#i kind of hate myself for this ngl

[revon-aurora-borealis]

ive just realized that i may have a thing for hot blond villainous men

its just two tho (as of now) so prolly a coincidence i think

[kaimira0w0]

''Oh stars what have i done-?''

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

CONTEXT!

This is just a redraw from a post from a year ago that i just stumbled upon while clearing my gallery...

no there is not much further context for this, the second pic is the original and first is the recent redraw-

so yeah-

if you've red this far thank you!

have a nice day/night ✨

[gu6chan]

was yapping to my sister about that annoying person that thinks they're god and knows true labour for gifting everyone a machine-translated copy of DOD1 Side-Story and spent sLeEpLeSs NiGhTs making it look less rough (they straight-up do not even know japanese) because it "hadn't been translated in 22 years and probably never will" (I deadass told them I had the plan laid out to TL it as soon as I finished with all the OTHER shit i was busy translating) and i jokingly sent this with "what it feels like to be a fan-translator in the drakengard fanbase" and it was meant as a little "lol" type thing but ngl this might accidentally be the most spot-on thing i've seen in a while

[daintyduck99]

Shuffle your favourite playlist and post the first five songs that come up. Then copy/paste this ask to your favourite mutuals <3 (ps if there's not at least 2 Swift songs in there I will be shocked)

❤️ I shuffled my On Repeat Playlist (I don't really have a singular favorite) and only got one Taylor Swift song somehow 😆 Fitting that it's shaping up to be my favorite from her latest album though. I do have two Olivia songs for you, however 😌

1. My Favorite Mistake - Sheryl Crow

2. obsessed - Olivia Rodrigo

3. Song About You - The Band CAMINO

4. Who's Afraid of Little Old Me? - Taylor Swift

5. girl i've always been - Olivia Rodrigo

[erzfreu]

to understand my art you must know that i look like this in real life

[dakota-writes]

When The Day Turns To Night

Hello hello!! This is my first fic to this blog and came to be bc of the recent eclipse! It's heavily angsty bc I love to torture my audience LOL

Fandom: Cult of The Lamb

CW; major character death, violence, possession, plans of betrayal/betrayal

The Lamb frowned, adjusting the crown on their head in an unnerved fashion. The thing had always had a mind of its own, but for the past few days, it had become increasingly and unnervingly autonomous, going so far as to shift into weapons on its own without reason. Thankfully, it had yet to happen in front of any of the followers, but Lamb had no doubt that it was an inevitability. With every passing day, the crown grew more difficult to control.

"Something the matter, Lamb?" A familiar voice called. Lamb turned to find Narinder approaching them, his usual scowl laced with a hint of curiosity.

"No, why do you ask?" Lamb responded, giving a cheery smile in greeting.

"You've been more... distant, the past few days." Narinder looked the Lamb over briefly, an ear flicking. "The followers are beginning to notice."

"Oh! That." Lamb rubbed the back of their neck, "It's nothing-"

"It's the crown, isn't it?" Narinder interjected, voice lowered to keep anyone else from overhearing. Lamb blinked, shocked, but before they could ask how he knew, the former death god continued. "There's an eclipse coming. It's been trying to tell you."

"How do you know?" Lamb asked.

"I kept track of these things. It's an opportunity to gain more power." He responded with a shrug, "There wasn't much else to do after being locked away."

The Lamb hummed, though the crown didn't seem to settle. They thought nothing of it, chalking it up to it's anticipation for the event.

"Then I suppose a ritual is in order." They said, sowing the last berry seed they'd been planting before straightening and wiping off their hooves from the dirt. Narinder glanced at the crown before facing Lamb.

"How do you wish to go about it?" He asked, earning a smile from the Lamb.

"Not going to tell me how I should?" They teased.

"You've never listened to me before."

