#i KNOW in game you have the option to be nice and soft and not kill everyone...but like....I am not going for that

[enbyleighlines]

My Fav Dave Everything! Characters Thus Far

Under a Cut because my thoughts are Not Safe for Work

#1: Timothy Timepiece

Pretty high-strung autistic British catboy with an extensive pocket watch collection?? And his idea of a date is teaching me how to gently and methodically care for them???

Why is all of his talk about adhering to an established routine genuinely arousing??

10/10 idea, no notes, this is now my soulmate

Unfortunately our love would be fated to fail irl bc I have adhd time blindness. My constant tardiness would disgust him, and rightly so, but this is a video game and it’s nice to have the option to dream

I think he has an alter-ego named Timmy but I honestly am too afraid to disrespect his precious sccccchedule so rip to me I guess

Sad his route is so short; I need to go on about 10 more unique dates with him pls and thank

#2: Mateo Manta

Soft boy bod plus a soft boy personality?? Consider me SOLD

Mateo pls just let me take care of you I am begging on my knees

His blushy face is EVERYTHING

The entire concept of inanimals itself is really creative and the inaminals themselves are all so, so adorable

I want to marry Mateo and have a thousand inaminal children together

#3: Betty the Bed

Cutie patootie alert!

Her bed frame corset is probably my fav piece of fashion in this game

The bite lip is craaaaazy hot

The sapphic longing of being in love with a friend and being afraid of crossing a line while also being ridiculously obvious about your feelings is so iconic and relatable

I am always down for a nap

#4: Maggie

Originally I was just gonna befriend Maggie, but then she started to show romantic interest in me, and she was soooo cute about it that I ended up falling for her

The way she gets so aggressive during interrogations is hawt

But her shy, flustered side is also soooo cute, and that gap moe btwn her plucky self, her aggressive self, and her shy self is fantastic, 10/10 character

Pls keep calling me gumshoe, Maggie, idk why but that’s really doing it for me

#5: Lux

Lux seems like the type of person who would have bullied me relentlessly in high school, a la Regina George from Mean Girls, and luckily for them I am into that shit

I feel like April from Parks and Rec from that one episode with Tinnifer like wow Lux you are the worst person I’ve ever met and I am obsessed with you

If Lux has no fans then call the police for I am deceased

Keep being you boo you have never done anything wrong and I love you

#6: Washford

Unfortunately, Washford has decided that he hates me because I don’t have enough smart points to fully appreciate MacBeth

Which is super not fair, but whatever

I only understand about 60% of what he’s saying at any given time but he’s got that long wavy hair with the streaks of silver and that fancy white bow in his hair and he’s terribly melodramatic and poetic and tragically, inexplicably sad and I love him

I love him enough to look past the washboard abs, which I know are considered conventionally attractive but they’ve personally always given me the ick

Washford pls give me a second chance, I promise I never once found you boring

Confusing? Yes. A touch irritating? Also yes. But boring? You are the furthest thing from boring, my love

I’m sorry my avatar character is too dumb to talk about Shakespeare with you. Just as the real me would be incapable of properly wooing Timothy, my avatar is incapable of properly wooing you

I promise irl I am more of your intellectual match. I’ve got zero common sense and negative rizz but if there’s two things I do have it’s a minor in English lit and a profound appreciation for the classics (excluding Faulkner, but let’s not get into that mess)

Unfortunately it seems our love is not meant to be, but hopefully I can still matchmake you with Drysdale down the line, insufferable as he can be

#7: Tydus Andromache

I am drastically deviating from my usual tastes here, as I don’t generally find muscular people of any gender attractive, but��

A trans-coded She-Ra lookalike? Don’t mind if I do

The way she speaks like an old timey Greek hero is really feeding my current hyperfixation with Epic the Musical, Hadestown, the Hades video game, Song of Achilles, etc

I am lowkey terrified to continue her storyline tho bc I don’t want to see any of her beloved Dipodgenes suffer

Queen you are so devoted to your cause and I salute you

Please tell me I can romance you without killing any of your tidepod warriors in the process, bc I will cry

#8: Dorian

This one isn’t even romantic, I just appreciate him being a defender of friendship

The uniform would normally be a huge red flag for me, but his smooth voice, strict adherence to his moral code, and his cutie patootie personality do a lot to balance it out

He seems to be really guarded (bc of a painful past?) and I want to hurt whoever made him feel like he has to conceal parts of himself

Thank you for telling me about all the other characters, I really appreciate it

#9: The Hanks (specifically Hank #5 but the others are good too)

Like many other cultured people, I appreciate a good himbo. Not romantically, but more in the sense that they are precious and I want to protect them

And these Hanks seem to be in dire need of some protection

Luckily for them, I am here to watch out for them like a protective bear mother, while also being fondly exasperated at their adrenaline-fueled antics

I am torn btwn finding Hank #3 hilarious and feeling like he needs to be put in horny jail. Maybe both things can be true

#10: Scandalabra

I feel like this one was added as a personal dig at me specifically bc I was a strange child who went through an unfortunate and very real phase of being in love with Lumiére from Beauty and the Beast

On that alone, I was prepared to hate him. And oh, I do

But I hate him in the way that I delight in my loathing. I wish there was a love-hate route, one where I could essentially bully him into a twisted friends with benefits situationship

Note to developers, why is there not an option to make a masturbation joke when he mentions polishing his knob??? I kept waiting for the option, but no

Fuck this prissy little fop. Fuck him in both the literal and colloquial way. I need to scandalize this candelabra in the worst of ways

And this post is getting monstrously long, so I shall cap it here.

Anyone have any idea of who I should try to romance next? I like my guys soft, submissive, and breedable, and my girls and theys mean, witty, and fabulous

[meowdei]

i adore you (can’t you see you’re meant for me?) — ft. sylus

sylus likes to sleep late in the mornings, and you like to admire him. the two are just a series of steps that bring you to where you are now: on top of him

word count. ❤︎ 4.7k words — it’s literally all pure filth with no plot idk what to say atp

before you read. ❤︎ female reader ; established relationship ; sleepy sylus ; banter and teasing ; reader rides his abs (do not look at me) ; praise kink (it goes both ways tbh) ; blow jobs ; cum eating ; reader has an obsession with his veins (it is her not me okay?) ; sylus wraps his hand around her throat (but no choking) ; body worship + one clit kiss ; nipple play ; morning sex ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; do not be fooled it is all pretty soft i promise

commentary. ❤︎ i am new to this game and i haven’t gotten too far go easy on me for this one :( i dedicate this to all my sylus loving nonnies in my inbox thanks for helping me figure out this game LOL. and kass. ily kass

Sylus sleeps more when the sun is out than when it’s not. You don’t mind it so much—not when the view is what it is.

(He’s pretty, and so is the sun. The two combined make for an even prettier picture. You think, if you weigh your options, there are certainly worse things out there than sitting beside your sleeping boyfriend and waiting for him to wake up.)

It’s hard to keep your hands to yourself, though. His hair is too tempting not to brush away from his face. And while your hand is right there, it’s a little impossible not to cup his cheek for a moment. And, well, if you’re already touching him, you might as well let your hand slide down to his chest and rub circles against the skin. He leans into your touch subconsciously anyway—it’s not hurting him. It’s helping.

(You like telling yourself plenty of things to justify your hand and his skin having an early morning rendezvous.)

“Bored, sweetie?” His voice is always deeper when laced with sleep than it usually tends to be. You stiffen, moving to pull your hand away, an apology already prepared on your lips for waking him when he catches your wrist, eyes still closed. “I didn’t say to stop, did I?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you huff, letting him guide your hand back to his bare chest. It rises and falls slowly, so warm and firm under your palm that it’s a little dizzying.

“Am I?” He cracks an eye open, “I was just enjoying a little tenderness. I wonder why I can’t ever seem to receive something so sweet when I’m awake.”

“Precisely this reason,” you say flatly. He raises a smug brow. Just to humor him, you add, “Your ego can’t handle it when you’re awake.”

“What, that you find me too irresistible not to touch?”

“Sylus, go back to sleep,” you grumble, shuffling away from him with a face that feels unbearably hot under his half-lidded gaze. “You’re easier to get along with that way.”

“I don’t know,” he all but purrs. In a swift motion—swift enough that you let out a shrill squeal—his hand tugs at your arm and pulls you close enough that he can hoist your body to sit on his lower belly. “We get along pretty well when we’re wide awake, don’t you think?”

His hand hikes up your (well, technically his) shirt and rests on your hip, nothing but the thin fabric of your panties separating you from him as you’re seated on top of him. You shiver lightly when his thumb caresses your hip bone, a satisfied hum pulling from his throat at the feeling of goosebumps rising against your skin. 

“Sylus,” you breathe, squirming over him—but you can’t say much else because you cut yourself off with a soft gasp when you hear the distinct sound of something tearing. 

Fabric. 

More specifically, your fabric. Your underwear—which was a rather nice pair too, you think woefully—is torn into two pieces, one held in Sylus’s hand like some form of victory, while the other falls against his belly with nothing holding it together around your hips. 

You blink. He gives you a large Cheshire grin.

“Sorry, sweetie,” he says, not so apologetically, “They were just in the way.”

“I liked those!” You hiss, glaring at him, “They were nice!”

“What, you don’t think I can buy you more? I could buy them faster than I could rip them, I’m sure.”

You have your doubts about that last part—but it’s still persuasive enough that you’re no longer as mad as you were just a moment ago. But you’re still petulant, pouting as you huff, “You ruin everything.”

“Mmh,” he hums, closing his eyes, voice still a low drawl from sleep as he says, “Are you sure? Because I can feel you dripping already, sweetheart.”

Shame floods your system quickly, but lust is faster. Stronger, too, perhaps—because you don’t have it in you to be ashamed for too long before you grow impatient. With a deeper pout, you press your hands against his chest, leaning lower until your mouth hovers over his. 

“Can you blame me?” You breathe against his lips. “Just look at you.”

He stiffens. Just barely, of course. Just enough that you can hardly even detect it, but you do. You do because you know him. And you know that when Sylus teases, it’s really just to deflect from his need to shift the attention to yours—like he doesn’t want you just as bad. Like he’s not just as hard as you are wet in his boxers. Like he doesn’t need to feel you just as badly as you need to feel him. 

But he likes to keep the upper hand. It starts with two hands on your hips, firmly squeezing them before slowly rocking them against his abs. Your bare cunt (courtesy of him destroying a perfectly good pair of panties) glides along the ridges and indents of his muscle. Very well-defined ridges and indents of muscle, too. You tense, letting out a shaky gasp as your clit rubs against his hard-planed physique. 

“If you like it so much, why stop at just a look?” He chuckles, “You’re more than welcome to feel, too, sweetheart.”

He’s so sickeningly proud of himself, you can’t help but think bitterly as soon as your hips start grinding against him of their own accord. He’s so pleased and amused and deeply content with the sight of you falling apart over him. His eyes are hungry, and they don’t stray away from you for a single second. They don’t miss a single twist in your expression, nor do they have the decency not to stare shamelessly at the image of where your pussy meets his midsection, where your slick pools and coats his skin and makes it glisten as you make a mess on him. 

He hums, large hands leaving your waist buried in their frames as they guide you at a slow, steady pace. “Bet that feels good, doesn’t it?” He grins—and oh, he’s aggravatingly happy as he laughs breathlessly, “You look like you’re about to fall apart. Don’t worry, I’m right here. You can’t fall far.”

You would say something smart if you could. Maybe even reach back and palm over his crotch that’s rudely tight against his boxers. But you can’t. Not when your clit rubs against his warm, heated skin and leaves jolts along your spine. All you can manage is a pathetic, “S-Sylus, please—”

“Oh? Please what? Please more?” He coos.

Something of a dull ache builds into this deep, throbbing need to feel your walls hug around something. To constrict around and latch onto something warm and big and full—something like him. Something like the way he fucks you into the mattress and makes you feel like he’s so deep in you, you can feel him in your throat. 

That’s what you want—but of course, you’re naive if you think that’s what he’ll give. For now, at least. For now, he’ll tease, and tease, and tease until he can watch you crumble just the way he wants to witness. And you’re close to that, too—you know it, and so does he. He can tell by the way your wetness drips onto him in a messy pool, making your cunt drag against him easier, smoother. He can tell because he can all but feel the quiver of your walls clenching around nothing, empty and desperate for some sort of building friction. And he can especially tell because of your face—that devastating look on your face when you’re so close to the edge you can just practically cling to it with the tips of your fingers as it dangles teasingly in front of you. 

“More,” you plead, “Want you. Want to feel you.”

“Oh, but you’re almost there,” he says in faux sympathy, soothing you with a sleepy, smug little grin. “Surely, you can take it just like this, can’t you? You’re better than that—I know you are.”

His words take you to the edge. You plummet off of it, in fact, practically collapsing against his chest as he holds you upright with a firm, strong grip and guides you through your orgasm. You gush around nothing, making a wet, sticky mess on his skin as you cum against him, grinding your clit as much as you can along every indent along his hard, built muscle. 

“Sylus,” you whimper, “oh—f-fuck.” Your body quivers for a few more moments before you slump against him, burying your nose into his neck. “You’re despicable,” you bite the skin lightly.

He laughs. It’s low from the sleep that’s still clinging to his voice but boyish enough that your heart skips a beat. “Am I? You seemed to enjoy it.”

You shuffle to curl into him more, but your leg brushes against the bulge in his underwear—a small, barely-there sound pulls from his throat. Something caught between a gasp and a moan that makes you pause before you grin against the crook of his neck.

“Guess I should pay you back, hm?” 

He watches, pupils dilated and eyes half-lidded as you pull away and kiss from his collarbone to his pecs. A rise of goosebumps litters his skin, too—just like they did on your skin earlier. You silently revel in that victory, making your way lower, lower, lower. But it’s painfully, obnoxiously, ridiculously slow. 

“Don’t be a tease, sweetie,” he hisses, grunting as you kiss down his torso, the well-defined muscle of his abs flexing under every touch of your lips. 

“Who, me?” You blink, batting your lashes sweetly, “Oh, I’d never, baby.”

Your lips graze over the skin that’s still marked with your essence as you kiss and suck along his torso, a trail of marks left in your wake and declaring him yours. You can taste yourself from just a few moments ago—the moments when you rocked your hips into him and fell apart, when he held you through it with a sleepy smirk. The image of his smug face makes you glance up at him with a flustered look, and almost as if he already knows, his gaze is on you. Waiting. Smug here in person just as much as he was in your memories.

“What a naughty thing,” he drawls, teasing glint in his eyes. “Did you get a taste of yourself? I’m sure now you have an idea of why I find it so…addictive, don’t you?”

He’s filthy. Cocky, too. And more often than not, he’s absurdly prepared with smart comments. Just to even the playing field a little, you decide he could use a little relentless teasing of his own. 

“Oh, I can think of a thing or two just as addictive,” you smile innocently—and just like that, you lean in to kiss against a pale, blue line across his porcelain skin, pulling away to admire the veins that mark his body. Something in you aches for him all over again—something that you don’t like to admit happens from just the sight of something like his veins. But you pay careful attention to them anyway, leaning down and pressing soft, feather-like kisses against his lower belly, feeling him stiffen tightly underneath you as his breath gets labored and slightly erratic.

He’s impatient. You glance down at him, cock hard and strained against his boxers, the beginnings of a wet patch dampening the skin from pre cum dribbling from his tip. You almost feel bad. 

Almost. 

“Don’t you ever get tired of your games?” He grits, involuntarily twitching his hips to chase some friction. 

“I could ask you the same question,” you snort. 

“Yet, it seems I’m always the one spoiling you,” he retorts. 

There’s some bit of merit to that, you suppose. So you give in, humming as you kiss along his v-line, one finger looping under his waistband while giving a small tug downwards. He lifts his hips instantly, letting you pull off the offensive piece of clothing that separates him from your touch. 

It’s flushed, his cock. Swollen, flushed with a pretty rosy shade at the tip, and glistening with leaking pre cum. You lean and give the thick vein along the underside a series of kisses tracing upwards before pressing a delicate one to his tip. He groans, and his cock twitches at the contact, his eyes fluttering closed as he bites his lip. 

“Pretty,” you observe, smiling softly at the sight of him. 

He scoffs, lips almost a pout as they curl into a frown. “Then do something about it,” he insists. 

