up the next day and find out she hasn’t actually listened and just took what aimsey said and used their plan instantly without seeing that that wasn’t the actual plan aimsey said to her. So the advice and talks eventually became more desperate trying to get through to ros because this isn’t her, this is her getting tired of what’s happening and needing to fix it so forming an entire idea in her head without seeing that this idea wouldn’t work and already isn’t working because she needs it to work, so it didn’t matter how much aimsey tried to get through to her, it wouldn’t work, until eventually they talk about where this idea in ros’s head is rooted, which is respect, the idea that if she can get them to respect her, they’ll stop, which she is going about doing by making them fear her, even though fear and respect are vastly different things. And aimsey says that to her which leads to the most important question they’ve had, would ros kill aimsey to get everyone to respect and or fear her, and when aimsey asks ros this, their closest friend, the person they trust more than anything, the person they can count on, that they can both count on each other to pull each other back, to save each other from themselves, they ask ros… and ros hesitates, and that’s all they need to know, the fact that ros could hesitate means that in her head there is a part of her that would and that part just seems to be getting bigger and bigger the more she spirals in this idea of respect. And then ros says no, which as much as she says it, isn’t the truth, the truth is she doesn’t know if she would or not, and that’s the worst part, not only would she consider doing it but she won’t admit it, to aimsey or herself, they’re supposed to be helping each other and ros instead of being honest and saying she doesn’t know, lies and says no, of course not, she could never hurt him, which is of course coming from a place of love for aimsey and not wanting to ever think about and especially not say they’d ever hurt her, but to someone as perceptive as aimsey, they can clearly tell ros is conflicted on it and even though know they know ros is a good person, of course she is obviously, that was never in question, but even knowing what a truly kind person ros is, that doesn’t change the pain learning something like that has. So aimsey pulls them up on it and makes ros confront that side of her, for good or bad doesn’t matter, because it needs to happen to help ros, one way or the other, and so they convince her to fight, which or course ros tries to argue about but still tries to make aimsey see her side of it, still not seeing that her side doesn’t really exist, it’s just a desperate attempt to stop the fighting by any means, by any cost, not seeing that no fighting, no threats should ever make them turn on each other, would ever make aimsey turn on ros, especially not to gain some form of respect from the people they already don’t like. Ros is too caught up in protecting her friends that she can’t see her friends don’t need protecting, aimsey doesn’t need protecting.

And you can see how deeply this is affecting aimsey because they’re talk about how they’re glad they chose to be alone, they’re with their best friend and they’re saying how they’re glad to be alone, because right now this isn’t their best friend, or at least not that they can recognise right now, because he has spoke so much about how everyone is killing just to kill and how that is one of, if not the, biggest problems they have with them, so for ros to now believe that she needs to do that to aimsey to “protect” them and gain respect from others, even though she already has aimsey’s and the kingdom’s respect (mostly), is obviously gonna be upsetting for aimsey and a massive loss of trust. And they start fighting, they both swing, and then they both swing again, then aimsey stops and ros swings again and then ros swings one last time and aimsey is dead, but of course, it doesn’t last. Because if one of them was gonna die, they’d rather it be themselves, if that’s because they can’t actually die or because they can’t bring themselves to kill ros, we don’t know (although it’s probably almost definitely both). But either way ros still doesn’t get to live, because she killed aimsey and death doesn’t want that happening, the past times it’s been a mob but this time it’s a player, and they won’t allow that to happen, so it instantly makes one of its already dead kill ros… instantly, because you don’t mess with death or the ones death has already chosen to punish itself. And after the fight, his relationship with death comes back up, with her asking, basically begging, death to let them go and just let them die, but of course, they were denied again, because even after all that with ros, they still can’t have anything, everything they want always so close yet so far, always. And then after they both parted ways after the fight, aimsey when thinking about going to ros, thinks ros won’t want to see them, instead of themself not wanting to see her, after the fight, he doesn’t stew in what ros did and get angry, he just kinda goes crazy (and high and poisoned), both because of what happened with ros and also probably experiencing death again. Because even though, they just fought and definitely lost a lot of trust in each other, they still care about each other and want to protect each other above all else, because the amount of trust they have in each other, one fight, no matter how big, will change that. tr!aimsey is SUCH an interesting and compelling character, and their relationship with death and tr!ros especially is amazing! I can’t wait to see what happens next.

(this is mainly about tr!aimsey so tr!ros comes off a bit bad from their arguments, but I promise I think tr!ros is a genuinely good person, just conflicted right now and she is also an amazing and interesting character)

[just-some-random-blogger]

OK. WE have to start with the fact that your summary is 🫵THAT🫵 WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT I THOUGHT I WAS HERE FOR CUTE FUN TIMES WITH CREGAN WHAT IS HAPPENING WHY IS HE IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE ELSE HELLO??????

YOU CRUMPLE THE letter in your fist, hearing the parchment wrinkle with a satisfying sound. Then, you throw it into the flames, watching as the fire grows slightly bigger, and the ball uncurls, alight for a second, before it is fully consumed.

..... I'm not gonna lie to you... I don't remember what I meant to say ...... I THINK ITS JUST ME PANICKING THAT WERE STARTING OFF LIKE THIS WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SIT CRISTI WHERES THE FUN TIMES NO IM SCARED

You had not realized you had started to measure time like this. Before and After Luke’s death, as people did with Before and After the Conquest.

Horrible reality but beautifully put my gosh I just ate chocolate pudding or something YUMMM

Whatever he is doing, hunched over his desk, is interrupted. “You cannot do this to me! Mother will not allow it.”

PFFFT IM SO SORRY HUNCHED OVER HAS ME GAGGED IDC IDC IF IM WASTING MY MEME REACTIONS ON THIS BUT ITS GIVING VERY MUCH THE POSTURE MEME

EXPECTATION VS REALITY

Also I get it now. I get why we're starting like this damn I was scared you made cregan into a cheater

But grief has made you into live lighting, ready to strike at the slightest provocation.

UGHHHHHH WHAT THE HECK THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL I KEEP SAYING IMMA STEAL YOUR WORDS BECAUSE DAMN BUT ALAS I CANT REMEMBER TO DO IT COS IM NOT BUILT LIKE THAT WTFFFFF

“He has put a wife in the grave already.”

🧍‍♀️ OH. OK. I GET IT NOW FR FR

[...] You know the dangers of childbirth. Perhaps even better than I.”

😀 I love how he thinks this would comfort her

You hated being second in anything.

❤️‍🩹 I felt that

Being a twin meant having to share everything, including the love of those around you.

THEYRE TWINS? I FEEL LIKE I DIDNT COPY IT BUT RHAENA AND BAELA ARE TWINS TOO???? WHATTTT IM GAGGED I FEEL LIKE IM ALWAYS FINDING OUT PPL ARE TWINS IN YOUR FICS

When you married, you had hoped to be the only woman in your husband’s life, not to be compared to a ghost. You had seen exactly how that went. King Viserys had never forgotten his first wife, [...]

This is the part where we say together 🗣️FUCK🗣️YOU🗣️VISERYS🗣️ AND YAH IDK IF I COPIED IT OR NOT BUT THE PART WHERE YOU SAID HE CHOSE ALICENT MARRIED HER OUT OF LOVE 🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕 THATS WHY YOU ROTTED WHILE STILL ALIVE FUCK YOU IM SPITTING AT YOUR GRAVE

“You said you were afraid of childbirth, and he already has an heir. There is no better solution.”

CAN HE SHUT THE FUCK UP

As Jace prepares a scathing comeback, face scrunched up in mirrored displeasure to your own, [...]

They're so siblings™

“Why can the whole castle hear your quarrel?”

🤣🤣🤣 LIKE I SAID SO SIBLINGS

“My fault?!” He says, placing his hands on his hips. “Apologies, I think they didn’t hear your screeching about Lord Stark in Driftmark!”

NEJDJKDJ LOL THEYRE SO SIBLINGGGS ME TO MY SISTER

“I did. I think it is for the best. You will be safer next to Cregan Stark, in Winterfell, than you could ever be here.”

I HATE HER

[...] her mind is already made.

I understand her. I hate her

“You did because I have no dragon. I bet you are scheming to send Rhaena away too!”

💔💔💔💔💔 she knows her all too well

“I had to find out from a letter from fucking Cregan Stark. I am not leaving. You cannot make me. ”

I HATE THAT FOR HER. 🫵SAY🫵IT🫵TO🫵 MY 🫵FACE🫵

“Listen to me!” She says, shaking you hard. Tears begin to fall from her eyes, but she doesn’t seem to register them. “Listen to me! Luke is dead. He is dead, and you will obey me because I cannot bear to lose any more of my children. You are going North. Your Queen commands it.”

I understand her 💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️😞😞😞😞😞 I hate her

He didn’t care if he appeared too eager, his usual stoicism was failing him in the face of his nerves.

GOLDEN RETRIEVER HUSBAND IM SO CONFUSED???? THIS GOT ME GIGGLING EVEN THO I WAS LIKE WHY HE EXCITED (spoiler he wasn't)

[...] playing Come-into-my-castle and Bears-and-maids. Cregan had unfortunately been the maid many more times than he preferred.

A naive little princess would never survive in the North.

??????????????? OH OK I GET IT BUT HELLO YOU HAVENT EVEN MET HER???

The Lady of Winterfell couldn’t be some frail little thing, she had to be strong. Strong enough to hold Winterfell in his absence if needed, were the threat from beyond the Wall come to pass.