"That's a lie, and you know it." Lamb snorted, moving past the former death god and out of the field, "Lying to your god, what a heathen. Maybe I should sit you in the prison for a day or two." The words were laced with too much amusement to be anything close to serious, and the sly grin that Lamb tossed over their shoulder at Narinder only cemented the fact that it was simple teasing.

Narinder rolled his eyes.

"Then you'd be the one to keep Aym and Baal in check." He quipped, giving a knowing look to the smaller Lamb. They only hummed as the two crossed into the main portion of the small village, where most of the buzz happened.

"What makes you think I couldn't?"

"I'm not saying you couldn't. You just wouldn't enjoy it." Narinder responded easily.

Lamb snorted but didn't respond otherwise, leading the taller sphynx cat into the church. It was an unspoken game they played, going back and forth like this, and almost always ended in one of them refusing to admit something the other would call them out for. Now was no different.

They fell into a comfortable silence as Lamb approached the alter and flipped through the book upon it.

"What are you doing?" Narinder asked.

"Well, I figure if I'm to do a ritual, I may as well find some inspiration on how to go about it - unless you're willing to give up your secrets." They responded, not looking up.

He was silent for a moment before humming and looking away.

"I don't think you could stomach it."

That raised Lamb's gaze, and they tilted their head.

"What makes you say that?"

"You're-..." Narinder seemed at a loss for words, for a moment. "... soft."

"And?"

Narinder's tail flicked.

"You know exactly where this conversation will lead."

"Kindness isn't weakness, Narinder. I would have thought you'd have figured that out by now." Lamb said, stepping down from the alter and bringing the book with them.

A week or so passed before the eclipse came. Narinder still refused to reveal the ritual he would use during his days as a death god, and the other former bishops were useless in the matter, as they had never performed such arcane matters. Lamb didn't bother going to Aym or Baal, as the twins were more likely to accidentally talk them in circles than reveal anything useful in a reasonable amount of time. Which left them preparing and arranging the ritual from scratch with bits from the book and small pieces of advice from Ratau.

Narinder, however, did help in his own way, subtly fixing certain bits whenever the Lamb was away and the followers weren't looking. Aym and Baal assisted, of course, loyal to him as they were. Both Lamb and Ratau didn't notice the subtle shift in the sigils and runes placed upon the ground in preparation - but how could they, when the three were so very careful in making sure the followers kept them busy? And when the followers weren't an option, the crown certainly helped. Narinder's warning hadn't satisfied it, and still it acted out of turn, much to Lamb's dismay.

By the time the day of the eclipse came, the site had transformed from an empty spot before the Lamb's shrine to a heavily decorated and runed ritual site. The followers gathered before it, pulling their hoods onto their heads as they took their designated spots. Narinder watched with Lamb, glancing briefly to the sky to catch the moon slowly beginning its journey across the sun. He hummed.

"We'll be starting proper, soon."

"The peak of the ritual will match with the peak of the eclipse." Lamb responded, earning a pleased hum from the former death god beside them.

"A wise decision, leader."

Lamb couldn't help but snort at Narinder's unprompted formality, and moved to take their place at the head of the group, stepping atop a small platform to raise themselves above the followers. Narinder followed, though stepped off to the side of the platform... ever the perfect image of support to the great leader. The ritual began with chanting and praise to the Lamb, as most of them did, but as the moon drew closer to its peak position, the chanting grew more rapid - and the physical manifestation of the followers' faith began to appear in the center of the group. Lamb prepared themselves to accept it and the power that would come with it... and oddly enough, so did Narinder, though Lamb couldn't see it. However, neither did. Instead, when the moon finally blocked out the sun, the crown absorbed the faith and power. And Lamb's eyes promptly turned blood red. By the time Narinder caught it, it was too late, and Lamb whirled onto the former death god.

There was a moment of hesitation. Just long enough for Narinder to see Lamb fighting off the control of the crown. A moment where the Lamb's eyes returned to their natural hue before the red overtook them again.

And then Lamb lunged.