You think you’ve sufficiently teased him enough, so you do—you take him into your mouth slowly, inch by inch, as your tongue and the wet heat of your mouth envelop him and make him tense for a moment before his body goes slack. A deep, throaty groan rings through the room, the sound making something do a flip in your lower belly. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, breathing heavily. “You…you’re so good at this.”

The praise does something to you that you’re not proud of. Some flash of an ache deep in your core that you don’t want to focus on, so you pay closer attention to him instead. Your tongue swirls over his tip as your head bobs up, tracing down that pretty vein of his as you take him down your throat once more. What you can’t fit in your mouth—because there is enough of him that you can’t fit in your mouth—you pump with your fist, wrapped around the base of his shaft. 

Sylus has a lot of veins. You admire them long enough to know them all by heart. The ones along his hands that you love to trace when you hold them in yours. The ones along his arm that you love to eye when he’s working out. The ones along his abdomen that you trace every once in a while with the tip of your finger when you have him to yourself in private. And the long, pretty one along this inner thigh—the one you see only when you’re like this: between his spread-out legs with your mouth around his cock. 

Your free hand moves to lay over this thigh, gently rubbing into the skin as if to anchor him as he throws his head back and groans. Your eyes are trained on him, staring up at the twists of pleasure in his expression and the crinkles in his eyes as he closes them tightly and moans. But you don’t have to look at your hand to know your thumb is tracing along that vein. You know it better than you know yourself, you think—his body is so easy to memorize. So easy to get to know and keep ingrained in your brain forever. 

His thigh flexes under your touch, and you hum around him, the vibrations around his length making his breath hitch as he curses under his breath. 

You pull away with nothing but a string of saliva connecting you to him, his eyes glancing down at you sharply for the interruption. But you smile, equal parts soft and equal parts smug. Gently, you press a wet kiss to his thigh, right over the same pale blue line you traced just moments ago, as you murmur, “You’re so pretty. You know that?”

“I’m flattered,” he says tightly, warily staring down at you with hungry, desperate eyes. “I’m sure you can save the flattery for later, though, can’t you?”

“But what if you think I’m just using you for your body?” You gasp dramatically, “Can’t have that, you know. I have to appreciate you more.”

“Teasing can easily be reciprocated, you know, sweetheart,” he grits, “Or have you forgotten that so quickly?”

“Oh, I’m aware. I’ll take my chances.” Your lips trail up his thigh until it reaches the base of his cock. You press another kiss against it, murmuring a quiet, “I love you.”

His cock twitches—it’s like it responds to every soft word of affection and every littlest bit of praise. For all the denying and for all the impatience, too, Sylus loves the attention. Thrives under it, even—it does something to his ego that you know you probably shouldn’t help stroke, but you can’t help it. 

You press one more kiss to his swollen tip before murmuring, “Mine,” and then you take him down your throat once more—faster this time. Your head bobs up and down his length, lips wrapped around him as you swallow every now and then. 

His hand flies to his hair, tugging at the soft, silvery strands as he groans deeply, hips pushing up to meet your pace and thrust deeper into your mouth. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he hisses, “Just like that, sweetheart—shit.”

He spills down your throat not too long after. Warm, sticky ropes of cum that paint your mouth with every twitch of his cock, filling you enough that some spills from the corner of your mouth, dripping along your face and collecting at your chin. You swallow what you can, working him through his orgasm, listening to the sweet, lust-hazed sounds he makes as pleasure burns through every nerve of his body. 

He slumps back when he’s finished, panting with an arm over his eyes while you wipe your chin and swallow before climbing up his body and slumping on top of him. He wraps an arm around your waist instantly, humming lowly as his large, warm hand rubs into your lower back. 

“Had your fun?” He raises a brow. 

You grin cheekily, kissing his jaw as you murmur, “I think you had more fun than me, but what do I know?”

He chuckles. It’s low, and the sound vibrates through his chest so that you can feel it under you. There’s a small bead of sweat along his temple, and his face is flushed a soft shade of scarlet that you admire—it brings out the deep crimson of his eyes even more from here. 

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper. 

“How many times will you remind me of that?” He asks, bringing a hand to your chin, tilting your face up, and inspecting you carefully. “You’re making me feel bad. I haven’t reminded you how stunning you are nearly enough times.”

“You could always start now,” you wink, “It’s never too late.” He laughs again. Deep, genuine, soft. Sylus is a lot of things. You think your favorite is in love. 

“Do I really have to remind you?” He whispers, voice husky as he slowly shifts your body to lay under his, flipping you over as he hovers over you. “You don’t already know how beautiful you are—how you drive me insane?”

“A reminder wouldn’t hurt,” you blink innocently. “What if you’re secretly getting tired of me?”

His eyes flash with something dangerous at that. You only meant it as a joke, of course—he loves deeply. So deeply, you don’t think you’d escape him even if you wanted to. (Not that you do, of course. You’re quite happy knowing your place is beside him.) You know he’s never tired of you—quite the opposite, in fact. 

But you like teasing him. Getting under his skin enough that his hand moves to your throat and wraps around it firmly—not quite tight enough to block your air flow, but enough to serve as a light warning. 

“You think I would get tired of you?” He challenges. Offended. In disbelief. “Tired of this?”

Just like that, the familiar sound of fabric tearing rings through your ears again. It’s a sound you seem to be getting more and more used to the longer you date Sylus. And yet, every time, it pulls the same sound of disbelief from your throat as you gasp at his audacity. But before you can speak, before you can scold him for ripping your (his) favorite shirt straight off of your body, his hands curve around your tits, molding against them perfectly as if they were made to cup them. His thumbs roll over your nipples, humming in approval as you whine softly at the feeling. 

“Sylus,” you pant. (Regretfully, you think that’s the only collection of syllables you can manage anymore on this fine morning.) “W-wait—”

“Wait?” He pretends to gasp in shock, “But we’re just getting started. I was just about to show you all my favorite parts of you—they never get old. Would you like to see?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he leans down, latching his lips around one pebbled nipple, sucking and nipping lightly at it as his thumb rolls over and pinches the other one. Your back arches into his touch, a soft moan spilling from your lips as he grins against your chest. 

“Here’s a favorite, for starters,” he murmurs. “And here—” he kisses along your belly and makes his way to your hip bone, biting lightly at the flesh and making your breath hitch, “—this is certainly a memorable place too, isn’t it? Can’t keep my hands off of it.”

Finally, his hands slowly pull your legs apart, exposing the wet, dripping mess that is your cunt, folds puffy and waiting for him. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your clit, smiling at the small whimper you let out from the sensitive touch before he says through a low, breathy whisper, “This, however…this has to be my favorite part of all.”

“Okay,” you whine, pulling at his arms with a plea, “I get it, okay? I need it, please.”

“Well then,” he huffs out a soft laugh, “Who am I to deny?”

He’s level with you before you can blink—mouth on yours with a heavy, heated kiss that sends your brain into a fogged state as you kiss back. All you can register is soft flesh, pressure against your mouth, the taste of his tongue on yours, and hot and heavy breath seeping into your lungs while he inhales yours. It’s slow, the way he kisses you—but still undeniably needy. He chases after your mouth as soon as you pull away to breathe, a soft gasp pushing past his throat at the loss of contact. As if it might kill him. As if he might die without your breath down his throat, keeping him alive. 

“Do you want it, sweetheart?” He breathes erratically, “Because I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

“I want it,” you practically beg, “I want you.”

He’s hard again—stiff between his legs and throbbing at your words enough that his cock does a little jerk on its own, like it’s responding to you itself. He drags it along your entrance, rolling slow circles against your folds and coating his tip in your slick, earning a sharp inhale from you as he groans at the teasing friction against the head of his cock.

“I always want you,” he breathes. 

He pushes past your folds as he speaks the words against your mouth, letting you swallow up the low moan he lets out as your walls wrap around him little by little. It’s painstakingly slow. Inch after inch after inch until the blunt head of his length presses deep into you, nudging against a soft, sensitive spot in your walls that makes your whole body react with a quiver. He curves into you perfectly, thick and deep and so, so full. 

“Ready?” He smiles tenderly, gripping the fat of your thighs and hooking them around his waist, leaning to kiss one of your knees as you melt into the mattress and nod. 

“Please,” you whine, “Need it—need you.”

There’s a sharp thrust of his hips at that—he pulls out until he’s almost completely left your warm cunt before slamming back in past your folds, pressing mercilessly against your sensitive spot. It’s partly because he has your body memorized but mainly because his body is practically made to mold into you. It’s like he fits you perfectly, curves into the shape of your body like the shape of his was hand-made to pair with yours. 

When Sylus fucks you is when you see past his exterior the most. When his eyes hold the most emotion, staring at you like he can’t believe you’re his. When his hands shake for once because he doesn’t know if he deserves the weight of you in his hold. When his breath is the most labored and uncontrolled because you steal every breath from his lungs, and selflessly, he gives up air for you. When sweat coats his skin and makes his hair cling to his forehead because when he loves you is when his body is most responsive, most affected. 

When Sylus fucks you is when you love yourself most. Because how could you not when he pays such close attention to you? Thumb finding your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles just the way he knows drives you crazy, watching your face closely for every reaction? How could you not when close is not nearly close enough, when he presses his chest against yours and buries his face into your neck to all but melt under your skin? It makes you feel desirable. Beautiful. Lovable. 

So easy to want.

So easy to lose control to.

So easy to need. 

“You feel that, don’t you?” He mumbles, panting harshly as he grunts when you squeeze around him at the sound of his labored voice. “Feel me? How badly I need you? How crazy you drive me? Feel how hard I am for you? Don’t tell me you think I’d ever get tired of that.”

“I know,” you whine, “I know, I know, baby—I promise.”

You let out a small squeal when he angles your leg higher, thrusting deeper into your cunt, pressing harshly where you need him most with his tip in a dizzyingly punishing pace and a harshly rough deepness that makes your vision blur. Almost go blank, even.

“Tell me you love me,” he demands.

“I love you!”

“Tell me you need me,” he adds, so selfish and needy for your approval. To know you’re nothing without him like he’s nothing without you. 

“N-need…fuck, I need you,” you stumble over your words as your orgasm comes closer and closer, creeping up on you enough that you can’t catch your breath fast enough to keep up with him.

“Tell me you’re mine.” This time, it comes out as almost a plea.

“Yours,” you sob, body on the precipice of breaking all over again, “Yours, yours, yours.”

You cum as soon as you say it. Harder than maybe ever—it’s like being reminded that you’re his makes your body react tenfold. You fall apart with a shrill cry of his name, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a bruising kiss as your nails press indents into his skin. 

He groans in pleasure at the slight pain, melting against your lips, an open-mouthed, wet kiss working him up to his own orgasm. His first one was a slow build-up—but this one happens quickly, coming out of nowhere and hitting him full force, his hips stuttering for a moment and losing rhythm as he sloppily thrusts into you. 

Yours. Yours. Yours. 

Your voice rings in his ears, aiding him through his pleasure as he fucks his thick, sticky release deep into your folds, sharp thrusts that match the harsh twitching of his cock. 

“Ngh,” he grunts, “Sh-shit, sweetheart.”

Finally, when you’re both done, breaths frenzied and harsh as you try to make up for the lost air in your lungs, he slumps over your body and hides his face into the crook of your neck, practically purring as your shaky hand buries into his sweaty locks and strokes the soft, silvery strands. 

It’s quiet, just the sound of your breathing eventually shifting from heavy to slowed as you finally catch it, the quivering of your body dissipating, too. Your fingers journey their way from his scalp to the back of his neck, lightly making a feather-soft trail along his bare back as he shivers from the touch.

“Don’t fall asleep after I showed you a good time,” you pout, “It’s rude.”

“You were the one that woke me for a good time,” he mumbles, amused. “That’s equally as rude.”

“I did not,” you huff, “You were the one who escalated it. I just wanted a peaceful morning.”

“I don’t know,” he grins against your skin, pressing a chaste, warm peck where it's closest to his lips, “I’m feeling pretty at peace, wouldn’t you agree?”

so uh..........basically i got the card where u measured him for clothes and i saw a vein in his abs and lost my mind. so. here is the product of that. i REFUSE to be told this is not a completely totally normal reaction. thank you!

[uniquexusposts]

Your private plane is not a magic wand | M. Verstappen

Summary: When plans go sideways, patience is put to the test. A weekend getaway turns into a waiting game; can they overcome the unexpected and still make it count?

The low hum of his gaming PC filled the living room, broken only by the soft clicking of the buttons of his controller and the occasional muttered curse in Dutch and English. Max leaned forward, eyes locked on the TV, expression a mix of calm focus and quiet intensity. The apartment was dim except for the glow of his monitors and the half-empty bowl of paprika chips forgotten at his side.

Outside, Monaco was golden and loud, gearing up for another wedding weekend full of people he didn’t really care to impress. Inside, it was just him, barefoot in sweats, headset around his neck, waiting for one small plane icon on Flightradar to move.

He flicked his eyes over to the iPad. Still nothing.

Flight KL1479 from Amsterdam to Nice. Scheduled departure: 16:45. Estimated: delayed.

He exhaled through his nose, not quite a sigh, not quite annoyed; just that tight-lipped, silent reaction.

Y/n, his girlfriend, was supposed to land tonight. She had just wrapped a five-day rotation, flying across Europe, and had barely enough time to swap her flight uniform to her passenger outfit: her casual chill outfit. They would go to the wedding of one of their friends tomorrow, it would start with a group breakfast. 

He picked up his phone. No message. No update.

Max clicked out of the game, letting the loading screen fade into silence. The apartment suddenly felt too quiet.

He stared at the screen once more. The little yellow plane hadn’t budged from Schiphol.

And then his phone lit up, Y/n was calling. Max put off his headset and answered it. 

“Dear passengers…” A smirk covered his face. 

“…your flight has been delayed,” Y/n finished his sentence. 

“Jesus,” he breathed. “And now what?” 

“I might hijack a plane and fly myself to Nice. Or I kidnap some crew to fly me to Nice,” she sarcastically said. “No, that’s not even possible. There’s a technical problem in the traffic tower.”

“Dat is kut (that sucks),” he replied, shifting on the couch, rubbing the heel of his hand over his face. “So… how bad is it?”

“We boarded the plane already, we are not back at the gate and nobody knows anything. The control room and HQ also have no idea about it. So take a wild guess.”

Max let his head fall back against the cushion. “So, like... bad-bad.” He could hear the background noise now; indistinct chatter, the occasional beep of airport announcements, someone’s child crying two seats over. Y/n sighed, and it came through the speaker like static, tired, annoyed, but not angry. Just done. Then she started to talk to someone, guessing it was someone from the crew. 

“Uh, I will keep you up-to-date,” Y/n then said. “I might go into that tower myself to fix this shit.”

Max chuckled. “I’d pay to see that.”

“I wouldn’t even charge you. Front row seat.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “You sure you don’t want me to send the plane?” He knew she wouldn’t like that option. 

“I knew you were gonna say that.”

“Well?”

“Max. The whole country’s traffic towers are messed up. Your private plane is not a magic wand.”

“Not with that attitude.”

She snorted softly. “Don’t start. I’m already sweating in the airport air and I swear my deodorant gave up an hour ago.”

“You’re still the hottest stranded person at Schiphol,” he said.

“That’s not a high bar.”

“Still counts.”

Y/n went quiet for a moment, then let out another tired breath. “I’ll look into trains. Maybe Brussels, Düsseldorf, or Paris has outbound flights. But it’s probably chaos there too.”

—

17:59 - Y/n Everything is still stuck. They are starting to cancel some flight

18:00 - Max Shit man 18:00 - Max And taking a flight from another airport? 18:00 - Y/n Fully booked

18:01 - Max Send me your location I’ll come get you on a bike

18:01 - Y/n Great, should only take you what, 3 days? Bring snacks

18:02 - Max I’ll tape paprika chips to my chest like a human vending machine

18:02 - Y/n You’re disgusting

18:03 - Max Romantic, actually

18:04 - Y/n Guess what? They just announced another set of cancellations. Schiphol is a graveyard.

18:04 - Y/n People are crying. There’s a guy singing like he is a Gerard Joling wannabe

18:05 - Max Not Gerard Joling

18:05 - Max Tell me what you need. Train? Helicopter? Submarine? Teleportation?