YoU HAVENT EVEN MET HER MY BROTHER IN CHRIST CHILL

If he had to remarry and choose a southron, Cregan would have preferred a stronger one.

To receive the toothless dragon in his home and keep it safe. A favor, from an older brother to another. The Gods knew if Sara was near war at all, Cregan would do everything in his power to send her somewhere safe. He would be forever indebted to the man who aided him to do so.

I get you but also like ???? What are you going on about you haven't met her. ASUMERA

A true alliance. A Pact of Ice and Fire, to bound their bloodlines and keep the beloved, but defenseless sister safe.

Ok cool. Nice. This was cool but I'm mildly annoyed by cregan

Jacaerys was a serious man, no matter his dubious parentage.

🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭💀💀💀💀✋✋✋✋✋ MAN REALLY SAID 🫵BASTARD🫵 AND I RESPECT HIM FOR IT AHHSHAH

Cregan had offered to have his men meet you halfway, but his letter doing so had gone unanswered.

I'm pretty sure I felt bad for him but now I think deserve

The wheelhouse and the men carried so many packages that Cregan would have known you were a Princess even without expecting you. Anyone would have known.

🤨 you have a problem with her dresses country bumpkin. So what shes a city girl. Shut yo ugly trap

You were… Pitiful. Cregan understood now why Prince Jacaerys was so desperate to protect you.

I hate that for her. I hate that men around her are like sad woman come hither 👎👎👎death by being fried alive

“She brought less of a procession than you did. And less luggage.”

BROOOOOOOOOOO HES STILL GOING

“She was. By far a more practical woman.” He smiles at you, teasingly. “But if the fuss makes you happy…”

❓❓❓❓❓❓❓ NO CUZ IM GLAD SHE FOUND THE HUMOR IN THA BECAUSE I WOULD HAE BODY SLAMMED HIM LIKE ARE YOU KIDDING ME

Your obsession with Valyrian history and traditions had been carefully nurtured by your stepfather, Daemon.

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺😫😫😫😫😫😫😫 MY MAN MY MY MAN MY MAN BEING A GOOD DAD????????? (BARE MINIMUM MOMENT)

When you had turned four and ten, Daemon had gifted you your very own book with Valyrian tales, a beautifully bound and illustrated edition that had followed you in your journey North.

“For you to read to your future children.”

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 DAEMON MAKING ME CRY AND BECOME SO SOFT AND NSNSSJMSSMMS

He had said, back then. You had barely flowered, so you had laughed. “I mean it, Princess. Out of my three girls, you are the only one I envision doing so.”

💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

Brb giving him 1000 daughters 🏃‍♀️💨💨💨

The man you had married didn’t love you. He had only done so to secure an alliance. And the man already had a child of his own, an heir.

Robbed twice is crazy. Sorrows sorrows prayers

They would have learned High Valyrian, and spoke it as beautifully as your mother and stepfather did.

🥺💔💔💔💔💔 MY LOVEEEEE

You had seen enough of your mother and Daemon to know bedding someone can be pleasing.

WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN SEEN *ROLLS MAGAZINE* GET OFF THE FUCKING FURNITURE YOU FUCKING HORN DOGS

“It is not a sin. But why would you..?” You question, but your Lord Husband is getting up already, huffing. He seems angered that you are unable to understand his message, whatever it might be. He storms off, leaving you confused over his behaviour.

❓❓❓❓❓❓ WHAT IS HIS PROBLEM SANA NAGSALITA DIBA OA AMP

I fear I fear I fear I need to boil him in oil.this was nawwwwt where I thought this was going but I am EAGERRRRRR to know what it's headed UGHHHHHH loveeeeeeeee

Autumn (Cregan Stark x Reader)

Summary: As a Princess, you aren’t used to rejection. But Cregan, your husband, has vowed to only ever love one woman, and it isn't you. Right?

Warnings: Unreliable narrator!!!! Mature language. Descriptions of grief.

A/N: I was not expecting the response my silly little idea has gotten. I am very thankful for all of you who decide to read it, and would love to hear what you think of this chapter. Series masterlist here.

YOU CRUMPLE THE letter in your fist, hearing the parchment wrinkle with a satisfying sound. Then, you throw it into the flames, watching as the fire grows slightly bigger, and the ball uncurls, alight for a second, before it is fully consumed.

It doesn’t soothe you as you thought it would. The odious parchment offering you an honor guard from your future husband might be gone, but you still have to journey North before a moon since Luke’s funeral has passed.

At the thought of your brother, a sharp, stabbing pain, manifests in your chest. You choke down a sob. You had not realized you had started to measure time like this. Before and After Luke’s death, as people did with Before and After the Conquest.

Your grief only serves to fuel your rage, though. How could he? How could he demand you be wed when you were still in mourning? When you were still thinking of your sweet brother, not of keeps, and lords, and men?

“You dare!” You screech, barging inside Jacaerys’ rooms. Whatever he is doing, hunched over his desk, is interrupted. “You cannot do this to me! Mother will not allow it.”

Jace sets down his quill. He turns to look at you, his expression calm. You would think him indifferent, were it not for the fact that there is the slightest furrow of his brows.

“We need men.” He states, simply, and when you are about to interrupt him to say there are many more in the realm, he keeps speaking. “We need his men. The North is the largest kingdom, you know this as well as I. And when a Stark calls the banners, they are the only ones who respond in full.”

Your hands ball into fists. You hate that he is acting so composed, so rational. After Luke died, you felt like a chained dragon, roaring your grief and wishing to be freed to set ablaze those that had wronged you. Once, you had been as gracious as him and mother, composed even in the height of emotion. But grief has made you into live lighting, ready to strike at the slightest provocation.

Your emotions are out of control. You know this. You get angered at the barest hint of an insult, you cry as easily as a newborn babe. Knowing it doesn’t stop you from lashing out, though. It only makes you regret it later.

“Our mother promised I was to have my pick of suitors, not that I would be sold like a cow!” You point an accusing finger to his chest. Jace sighs and gets up, surrounding the desk.

“I understand you are upset.” He tries offering you a hug, but you jerk away. His face hardens slightly. “But this is war.”

As if you do not know. As if you haven’t lost a sibling, too. Your face crumbles, and Jace calls your name, but hearing his voice, how similar Luke and him sound, only makes you cry harder.

“Hey, hey, it’s not so bad.” He hugs you, pressing your face against his doublet. The material is soft against your skin, and you feel tempted to let go of your rage against him and sink into his arms. Jace is barely a man, too, just as you are barely a woman. He is doing as best as he can, spread too thin by the weight of responsibility that comes with being heir. “Cregan is a good man. I got to know him during the time…”

Yes, he was doing as best as he could. But it hadn’t been his own hand that he had bartered away, had it? The insidious voice in your head asks. It isn’t him who is making a sacrifice. And such a hollow one. He claims to need men, but he won’t be getting even the full northern army.

“You sold me for a few Greybeards! Not even a proper army! Good Gods, you are a fool.” You cry out.

“Lord Stark assures me…” Jace starts, with the tone of someone who has already had this same argument. Were you thinking clearly, you would pause and realize why. Instead...

“He has put a wife in the grave already.” It is the only thing you know about him. Not much is whispered about Cregan Stark, at least, nothing concerning. You would remember it. The only thing that you know, though, is that he is a Stark and his wife is dead.

“You make it sound as if he killed her himself with his bare hands.” Jace scoffs. “I assure you, he dearly loved Arra Norrey and would have never harmed her. You know the dangers of childbirth. Perhaps even better than I.”

Perfect. He hadn’t killed the damn woman, he was just still in love with her. By the Seven, Jace was a fool. You hated being second in anything. Here, at home, you were already second to Jace, and you resented it. Being a twin meant having to share everything, including the love of those around you.

When you married, you had hoped to be the only woman in your husband’s life, not to be compared to a ghost. You had seen exactly how that went. King Viserys had never forgotten his first wife, calling for her years after her death, even as Alicent was the one to nurse him during his illness.

“He is still a widower.” You repeat, stubbornly.

Jace pinches the bride of his nose, before letting out a deep exhale. His next words are spoken extremely slowly, as if talking to a child. It makes you bristle.

“You said you were afraid of childbirth, and he already has an heir. There is no better solution.”

It would be thoughtful, were it not for the fact that:

“His first wife died in childbirth!”

As Jace prepares a scathing comeback, face scrunched up in mirrored displeasure to your own, the voice of your mother startles you both.

“What is going on here?” She asks, mouth pursed in an expression identical to Jace. The Queen looks as regal as ever, and it only serves to make you feel a tad embarrassed. With wild hair and eyes, face flushed from rage, you are sure that next to her, you must look like a wilding. “Why can the whole castle hear your quarrel?”

“It’s his fault.” You accuse, pointing at Jace.

“My fault?!” He says, placing his hands on his hips. “Apologies, I think they didn’t hear your screeching about Lord Stark in Driftmark!”

“So you informed her?” Your mother asks, calmly. Too calmly for someone who has just found out. Had it been her plan all along?

“Did you knew all along?” You whisper.

Rhaenyra turns to look at you. As always, your mother has a smile ready for you, but as of late, they are laced with sadness. This one is no exception.

“I did. I think it is for the best. You will be safer next to Cregan Stark, in Winterfell, than you could ever be here.”

You examine her expression. Her eyes are swollen and red rimmed, grief clouding her regal face. There is a certain determination in her features, a calm acceptance in her eyes, that tells you that her mind is already made.

Her face is not one of a distraught mother who will soon give her daughter away. You know her too well to mistake it for that.

