#i did it for me and it was not all that but it was special for me

[katsukikitten]

"I like that dress. Wear it." Katsuki's voice pulls your attention away from your own reflection for a moment.

"Hmm? I was just trying it on, I forgot I bought it for back up for that wedding last June..." Trailing off after realizing he's ready and waiting on you, still your eyes go back to your reflection, "Have you seen my jeans?"

"No and if I did I wouldn't fuckin tell ya." Katsuki scoffs, pushing off of the doorjamb to come closer to you, cutting the tag off the back of the red dress, "Yer wearing that dress."

"What if the wind whips it up!"

"Ain't windy today sweetheart. Good try."

"It's too short in the back."

"Princess, it touches the back of your knees." Katsuki gives you a pointed look that smolders as he looks you up and down, "I'll get yer platform sandals."

"Suki-!"

"Don't make me use my special coupon already." He calls from the hall, "I'll fuckin burn it on that dress. In fact-"

"No no that coupon is meant for like lingerie or something!" You come into view, thankfully still in that dress. Pout on your pretty face and Katsuki fights a grin, "Don't waste it!"

"it's my damn birthday coupon, Imma use it how I want." Pulling out his wallet and pressing the cut construction paper into your hand, you snatch it, bearing your teeth.

"I'll be in the car, princess." Katsuki leans in, pressing his lips to yours softly, pulling back before he steals another, "No rush."

Leaving you to finish getting ready without his "shitty energy ruining" your beauty time. Waiting for you to come out of the house. Four inches taller, with gold accessories, a black choker and a little bit of makeup that compliments your features.

All the while Katsuki wears a wolfish grin, getting out of the car to open the door for you. Scarred fingers flipping up the skirt to see a flash of a black thong he loves as you swat at him.

"Aw ya mad cause I won?"

[monstersholygrail]

Get Mad

Wolf Hybrid bf x Puppy fem!reader || light spank, grinding, wild sex

“Get mad.”

Your Wolf Hybrid bf demands as you both stand in front of your bedroom vanity. When you had asked him to help you, a sweet Puppy Hybrid, toughen up, you had kinda expected him to laugh in your face. And he did. Burst out laughing in fact. But you hadn’t expected him to then grab your arm in that gentle but firm grip of his and drag you to your vanity.

With all the strength you could manage you scrunch your face up, hold out your claws, and try and give the mirror a mean growl. Of course, it didn’t look too intimidating with your fluffy little tail wagging to show off your happiness.

Your bf wasn’t all that impressed either, ears pointed forward stiffly and fixing you with a hard stare. He motions to the mirror again.

“Get. Mad!”

You don’t waste a second this time, twisting your features up even further, your nose wrinkling, and your lips curling back as you give the mirror an even tougher growl. Swatting half-heartedly at your reflecting with your claws.

“I said get mad!”

His chilling growl registers a second before a harsh ‘CRACK’ rings throughout the air. The pain on your ass blooms a second after that yet it still takes you a moment to realize— that bastard just spanked you!

Without a second thought you whip around to face him, a genuine growl rumbling from your throat. Your tail tucked between your legs. It honestly shocks him, even catching onto the way your body just barely shakes with unrestrained fury.

Still, when he grabs your plush hips to plop you down on the vanity and you go to snap your jaw at his hands, he can’t help but laugh. Even when scary you’re just too cute.

His hands find your ass and drag you to the edge of the vanity. Your face instantly drops when you feel his straining bulge pressing up against his gym shorts. He notices instantly a smirk curls on his lip.

“What happened, ma? Where’d all that anger go?”

The way he purrs his words has you whimpering already. With that deep chuckle of his he continues to tease you, rocking his hips and rubbing against you. The heat of your core seeps through the layers of your clothes and drives him wild.

“Not even gonna fight for what you want? Just expect me to give it to ya?”

Your jaw drops in a shaky gasp as he leans back enough to quickly slip off your pants and expose your glistening lips to the cold air. He groans long and low at the sight, his hips bucking closer to you.

He doesn’t look away from your pretty cunt for a second and he shuffles down his shorts just enough for his thick got to spring from its confines and smack against his stomach. A droplet of pre smearing against his abs. Your cunt flutters around nothing from that alone and your bfs eyes nearly roll back. A short snarl builds from his chest with frustration.

“You know y’re lucky I spoil you rotten— else I wouldn’t give you this dick ‘less ya begged for it.”

Then he’s sinking deep inside your tight heat with one smooth stroke, causing you to choke on air. And of course he doesn’t give you a moment to adjust, fucking into you like a man possessed. Growling under his breath as your cunt squeezes him so fucking tightly.

He fucks you dumb as he slams his length to the hilt with every thrust. Each time his tip brushes against that special spot inside you another though flies out of your head. His arms wrap around you, holding you up and helping you meet each brutal slam of his hips.

“C-c’mon, mmph— fuck yes— show me you can get mad, baby. Take your pleasure, use my cock, that’s it.”

A flurry of praises spill from his lips as he jackhammers into your cunt with such wild abandon that the vanity shakes beneath you, the wood nearly threatening to snap in half. It wouldn’t be the first time. You have no strength to hold back any of the moans that pour out of you, the pleasure so intense you can barely handle it. All of it focusing on rocking back into his thrusts.

His words spur you on, fuel you, and with a burst of energy you dig your heels into his ass and force his cock even deeper inside your scorching walls. The new angle causing his angry swollen tip to kiss your cervix as your bodies smack against each other over and over again.

You work yourself on his girth with a special kind of madness as you use him just how you need to feel good. He reads your mind and listens to your body effortlessly. And when that cord snaps you have one of the best orgasms of your entire life, pleasure buzzing through you and shooting straight to your core.

He works you through your orgasm, never stopping in his relentless pace even as you’re shaking and sucking him back in, practically strangers his cock. Then with a furious growl he slides his length in to the hilt, grinding against your puffy clit, and fills you up with spurt after spurt of his cum.

The two of you are left panting once your orgasms start to ebb away. A playful grin on your bf’s face as he sees just how fucked out you are. He leans in and tenderly presses a kiss to your temple.

“Now gimme a lil growl.”

You do your best despite not even having caught your breath yet. Giving him your weakest growl yet. But instead of teasing you about it he just chuckles under his breath and swoops down to kiss your lips this time. A silent praise for trying your best.

It’s alright. He can be plenty intimidating enough for the both of you.

[rafesangelita]

♡ cowboy!rafe surprises farmer’s!daughter!reader with a picnic date!

warnings: fluff, sneaking around, suggestive language

a/n: cowboy!rafe hasn’t made an appearance on here for a minute so this is long overdue. i’m actually planning something super exciting (a farmer’s!daughter!reader series) that i think all of you will love <3 as always, i now have a private community where we could discuss anything and everything, so just leave a comment, ask, or message me if you’d like an invite!

rafe has been acting strange all morning. from finishing up his work earlier than usual, disappearing into the field of trees for an extended period of time, to running back and forth out of the house with paper bags and a pitcher full of lemonade you made just yesterday, you couldn’t help but let your curiosity get the best of you. skipping down the old wooden stairs, you made your way out back where rafe was using his t-shirt to wipe the sweat from his face.

“what are you doing? i’ve been watching you from my window this whole time.” rafe turned, looking around to make sure no one could see you two. “hey.. do you know what time your old man is coming back home?” you shook your head, reaching up on your tippy toes to press a kiss to his lips. “no, but we should still have some time left..” you trailed off, feeling your cheeks heat once rafe gave you that smug grin of his.

“yeah? wanna give this cowboy a ride?” rafe leaned down, his nose running along the underside of your jaw, “i don’t know, you look a little tired..” you teased him, giving him a soft nudge as he lead you out of the back house. “i actually wanna show you something,” he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, leading you to where he spent the morning setting up a picnic date, your eyebrows knitting in confusion, “i know i’ve been working a lot but i wanted to do a little somethin’ special for you,” you two kept on walking until you stepped into a small clearing, the quilt lying on the ground catching your attention.

you gasped once you saw the homeade bouquet sitting in the center. “rafe cameron, you did not!” you emphasized his full name, throwing your arms around him. “this is just too cute!” you squealed, immediately taking a seat and taking the bouquet in your lap. in it was daisies, sunflowers, and baby’s-breath. it was absolutely perfect. “do you like it?” he watched you admire the flowers, the sunlight’s rays gently peeking through the trees and casting it’s glow onto your surroundings. “i love it, really,” you glanced at him, “this is so sweet, i don’t think my heart could take it.” rafe laughed, opening up one of the paperbags to show you the contents.

“so as you can see here; this is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but— this isn’t your ordinary jelly..” you scooted closer, peering down at the piece of bread. “remember when you were telling me that you missed your mom’s strawberry jam?” you gasped, your eyes instantly welling with tears. “well, it turns out that your dad had the recipe written down somewhere for safekeeping, so i made it for you.” he handed you the sandwich, the gooey sweetness dripping onto your finger.

popping a digit into your mouth, you were hit with a wave of nostalgia, the taste taking you back to when you were just four years old and eating lunch after coming back in from playing outside all afternoon. “this is perfect, rafe,” you pecked his cheek, “seriously, this is the most precious thing anyone has ever done for me..” rafe smiled, his eyes softening at your words. “i’m glad, sweetheart, i’ll keep this in mind for the next one.”

[brittle-doughie]

Tale of the Forced Hand: Reunion

[Virtue of Compassion AU]

I know, I see the comments of you guys wanting a continuation, so I’m testing the waters to see if I’m still cooking with this.

———————————————————————

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Aww, it’s been so long since we last met. What’s a little chat between old pals?”

You couldn’t believe your eyes. Was he one of the Beast Cookies from Elder Faerie’s story? Shadow Milk Cookie…..he was Shadow Milk Cookie.

You couldn’t explain it, but the name sounded..familiar to you, as if you knew it before the name came out of Elder Faerie’s mouth.

Shadow Milk Cookie: “I just had to pop out of that tree for a teensie little moment when I felt something outside of that tree. Something I haven’t felt for a long, long, long, LOOONG time.”

Elder Faerie lets that statement linger in his head as he looked over the group, worried that his assumptions were not as implausible as he thought.

Elder Faerie Cookie: “No one brought you forth, Shadow Milk Cookie. I will devote the rest of my life to casting you back to your prison!”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Aww, why so cranky! Could it be that you’re…afraid? Afraid for a special little Cookie in particular? Did you believe I would just forget!”

His smile immediately falls into a cold stare.

“Did you seriously believe that I would ever forget them?”

Without warning, blue strings coil around your limbs and lift you up in the air and right over to Shadow Milk Cookie.

You struggle against your binds, yelling for him to let you go as Shadow Milk’s silly demeanor returns.

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Sorry, no can do! You gave me quite the scare all those years ago, but it looks like compassion never really dies, amirite?”

He brings you to him as he hugs you tight, nuzzling his face against yours.

Shadow Milk Cookie: “Oh, my sweetest, dearest Cookie. How I missed you so, so, SO much! We all have! The others would KILL to see you again right now!”

Strawberry Cookie: “Did he just say compassion?”

Wizard Cookie: “He’s just tricking you! There’s no way he can prove that it’s true!”

Elder Faerie Cookie: “Shadow Milk Cookie is a Cookie of Deceit. Nothing he says rings an air of truth.”

Pure Vanilla Cookie: “Let Y/N Cookie go! They are not the Cookie you think they were before!”

White Lily Cookie: “Yes, we must help them!”

“I…would never lie when it came to them. For eons, I replay that day over and over again in my head. I thought it was all my fault, I thought that I had lost them forever….”

Shadow Milk Cookie: “So imagine the upmost JOY that I felt when I felt their presence near the tree! I simply couldn’t let my most cherished audience member wait, so I made my move! Now that they’re back, my fellow Beast Cookies can awaken too!

Shadow Milk Cookie: “What do you say, sweetie? Shall we show them what we can really do with you back?”

There’s no way! You didn’t remember having any life before this! This had to be another one of his tricks! What did he really want from you? Why was he acting this way towards you, a complete stranger?!

And just how worse were his friends going to be?

———————————————————————

[himasgod]

Can I request Sebek with an S/O who is very soft spoken? Like, she has trouble being heard and even her "loud" voice would be considered quiet by most people?

Sebek x Reader

Where your voice is too soft

How would Sebek act if his partner's voice was very soft, and it was very difficult to be heard?

Sorry for making this so extense, everyone with two eyes can see that Sebek is my fav and I wanted to give him the one shot he deserved, I love him very much, enjoy it <3

Ever since he'd met you, Sebek had had difficulty listening to you.

Not because he didn't want to, but because your voice was so low that the surrounding noise often drowned out your words. At first, this frustrated him. How could anyone communicate if they spoke so slowly and quietly! It wasn't that he doubted your abilities, but in his opinion, words should be spoken firmly to demonstrate presence.

However, over time, his view began to change. He discovered that your soft voice held a special charm.

Every word you spoke, even if soft, was full of meaning. You didn't say much, but when you did, your words were sincere and profound. He learned to read you in other ways: in the way you tilted your head when you were thoughtful, in the way your eyes sparkled when you were excited, or in the way your lips trembled when you wanted to say something but were afraid to interrupt.

Sebek, who used to interrupt and raise his voice without realizing it, began to pause. He began to wait, to listen to you attentively. When you were together, he lowered his voice a little, though he didn't realize it. He leaned slightly toward you to catch every word you said, and if someone interrupted, his withering glare was enough to silence them and let you speak.

For example, one day, the classroom buzzed with the sound of conversations, laughter, and the occasional argument about the week's homework.

In the midst of it all, you tried to ask the person sitting next to you a question, but as always, your voice was lost in the noise.

"Could you repeat that?" Deuce said, frowning as he tried to hear you.

You took a breath and tried to raise your voice, but before you could…

"MY BELOVED WAS SPEAKING! SHOW SOME RESPECT!"

The boom of Sebek's voice reverberated off the walls like thunder, causing everyone to instantly fall silent. Even Crewel paused for a moment to see what was happening.

Your cheeks burned as you felt the entire class's attention on you.

"Sebek…" you whispered, wishing the ground would swallow you up.

"Speak up! Now everyone will listen to you properly!" he exclaimed proudly, crossing his arms.

Some students rolled their eyes and returned to their conversations, but others still looked at you curiously, as if waiting for you to say something worthy of such a huge interruption.

"It wasn't that important…" you muttered, lowering your gaze.

Sebek snorted.

"Everything you say is important! If others don't listen to you, then they're the ones at fault!"

You didn't know how to respond to that, but the class continued without further interruptions. Still, for the rest of the day, whenever you tried to speak and someone wasn't listening, Sebek would jump in without hesitation.

In the cafeteria. In the hallway. Even in the library (where he was almost thrown out for his scandal).

Finally, as you walked back to Ramshackle together, you decided to speak.

"Sebek…" you whispered, gently tugging at his sleeve.

He stopped in his tracks and looked at you with full attention, as if whatever you were about to say was a direct order from Lord Malleus himself.

"You don't have to shout every time I want to say something…" you said, feeling a little embarrassed.

"Of course I do!" he retorted, determination shining in his eyes. "If the others won't listen to you, then it's my duty to make sure they do!"

You sighed.

"But… I don't like everyone looking at me when you do it."

Sebek opened his mouth to argue, but closed it immediately.

He looked at you with a frown, as if processing your words. For a moment, you couldn't tell if he was outraged or confused.

"So…" he began, less confidently than usual. "Would you rather I did nothing?"

You shook your head.

"It's not that. Just… you listening to me is enough."

The silence stretched between you.

Sebek looked at you seriously, his green eyes shining with something different than their usual overflowing passion. Then, as if understanding something important, he nodded solemnly.

"If that's what you wish… then I will do it."

And he did.

From that day on, whenever you were in a group and your voice was lost among the others, Sebek didn't interrupt with a deafening shout.

Instead, he leaned his head toward you, making sure his ears caught every word.

When he noticed you wanted to speak, he gave you the space to do so, waiting patiently for you to express yourself at your own pace.

Even in moments of silence, if he noticed you wanted to say something but didn't dare, he'd simply whisper, "I'm listening."

And with that, you knew you didn't need to shout. That for him, your voice was enough.

One day, as you walked through the school hallways together, you stopped to say something, but at that moment, a group of students walked by, talking loudly, completely drowning out your words. Despite this, Sebek knew you'd tried to speak.

"Wait a minute!" he exclaimed. He turned to you with his characteristic energy. "You said something, I know! Say it again!"

You smiled a little, a faint blush rising to your cheeks.

"Today… today the weather is beautiful."

Sebek blinked, processing the simplicity of the sentence. Then, with his serious but bright-eyed expression, he nodded firmly.

"That's right! The weather is nice, but you have to be prepared for any sudden changes!"