18:06 - Y/n Wat we nu gaan doen, kost heel veel geld (what we will do now, will cost a lot of money)

18:06 - Max Whatever it takes to not walk into that wedding without you

—

20:03 - Y/n Flight got officially cancelled 

20:05 - Max Kutzooi (shit)

20:05 - Y/n Live, love, cry

20:05 - Y/n Trying to fix something. Keep you posted xx —

21:40 - Y/n Bonjour, we’re boarding. I (my beloved colleagues) fixed a ticket. Also managed to sit in the cockpit during landing (my cousin is flying)

21:40 - Y/n Don’t start cheering too loud 21:41 - Max Fucking finally 

21:42 - Y/n Also, rumour is that we are the first flight allowed to take off 

A photo appeared in the chat; a selfie from Y/n. She sat in her favourite chill outfit, her hair still in work mode, a faint smudge of exhaustion under her eyes and a messy makeup look that had been through a look. But the half-smile she wore was unmistakable: equal parts mischief and quiet triumph. It was the look she always got when she’d taken a chaotic situation and somehow wrestled it into her favour.

A small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Max’ mouth. Of all the people he knew, Y/n had this uncanny ability to find the sliver of calm or humor in the middle of the mess. He imagined her sitting there at the gate, tapping her foot impatiently, half-ready to storm the control tower herself if needed.

But despite the grin, a flutter of nervousness crept into his chest. He set his phone down and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, fingers tapping a restless rhythm against his skin.

Please, he thought. Just get going.

His eyes flicked back to the flight tracker on his iPad. The tiny yellow plane, the symbol of Y/n’s flight, hovered motionless on the virtual runway. Time ticked by slowly, the silence in his apartment suddenly heavy, punctuated only by the low hum of his gaming PC and the distant sound of the city beyond his windows.

Then, almost imperceptibly at first, the icon began to move; just a few meters, rolling forward. It gained momentum, inching steadily down the runway, its progress measured but sure.

There she goes.

He sank back into his chair, the familiar weight of his headset forgotten, his attention entirely captured by that tiny moving plane. The plane now flew above Aalsmeer, she was up into the air, on her way to Nice, leaving behind the chaos of cancelled flights and stranded passengers.

A quiet calm settled over Max’s apartment, the tension draining away with every passing second. In that moment, watching the glow of the screen illuminate his face, Max felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the game or the city lights outside. Against all the frustration, the delays, the uncertainty.

She was on her way. Safe - hopefully. Flying.

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @crashingwavesofeuphoria @maryvibess @ironmaiden1313 @sltwins @heart-trees @npcmia @llando4norris @freyathehuntress

[goldfades]

MORE CONTROVERSIALLY YOUNG GF X SID

ive been having the worst insomnia ever so here's a blurb<3

It started with you staring at the ceiling.

The digital clock on the nightstand glowed red in the dark—2:13 AM. Your body was tired, your mind wasn’t. It wasn’t loud thoughts keeping you up, either. Nothing stressful, nothing particularly nagging. Just one of those nights where sleep felt like an impossible task.

Sidney was next to you, fast asleep, breathing slow and steady, one arm draped lazily across your waist. He was always warm, always solid beside you, a grounding weight even in unconsciousness. You swore he could sleep through anything. Planes, loud hotel hallways, your tossing and turning.

The only thing he ever seemed to wake up for was you.

You sighed softly, shifting under the covers, and just as you expected—he stirred. Not much, just a slight shift in his breathing, the faintest tension in his arm before he relaxed again. His grip around you tightened instinctively.

"You okay?" His voice was rough, sleep-heavy.

You bit your lip, feeling a little guilty. "Mmhmm."

Sid’s face was still buried against the pillow, but he made a quiet, unconvinced noise. Then, without opening his eyes, he tugged you closer. You let him, letting your body curve naturally against his, fitting like two puzzle pieces.

His warmth seeped into your skin.

"You’re awake," you murmured.

He hummed, his lips brushing against your hair. "You’re awake," he corrected.

A soft smile tugged at your lips. You pressed your cheek against his chest, closing your eyes, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

"Can’t sleep?" he asked, still half-asleep himself.

"Mmm." You inhaled the faint, clean scent of his skin, letting yourself settle. "Just one of those nights."

Sid let out a slow exhale, his hand running absently up and down your back. It was so easy, the way he touched you—not in any deliberate way, not trying to do anything. Just holding you, his palm warm against the curve of your spine, his fingers tracing lazy patterns over your shirt.

For a while, that was enough.

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t empty. It was full of quiet things. His fingers against your skin. His breathing, slow and deep. The occasional shift of his legs under the sheets, brushing against yours.

You weren’t sure how long you laid there like that. But eventually, Sid shifted, pressing his lips lightly against your forehead.

"You want me to tell you a story?" he murmured.

You let out a soft, sleepy laugh. "A story?"

"Yeah," he said, voice still hoarse from sleep. "Something boring. Put you to sleep."

You smiled against his chest. "So you admit you’re boring."

Sid’s hand stilled for half a second before pinching your side lightly, making you squeak. "That’s not what I said."

You giggled, shifting closer, tangling your legs with his. "Okay, okay. Tell me a story."

Sid was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then:

"Did I ever tell you about the worst pre-game meal I ever had?"

You snorted. "That’s the bedtime story you’re going with?"

"You said you wanted boring," he reminded you.

You sighed dramatically. "Fine. Continue."

Sid smirked, but you could hear it in his voice more than you could see it in the dark. "Okay. So, this was early in my career. Rookie season. We had a back-to-back, and the second game was in some small-town rink. Not a lot of food options, so the guys and I found this one restaurant that looked halfway decent."

You hummed, eyes slipping closed as he kept talking.

"It was some mom-and-pop Italian place. Looked nice enough. I order a simple plate of pasta—"

"Simple?" you teased, voice muffled against his chest. "You?"

Sid poked your side again. "Do you want to hear the story or not?"

You giggled, nestling closer. "Go on."

"Anyway," he continued, "I take one bite—one bite—and I immediately know something’s off. It’s sweet."

You made a face. "Sweet?"

"Yeah. Like, sugary. Like someone dumped an entire cup of sugar into the marinara sauce. I thought maybe I was imagining it, but then I look around and every guy at the table is making the same face."

You laughed softly. "Did you say something?"

Sid let out a low chuckle. "Nah. We were too polite. Ate the whole thing."

"Ew."

"Yeah."

The silence that followed was heavy with warmth, with the ease of being with someone who just fit into your life.

Sid brushed a hand over your hair. "Feeling sleepy yet?"

You hummed, eyes still closed, fingers toying absently with the fabric of his shirt. "Mmm. Maybe."

Sid made a soft sound of acknowledgment, pressing another absentminded kiss to the top of your head. His arm curled tighter around you, his hand resting at the small of your back.

You exhaled, letting go of whatever it was keeping you awake.

Sidney made everything easier.

The way he just was—warm, steady, solid. The way he didn’t try to fix everything, didn’t ask a million questions, didn’t make a big deal of it. Just held you close and let you exist exactly as you were.

You sighed, tucking yourself further into his chest.

"You’re good at this," you murmured sleepily.

Sid’s voice was soft, full of something you couldn’t quite place. "At what?"

You yawned. "This." You curled your fingers around the fabric of his shirt, as if to emphasize. "Us."

Sid was quiet for a moment. Then, voice barely above a whisper:

"Yeah. I like us."

You barely had the energy to respond, sleep finally pulling you under. But just before you drifted off, you felt Sid press one last kiss to your forehead, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

And just like that, you were asleep.

[wanders-in-wonderland]

No Good Option

I wake with my head throbbing. I try to move, but my arms are wrenched behind my back, bound tightly with what feels like thin, unyielding metal cables. My legs are spread slightly, and my toes barely touching the ground with just enough to keep myself upright if I strain. I struggle slightly and lose my balance, my heels sinking backward onto a small, circular platform.

A sharp jolt of electricity shoots through me.

My body convulses, muscles locking in agony as my vision whites out for a second. A strangled scream tears from my throat before I can even process what is happening. I force myself back up onto my toes, trembling, panting, my calves already burning from the effort.

"Oh darling, did that hurt?" came a voice. Smooth, amused, and far too casual for the horror unfolding. He steps into view, his sadistic eyes gleaming in the dim light, his smirk wide and mocking. "Don’t look so scared. We’re going to have so much fun together.” He laughs, the sound light and musical, as if this were nothing more than a playful game.

My body trembles, my strength fading fast from the unnatural strain of balancing on my toes.

"W-why are you—"

"Why?" He cut me off with a scoff. "Because it’s fun. Watching you squirm, watching you struggle. Your weakness is so entertaining." His fingers trail down my cheek before gripping my chin, forcing me to look ahead.

In front of me is another platform. This one lower, padded, just the right height for my knees if I kneel forward to take the weight off my feet.

"You can stay like this," He muses, tapping the shock plate behind me, making me flinch. "But oh, your poor little legs. This is a lot of strain, isn’t it? Or…" He crouches in front of me, grinning. "You can kneel. Rest those aching feet. Doesn't that sound nice?"

I clench my jaw. There is no way this is that simple.

He laughs at my hesitation, standing again and circling me like a predator. "Oh, you're smart. You know there's a catch. But here's the thing, sweet thing. You don't get to refuse. You will kneel. One way or another."

My calves tremble violently. I can’t hold this position forever. But the alternative…

My body chooses for me when my legs give out.

My heels hit the plate.

Another shock rips through me, worse than the first, my body seizing as my nerves scream. My muscles lock, my back arching against the restraints, and I sob as the pain echoes through every nerve ending.

I barely manage to scramble back onto my toes. My breath comes in ragged bursts, my vision swimming.

He shakes his head. "That was avoidable, you know." He crouches again, tracing a finger along my jaw. "You could have taken the nice, soft option and just rested your legs. But no, you had to be stubborn."

Tears pricked my eyes. I can’t keep this up. The pain was unbearable, but the thought of kneeling, of the unknown that awaited me there, terrified me just as much.

His smirk deepens. "Aww, you’re adorable when you’re scared. Just kneel, darling. I promise it won’t hurt.”

This time, I give in.

I let myself drop forward, knees hitting the padded platform. The second I do, the catch makes itself known. A vibrator hidden beneath my view roars to life, my kneeling form exposing my pussy perfectly to the toy pressing mercilessly against my clit.

A shocked gasp tears from my lips as pleasure, too much, too intense, floods my nerves. My back arches, my body jerking instinctively, but the restraints hold me in place.

His laughter echoes around me. "There we go! See? Was that so hard?" His voice drips with mock sympathy as he watched me writhe. "Oh, you’re sensitive, aren’t you?"

I jerk, a moan tearing from my lips before I could stop it. The sensation was horribly overwhelming, far too intense, far too fast.

He laughs in delight. "This is much better than the shocks, right?"

I shake my head desperately, trying to lift myself, but my legs are already weak, my muscles exhausted. The pleasure is too much, a rapid-fire assault on my senses, and within seconds, my body is betraying me, heat coiling tight in my stomach.

"N-no—fuck—I can't—"

"You can," He purrs, leaning in close. "And you will." He reaches down, pressing my hips harder against the vibrator, forcing me to take every punishing second of it.

I whimper, my thighs trembling. The orgasm builds too fast, a rising wave I can’t stop, my body clenching as it crashes over me. A broken cry escapes me as I cum, the pleasure tipping into pain, the overstimulation making me squirm.

But it doesn’t stop.

The vibrator keeps going, relentless. I sob, trying to pull away, but he just chuckles and holds me down.

"Ah-ah, no escaping now," he coos. "You chose this, remember?"

"P-please—" I choke out, tears pricking my eyes. "Stop—I can’t—!"

He tilts his head, his grin widening. "Oh? Tired already?" He tsks. "You just started. But fine, if you don’t want this, you can always… stand up."

My breath comes in ragged gasps.

I can’t stay here. I can’t.

I have to get away. With a desperate gasp, I force myself up, my heels slamming back onto the shock plate.

Zap!

Another scream tears from my throat as electricity burns through me. I thrash, my vision blurring, but at least the other torment is gone.

For a few precious seconds.

Then my legs give out again.

Kneeling. Vibrator. Pleasure-pain. Overstimulation. Another orgasm ripped from me against my will, tears streaming down my face as I writh.

Back to the shocks.

Back to the vibrator.

Over and over.

He watches, amused, as I break apart, my body no longer my own, my mind dissolving into a haze of pain and pleasure and helplessness.

"Such a good little toy," he murmurs, stroking my hair as I sob. "Now... how many more times do you think you can take before you break?”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

maidenless board game club headcanons

Time to bully Azul and Idia :)) I often picture their club meetings being just them shit talking the other person and calling them rizzless…

Any and all mentions of the reader are meant to be gender neutral; gendered terms may still appear in these headcanons, but never in reference to the reader.

Curiouser and Curiouser...

Azul likes to think he’s suave and could bag “anyone he set his mind to.” Eh, why hasn’t he tried to woo anyone then? For him, he states it’s a matter of pride!! He would never be emotionally vulnerable to just anyone, you know. A-And besides, he’s focusing on his business and personal growth right now, he doesn’t have the time to toy with hearts! (Or so Azul insists.)

The reality is, he has never kissed anyone outside of his family. Just soft pecks on the cheeks in greeting, mainly to his mother and grandma. Azul would never admit this out loud though, he thinks it detracts from his “cool” persona.

The thing about Azul is that he overthinks EVERYTHING. He’ll sit there and map out every possible thing that could happen on a date and how he will prepare to handle them. This includes what to say and when he should smile when speaking… He’s charming, yes, and starts off with a strong first impression—but he also tends to come off as too rehearsed or humble bragging about his accomplishments.

Azul’s desperate for a S/O not because he wants one per se, but because he wants validation that he is, in fact, attractive and desirable. After all, he made such an effort to change himself and to come off as confident, intelligent, and capable. He would like to bask in the reassurance that his efforts were worth it, because now he can “have” whoever he wants.

Aaand therein lies another problem. Azul is still stuck in the mindset that relationships are transactional. You do a favor for him? Well, he has to match it. He gives you a gift? Then he expects one back. Yet Azul keeps himself to an emotional distance, too afraid to be completely honest about his flaws.

Idia thinks the issue is Azul’s personality. When Azul demands to know what exactly his clubmate means by that. Idia just sneers and goes off on a tirade. According to him, Azul-shi may look like he’s got everything put together, but since he’s actually a greedy scumbag, no amount of expensive cologne or nice clothes can cover up a rotten core.

Sometimes he and Idia just head back to the Mostro Lounge and pour one out (non-alcoholic drinks like fruit juice) to drown their sorrows. Jade and Floyd show great interest in these sessions, but Azul is cautious about letting any truly embarrassing experiences slip out.

The twins will occasionally dare him to snag a date with whichever random person walks through the doors to the Mostro Lounge next. Azul initially took these as personal challenges and did his utmost to win these dares, but after a string of embarrassing flops he now knows better than to be baited.

Idia is scared of 3D people and prefers to stick to his anime waifus and aidorus. REAL people could never compare! They’re too flawed and unpredictable—and, worst of all, they don’t come with dialogue options and affection meters to help Idia gauge what to do/say and when the Love Flags will trigger! What’s an introverted otaku to do?

He’s the type to openly disparage happy couples and love while secretly craving the warm touch of a flesh and blood person in the depths of his soul. His ideal is a kawaii gamer who’s into all the same things he is! … Unfortunately, he’s way too shy and unconfident to ever take a stab at it!! This is his way of coping.

He goes into the chats of his favorite streamers and tosses tons of money to get his comment read and to be noticed. Idia is the type to get super parasocial with the objects of his affection (he owns all the merch, goes to the events (virtually), has had a membership since day 1, etc.), even if he scoffs at the idea when directly confronted about it.

Literally bro spends his free time moderating Discord servers and Subreddits to complain about dating. Oh, but then the INSTANT he learns a user is single he starts treating them completely differently, calling them cute and his kitten or whatever. It’s amazing how much boldness he gains from behind the safety and comfort of a screen.

He doesn’t realize the value Ortho has as a wingman. Some people are super into the idea of doting on a younger sibling or dating a guy that loves his family—but Idia never brings these up as aspects of himself. Idia often vents about dating to his little bro and then tells Ortho he’s so lucky he doesn’t have to put up with stupid complex human emotions like love. Ortho just stares at him and begs his big bro to not get catfished.