“You hoped for this.” You keep your voice dangerously low, your anger threatening to bubble up in your throat. “You did because I have no dragon. I bet you are scheming to send Rhaena away too!”

Your mother doesn’t answer.

Her silence is damming. You turn to look at Jace, disbelieving. Of course the two of them had been scheming behind your back. Your brother had always been the closest one to your mother.

“And neither of you could tell me to my face?” You ask, letting out a hysterical laugh. “I had to find out from a letter from fucking Cregan Stark. I am not leaving. You cannot make me. ”

Suddenly, your mother grabs you by the shoulders. Her face is frightening, like an avenging goddess of Old Valyria. Her lips are curled back, teeth bared, and her eyes are as wild as yours.

“Listen to me!” She says, shaking you hard. Tears begin to fall from her eyes, but she doesn’t seem to register them. “Listen to me! Luke is dead. He is dead, and you will obey me because I cannot bear to lose any more of my children. You are going North. Your Queen commands it.”

She turns on her heel and leaves, leaving you standing on still shaking legs.

CREGAN HAD BEEN lingering near the entrance of Winterfell ever since his men had spotted the Queen’s banner on the horizon. Back then, they had expected the party to arrive in half a day. He didn’t care if he appeared too eager, his usual stoicism was failing him in the face of his nerves.

The first time Cregan had married, he had known the bride for a long time. Arra had been his childhood companion, and they had spent many moons together, playing Come-into-my-castle and Bears-and-maids. Cregan had unfortunately been the maid many more times than he preferred.

He had not feared marriage then. Spending forever chained to another person wouldn’t be so bad if that person was Arra.

Now, he did. Cregan had been content on his own, and had no desire to remarry. Even if he had, a southron princess wouldn’t have been his first choice. Though Prince Jacaerys had been honorable and dutiful, he was still naive. They were nearly of an age, but when Cregan had stood next to him, he had felt as old as his Greybeards.

A naive little princess would never survive in the North. His lords would eat her alive. The Lady of Winterfell couldn’t be some frail little thing, she had to be strong. Strong enough to hold Winterfell in his absence if needed, were the threat from beyond the Wall come to pass.

Arra had been the only woman he had thought of marrying because she had been the only woman he had thought fit to the task. She had been of the North, as he was, and it had helped him envision a future together where they ruled over the very same land that had birthed both of them.

It was only adequate that the Lady of Winterfell was a woman of the North. Southron Princesses, especially those who had been groomed to marry inside the family, could be of little help running a keep. If he had to remarry and choose a southron, Cregan would have preferred a stronger one.

Yet if wishes were dragons, beggars would soar through the skies. Prince Jacaerys had seemed a bit insulted at his offer of Greybeards, but with winter coming, it was all Cregan could spare. He was no stranger to political games, though, and knew he had to smooth down the feathers his offer had ruffled.

Hence, the offer. To receive the toothless dragon in his home and keep it safe. A favor, from an older brother to another. The Gods knew if Sara was near war at all, Cregan would do everything in his power to send her somewhere safe. He would be forever indebted to the man who aided him to do so.

And Prince Jacaerys, showing himself to be the dutiful prince and brother he was, had understood the offer for what it was. A true alliance. A Pact of Ice and Fire, to bound their bloodlines and keep the beloved, but defenseless sister safe.

It had impressed Cregan. Jacaerys was a serious man, no matter his dubious parentage. He could picture himself following him. After all, his Targaryen blood and character were the important part. That was what made him a worthy King.

Without a dragon of your own, your journey had been perilous. He knew you had ridden without banners until you had safely arrived into northern territory, a feat that had taken you a whole moon. Cregan had offered to have his men meet you halfway, but his letter doing so had gone unanswered. It had only prompted new anxieties for him.

What if he failed to fulfill his promise because you were abducted or harmed in the journey? What if the people riding with Black banners weren’t truly your honor guard, but an ambush prepared by the enemy?

Cregan doubted he would be at ease until he saw you emerge out of your wheelhouse, whole and unscathed. Hence, his waiting by the door. He would not be nervous a moment longer than he needed to.

The first thing Cregan saw was that your honor guard was smaller than he expected. He had known you would travel with a sparse escort, as to not attract undue attention. It was a miracle you had made it here with only ten guards, though. The wheelhouse and the men carried so many packages that Cregan would have known you were a Princess even without expecting you. Anyone would have known.

In contrast, the woman who stepped out of the wheelhouse wasn’t miraculous nor was she what Cregan envisioned when thinking of a Princess.

You were… Pitiful. Cregan understood now why Prince Jacaerys was so desperate to protect you. You wouldn’t survive a winter in the North, hells, it looked like a strong breeze would blow you away.

Your hair and eyes were as dark as the ones of your brother. You wore a pretty wool dress, in mourning black. The lacings on the back were done too tightly, a lot of the ribbon hanging limply, and the dress was loose around your chest and hips. It was clear you had recently lost weight, probably during the journey because the gown hadn’t been altered to fit you.

There were dark circles under your eyes, which were also red rimmed. Your skin was pale, your dark hair braided back in a severe style. Grief didn’t suit you. You looked small and sad, despite having a pleasing figure.

It didn’t help that the dress you had chosen was one far too thin for a sensible northern woman to wear. The day wasn’t even that cold, but you were already shivering. It was barely snowing, for the Gods’s sake!

Cregan approached you and gave you a bow.

“Princess.” He extended his arm to you. You took it, shivering. “I trust your journey was pleasant?”

“Pleasant enough.” At least your voice isn’t frail. The last thing Cregan needed was a soft-spoken southron lady. You even manage to smile at him, which makes you look considerably more attractive.

Cregan would admit one thing, and one thing only: Queen Rhaenyra made pretty children. Both you and Jacaerys had sinful mouths and bewitching dark eyes, though he found yours far more pleasing.

“I am sorry for your loss.” He says, as he escorts you inside Winterfell. Your trembling intensifies, instead of subsiding in the warmth of his hall. You say nothing.

When he risks a glance at your face, your eyes are suspiciously wet. You avoid meeting his eyes, even as he offers you the customary salt and bread.

“I remember when Arra got here.” Cregan offers, awkwardly. He isn’t quite sure of what to say to a grieving Princess, so he decides to share something about himself in hopes that you will open up too. He desperately needs to change the subject. Or to start a subject. He is not picky, anything that keeps you from crying will do. “She brought less of a procession than you did. And less luggage.”

“She was quite closer to home than I.” You reply, and your tone has regained strength. You no longer shake, body stiffer. Cregan decides to take it as a good sign. You are clearly struggling to get a hold of yourself, which is why you turn so tense, so he decides to keep speaking to give you some more time.

“She was. By far a more practical woman.” He smiles at you, teasingly. “But if the fuss makes you happy…”

You laugh. When he gets to know you better, Cregan will realize that your laughter wasn’t genuine.

He will also realize this had been the moment your heart iced over.

YOU PAGE THROUGH your book, in silence. Winterfell doesn’t have court musicians, and for that, you are thankful. Silence has always been your preferred companion right before bed. That, and a good book.

Your obsession with Valyrian history and traditions had been carefully nurtured by your stepfather, Daemon. Neither your mother nor siblings had much interest in your shared heritage, beyond the ability it gave them to ride dragons.

While Baela and Rhaena spoke fluid High Valyrian, the same could not be said for your brothers. As the only girl in the household, your lessons had been spent with the former and not the latter, forcing you to improve. Once you did, you had found reading the tales of old was a pleasant pastime.

You enjoyed laying in bed and imagining all the stories about magic, dragons, and empresses. When you had turned four and ten, Daemon had gifted you your very own book with Valyrian tales, a beautifully bound and illustrated edition that had followed you in your journey North.

“For you to read to your future children.” He had said, back then. You had barely flowered, so you had laughed. “I mean it, Princess. Out of my three girls, you are the only one I envision doing so.”

The day he had acknowledged you as one of his daughters, even if you didn’t share blood, was the happiest nameday you had had. He was right, too. As much as you loved the twins, you couldn’t picture them being motherly. Baela would have to have a son, to inherit after Jace, but you believed that it would be him who took charge of the more fatherly duties while she dedicated herself to statecraft. Rhaena, instead, had a thirst for adventure, to travel and know the world. Her ambition wasn’t conducive to motherhood either.

You, instead, had always dreamed of marrying a man who loved you and starting a family of your own. You envisioned yourself as the lady of a great keep, where you would rule fairly, and raise your children without wet nurses.

Those dreams had already been shattered. The man you had married didn’t love you. He had only done so to secure an alliance. And the man already had a child of his own, an heir. There was no need for you to be a mother anymore.

You turned another page of your book, watching the beautiful illustrations. You had dreamed of reading this to a little girl who looked like you, or perhaps a boy that would have looked like the man of your dreams. They would have learned High Valyrian, and spoke it as beautifully as your mother and stepfather did.

It would not come to pass. Not any longer.

A soft knock on your door makes you set down your book, closing it with great care. Then, you get up and put on your robe over your sleeping shift.

“You may enter.”

Your husband steps in, dressed for bed already. He is a handsome man, you think, biting your lower lip. Tall, dark and handsome, Cregan is the sort of man your childhood self would have pictured marrying.

He could have been the perfect man to fall in love with, were it not for the fact that he would never love you back. He already loved someone else, someone who you could never aspire to match. His first wife, Lady Arra.

As Alicent had learned, it was impossible to overshadow a ghost. Dead as she was, she could never make mistakes. He would forget all her imperfections.