The way Sebek took your every word seriously, no matter how simple, made you feel seen. Heard.

And that made you the happiest girlfriend in the world.

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚕𝚜 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which paige finds herself a pen pal

paige was bored.

she would wake up, go to class, go to physical therapy, sleep and repeat. the same thing for the last three months since her surgery. her friends try to get her out her dorm to hang out but what she could do was very limited.

she was so bored out of her mind that she decided to go to the library. what business did paige bueckers have at the library?

the library was quieter than she thought. the steady hum of whispered conversations replaced by the soft rustling of pages and the occasional click of a keyboard. something about the peaceful atmosphere had drawn her in today. maybe it was the need to escape the noise of rehab, the constant pressure of expectations, or maybe it was just curiosity.

she wandered around, running her fingers along the spines of books she’d probably never read, until a small cork board by the front desk had caught her eye. a handwritten sign pinned to the board read:

“looking for a pen pal? leave a note and find a friend.”

below it, a collection of envelopes peaked out of a small wooden box labeled take one, leave one. paige hesitated, then smirked to herself. when was the last time she wrote an actual handwritten letter? she pulled out a blank sheet from the stack beside the box and jotted down a message.

hey stranger,

i’m not usually one for writing letters but i wanted to try something new. i guess i could use a distraction from everything going on around me. if you’re up for it, write me back. no pressure, but i promise i’m way cooler than i sound.

-p

she folded the letter and placed it in an envelope, dropping it into the box before heading out. she wasn’t expecting anything to come from it, but a small part of her was curious.

a week had passed before paige returned to the library. she had almost forgotten about the pen pal thing — rehab keeping her busy and hadn’t exactly been in the mood to write any more letters.

but when she glanced at the wooden box, her heart skipped a few beats.

there was an envelope.

a simple ‘p’ written in the front.

she snatched it up and tore it right then and there.

hey p,

i don’t know how cool you actually are but i’ll take your word for it. i like the idea of this—old school communication, no pressure, no expectations. so tell me, what’s got you looking for a distraction?

-y/n

paige grinned. this was already more interesting than she expected.

the letters became part of paige’s routine. every few days, she would go to the library, pick up a letter and find a private corner to read it, writing a reply after and leaving it in the box. 

you talked about everything.

paige opened up more. she told you about basketball, about the way it felt to be sidelined, the frustration of having to watch from the bench when she wanted nothing more than to out there on the court with her team. she didn’t tell many people how hard it was mentally, but with you, it felt easy.

you, in return, told her about your world—your love for writing, the way you could get lost in a book for hours, the struggle of balancing school and life. you told her about the places you wanted to travel to, the way you dream of seeing the world beyond the campus.

she learned little details about you—the way you can’t start your morning without a coffee and a book, the fact that you hated the sound of metal scraping against plates. you told her that you loved the rain as long as you didn’t have to be in it, how you always wrote in blue ink instead of black because it felt too formal.

paige found herself smiling whenever she read your letters, scribbling down responses before writing out a proper reply. 

she thought about asking to meet, but there was something about the mystery of it all, the anonymity, that made it special. there was also no doubt in her mind that you knew who she was now, but she still didn’t know who you were. she was curious of course, but she was patient.

so she let it be.

for now.

one night, paige sat in her dorm room mc staring at a blank sheet of paper.

her rehab was nearly complete. after months of grueling physical therapyc she was finally cleared to play. her first game back was in a week and the thought both excited and terrified her.

she had come back from injuries before. but this? this was different. this was her acl. the very thing that had taken her away from the game she loved for forever.

she sighed, running a hand through her hair before finally pressing pen to paper.

y/n,

my first game back is this friday. it’s been a long time coming, i don’t know if you’d want to, but i would love to have you there. i want to finally meet the girl who’s got me to become a regular at the library

-p

she folded the letter, sealed it in an envelope and taped it on a mailer. she dropped it off at the library the next morning.

now all she could do is wait.

the arena was packed. the energy was electric, the kind that made the hairs on paige’s arms stand up. this was a highly anticipated game, the return of paige bueckers. she had spent months dreaming of this moment—stepping back into the court, feeling the ball in her hands, hearing the roar of the crowd.

but as she jogged for warm-ups, her eyes kept glancing towards the crowd. eyes scanning for something else.

for someone else.

she didn’t know how you looked, but she felt that if she saw you, she would know it was you.

she didn’t see you.

she played the game she knew and love, like she hadn’t been away for a year, putting on a stellar performance.

uconn had beat the other team, adrenaline was still high. she looks out towards the crowd, a wide smile on her face, hoping to see you.

but no luck.

she just about gives up and walks towards the locker room when she sees someone.

you were standing near the tunnel, slightly out of place, holding a small envelope in your hands. you were wearing a jersey. her jersey that she had gifted you.

paige’s heart did something weird—like a little flip in her chest. she didn’t even think. she ran over, pulling up short in front of you, slightly breathless.

“is it you?” she asked in a breathy tone, like she couldn’t believe you were in front of her.

“it’s me.” you gave her a shy smile, intimidated under her gaze.

“and you’re wearing the jersey i got you.” paige beamed at the sight.

“of course i am.”

“you’re so beautiful.” 

“oh, thank you.” paige froze, not realizing she said that out loud, heat crawling up her neck.

“uhm, anyway. i know this is the first time we’ve ever met, but we’ve grown so close the past couple of months and i hope i don’t ruin that by asking you this…” you can tell she was nervous, it was cute. “would you allow me to take you on a date?”

your face showed a surprised expression, not expecting that to be the question. paige started doubting herself when you didn’t answer right away but…

“i’d love to.”

paige smiled widely, pulling you into an embrace. she was glad to have went to the library that day because if she didn’t, she wouldn’t have met you.

[milfsloverblog]

Is It Casual Now ?

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: To whoever requested this from me, your request was anonymous so I can’t tag you and for some reason Tumblr wouldn’t let me answer directly to your ask 🥲 I hope you’ll enjoy what I did with your request, I’ve had Casual stuck in my head for days now hahaha!

You never meant to stay this long.

It was supposed to be one night. Maybe two. A private indulgence. A whispered secret between silk sheets and stolen time. Larissa made it easy to pretend—her words velvet-soft, her hands knowing, her body impossibly warm in the quiet dark.

You told yourself you wouldn’t linger. And yet, here you are again, weeks later, lying in her bed while dawn tries to crawl its way through the blackout curtains.

She’s still asleep. Or pretending to be.

Your head rests against her shoulder, eyes fixed on the steady rise and fall of her chest. You breathe her in—something expensive and floral with a trace of vanilla—and wonder if it clings to all her lovers, or just you.

She shifts beneath you, her arm instinctively pulling you closer. The movement is gentle, practiced. Comforting. And yet, you can’t tell if it means anything.

You want it to.

“I should go,” you whisper, though you don’t move. You say it every morning. It's become part of the ritual, like the quiet sex and her occasional smirk when you stumble over your words, trying not to sound too eager.

Larissa hums, eyes still closed. “Mmm. Why rush?”

There’s that voice. Satin and command in equal measure. You’d do anything to hear it say something real—something just for you.

“I’ve got class in an hour,” you murmur, letting yourself linger just a little longer. You never mean to, but she makes it so easy to stay. You tuck your face into the crook of her neck. “I think the other teachers are starting to notice I’m always tired on Tuesdays.”

A faint smile curves her lips. “Let them wonder.”

You laugh, a small sound, but there’s something fragile beneath it. You don’t want to wonder. You want to know. You want to ask questions you don’t have the right to ask.

Do you sleep like this with everyone?
Do you think of me when I’m not here?
Is this more than nothing, or am I just pretending it is?

But you don’t ask. You never do.

Instead, you press a soft kiss to her throat and let her hold you like you matter. Like you’re more than warm skin and temporary comfort. Like maybe—just maybe—she wants you here too.

You let the silence stretch. You pretend it means something.

The warmth of Larissa’s bed still clings to your skin when you step into the halls of Nevermore, but reality is already cooling it.

You tell yourself not to expect anything. That it’s fine—normal, even—that she hasn’t texted. That she didn’t kiss you goodbye when you left her office this morning. That she only ever kisses you in private.

Still, when you catch sight of her at the end of the corridor, a quiet, nervous kind of anticipation stirs in your chest. Will she look at me? Will she smile?

You don’t expect her to rush to your side or whisper something meant only for you. But maybe—maybe—she’ll acknowledge you with something softer than professionalism.

But Larissa Weems is all business now. Immaculate in her pressed suit, clipboard in hand, speaking in hushed tones to a board member.

She doesn’t even glance your way.

You try to ignore the sting of it. The way it makes you feel like last night was something you imagined, like the weight of her hands on your skin, the sigh of your name in the dark, meant nothing at all.

You swallow it down.

You’re an adult. You knew what you were getting into.

Still, something bitter settles under your tongue when she turns slightly, offering the board member that smile—the poised, charming one, full of effortless grace. The kind that makes people feel special.

It shouldn’t bother you.

Except it does.

The board member laughs, and Larissa places a hand on his arm in that effortless, casual way she has, a gesture so smooth it might as well be instinct. You wonder if she even realizes she does it. If she touches everyone like that.

If she’s ever touched you like that outside of her bedroom.

Your stomach twists.

She’s not doing anything wrong. Not really. You remind yourself that whatever this is between you—whatever it isn’t—has no rules. No promises. You’re the one who stayed, the one who crawled into her bed again and again, the one who let hope creep into your ribs like a sickness.

Still, when Larissa finally walks past you, eyes skimming over you without even a flicker of recognition, it feels like a slap to the face.

And the worst part?

You don’t even think she notices.

You don’t bring it up right away.

You tell yourself it was nothing—just a moment. A busy morning. She probably didn’t see you. She probably wouldn’t want to seem unprofessional in front of a board member. It’s not personal.

You repeat that to yourself all day.

But it keeps echoing.

She looked right through me.

Later, back in her office, the air is different. Quieter. Dimmer. The curtains are drawn and the fire crackles softly. She’s taken off her heels. Her hair is down.

Here, you’re not a stranger.

Here, she looks at you like she knows you.

She pours two glasses of wine and hands you one, brushing her fingers along yours in that way she always does. She’s graceful about it, as if affection is something she gives you in curated, elegant doses.

You watch her sink into the couch, legs crossed, wineglass balanced delicately in her hand. Her eyes flick to yours. “You’re frowning.”

You hadn’t realized you were.

“I saw you today,” you say, quiet.

Larissa raises a brow. “Yes?”

“In the hall. You walked right past me.”

A beat.

She tilts her head, feigning thought. “I must have been preoccupied.”

You nod slowly. Sip your wine. Pretend it doesn’t sting. “You were talking to the board.”

“Yes.” She says it like a full stop. No elaboration. No apology.

You set your glass down, fingers tightening on your knee. “Do you ever think it’s strange? That we act like we don’t know each other at all during the day?”

Her gaze flickers, just briefly. “I assumed you preferred it that way.”

You blink. “Why would you assume that?”

She shrugs, ever so slightly. “I thought you valued discretion.”

“I do,” you say, a little too fast. “But discretion’s not the same as pretending we’re strangers.”

Larissa leans back against the cushions, studying you now—calm, unreadable. “What is it you want from me, exactly?”

You freeze.

It’s not the question itself—it’s the way she asks it. Like you’re the one who’s overstepping. Like this is a negotiation and you’ve just asked for too much.

“I don’t know,” you admit, softer now. “Something that doesn’t make me feel... invisible.”

She sighs—tired, not annoyed, but not gentle either. “You knew what this was.”

You nod. You did.

But that doesn’t make it hurt less.

You don’t go to her that night.

Or the next.

It isn’t some grand, dramatic decision—you don’t throw your phone into the sea or draft a final message you’ll never send. You just stop reaching out. You sit with the ache. Let it settle in your ribs like something dull and heavy.

And she does nothing.

No text. No knock at your door.

Maybe you were wrong to think she’d notice. Maybe this was always how it was meant to be—you, orbiting her, mistaking gravity for something reciprocal.

But on the third day, there’s a knock at your door.

Your heart stutters.

You consider pretending you’re not home. You consider waiting, letting her leave, letting yourself believe she was never really here at all.

But you open the door.

She’s standing there, one hand resting on the frame, looking as put-together as ever. But there’s something softer in her expression, something almost hesitant.

“I haven’t seen you in a few days.” Her voice is smooth as ever, but there’s a question in it.

You swallow. “I’ve been busy.”

She hums, tilting her head slightly. “Too busy for me?”

Your throat tightens. “I thought you might appreciate the space.”

“Space,” she repeats, like it’s a foreign concept.

Like she never once considered that you’d pull away first.

She steps inside without waiting for an invitation, her perfume enveloping you, and suddenly it feels like every ounce of distance you put between you has collapsed in a breath.

Her fingers trail along your wrist—not grabbing, not holding, just there. A tether.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she murmurs. “Give me space.”

Your stomach twists.

Because she says it so softly, like she means it. Like it’s you who created this distance, like she would have reached for you if only you had let her.

Like this is still something real.

You shake your head, trying to clear it. “Larissa—”

She lifts your hand, pressing it to her lips. The kiss is barely there, the kind that makes you want to chase it.

“Stay,” she says simply. A single, quiet request.

You can’t stay quiet anymore.

You don’t even mean to say it—it just comes out. The words tumble from your mouth like they’ve been waiting behind your teeth for far too long, desperate to escape.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you say, your voice tight. “I can’t keep pretending this is fine.”

Larissa’s eyes narrow slightly.

“You’re making something out of nothing,” she says, like this is just another one of your moods, another one of your moments that will pass when she’s done with it.

But you can’t let it go. Not this time.

“You know what you’re doing.” The words hit the air between you like glass shattering. “You’ve been playing with me—using me—and I don’t even know why I let it go on this long.”

Her expression remains unreadable, but the flicker of something dangerous moves through her eyes. You’ve seen that look before—when she’s about to shut you down.

But you’re not backing down this time.

“You’ve made it clear that I’m just… convenient for you,” you spit out, your breath catching in your chest. “And I’ve been stupid enough to believe that I meant more to you than that.”

Larissa doesn’t flinch. Her gaze is cool, calculating, almost too calm. “You’re overreacting.”

“No,” you snap. “You don’t get to tell me that. You don’t get to pretend like this means nothing when I can feel it. I can feel the way you pull me in, and then push me away. Every damn time.”

Her jaw tightens. She moves slowly, deliberately, her movements sharp and controlled. “I never made any promises to you.”

You laugh bitterly, the sound harsh in your ears. “And I never asked for any. But I was stupid enough to think that this—” you gesture between the two of you, “—was something real. That you cared. That I meant something.”

Larissa’s gaze hardens. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Oh, I know,” you retort, feeling the sharp edge of her words cut through you like a blade. “I know. I thought this was casual—no strings attached, right? But I was wrong. I’m not some passing moment for you, am I? You wanted me to be casual—just another distraction—while I fell for you.”

Larissa’s face tightens at the implication. She steps toward you, her presence overwhelming. But you’re not backing down.

“I was the one who didn’t know any better, right?” you continue, your words growing more heated with every beat. “You’re the one who’s never been clear about what you wanted. Casual, right? That’s what you told me over and over. But I should have known that was just the line you fed me to make it easier to walk away when you were done.”

The words feel like acid in your throat, but they burn with truth.

“You were never casual, Larissa,” you say, a sudden intensity rising in your chest. “I thought I was—thought I was just another face you’d forget. But I’m not. Not now. Not when I’ve let you twist everything I thought we were.”

Larissa doesn’t respond immediately, and for a moment, it’s like she’s frozen in place. There’s a shift in the air, something almost imperceptible, as though she’s finally seeing you for the first time in this whole mess. But it’s too little, too late.

You take a step forward, the anger building in your chest, but it’s mixed with the sting of realization. “You never cared about me the way I cared about you. You were always so damn careful to not care. I was never more than a moment, wasn’t I? You were never going to be mine, Larissa. And you let me believe I could have you.”

Her lips press together tightly, but she still doesn’t say anything.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” you dare her. “Tell me this was just casual for you. That it was just some game you were playing with me.”

Her eyes flick to the side briefly—then back to you, her gaze sharp and cold. “It was never a game. But you made it more than it was.”

“I didn’t make anything,” you bite out. “You used me, and I let you. You told me to keep it casual, but I wasn’t the one who needed it. You were. And now, it’s me who’s left holding all these pieces, trying to make sense of what the hell happened.”

She takes a step back, crossing her arms over her chest, and her voice is icy. “It’s your fault for reading into something that was never there.”

“Is that it?” you ask, laughter bubbling up bitterly. “Is that all I was? Just someone you could use when it was convenient? You really don’t care, do you?”