He unfortunately drives people off with his sometimes pompous attitude. He’ll challenge others’ knowledge about his favorite media and get into extended arguments with them about the subjects he’s passionate about. Only “true” fan are allowed here! If you don’t get it, Idia will mansplain to you for hours at a time over VC.

Idia’s frequently the first to instigate (verbal) fights with Azul over their appeal in the dating scene. Offended, Azul usually fires back with some remark about how Idia hasn’t even witnessed him making eye contact with a REAL living, breathing woman. “Fictional women and a ghost bride do NOT count!”

You're nice to Idia ONCE (like, you let him borrow a pencil because he forgot his for an exam) and BOOM instantly this guy is lurking in the corners, giggling creepily ("Hihihihihi...") and shyly watching you from a distance. He's way too anxious to actually try and shoot his shot, but now he's fully convinced you're into him. (Idia lives out his fantasies with you in life sim games to cope with not having you irl 💀)

[shysuccubusstuff]

Yandere! Caleb pt. 2

Content: Stalking + Spying + Photo taking + Controlling + Masturbation + Breeding kink + Matting press + Aftercare - Stablished relationship

Note: I just love a good obbsessed man... Have you liked him so far? I've read that some ppl think that he's scary/too much, but I believe that this type of LI is quite common in otome games (and I enjoy them quite a lot). Sorry if it's similar to the previous one, I have trouble remembering everything I write...

Yandere! Caleb, who is able to mask all his obsession upon layers and layers, always acting as if he was that sweet older brother like figure. He keeps forcing himself to restrain, even when he sees you with some other people from your age. He even has to face the fact that you had found some other guys to be with, all nice guys, of course, sadly, that wasn't enough for him. I mean, he had been with you your whole entire life, who was better than him to be your husband boyfriend?

Yandere! Caleb, who loves stalking you while taking candid pictures of you. He just loves following you around the days he's free, his brown hair being concealed by a black cap, his ears now decorated with a bunch of piercings that dangled as he moved. He knows just how much he's betting every single time he decides to do it, but he just can't stop himself from pursuing you. He makes sure to buy clothes that he would never wear with you, a bunch of extremely baggy sweaters together with loose trousers that make him look larger than he actually is. He carefully takes out a phone he bought just for this task, and he hits the small white button, the shutter of his camera going off as you were sharing a small treat with a man he soon recognised. It was Zayne, the boy that lived next door, he clenched his fists in frustration, his hands trembling from the force he did. Still, he simply kept drinking that slightly bitter coffee, looking at the photo he had taken as he smiled charmed. In that photo, Zayne was nowhere to be seen, making him smile even wider.

Yandere! Caleb who loves collecting little trinkets (from you). You don't know it, but Caleb has a few keep boxes, all filled to the brim with different elements. This hobby of his began while the two of you were children, saving them with the purpose of showing them to you when you grew up. This quickly took a turn as he began to feel his mental state decay, the small collection growing more and more each day until he had to buy several boxes, all piled up on his private room within the Fleet.

Yandere! Caleb who used the intel within the Fleet to track you down. Always following your every move through the small screen, even watching what you saw through the small virus he had planted within your phone. He loved watching the world from your perspective, even hearing how happy you were just from winning those soft plushes in the claw machine. He made sure to even take screenshots, printing them and adding them to his vast collection of candid photos.

Yandere! Caleb who keeps your photo everywhere he goes. You don't know it, but he made a small modification in the necklace you gave him, creating a small cabinet just so he could keep a picture of you within it. This picture is sometimes rotated between the many options he has, but the only thing that remains despite all the changes is a few strands of your hair. Luckily (for you) he was the one that gave you the idea, telling you one day that people used to gift a lock of their hair before the impeding parting of a loved one. So of course you gave him one, how could you not, when you could easily tell just how much Caleb wanted it?

Yandere! Caleb who uses your photos to masturbate. It's late at night and he just can't bear it anymore, he has been restraining himself from such a long time, always having to conceal his hardened member by pulling down his sweaters or jackets, always wearing black clothing that is just a bit oversized for him. But as soon as he reaches his private house, he rushes to the small wardrobe, rushing to get his hands on some of the clothes you had left a few days ago. He knows this is awful on him, masturbating with some barely worn clothes that still had your scent, but, how could he not? That day, you had spent the whole day with him, your body constantly brushing against him as he kept biting his tongue as a way to control himself. He quickly rushed to his bed, sitting down and quickly undoing his trousers together with his underwear. He quickly wrapped his hand around his erection, starting to move it up and down his shaft as he inhaled the sweet scent that was emanating from the t-shirt.

"Fuck... I love you... I love you so much... I need you... Just---... Fuck I love you, you're so fucking cute, always looking at me with those sweet eyes... I could just eat you up..." As he started to lose himself on the pleasure, he kept mumbling, his hand starting to speed up as he kept rubbing his face against the cloth, sometimes bitting it as a way to muffle some of his sounds. "I just want you to... Fuck... Just want to get you all hot and bothered because of me... I need to fuck you so bad--- I love you..." As he kept moving his hand faster, he kept whimpering, his hips bucking against his hand as he dreamt about fucking your sweet pussy, seeing you drool all over him as his tip kept hitting against that soft spot within your cunt. Soon, he came all over his hand, his warm essence staining his hand as he kept his face buried on your clothing, wishing it had been you the one he came all over.

Yandere! Caleb who makes sure to get you pregnant as soon as you allow him. Of course he wanted to become the father of your children, but he had to stop himself, biting his own tongue as a way to stop himself from fucking you against the mattress as he kept whispering into your ear, praising you as he burried his face in the crook of your neck. His attitude changed as soon as you allowed him, his cock growing while still being inside you, making your tummy bulge a bit as he started to increase the rhythm of his trusts.

"Just like that, you're doing so good for me, love... Just hold on a bit more... I'll be such a good daddy-- Provide for you, whatever you need, just take me as your husband, yeah? Just let me treat you all nice, you're so good, such a hard-working woman..." Caleb's voice resonated within your head, nails digging on his muscled back as your lower half kept receiving his powerful thrusts, making you mewl each time his dick entered, filling you to the brim and staying there for a few seconds, pressing even further as he kept kissing your forehead to keep you grounded. "Love... Just a few more minutes, promise I'll let you rest as soon as we finish, I just need to make sure to fill you up..." Caleb's rhythm became even more punishing, the tip of his cock hitting your cervix, using his own body weight to keep you pressed against the bed, ramming against you as if he had lost every single strand of restraint. Just as you were about to loose yourself, Caleb's hips finally started to quiver, his thrusts becoming more swallow as his cock started to twitch, his cum filling your womb as he pressed himself against your entrance, making sure to not move an inch until he finally ended. "You did so good, my love, let me take care of you." Caleb got away from you, leaving the room for a few minutes. This moment allowed you to breath deeply, your chest moving up and down rapidly as you tried to stabilise your own breath. Just as you kept trying to recover, Caleb's arms wrapped around you, lifting you up from the bed so he could take you to the tub that had been filled. Caleb let you lay within it, cleaning your body with the soft sponge, then moving on to massage your scalp, carefully shampooing your whole head and letting it for a few minutes. "I love you, you did so good for me... Now let me get you all warm and cozy before going to bed."

[realisticjupiter]

haihaii!! your profile has been like.... THERAPY to me bc the aib fixation is back AND ITS STRONG ESPECIALLY TOWARDS CHISHIYA 💔💔💔 i love the way u write as well !!

so with this could i request a touch starved chishiya... like a chishiya that needs readers attention so bad but is too embarrassed to downright tell them "I WANT CUDDLES" or smth... still he does everything in his power to get readers attention atp the only thing left is to just BEG

also could i be 🎶 anon ? i picture myself being very active here from now on... have a nice day!!

Summary: Chishiya can't sleep without you.

Genre: Fluffy

Pairing: Chishiya x gn!reader

Warnings: None! :)

Word count: 784

a/n: Aghhhh i hope this is okay!!!!! That is actually so sweet of you, I'm so glad you've liked my account!!!<3 And ofc you can claim an emoji, hello 🎶!!

Chishiya tried everything to get you into bed with him. He tried seducing you, gaslighting you, and of course his manipulation tactics didn't work either.

All you were focused on was trying to fix the phone from last night's game. It was still on, so you thought it would be easier to get into before it powered off.

Every time he'd call your name, you'd brush him off. Mostly because he always used a certain tone of voice you've become far too familiar with when he tries to get what he wants.

All he wanted to do was kneel at your feet to tell you exactly what he wanted. To tell you he just wanted you to hold him, to tell you all he needed was your attention.

But he couldn't. He never has been able to ask for help, or ask for anything without feeling vulnerable for that matter. He was closed off, that's what people knew about him; that he didn't show those types of emotions in fear of being belittled.

Chishiya could feel his eyelids getting heavy and his eyes burning from keeping them open, but he knew no matter how hard he would toss and turn; he wouldn't be able to sleep without you.

It was pathetic, he'd admit that. It was a loop he found himself getting stuck into, and found there was no way out of it. He hid it pretty well, though. Through late nights where you'd fall asleep alone and wake up to him beside you. You truly had no idea he struggled so much.

He was so tired. He'd do anything if you'd just stop and sleep already.

And he found his last option, the one thing he dreaded the most.

"Y/n?" Chishiya whispered, his voice husky as he climbed out of bed and walked towards you with slow steps.

"What?" You hummed in response, never peeling your eyes away from the task at hand.

"Please," He spoke underneath his breath in an almost incoherent whisper as he stopped to stand beside the chair you sat in.

"I don't know what you want, Chishiya. No one is keeping you awake." You sighed, watching from the corner of your eye as he stood by your side, rubbing his eyes with his palms.

"You're keeping me awake." He murmured, watching your hands as they played around with the device's motherboard.

"How?" You said in defeat, finally turning your attention to him. You looked up at him with your hands thrown in your lap, clearly waiting for his response.

He let out a huff as he looked around the room; avoiding eye contact. When he finally looked at you, his eyes were soft and glassed over.

His next sentence was incoherent.

"What?"

[inaudible]

"Chishiya. Speak up, please." Your words were soft as you stood up from your seat, placing your hands on his upper arms.

"I can't sleep without you." He finally spoke, his words finally registering in your mind.

When he realized you had finally heard him, he felt like he could say anything. And with his new found confidence he continued to speak.

"Why is it so hard to ask you to touch me?" He breathed, letting his head fall onto your shoulder.

You smiled at his soft demeanour. You knew how hard it must've been for him to admit something so close to himself, especially since it was about you. You've found a new side of Chishiya you haven't seen before.

You brought a hand to comb through his hair as the other scratched up and down his bare back, "I'm sorry, Chishiya. I should've just read your mind." You whispered against his shoulder as you held him close to your body.

Your words were an obvious tease, trying to humor the situation at hand. Which did make Chishiya snicker.

"You should have. You've always been able to." He muttered, wrapping his arms lazily around you.

You smiled warmly as he spoke, pulling away to drag his hand towards the bed. You climbed in with him closely behind you. He waited for you to get comfortable, before he joined you under the covers to tangle his limbs with yours.

"I'm proud of you, Chishiya." Your sultry breath hit his forehead as you mumbled against his skin.

He stared down at the way your bodies fit together, processing your words with a smile he knew you couldn't see.

"Now go to sleep, 'm here." You spoke once more into his skin, kissing his forehead and massaging your fingers into his scalp.

His cold fingers danced around your bare skin, trying to bring himself impossibly closer to you before his body fell limp into a night's sleep.

reposts and comments are appreciated <3

[hellsquills]

Not luck, not fate, but a secret third thing (you)

Some sea grunks, resurfaced memories and bittersweet confessions. Good-old hurt/comfort, enjoy!

● ⊛ ◯ ⑧ ◯ ⊛ ●

It's a nice autumn afternoon on the coast of Salvador, Brazil, but Stanford Pines is a little too busy to notice. This time it isn't because he's nose deep in a book or asleep on top of his desk from pulling an all-nighter. Nope, Stanford's full attention is focused on picking the perfect gift for his niblings in this gigantic toy store.

In his defense, the store is indecently big. How many kinds of toys have been invented in the last three decades? Too many, that's for sure. Many of them are just copies of copies of copies of old tabletop games that they used to draw themselves on paper or make up with a simple deck of cards. Very few of them seem original enough to be worth the money, and even those don't catch Stanford's eye. In addition, who's to say the kids can't find those same games on the Internet? It seems like that place has everything.

He sighs. He has lost track of time, surely Stan has already picked his gift. He's good at gift-giving, more than his grumpy façade will let him admit, and he has known the kids since birth. As much as Ford wants to try and think of something by himself, he needs help. Not an answer though— he'll just ask him a couple of questions to rule out some options, and then he'll go back to his solo search for the perfect game.

Walking down the stairs to the first floor, Ford is delighted to see his brother immediately— the last thing he needed was having to navigate the swarm of customers until he found him. He walks up to where he is; he's turned around, but he seems to be checking out some stuffed toys. Ford ponders whether he should've started there, but given the apparent infinite amount of plushies both kids have, he had ruled out this option first. Maybe he'll revisit it later.

“Hello. What are you looking at?” Ford asks in a low voice, not wanting to startle him. He stands to his right and looks at the object in Stan's hands: an 8-ball. Not even an electronic version —seemed like that was the fate of every toy these days—, but an actual, classic —or maybe now old-fashioned— 8-ball. Ford smiles at the familiarity.

“An 8-ball? Really? It didn't even cross my mind. Do the kids like this type of artifact?” He looks up at Stan, and his smile drops. Stan's eyes are fixed on the ball, but they're vacant. Something's brewing in his mind. “Stanley, can you hear me?”

A blink is all the response he gets. Ford feels the familiar anxiety rising in his stomach, but he pushes it aside for later. Now it's not the time.

Step 1: Repeat what you said, a little louder.

“Stanley, can you hear me?”

Step 2: Make some slight movement in his peripherals.

Ford lifts his hand slowly, and waves softly around.

Step 3: Get into his field of vision.

Since he can't physically stand in front of him, Ford slowly reaches for the 8-ball, pulling slightly to see if his twin will react. With no resistance, he takes the toy away and puts it on the shelf next to the other magic balls. Stan lowers his now empty hands and lazily blinks away his thoughts. Ford exhales, thanking his luck for not having to go through step 4, and waits for his brother to do his usual routine post-remembering something.

Some more blinking. Eyes more focused. A little head movement, from the front to the left, and then to the right. Acknowledgement of his surroundings. His hands find each other, rubbing small circles on his left one. Now, Ford may intervene.

“Stanley, can you hear me now?” he asks in a soft voice.

Stan turns to him. He looks lost, but present. He nods.

“Do you know where you are? Who I am?”

“Yeah, yeah. Ehm— I'm Stanley Pines, you're my twin brother Stanford, and we're sailing together around the world. It's 2014. I— we have two niblings, Mabel and Dipper, and we...” He closes his eyes tightly before opening them again. “We were looking for some gifts for them.”

Ford smiles and confidently puts his hand on Stan's shoulder, relief washing over him as he looks at Stan's now fully focused gaze. “Exactly right. Great recollection.” He looks at the ball on the shelf. “I suppose a new memory surfaced. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really, and not now. We have to find a gift for the kids.”

“The gift can wait until later. Let's go home and rest for a while. I told you you should've slept more this morning, you were tossing and turning all night.”

“Ugh, fine. Only if you stop mother-henning me.”

“Good choice. Let's head home.”

● ⊛ ◯ ⑧ ◯ ⊛ ●

“Do you want to talk about the memory?” Ford asks, handing the other a cup of hot chocolate.

“It's not that important, honestly.”

“You were paralyzed in the middle of the shop. Only the important memories render you motionless, otherwise you would've simply had a headache.”

“Yeah, I mean... It was nothing traumatic, really. Not like the last few ones, at least.”

“Well, it must be important regardless. Please, share it.”

Stan sighs. Ford smiles in response: after over a year together and dozens of returning memories, he has gotten to know Stan pretty well in moments of stress. As much as he complains and tries to push him away when he's down, Ford knows that Stan wants someone to share his thoughts with, even if it's just to get it out of his chest. The eldest enjoys being on the receiving end of such trust and never declines the opportunity to be of help. Even if that implies enduring Stan's dramatic demeanor every single time.

“Okay, it isn't that big of a deal.”

“You say that every single time.”