She gave him a child, she was the wife he chose. The one he married for love, not duty. A practical, northern woman his bannermen had surely liked far more as a match to him than a soft southron princess who didn’t even have a dragon.

“I was wondering if you would welcome my company tonight, Princess.” Your husband says, voice emotionless. He is only here because of duty, it seems. “We could share the bed.”

“You said we could wait to consummate our union.” You keep your voice firm. It is not a task you anticipate eagerly, but you are not afraid of it either. You had seen enough of your mother and Daemon to know bedding someone can be pleasing. It is only the awkwardness of doing so with a stranger that puts you off.

“I was not referring to that.” Your husband says, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “The nights are cold in Winterfell. Is it wrong for a man to seek closeness to his wife?”

You frown. His behavior is most puzzling. He intends to share your bed… To sleep? Your mother shared her bed with Daemon, but she also bedded him. It makes no sense to you that he wants to sleep next to you without touching you. Most marriages don’t do that. Much less if they are political matches.

“It is not a sin. But why would you..?” You question, but your Lord Husband is getting up already, huffing. He seems angered that you are unable to understand his message, whatever it might be. He storms off, leaving you confused over his behaviour.

That night, Cregan dreams of running. Of having a snout covered in blood, of jumping into the river, trying to trap a seahorse.

He never manages to. Wolves aren’t meant to hunt seahorses.

[havenhyunjin]

daisy - hyunjin

a continuation of is it casual now?

—Surely that was all that was going to happen; Hyunjin was going to agonizingly friendzone you again, even if he maybe wanted you too. Complimenting you, saying he didn’t deserve you, repeating that he loved you had to be just a way for him to try to let you down easier. word count: 4.8k

warnings: mature, explicit sexual content ahead. 18+ only please! best friends to lovers; angst; hurt/comfort; mild alcohol intoxication; unprotected consensual sex (be responsible); oral sex (f receiving), fingering, creampie.

a/n: this is an accompanying written piece of the text au "is it casual now?". i believe it can be read as a stand-alone, but the texts are cute too. <3

The daisy necklace felt cold and heavy against your skin. It was a sharp reminder of all that was wrong, and yet it was an anchor at the same time. Perhaps that was the problem; anchoring yourself to land that seemed to want nothing but to get away from you. 

Surely, Hyunjin didn’t mean for anything to escalate to this point. When he insisted you remain best friends, like you’d always been, the rationale was to avoid exactly what was happening. He knew two things for sure: Relationships end, and he couldn't live without you. The only logical step was to keep things between you two platonic; that way it wouldn’t end. 

He failed to take into account another unequivocal truth: You loved each other ardently. 

It is the kind of love you can’t contain. The harder you try, the more it will manifest on everyday choices, on shared moments, on breaking hearts. 

As of right now, it manifested in the hot tears streaming down your face, sitting on a lonely bench in the middle of the night. It manifested in the alcohol sweating off your pores, failing to make you forget. It manifested in your shaking hands, holding your phone as you try to separate yourself from this narrative once and for all. 

please let me come get you. we have to talk in person, we can’t do this over texts, you read Hyunjin’s messages, having half a mind not to cave in instantly. The masochistic part of you that had accepted the crumbs of Hyunjin’s love was clawing its way out, but she was kept at bay. 

You couldn’t take another “just friends” speech from him, and you told him as much over angry, sad texts. As if he was helping your masochistic part give in to him once again, he replied that he loved you. He loved you so much his world was spinning off its axis, terrified of losing you. 

Theoretically, that was all you would ever want to hear, but you heard it all before too. And of course, you didn’t want to lose him either, but your soul was dying a little bit more every day that you saw him and you couldn’t envelop yourself in him to show him your love. You said you needed time and space to move on, and be capable of being his friend. 

He pleaded to let you see him once again. You tried fighting back one last time. The resolve quickly faded. Maybe you were a weak woman in love, but anyone else would’ve given in too. i love you, i need you. please, daisy. i don’t want you to get over me. you’re the most wonderful woman in the planet and i don’t deserve you, but i will try. 

Agreeing to see him by turning your location back on for Hyunjin to find you, anguish, regret and hope merged into one convoluted emotion that you were far too wrecked to process. You didn’t even have enough time to try to stop crying when you recognized Hyunjin’s car on the street in front of you. He ran to you, and before any other thought crossed your mind, your brain betrayed you by noticing how stunning he looked. As if he didn’t look like that all the time, and as if your brain hadn’t fantasized about him enough times to last you your whole life. 

His hair was tied in a messy half ponytail, wearing a black leather jacket and jeans. His face was contorted in emotions you couldn’t read, not for lack of trying. His eyes were desperate, his hands were shaky, his steps were steady, his mouth was unmoving. 

“Daisy, it’s fucking freezing,” was the first thing he said in front of you, immediately taking his jacket off to give it to you. You didn’t want it, you knew it was a torture device, but it happened too quickly for your dazed mind to protest. He didn’t really talk as he helped you up from the bench, leading you to the passenger seat of his car, and you were simply moving automatically. He put your seatbelt on before closing the door behind him and walking to the driver seat. All you did was close your eyes, not ready to face him again, not ready for more rejection than your sanity could take. 

Surely that was all that was going to happen; Hyunjin was going to agonizingly friendzone you again, even if he maybe wanted you too. Complimenting you, saying he didn’t deserve you, repeating that he loved you had to be just a way for him to try to let you down easier.

Your internal dialogue raged on, because Hyunjin simply drove in silence in the direction of your apartment. Surely he would be leaving you there to cry yourself to sleep once again as soon as he said whatever he needed to say.  

When he parked his car, he also opened the door for you and tried to help you out but you flinched away from him. His touch didn’t just electrify you; it burned through your layers of clothes like the daisy necklace did. The sharp reminder of your anchor sailing away. 

“Daisy, can I come up? I’ll leave as soon as you’re inside if you want me to,” Hyunjin said, wincing after you flinched away.

His heart was aching. His internal dialogue was as tragic as yours. He knew for sure you wouldn’t give him a second chance at being brave enough to love you. He knew this was going to be the last time you’d let him that close to you. He knew you didn’t trust him anymore.

All he was hoping for was a few more minutes with you as you went up the elevator and before you closed your door to him forever. All you were hoping for were a few more minutes with him before you had to say goodbye to him out of pure survival instinct. 

So you agreed for him to walk you to your door. You saw him punch in your code, and open the door for you. You put your head down as you walked in, and hesitantly turned around to face him, reaching to take his jacked off yourself. You willed yourself to look into his eyes. 

Hyunjin was crying. He was trying hard to keep the tears from falling, he was furrowing his eyebrows and he wasn’t looking back at you, instead staring at the corner of your wall behind you. 

It’s not like you hadn’t seen him cry before. He cried watching Inside Out, when you graduated, when he laughed too hard, when his little fish died. But this wasn’t the same. His lips quivered a little, his eyes were almost closed, his cheeks were red, his hands were closed in fists. He was in agony. 

Your masochistic side, and the side of you that loved Hyunjin like the forest loves the flame, teamed up against your decision to say goodbye. You could not bear to see him hurt that way, even if it meant more pain for you. So you wrapped your hand around his wrist and led him inside, speechlessly closing the door behind you. 

“Daisy, I…,” Hyunjin started to talk quickly, knowing you were granting him the chance to do so. You closed your eyes, ready for the big blow. Ready for a wretched feeling of heartache you never thought Hyunjin would cause you. Ready for him to close the possibility of ever letting you love him. Ready for him to never take the leap for both of you. Ready for your fears to drag you away from each other. 

You weren’t ready for the soft, cold hands that wrapped around your cheeks, and the hot minty breath against your face. You weren’t ready to find a pair of brown, yearning eyes looking deep into yours when you opened them. You weren’t ready for the touch of his nose against yours as he leaned in. You weren’t ready for the all consuming feeling of his plump lips on yours. 

But you welcomed it. You welcomed it like the feeling of a warm blanket on a rainy day, like the smell of your childhood pillow, like the taste of your favorite candy on Christmas, like the sound of a perfect melody, like the sight of a sunrise. You welcomed it like finally coming home. 

The daisy necklace felt hot against your skin. It was a sharp reminder of all that you desired standing right in front of you, somehow anchoring you and making you fly away at the same time. Perhaps that was the paradox; anchoring yourself to land that you thought was drifting away, but right now was holding you like a treasure. 

Surely, Hyunjin didn’t mean for anything to escalate to this point. When he insisted you needed to talk, he logically knew his first step couldn’t be to kiss you. He knew two things for sure: You couldn’t just be his friend, and he couldn't live without you. The only logical step was to communicate your feelings, fears and concerns to each other; that way he wouldn’t have to live without you. 

He failed to take into account another unequivocal truth: You loved each other ardently. 

It is the kind of love you can’t contain. The harder you try, the more it will manifest on everyday choices, on shared moments, on magnetic forces between you two. 

As of right now, it manifested in a kiss that would put every other epic kiss to shame. It manifested in your hands wrapped around his neck, holding onto him for dear life. It manifested in your heavy breathing as you both gasped for air, immediately crashing back into each other. 

You didn’t really have to talk anything out anymore. Your bodies melting into each other, transforming into a single entity was enough of a declaration, but Hyunjin wouldn’t have it that way. He needed to know that you knew. 

You hesitantly pulled back as he grabbed your chin to create a small distance between your lips. 

“Baby, I love you,” Hyunjin said barely above a whisper. Barely above a prayer he hoped would be heard by you, his goddess. 