Larissa opens her mouth to respond, but you can’t hear it anymore. The words you’ve been too afraid to admit are crashing through your thoughts, unrelenting. You’ve been fighting so hard to convince yourself that this wasn’t a mistake, that maybe she cared about you even just a little. But now—now you see the truth, clear as day.

“I see it now,” you say quietly, stepping away from her, the words breaking your heart as you speak them. “I was just a distraction. And you don’t even have the decency to tell me I’m wrong. You let me fall for you, and when I finally do care, when I finally say enough, you’ll just turn away like you always do.”

Her face is unreadable now, but you know her well enough to see the tiniest flicker of something—guilt, maybe? But it’s gone in an instant.

“You don’t get to make me the villain here,” she says, the edge of her voice cutting through your chest like a jagged knife.

“Maybe I don’t,” you reply, “but you sure as hell made me feel like one. You made me feel like I was too much, too needy, like I was asking for too much. And I was—I was asking for something real. But you were just… playing with me, weren’t you?”

Her eyes flicker, and for a second, just a second, you think she might say something. Apologize, maybe, or at least try to explain herself.

But then she looks away. “I’m not sorry.”

And that’s it.

The final cut.

She turns on her heel, walking out without another word. The silence that follows is deafening, suffocating, and you can feel your chest tighten with every step she takes away from you.

The letter you write that night isn’t long.

You don’t see the point in making it poetic. You’ve said everything already—screamed it, cried it, bled it out on the floor of your quarters. This isn’t about drama now. It’s about survival. About reclaiming the parts of yourself that she tried to keep casual.

No, that’s not fair.

You were the one who believed her when she said it.

Still, you leave the resignation letter on her desk the next morning. Just a single sheet of paper folded neatly in half. Your name signed at the bottom with a shaking hand.

You pause for a moment in her office, the silence thick with everything unsaid. Her perfume lingers faintly in the room, floral and cold, like a memory that won’t wash off.

You don’t look around. You don’t need to. You know this place too well—its perfection, its elegance. The way she kept everything beautiful and just out of reach.

Kind of like her.

You take the long way out of Nevermore. Past the classrooms, past the rows of windows that once glowed warm when she waited for you. Past the hallway where she used to pull you aside with a smirk and a whisper, asking if you could stay a little later.

You remember the butterflies. The heat. The way she’d kiss you like you were the only thing that mattered—until the morning after, when you were nothing again. Just someone she kept in the dark, hidden beneath carefully measured glances and vague promises.

You walk past it all, and for once, you don’t stop.

Not even when you see her.

She’s standing at the top of the stairs, spine straight, arms crossed in that perfectly controlled way she always carries herself. Her eyes find yours, sharp as ever, unreadable. And for a split second, time stalls.

She knows.

Of course she knows. She’s already read it. Or maybe she hasn’t yet, but she always knew this was coming. She just didn’t care enough to stop it.

You hold her gaze for a heartbeat longer than you should, hoping—desperately, foolishly—that she’ll say something.

Anything.

But she doesn’t.

She just watches you. Stoic. Cold. Silent.

Like you were never more than a passing moment. Like none of it mattered.

And maybe that’s the truth you needed.

You turn without a word.

No dramatic exit. No tears. Just the quiet click of your shoes on the stone floor as you leave it all behind—her, Nevermore, the hollow ache of wanting something that was never yours to begin with.

Outside, the sky is heavy with clouds, the kind that feel like they’re holding something back. You don’t bring an umbrella. Let it rain. Let it soak through your coat and into your bones. Let it feel like something.

Anything is better than the numbness.

You don’t look back.
You’ve already done that too many times.

————————————————————————

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[cheese-pull]

kids who did rebel here. all of this. fucking all of it. there is 100% a good 400 or more photos of me coating shitty sites. that stuff never goes away. that stuff will come back to bite you in the ass. amd you can always fall back amd relapse. there's support out there, I promise. I get it. the whole wanting to be loved and told your special and have someone say they are proud of you. and I get wanting that do much tjat you'd do actually anything. but that isn't safe. these kids need help, and this world isn't trying to give it to them.

local kill a pedophile day (every day, beat they ass)

TW: Pedophilia

Teenagers are rarely taught the reason why they can't consent to sex with adults.

And that's because teaching them that would completely unravel our coercion-based society.

It can be difficult to explain in detail the exact reason and all the specifics in a way that they will understand. But the simplest way to phrase it is that in some cases, even when someone agrees to something and even when they appear enthusiastic about it, there's too much of a power imbalance that it's no different than forcing them. Also, having power and being abusive doesn't require a conscious expectation to be obeyed.

Imagine a world in which every teenager understood that and was easily able to call out anyone who tried to convince them otherwise.

They'd know that there's no such thing as an employee consenting to working for a poverty wage, working in unsafe conditions, working long hours, or working without taking breaks. They'd know that there's no such thing as consenting to paying a bank overdraft fee. They'd know that there's no such thing as consenting to student loan debt. They'd know that there's no such thing as consenting to medical bills. They'd know that there's no such thing as consenting to generating profit for banks or landlords in order to have a place to live and being evicted or foreclosed when you lose your source of income. They'd know that there's no such thing as consenting to a police search. They'd know that there's no such thing as a child who's okay with their parents spanking them. They'd know that being dependent on someone does not mean that you can never criticize them. They'd know that if it's considered abusive to simply play along when someone obeys, then it has to be much more abusive to actively expect to be obeyed, which many adults do to them.

And people who benefit from a society based on coercion masquerading as freedom wouldn't like that.

So instead, teenagers are taught something dismissive. They're taught that what they want doesn't matter. They're taught that they're too young to know what love is. They're taught "it's the law". They're taught things that are insulting to their intelligence, which they'll naturally rebel against.

[heliosunny]

Would you mind writing anything with yan Sunday?If u don't mind ofc.Love ur work 🩷🩷

No Distance Left

Yandere!Sunday x Reader

The Quercus Society Library was like a second home to you, nestled on a quiet, tree-lined street where the Oak Family’s influence stretched farther than most could fathom.

You were a child, your visits frequent and filled with laughter, running between aisles with Sunday and Robin as your partners in crime.

One summer afternoon, you remember sitting cross-legged on the worn carpet of the library, flipping through a picture book as Sunday settled beside you. He had always been quiet, observant, but today, his silence was different.

“What’s wrong?”

Sunday hesitated, his gaze lingering on the pages you turned, before softly murmuring, “Do you think we’ll always be together?”

You looked up at him, your mind too young to understand the weight of his words. “Of course, we will! We’ll always come here. This is our place, right?”

“Yeah… our place.”

Robin, the more outspoken and bubbly younger sister, joined in, pulling you both from your thoughts. “I’m gonna be the best at hide-and-seek today! You’ll never find me, Y/N!”

The three of you spent the rest of that afternoon running through the library, hiding between bookshelves, and laughing so loud that even the oak bookshelves seemed to groan with your noise. You were all so young, unaware of the darker undercurrents swirling beneath the surface of your seemingly peaceful days.

Time passed, and soon you were no longer a child. The inevitable day came when you had to leave for high school, and your visits to the Quercus Society Library became less frequent.

The day before you left, Sunday stood by the windows, his fingers absently tracing the edge of the oak windowpane. Robin was tugging on your sleeve, trying to distract you with her usual antics, but you couldn’t ignore the look on Sunday’s face—almost as if he already knew you would be leaving for good.

“Promise me you’ll come back, okay?”

“Of course! I’ll always come back. You and Robin are family.”

Robin bounced over to you, pulling you into a hug with a grin. “You better! I’ll save you a special seat at the library for when you return!”

You promised to return. You swore you would. But once you were out of the city, your studies consumed you. You didn’t keep in touch with Sunday or Robin as much as you intended, and before long, their faces blurred into the past.

The first day of university was supposed to be a fresh start. New environment, new people, and the overwhelming relief of finally taking control of your own life. You had planned everything—your schedule, your part-time job, and how to balance tuition with supporting your family.

What you hadn’t planned for was him.

When Sunday walked into your classroom, it was as if the air itself changed. He didn’t acknowledge you at first. No greeting. He simply walked forward with the same composed grace as always, his presence both familiar and utterly foreign after all these years.

And then—he sat down.

Right beside you.

The entire day passed like that.

He didn’t ask why you never returned. He didn’t scold you, didn’t guilt-trip you. He simply existed next to you.

It wasn’t until the final lecture ended, when the last few students trickled out, that the moment finally came.

“Why didn’t you come back?”

You swallowed hard, gripping your bag’s strap. You owed him an answer.

“I’m sorry, Sunday. I wanted to. I really did.”

He didn’t respond, just stood there, waiting.

“I had to study and work at the same time. I couldn’t afford to go back home, not even once. There was just… no time.”

“So that’s how it is.”

He never pressed further, never questioned you again.

But somehow, he was always there. If you arrived early to class, he was already seated, flipping through his notes. If you stayed late in the library, you’d catch a glimpse of his familiar silhouette a few tables away. Sometimes, when you left your shift at work, you could’ve sworn you saw him across the street.

But he never approached.

That’s what made it so easy to ignore.

Until, one day, your manager pulled you aside after your shift, his expression unusually tense.

"Hey, listen… We’re letting you go."

"What?"

"Look, it’s nothing personal," he said, avoiding your gaze. "We just got complaints, and, well… the decision’s final."

Complaints? From who?

You wanted to ask, to demand answers, but there was no room for negotiation. You needed that job. Without it, how were you supposed to afford tuition?

Then, as if the universe itself had orchestrated it, you stumbled upon an opportunity almost immediately.

A friend mentioned a well-paying job—a company looking for reliable workers. The pay was more than enough to cover tuition and expenses.

And just like that, you unknowingly walked into Sunday’s carefully laid web.

Because this wasn’t just some random company.

----

The library—a place where you retreat to study in peace. You weren’t surprised to see him there. After all, he always liked books growing up.

“Sit.”

Whenever you hesitate on a problem, his voice cuts through your thoughts. “You’re overcomplicating it. Try looking at it from another angle.”

His advice is always correct.

It doesn’t take long for you to notice how brilliant he truly is.

Sunday rises to the top of the school rankings with ease, effortlessly surpassing the former representative. His intelligence, paired with his looks, quickly earns him admiration. People flock to him.

But no matter how many of them smile at him or how many students try to befriend him—he never once returns their warmth.

Except with you.

Students notice the way he talks to you, how he sits with you, how his normally distant demeanor softens in your presence. The whispers begin. How did you get so close to him?

You don’t have an answer.

-----

The barking was deafening, claws scraping against dirt as the dogs chased him down.

He was running, lungs burning, legs trembling—but they were faster. He was going to get caught.

Then, just before they could reach him, you stepped in.

"Run!" you shouted, pushing him out of the way.

You didn’t scream, but he saw it. The way the dogs latched onto your arm, the way blood stained your sleeve. That should have been him.

Tears blurred his vision as he crawled toward you, guilt crashing down like a wave.

“It was my fault,” he sobbed, “You got hurt because of me.”

But you only smiled, even as you winced.

“It’s okay.”

Sunday’s breath hitched as he jolted awake, the remnants of the dream still clinging to his mind. The barking had faded, but his chest was tight, fingers clenched.

"Sunday?" You were leaning slightly toward him, "Are you okay? You had a nightmare or something?"

For a moment, he just stared at you, mind caught between past and present. But then, reality settled in.

You were here. You were safe.

“…I’m okay.”

The bell rang, signaling the end of the morning classes. You stretched in your seat, exhaustion settling into your bones after hours of studying.

“Hey, let’s go get lunch!”

You looked up to see Lena grinning at you, her long, auburn hair tied back in a loose ponytail. Behind her stood Ethan, adjusting the strap of his bag, offering you a lopsided smile.

“You’ve been stuck in here all morning,” Ethan added. “Come on, take a break.”

You hesitated for a moment, glancing at Sunday, who was still seated beside you.

"Sure" you finally said, brushing aside the odd tension.

Lena looped her arm around yours, practically dragging you out of the classroom. Ethan chuckled, falling into step beside you.

“I swear, if we left you alone, you’d forget to eat.” Lena teased, bumping her shoulder against yours.

"More like they’d just survive on coffee," Ethan mused. "Again."

You laughed. "Okay, okay, I get it. I’m coming, aren’t I?"

As the three of you walked out together, you could feel Sunday’s eyes on you.

-----

Sunday had always been patient. He had learned from an early age that patience often yielded the best results.

From across the room, his sharp gaze followed as you sat between Ethan and Lena, the three of you chatting. Your eyes crinkled slightly when Lena said something amusing, your shoulders relaxed in their presence.

It was nostalgic. The difference was, it wasn’t him sitting there with you.

He had waited years. Years. Through the quiet ache of your absence, through the countless unanswered moments where he had expected you to return but you never did.

Time had placed a wedge between you, and these two had occupied the space you had once left behind. They filled the void that should have belonged to him.

This won’t do. He needed a way to fix this.

Sunday wasn’t careless. Rushing into anything would be sloppy. No, he had to understand before he acted.

How much did they mean to you? How easily could their ties be severed?

Would you abandon them if they betrayed you? If they hurt you? Or were they so deeply rooted in your life that something more… permanent had to be considered?

He needed answers.

Sunday started with the easiest method.

A quiet, discreet proposal. A generous sum. Enough to make Ethan and Lena rethink their place in your life.

Would they accept it?

Lena, the spirited one—he doubted she would take the bait so easily. But Ethan? He was more practical. Money could be tempting.

All Sunday had to do was ensure the conditions were appealing. A lucrative opportunity, something that would require them to leave. A business proposition, an exclusive program, a scholarship overseas—he had plenty of ways to make it happen.

It wasn’t just about getting them away from you. It was about making them choose to leave on their own.

Sunday’s patience had limits.

If money wasn’t enough, he would take something from them instead.

Their reputation. Their safety. Their future.

He would ensure they had no choice but to leave.

A scandal? A carefully placed rumor? A fabricated incident that would make the university question their standing? Ethan had a stable, good image—how much would it take to stain that?

As for Lena…

Accidents happen all the time.

Once they were gone, he would make his move.

-----

Sunday wasn’t supposed to be here.

He had just finished a business meeting, his mind still occupied with the details. Everything was going as planned—Ethan and Lena wouldn’t last much longer. He was only supposed to head home and prepare for the next steps.

But then, he saw you in the middle of a small plaza, standing by a decorated booth, surrounded by children with bright, excited eyes.

You were giving away balloons.

It was such a simple thing. So ordinary. And yet, the way you smiled at each child, the way you crouched down to tie the strings securely to their little wrists, he felt something shift inside him.

His feet moved before he could think.

He stood at a distance, watching.

A child’s laughter rang out as a bright red balloon suddenly slipped from their hands, floating up and getting tangled in the branches of a tall tree.

The kid pouted, pointing at it.

You reassured them with a smile before stepping closer. Sunday immediately knew what you were planning.

You jumped. Your fingertips brushed against the string. The balloon wobbled. But then, your foot slipped against the bark, and your balance tipped.

He caught you before you could fall.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then you blinked up at him in surprise. "Sunday?"

"That was reckless."

"Thanks for catching me."

Then, as if the moment had never happened, you turned back, reaching for the balloon that had fallen to the ground.

"Here you go! Make sure to hold on tight this time, okay?"

The kid beamed and ran off.

The café was quiet. The smell of fresh coffee and pastries filled the air. Sunday stirred his drink lazily, his gaze never leaving you as you took a sip of yours.

“You do this often?”

“Giving out balloons?”

He nodded.

You hummed, resting your chin on your hand. “Yeah. The money’s decent, but that’s not really why I do it.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “I just… like spending time with kids. They remind me of when things were simpler.”

You chuckled, eyes gleaming with nostalgia. "Remember Robin’s birthday when she turned six?"

Of course, he remembered.

Robin had insisted on a castle cake—one with towers and candy decorations. The bakery they ordered from, however, had delivered a sad-looking mess that barely resembled a castle at all.

She had been devastated.

But you? You saved the day.

"Come on, it’s not that bad!" You had said, despite the fact that one of the towers had already collapsed.

Robin had sniffled. “It looks like it melted.”

Sunday had been about to call their family’s staff to fix the issue, but you had beaten him to it—grabbing frosting, extra candy, and getting to work.

By the time you were done, the cake was still a disaster, but Robin had been giggling, gleefully sticking sprinkles onto it.

Sunday had just watched you back then, marveling at the way you always knew how to turn a bad situation around.

You laughed at the memory. "Robin was so happy, she didn’t even care that it looked worse than before."

Sunday’s lips curled into a smile. "You always knew how to handle her."

"She was a sweet kid." You leaned back in your chair, "I kinda miss her, honestly."

"She missed you too."

"I also remember when we got chased by those geese—"

It had been a peaceful day at the park. You, Sunday, and Robin had been sitting near the lake, feeding the ducks.

Until you had mistakenly fed the geese instead.