“This time I mean it. And don't say 'you also say that every time'.”

“I won't, then.”

“No, seriously. It's fine. I had an 8-ball like that on the Shack— well, a few, because tourists will buy anything. Anyways, the first day the kids arrived, I guess I didn't cause a good impression— which, you know, fair. But, um... after I closed the shop, I went upstairs to say goodnight to them, and... they were talking. About their first day there. Did you know the gnomes tried to make Mabel their queen?”

“Really? They haven't found one yet?”

“Why, did they try to get you?” Stan asks with a side smile.

“Oh, they sure tried. Fiddleford had to rescue me.”

“A hillbilly in shining armor, huh?”

“In shining mount, more like. He came into the clear screaming like a maniac, sitting in some sort of six-legged robot with a flamethrower. I've never seen so much rainbow puke at the same time, the gnomes were so scared that they promised never to bother me again.”

“Hah, I guess that explains why they'd hide from me whenever I went into the forest.”

“I suppose. But sorry about the interruption. Please, continue with your memory.”

Stan clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes. Ford smiles again. All for the drama.

“Where was I... right, I heard them talking when I went to say goodnight. So, they were talking about their first day in Gravity Falls, and how they didn't really... trust me much. Which, fair enough, I don't blame them. So Mabel had the idea to ask an 8-ball whether they should stay or run away, and... they ball said stay. So they did.”

“Well... that's lucky, right?”

“Yeah, I guess. But, you know, it kinda sucks that they really didn't know whether they wanted to stay with me or not.”

“Well, I suppose after being abducted by gnomes, they were somewhat frightened−”

“Nah, it wasn't that. The gnome stuff they thought it was fun. It was me who was the problem. And this isn't some self-deprecating thing or whatever, before you say that. I heard what they said, and they just didn't trust me. They stayed because of a stupid toy.”

Stan sighs, taking a sip of his chocolate. Ford does the same, mainly to have some time to think about how to formulate his next words. If everything was exactly as Stan said, there was no discussion. The kids didn't trust him —which was fair, considering his life before the portal reopening—, and they did something that a kid would do. It wasn't any different from flipping a coin on a tough decision, but it certainly was hurtful for Stan to know how they felt. Having met the twins, Ford would've never guessed that they ever doubted how much Stan cared about them, but apparently they had a tough start in their relationship.

“There's another thing,” Stan adds, his voice barely a whisper below his previous tone, but enough for Ford to notice. “And this is going to be just sappy, but since you wanna know everything, I guess I'll tell ya.”

“I'd love to hear it,” Ford replies in an instant. It's not everyday that Stan shares more that he'd ask him to, but he cherishes those moments. It's a nice reminder that, little by little, their trust is growing stronger.

“This is... stupid. But uhm... when you came back, I guess I was a little jealous of how much the kids liked you right away. And I'd see the 8-ball and think: 'damn, they didn't even need a magic ball to decide. They just... loved you. Which is good, don't get me wrong, but... I guess I was being selfish, but I hated it. You just showed up and they were immediately talking to you and wanting to spend time with you, and meanwhile I've been there since they were literally born and they didn't even think they were safe with me when they arrived. It's... stupid, I told you, and childish, because I know the kids like me. But I don't know... Why did you make me talk about this, man? This is your fault.”

Ford watches as Stan takes another sip of his hot chocolate, this time trying to cover his face with the mug and looking away. Grave mistake: now Ford has a direct view of his ears, which are red from embarrassment.

“Stanley... I get what you're saying, but the situation couldn't be further from the truth.”

“What, are you gonna tell me they pulled an 8-ball on you too?”

“No.” Ford chuckles. “But I believe that you think the kids liked me right away because of... what exactly about me?”

“I don't know, everything. At the end of the day, you're the better−”

“Don't,” Ford cuts him off, his voice now devoid of any trace of laughter. “Don't even say it. We've talked about this.”

“Right,” Stan says in a whisper. “I meant, you were impressing them from the start. Like that lightbulb you put in the kitchen that makes your skin softer or whatever. I found them laying on the table one day like they were sunbathing, they loved that crap. I couldn't even make them feel at home.”

Ford inhales, forcing his now tense shoulders to relax. Even though he now understands the way Stan is looking at the situation more, his conclusion is the same.

“Stanley, if you think an advanced lightbulb or some games here and there were the reason the kids warmed up to me, you're very wrong.”

Stan scoffed. “Really? Please, enlighten me.”

“Before that, before the family gatherings and before I got to know them better. Do you know why they liked me?”

“Mh-hm.”

“Because we are brothers. And more importantly, because I am your brother.”

“Okay, yeah, twins seeing twins, great. That doesn't mean anything.”

“It means everything, Stanley. It did to them. If I had come out of the portal and you had told them to step back, to get behind you and to get away from me, they would've never approached me the way they did. To them, I would've been not only a stranger, but a... bad guy.”

“Okay, fine, if I had told them to stay away, they would've been scared of you for a while, maybe. But you would've stayed with us anyway. You're family, they would've approached you sooner or later. Dipper would've bombarded you with questions about the journals anyways.”

“Possibly, but that would've simply been out of curiosity and a thirst for knowledge. I would've been a professor to them, at best. But I never would've managed to fit into this family.”

“You were already in it.”

“I was your family, not theirs. We both know family doesn't end nor begin with blood.” Stan looks down, as if digesting his words. “What I mean is... those kids trusted me because I was your brother. Moses, Stan, I literally punched you as I saw you, and you didn't even tell them to get away from me. They saw me hitting you, and yet they trust you so much that they were willing to accept me into their family too. Don't you see it? It was you who made it possible. Because even if it took time, they trust you with their lives. And that made it possible for me to have a clear path into their lives.”

Stan nods, still looking down, his elbows resting on his knees. With a deep inhale, he sits straight, facing his brother, his expression somewhat defiant.

“I need to stop telling you shit, you always get too sappy for your own good. I'm just adding fuel to the flames.”

Ford smiles for the umpteenth time today. He's growing used to having a smile on his face a few times a day. He wouldn't mind living like this for the rest of them. He takes a sip of hot chocolate and Stan follows, vainly hiding a smile.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too, Stanley.”

[aventurineswife]

Could I request Aventurine, Sunday, and Welt with a very nurturing and caring reader? She treats everyone nicely, bakes, and acts very motherly around younger folks and children.

Baking Sweetness, Healing Wounds

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Welt x Reader, Fluff & Soft Moments, Slow-Burn Romance (Implied), Comfort & Reassurance, Emotional Introspection, Established Relationship (Optional Interpretation), Mutual Care & Understanding, Small Domestic Moments.

Warnings: Mild Angst (Emotional Baggage, Trauma References), Mentions of Past Hardships (Survivor’s Guilt, Manipulation, Religious Trauma – Lightly Touched Upon), Touch-Starved Characters (?), Subtle Hints of Emotional Vulnerability & Coping Mechanisms, Sunday’s Internal Conflict with Trust & Care, Aventurine’s Fear of True Connection, Welt’s Habit of Prioritizing Others Over Himself.

Aventurine had seen all kinds of people in his time—sharks in tailored suits, gamblers clutching their last chips, desperate men who thought they could outwit fate. He knew how to read them, how to twist their expectations, how to control the game.

But you? You weren’t a player in the casino of life. You were something else entirely—a presence so warm, so effortless in your kindness, that it almost unsettled him.

Almost.

"Darling, you’re wasting your energy," Aventurine drawled, lounging at the counter as you set down a plate of freshly baked pastries. "Why bother making all this for people who’d probably trade their own grandmothers for a winning hand?"

You gave him a knowing smile, setting down a cup of tea beside his untouched dessert. "Because everyone deserves kindness. Even gamblers and scoundrels like you."

He chuckled, but his eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Careful, sweetheart. Someone might take advantage of that generosity."

"I trust my instincts," you replied lightly, nudging the plate toward him. "And my instincts tell me you could use a little sweetness in your life."

Aventurine hesitated. It wasn’t that he didn’t like sweets—he had a particular fondness for honeyed treats, though he never mentioned it aloud. It was the gesture itself that threw him off. People gave him things expecting something in return, but you? You weren’t expecting a thing.

For once, the odds were in his favor, and he didn’t have to play a single card.

"Fine, fine," he sighed, taking a delicate bite. His lips curled in satisfaction as the pastry melted on his tongue. "Alright, darling, you’ve officially bribed me. What’s your angle?"

You only laughed, ruffling his hair in a way no one had dared before. "No angle. Just take care of yourself, alright?"

Sunday had always carried the burdens of others. Even now, as a member of the Astral Express, he found himself watching over the crew, offering wisdom where he could, ensuring harmony where it faltered.

And maybe, just maybe, Aventurine would.

But then there was you.

You, who brought warmth into every room you entered. Who always remembered what kind of tea each crew member liked, who made sure the younger ones aboard the Express had scarves in the cold and full stomachs before bed.

"You should let yourself rest more," you murmured one evening, carefully adjusting the golden scarf draped around Sunday’s shoulders. "Even doves need a place to land, you know."

Sunday’s eyes studied you, their depths unreadable. "I am not sure I remember how," he admitted softly.

You smiled, offering him a plate of warm bread. "Then let me remind you."

Sunday hesitated, his fingers brushing yours as he accepted the food. He wasn’t accustomed to such care—not the kind that came with no strings attached, no expectations to fulfill. You gave freely, not out of duty, but because it was simply who you were.

A feathered wing behind his ear fluttered slightly, betraying his emotions. You noticed, of course. You always did.

"You’re allowed to be taken care of too, Sunday," you said gently. "You’ve spent so long looking after others. Let someone look after you."

Something in his expression softened, just slightly. "You truly believe in such a world?"

"I do," you answered. "And I believe you deserve it."

Welt was used to responsibility. He had been a leader, a protector, a teacher. Even aboard the Astral Express, he was the guiding hand, the one others sought for wisdom and direction.

And for the first time in a long while, Sunday allowed himself to believe it too.

But you were the one who reminded him that even leaders needed to be cared for.

"You're always looking after everyone else," you chided gently, setting a steaming cup of tea in front of him. "You should let someone return the favor."

Welt gave a quiet chuckle, adjusting his glasses. "Old habits die hard."

"Then I suppose I’ll just have to be stubborn," you replied with a warm smile.

Your presence was a quiet kind of reassurance, a steadiness that he found himself appreciating more than he cared to admit. He had faced crises that shook entire worlds, yet the simple act of having you set down a warm meal before him, insisting he rest, carried a weight of its own.

"You remind me of someone," he murmured after a moment.

You tilted your head. "Oh? A good memory, I hope."

Welt smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Yes. A very good one."

And as he sipped the tea, letting the warmth seep into his bones, he realized just how much he had come to rely on your presence.

For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like he had to carry everything alone.

[kunareads]

if i believe you | chapter eight

cords of kindness

clan head!satoru x reader

prev / next series masterlist / full masterlist

wc: 2.5k

a/n: one of my favs so far :)

content: there is a jump scare in this chapter and you will know when you see it. mostly fluff! misogyny, clan politics in the background, so much yearning

INTERACT HERE FOR TAGLIST!

18+ please <3

the car rolls to a stop without a sound. you reach for the handle, but the door swings open first.

satoru’s already there, somehow—blindfold in place, white hair catching the light. he offers you his hand, steady and patient, the way he always is with you.

there’s something unreadable about him here—too polished, too still. like he belongs in this world, even though you know he hates it.

your shoes click against stone as you step out, sharp and singular in the too-quiet night. the kamo estate unfolds before you in symmetry: rows of sculpted hedges, every lantern flickering the same way. even the shadows seem rehearsed.

satoru falls into step beside you as you walk toward the entrance. the space around him bends subtly—heat rising off stone, a soft distortion you don’t notice until it’s there. his infinity’s up. you’ve only felt it once, at your wedding.

you slow without meaning to. not from nerves, really. it’s the stillness of this place, how complete it is. like looking at a portrait and realizing the eyes are real.

snap out of it.

you remember what you were taught—back straight, shoulders back, chin tilted—and adjust instinctively. it was all precision. no room for softness or pausing to admire how the light caught on silk or stone. and if you were perfect, you were safe. mostly.

you were raised for this. not this company, but this pageantry. different teeth, same bite.

the doors open before you reach them.

eyes track you as you steps inside. not overtly—no one’s rude enough for that—but you notice it in the way heads tilt, in the ripple of conversation that curls and quiets.

no one greets you directly, but the temperature of the room shifts. satoru is impossible to ignore on his own. but standing beside someone? that’s new in this setting. who stands next to satoru gojo?

and you feel it, warm against your back—the strange awe that trails after him brushing up against you, too.

whatever they’re looking for, they’ll find it.

younger voices murmur toward the middle of the room. not loudly, but loud enough. you catch pieces—”thought he always came alone,” and “—no, it’s her—” like you’ve already been a subject of discussion. like your name arrived before you did.

a man near the far wall—blond hair with dark green roots, a sneer that looks permanent—tilts his head like he’s bored with all this and you, specifically. he lets his gaze sweep over you, flipping a coin, deciding what you’re worth.

you hold his stare, don’t blink. you’ve played this game before.

he looks away first.

the kamos themselves don’t whisper. they don’t need to. their elegance has teeth. one of their elders—a woman with silver hair and posture like it’s been carved into her—steps into your path. her clothes are flawless, her expression unreadable.

“graceful,” she says. “just like your mother.”

you don’t flinch. not outwardly. but your spine pulls a fraction tighter. a reflex.

satoru’s hand finds the small of your back in less than a second—light, just enough pressure to tether. you don’t lean into it, but you don’t move away. it’s nice to have the option, you think.

you’re very familiar with your mother’s specific brand of grace. the rigidity in her posture. the obvious rehearsal of each movement. her way of cutting people down with a glance.

you wonder which part they see. which part you haven’t managed to shake.

you keep walking.

── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢

the dining hall is quiet in the way you’d expect—soundless, soft-lit, full of things too old to touch. everything smells like wood polish and paper.

you take your seat beside satoru, letting your hands rest lightly in your lap. the porcelain is fine, the glasses crystal-cut, the place cards handwritten. the napkins are folded into perfect thirds.

satoru shifts his chair before he sits. it’s a quiet thing, deliberate, making enough room that your elbows won’t brush accidentally.

an unspoken invitation: take up space.

you wouldn’t normally accept. but tonight, you do. he’s very difficult to say no to.

you smooth the fabric of your skirt, angle your body toward the center of the table, not away. posture open, chin up. you’ve done this before.

there’s a small imperfection in the place setting in front of him—one of his chopsticks half a centimeter out of line. you adjust it absently. he doesn’t say anything, but he turns his head, a near-laugh in the corner of his mouth.

conversation drifts like steam above the table—measured, polite, pointless. the courses arrive one by one, delicate and artful.

you lift a spoonful of something citrus-colored and unidentifiable. you smile when someone two seats down makes a vague comment about the weather—convincing enough that they don’t try again.

across from you, someone sits with his ankle crossed over his knee, his posture arrogant in the way only old money and raw talent can justify.

you recognize him as the same man who stared you down when you arrived. he hasn’t said a word since he sat down, hasn’t needed to. his gaze cuts across the table every so often like he’s collecting weaknesses.

you don’t know his name. you don’t particularly want to. it’s obvious from the way satoru’s looking in his direction, the set of his jaw like a knife held flat, that they know each other. and would prefer not to share oxygen.

his expression is mild, almost bored—but you know better. you’ve seen this look on him before: across from your parents in the sitting room, smile dangerous and performative, tapping his fingers against his knee like he was tired of holding back.

his voice is missing from the room the way silence follows a threat. not out of absence—out of calculation.

you reach for your glass, slow and fluid and ask, just for him, ”how long is this dinner supposed to last?”

his mouth quirks. “longer than you deserve to suffer through.”

“are you saying you don’t come here for the ambiance?”

“i’m saying if i’d known they were serving radish soup, i would’ve brought you snacks.”

you look at him, and it’s there—that slight, stupid warmth in your chest that’s been missing for days.