Narinder tried to dodge, but there were too many others in his way, crowding him in, and he tumbled as Lamb crashed into him. The crown transformed into the dagger Lamb so preferred, and Narinder had just enough time to knock it away before Lamb could get a grip on it.

"Lamb! Lamb, fight it!" Narinder shouted, gripping the cult leader's cloak to throw them off and get back to his feet. The crowd was thinning now, the followers terrified and unwilling to try to stop their leader. But it gave him room to move.

"Aym! Baal! Get the followers out of here!" Narinder shouted again, rolling out of the way as Lamb lunged again. They laughed as the twins began rounding up followers to bring to safety, picking up the dagger. But the sound was distorted from the usual cheerful noise that it would have been. It sounded older and bitter, and bit like a rusty axe.

"Too afraid to fight, The One Who Waits?" Lamb - or, rather, the Crown - asked. It was a taunt and Narinder knew it. He didn't bite, watching Lamb's movements like a hawk, waiting for the next attack as they circled each other. "You boast so often about your supremacy, and yet you won't lay a hand on this vessel. Why is that, Narinder?"

The former god gritted his teeth against the words, refusing to respond - to give the Crown anything to work with. The result was Lamb lunging again, catching the blade along Narinder's ribs despite the cat dodging. The wound was shallow but burned like a fire had been set, and it was in that moment that Narinder realized the Crown had transformed into the Bane Dagger. ... well, at least it could be said the Crown had a sense of irony.

Another lunge and another dodge sent Narinder crashing over the platform Lamb had been standing on just moments prior. The position left him vulnerable for a few seconds too long, and Lamb lunged once more, dagger poised to kill, but the former god caught their wrists to stop them.

"Lamb, you know you don't want to do this. Fight back." He grunted, and Lamb let out that distorted laugh once more.

"Still trying to reach them? I'm afraid they aren't available at this moment." They said, pushing their weight against Narinder to inch closer to his heart. "You were a great vessel, though. It's a shame that this one is better. How lowly of you, to fall to a mortal."

Narinder grunted again as the Crown pushed further and hissed as the dagger finally cut through his cloak. The poison from the scratch on his ribs was already weakening him, the pain creeping across the rest of his body like ivy, invading, and ruthless.

"I will relish your agony and that of this vessel's until I find a truly worthy one." The Crown snarled before, with one final shove, plunging the dagger into Narinder's chest. Fiery pain exploded throughout the cat's body, pulling a ragged gasp from him. Out of the corner of his vision, he could see the twins return, take note of the situation, and ready their weapons. The Crown did, too, and gave a chilling smile before standing, ripping the dagger out of Narinder's chest with the movement.

"No!" Narinder gasped, forcing himself to sit up, even as it made his vision swim with the pain. "Aym, don't! Baal!"

But they were already engaging, and Narinder could only watch in horror as the Crown shifted to the Merciless Sword and puppeteered the Lamb effortlessly through the twins' attacks... both fell dead within moments, their blood seeping through the crevices in the cobblestone to Narinder's feet.

The Crown didn't look back, didn't wipe the blood from itself or from the Lamb. It only turned and stalked out of the village.

Lamb felt nauseous. So absolutely sick and violated. This felt like a fever dream. Or one of the nightmares they sometimes had of the slaughter of the other lambs, where they could do nothing but sit and watch in horror until it was finally their turn to die. Only this was real, so horribly real. The metallic tang of blood in the air and the warm wet of it on their hooves and wool kept them grounded in this horrible reality.

They tried with everything they had to fight back, slamming against the metaphoric walls that kept them trapped within their own body. Especially as they recognized the path to Ratau's home. No. No, they couldn't allow this to continue. They couldn't allow this damned Crown to continue this senseless slaughter.

"Hush, little Lamb. It'll be over before you know it." The Crown cooed, wrapping itself around the Lamb's hooves in the Tempest's Gauntlets.