They had not been pleased.

The next thing you knew, a whole group of them had started charging at you.

Robin had screamed, clutching Sunday’s sleeve.

You had grabbed his hand and yelled, "Run!"

And run, you did. For your lives.

The geese had chased you halfway across the park before you managed to dive over a fence to safety.

Robin had collapsed in laughter. Sunday had given you a long, exasperated stare. And you, despite gasping for breath, had only grinned at him.

“Worth it.”

You snickered into your drink. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you run that fast in your life."

"It was your fault to begin with."

"Still fun, though"

The conversation continued like that. And for a moment, Sunday wished time would stop. That this would last forever.

But reality was cruel.

You would go back to your friends. To your job. To your life that no longer included him the way it used to.

Unless, of course, he did something about it.

The next morning, your world came crashing down.

The moment you unlocked your phone, the message stared back at you like a cruel joke.

Ethan was gone in a car accident.

You barely remembered how you got to the hospital. By the time you arrived, his body was already covered, and his family stood there, pale and grief-stricken.

Your knees buckled.

A pair of arms caught you before you hit the ground.

Sunday held you close as sobs wracked through your body, his hands steady against your back while you gasped through the pain.

“I’m here,” he whispered, “I won’t leave.”

You didn’t care how you must have looked—broken, vulnerable, clutching onto him like he was the only thing keeping you upright.

And for Sunday, it was perfect.

Because in that moment, you only had him.

When he returned home later that night, there was still confusion lingering in his mind.

He never laid a hand on Ethan.

This wasn’t his doing. He had been waiting, but not acting yet.

So how?

The answer came swiftly.

“Did you enjoy my work, young master?”

Sunday’s gaze flickered toward the butler standing before him.

“You.”

“I only did what needed to be done. He was in the way.”

“…I see.”

This man had just done him a favor.

One down. One to go.

----

Sunday knew.

Lena was different.

Unlike Ethan, she was perceptive, cautious—a problem.

She noticed things others didn’t.

So, he tried to negotiate first.

"You should leave them alone, Sunday."

"Leave them alone? I’m only looking out for them."

Lena scoffed. "Looking out for them? Or keeping them caged?"

Ah. So, she really had noticed.

Sunday kept his expression neutral, but he already knew what needed to be done. She wasn’t going to cooperate.

Then, he would simply take everything away from her.

It started with her family’s business.

One by one, their contracts were mysteriously revoked. Their deals collapsed. Investors pulled away as if tainted by an invisible hand.

In less than a month, they were drowning in debt.

And then, when Lena’s father came home one night, weary and defeated, there was a single offer waiting for him.

A lifeline.

Money. Enough to start fresh elsewhere.

All he had to do was take it and move his family away.

You found out the next morning.

"I have to leave."

"What?"

"My family… we’re moving. It's sudden, I know, but… we don’t have a choice."

You shook your head, grasping her hands. "No, there has to be another way—"

"There isn’t." Her grip tightened. "Just… promise me you’ll take care of yourself, okay?"

The goodbye was painful.

And when she finally walked away, you felt something inside you crumble.

Now, it was just you.

He noticed how you withdrew after that. It was expected, of course. But that didn’t mean Sunday would let it stay that way.

He knew exactly how to lift your spirits.

----

"Robin!" Your voice was full of warmth, arms wrapping around the girl who eagerly hugged you back.

She grinned up at you. "I missed you so much!"

Sunday stood beside you, watching with quiet satisfaction.

This was how it should be.

-----

Robin had boundless energy.

From the moment you arrived at the amusement park, she was dragging you from one ride to another, eyes sparkling with excitement. Sunday followed along, calm as always, though he never refused when Robin tugged on his sleeve to join in.

Your first ride was the Ferris wheel.

"We should start slow!" Robin chirped, already hopping into the cabin.

You took the seat across from her while Sunday sat beside you, his arms casually resting against the back of the seat. The ride slowly ascended, giving you a breathtaking view of the city as the sun cast golden hues over the horizon.

Robin pressed her hands against the glass. "It’s so pretty!"

You smiled. "It really is."

Sunday, however, was watching you.

You caught his gaze, and he only gave a small smile. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Yeah. It’s been a while since I had this much fun."

Next, Robin pulled you both toward the rollercoaster.

"Come on, let’s go!"

You hesitated. "Robin, are you sure—?"

"Too late! No backing out now!"

And before you knew it, you were strapped in.

The rollercoaster shot forward at lightning speed. You could feel the wind rushing against your face, your stomach flipping as the ride twisted and turned at high speeds.

"AHHH!" You screamed, gripping the handles for dear life.

Robin was laughing hysterically. "FASTER! FASTER!"

Beside you, Sunday sat completely still.

You gaped at him. "HOW ARE YOU SO CALM?!"

He raised a brow. "Should I be screaming?"

"YES?!?"

Robin was cackling. "Brother, you’re no fun! At least pretend to be scared!"

He merely sighed. "This is hardly thrilling."

"Unbelievable." You shook your head, laughing breathlessly as the ride finally slowed. "Remind me never to sit next to you on a ride again."

Sunday’s lips curled slightly. "As you wish."

After more rides—including an overly competitive bumper car match and a water ride that left you drenched���you finally decided to take a break at a nearby café.

Robin slurped her milkshake. "That was the best! I can’t believe you screamed so much on the drop tower."

You groaned, slumping against the table. "I wasn’t ready for it to DROP THAT FAST."

Sunday took a sip of his coffee "You should’ve read the warning signs."

You glared at him. "I didn’t see any!"

Robin giggled. "That’s ‘cause you were busy trying to fix your hair after the last ride!"

You sighed dramatically. "Betrayed by my own reflection."

Sunday chuckled under his breath.

"I’d say it was worth it."

By the time evening rolled in, you were all starving.

You ended up at a cozy restaurant, settling into a booth near the window. The warm glow of the city lights outside made the moment feel peaceful, a perfect end to the day.

As you browsed the menu, Robin suddenly grinned.

"You know, Sunday’s a little tough to please." She poked your arm playfully. "You should keep an eye on him for me, okay?"

"Huh?"

"He rarely has friends, and he’s kinda odd. So make sure he doesn’t scare people away."

Sunday narrowed his eyes. "Since when?"

Robin smirked. "Since always."

You burst out laughing.

"You know what, I think Robin’s right." You gave Sunday a teasing glance. "You do have that 'mysterious loner' vibe."

Sunday exhaled slowly, setting his menu down. "I was just being myself."

Robin giggled. "Exactly."

You grinned. "Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on you, Sunday."

"I suppose I’ll allow it."

The three of you continued chatting over dinner, the atmosphere warm, the food delicious.

For a moment, it felt like nothing had changed.

Robin had barely left when you already missed her presence. You wished she could’ve stayed longer, but she had responsibilities to tend to back home.

"I’ll come visit again soon, okay?"

You smiled, nodding. "I'll hold you to that."

----

The next day at school, the usual morning bustle filled the campus. Students hurried to their lecture halls, chatting about assignments, exams, and weekend plans. You were just making your way across the courtyard when—

THUD!

A figure dropped from above.

Gasps and screams erupted around you. Before you could even turn to look, a warm hand covered your eyes.

"Don’t look" Sunday’s voice was steady. His grip was gentle yet unyielding, shielding you from the sight before you.

"Sunday...?"

You heard frantic murmurs around you. "Oh my god, did he really just—?"

"Who is that?"

"I heard it was some creep sneaking into campus!"

Security rushed to the scene, and soon, teachers arrived to manage the situation. The man—apparently a pervert who had been sneaking into the school—had jumped from the second floor when he was caught.

Sunday only moved his hand away when the situation was under control. His other hand rested lightly on your shoulder, as if to keep you steady.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah... I just—I didn’t see anything, but still..."

After that incident, the school wasted no time tightening security. Strict rules were enforced for checking students and outsiders coming in and out of campus.

But even with the extra precautions, you couldn’t shake off the unease.

That night, as you sat in your small apartment, you couldn't stop thinking about what had happened. The idea of being alone suddenly felt terrifying.

Then, as if sensing your thoughts, your phone buzzed.

Sunday: Are you alright?

You hesitated before typing back.

You: Yeah... Just a little shaken up, I guess.

A moment later, another message appeared.

Sunday: Come stay over at my place.

You: Huh?

Sunday: The house is big. There’s plenty of room. You don’t have to be alone.

Your fingers hovered over the screen. It was true—Sunday lived in a ridiculously large house. Staying there would be much safer than your small apartment.

Still, something about accepting his offer made you hesitate.

Before you could respond, another message arrived.

Sunday: I won’t force you. But I’d rather not leave you alone when you’re scared.

Maybe… just for a little while.

From that night onward, you and Sunday spent a lot more time together. Having him by your side was oddly reassuring. You didn’t realize just how much you had missed this feeling—the quiet comfort of his presence, the way he seemed to always know what you needed before you even said anything.

At school, he helped you with assignments, explaining complex topics. At home, he was always there to check in on you, making sure you ate properly, got enough rest, and didn’t push yourself too hard.

Even at work, he was helpful, dropping by occasionally to lend a hand or simply to keep you company.

But then, the news started broadcasting horrifying reports.

"Several incidents of theft and assault have been reported in the area. Authorities warn students to be cautious, as perpetrators have been targeting young individuals returning home late at night."

"Eyewitnesses claim the attackers have also been stealing clothing from laundromats and personal belongings from students’ dormitories."

Every night, the news became more alarming. You couldn’t ignore it anymore.

One night, after a particularly long shift, you checked your phone.

Sunday: You’re still at work?

You sighed, typing back.

You: Yeah, I’ll be heading back soon.

His reply came instantly.

Sunday: I’ll pick you up.

Before you could protest, he added—

Sunday: Stay inside and wait.

You didn’t argue. By now, you knew better than to refuse his help.

When he arrived, he didn't say anything at first. He just held the door open for you, waiting for you to get in.

Once you were in the car, he finally spoke. “You need to quit.”

You looked at him in surprise. “Sunday, I can’t just—”

“It’s not safe.”

Of course, you knew. But quitting meant losing income, and without income, you were in trouble.

Still, he was right.

It wasn’t safe anymore.

As if sensing your hesitation, Sunday spoke again, "You don’t have to worry. I have a job for you."

You turned to him. “A job?”

"You can do it from home," he explained, keeping his eyes on the road. "It pays well, and it’ll keep you away from danger."

"But... what kind of job?"

He glanced at you briefly before returning his focus to driving. "Some paperwork for my family’s business. Nothing too complicated."

A part of you felt guilty—accepting help from him when you had always wanted to be independent.

But another part of you knew you had no choice.

So, finally, you sighed. "Alright... I’ll do it."

Sunday’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly. If you had been looking closely, you might have seen the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

----

Sunday sat in his room, staring out the window.

Everything he had done—removing obstacles, orchestrating events, securing your safety—had led to this moment. You were here, under the same roof, relying on him once again.

It was almost laughable how fate worked. Or maybe, fate had nothing to do with it.

Ethan… gone. Lena… out of the picture. Your part-time job… eliminated.

Everything had fallen into place perfectly.

Now, there was no one left to take you away from him.

"Sunday, come down. I made dinner today."

You sat across from Sunday, setting down a warm bowl of soup in front of him.

“I hope it’s not too salty” you joked, taking your seat.

Sunday glanced at the meal before him. It was simple but comforting. Something you had made with your own hands.

“I’m sure it’s perfect.” He took a careful spoonful, humming in approval. “It’s good.”

You smiled, pleased with the response.

As you both ate, you suddenly remembered something.

“Oh, by the way… I saw a strange man earlier.”

Sunday paused, his spoon hovering over his bowl.

You continued, “He was hanging around near the house earlier. I thought it was weird, but maybe he was lost or something.”

He set his spoon down, reaching for his phone under the table. With a discreet movement, he typed a message.

[Check around the house. Find out who it was.]

Then, he looked up and smiled at you, "I’ll have someone look into it. Probably nothing to worry about."

The report came in faster than Sunday expected.

The strange man lurking around? It was him- The very same pervert from the news—the one who had been terrorizing students. The one responsible for the string of thefts, attacks, and robberies. And now, he had made the mistake of coming near you.

Sunday could have handed him to the police right away. That would have been the logical thing to do.

But where’s the fun in that?

Instead, he made a better decision.

Standing before the trembling man, Sunday offered him a deal.

"If you want to live, listen carefully."

Strange noises at night. A shadow passing by your window. The unsettling feeling of being watched.

You told Sunday about it every time.

And every time, he reassured you.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”

But it got worse.

One evening, while you were walking home from campus, you felt a presence behind you.

At first, you ignored it. Maybe it was just another student. Maybe it was your imagination.

But then, a hand grabbed your wrist.

Panic shot through you as you struggled, a muffled scream escaping your lips. But before anything could happen—

A force yanked the man away from you.

You barely registered what happened next. All you saw was the flash of his cold eyes before he struck the man down with brutal efficiency.

You heard the pervert scream in pain before Sunday silenced him.

When it was over, Sunday turned to you, his hands slightly bloodied but his expression calm.

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

Your legs almost gave out, but Sunday caught you effortlessly, pulling you into his chest.

You shivered, gripping onto him. “I… I was so scared.”

Sunday stroked your back. “It’s over. You’re safe now. I’m here.”

And then, only after he had thoroughly played the hero, did he finally turn the man over to the police.

Later that night, as you rested, Sunday stood in his room, watching the news.

“The suspect has been arrested thanks to an anonymous tip.”

Soon, you wouldn’t be able to imagine life without him. Soon, he would be the only person you needed.

----

The movie played softly in the background, but neither of you were really watching. The warmth of the room and the faint scent of hot milk filled the air.

You took a slow sip, letting the warmth seep into your tired bones.

“Life here is exhausting” you muttered absentmindedly, staring into your cup.

Sunday glanced at you, “Then come back with me.”

You exhaled a small chuckle, rubbing your forehead. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

You turned your head and found Sunday staring at you.

“You’re serious?”

You nodded, feeling a strange sense of relief. “I think I need a change.”

Sunday’s lips parted slightly as if he was about to say something, but instead, he pressed them together and turned his gaze toward the screen.

His heartbeat was too fast.

You didn’t realize what you had just given him. What you had just promised.

Finally, finally, you were coming back.

After all these years, after all the patience, the careful planning—you were walking right into his arms.

And this time, he wouldn’t let you slip away.

[l1tw1ck]

Phainon's Peculiar Trial

Bottom!FTM Phainon x Top!Monster!Masc Reader

❄️ Word Count: 1,048 ❄️

AFAB Language Used | [Series]

CW: Non-Con, Size Difference, Womb Fucking, Corruption, Creampie, Voyeurism, Daddy Kink

Phainon looks up, gasping for air as he recovers from an exhausting battle. All the enemies have been taken out and yet, he hasn't finished the trial. The empty city stricken with darkness causes him unease. “Show yourself already!” Phainon yells, still angry from the apparitions created to taunt him. He begins to stand but soon finds himself shackled to the ground. His eyes widen as you appear before him. You're the monster that's been appearing in his dreams. It's terrifying. You're not supposed to be here. This isn't the trial of the strife anymore. Was this even the trial in the first place?

“Phainon…” Your finger, or claw, finds itself underneath his chin.

“Who are you?”

“I’m the final challenge you must face.”

“No– you're…you're not part of the trial.” He furrows his eyebrows. “Who are you?!”

“Your last task is to withstand me. You must persevere and remain strong. If you don't, it's over.” You walk up behind him and alter his position, the chains connected to his ankles transfer over to his wrists. Phainon looks back at you, his hands behind his back. He doesn't know what you're going to do but his instincts are telling him it's not gonna be good.

You push his head against the ground and rip his pants off with your sharp claws. His heart drops.

“No!” He cries out, trying whatever he can to get away from you. He's too exhausted, he can't use any of his abilities and there's no way he can even scratch you in the position he's in. He hisses in pain as his movements cause you to unintentionally cut his soft skin. Blood drips down his ass as you reveal his pudgy cunt to the cool air. “Get away from me!”

“Keep fighting.” Your thick monster cock flops in between his ass. He twitches as it slides down to his pussy. “Don't give up.”

“hah-” He closes his eyes. His pussy starts to lube itself up as you rub your cock along its folds. He can feel all the monstrous features of your shaft. He can also feel the tip against his t-dick and his stomach. It gives him a rough idea of your length and it fills him with more fear. Every movement you make sends shivers down his spine. “This can't be happening..” He lets out a sharp breath.

“Be strong. Don't forget your purpose.” You pull back and slowly slip into the warm embrace of his pussy.

Phainon gasps. “You— you..” He shuts his eyes. Maybe this is part of the trial. It's unorthodox but if his goal is to withstand this, it doesn't seem too far off from what he's heard.