“i can see the appeal, gojo,” says the man across from you.

his voice is disarmingly normal, something lazy in the cadence. then—

“pretty little thing who knows when to keep her mouth shut.”

it takes a second for the words to register. another for the air to thin.

your mother taught you never to react to cruelty. especially not when others are watching. if you don’t flinch, it’s not real. so you don’t.

the room doesn’t react either. it’s practiced silence—a room full of people pretending they didn’t hear anything.

no one looks at you. no one looks at him. the words settle over the table like ash—fine, fragile, waiting to be disturbed.

you feel it before you see it: satoru goes still. sets down his glass like he’s worried it’ll break between his fingers, leans back in his chair, settling into something familiar.

there’s something dangerous about his composure. the whole table braces for impact.

“try fucking with someone other than my wife, naoya,” he says flatly, with the kind of calm that scares people more than shouting.

“before i forget where we are.”

you hear a chair shift near the end of the table. a cough, awkward and too loud. someone sets down a spoon. an elder looks away—not in disapproval, but understanding.

and the man across from you—naoya, you’ve learned—has the audacity to smirk. but his jaw ticks. his eyes don’t linger.

satoru doesn’t look at you. he just picks up his chopsticks and goes back to eating like nothing happened.

you stay still. stunned, rooted. the words echo. my wife. a line in the sand.

and when small plates of fruit start getting placed for dessert, he doesn’t ask. he picks through his own, sorts out your favorites, and slides them onto your plate.

── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢

the rest of dinner passes without incident.

later, after the formalities are handled and eyes stop tracking your every move, you step outside with satoru.

the night is cooler than when you arrived. the garden path winds softly ahead, and the lanterns out here glow dimmer, less curated.

you walk in silence for a while, neither of you in a hurry to fill it. it gives you room to think.

no one’s ever stepped in for your sake before. not like that. not at all. and it’s not something you ever thought to want—not until it was already done.

“you didn’t have to say anything,” you murmur.

“i had to defend your honor,” he says, a little too earnestly. “very traditional. very chivalrous.”

you smile—small and surprised. “…thank you”

he nudges your shoulder with his. “you liked it.”

“i did not.”

“you did.”

you shake your head, but the smile stays.

it’s easy, suddenly to fall into this rhythm with him again. to pretend this is just another night. that there wasn’t silence before this, and that there isn’t still silence between you now—softer, but still waiting

you end up near a koi pond—long and quiet, lined in stone. the surface glitters under moonlight. the fish glide in slow, lazy circles, like nothing in the world has ever frightened them.

until satoru stoops to pick up a pebble and tosses it in.

“don’t,” you say, too late. “they don’t like that.”

he blinks at the water, then at you. “well,” he says solemnly. “now i’m embarrassed.”

you glance at him, skeptical.

he smiles. “don’t worry. i’ll write them a formal apology. dear honorable koi, please forgive my momentary lapse in etiquette…”

it’s stupid. so stupid, but a giggle bubbles out before you can stop it.

you haven’t even smiled in days. and somehow, satoru pulls that part of you loose again with half a conversation.

“see?” he says, pleased with himself. “they forgive me already.”

“they’re very tolerant.”

“like you, apparently.”

you smile at him. “you’re lucky they don’t have teeth.”

“are you threatening me on behalf of the fish?”

you don’t answer. he beams at you anyway.

there’s a stone bench tucked beneath the sweep of a willow tree a few feet away. satoru gestures toward it dramatically, like he’s offering you a throne.

the bench is cool under your skirt as he sits beside you, not too close—but close enough that your knees almost touch. the air smells like flowers and clean water.

for a while, there’s only the sound of the pond lapping gently at stone, of distant voices muffled by hedges and formality.

“i missed your voice,” he says quietly.

you turn your head. his tone is lower now, more vulnerable. it feels like a truce.

you don’t answer right away. you reach for his hand, slow and careful, checking if you’re allowed. like if he moved, even a little, you’d pretend you weren’t reaching at all.

he lets you take it. his fingers curl easily around yours, like he’s been waiting for the chance.

you let your thumb graze the line of his knuckles. “i didn’t think you would.”

you’re not sure why you say it out loud. maybe it slipped through a crack in your restraint. but it’s there between you now, naked and irretrievable.

he doesn’t answer. he just tilts his head toward you slightly with a soft smile.

“you’re nothing like your mother.”

that’s what catches. not how he says it—mild, weightless—but that he says it at all.

“do i look like her?” you ask, before you can talk yourself out of it.

he looks at you like he’s weighing the truth against the damage.

then: “no.”

a lie. a kindness. you let it stand.

── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢

the car door shuts with a soft thud as you both shift quietly into place, the estate disappearing behind tinted glass. the car is warm. too warm, maybe, but neither of you mentions it.

you’re both quiet. not because there’s nothing to say, but because there’s too much—and none of it would sound right out loud. and that’s fine, you think. the silence that’s been cutting you both open for days is decidedly soft right now.

streetlights pass in blurs. satoru rests his head against the seat. his eyes are still covered, his mouth unreadable.

but he’s here. still beside you. after everything—all that space living between you—it’s enough.

after a few minutes, he shifts toward you and reaches for your hand. you offer it to him instinctively, letting him lace your fingers together like he’s missing the feeling.

he lifts your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of it. it feels like thank you. or maybe sorry. or something heavier he hasn’t found the words for.

your heart stutters. the warmth travels fast—hand to chest, chest to throat, eyes burning before you know it. it shouldn’t undo you this easily, but there’s a thread in you being tied back together.

you slide over on the seat, enough that you don’t have to pull your hand away when he settles it back down in his lap. you let your head tip toward him, and his shoulder meets it without protest.

nothing has been resolved. not really. there are still pieces of the two of you waiting on the floor when you get home. but his hand is in yours, and his shoulder doesn’t flinch when you lean in. so maybe this is how it starts again—not with an apology, but with a reach.

the rhythm of the car, the hum of the tires, the warmth between your palms—eventually, it’s enough to pull you under. and you think, just before sleep takes you, if he stayed like this forever, you’d never ask for more.

you don’t know how long you’re asleep. only that you wake when the car jolts over a bump in the road.

before you can move—before you even lift your head—

“go back to sleep,” satoru murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “please.”

[lewismcqueen]

work me out!

summary: a "post-workout session" with a stranger that you meet at the gym. wc: 1k-ish a/n: thank you to anon for the request! idk if you had any preferences other than you wanted a smut fic based on #those Lewis pics so I hope it's fine if I take liberties. author had to look up "how does face riding work" to write this. finally getting comfy writing smut it didn't take me three days for once !

He’s been watching you since you passed him by to get to the treadmill. A beautiful stranger with a sleeve of tattoos running down one arm, and covering the backs of both hands. You hold back a grin at the way he damn near breaks his neck to stare in between reps, and you switch your hips a little every time you walk by him to wipe down your equipment. Maybe you imagine his breaths getting heavier each time you do. 

The man is topless, in a dark blue baseball cap and shorts of the same hue that show off his thighs. The golden-brown expanse of skin is a thrill to sneak glances at after a particularly difficult set. 

In the long mirror covering the wall in front of him, you can see the gym lights reflecting off of a tattoo in the middle of his chest. It's the North star. The sweat gathering between his pectorals makes it gleam like a beacon.

You make eye contact through the mirror—just a moment, a split second. But you swear the man just winked at you.

It's chance that makes you bump into each other again at a local coffee shop. It's smaller than the name-brand ones, but clean and modern enough to be attractive to tourists and wealthy newcomers.

“Hey,” you greet him with a coy smile behind a sip of your iced matcha. There's nothing coy about the way your eyes dance over his (now woefully clothed) form. His name is written in messy capital letters across his small coffee. “Lewis?”

He grins, and looks like he’s enjoying the game you've invited him to play. His voice is unexpectedly soft, like when you fall and think you're gonna land on hard ground but feel pillows beneath you instead. And it's so cute.

“That's me,” he affirms. “And you're…?”

You like the way he says your name. Slow and deliberate, like he's got all day to learn it.

“Nice to know my gym buddy's got a name.”

“Gym buddy?” you ask with feigned innocence.

Your hand comes up to mess with the chain of your necklace, sliding the charm back and forth. Lewis watches, eyes subtly following each languid movement. 

“You kept walking past me like you wanted to say something.”

You shrug, noncommittal. “You looked busy. Didn't wanna distract you.”

Lewis lifts an eyebrow, amusement tugging at his lips. 

“Sure.”

You keep meeting at that same place every weekend. It's so often that you find yourself looking for Lewis the few times he's not there.

One day you walk out, disappointed by both your watery matcha and his not being there. That is until—either by chance or by fate—your eyes land on a car that looks well-loved but is still frequently cleaned. The window to the driver's seat is rolled down, on account of the sweltering hot day. It's Lewis, sipping on an iced Americano with the same cap and sunglasses on. He looks up, and his eyes widen in recognition. 

The conversation in the car is light, both your drinks dripping condensation into the cup holder. Lewis likes cracking jokes and referencing movies you haven't seen since you were ten. When he flirts it's open-ended, subtle enough that you have the option to back out or keep the thread of banter going—whatever you decide.

You like that about Lewis; he asks nothing of you. But he makes no attempt to conceal the want in his eyes either. Lewis looks at you through his lashes—full and curling up sharply around warm brown eyes—and you want to get closer just to get a good look at them. 

You're kissing him before you can stop yourself. Lewis takes no time to kiss you back, his hands cupping your face almost automatically. As if he'd been expecting it. 

You feel him laugh as your fingers rake through his curls so roughly that he has to push your hand away, guiding it towards the nape of his neck. You learn that Lewis doesn't do quick, hot sparks of passion; he likes a steady kind of heat, like a stove set on low. No rash or sudden movements. 

After pulling away, Lewis asks casually if you want to head back to his place. His tone doesn't match the lust in his expression. 

He likes it slow in the bedroom too, strong hands holding your waist to control your speed while you ride him. He won’t let you rush towards completion. The North star on his chest lifts and expands just slightly with every heaving, rhythmic breath as he tells you do keep riding “just like that”.

Taking it slow doesn't mean Lewis is gentle. He makes you feel every inch of him when you're on top, and puts his weight into it when he flips you over. 

You gasp when he angles his thrusts a little lower, making you cry out when he hits the very center of you, pushing up against the limit without really trying to go past it. You've known him less than a week, but you're already calling him “baby” when you tell him you “feel it in your stomach”.

Lewis whispers little encouragements in your ear like a trainer after he lowers himself to work his hips into you. They get increasingly vulgar, but are spoken just as sweetly all the same. 

You don't normally fuck strangers in broad daylight, but Lewis has quickly become an exception. You memorize the way his eyelids flutter, the freckles on his cheeks, which have been bronzed a shade darker than the rest of his face by the sun. The way he tells you how good you feel like it's worship.

He tries to bite down on his bottom lip to stifle a moan right before he finishes, but as his eyes gloss over with unshed tears he gives up trying and moans into the crook of your neck instead. They're breathy and border on melodic—almost falsetto, and the sound of it feels so naked and vulnerable that you come right after, feeling him tremble inside you as you grip tightly around him.

It's a summer weekend, so neither of you are in a rush to leave. You can catch your breath. Lewis lets you stroke the top of his head gently for a moment before lifting it to meet your gaze.

You give him a wry smile. “You look like you wanna ask me something.”

His smile is timid. Like for once, Lewis isn't sure if you'll say yes.

“Can you sit on my face? Only if you feel up to it.”

The thought of putting your weight directly on his face is a bit daunting, but only for a second. The sight of his lips—now pink from biting—is what wins you over.

Lewis picks up on your initial apprehension. “I'll tap your thigh if I can't breathe.”

“So I'm not gonna accidentally kill you, right?”

He shrugs. “I mean if you do, it's not a terrible way to go out.”

Lewis has to gently coax you to fully lower yourself over his mouth several times, but you eventually get comfortable enough for him to put his mouth to work. You shudder as he explores you with his tongue, running it lazily over sensitive folds. His nose presses up against you with each motion, and you occasionally feel the metal of his piercings.

He finds what he's looking for and focuses his ministrations on it. Lewis tries out different levels of pressure; first soft like he's licking gelato, then a bit harder. Somewhere in between is the sweet spot that makes you start cussing, rolling your hips into his face. 

Lewis still holds you in place so that no amount of squirming will allow you a break. He grips your thighs as your moans get closer together and you begin rutting into his mouth with increasing desperation, chasing release. 

A ragged, broken sound leaves your lips when you come a second time. Lewis doesn't let go just yet, drawing whimpers from you as he takes what you give him. It sounds like when someone sucks the flesh from a peach seed too loudly, and the obscene noises bounce around the spacious bedroom.

You end up taking a nap in his bed, waking up to the room awash in the ripe orange of a clear sunset once you wake up. Lewis has gotten up while you were asleep, and he returns with a cold glass of water in his hand. 

You sit up as Lewis wordlessly offers it to you, the glass sweating cold condensation onto your fingers. His hair is tied back into a fuzzy, loose bun that he instinctively smooths over. The mattress sinks with the weight of him sitting next to you. 

Lewis watches you drink deeply until the glass is empty.

“You okay?”

You hand him the glass and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “I'm good. Drooled all over your pillow, though.”

Lewis laughs. “You were passed the fuck out.”

“It's a good post workout routine,” you say, rolling your shoulders back jokingly. 

Lewis tilts his head. “You wanna make this a routine, then?”

His eyes glint with mischief and possibility. Or maybe it's just golden hour. Either way, you know you'll never be able to get his sounds of pleasure out of your head. 

You shrug.

“I'll text you when I decide.”

[takes1]

i just read the overview for the kyotani fic… ik you and the requester cooked so glucking hard omfg🤤🤤🤤

[final?] accidentally falling for kyoutani (maddog)

ayyy much appreciated pookie bear.💕😌 i have no plans to write a part after this so it will no longer be a priority. if i do write more (specifically after i write myself back out of the 'part 2 prison' im in rn bc im a dumbass) it'll be because of inbox requests for it

warnings. nsfw, implied depressive symptoms, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / angsty smut / bad coping strategies! / porn with plot / or plot with porn? / f!rec oral / spontaneous intimacy / heavy petting / making out / clothes on type shit / kyoutani is a munch / crying and hugging / 2.8k words

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3. requests open. part one here.

"Mmm..." Your eyes danced across the photo preview, back to his eternal pout, and suggested, "Can you do some push-ups or something? Your forearm needs to be veiny-er..."

Kyoutani hated that. His eyes narrowed at you, his grip slipping away. You turned from his reflection to give his actual scowl an irritating smile.

"My forearms?"

"Yeah-,"

He flexed both of his wrists towards you, "These aren't veiny enough for you?"

You pointed at the strings under his skin, all plump and oddly attractive, "Well- see yeah, that's okay. But the back, look. Turn them around."

A big, frustrated sigh. He turned them and they were genuinely less vascular, there.

Getting this picture right was very important to you, and you made it immensely clear that it needed to be perfect for you to post it. Always worried about the optics, despite choosing the school's most renowned loser to do this operation with.

"God," He groaned, a big eye roll, "You're such a--,"

Ignored went his usual insults, mixed in odd cadence with his new pet names, as he pushed out about 40 good push-ups. Kyoutani did what you told him to at the end of the day. You had a few ideas around why-- but it generally boiled down to the fact that he secretly liked keeping you around.

Nobody could be okay with being alone all the time, right?

You sure weren't.

Kyoutani repped those out like he could do at least double that. You crossed your arms over yourself, warm, at his gesture at your feet. You wanted to tell him to keep going, just to see if he would.

It had been a month of no-contact with Tooru and you were drowning in the withdrawal. That was at 6 games, a mix of practice and real ones, that you had missed. You wondered if anyone remembered you. If he could ever pick out your voice in the midst of all his options, in the stands, the way he told you he did.

"Aagh-, you- are so difficult."

He was breathy as he rolled his hoodie sleeves back up, then fixed his collar. You took a little long staring at him, void of usual judgment, and he made a face at you when you pulled him back in to continue workshopping your photo.

Distracted, you drawled, "You don't make this easy, either."

"Hm... that is better-," Your fingers slipped over his arms again, his pump showing well.

The point was to have him be recognizable, but not in an explicit way. Just his forearms, maybe some of his hair, and his height the only real indicators of who was holding you in this mirror pic.

Tooru would know in an instant. Others might put two-and-two together, and more would have no clue.

Kyoutani's eyes lazily watched your screen, how you adjusted the exposure lower, the frame size. It was a dull endeavor, and not enough to truly interest him. Unlike you, he had no hope for your failed relationship coming back from the dead. Oikawa choked, dumping you- it was that simple.