“I love you,” was all you could truly reply. What else could you say? How else could you say it other than dripping with devotion? 

The pieces of the puzzle fit together perfectly, the cracks in your heart embalmed in healing, gently, kindly, steadily by his four words. 

You leaned your face into his right hand, almost unconsciously, craving Hyunjin’s warmth. His heart did somersaults, and he wanted nothing more than to give you every bit of affection you could ever crave until the day he died. 

“I know what I said before, and what I thought was the best, but I was wrong. I was so wrong, Daisy,” he said as he pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes, unable to look at you until he cleared the air, otherwise he’d just give in to your lips again. “I thought everything would be better if we didn’t take the risk of us not working out.” 

You nodded, attempting to ease his mind showing him you understood the reasoning. You tried to open your mouth, but he wasn’t done talking, so you simply placed a hand on the nape of his neck to try to soothe him. 

“I know it’s dumb and cliche, but I couldn’t have you be another thing that didn’t work out in my life. I’ve done stupid shit, I’ll probably keep doing stupid shit, and I got all this baggage you already know about, and it isn’t an excuse but I just thought I should save you the trouble of dealing with it more than you already do,” Hyunjin rambled on, stumbling into his words and thoughts. He had planned out his speech, at least parts of it, but it was all coming out messy. He wanted to organize his thoughts, but he was desperate for you to understand that he wanted you, needed you, loved you, and the past few days weren’t because he saw you as just a friend, but because he saw you as so much more.

All you could do was make him look you in the eyes, forcing eye contact to ground him. 

“I don’t want to fuck this up. I won’t. I’ll be everything you need, if you’ll take me,” Hyunjin murmured, his eyes nearly watering as his emotions overcame him. 

“I’ll be everything you need too, if you’ll take us,” you replied, holding your faith in him close to your heart. He wouldn’t hurt you; not on purpose, not irretrievably. He would do everything to fix what needed fixing, he wouldn’t leave you hanging, he wouldn’t take you for granted. He would love you. You would love him. 

“You’re already everything,” he blurted out, as sincere as he’d ever been, before crashing his lips back into yours. 

Hyunjin knew he wasn’t done expressing his feelings and fears, and that there were some that he barely even recognized. But he also knew he would have the time to do that, and you would be gentle enough to grant him that grace. You wouldn’t judge him, you wouldn’t run out of patience, you wouldn’t walk out on him. You would love him. He would love you. 

So Hyunjin gave in to you, and you gave in to him.

His kiss was desperate and passionate, leaving you breathless and dizzy, trying to steady yourself on his chest. Any alcohol in your system had already been replaced by the adrenaline of holding your entire world in your hands, and finally being able to be this close to him.

Soon enough, you started leading him to your room, even with an unmade bed and a few scattered items. He wasn’t unfamiliar to your room, knowing the scent, layout and quirks of it very well. However, he suddenly felt like an outsider you were inviting in for the first time, and he wasn’t sure of what to do. Hyunjin’s mind started to race. Did you want to sleep? Did you want him to hold you? Did you want more? Did you want to wait? 

As his thoughts started rushing, your touch was the one to ground him yet again as you motioned him to come closer to you, kneeling on the edge of your bed with him standing in front of you. He didn’t need words, your hands under his clothes touching his skin telling you everything he needed to know. You wanted him as badly as he wanted you, and you needed to feel close to him. 

His shirt came off first, your core warming at the sight. Greek gods would be put to shame besides Hyunjin, sculpted and soft against your fingertips. He was shy under your intense gaze, opting to help you out of your blouse instead. Once he caught a glimpse of your skin under the soft lamp light, he was done for. Still asking for your consent when unhooking your bra, you nodded and threw it at the floor yourself. 

Hyunjin watched as you laid down under him, your breasts slightly moving and your nipples hardened with the temperature change. He knew he was staring far too much, but anything he had ever imagined before paled in comparison to what he was seeing. Any dreams and fantasies he’d had of you naked underneath him as he touched himself, were far off the real thing.

You blushed at the attention on your chest, pulling Hyunjin in for a kiss as he went into bed with you. He happily returned it, and quickly moved his hands to unbutton your jeans, humming while asking for permission once again, as if you were ever going to say no to the man you desired with every cell of your being. 

You lifted your hips up enough for him to pull down the item along with your underwear, and you couldn’t help but whine as you felt yourself truly exposed beneath him. He only barely noticed, busy admiring every curve of your legs, thighs and most of all your naked pussy. 

His cock was painfully hard, twitching at the mere sight. He didn’t know how he was not going cum immediately upon tasting you, feeling you, but he would be damned if he didn’t have you right now. 

Hyunjin gently spread your thighs, whimpering ever so silently as he looked at your slick folds. “You’re so wet, my baby,” he looked up, making eye contact with you and licked his lips. 

The sight was a pure, unadulterated wet dream. You should be even more wet, having the most beautiful man in the world between your thighs, lowering his sinful lips and tongue on your sex. 

You arched your back and instantly held the roots of his hair in your hands as he licked a long, tortuous stripe around your slit and pussy lips. Kitten licks right into your already swollen clit followed, and you shut your eyes closed cursing under your breath. “You taste like fucking heaven, baby,” he said right into your core, making you whine. Hyunjin was slowly, almost imperceptibly, rutting his hips against the bed to give some attention to his clothed, aching cock, drunk on your taste and moans. 

He was a man starved, alternating between fucking his tongue right into the hole he would fuck with his fingers next, picturing how tight and good you would feel around his cock later, and giving fast consistent ministrations to your sensitive clit. 

You would never last long, much less as he worked one finger inside you wrapping his lips around the bud. He was met with more resistance pushing a second finger in, his long hands proving to be a challenge to take like you knew his dick would be, but you were excited to have it. 

Hyunjin never stopped his consistent pace on your clit, relaxing you and recoiling you at the same time. He knew he needed to prep you with at least three fingers if he was going to fuck you, feeling how tight you were, vibrating in anticipation. He worked slower, almost painfully so. Once he felt his index and middle finger slide in and out of your pussy with ease, he leisurely pressed his ring finger to your entrance. 

You were lost in the feeling, grinding yourself on his hand and moaning his name over and over again. You took all three fingers in, opening up for him even more as he scissored them inside of you, not once stopping his steady, erotic make out session with your clit. 

Hyunjin was all about pleasing you, so he curled his fingers inside of you, drinking in your every movement, sound and wetness pouring out of you. “Let go for me baby, give it to me,” he encouraged, only barely stopping his constant stimulation on your clit. 

You were soon enough cumming in his mouth and hand, giving Hyunjin the sweetest taste he ever had in his life, and seeing stars, cross eyed at the feeling of an angel gifting you the first orgasm of the night. He cleaned up the remnants of your orgasm, not baring the idea of any of it going to waste and smiling up at you. You smiled back, chuckling shyly, as he climbed up to kiss you for you to taste yourself on him. It was intoxicating, remembering him eating you out as you tasted the evidence. 

The aftershocks of the high subsided once you remembered Hyunjin hadn’t cum yet. He wasn’t even fully undressed, and suddenly you couldn’t bear the thought. Half sitting up, you undid his belt impatiently and helped him as he pushed his pants and boxers aside, kneeling on the bed. He was fighting every impulse to moan at every single friction, at just the sight of your hands so close to his leaking cock. 

Your mouth was watering, pressing your thighs together even if it meant overstimulating your sensitive core. Hyunjin’s effect on your body was insane, amping up every passing second. He was decidedly big, and you silently thanked him for how he opened you up before. You ached to have his thick cock deep inside you, and you also craved the taste of him on your throat. You thought you should do the latter, returning the favor, but Hyunjin quickly pinned you back down to the bed. 

“Baby, I want to fuck you,” he whispered against your ear, his hands running along your waist and finding the flesh of your breasts. He continued by pressing sensual kisses on your neck and groping your tits, “Will you let me fuck you, Daisy?” A smile was on his face as he realized how you were only wearing your half daisy necklace, and he was wearing his. A wonderful, possessive reminder. You were finally his, and he had always been yours. 

“Hyun, please,” you barely whimpered out, dazed in lust, lightly scratching his back as you felt his cock so close, yet so far from your hole. You didn’t even have to beg, he would give you anything and everything you could ever ask for. 

As he positioned himself over you, while you spread your legs for him, he framed your face between his hands on the bed supporting him. You looked into Hyunjin’s eyes, knowing they were matching the passion behind yours, and knowing you both understood how life-changing this moment was. 

You put your hands on his neck as he finally pushed inside you with a soft thrust. Hyunjin went slow, intentional, as he felt you adjust bit by bit. He didn’t break eye contact, even though he was ready to cum any second. You felt so tight, warm and wet on his cock, he could barely even think, he could barely do anything other than look at you and understand he was home. 

“Fuck, you feel so perfect,” he said as he began to bottom in, leaning in to catch your lips in a kiss he hoped conveyed the wave of love combined with lust that he was feeling. “You were made for me, baby,” Hyunjin continued praising you, because it was truly all he could do. 

And you were made for him. The stretch stung, but pain melted into pleasure all the same as he kissed you, as he whispered all those sweet, dirty words. Soon enough it was all pleasure, it was all him finally inside you, finally taking what was his. Your moans were nearly uncontrollable, even more so as he began thrusting into you at a delirious, gentle pace. 