“You feel great.” You murmur, stretching him beyond his limits.

You're doing this for your own pleasure. Does that ruin your credibility or did you decide to do this after seeing him? Phainon shudders at the thought of you laying your eyes upon him and changing the trial so you could have him.

“You're doing so well, Phainon…” You move further inside him.

“Fuck!” His eyes widen as you bump into his cervix. “No way–” He starts to feel weaker as a sudden wave of arousal washes over him. He knows this feeling. Did you secretly give him an aphrodisiac? He…tried it once a long time ago.

“Get ready.” You warn him, slowly moving back before thrusting into him again like a slingshot. Phainon cries out in pleasure, rather than pain. There's no way it could feel good if not for some sort of drug.

“Did– did you drug me?” He manages to stay conscious enough to speak.

“Not exactly.” Your hand slides to his pelvis. Phainon moans at your touch. “I gave you something special. So you’d never forget me.”

“Wh-” He gets interrupted by the pressure of your fingers against his new gift. He holds his breath as he squirts on your cock, at the same time it enters his womb. Tears stream down his warm cheeks.

You fuck into him aggressively. “Take it like the strong Chrysos heir you are, baby.”

Phainon’s eyes roll to the back of his head, cute uncontrollable moans leaving his mouth. “no~” He can't resist this.

“Don't you want to be a demigod, sweetheart?”

He moans. “I– I do~” He's starting to lose himself.

“Then act like it.” You spank him and he comes again. “I don't mind keeping you instead though.”

Phainon’s dizzy with arousal. “No…I have to– oh fuck~” He feels part of his brain shut off.

“I thought you were stronger than this.” You muse. “I suppose even you can't fight against pleasure.”

“mmh–” He mewls. “I want it–”

You smirk. He's yours now.

“Phainon?” Mydei does a double take. You turn your head. The grey haired trailblazer is there too. “What…what the hell is this?”

You pull Phainon upwards, positioning him against your chest. You fully rip his shirt off to showcase his new erotic tattoo. The two stare at the Chrysos heir’s lower body. As well as the thick bulge in his stomach, which makes the both of them blush. “He forfeited the trial.” You make him bounce on your cock. “You should come back later Mydei, if you want to complete the trial in his place.”

He gulps, imagining you doing this to him as well. “No–” He steps back.

Phainon isn't paying any attention to the conversation and instead focuses on the fact that you removed the chains on his wrists. He quickly snakes his hand down to his dick, aggressively touching himself to speed up his next orgasm.

“Don't worry, Mydei. Your trial won't be with me.” You hold Phainon’s chin and bring him into a kiss. “I only want him.”

Mydei watches in disbelief and slight arousal.

“Are you two just going to stand here and watch?” You chuckle.

Phainon rests his head on your shoulder as he furiously rubs his cock. “I’m gonna—” He looks completely blissed out as he squirts. “Daddy~”

You let out an aroused groan. “‘M gonna fill you up in front of your friends, baby.”

“Mmhh-” He finally looks ahead of him. Even with his slightly blurred vision, he can tell they're both turned on. He smiles dumbly as you come inside him.

[arandomao3user]

I have been watching seven kids all day long and need to project the trauma of parenting somewhere, so... Batfam quotes :D

—

Bruce, half awake in a sitting room: Please, stop.

Jason, trying to suffocate Tim with a pillow: GIVE ME THE REMOTE!

Tim: *Muffled swears*

Damian, helping Jason: WE WANT TO WATCH MEAN GIRLS!

Cass, tackling Jason from behind: OFF OUR BROTHER!

Dick: Guys please, the doctor said we had to keep Tim's blood pressure down!

Duke: Man, we need to keep all our blood pressure down, he ain't special.

Bruce: Please, don't kill your brother.

Stephanie: Guys, he stopped fighting.

Dick: OH MY GODS YOU KILLED TIM!?

Damian: Oh no.

Cass, kneeing Jason in the stomach and grinning as he falls to the ground:

Duke: Nah, I think he just passed out.

Bruce: If any of you are dead I'm going to enter a depressive episode that will result in one of you becoming Batman by the end of it.

Dick: OH MY GOD TIM COME BACK TO LIFE I CAN'T DO THIS AGAIN!

Damian: DRAKE!?

Cass: I will find a Lazarus pit.

Jason: Nah, I'll just call Talia.

Duke: Y'all, he's breathin', I think he just fell asleep.

Stephanie, checking his pulse:

Stephanie: Yeah, he did. Classic Tim.

Bruce, under his breath: Thank god, I like that one.

—

Tim: Bruce, I have to tell you something.

Bruce: Yes, Tim?

Tim: . . . I'm bi.

Bruce: . . . Didn't you already come out to me?

Tim: Wait, what!? No!

Bruce: . . . No, no you did, you were... The ginger. The ginger one with arrows.

Tim: That was Dick, B.

Bruce: No, Dick wasn't a ginger, Jason was before the hair dye—

Tim: Different timeline, also that was Dick and Roy!

Bruce: Didn't Jason date Roy?

Tim: Bruce. Jason dated Roy, Dick dated Roy, they both dated Roy

Bruce: Oh, oh! Yes, of course... Wait, no, Dick was with the alien.

Tim: Kori and Dick broke up, Bruce.

Bruce: No, he was with the— the kryptonian.

Tim: Bruce, that's you.

Bruce: No, no, Connor.

Tim: Nobody in this family has ever dated Kon, and he's my friend!

Bruce:

Bruce: You aren't dating Connor? Oh, yes, you are with... Stephanie.

Tim: She and I broke up, she's with Cass now, I'm dating Bernard!

Bruce: The... Speedster?

Tim: Oh my god, Bruce, this isn't complicated... Bart is the speedster, Bernard is a human, regular human, not a vigilante or anything, and he's my old high school friend. We are dating now.

Bruce: Oh, yes. Okay. Sorry, I haven't updated the chart since Jason...

Tim: You had a chart to keep track of your kids dating history? When you had two kids!?

Bruce: Dick was complicated, and Jason dated a girl named Rena.

Tim: Again, different timeline, Bruce, they got back together in this one though (because op said so.)

Bruce:

Bruce: What?

Tim: Rena and Jason are dating but Jason also occasionally dates Roy at the same time, Dick is gonna get back together with Kori eventually, we're just waiting for the writers to get their sh&# together, I'm with Bernard, Stephanie and Cass are dating, this isn't a complicated thing, at all.

Bruce:

Bruce: I need to update my charts.

—

TV show host: So, can you introduce your kids for us?

Bruce:

Bruce: Yes, uh, of course.

Bruce, pointing to Dick: My eldest, Richard Grayson.

Bruce, pointing to Tim: My second, Jason— wait, no, he's dead. That one died.

Tim: Please never mistake me for Jason again, I just had several flashbacks.

Bruce: Yes, sorry, no, this is my third son, Tim.

Bruce, pointing to Cass: My daughter, Cassandra, she likes art—

Cass: No, ballet.

Bruce: What? No, Tim likes ballet.

Tim: I hate being the middle child so much.

Damian: Technically Cain is the middle.

Cass: No, Tim likes skateboards and dungeons and dragons.

Bruce: Okay, haha, sorry. So, uh, my youngest...

Damian:

Bruce: That I...

Damian:

Bruce: Adopted..?

Damian: WHAT!?

Bruce: Wait, no, Jason was Talia's, so—

Damian: HE WAS FOUND NEAR A DUMPSTER!

Bruce: Oh, then Tim—

Tim: SERIOUSLY!?

Dick: Bruce this is actually concerning.

Bruce: One of you I made! Cass!?

Cass, visibly concerned: Really?

Bruce: Okay, so, uh...

TV host: Should... Do you need a moment?

Bruce: No, no, I have five children— wait, no, six. Wait, did I adopt Duke?

Dick: No, he lives with his Mom again, she got better, but you didn't even adopt me so why's it matter?

Bruce:

Bruce: I FORGOT TO ADOPT YOU!?

Dick: WHAT DO YOU MEAN FORGOT!?

Tim: I hate this family...

Cass, patting his back:

Damian: At least he remembered your names!

Jason, laughing from his apartment:

—

Tim and Cass sitting at the bat computer:

Bruce, walking over to press a kiss to Cass' hair:

Tim: ???

Bruce, walking over to Cass, patting her shoulder: Good work, son. Get to bed soon.

Cass: . . ?

Bruce, walking away:

Tim: Did he..?

Cass: Again. Yes.

—

Bruce, to Alfred: Alfred, please, I need help with Christmas again.

Alfred: Master Bruce, you have itemized lists of each villain, you can recall them all and memorize all their weaknesses and lives. You cannot do the same for your own children?

Bruce: Please, Alfred, don't make me feel bad. One of them asked for an explosive and I don't know which!?

Alfred: That could very well be several of them...

—

Bruce, walking into the kitchen where all the kids are sitting: Alright, come on Tim, time for patrol.

Tim: Why aren't you going with Robin?

Bruce: You are Robin?

Damian: Father, I am Robin.

Bruce: Why'd I do that?

Damian: What do you mean WHY DID YOU DO THAT!?

Dick: I did that, actually.

Bruce: Why? What did Tim do?

Damian: WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME!?

Bruce: Nothing, nothing, I just... Tim was Robin, last I checked.

Jason: Bruce, what's the order of your Robin's?

Bruce:

Bruce: It... Okay, Dick,

Dick: Yes..?

Bruce: Then... Stephanie.

Jason: Wow.

Bruce: What!? She died! Two of you died and came back!

Damian: I also died.

Bruce: What? No, you came after Stephanie.

Damian: Yes.

Bruce: Alright, so, Dick, Stephanie—

Jason: REALLY!? I did not die in your arms for this. I wish I died in someone's else's arms. F-#% you.

Bruce: No, no! I'm sorry, you're right, Dick, Jason... Then... Alright, Stephanie and Damian came somewhere, obviously, but Tim is my Robin now! Right?!

Tim: Bruce, Alfred and Dick gave Robin to Damian after you got lost in the time stream.

Bruce:

Bruce: Oh. Uh. Okay... Damian, time for patrol—

Damian: No, I'm going with Richard tonight. You may have DRAKE!

Bruce: No, I'm sorry, son, please.

Damian, storming out:

Bruce, chasing after him: Please, I have had so many of you! And so many hits to the head!

Tim: How come he only ever remembers Dick's stuff?

Jason: Favouritism.

Dick: I fell on his head a lot as a kid. I also used to whisper in his ear as a kid when he slept that I would be the only child he'd ever have and love, so...

Tim:

Jason: And I'm remembered as the bad kid???

—

Bruce: You're grounded.

Barbara: ??? I'm not your kid, Bruce.

Bruce: What?

Barbara: Really? No, I'm not dealing with this, get a neurologist, Bruce.

Bruce: It's not a problem!

—

Bruce, on the phone: Hey, Jay, lad! Are you coming to the gala this weekend?

Jason: ??? I'm dead.

Bruce: What?!

Jason: No! I am legally dead, Bruce!

Bruce: Oh thank god, I thought I was hallucinating again...

Jason: Huh?

Bruce: Nothing, nothing... Wait, why haven't I brought you back to legally alive?

Jason: Hell if I know.

Bruce:

Bruce: Will you come to the gala if—

Jason, hanging up:

—

Bernard:

Bruce:

Bernard:

Bruce: Stephanie, when did you become transgender???

Bernard, trying not to laugh:

Tim: This is why I didn't want you two to meet.

—

Bruce, on the phone: DUKE THOMAS WHY AREN'T YOU HOME!?

Duke: ??? I am.

Bruce: Where?! I checked the entire manor!

Duke: I don't live with you???

Bruce: Oh my god did I fire you???

Duke: What? No? I live with my Mom?

Bruce: . . . She's alive?

Duke: B, that's... All the other kids minus Cass and Damian.

Bruce: Oh...

Duke: Get help, man.

—

Tim, eating cereal at two in the morning:

Bruce, stepping inside the dark room, blinking slowly:

Bruce: Oh, Jason—

Tim: I am so done.

—

[wroetolando]

𝙾𝚏𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚈𝚘𝚞 | 𝙻𝙽𝟺

𝗮/𝗻: hey guys! so sorry I haven’t been posting recently. I’ve been super busy with school with finals and graduation coming up! will be a lot more stories being posted during my spring break! april 7-11!

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: lando norris x chronically online! reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: the one where the chronically online reader gets publicly exposed by lando, roasts him on stream, and swears they’d never fold

𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰: cloud 9 - beach bunny

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: none!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

You had a reputation. Not in a bad way—at least, not to you. Some people called you “chronically online,” but that was just a fancy way of saying you were really, really good at the internet. You were the first to catch onto memes before they went mainstream, you knew every streamer’s latest drama, and your Twitter feed was a masterclass in unhinged yet somehow lovable posts.

Lando, however, did not fully understand the depths of your internet obsession. He was online, sure, but in a different way—his world was filled with F1 updates, Twitch streams, and the occasional chaotic group chat with his fellow drivers. Meanwhile, you lived in a universe where knowing whether a brand was about to get canceled was as essential as breathing.

And yet, somehow, he was absolutely in love with you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

It started with a joke. Or, more accurately, it started with a tweet.

@yourhandle: “if lando norris ever called me babe i would simply evaporate”

He saw it. He saw it, and you knew he saw it because his little gremlin self had the audacity to like the tweet. He didn’t reply, didn’t quote it—just a simple like that sent your notifications into a frenzy.

Your friends went feral.

BESTIE, HELLO??

Did he just acknowledge your existence???

This is basically a marriage proposal.

You tried to act normal. Failed. DMed him something casual like, “did you just publicly expose me?”

To which he responded:

“Just testing a theory. Should I call you babe and see what happens?”

And that was the beginning of the end.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

It wasn’t long before you found yourself in Lando’s world—whether that meant sitting on his stream, half-distracted while scrolling your phone, or joining his Discord calls just to roast his gaming skills. The internet loved your dynamic.

“Lando getting cyberbullied by his own girlfriend is my Roman Empire.”

“Y/N being a menace online and Lando just going along with it is peak relationship goals.”

“Her: ‘He’s so dumb but he’s my dumbass.’ Him: ‘I just work here, man.’”

You two were a content goldmine, even when you weren’t trying to be.

One particular night, you were both curled up on the couch, Lando setting up for a Twitch stream while you scrolled mindlessly through your phone. You weren’t paying attention until you heard your own voice.

“Guys, I have a very special guest today,” Lando said in his usual mischievous tone. “My girlfriend, who is currently ignoring me for Twitter.”

You didn’t even look up. “That’s crazy. What’s Twitter saying?”

Chat immediately erupted.

“SHE DIDN’T EVEN LOOK UP LMFAO.”

“Peak chronically online behavior.”

“Lando, blink twice if you need help.”

Lando fake pouted. “See? She doesn’t love me, chat. She loves her parasocial relationships more.”

You finally glanced at the screen. “Why would I need a parasocial relationship when I already have you to annoy in real life?”

The clip went viral within minutes.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Despite all your time spent online, you did, in fact, exist in the real world. And the more time you spent with Lando, the more you realized how much you liked his world too.

There was something peaceful about watching him work on his racing sim, focused and determined, even when he was grumbling under his breath about understeer. There was something nice about walking into the McLaren garage and seeing how the team operated, how much they adored him.

And there was something absolutely dangerous about the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

Like right now.

You were at a race weekend, standing just outside his driver’s room, eyes glued to your phone. He was supposed to be reviewing data, but you could feel his eyes on you.

“Lando,” you said without looking up, “why are you staring at me like that?”

He didn’t even try to deny it. “I think I’ve figured out how to get you off your phone.”

That made you look up. “Oh? Do tell.”

A smirk curled at his lips. “No.”

You narrowed your eyes. “No?”

Instead of answering, he took two long strides forward, gently plucking your phone from your hands and placing it on the nearest table. Before you could protest, he had you backed up against the wall, his hands resting on either side of you.

Oh.

Oh, he was serious.

“Lando,” you said, a little breathless, “are you—”

“I like your little internet world, I do,” he murmured, voice warm and teasing. “But sometimes I think you should focus on this world. On me.”

You swallowed. “That so?”

He nodded. “Yeah. And right now, I want your undivided attention.”

Mission accomplished.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

You weren’t going to lie—you had expected the internet to roast you once they realized that your whole brand was being chronically online, and yet Lando had somehow turned you into a simp.

And they did roast you.

“So you’re telling me Y/N was ‘if he calls me babe I’ll evaporate’ and then Lando hit her with a real-life slow burn fanfic moment???”

“POV: You thought she was a keyboard warrior but she’s actually a simp in disguise.”

“Lando pulled a ‘look at me, I’m the main character now.’”

Lando, of course, thrived off the reactions.