"Let me out, you damned traitor!" Lamb roared, slamming themselves against the wall. The Crown only laughed and gave no further response as it passed the brush dividing Ratau's home from the forest. It didn't bother with taunts or niceties, only ripping the door from its hinges and stepping inside. Lamb sobbed inside themselves as they were forced to watch their friend torn asunder as the Crown laughed wretchedly.

They almost gave up. They almost let the Crown have its way. They were so close to breaking, after losing everything and building back up just to have it ripped from them again. But as the eclipse began to pass, and with one final, desperate push, Lamb broke past the wall. The Crown hissed and tried to turn the gauntlets against them, but they forced it instead to shift back to its original crown form before ripping off their cloak and wrapping it tightly around the artifact, sobbing.

Everyone. Everyone that Lamb had come to care for. Everyone but-

Lamb gasped and shoved the Crown into the chest that Ratau stored his game of Knucklebones inside before sprinting out. By the time they reached the village, the sun was completely uncovered, and their wool was crusted with blood and dirt. They didn't care, rushing to the shrine where Narinder now sat against, cradling his wound.

"Narinder!" Lamb cried, rushing to his side, breathless. They couldn't stop the tears from bubbling back up, choking back a hiccuping sob as they saw the cat's blackened veins from the poison in his system.

"... knew you could do it." Narinder rasped, giving a rare smile.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Narinder." Lamb babbled, tears falling as they pushed his hands away from his wound. "I can fix this. I'm going to fix this. Everything's going to be fine." They continued, pouring their power into trying to heal the former god.

Narinder gave a wry huff of a laugh, grabbing Lamb's hooves and holding onto them.

"You know better than to try and use power you don't have." He chastised softly. The words pulled a proper sob out of the Lamb.

"Please, Narinder, I can fix this, just let me-"

"Listen, Lamb." Narinder interrupted, "I'm sorry. This is my fault. I messed with your ritual. Adjusted the runes to give myself the power to take the Crown back. Aym and Baal helped."

Lamb shook their head.

"I don't care-"

Narinder only pushed on, taking a ragged breath.

"The fact is, you've always been a better wielder of it. A better leader, too. That you managed to break from its control is a testament to that. No one else could have managed it, not even I." He said, reaching to place a hand against Lamb's cheek. "I don't know how, as soft as you are."

Lamb laughed through another sob, leaning into Narinder's touch.

"Kindness isn't weakness."

It was Narinder's turn to laugh.

"I suppose not." He responded, smiling again bittersweet. "I just wish this was not how I learned that lesson. A shame. I would have liked to find whatever peace you have."

Lamb shook their head.

"Don't talk like that. Don't say that."

Narinder pulled Lamb forward with what little strength he had left, placing a kiss against their forehead.

"Rule with a gentle hand, Lamb. As only you know how." He said with his last breath before finally falling limp in the Lamb's arms. The followers that were brave enough to finally return to the village could hear the wail of sorrow that followed shortly after.

[brutalmasks]

okay... let me just start this up by saying that i know i said i was going to be active here over the weekend, and i wasn't. which i feel so bad about NGL,, it's just that i tried replying to thing's on here over the weekend and i'm not sure what it was, but it feels like my muse is just completely gone for her rn?¿ i'm going to try to recover it, though, so i can actually come through on my promise of getting to old + new messages on here!! but i just wanted to say i really am sorry about that in the meantime. i'm going to get to more of those pre-established memes you all sent me for sure soon and i'll keep you guys updated as to what my muse situation is looking like, BUT i'm hoping that i'll be able to conjure some up and get out some replies during these next upcoming days. i can't say for certain though because muse can be such a finicky thing and that is so annoying in a way JSJSJ but yeahhh,, i hope y'all are having a great day so far and that you aren't too mad at me (,,:

[milkpansa-archive]

.