“You feel so good,” you whimpered into his lips, punctuating each word with his thrusts. Hyunjin almost smirked, beaming off your praise. He wanted to pick up the pace, but he also never wanted the moment to end. He was losing it, the taste of your pussy still lingering in his tongue mixed with the pleasure he felt as he fucked all his love into you. It was enough to bring him to heaven. 

He pulled your legs higher up, wrapping them around his waist to take you deeper. As you moaned in a higher pitch, he swallowed the sweet sounds into his mouth. Every emotion was heightened; the desperation, satiation, love, adoration, yearning, all enveloped into the intensity of your sex. 

“So fucking perfect,” he mumbled softly, barely above a prayer he wanted only you to hear. You knew you’d kneel to pray to him just the same. All of his movements and words made your cunt clench, feeling impossibly full and yet like it wasn’t enough. Like you needed him to be whole. At every spasm, Hyunjin’s cock twitched inside you, controlling himself not to let his impulse to press you face first into the mattress and take your pussy from behind win. He knew he could do that another time, and he knew he needed to show you his devotion right now. 

You could feel him restraining himself, and with one quick moment you pushed him to the bed on his back for you to straddle him. His cock slipped out with a pop that you both groaned at, and he immediately held onto your waist as a reflex, looking at you quizzically. 

“Let me ride you, baby,” you asked softly, positioning yourself over his cock and taking it inside you again at a new, toe-curling angle. 

Hyunjin could’ve cum right then and there, holding on to your soft skin. As you started bouncing up and down his length, he didn’t know whether to focus on your beautiful face contorted in pleasure, the erotic sight of where you two were connected, or the near pornographic vision of your tits moving in his face along with your necklace, his necklace. 

He was gone. He had been gone for years, knowing deep down nothing would ever satisfy him if he couldn’t have you. And now that he did, now that you were truly, genuinely taking your place as his goddess divine on top of him and his cock, he also realized he’d never be truly satisfied. He would never get enough of you, but he would spend every waking moment of his life adoring you. Even if centuries wouldn’t be enough with you, he will gladly spend his lifetime worshipping you, and every inch of your body. 

Hyunjin wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling himself up to begin tracing kisses, love bites and marks around your neck and breasts. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he declared, swore, between every single kiss.

Your movements were becoming more erratic when riding his cock, your words barely making their way out only because you couldn’t fathom not saying I love you back. Everything you did brought you closer to your high, and you could barely take it anymore. Even less when Hyunjin pressed his thumb right into your clit, and took one nipple into his mouth, licking circles in it. He was trying to make you cum before him, relishing in the sweet sounds coming out of your mouth. You were going cross eyed at all the stimulation, feeling the coil inside your stomach so close to snapping. 

“Fuck, just like that baby. You’re taking me so well,” he hummed, encouraging you as you picked up the pace riding him even if your legs felt like they were giving out. 

He placed you down on the bed as he felt your legs faltering, thrusting into you at a harder, faster pace. You held him by his arms, spreading your legs and closing your eyes shut as your moans became uncontrollable. His name was all that you even remembered, whining it out for him to dream about forever. 

“Finish for me, baby,” he said, kissing you deeply, his cock inside you hitting just the right spot for the coil to snap. 

The earth-shattering orgasm hit you all at once, tidal waves flowing over you as Hyunjin held you in the aftershocks. He fucked you through it, your pussy spasming, almost pulling him deeper inside you and letting him reach his own high. He filled you up with his pearly white cum, and you felt complete. 

He didn’t let go of you, as he laid in the crook of your neck panting, still inside you. He put only slightly more weight on you, careful not to hurt you, but relaxing into your body. 

You were breathing heavily too, still riding the ecstasy Hyunjin made you feel. As he felt you shaking, he pulled out and laid down beside you holding you into his chest. “I got you, baby. I got you…” he softly whispered in your ear, placing a kiss on your temple. You hugged him tight, smiling as he traced patterns on your back. “You are perfect,” he repeated, as he kept telling you before. 

You looked him in the eyes, the crystal glaze of love over them, and pecked his lips softly. You looked at his daisy necklace, reaching out to touch it with your fingers and tracing your own patterns on his chest and neck. No words were needed, the air between you two only trapped inside your bubble of a dream come true.

“I love you, Daisy,” Hyunjin promised once again. “I love you, baby,” you promised right back. 

The daisy necklace felt like safety and protection against your skin. It was a sharp reminder of all that you held dear to your heart, and it was the ever-present anchor that tied you to your one true love. Perhaps that was the endgame; anchoring yourself to the land that you had made your home in. 

Surely, Hyunjin had willed this all to happen, even if he didn’t realize it. As he held you close, skin to skin, his every desire and need was fulfilled. He knew two things for sure: He was yours, and he couldn't live without you. All he could do, all he wanted to do, was to make you his, until the very end. 

He now knew another unequivocal truth: You loved each other ardently. 

It is the kind of love you can’t contain. The harder you try, the more it will manifest on everyday choices, on shared moments, on new opportunities. 

As of right now, it manifested in the calm and warmth of his embrace. It manifested in the kind, caring kisses you pressed all over his face. It manifested in your souls molding into a single one. 

[heliosunny]

Hi, I would like to make a request for a yandere reader x gojo

Just imagine that the reader kidnaps Gojo and in an unexpected way develops Stockholm syndrome and can't do any harm to the reader.

(you can ignore this)

Def can't ignore such cool idea, luv it. ✨In fact, I love it so much that I have to write straight away!!

BOUND BY OBSESSION

Satoru Gojo was untouchable. Or so he thought.

It started with a trap so meticulously crafted it almost didn’t work. You knew you couldn’t overpower him directly, his Infinity was practically unbeatable. But you also knew Gojo’s biggest weakness: his overconfidence.

You’d tracked him for weeks, studying his movements and habits. He was cocky, always one step ahead of everyone else, but that made him predictable. You created a cursed tool designed to temporarily disrupt his Infinity, something he’d dismiss as laughable, until it wasn’t.

It happened in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. You lured him there with a fake bounty, one big enough to pique even his curiosity. When he walked into the trap, his usual swagger in full force, you struck.

“Really?” he drawled, glancing around the empty space. “You thought this would work on me? I’m offended.”

You didn’t answer, launching your cursed tool at him. It wasn’t about power, it was about precision. The tool activated mid-air, releasing a field of cursed energy that temporarily nullified his Infinity. His eyes widened in genuine surprise as he tried to step back, only to find himself stuck within the trap.

“Gotcha!” you said, your voice steady despite your racing heart.

Gojo struggled against the restraints, his strength still formidable even without his Infinity. But you’d planned for this moment for far too long. Before he could break free, you struck him with another cursed tool designed to knock him unconscious.

When Gojo woke up, he found his arms bound and his Infinity still suppressed. He blinked a few times, disoriented, before his gaze settled on you.

“You’re awake.” you said calmly, sitting in a chair across from him.

“Awake, and very annoyed.” he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “This is a bold move, I’ll give you that. But you know I’m going to kill you when I get out of here, right?”

You leaned forward, unfazed by his threat. “You won’t get out. Not until I let you.”

He scoffed, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “What’s your endgame, huh? Ransom? Revenge? Or are you just obsessed with me?”

You didn’t answer, your silence unnerving him more than any threat could.

The days turned into weeks. At first, Gojo was defiant, throwing out snarky remarks and testing his restraints at every opportunity. But no matter what he tried, he couldn’t escape. You controlled the situation perfectly, never giving him a chance to regain his power.

As time passed, something shifted. Gojo’s anger gave way to curiosity. You didn’t mistreat him, in fact, you went out of your way to make sure he was comfortable. You brought him food, patched him up after his failed escape attempts, and even indulged his sarcastic banter.

“You’re surprisingly nice for a kidnapper.” he said one day, watching as you set a plate of food in front of him.

“Don’t mistake kindness for weakness.” you replied, sitting across from him.

He smirked. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Despite himself, Gojo began to lower his guard. You were the only person he interacted with, and your strange mix of care and control started to mess with his head. He found himself looking forward to your visits, even if he’d never admit it.

One night, as you sat beside him, Gojo broke the silence.

“You know, I should hate you” he said, his voice unusually soft.

“You should” you agreed.

“But I don’t.” He leaned his head back against the wall, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe I’m just losing my mind, but… you’re not so bad.” You didn’t respond, your expression unreadable.

Over time, Gojo’s defiance melted away completely. He stopped trying to escape, stopped threatening you. Instead, he seemed almost… content.

One day, you loosened his restraints slightly, testing his reaction. He didn’t try to attack you. Instead, he stretched his arms and gave you a lopsided grin.

“Don’t look so surprised,” he said. “Maybe I just like it here.”

“Is that Stockholm syndrome talking?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Probably” he replied, his grin widening. “But does it matter?”

From that moment on, something unspoken lingered between you. Gojo stayed willingly, his loyalty no longer tied to his restraints but to you. Whether it was genuine or just a product of his situation, neither of you cared to question it.

------

Over time, the relationship between you and Gojo blurred the line between captor and captive. What started as a power play, your victory over the so-called strongest, had become something more complex, something neither of you could define.

Gojo had stopped resisting entirely, choosing instead to let himself depend on you. His smirks were softer now, his sharp tongue tempered. When you came to check on him, he seemed genuinely happy to see you, his signature grin a little too genuine to be an act.

But you couldn’t ignore the growing weight in your chest. This wasn’t sustainable. No matter how much he seemed to enjoy your company, you knew keeping him like this wasn’t fair, not to him, not to you.

One night, as he sat beside you, his head resting on your shoulder, you made your decision. “I’m letting you go.” you said, your voice steady.