Your neck smelled like that sweet, soft perfume you wore almost every Friday. That was his favorite. It made him hungry for a something with strawberries and cream, or a nice pastry.

While you moved his arm where it needed to be -right under your chest-, he sucked a slow kiss into the side of your neck.

It didn't mess up your photo, and it wasn't like you hadn't been paying him in kisses already, so you suppressed your shivers and ignored the creep.

Another few takes later, and you had some photos to work with, so you could edit and decide how/where to post them.

Kyoutani satisfied, so you started your editing where you stood, in front of your desk, tapping away with your thumbs while his hands roamed over your shirt.

He kept you shivering, a little short of breath, and half-distracted.

"How'd it turn out?"

He never spared his best sarcasm with you. He didn't give a damn about the picture.

"Fu-ck you," You sighed- it was embarrassing how quickly he got you worked up, making you more tense, than anything.

A breathy chuckle. That was too easy. He didn't go for the obvious response.

He moved further down, fingers hooked under your blouse. He pulled on it to swipe his tongue and teeth over the sensitive skin there.

"That-- that feels-- good," You struggled, eyes clouded, head tilted so he could have more room.

It had been too long. Any touch got your mind racing, your body reactive. You were barely able to post the picture.

Kyoutani scoffed. You thought he would stop, just to be an asshole, but he moved to press a kiss right behind your ear.

He grumbled, a hand diving, hungry, under your shirt, "I can do better than good."

You put a palm on your desk, stumbling forward and weak at his words, under his grasp, from all his prodding. He pressed you up against it, kisses faster, rougher. His other hand rested on your thigh, just shy of your skirt. More of a question, than anything.

There were worse options. Somewhere. He was hot, and horny, at least.

You turned around and brought him in by the back of his head for a rushed and heated kiss.

He not only met it, but gladly escalated everything-- he gripped you hard and placed you on the desk, a heady groan under his passionate kisses.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled his hips in. It all felt so good- so fast, but so easy. There was hardly a second thought to it at all.

"Fuck-," He groaned, parting for the moment it took to hold you tighter.

Hurried and ruttish kisses overlapped one another. He couldn't finish one before he started the next. Unable to keep up, you were getting pushed back in his haste, all giddy at his almost-funny enthusiasm.

But it was no laughing matter.

You were just as lonely. You tried just as hard. You wanted somebody to touch, somebody to hold.

Somebody to make you feel good. Wanted.

Despite your routine changing overnight after you and Tooru weren't on speaking terms anymore, you failed to fill the space. The quiet, the hours you used to dedicate to just your relationship, now void of anything, was like a memorial to the concept of 'us.' Inviting Kyoutani over -sneaking him in through the garage, rather- already felt like you were disrespecting your mourning. This was the desk he used to sit on. That was your bed that he used to sleep in.

Kyoutani cupped the back of your head like you were made of glass-- his sigh proceeded it, like this wasn't just some spur of the moment kiss.

And you let yourself be convinced. Just for a little while.

He was fast with his hands. Gripping, groping, pulling your expensive clothes.

Your own grasp was pushing down under his hoodie, under the collar of his shirt to feel more skin. He was warm, and here, and real.

"Have I--," You cringed at your stutter, as he kept his hickeys cropped close to your jaw, "Told you that- you're kinda cute?"

His hips rolled against yours, his fingers plunged under your skirt on your hip, under the panties Tooru paid for months ago.

"Cute."

A tiny nick next to your ear made you flinch, "You must be thinkin' of someone else."

He was making you breathless already, the dull sensation enough to get you soaked and destitute. A light chuckle at his stupid avoidance, and you knew to try harder next time you had something nice to say.

Kyoutani pulled back and rolled his eyes, muttering another, dismissive, 'cute,' and pressed his palm real soft against your pussy.

"Mm-m," You couldn't return his kiss, chin tucked lower, instead. All tense at his touch.

Your thighs squeezed around his wrist.

"No way you're that sensitive-," He laughed at you, but it wasn't targeted.

You evaded his curious gaze. In your denial of kisses, he dropped to his knees, instead.

"It's- been a whi-le-- Ah-h!"

Kyoutani was kissing you through your panties- on your desk- kneeling on the floor- while you were both fully clothed- and Tooru was who-knows-where, not giving a fuck about you.

He muttered something against your cunt, a buzz good enough for you to scratch the paint off of the surface.

You flinched, but didn't have a doubt in your mind about what you wanted as he pushed them to the side and put a sloppy kiss to you.

"Ah-h," Was a pitiful, whimpry noise out of your parted lips.

Kyoutani's hands, perfectly veiny at this point, had your thighs hostage, encouraging you to keep them up so he could get better access in this position.

His tongue was new, but he was so gentle, so attentive, that you got used to him embarrassingly quick.

Those fingers were darker, shaped more blocky and thicker than Tooru's. But they still felt good. They looked hot, gripping you. His curly, dyed hair was very different. You wanted to touch it, but refrained, in case he got mad. Nevertheless, it was a welcome sight between your legs.

The pleasure you had associated with only one person wasn't so specialized anymore.

"Mmn!" You winced at a strong suck to your clit.

Before you could tell him he was too rough, he was back in his light circles again.

Your chest was getting tight, your shallow breaths uneven. Tooru was never this spontaneous. You would've never known you liked it so much.

This was not your most conventional orgasm, but it topped more than a few.

"I-i'm--," Your whiny admission fell away at his consistency, his soft kisses and tonguing at your pussy, "F-uck, fuck, fuck-! H-ah,"

You came all shaky, whiny, for him, just the way he liked you. You were never more pretty to him than in that moment, how he made you all soft and sweet, soaking wet and broken in.

Kyoutani wasn't eager to part from you- you had to squeeze him with your thighs, just to get him to move.

When he came up, all flushed, relaxed, and chin dripping, he looked horribly beautiful.

He kissed you hard before he wiped it off.

"Knew you'd taste sweet," Was an alarmingly soft mutter against your neck.

That made you smile.

He filled the gaps around you perfectly, all warm, and out of breath, too. Did it classify as a hug? Because it felt like one. You put your arms over his shoulders and sighed, trembly, and heavy against his strong hold.

His thumb rubbed just under your hairline, and you could feel the expanse of his chest, the rhythm of his breathing.

Part of you wanted to apologize for involving him in your lunacy, your inexplicable obsession with the idea of getting your ex back.

The thought of that was messy, though, because then you would be apologizing for all of it. And now, after whatever this was, you wouldn't fully mean it.

Buzzed, you simply were not sorry for getting acquainted with him.

The desk was not comfortable. He smushed a few pecks, slow, against your forehead and lifted you to stand up.

"You're pretty good at that," You managed to admit before another kiss.

Careless, and absorbed in your body, "It's nothin'- you're pretty easy."

Instead of letting him keep up his handsy, huffy attempts at getting further, you turned your face so he caught your jaw. Your palms faced flat on his shoulders, instead of pulling him closer.

Kyoutani groaned, "Not like that--,"

"No no, I know," Your raised, insincere tone was a direct contradiction, "I know."

You reached for your phone. His frown got tighter.

He didn't want to let you go, but couldn't keep holding you when you acted like such a stranger. His fingertips slipped from you and were replaced in fists at his sides.

It was just like you. Reaching for something familiar and comforting as soon as you were intimidated, or unsure.

There were many notifications, all a blur as you scrolled down an endless sea of them. You cleared your throat, straightening your clothes, and he scowled at how different it felt, just watching your guard go back up.

Distracted, you glanced vaguely across to his shoulder, then your screen, and absentmindedly created distance by starting to search for a change of clothes, before you spared him any semblance of an explanation.

"Sorryyy, I really need a shower, sooo..."

He rolled his eyes and sat on your bed, "Kay."

The tiny consideration to be kind, cute, and engage him one more time did cross your mind. Maybe, if you had been more sure that he would be receptive to something domestic like that, you would've followed your intuition.

Instead, you shut the bathroom door behind you.

You looked down at the screen, finally alone, and grew cold.

Two missed calls, four messages. From Tooru. He still had a white heart by his name. You watched your thumb start to shake over the screen-- you set your phone face down and puffed out a sick breath as you turned the knob on the shower.

It felt like you cheated.

It didn't matter how hot you made that water. You felt disgusting and couldn't wash it away.

Kyoutani didn't need his overly sensitive hearing to know you were crying in the bathroom. He ran his palms over his face with a sigh and fell onto his back.

If Oikawa wasn't in the picture, his stress would be gone- but he also wouldn't have had a chance, in the first place. He had to weigh all the costs and benefits, gritting his teeth to the sound of your quiet sobbing.

The worst part was that you really weren't that bad. Nobody could be a bitch for that long. Maybe you needed to learn how to be less pretentious. He couldn't be sure, but he knew you had your good moments. He liked those. He liked you when you were sweeter, when you had your stupid guard down, and got all clingy and nice to him because you didn't have another outlet.

Being last-pick was getting really old.

You were sniffling long after the sound of the shower was gone. He waited what felt like an interval between too long and too little to knock, to check on you.

The door opened and an excessive amount of steam poured out.

He waited for you to say something, to prompt him to speak, but the natural beat faded away, and you were both standing there, staring at each other.

"Uh..." His jaw worked, face heavy and frustrated at his lack of words, "Are you... okay?"

It was easy getting his uncertain gaze meet your face, so long as you didn't look back at him. Thankfully, you were staring at his shoulder, lashes decorated with pretty little drops, your eyes brighter, somehow.

You nodded and he was at -yet another- severe deficit. He bit the inside of his cheek with a loaded sigh through his nostrils.

Kyoutani was so bad with words. You could hear his frustration.

"Come on," His hands went up past his sides for a subtle suggestion. An embrace. His face was turned up and away. You wouldn't have to feel the pressure of him watching.

There was a soft spot under all his messy bullshit, and it wasn't just fueled by sex. You hated how much you needed it, right now.

You closed the distance. No argument, no sarcasm, no pushing back.

You wouldn't put all your weight on him. Not like you did earlier. You'd be damned before you cried in his arms, no matter how empty you felt. He felt good and he was steady, strong. Your body melted, faltered, against your will.

"You wanna- I dunno- go get a coffee, or somethin'?"

That sounded like a fantastic idea. You pushed enough on his chest to tell him you were done with hugging, but he still kept a grip on your upper arm, eyes analyzing every little shudder and movement.

You nodded again, unable to properly respond. Scarred knuckles grazed your puffy face, not enough to do anything- just there to give you a soft touch.

"I'll drive."

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco @megapteraurelia

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[phighting-x-you]

hey man love the work you doing keep it up. i have a request if you don't mind doing could i have yandere phighting x human reader

i can imagine human reader is wearing allot of clothing on to prevent their identity being seen.

Thank you!!!!! ♡ This is an interesting concept,,,

Yandere! Phighting x human! reader! 💘💌

Oh, being isekai'd into your favourite roblox game was too much to process, how could this even be possible?! You're trapped with no way out!

One minute, you were enjoying a match, and then...oh? You can't remember what happened next? Strange. The memory was lucid, as if it were fading from you.

You were wearing your baggy clothes and pulled up the hood to conceal yourself. You were the only human in a world of Inphernos, and you did not want to be discovered.

Unfortunately for you, it didn't take long for the characters to notice you and your peculiar appearance.

"What...are you?" Sword asks, holding your face in his hands, turning it in various directions as he inspected you. Beside him were Rocket and Medkit who were equally as stunned.

"They aren't one of us, that's for sure." Rocket mused, lifting his goggles over his eyes to get a good look at you. "Are you maybe underdeveloped?"

"They can't be." Medkit answers, stepping closer. Sword takes his hands off of you for the doctor to inspect you. "Inphernos die if their horns aren't there. If they were underdeveloped, they'd atleast have stubs forming, and I don't see any gear, either."

"Look at them, they're shaking." Sword points out, noticing how you held yourself tightly. "Poor thing, you must be cold." He turned to his friends. "We can't leave them out here alone."

"And what? Trust that they won't turn on us?" Rocket scoffed, seeming suspicious of you. "We don't even know what they are. Why can't we just dump them somewhere like, I dunno, Blackrock?"

"Absolutely not." Medkit clipped at the suggestion, a shadow casting over his face. "If we leave them in Blackrock, SFOTH knows who will find them and what he'll do."

The three Phighters turned back to look at you. Sword reached a hand towards you and smiled softly.

"Listen, we don't know who or what you are, but we won't hurt you. I promise. Come with us, it isn't very safe out here. We'll keep you safe, okay?"

Shakily, you reached out and took his firm hand. It wasn't like you had any other options.

Sword flashed a friendly grin. A little too friendly...

As time passes and you find the courage to go into public areas, you stuck to the trio that had found you. This caused more Inphernos learn about your existence, asking questions and observing you closely. Too closely.

"That's not an underdeveloped Inpherno?" A wide-eyed Slingshot and Skateboard ask, looking at Medkit as if he was lying. As Medkit explained about what you were, a small group of Phighters had gathered to get a good look at you.

It felt overwhelming, as if you were an animal in the circus and the audience was expecting you to perform for them. Atleast you had Sword beside you for support.

"They don't look like much..." Banhammer said lowly, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he poked at the top of your head. "But they're cute nonetheless."

"Well, then, what's yer name, pretty~?" Scythe asks, tilting your face to look up at her. "Yer quite the catch, I'll give ya that..~"

"Hey, hands off!" Banhammer demands, bearing his fangs. "They don't want a scumbag like you touching them."

"Hey, hey now..." Sword began. "We don't want any trouble, okay-"

"Ohh, look at their eyes!" Vine Staff exclaims, cutting off Sword and cupping your face. She was smiling at you warmly. "Such a beautiful colour, too!"

"And what's this flowing from their head?" Shuriken asks, twirling a lock of hair around his finger. "It feels so nice and soft."

"MY CREATOR WOULD LIKE TO SEE YOU." Biograft blurts out, his eyes glowing as he spoke. "HE IS AN INTELLIGENT MAN."

As Sword tried to get everyone to stop prodding at you, you felt yourself heating up from the attention. These Inphernos seemed to like you! That should be a good thing, right?

Some Phighters were more curious than the others, often causing arguments to arise.

"Just because you found them first doesn't mean you own them, Meddy!" Subspace snapped as Medkit stood infront of you, protecting from the unhinged scientist.

"Subspace, you and I both know what sick experiments you'll try to run. Don't push your luck." Medkit spoke coldly.

"Oh, please! I'd never do something so cruel!" Subspace retorts, shoving Medkit out the way and pulling you close. "Now, my dear, what's your name? I'm Subspace Tripmine, and I'm Blackrock's #1 scientist! I'm the one responsible for inventing the Biograft, and I'd love to show you around sometime-!"

"That's enough, Subspace." Sword insists, pulling you away from the scientist and putting a protective arm around you.

"Hmph!"

News about you spread like wildfire to the point where the idols of the game had decided to approach you, how exciting!

"Aw, Dom, look at 'em! They're so cute!" Valk says, shaking your hand too eagerly. "My name's Valk, and that's Dom. Together, we're the Flipside Brothers! We sing songs for Phights and Phestivals, but we're considering starting a talk show, and you'd be perfect for appearing as our first guest!"

"Valk, I think that's enough.." Dom says, gently pulling his overexcited brother away from you. He cleared his throat, looking into your eyes. "We've heard that you aren't an Inpherno, and it's intriguing to us. So, perhaps, we could interview you? Maybe tell us how you got here? We aren't forcing you, obviously, but it'd give us a chance to get to...understand you better?"

As time went on, the Inphernos seemed to accept you, getting comfortable with a human living amongst them...but you didn't want to stay here permanently.

Sometimes you cried, feeling homesick. You missed your friends and family dearly, they must think you're dead. One day, during a crying session, some Phighters approached.

"Hey, lighten up, 'kay?" Coil said, gently slinging an arm over your shoulder. "It ain't all bad here."

"Yeah, dude! Everybody likes you here!" Boombox joined in, lifting his visor to look at you properly. "It's okay to miss your home world, but you'll be perfectly fine here. We promise."

As Boombox said that last line, Coil shot him a dirty look, and the DJ instantly stopped talking. You didn't pick up on it, though, you were busy wiping the tears from your eyes.

You now had your own place to stay, yet the Phighters always offered to let you stay the night at theirs.

It had been a while now, and you're fully accustomed to your new world. Closing your eyes, you felt happy. Happy for your new friends and their overwhelming kindness...