You were sitting next to him on the couch when he turned his phone toward you. “Look at this one—‘Y/N has spent her entire internet existence roasting men, and yet all it took was one good wall pin for her to fold.’”

You glared at him. “I hate you.”

He grinned. “No, you don’t.”

You groaned, shoving his face away playfully before burying your head in your hands. “I will never live this down.”

He pulled you into his side, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Nope. Never.”

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel the need to check your phone.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

masterlist

[moongirlcleo]

Fractured

❤︎  tags and content: threesome, mmf, oral, fingering, rough sex, spitroasting, starcrow ❤︎  author note: check out all my fics by searching #moongirlcleo or on AO3

🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @/cafekitsune Fic: @moongirlcleo  

You never meant to be stuck with a difficult choice.

But when Sylus corners you with that velvet voice and arrogant smirk, and Xavier watches with that impossible restraint burning in his silence, the tension fractures into something sharp. Something intimate. Something neither of them are willing to walk away from.

You didn’t want to choose.

So they make you feel what it’s like to be taken apart by both.

The air in the training room clung to your skin—warm, heavy, pulsing with something unspoken. You were still catching your breath, fingers flexing around the edge of your gloves when Sylus stepped into your space like he owned it. His crimson gaze flicked toward your lips before settling on your eyes, and the smirk that curved his mouth was nothing short of predatory. He reached out—slow, deliberate—and peeled the glove from your hand, knuckles grazing your jaw as if by accident. But nothing Sylus did was accidental.

“You’re getting faster,” he murmured, voice a quiet, indulgent drawl. “Still not fast enough to keep me off you.”

The words slid under your skin, hot and shameless. You should’ve laughed. Pushed him away. But something in his tone—and the way his fingers lingered—made your breath hitch.

And across the room, leaning against the wall like a shadow carved from quiet fury, Xavier was watching. Still. Silent. Eyes sharp enough to cut through glass.

Sylus didn’t move away. If anything, he stepped closer, his body heat brushing up against yours like a whispered promise. You could smell the faint hint of ozone that always clung to him—sharp, electric, a reminder of the raw energy curled beneath his skin. He tilted his head, silver strands falling into his crimson eyes as he regarded you with mock curiosity.

“You always this flushed after sparring?” he asked, voice dipping lower, rougher. “Or am I just special?”

Your heart kicked against your ribs, and maybe it was the adrenaline still thrumming through your veins—or maybe it was the way he said I like a challenge. His fingers were still curled around the wrist of your glove, thumb brushing the inside of your palm now, slow and almost thoughtful. He was studying you—not for weakness, but for response.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but then his free hand lifted, the back of his knuckles grazing the curve of your cheek.

“Relax,” he said softly, eyes dropping to your mouth again. “I don’t bite... unless you want me to.”

And that’s when you felt it—that familiar pressure, that weight.  Xavier hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t moved an inch.

But you felt him. Like a pulse in the air, steady and restrained—just barely.

Sylus didn’t look away from you. But the ghost of a smile curled at the edge of his lips, as if he could feel it too.

“Your knight up there’s been awful quiet,” he murmured. “Think he’ll break if I touch you again?”

You pulled your hand back, the glove falling to the floor in a soft, hollow drop that echoed louder than it should have in the stillness between you. “Xavier is my coworker,” you said, the words steadier than the rush of heat rising in your throat, but you weren’t sure if you were saying it for Sylus or for yourself.

He didn’t move. Not a step backward, not even a breath of retreat—if anything, the ghost of a smile tugged at the edge of his lips, not cocky this time, but slow and knowing, like he’d been expecting your deflection and had already planned six steps ahead. His crimson gaze lingered on your face, not with the sharp glint of mockery he was so well-known for, but with something quieter, deeper—like he was seeing something he didn’t want to admit had meaning.

“You think I’m doing this to get under his skin?” he asked at last, his voice low and curiously soft, a rough-edged silk that brushed against your spine in ways that had nothing to do with heat or proximity. “Is that really what you see when I look at you?”

He tilted his head slightly, and for a moment his eyes dropped—not to your mouth in that theatrical, overly obvious way that flirts often favored—but lower, to your neck, to the faint stutter of your pulse beneath your skin, as though he could feel the flutter of it without laying a single finger on you.

“I’ve wanted you since the beginning,” he murmured, and though the words were quiet, they landed like thunder. “Since that first mission when you smiled at me like you weren’t afraid—like you actually saw through the bravado and didn’t flinch.”

Your breath caught, your fingers curling at your sides before you could stop them. Sylus didn’t press closer, but the space between you felt thinner than air, stretched taut with something dangerous and charged, and still, he never touched you—not yet. His restraint was not a lack of desire, but a decision, a performance, a provocation.

“I’ve watched you laugh at his dry little nothings,” he continued, his tone dipping darker, the affection in it smoothed over with something just a little bitter. “Watched you lean into him like it meant something, while he stood there and let it all pass him by.”

He leaned in then, slow enough to give you time to stop him, close enough that his breath grazed the edge of your jaw, but not so close that his lips touched you—never quite crossing that line, as if daring you to be the one to do it first.

“If I kissed you right now, it wouldn’t be for him. It wouldn’t be to start a fight or prove a point,” he whispered, the words barely more than breath. “It would be because I’ve imagined the way you’d taste every fucking time you look at me like that.”

A shiver rippled beneath your skin, and he felt it—because of course he did—and still he didn’t touch you, still he waited, giving you just enough space to choose, to step forward or step away.

But before either of you could move, Sylus exhaled slowly and stepped back—not in defeat, but in deliberate, measured retreat, like someone who knew he’d already planted the seed and only needed time to let it grow. His gaze lingered a moment longer, dragged over your lips like a promise left hanging in the air, and then he turned, calm and unhurried, strolling toward the exit without a single glance in Xavier’s direction.

But as he reached the threshold, hand resting against the frame, he paused—just long enough to speak again, his voice pitched low, the words slung back over his shoulder like a dagger thrown with perfect aim.

“You should really ask yourself,” he said, “why he hasn’t stopped me.”

And with that, he vanished down the corridor, leaving behind a silence that felt almost holy in its weight—thick with everything unsaid, and the unbearable heat of a gaze still burning across the room, unmoving, unrelenting, waiting.

***

Xavier hadn’t spoken a word. Hadn’t so much as shifted his weight from where he stood, spine straight against the far wall of the training room, arms folded, the fabric of his sleeves pulled taut over forearms he’d kept unnervingly still—but his gaze had never left you, not for a single heartbeat.

From the moment Sylus crossed the space between you, Xavier had been watching.

Not with suspicion, but with something far more dangerous.

He’d felt it coming long before it happened—the subtle way Sylus’s voice dropped in your presence, the way his fingers lingered too long when he passed you a datapad or brushed past you in crowded corridors, the curve of his smile always just a touch too knowing when you tilted your head, unaware of what you were doing to men who should have known better than to want someone like you with anything less than reverence.

And yet it was happening—right in front of him.

Sylus, all heat and arrogance, circling you like a wolf with a grin, laying out the quiet truths Xavier had buried for months beneath layers of rationale and professionalism. He heard every word—I've wanted you since the beginning—and not a single muscle in his face moved, not a flicker in his expression betrayed the way each syllable landed with the precision of a knife driven point-first into his sternum.

But inside, the fracture lines were forming.

Xavier had always known control—had studied it, lived it, let it shape every part of his existence. He didn’t react unless he needed to. He didn’t feel unless it served a purpose. Emotions were calculated things—quiet and contained, cordoned off behind reinforced walls that even he rarely allowed himself to look over.

But then Sylus looked at you like you were already his, and you didn’t push him away. Not right away. And that? That was what did it.

The first crack. Xavier felt the shift in his chest—not rage, not quite, but something colder, quieter, more possessive in its shape. Not jealousy for jealousy’s sake. But something deeper. Something primal. He didn’t want to fight Sylus for you.

He wanted you to choose. But the idea that you might not—that Sylus could touch you first, kiss you first, claim you in some dark corner where Xavier’s silence had failed to speak what he couldn’t bring himself to say—made the breath catch behind his ribs in a way that felt entirely foreign. Dangerous.  He could still feel the weight of your pulse through the air. You were unsettled. Flushed. And though Xavier hadn’t moved, hadn’t interfered, hadn’t spoken, he knew that part of you had wanted him to.

Sylus knew it too. That was the worst of it.

So when the Onychinus leader threw that final line over his shoulder—You should really ask yourself why he hasn’t stopped me—Xavier didn’t flinch. He didn’t move. But his jaw did tighten, just barely, the faintest flicker of movement as his teeth met behind closed lips, slow and deliberate. He waited until the room was quiet again.

Until the door had shut. Until only the sound of your breathing remained—uneven, shallow, the kind of breath that lived on the edge of something neither of you could name out loud.

Then, and only then, did Xavier speak.

“You didn’t stop him either.”

The words were low. Measured.  Not an accusation—just a truth. And yet it hung between you like the calm before a storm that had been gathering on the horizon for far too long. You turned to face him slowly, pulse still unsteady, the ghost of Sylus’s nearness clinging to your skin like static, but it was Xavier’s voice—low, quiet, maddeningly composed—that pinned you in place. It wasn’t loud. Wasn’t meant to be cruel.  But it cleaved the air in two like a blade drawn in a whisper.

You blinked, the words landing harder than they had any right to. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, your voice too tight, too thin to sound unaffected.

Xavier didn’t move, didn’t step toward you, but his eyes—those ice-blue eyes that rarely gave away anything—were sharp and unreadable, shining with a heat that didn’t belong in someone so calm.

“It means I’ve seen you push him away before. That wasn’t what you did this time.”

You felt something ripple in your stomach—guilt, maybe, or defiance, or something too tangled to name.

“He cornered me during sparring,” you said, defensive without meaning to be, arms wrapping around yourself not for modesty, but for armor. “You were standing right there.”

“Exactly,” he murmured, and for the first time, something flickered in his expression—a shadow of disappointment, quiet and sharp. “I was.”

Your chest tightened. There was a long, aching silence after that, one that stretched like a fault line between you, threatening to rupture under the weight of everything unspoken. And still, Xavier said nothing else—didn’t berate, didn’t demand, didn’t press you to explain the way you looked at Sylus like you weren’t sure if you wanted him gone or closer. He simply looked at you, gaze steady, a question hanging in the air that he didn’t need to say out loud: If he touches you again, will you let him?

And when you didn’t answer—when you couldn’t—Xavier exhaled softly, not defeated, not even angry. Just… resigned. Like someone who knew exactly how dangerous waiting could be.

He turned then, walking past you with that same quiet grace he always carried, but as he reached the door, his hand paused on the frame. His voice, when it came again, was softer now, something that curled beneath your skin and stayed there.

“I’ll see you at home.”

And then he was gone, leaving the air behind him heavy with everything you hadn’t said, and everything you still wanted to.

The door clicked shut behind him with a finality that echoed too loud in the hollow quiet he left behind. You didn’t move.

Not at first. Not even when your muscles began to ache from the tension still coiled tight beneath your skin, or when the hum of the training room lights suddenly felt deafening, mechanical and cold against the afterimage of his voice still replaying in your ears.

You didn’t stop him either.

It wasn’t the accusation that stung—it was the truth buried inside it. The way he’d seen through everything, the way he’d watched and waited, hoping maybe—just maybe—you would prove him wrong. But you hadn’t. Not entirely. And now that silence between you had a shape, a name, a consequence.

You swallowed hard, arms still crossed, still gripping at the fabric of your shirt like you were trying to hold something in place that had already started to come undone. Sylus’s voice was still there too, lingering like heat—I’ve wanted you since the beginning—but it didn’t feel flattering now. It felt like a match struck beside something flammable you hadn’t realized you’d soaked yourself in.

You pressed a hand to your face, dragging your fingers down slowly, as if that might wipe away the flush still burning at your cheeks—or the guilt tightening low in your stomach. Xavier hadn’t asked you to choose. He hadn’t given you an ultimatum. But somehow, that made it worse. Because you weren’t sure what you would’ve said if he had.

The quiet stretched on, heavy and unrelenting, and it felt like no matter how long you stood there, the echo of his final words would keep ringing in the space he’d left behind.

I’ll see you at home. Not goodbye. Not ‘don’t follow me’. Not even anger.

Just a reminder. Of where he’d be. And the unspoken promise that if you didn’t figure out what you wanted by then… well, you didn’t want to think about it.

***

The walk home felt longer than usual, each step weighed down by the echo of Xavier’s voice and the press of Sylus’s breath still clinging to the side of your neck like phantom heat. The city lights blurred past in soft streaks of gold and violet, but you barely registered them, too wrapped up in thoughts you didn’t want to name. Guilt. Want. Confusion. And beneath it all, the low thrum of anticipation that curled deep in your spine—hot and reckless.

You made it to the apartment complex with your keycard in hand, buzzing through the front door with the distant hope that Xavier wasn’t already waiting. You didn’t think you were ready to see him. Not yet.

But as the elevator doors slid open, you stopped short.

Sylus was already inside.

Not slouched in the corner. Not pretending it was some accident. No—he stood like he owned the space, one hand tucked into the pocket of a tailored black coat that looked far too expensive for Linkon City and a glass of wine in hand.

He smiled when he saw you, slow and sharp, like he’d been expecting this. But of course he was.

“Evening, kitten,” he said, voice silk-smooth, eyes gleaming beneath the low light. “Funny, I didn’t take you for the type to let your guards down.”

Your blood ran cold for half a second before the heat rushed in—equal parts irritation and something darker, something that made your thighs press together without meaning to. He’d been watching.

You stepped inside despite yourself, the doors closing behind you with a soft hiss.

“What the hell are you doing here, Sylus?”

He tilted his head slightly, crimson eyes raking over you without shame. “What, no ‘thank you for walking me home?’ I made sure you got back in one piece. That’s what good men do, isn’t it?”

You scoffed, but it was weak. Too breathless. Too aware of the way his body heat pulled toward yours despite the distance.

“You followed me.”

“I wanted to make sure you weren’t lonely.”

And as the elevator began to rise, slow and mechanical, he stepped forward—not enough to trap you, but enough to let you feel the pressure of his presence, the wine still in his hand, untouched.

“You keep pretending it’s just him,” he murmured, voice low and intimate now, like a secret meant for only you. “But you react to me, too. You know it.”

The elevator chimed softly, and when the doors slid open, Xavier stood just beyond them—leaning against the hallway wall like he’d been there for longer than he should have, posture relaxed but eyes sharp, his gaze moving from Sylus to you with that same unreadable stillness he’d worn at the training room.

His expression didn’t shift. Not when he took in the wine glass in Sylus’s hand. Not when he noticed how close he was standing to you.

But something in the air changed.

“Didn’t plan on seeing you so soon,” Xavier said, voice calm and even, “I see you’ve found where we live.”

The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be.  And yet, the tension they carried struck like a low current beneath the surface—steady, quiet, unmistakably deliberate. Sylus didn’t look away from Xavier. Not this time. Instead, he smiled—slow, satisfied, like he’d been waiting for that shift in tone, for that quiet give in Xavier’s iron composure.

“Wasn’t sure where we stood,” Sylus said smoothly, his eyes glittering as he took a single, unhurried step out of the elevator. “But if you’re done pretending you don’t care…”

He turned to you then, head tilting just slightly as his voice dropped to something far softer—warmer, even.

“Why don’t we stop dancing around it, sweetheart, and take this inside?”

Your breath caught somewhere in your throat, caught between Xavier’s silence and Sylus’s certainty, the space between them too charged, too deliberate, and somehow not nearly enough.

“You coming?” Sylus asked, already walking toward your apartment door like it was his key in your pocket, like he had every intention of walking through first.

And behind you, Xavier finally moved—quiet, deliberate footsteps as he fell into step beside you, not touching, not pushing, but undeniably there.

The door clicked shut behind you with a soft finality, the quiet lock sliding into place like a thread being pulled tight. The lights were low—just the soft wash of gold from the kitchen and the faint glow of the city outside your window, throwing long shadows across the room.

You stepped in first, breath tight, turning to face them both as Sylus set his glass of wine on your counter like he owned it, his coat already half undone, movements smooth and effortless. Xavier, still behind you, hadn’t said a word, but you could feel him at your back—solid, steady, watching.

“What the hell is this?” you asked, voice a little sharper than you meant it to be, your heart pounding too loud for the silence that followed. “What are you two doing?”

Sylus smiled at that—languid and slow, like the question had been crafted just for him.

“That depends,” he said, his eyes flicking over to Xavier, whose arms were still folded, his expression unreadable. “You going to tell her, or should I?”

You turned slightly toward Xavier, but he didn’t meet your gaze. He was watching Sylus. Still holding the line. Still composed. But barely.

Sylus stepped closer. Not to you—to Xavier.