[sonknuxadow]

you know i never said you couldnt make your favorite characters be all lovey dovey or whatever i specifically made this post thinking of characters that dont really feel like they fit that sort of thing but commonly have it applied to them anyway. but i keep getting tags on this that are like "yes he would" "i can do whatever i want actually" etc so im here to announce that it's now illegal for fictional characters to be in love or get married or have children . if you try to write your favorite characters in domestic scenarios a meteor will be automatically summoned to hit your exact location. sorry i dont make the rules.

[freebooter4ever]

Honestly watched Geno put that puck in last night and my second thought (after “woooooo yeaaaaaaaah!”) was “freebooter4ever is gonna be so happy”

Please, call me Boots :P

[einaudis]

.

[sasheemo]

Knock Knot

Pairing: Alpha!Agatha x Omega!Reader

Summary: In the height of your heat, you find yourself at the mercy of the one Alpha you could never resist.

Tags: Omegaverse, Alpha/Omega Dynamics, Smut, Knotting, Breeding Kink, Porn Without Plot, First Omegaverse Attempt

Word count: 4.3k

A/N: Well ngl, this is a twist I didn’t see coming. Up until two weeks ago, I never would’ve imagined myself writing Omegaverse smut, but apparently, the universe (aka all the lovely humans that voted in the poll) had other plans. So, here I am, delivering what you asked for!

This is my first attempt at the genre, so I’d love to hear your thoughts! Be nice, though—or don’t, I can take it. If this goes over well, who knows? I might just write more. Enjoy! 💜

MASTERLIST

Read on AO3

You had underestimated your heat.

You should have known better. This isn’t your first time, but it’s unlike anything you’ve ever endured. The faint hum in your belly started four days ago, a subtle, manageable thrum—or so you thought. 

By the second day, the ache became unbearable. The suppressants you decided to rely on seem to be useless, failing to dull the relentless fire spreading through your core. Your scent has saturated your home, thick and cloying, clinging to every surface. No amount of pacing or distraction able to smother the inferno roaring inside you.

You’ve done everything to stay hidden—locked every door, shut every window tight, and isolated yourself in the living room, far from prying eyes. But the ache isn’t a dull pulse anymore. It’s a living, breathing thing, clawing at you with every passing moment. It’s not just release your body craves. It’s an Alpha.

And not just any Alpha.

The thought alone sends a fresh wave of heat rolling through you. Her scent haunts your senses, rich and spiced, lingering even in memory. Agatha Harkness isn’t just commanding, she’s overwhelming, the kind of Alpha who can ruin you with a single glance. You’ve crossed paths at coven meetings and social gatherings, but you’ve always avoided her sharp, knowing eyes. 

She has a way of looking at you that makes you feel stripped bare, vulnerable. And you hate her for it. You hate how small she makes you feel. But now, with your body betraying you, she’s all you can think about.

The knock comes softly at first, almost hesitant, but it slices through the quiet house like a thunderclap. You stop mid-step, your frantic pacing halted as the sound reverberates through the air. Your pulse pounds in your ears, drowning out the oppressive silence that had been your only companion for days.

Another knock follows, firmer this time. “Open the door.” a voice calls, equally smooth and firm, its authority impossible to ignore.

Agatha.

Your breath catches, panic blooming in your chest as her scent seeps through the door, heady and intoxicating even from outside. You press your back against the wall, trying to ground yourself, but it’s no use.

“I know you’re in there, Omega.” she calls again, her tone silk-wrapped steel. “Don’t make me break this door down.”

Her words send a shiver down your spine, your hands trembling as instinct overpowers logic. Before you can stop yourself, you’re gripping the handle, the cool metal slick under your palm. The door creaks open, and there she is.

Agatha stands in the doorway, her icy blue eyes locking onto yours like a predator sizing up its prey. Her presence fills the space instantly, her scent flooding your senses with an unbearable intensity. Her lips curl into an alluring smile, dark and confident.

“Did you really think you could hide from me?” she asks, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

You step back instinctively, your pulse hammering in your chest. 