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

"I have to admit, Subspace, this was an excellent idea." Medkit grins slyly at his ex-colleague, who cackled in return.

"Oh, please! I thought this would all fail! I'm more surprised that you went with the whole overprotective persona." Subspace bears his teeth in an unapologetic smile. "Most of the credit goes to Boombox and...Coil"

All the Phighters were gathered around a table in Slingshot's cafè, seeming to have a celebratory meal. All the Phighters were talking amongst themselves, mischief gleaming in their smiles.

"Coil, wherever did ya learn to get outta the game to hijack the player's computer? I'm impressed, truly." Scythe inquires, swirling her glass of wine.

"Oh? I dunno, really. I suppose exploring the features of the game which links into the user's database can really pay off." Coil explains, taking a hearty bite out of a taco. "Couldn't have done it without Booms, though."

On cue, Coil fist bumps his partner in crime. "Welp, with Y/N in our world, they'll never leave! They're ours, forever!" Banhammer exclaims, getting cheers of agreement from everybody.

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

Outside, Hyperlaser exited the cafè from the back, opting to take a quick smoke. Whistling, he flickered his lighter until a small but bright flame appeared.

As if on cue, the fiery light illuminated Katana's silhouette, which was leaning against a dumpster, one foot rested against it.

"So. You're just like the others." He muses, disgruntled, not moving an inch. Confused, Hyperlaser concealed his lighter and walked closer towards Katana.

"What do you mean?" He asked steadily, fully knowing what was coming.

"You know what I mean." Katana snapped, his voice bitter. "You and everyone else, thinking it was acceptable to tear Y/N from their world and force them into ours. It's disgusting."

Hyperlaser sighed, Katana was the only Phighter against kidnapping you. Angrily, he sized up to his fiancè, his masked eyes burning into the other's.

"Kat, please. We're all fond of the player, even you've said-"

"Whatever I've said doesn't matter, I'd never force anyone into an unfamiliar world!" Katana snapped, shoving Hyperlaser with such force it caused him to fall onto the ground. "Y/N is trapped here, this isn't a heaven for them, it's a purgatory. It's cruel, it's unfair, and it doesn't benefit them. It only pleases you and everybody else. None or you care about their feelings, rather you all only care about getting what you want. You're selfish and greedy for someone you've all subtly manipulated into accepting their prison."

Hyperlaser was at a loss for words. He'd never heard Katana speak with such raw emotion before, let alone hearing an outburst like this. It didn't sound like him, it made him feel sick.

"Katana, I-"

"Hush." Katana began to walk away, only stopping to slightly turn his head to look back at Hyperlaser, leaving him with words which cut into the masked Phighter's soul. "I thought you were better than this."

With that, the samurai was gone, leaving Hyperlaser with silent tears of regret streaming down his concealed face.

[jo-dyy]

It’s a first for me, I usually prefer to read everyone’s theories about the game and just enjoy, but after playing the Touchstarved 2.0 demo; I couldn’t hold it anymore. SPOILERS AHEAD!

——————————————————————————-

So for more context, my favorite character has always been Leander from the start, a close second would be Kuras and I can’t even express how happy I am with the new portrayal of their characters.

Everyone has been reworked (I think), some more than others, but I really enjoyed the nuances added to our lovely love interests.

Kuras

They made him more playful; OG Kuras appeared to be quite aloof, and while I enjoyed the stoic doctor charm; I actually prefer this silly side we were able to witness. Especially at the end when you chose to go for him, the scene where we follow him around feels more mischievous and it’s just Kuras annoying the Senobium cleric (simply cause he can). He gives us a little tour, and the new background is soooo pretty. The moment at the end before we part, and fall in his arms is even more heart fluttering. Also keep in mind that if you want the red option for Kuras you’ll have the play as the Unnamed origin.

Ais

Ok, so I have to admit, I always had a soft spot for Ais, he’s just a chill guy, and I feel like we would vibe a lot together x) In the new demo he seems slightly more cold when we meet him (maybe it’s just me). But his solo scene is one of my favorite, I’m just a sucker for people who compliments my laugh (*wink wink) 🤭 This moment was just so sweet and he appeared much softer thanks to it.

Mhin

What a cutie patootie… They made Mhin way more likable in my opinion, while they’re still our blushing tsundere, I loved how we were able to see a more vulnerable side of them.

•Vere

We don’t have to die anymore 🥳 More seriously, I didn’t mind the death part, but it’s still nice to have a chance to put foxy in his place (blushing Vere?!) Overall he appeared more relaxed as well, which make sense; if he wants us to trust him, he would have to be more relatable and try to get on our good graces.

Leander

Oh my goodness. Correct me if I’m wrong but I feel like they reworked Leander’s dialogues the most. I don’t mind the name change (from Bloodhounds to Adderstones) even though I would like to know why they removed the "as above so below" slogan. Can we talk about how more INTENSE Leander is in this new version? It was more subtle in the past one, but here, he clearly appears as a cult leader, kinda out of reach even, which is why the MC would feel more special to get his attention. We still don’t know how exactly the Adders operate, though it seems you can’t just barge in and talk to the high and mighty Leander… (we were able to do so, only after mentioning Kuras). I was relishing on every scenes we had with this guy. At the end when you chose him especially, this is where you can clearly tell he’s a manipulative bastard. The "I’m jealous" comment? The joke on having us on a leash?? (for our safety of course haha 😃) The love bombing? He’s so unhinged and I love that. The cherry on top is truly the way he told us he had informations regarding the curse, and is the one proposing to talk about it in our room. LOCKING THE DOOR, of course he’s observant and notices MC being uncomfortable, and manipulate us into urging him to stay. He knows at this point that we’re hopeless, and use it to his advantage to have us exactly where he wants. Things get slightly heated and when MC is reluctant; he just apologies and LEAVES??? Um sir, what about the infos you were supposed to give us? I literally had goosebumps reading this passage, and I think MC felt the same way, I love the way they portrayed the realization settling in, like "Wait a minute?"

——————————————————————————

This is it for my little rambling… English isn’t my first language; so I apologize if I’m not making much sense. Of course, I’m aware that my observations are not rocket science, I just really wanted to take this out of my chest 🙂‍↕️ I can’t wait for the game full release, and love reading all the fan theories!

[mntozakii]

sugar — lee haechan

pairing: haechan x female reader

tags: stepcest, age gap (6 years), unprotected sex, haechan is a little bit insane but it's fine ☹️

note: been having haechan brainrot so plz enjoy this

minors do not interact and all characters are in legal age

[unedited]

before your first encounter with the boy, his father has warned you that his son can be very mischievous. it turned out to be wrong because the haechan that you met was silent, you didn't have to know that he was actually angry. he believed that a pretty girl like you shouldn't be around men like his father, he knew that his workaholics father will neglect you in the future.

much to your delight, haechan warmed up and became closer to you since his father is always on a business trip. haechan just absolutely adore the way his father's young trophy wife showed up to his soccer games, coding competition, and took care of him like a good mommy. in return, he gave you a lot of affection and love. your sweet boy haechan who never disrespect you, listened to you more than his father, and indulged into your silly little hobbies. he didn't mind to follow around the store like a kicked puppy as you spend his father's black card.

haechan who can't be mean with you. at first, he wanted to make your life miserable but you were so kind and lovely to him. you think of him so fondly that it never crossed on your mind that he's taking advantage of you.

haechan who whines about his sore back so you will massage him and he finds it amusing that you laugh whenever he moans, if only you knew that haechan creamed his pants.

haechan who loves to share his food and feels his pupils dilate whenever your mouth opens nicely as he feeds you.

haechan who offers to do the laundry so he can steal your panties, he secretly touches himself with the flimsy silk.

to be honest, you weren't bothered with haechan's clingy behaviour since you've seen how the boy acted around his relatives and friends. you assumed that it was only natural for him to be so attached with you, after all you're his new mother.

haechan has to thank his parents for making baby as his nickname because now he gets to hear you call him baby everyday.

"baby, don't forget to eat your breakfast"

"haechan baby, can you help me with the grocery?"

"good job baby, you're so smart"

four years went by and your sweet sunshine is no longer a pretty boy, he stood taller than you and looked intimidating than ever. however, he was still the same cheeky boy you've know. haechan attended law school, following his father's path. to be frank, it wasn't his first option but you had beg so prettily for him to listen to his father.

even though haechan was hundred miles away from you, he will still occasionally visit you. besides, he texted you everyday and updated you with everything. you knew the names of the professors that he hated, his pretentious classmates, and his roomate jeno.

"i want to see your face" haechan sent a selfie of him on bed with his messy brown hair.

"i'm on a date" you sent a selfie with his father which he replied with an eye roll emoji. you probably laugh at his choice of emoji but he genuinely felt pissed off. all he wanted was to see your face and he got a picture of the old man kissing your cheek.

"i miss having meals with you" haechan sent a picture of his pathetic dinner that consisted of ramen, few packs of sandwiches, and milk.

"my baby, please eat a proper meal" you sighed as you looked at his simple dinner, you'll remind your husband to pay extra attention to his allowance.

when haechan had few days off from school, he decided to suprise you by taking a flight home. upon his arrival, he was flustered to hear choked cries coming from your room. he knows that his father was home so he opted to peek from behind the door, his face turned into a soft frown when he saw your naked body on his father's lap.

"honey, please, i want to have a child with you" his heart burned with jealousy watching you hold his father's face as you cried, he never get to see your vulnerability before.

"i feel alone, the house seems so empty without haechan. it is a perfect timing for us to raise a child together, right?" his heart broke seeing your attempt to convince his father, haechan felt your frustration by the strong grip on the older man's shirt. he never know that you felt alone while he was away, he felt even worse when the accompany that you now wanted was in a form of a child.

"my sweetheart, i understand how you feel but can you wait for a few more months? once everything is settled at the firm, we will talk about this again" haechan had to physically control himself from letting a scoff, he knew that his father's promise meant nothing. the younger man headed to his room while he waited for his father to return to his office.

as soon as he heard the car left, he went outside to find you. his lips turned into a smirk when he saw you eating a bowl of ice-cream, he was quick to attack you with a tight hug. you let out a shriek before hitting his chest when you realised it was haechan.

"haechan, you didn't tell me that you were coming home!" you reciprocated his hug and chuckled when the brunet pecked you on the cheek.

"i wanted to surprise you" he mumbled as he wiped the cream at the corner of your lips, he pulled you to the couch and kept you close to him. he wrapped his hand around your shoulder as he listened to you while the movie play mindlessly in the background.

"baby, have some" haechan smiled when you fed him the ice-cream. he found it very cute when you call him baby because he liked to take advantage of it, it almost felt like you will always forgive him for his mistakes.

haechan loved whenever you wear polo shirt especially if it was paired with a mini skirt. today, you were wearing his favourite white shirt paired with a midi skirt. you looked so beautiful, he can't help but to stare at your thighs through the slit of the skirt.

"why are you so pretty today? i want to play with you" his hand slid inside the skirt before he softly rubbed your inner thigh while maintaining eye contact with you. it wasn't unusual for haechan to be clingy but he should never touch you in that way.

"haechan, what are you doing?" your heart pounded heavily when his hand dangerously headed north.

"baby, your hand—" you tried to push it away but it was no use, his grip only tighten on your body. haechan leaned closer to leave wet kisses on your neck, he missed you so much.

"no— haechan, we cannot do this" your second attempt to shove him away failed since he was so much stronger than you, he didn't even budge at all.

"hmm, why can't we do this?" his mellifluous voice whined before he pulled you to his lap, his hands rested on your side as he eyefucked you.

"my father doesn't want to put a baby into you and i want to do the opposite of that, isn't that good?" his voice made the question sounded so innocent meanwhile in reality, he was talking about making you pregnant with his child. he must've overheard your talk with your husband, you wanted to believe that haechan was just confused with his feelings towards you.

"haechan, your father will get very mad at you" you mumbled as you reached for his hands, holding them tightly so he won't touch you again. haechan admired your effort to put him in his place, it was an adorable attempt. he easily pulled his hands away from you before carrying you to his room, he made sure to lock the door before cornering you to his bed.

"baby, baby, baby" he mocked the way your small voice always call for his name, he took off his shirt and sat on the bed. you can't help but to notice how different he looked now, his body was becoming lean and his features has developed into a handsome man. haechan held your hand as you stood still with guilt written all over your face.

was it your fault for spoiling haechan rotten until he thinks that he can get whatever he wants?

was it your fault for not creating a clear boundaries with your step son?

was it your fault for getting a little aroused with his little antics today?

"mommy, give me a chance to please you" haechan begged with the prettiest doe eyes ever, you are aware that you can say no, leave his room, and pretend that nothing happened but something inside you was thrilled to see more of him.

haechan grew impatient waiting for your reply, he decided to have you on his lap again before a brilliant idea popped out.

"you can tell me to stop and i will" haechan promised before he unbuttoned your shirt, he tried to read your expression but failed to do so. haechan chuckled seeing purple bruises all over your chest, you must had a steamy night yesterday.

"my father is a greedy bastard, isn't he?" he muttered before doing the exact thing that his father did to you last night, except haechan was aiming for your neck.

"baby, not on the neck, he will notice it" you pulled on his hair to take a look at his face, he seemed to be disappointed when he failed to mark you.

his hands gently groped on your tits and nipples, he alternated in between sucking, biting, and pulling on your hard buds. haechan felt his ego skyrocketed when you started to whimper and begged for more.

haechan positioned you to lay down comfortably on his bed before he took off your panties, he kept the skirt on because it looked lovely on you. haechan couldn't believe that he was finally staring at your naked body, he had been fantasizing this for years.

"such a pretty pussy" haechan praised you and chuckled when he noticed your hole clenched at nothing, he didn't know that you were already leaking wet.

"hmm, it's so tight, does he not fuck you at all?" haechan queried as he stuffed your hole with his middle finger, he moaned seeing you tighten around his digit. since he was eager to satisfy you, he added another finger and played with your clit using his other hand.

instead of making you reach your high, haechan kept on edging until you became so frustrated. he will rub your clit in the most delicious circles and stopped whenever you're almost close. the moment when he noticed your legs started to twitch, he will take his hand off your pussy and let you cry for more.

"haechan, don't be mean to me" you had to hold back a sob because you've been denied for so many times and it felt so painful. you tried to touch yourself but he gently smacked your clit as a warning, he wanted to see you come on his cock instead of his fingers. he got on top of you and let your legs rest on his shoulders, he gave a few kisses on your calf before pulling out his dick.

"i prepped you so well, you should be able to take it like a good girl, right?" he rubbed the tip on your entrance and slightly pushed the tip to elicit another moan from you.

one thing that haechan had always dreamt off was kissing you, he had various imagination to kept him on edge whenever he jerked off. he used to imagine fucking you on the mattress that you share with his father, he also fantasized about fucking you in the kitchen too. today, he will do everything that he wanted for so many years.

haechan bit his lip as he slowly pushed himself inside your warm cunt, it felt so fucking good that he wanted to cry. haechan leaned closer to kiss your lips and giggled when he tasted the lip gloss, you had put it on him for fun before but it tasted so much sweeter on your lips.

"baby, what's so funny?" you asked then laughed when he shrugged it off and hid his face on your chest as his hips kept on thrusting into your poor hole.

"this is better than everything i used to dream off" haechan admitted before pulling you into another kiss, you realised that the brown haired boy liked to be messy when kissing. he was so desperate and wanted to swallow you whole if he could, he slowly trailed down to your neck and started to suck and bite on it.

"baby, be gentle with it" you reminded him as you caressed his hair, you admitted that he was doing so well and it scared you. the younger boy decorated your neck with fresh red marks before he intertwined your hands together.

"i'm going to fill you up with my seed, get you pregnant with my child, that'll make you a real mommy" haechan whispered before he continued to fuck you real hard, every each of his thrust hits your cervix and drove you to madness.

"baby, no— haechan, you have to pull out" your hands weakly push him away but it only fueled him to pound your hole mercilessly, he knew that you were close and he wanted to come together. a few more penetration and haechan felt your walls contracted tightly around his veiny cock, he shot ropes of warm semen inside your pussy.

you can't help but to whine at the warm feelings inside you, haechan panted softly as pulled you into a tight hug. he caressed your messy hair and adored the marks he left on your body.

"did i do a good job, mommy?"