“You came to her door because of me,” he said, voice low, dangerously quiet. “You saw me put my hands on her, and you finally felt something strong enough to do more than just watch.”

He took another step, now standing between you both, gaze fixed on Xavier with open challenge.

“So go on,” he said, tipping his chin up slightly, taunting now. “If you want her, take her. Show her how you look at her when you think no one’s watching. Or maybe you’d rather just keep standing there, pretending your hands aren’t shaking.”

Your breath caught.

Xavier didn’t move—but something changed. A flicker of light caught in his eyes, a slow exhale from his nose, and his fingers—still folded over his arms—tightened ever so slightly.

Sylus turned to you then, his voice gentler than before, seductive but not mocking.

“He wants you,” he murmured. “We both do. So tell me—”

He took one final step closer, crowding your space now, his voice curling like smoke against the edge of your jaw.

“Who do you want, sweetheart? Show us.”

You opened your mouth to answer—something, anything—but nothing came. The words caught in your throat, tangled in the rush of heat and confusion and want that refused to take a single, clear shape.

Sylus was too close, his presence like velvet wrapped around steel, the kind of danger that made your breath quicken for all the wrong reasons. And Xavier—Xavier was behind you, silent and still, but the weight of his gaze felt heavier than the air between you, thick with everything he hadn’t said.

And that was what finally did it.

The second your silence stretched too long—when your hand hovered between stepping back or reaching forward—Xavier moved.

The shift in the room was instant.

One moment he was behind you, calm, unreadable. The next, he was in front of you, stepping between you and Sylus with a precision that made the air snap. His hand came up, flat against Sylus’s chest, not shoving—but firm. Final.

“That’s enough.”

His voice was low, steady—but it shook something in your core. It was the kind of tone that came from someone who had finally made a decision, someone who had spent too long holding back and had just realized he wasn’t going to anymore.

Sylus raised a brow, but he didn’t step back. “You going to make a move, or just keep playing bodyguard?”

Xavier’s jaw flexed.

He turned his head, slowly, his gaze cutting to you like a knife sheathed in velvet, cool but burning from the inside out. You could see it in the tension in his shoulders, in the way his breath came just a fraction sharper than before. He wasn’t angry—not at you. But he was done pretending he didn’t feel it.

“You want someone to show you what’s going on?” he said, voice lower now, meant only for you. “Fine.”

And then he was kissing you.

No hesitation. No caution. Just the clean, sharp press of his mouth against yours—like he’d been waiting for an excuse, and now that he had one, he wasn’t holding back.

His hand slid up to your jaw, tilting your face toward him as his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him, grounding you in something that felt real and immediate and overwhelming. You gasped against his mouth and he swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss until your legs nearly gave out beneath you.

When he finally pulled back, breath ragged against your cheek, he didn’t speak right away. His forehead rested lightly against yours, his fingers still curled into your hip, holding you there like he couldn’t risk letting go.

And then, without looking away from you, he spoke.

“So, now?” he said, quieter now. “Here it is.”

He reached for your hand—and pressed it firmly to the line of his belt, eyes dark, voice steady.

“Choose.”

And behind you, Sylus exhaled a soft, amused breath. “Well. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

You didn’t move.

Not when Xavier’s breath still clung to your lips, not when his grip remained firm at your waist, grounding you to him with a steadiness that should’ve made the decision easier. But it didn’t. Your hand stayed frozen against the front of his belt, trembling ever so slightly, suspended in the tension between want and fear, confusion and heat, unable to fall forward or pull away. You felt his eyes on you—steady, unreadable—and for a moment, you thought he might close the space again, kiss you until the question dissolved between your mouths.

But he didn’t. And you couldn’t. And that’s when Sylus laughed.

It was a quiet sound, deep and rich, edged not with cruelty but certainty—a slow, indulgent realization that the moment he’d been carefully laying out had finally unfolded exactly as he meant it to. He took a step closer, slow and unhurried, like he’d been waiting just outside the gravity of the room, and now that the air had changed, he’d let himself fall into it.

“She’s not choosing,” he said simply, as if he were pointing out a truth neither of you wanted to see—one that had been written in the way your breath caught, the way your eyes darted between them, the way your body leaned into Xavier’s hold even as your mouth still burned with the memory of Sylus’s voice. “You see that, don’t you?”

Xavier didn’t answer, but you felt it—the slight shift in his posture, the way his grip stilled on your waist, no longer urging you closer, as if he too had realized that no matter how tightly he held you, something in you was still hesitating.

Sylus watched him for a beat longer, red eyes gleaming beneath the soft glow of your kitchen lights, and when he stepped forward again, his movements were quiet, precise, the kind of control that didn’t ask permission—it dared you to stop him.

“You think I came here just to provoke you?” he asked, not mockingly, but with the slow pull of someone peeling back a truth long buried. “You think I followed her home just to make you angry?”

His gaze dropped to yours again, and something shifted in his face—not softened, not quite, but sharpened into something intimate, hungry, real.

“I’m not here to light a fire under you, Xavier. I’m here for her.”

He closed the space until he stood shoulder to shoulder with the man still holding you, and when he lifted his hand to your face, it was gentle but possessive—his fingers trailing the curve of your jaw, guiding your head just slightly until your eyes met his. His thumb brushed your cheek in a slow, deliberate stroke, as if laying claim to the part of you that hadn’t yet been touched.

“I don’t plan to stand back and watch you win,” he murmured, his voice a low thread between your lips, his breath barely a whisper against your skin. “I don’t intend to be a shadow in your story.”

Then, still watching you, his words turned toward Xavier, a slow blade wrapped in silk.

“I’m here to compete,” he said. “I’m going to take what you hesitate to touch.”

The air in the room thickened like steam, like tension settling into the bones of the walls around you. But Xavier didn’t flinch, didn’t back down, didn’t so much as twitch. His fingers remained steady on your hip, his chest pressed lightly against your back, and when he finally spoke, it was with the kind of low, dark resolve that felt quieter than breath and far heavier than words.

“Then prove it.”

And just like that, the attention—the hunger—shifted back to you.

The way Sylus’s gaze lingered a moment longer on Xavier’s, something unspoken passing between them—an acknowledgment, a dare, a promise—and then, as if synced by the same thread pulled tight around you, they moved.

Xavier’s hand was the first to slide lower, fingers dragging with deliberate slowness down your side until they rested at the curve of your hip, holding you there as he stepped behind you again, his body flush to your back now, warmth seeping through every layer of your clothing like a warning of what was coming.

Sylus didn’t wait for permission. He leaned in from the front, eyes locked on yours as his thumb traced the corner of your mouth, then dipped lower, brushing your bottom lip with the same care one might handle something delicate—fragile—but it wasn’t reverence. It was precision. He was memorizing you.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, voice low and velvet-dark. “Is that for me… or for him?”

Your lips parted, breath caught somewhere between their bodies, but no answer came—not when Xavier leaned forward behind you, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear, his voice a low murmur against your skin.

“She doesn’t know,” he said, and the way his breath hit your neck sent a full-body shiver spiraling through you. “That’s the problem.”

Sylus’s smile curved into something sharper, something predatory. “Then we’ll show her.”

Xavier’s hands moved first—down, under your shirt, palms flat against your stomach, dragging slowly upward. The touch was patient, methodical, and devastating. When his fingers reached the underside of your bra, they didn’t push—just held there, the heat of his skin seeping through the lace as he waited for the sound of your breath catching, and when it did, he exhaled, low and dark, and slid his palms higher, cupping you fully.

You gasped, but it was lost in Sylus’s mouth.

Because while Xavier touched, Sylus claimed—his lips brushing yours in a ghost of a kiss before he took it fully, his hand sliding up your neck to anchor you there as he devoured you in one long, slow pull of lips and tongue that made your knees weaken. His kiss was fire, Xavier’s hands were heat, and the war between them was being fought on the lines of your body.

Sylus bit your lower lip, gently, teasing, and when he pulled back, his eyes were half-lidded, breath warm against your cheek. “You taste like hesitation.”

Behind you, Xavier’s voice was lower, rougher. “Not for long.”

And then you were moving—walked backward, guided by Xavier’s hands, turned and pressed against the edge of your couch. His grip was firm but not forceful, and when he sank to his knees in front of you, his eyes lifted to yours with a hunger so quiet it felt sacred.

Sylus moved behind now, a mirror to what Xavier had been, and when his hands settled on your waist, when his lips ghosted along the back of your neck, you finally understood.

This wasn’t a fight. It was a ritual, and you were the altar.

Xavier’s fingers brushed the waistband of your pants with the kind of care that wasn’t hesitation, but reverence laced in control, his eyes still locked on yours as if daring you to look away. He didn’t pull them down yet—just traced the edge, knuckles dragging slow along your lower belly, letting you feel the weight of anticipation before his thumbs finally hooked beneath the fabric and began to slide it down.

Behind you, Sylus leaned in, his breath brushing your shoulder as his hands took over from Xavier’s, tugging your clothing down the rest of the way with far less patience, knuckles grazing the backs of your thighs in a way that made your stomach clench. You could hear the hum of approval in his throat when the fabric hit the floor, his fingers curling around your hips to steady you as Xavier knelt fully, his mouth following the trail he’d made.

You exhaled, shaky, as cool air kissed your exposed skin—but it was the heat of Xavier’s breath between your thighs that made your knees buckle. His hands slid around to the backs of your legs, firm and grounding, and then he tasted you.

There was no warning—just the slow, devastating drag of his tongue from your center to your clit, measured and controlled, like he wanted to memorize every reaction you gave. And when he felt you shudder, when he heard the soft, broken sound that slipped from your lips, his grip tightened just slightly, mouth pressing in deeper, tongue flicking, circling, teasing in patterns too precise to be anything but intentional.

Sylus’s mouth was at your ear again, his hand sliding up your stomach, beneath your shirt, fingers spreading wide over your ribs as he whispered, “You’re soaking. You feel that?” His hips pressed lightly against your ass, just enough to let you feel the hard line of him through tailored slacks that hadn’t been undone yet—because Sylus liked restraint until it hurt.

Xavier groaned low against you, the vibration sending a fresh wave of sensation through your core, and when you whimpered, Sylus smiled against your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just beneath your ear. “Seems like he’s good with his mouth,” he murmured, hand sliding up to cup your breast beneath your bra. “But I want to know how you sound when I’m inside you.”

You gasped as his thumb brushed over your nipple, and Xavier responded with a slow, filthy pull of your clit between his lips, the kind of focused worship that made your thighs quake and your fingers claw at the fabric beneath you.

They weren’t fighting anymore. They were orchestrating.

Xavier pulled back just slightly, lips slick, eyes glazed with hunger but still watching, and he murmured, “Turn her around.”

Sylus didn’t need to be told twice.

His hands slid from your waist to your shoulders, and with deliberate slowness, he guided you to turn in place—Xavier still on his knees, now behind you, Sylus in front, already working the buttons of his shirt open with one hand while the other tilted your chin up to meet him.

“Ready, sweetheart?” he whispered, eyes dark. “Because once we start, we’re not stopping until you forget who you thought you wanted more.”

And behind you, Xavier’s hands gripped your hips again—this time, harder.

The side of the couch pressed against the front of your legs. Sylus leaned down to kiss you. And between the heat of their mouths, the drag of their hands, the overwhelming stretch of your body being claimed on both ends—

You forgot everything but this.

Sylus didn’t rush the kiss. He took it in pieces—soft, open-mouthed, his lips dragging over yours like he had all night to taste you and still wouldn’t get enough. His hands framed your face at first, thumbs brushing the corners of your mouth before sliding down to your throat, his touch never harsh, but possessive in the way a storm claims the air before it breaks.

Behind you, Xavier stayed on his knees, but his mouth returned to you with a kind of precision that was almost cruel—licking, flicking, dragging in devastating patterns over your clit that didn’t allow you a second of stillness. His fingers gripped your hips firmly, kneading into your skin like he was marking his place, while every pass of his tongue pushed you closer to the edge without letting you fall.

When your legs trembled beneath you, Sylus deepened the kiss, swallowing the whimper that escaped your throat as Xavier’s tongue pressed flat and slow, the heat of him making your body arch instinctively. Sylus pulled back just enough to speak, breath warm against your lips.

“That close already?” he murmured, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Poor kitten. We’ve barely started.”

He dragged your shirt over your head without waiting for a reply, your bra following in a blur of movement and heat. The cool air barely had time to kiss your skin before Sylus’s mouth was on your chest, his lips and tongue tracing over one breast while his hand squeezed the other, teasing you between tongue and fingers until your hips rocked forward on instinct—seeking friction, seeking something.

But you didn’t get relief. Not yet. Because Xavier chose that moment to stop.

You made a soft, desperate sound, one that turned to a gasp when his hands slid up the backs of your thighs, guiding you down, bending you gently over the couch until your chest pressed to the cushions and your ass was angled perfectly toward him. His palms ran over your curves like he was sculpting something holy, and then he leaned in, breath hot against the crease of your thigh.

“You think you can take both of us?” Xavier asked, the question low and so calm it made your skin prickle. “You can’t even handle my tongue.”

You whined, hips shifting, but Sylus was already crouching in front of you now, having stripped down to his slacks and unfastened them with an unhurried, deliberate ease that made your mouth water. His cock rested against his thigh, hard and flushed, and when he saw your gaze drop to it, his smirk curved into something dark.

“You want it?” he asked, thumbing a drop of precum from the tip and dragging it over your lower lip, slow enough to watch your reaction. “Then beg for it.”

You tried—but then Xavier’s mouth returned behind you, this time with his fingers joining, sliding inside slowly, stretching you with maddening precision while his tongue never stopped working your clit. The combination tore a cry from your throat, one you barely managed to muffle against Sylus’s chest as he chuckled and stroked your jaw.

“Did you hear that, Xavier?” Sylus said, voice low and pleased. “She sounds perfect when she doesn’t know which way to fall.”

And Xavier’s voice came from behind you��closer now, deeper.

“She’s going to break. We’re going to make sure of it.”

Sylus grabbed a fistful of your hair—not rough, but grounding—and guided your mouth to the head of his cock, offering.

“Let’s see how much she can take,” he murmured. “Because I don’t think we’re stopping until she’s begging us to let her come.”

The taste of him bloomed across your tongue, salty and clean, and the sound he made when your lips wrapped fully around him was little more than a growl, low and possessive.

“That’s it,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “Just like that, sweetie. God, you’re so fucking pretty when you’re obedient.”

Xavier, still behind you, was anything but gentle now—his fingers thrusting inside you with measured force, finding that perfect spot again and again as his tongue flicked over your clit with the kind of practiced attention that made your entire body quiver against the couch. He wasn’t letting up. Neither of them were. And it was too much.

Your hips rocked forward instinctively, and Sylus held you there with one hand tangled in your hair, the other caressing the curve of your jaw as you moaned around him. The sound made him shudder, his cock twitching on your tongue.

“She’s close,” he said looking over you, voice rough now, as if even he was starting to feel the pleasure. “She’s dripping all over your hand.”

“She’s not coming yet,” Xavier replied, his tone flat, controlled—his fingers suddenly slowing to a torturously slow rhythm that made your thighs shake. “Not until she asks for it.”

You whimpered, pulling back from Sylus with a gasping breath, your lips slick and swollen, your voice a wrecked whisper.

“Please…”

But that wasn’t enough. Sylus leaned down, fingers gripping your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

“Say it,” he said, eyes burning crimson now, pupils blown wide. “Say exactly what you want.”

Xavier’s tongue circled your clit again, slow and firm, and your body bucked between them, your hands clawing at the couch cushions as you tried to ride the edge that kept slipping out of reach.

“Say his name,” Sylus coaxed. “Say mine. Tell us what you need.”

You gasped, breath shuddering as another wave of heat crested behind your ribs, just beyond reach, and you broke.

“I want both of you,” you cried, voice cracking, desperate now. “Please—fuck, please—I want you inside me. I want both of you—please.”

Everything stopped.

The stillness was deafening for a moment—no fingers, no tongue, no teasing—just the ragged echo of your voice, the raw need of it laid bare in the air.

Sylus stepped back, grabbing your arm and hauling you upright, his mouth crashing into yours with a bruising kiss that tasted like praise and promise. His hands were on your hips, angling you toward him as Xavier moved closer behind you, one hand sliding up your spine, the other already pulling his belt open with sharp, mechanical precision.

They didn’t speak.

There was no need—not now that your words had broken through the tension, raw and desperate, a plea that lived in your throat even as their hands found you again.

Xavier moved behind you, his breath hot against your shoulder as his hands slid over your hips, steady and grounding, fingers curling into your skin as he lined himself up against your entrance. His cock brushed your folds, thick and hot and already slick from how desperately you’d been soaking for him, and you could feel the restraint in him—how hard he was trying to keep control as the head of him pushed against your entrance.