Gojo lifted his head abruptly, his eyes narrowing. “What?”

“You don’t belong here,” you said, standing up. “Go back to your life.”

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You’re joking, right? After all this time, you’re just going to… leave me?”

“I never planned to keep you forever,” you replied, avoiding his gaze. “This was temporary.”

But Gojo didn’t believe you. He refused to believe you.

When you finally walked away, it shattered something inside him. For the first time in his life, Gojo felt truly powerless. You had become his anchor, his entire world, and without you, everything felt meaningless.

At first, he tried to move on. He returned to Jujutsu High, resuming his role as the prodigy everyone admired. But the adoration of others felt hollow. No one else understood him the way you did. No one else saw him for who he truly was.

And so, he began to spiral.

Months passed, and whispers of Satoru Gojo’s descent spread through the jujutsu world. The once untouchable sorcerer had become erratic, unpredictable. He hunted cursed spirits and sorcerers alike with a ferocity that terrified even his allies. But it didn’t stop there.

Gojo began to sacrifice.

He offered cursed spirits, rogue sorcerers, and even innocent people to get your attention. Each act was a message, a desperate cry for you to notice him again.

One day, as you were tracking a particularly powerful cursed spirit, you found him waiting for you. His figure stood silhouetted against the moonlight, blood staining his hands.

“Satoru” you said, your voice sharp.

He turned to face you, and for the first time, you saw something raw and unguarded in his expression. “You came,” he said, his voice trembling with something that might’ve been relief, or madness.

“What the hell are you doing?” you demanded, gesturing to the bodies around him.

“I needed you to notice me” he said simply, stepping closer. “I needed you to come back.”

Your heart twisted at the sight of him. The confident, untouchable sorcerer was gone. In his place stood someone broken, someone who had surrendered everything to his need for you.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you said, trying to keep your voice firm.

“I’ll stop” he said, his gaze locking onto yours. “I’ll stop if you take me back. I’ll do whatever you want... just don’t leave me again.”

You hesitated, torn between the rational part of you that wanted to walk away and the part that couldn’t ignore the desperation in his eyes.

“Please” he whispered, sinking to his knees before you. “I need you.”

The weight of his words crushed any resistance you had left. You knelt in front of him, placing a hand on his cheek.

“I’ll take you back” you said softly. “But you need to promise me you’ll stop hurting people.”

“I promise,” he said instantly, leaning into your touch like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

And in that moment, you realized the truth, you couldn’t let him go, either.

[joyceyayo]

Stanford & Stanley Pines NSFW alphabet pt. 2

A/n again, ts is dirty asf so heed this warning

M = Motivation (what turns them on,

gets them going)

Ford: Definitely intelligence. Nothing turns him on more than when you correct or prove him wrong about a topic he thought he knew everything about. Something that if anyone else were to do, he’d be highly annoyed.

Stan: he honestly doesn’t know. The weirdest shit turns him on, like you doing laundry or blow drying your hair, he was told the spontaneous erections would fade with his youth, and that was partly true. But with you, he finds himself just going about his day, and then he is filled with need for you just from witnessing a mundane task.

N = No (something they wouldn't do,

turn offs)

Ford: To be honest, I think he, unfortunately, would reel it in if you called him daddy. He just never identified with that and finds the connotations odd. He’d think about it way too literally.

Stan: do not touch his ass, please. He doesn’t even want to elaborate; if you ask him to, it makes him uncomfortable. You respect this, as there are many other, better things to do with him that he’d enthusiastically jump at. I don’t think he’d mind anal on you, though 😭

O = Oral (preference in giving or

receiving, skill, etc.)

Ford: Oh, brother, don’t get me started. Ford's general preference is to eat you out. He’ll spend a good while doing it, at least 20-30 minutes, building you up so that it's life-changing when you finally come on his face. Though that’s not saying, he’s against your lips around his shaft. It’s one of the only things that will make him really moan loudly.

Stan: Stan will NOT get his face between the legs of a girl he is not dating. He’s gotta know where that thing is going. But when he gets down there, you’re in for it ;) A bit hypocritical again because he doesn’t care where their mouth has been; he’ll take a blowjob within 15 minutes of meeting a woman.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow

and sensual? etc.)

Ford: Slow and steady wins the race, he says. But he’ll do a sprint at the end. The most sensual lay you’ll ever have.

Stan: very rough and speedy with it, rutting into you. You never mind it, though, as he’s good at it. And he always found a way to be romantic despite this.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies,

how often, etc.)

Ford: He makes his schedule and determines that he will take the free time to turn you out. He likes to take his time with you; usually, your foreplay lasts about an hour. He’s up in age, so a little time to get him going does wonders.

Stan: when he was younger, he would go crazy for fucking a girl he’d just met in a state he had just arrived at behind a bar for 10 minutes. And if you’re with him in his younger years, you get your fair share of that energy, trust me. But as he got older, he saw the value in long lovemaking sessions. He took his time with each curve and gave every inch special attention, something he could never do with those quickies. But even in his older years, his soul will leave his body if you quickly ride him while he’s pulled over in the Stan mobile. And he doesn't see that going away.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment?)

Ford: he wants to make you happy and is willing to try anything in the bedroom once. And you will have risky sex if you like it. But he can also place boundaries on what he really can’t be doing. He enjoys vanilla, mundane sex. And doesn’t see the appeal of fucking your lifelong partner in the Greasy’s Diner bathroom.

Stan: Again, he loved to experiment when he was younger, but now he likes to stick to what he knows. Which is a lot. But he also just wants to see you happy, and if it’s sexy, he’ll do it.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they

go for? how long do they last?)

Ford: one, but there’s a good amount of foreplay. He likes to make you cum and warm you up before he fills you. And he makes that one round count, making you lose your mind in those 15 intense minutes.

Stan: he can still do at most two if you’re down. But he’ll be winded. If you’re with him when he’s younger, then he’s wild asf, having insane stamina.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use

them? on a partner or themselves?)

Ford: he owns toys. But he prefers to make them and has only bought them to see the technology inside to replicate. When he makes his own, he can personalize precisely what will make you feel good, and he blows your mind every time. There’s a quality in his toys that you can’t get with store-bought ones, and you appreciate this luxury.

Stan: he never really owned toys and doesn’t see the appeal of a vibrator. He says it’s nothing he can’t do with his hands, and you can’t disagree. But if you wanted to experiment with one, he’d gladly oblige.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Ford: he’s very sweet during sex and doesn’t like to hold your pleasure over you head. He just wants to make you feel good and associate him with that. But he’ll jokingly tease you if you’re overly eager, but he won’t hold out.

Stan: he will tease occasionally if he’s not desperate enough, though oftentimes, he is. But he’ll knowingly go painfully slow while removing your clothes and kissing down your body. But he’s just too lazy and needy for you to go past that.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what

sounds they make, etc.)

Ford: I wouldn’t say he’s loud, but he’s a lot quiet. And his noises are closer to soft whimpers and moans than grunts. Though he does occasionally let one of those out

Stan: he is very loud; I imagine a lot of dirty talk. But he groans and grunts like crazy, making it known how good you’re feeling for him.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for

the character)

Ford: is constantly making little gadgets to make your life and hobbies easier. He unconsciously observes you because that’s what he does all day and applies that to whatever side project he’s working on

Stan: not even really a headcanon because it’s known this man is STRONG. But he lifts you with no problem and always does it. Like you’ll be doing your own thing, and he’ll lift you off your feet and bring you wherever, usually the bedroom 😉

X = X-ray (let's see what's going on

under those clothes)

Ford: very lean and chiseled from years of combat, and grey hair sprinkled everywhere. I imagine a little happy trail and well-trimmed but a good amount of curly hair around his dick.

Stan: has broad shoulders and a bit of a beer belly. He also has a lot of hair, especially on his chest and down his arms. He probably has unruly pubes but nothing anyone can’t get past.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex

drive?)

Ford: It was higher than he ever knew after he met you. He always was so interested (in the same way he was interested in anomalies and such) in the way couples were seemingly addicted to each other and couldn’t keep their hands off. While he only really thought about sex when he met a nice girl. But once he met you, he understood. He wanted to fuck you day and night and couldn’t get enough.

Stan: very high. He almost devours you when he isn’t able to have you for over 24 hours. It’s almost unnatural for a man of his age to be so sexually driven all the time, but the comments are never-ending. He’s always willing to take you to the bedroom…. Or the shower, or the car, or anywhere

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep

afterwards)

Ford: he doesn’t sleep a lot. So he usually gets you any amenities: tea, coffee, extra blankets, and a cuddle. But he usually likes to admire you sleeping naked on the sheets.

Stan: right after. Like a light. After he comes, he rolls over and maybe has the rest of his beer or a cigarette. But he usually pulls you onto his chest and knocks right out.

A/n lol I tried to make this one quickly so enjoy

[postcardsfromheapside]

[heavy sigghhhhhhhhh]

Okay, it's 9:30 in the morning, but I don't want to go out in the cold yet so we're addressing THIS instead.

First and foremost, turning Emmrich into the victim (and then whining about the lack of Solas) is what's cringe here. Not only is some of this wrong (Harding only brings up the age issue because Emmrich expresses his own concerns and she then acts as a sounding board for him), but it's getting tiresome to act as if the other companions don't have reasons to voice their opinions (I'm getting particularly tired of people not listening to the exchange with Taash and considering how they might feel). You can apparently consider things from Emmrich's perspective, but you refuse to consider things from everyone else's.