But he didn’t wait long. Not when you moaned, not when your hips arched back instinctively, begging without words for him to take. And he did.

Xavier sank into you with a slow, devastating thrust, filling you inch by inch until your knees nearly gave out. He grunted softly, breath catching as your walls clamped down around him, already fluttering, already struggling to take all of him. One arm wrapped around your waist as he buried himself deep, the other sliding up to press a hand between your breasts, holding you in place, holding you still.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he growled, voice low and dark in your ear. “Like your body was made for this.”

Before you could even catch your breath, Sylus was back in front of you, his hand in your hair again—not to pull, but to guide, to keep you upright as Xavier began to move behind you with slow, punishing strokes. His cock bobbed just in front of your mouth, flushed and glistening, and when you looked up at him, eyes wide and lips parted, he smiled like a man watching someone fall to their knees for worship.

“Open up, sweetheart,” he said, voice thick. “You asked for both of us—so take me.”

You did—lips parting as he guided himself back into your mouth, and the second you closed your lips around him, Sylus hissed through his teeth, head falling back with a groan.

Now they moved together.

Xavier’s hips rolled in slow, deliberate thrusts behind you, hitting deep with every grind of his pelvis, the slap of skin against skin echoing in the room, and every time he pushed forward, Sylus eased into your mouth, letting you take him in time with the rhythm.

They didn’t rush. They devoured—Xavier grinding deep inside you, dragging moans from your throat that were muffled by the length of Sylus on your tongue, his fingers fisted in your hair, jaw tight with restraint.

“Fuck—look at her,” Sylus groaned, his eyes locked on yours, watching the tears prick the corners of them as you took him deeper, struggling to keep breathing between thrusts. “Look at how fucking good she looks between us.”

Xavier growled behind you, one hand sliding down to rub tight, focused circles over your clit as he fucked into you harder, the slap of his hips faster now, more forceful, more intentional.

“She’s going to come just like this,” he muttered, his lips at your ear. “Stuffed full. Wrecked. Can you see how she’s gripping me?”

The orgasm creeping closer with every stroke, every grind of Sylus’s cock against your tongue, every flick of Xavier’s fingers over your clit. You were shaking, sobbing around Sylus’s length now, unable to do anything but feel, your body no longer your own.

“Come for us,” Xavier said, voice hoarse. “Fucking fall apart.”

And you did.

With a cry strangled around Sylus’s cock, your body convulsed—legs trembling, walls clenching so tightly around Xavier he cursed and nearly lost it with you. Sylus groaned brokenly as your moan vibrated through him, and he pulled out just long enough to let you cry out fully, your mouth slick and open as your body seized in climax, your scream echoing between their bodies.

“That’s it,” Sylus murmured, voice barely holding steady. “That’s our girl.”

You barely had time to breathe. Your body was still trembling, muscles clenching around the last waves of your orgasm when Xavier pulled out with a soft hiss, his hands still steady on your waist as he guided you gently down to your knees on the couch cushions. Your legs gave out beneath you, boneless and soaked, mouth parted in dazed relief—but the moment you collapsed, Sylus was there.

He didn’t wait.

His hands were on your hips in an instant, lifting, adjusting, dragging your body back toward him with a strength that felt like it lived in his bones. You cried out, overstimulated and still gasping, but when you turned to look over your shoulder, the expression on his face was pure, dark hunger—his hair mussed, his chest flushed, his cock slick at the tip as he lined himself up behind you.

“You begged for both of us,” he rasped, his voice rougher now, fraying at the edges. “Now fucking take it.”

And with that, he pushed inside.

The stretch was brutal—sharper than Xavier, not because he was bigger, but because he didn’t give you time to adjust. You were still tight, soaked, throbbing from the orgasm Xavier had just pulled from you, and Sylus was feral, groaning low in his throat as he bottomed out with one long, forceful thrust that made your breath catch and your arms collapse beneath you.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growled, hands gripping your ass as he pulled back and slammed into you again, the sound echoing in the room like a slap. “Tight little thing. So desperate to be filled you didn’t even care who did it first.”

You whimpered, but it broke into a moan when he snapped his hips forward again, harder now, faster—every thrust sending shockwaves through your core, through your thighs, through your lungs. You felt wrecked, used, stretched to your limit and already close to unraveling again, the pressure mounting so fast you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

And behind you, Sylus was panting, cursing softly, hips slamming into yours as his fingers dug into your skin.

“You feel that?” he groaned, voice low and wrecked. “You’re taking all of me, sweetheart. So fucking good.”

Your body was already shuddering—wrung out, raw, still fluttering around Sylus’s cock as he drove into you with the kind of desperate, punishing thrusts that left no room for doubt. He was close. You could feel it in the way his grip tightened on your hips, in the way his breath turned to ragged curses against your skin, in the way he pulled you back onto him like he couldn’t get deep enough, even though he was already buried to the hilt.

But then—Xavier was in front of you again.

He knelt on the couch, one knee beside your hand, the other planted steady in the cushions, his cock already flushed and heavy, gleaming at the tip as he wrapped his fingers around the base and guided it toward your mouth.

“Open,” he said, his voice soft but commanding, his eyes hooded, jaw tight. “Now.”

You obeyed without hesitation—lips parting around a gasp as Sylus fucked you harder from behind, and the moment Xavier slid into your mouth, you moaned low and wrecked, the sound vibrating against him as his hand cradled the back of your head, keeping your pace slow and steady.

“That’s it,” Xavier murmured, breath catching as you took more of him, your tongue curling around his length. “Good girl. Just like that.”

Your throat was tight, your mouth full, your body a wrecked, trembling thing between them. Sylus was slamming into you now, his pace erratic, desperate, every thrust forcing you forward on Xavier’s cock until you were choking softly around the rhythm, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as Xavier groaned and held you there, just long enough to feel you struggle, then eased back.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” he rasped, hips flexing as he slid deeper. “Fucked dumb. Not even sure who’s making you come anymore.”

“Both of us,” Sylus growled from behind, the slap of his hips harsh now, his voice wrecked and low. “She begged for both. Let’s not let her forget.”

Your moans were helpless, muffled around Xavier’s cock, your body bouncing with every thrust from Sylus, every grind of Xavier’s hips forward. You were gone. Absolutely gone—sweat-slicked, soaking, mouth full, cunt dripping around Sylus’s cock with every brutal snap of his hips.

And then Sylus cursed—loud, ragged—as his rhythm faltered, hips jerking in short, desperate thrusts as he came hard inside you, one final growl of your name pulled from somewhere primal in his chest.

You barely had time to collapse before Xavier’s hand fisted in your hair, holding your head steady as his pace quickened, the soft curses spilling from his lips unraveling into something far less composed.

“God, your mouth,” he groaned, voice hoarse. “So fucking good—gonna come—fuck, baby—hold still—”

And you did—barely—lips stretched wide, jaw aching, tears slipping down your cheeks as Xavier groaned deep in his throat and spilled into your mouth, thick and hot, hips twitching as he held you there, pressed tight against your tongue, his breath shuddering above you.

When he finally let go, you sagged—completely spent, used, trembling with the weight of what they’d both poured into you.

You collapsed between them, your body boneless, trembling, your throat raw and mouth swollen, legs weak from everything they’d taken and given back tenfold. The couch beneath you was too warm, the air thick with sweat and sex and quiet breathless awe.

Xavier moved first—brushing the damp hair from your forehead, his fingers soft now, reverent, like he was grounding himself through the feel of your skin. He leaned in, kissed your temple, then your cheek, his voice a low murmur just for you.

“You did so well,” he whispered, lips grazing your skin. “Took everything we gave you. All of it.”

Sylus’s hand slid up your thigh, not seeking anything—just there. His touch was warm, his presence less wild now, but still charged. You felt him lean in close, his voice like dark velvet.

“You wrecked us, sweetie,” he said with a smirk. “Never seen Xavier lose control like that. Never thought I’d share.”

You let out a breathless laugh—half delirious, half overwhelmed—as they settled against you, Xavier at your side, Sylus curled in behind you, one arm thrown lazily across your waist. Their bodies pressed to yours, surrounding you with heat, the silence no longer heavy, but full of something softer.

Sylus broke it.

“So,” he drawled, fingers tapping absently against your hip, “who won?”

The air shifted.

Xavier’s hand stilled where it had been stroking down your side. His body tensed, just barely—but enough to feel it.

“She hasn’t answered,” he said, quiet but pointed.

Your breath caught. You turned your face into the crook of Xavier’s shoulder, but Sylus’s laugh was low and smug behind you.

“She will,” he said. “She has to.”

Their attention shifted to you at once—two sets of hands pausing, two very different energies pressing into your skin.

“So,” Xavier said, voice quiet but steady, “which of us is it?”

You smiled, eyes fluttering closed.

“I choose both.”

Silence.

And then—Sylus groaned.

“You’re kidding.”

“She’s not,” Xavier muttered, exhaling slowly.

You opened one eye to see Sylus sitting up, already reaching for his pants, shirt rumpled and jaw tight.

“Really, y/n?” he asked, tossing a glance toward Xavier. “So, what, we take turns now?”

“I’m not giving her up.”

“Neither am I.”

You covered your face with your hands, half-laughing, half-sighing as they began arguing over logistics, position, timing, like two wolves circling the same flame.

“Oh my god,” you groaned. “You’re both ridiculous.”

But you were smiling.

Somehow, some way, this could work out beautifully. 

[bloodstainedsapphic]

coffee shop fluff with ellie williams rahhh

pitter patter. the slosh of each step onto the sidewalk, the missteps into murky puddles during the drizzle, threatened to seep through your fuzzy socks and erase the last barrier between you and the storm above.  

the forecast had promised sunshine—what a load of shit that was. a pleasant excursion into town with your best friend ellie had turned into a zig-zagging mad dash between stops, making the chill vibes more fickle as you tried to have fun while evading a sniveling cold. the day still managed to be something close to perfect. because, at the end of it all, you were with ellie.

seeking some reprieve from the onslaught of trickling rain, you both slipped into an equally busy coffee shop. despite all the action, you sighed in relief as the inside brought a coziness the foggy, slate-grey spring weather had not granted. it was a steady crowd—everyone else must have had the same idea, trying to escape the lousy weather.  

“whatcha want?”  you asked ellie, who was raking a hand through her auburn hair, now darkened to a deep chestnut from the rain.

“anything but coffee.”  

“got it.”  

you took ellie’s entirely too vague order and stepped ahead to the counter, purchasing yourself a latte and ordering the barista’s special recommendation of tea for ellie.  

as you waited, elbow leaned against the corner of the countertop, your eyes wandered, quickly spotting ellie on the far side of the café. she’s holding what appears to be a comic, plucked from shelves that sat riddled with trinkets, purchasable knickknacks, and dime-a-dozen books.  you quietly head her way.

“did you find the one comic in this café?” you asked, leering over her shoulder, eyeing the yellowed pages ellie was flipping through.  

she snorted, barely sparing you a glance. “obviously.” she traded in the zine for her tea, taking it from you and blowing on the top to cool it down.   

you and ellie made your way to a small circular table near the windowsill, watching the droplets trickle down the glass. it was peaceful, even if you were both wet as stray dogs at this point of the day.  

“you know,” you started, initiating a random topic to keep the momentum going. “i don’t mind the city.”  

ellie shrugged. the city didn’t seem to bring the same twinkle to her eye as it did to you. she leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingers idly against the side of her cup.  

“eh. it’s a lot sometimes,” she admitted, “but… not bad if you know where to look.”  

you nodded. “exactly.”  

then you paused, sensing a layer underneath ellie’s words. your eyes narrowed mischievously as you leaned in slightly, like you were coaxing a secret out of her.  

“wait. do you have some mystery spots you haven’t told me about?”  

ellie shrugged again, her false coyness meant to taunt you, rile you up—her favorite pastime, it seemed. “dunno.”  

you groaned, blowing on your drink to soothe yourself, taking a small sip before really grilling her.  

“what are you talking about?”  

ellie hummed noncommittally, slowly swirling her cup in her hand, acting as though the conversation wasn’t all that interesting.  “wouldn’t you like to know.”  

“ellie, you fucking suck.”  

ellie merely smirked, clearly enjoying your weak attempt at prying an answer from her. she took a slow sip of her tea, looking entirely unbothered—maybe even a little smug—as you steeped in your frustration.  

“if we were dating, i’d take you to all the best places…” she mused, her inflection practically begging you to cling to and make a deal of her teasing words.  so you did. “what’s stopping you?” you fired back, playing along.  

in your pride, you caught the way ellie visibly stiffened, her lips pressed to the rim of her cup, frozen mid-sip as if she might choke on your reply.  

“…excuse me,” she muttered, a bit gruff, her eyes flicking toward you as if unsure whether to scoff or take you seriously.  

“you heard me.” you mirrored her energy, wiggling your brows, acting as if the rising tension wasn’t threading through your every last nerve. there had been plenty of cheeky flirts and lingering touches before this titular moment with ellie—she was your pretty best friend. you’d be ‘down’ if she asked. but the possibility had never been quite so direct as this.  

“mmmh, i’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, trying to sound stoic before finally taking that sip she wanted. you caught the quiver in her voice and the rose-petal blush on her cheeks, however, shining through the sheen of rain still clinging to her face and hair.  

“nice.” you grinned, pleased with her words. “when can we start?”  

“start what?”  “dating. so you can show me those so-called best places..duh.” ellie finally, actually choked on her tea.

[theheroheart]

[Image 1: Tweet from Ryan Logan. It reads: "When people call you a "snowflake" just remember they're quoting Fight Club. A satire written by a gay man about how male fragility causes men to destroy themselves, resent society, and become radicalized..."]

[Image 2: Photo of a page of Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk. It reads: "I've met God across his long walnut desk with his diplomas hanging on the wall behind him, and God asks me, "Why?" Why did I cause so much pain? Didn't I realize that each of us is a sacred, unique snowflake of special unique specialness? Can't I see how we're all manifestations of love? I look at God behind his desk, taking notes on a pad, but God's got this all wrong. We are not special. We are not crap or trash, either. We just are. We just are, and what happens just happens. And God says, "No, that's not right." Yeah. Well. Whatever. You can't teach God anything."]

[faemurmur]

-> head empty just jealous professor rafayel corrupting his student. <3

“that’s it, just like that. stay quiet, and let me take care of you.” his thrusts are slow, but deep. cockhead probing and nuzzling against your cervix. “you look so cute crying for me~” you can’t help it. your poor cunt is stretched out of her limit, and rafayel has been toying with you like you’re his personal slave. ironical — because he displays devotion in it’s most twisted sense. only to use your body as he pleases.

you don’t mind it though, professor rafayel has always been kind, and nurturing, even when he’s fucking you so senseless & dumb your brain is leaking from your guts in the form of arousal. “orgasm three, are we ready?” rafayel, oh professor rafayel…

“please—“ your moans are tired and broken, but he is relentless. you know better than to make him jealous now. why did you have to be so cocky? kissing a classmate on the cheek when he asked you out for a date? consequences are to be dealt with darling…

“didn’t you want to learn more? didn’t you want to take extra study lessons from that pathetic classmate of youre?” rafayel whispers gravelly against the shell of your ear. you shudder, weeping softly. the pleasure is driving you nuts. burning & aching overstimulation imprinting rafayel in your memory.

“m’ sorry.” you break out in a sob. pinned against the wall for what feels like an hour, rafayel’s cock relentlessly pumping your aching cunt full of him. sometimes he feels lazy & lets your entire weight drop on his cock, impaling your cunt completely. then whines of pain mingled with suffocating pleasure is all he needs.

“what for?” he teases, booping your nose. his fingers languidly rubbing circles on your swollen, overstimulated & sensitive bundle of nerves.

“rafayel—“ you choke out, head leaned back, walls spasming again. you will orgasm in no time. and you have no control over it.

“if you want to cum darling then tell me, what. are you sorry for?” rafayel’s voice lowers a few octaves and you feel yourself melting into the delicious submission of it all. “mmgh~ m’ sorry for makin’ you jealous, professor.” you whine softly, pawing at his chest like a cat, not wanting to be touched. you feel like your entire body, your nerves — everything is on fire. like rafayel’s evol has consumed you whole.

“then cum for me.” he commands, and your body works her charm immediately. its as if you were born to be fucked by rafayel, to be loved by rafayel, to be ruined by rafayel.

holding your battered body close to his chest princess-style; rafayel’s entire demeanor changes. “that’s it little angel. oh my god you were so perfect for me you know? i thought i should tell you that you have special rafayel spoiling coupons for the entire week.” he kisses your forehead, hands tenderly wiping at the sheen of sweat off your face, kissing your tears away.

professor rafayel is rich, and you wonder how… and why… an artist like him is a professor… maybe the next time he would tell you about his strange career choice. anything to be close to you.