I'll put this under the cut - I hope no one has plans because we're going to be here a while.

A lot of the complaints in the post neatly latch onto individual ones I've run across in the past, so I'm just going to make one big response.

Emmrich is my favorite character in Veilguard, and second only to Varric for the whole series.

But he can be stuffy, snobbish, overly pedantic, he gets into other people's business and loses emotional perspective when the academic focus takes over, is possibly attempting to make a major life change based on barely-addressed trauma, and is prone to bouts of melancholy where he has to be drawn out by his friends and/or lover about whatever is actually bothering him, rather than him communicating his issues. He is not perfect,

That's why it's very interesting in that post to see someone claiming that "no one's bullshit is called out." When the companions "dunk" on Emmrich, it's a two-way street. Sometimes the companion is wrong, sometimes Emmrich is wrong.

Neve and Emmrich resolve their issues peaceably - it's not toothless, it's just that they're both mature adults and neither of them get actively hostile with others if they don't have to. They talk it through over several conversations, and decide the other is fine - good company even! - and move on to sharing Manfred, sharing poetry (you have to read the codex), sharing spell books, joking with each other, they're my favorite to bring out together despite not having interlocking talents.

Davrin and Emmrich start somewhat peacably - Emmrich tries to encourage him that he will find Assan's siblings, and I've gotten dialogue about the books the lighthouse has to offer early on - and then they begin their magic and child-rearing arguments. And Davrin ISN'T IN THE WRONG.

1) while it seems silly to us for Davrin to be a Fade denier, what's more interesting to me is that he points out that in a group of mages arguing about the Fade, there's never a cohesive answer. It's like listening to philosophers or religious experts never coming up with one clear answer about their favorite topics to mentally masturbate over. Davrin likes "science". He's writing a monster manual, ffs. He wants solid answers. One thing I love about Davrin is he's never afraid to call something that's bullshit, bullshit. Weird magical things happening in Arlathan? Bullshit. (and they are) Living in the lighthouse and feeling like it's ooky spooky? Bullshit. (and it kinda is) Questioning the boss about the god stuck in their head feeding them bullshit? 100% should be doing that. You should be listening to Davrin more - he's the voice telling you not to go into the haunted house, y'all, it might save your life.

2) He's also not wrong about Emmrich helicopter parenting Manfred, and almost none of how Davrin handles Assan is any of Emmrich's business, or area of expertise.

We need to stop getting upset at Harding for talking Emmrich through his worries about an age difference (this is something I think Bioware handled badly in that not everyone headcanons their Rook at a younger age, but also, Emmrich clearly has an issue with aging due to his thanatophobia). He shows signs of distress, and she talks him through it and offers advice. For some reason, a large part of the fandom has decided to take his issues out on HER, which is *wild* but not unexpected given the deeply internalized misogyny I've seen displayed. Not only that, but Sylvia herself has come out on Harding's side, because she wrote Emmrich that way.

Getting irritated at Taash is honestly wrong on so many levels at this point. I don't diagnose other people or characters, so I won't get into the ND aspect (it's fine if you relate to it, I'm not stopping you), but I will say this: Taash comes from a completely different culture than Emmrich, which finds using dead bodies so "callously" to be abhorrent, and their particularly sensitive sense of smell makes anything having to do with death even more disgusting to them (have you ever smelled a corpse, or dead animals? My migraines enhance my sense of smell, and make normal things smell awful sometimes) and finally, they are IN THEIR EARLY 20'S AND FULLY ACT LIKE IT. That means not everything they do is going to be as mature as the rest of the party, who are in their early to mid 30's, (and Emmrich was listed as 50-52). You can outright tell Emmrich to cut the shit, and he reels himself back with zero disapproval because he realizes ALL of this in a single second. *He's* the grown-ass man and professor here and shouldn't be escalating their argument. He values Taash, and changes his entire behavior toward them IMMEDIATELY, because *he was in the wrong*. And Taash responds to it, in a positive manner. You do not need to protect Emmrich from Taash.

Even Lucanis refuses to talk to Emmrich about Spite in some dialogue, because he feels more like a academic project than a person.

No companion is explicitly "called out" because sometimes these characters are calling *Emmrich* out. You're just refusing to see that he might be acting badly in his very quiet, stuffy way.

**put a pin in the Davrin/Lucanis bit**

Now.

After seeing a series of screenshots ending with this:

I got a little fixated with finding out which route unlocked this dialogue. It turns out you, as Rook, can romance Emmrich while expressing distaste for death, necromancy, and the undead the entire time - effectively dissing his profession and life's work, to paraphrase the post I linked - and Emmrich doesn't actually disapprove. Any time you can express disaste without missing a flirt option, if you do that, he takes it in stride. And then you can flirt as normal. He is *used* to people feeling this way. I think all Nevarrans are. I rather suspect he doesn't give a shit what the companions think about his job, at his age - he's written books, he's given lectures, he's a senior Watcher. Their opinions don't matter. He's at the top of his game, he has nothing to prove to them. Rook hired him, not them. And Rook? If you romance him, and take this route, his answer to you is: "There's no shame in a little attraction to the forbidden, my darling."

This man is a fucking menace. He doesn't need defending - you need defense against his rizz.

Now, Solas.

Yes, Solas taunts him for being a lich. Solas also taunts Davrin for being Dalish and what he must have heard about Solas from his people. Solas also tries to flatter Emmrich if he remains human. Solas tries to butter up Lace by apologizing to her. It's almost as if Solas is the "god" of deceit and trickery and presents as many different faces as their are people or even aspects of those people. He will present whatever face he thinks he needs to in order to get under their skin, or throw them off their game. Solas doesn't care about Emmrich becoming a lich. He doesn't actually care about any of the companions. He cares about tearing down the Veil. What choices you've made do not matter to him on a personal level except inasfar as he can use you. That's who he is. I hate it for you if you haven't realized and accepted this by now.

There are a lot of people who think Solas and Emmrich "nerd out" in their dialogue, and I just don't see it. I've held back from this descriptor in this lengthy response, but Emmrich constantly displays a very "British" politeness - and he does it when Solas attempts to flatter him in the end game. Emmrich doesn't express a *personal* wish to have a conversation with Solas. He says there are things the Watchers wish to have answered. It's professional for him. Solas kidnapped Rook, someone who, romanced or not, Emmrich spent weeks making a damn good facsimile of the lyrium dagger in order to save. Emmrich isn't going to outright tell Solas to go fuck himself, because he's too well-mannered, and he's got an affinity about spirits. But he's not inviting him over for tea and crumpets.

I don't understand where the idea that Emmrich holds off from flirting back because of the age gap comes from. "I must be sure to live up to expectation" - do you...do you not see that as him flirting back? TBH I think this guy flirts first and then kicks himself because "that's the boss" (and probably gets told about what's happened with Varric) and only REALLY gets serious when he thinks "No, there actually is something here" when Rook has flirted a few more times after that, plus helped him in his personal quest. Age gap be damned. A lot of us did not play Rooks with an age gap, or that much of one - mine was my age, well within Earth "norms" these days.

Okay, back to the Davrin and Lucanis bit.

Saying that Lucanis is "okay because he's an assassin that only kills bad people" is missing the point. Lucanis fully admits that he has only killed people who are guilty by his own yardstick. I'm sure all the companions could agree there are some standards (children) but even in D'Meta's crossing you're faced with a moral choice where not everyone agrees what to do (free the mayor or don't) and it's very clear that not everyone has the same standards about what makes a "killer". So why should you assume that Lucanis is a guilt-free assassin? We know that he frees slaves, we know that he earned a reputation killing Venatori mages. But he demures from Emmrich's excited statements that he "empathizes" with all his victims. There's absolutely no way he was able to vet all his kills, and who decides who "deserves" to be killed? You're meant to contrast this with Davrin's warm empathy for the criminals who join the wardens and become "something better" - the kinds of people who start bad and change into something good, who get a second chance to help and contribute to Thedas society in a meaningful way. But the Wardens have their own dark history, they're often corrupt. Lucanis and Davrin are two *good people* propping up their own suspect organizations, both of which are doing the best they can in imperfect situations. It's like watching a gang member and a cop slowly understand each other.

Please for the love of Andraste. Go read widely and expose yourself to other things and other people. It will help you gain perspective. This is a GOOD game, and not thinking critically about the conversations and choices, or trying to see things from each character's perspective, is what's holding people back from enjoying the richness and replayability it has to offer.

[perennii]

Okay, i HAVE to say something about the neil gaiman allegations now that more has come out. I am an attempted SA survivor. I was physically assaulted and luckily fought back before anything sexual could happen. The rest of the victims of Edgar Ruelas weren't so lucky. If you want to know more about my case, look that name up and know I am telling the truth. I know what it's like to come forward with allegations. I know what it's like dealing with the justice system. In my case, I was believed almost immediately, and everything went right. And even for me, the whole experience was absolutely excruciating on a soul level in a way that I will probably spend the rest of my life trying to find the words for. I believe these women unequivocally because they have almost nothing to gain and everything to lose from these allegations. Why would they lie? It is horrifying to realize that something of this magnitude has happened to you; your brain doesn't want to believe it. Our brains try to patch over traumatic experiences so we can get out of bed. To fully understand and then come out about what happened takes INCREDIBLE bravery. I wish all the best for these women, and I hope they can find some way to heal. Fuck neil gaiman. And fuck amanda palmer for enabling his heinous behavior. Holy shit. Holy shit....

(Fully articulated allegations are now in this article)