“I… I didn’t—” The words stick in your throat, faltering under the weight of her gaze.

“You didn’t what?” she cuts in, kicking the door shut behind her with a resounding thud. “Didn’t think I’d notice?” Her eyes rake over you, lingering on your flushed cheeks and trembling thighs. “Your scent’s been calling to me for hours, Omega. I could smell you from down the street.”

Your knees wobble, heat pooling low in your belly as her words sink in. “You shouldn’t be here…” you say, though your voice holds no conviction.

Her smirk widens as she takes another step forward, deliberate and unhurried. 

“Oh, but I should.” she murmurs, her tone laced with amusement. “Look at you. You’re drowning in your own heat. Did you really think you could handle this on your own?”

“I just—I didn’t think you would—” you stammer shaking your head, retreating another step as her scent wraps around you like a vice.

“But I do.” she interjects, tilting her head slightly as she studies you. Her eyes gleam with something dark, something that makes your stomach twist in knots. “I’ve been waiting for this. And now, you’re mine to handle.”

You swallow hard, panic and desperation clawing at your chest. “I don’t��� Agatha, I can’t—”

“You can’t what?” she cuts in once again, the sound of her steps making your heart stutter as she closes the distance between you. “Admit you need me? Tell me, little Omega, should I leave?”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. You open your mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. The truth feels uncomfortable, but so does the thought of her walking away.

“That’s what I thought.” she says, her smirk sharpening as she her presence presses against you, her scent overwhelming, and you stumble backward.

Your thighs hit the edge of the couch, and the sudden shift in balance forces you to sink onto the cushions, your hands instinctively clutching the armrest to steady yourself. The air between you thickens as Agatha steps closer, her legs brushing against yours.

Her gaze sweeps over you, dark and assessing, the weight of it alone making your breath hitch. Slowly, she leans in, saturating every corner of your awareness. Her hand rises to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing the curve of your jaw with an almost maddening slowness.

“You’re such a mess, Omega.” she murmurs, her voice low and rough, just above a whisper. Her fingers trace the line of your jaw, trailing down to the sensitive skin of your neck. “So soft. So warm. Just sitting here, waiting for me to make it better.”

Your breath stutters as her other hand settles firmly on your thigh, her grip possessive. Her thumb starts to draw slow, soothing circles, the sensation igniting a fresh wave of heat low in your belly. You whimper despite yourself, and her lips curl into a satisfied grin.

She leans closer, her nose brushing against your temple, then lower, tracing the line of your cheek as her fingers tighten their hold. 

“This is where you belong.” she murmurs, her lips ghosting over the corner of your mouth. “Right here. Under me.”

Your thighs tremble beneath her touch, your body betraying you completely as her knee presses between your legs with unrelenting firmness, urging them wider, allowing her to take her rightful place between them. 

Her closeness makes your instincts take over, and your head tilts back, exposing the delicate, vulnerable curve of your throat to her predatory gaze.

She doesn’t waste the invitation. Her teeth graze your earlobe first, then drag lower, scraping against your pulse point as you shudder. Her grip tightens on your thigh, grounding you, holding you exactly where she wants you. When her lips finally press against the curve of your neck, the sensation sends a jolt through you, your gasp echoing softly in the still air.

“Fuck, you smell divine.” she murmurs against your skin, her voice tinged with reverence. Her tongue flicks out, tasting the salty sheen of sweat on your skin, and you whimper, the sound breaking into soft, frustrated whines that only seem to spur her on.

“Say it.” she commands, her voice firm, dripping with authority. “Tell me what you want.”

Your breath hitches as both her hands come to rest on your hips, her grip firm and unrelenting, sending a clear message that resistance is not an option.

“I can’t do this alone, Agatha…” you gasp, your voice cracking as your head falls back against the couch.

Her eyes roam over your features, their intensity pinning you in place. 

“That’s not enough.” she scoffs, her fingers digging into your hips with a possessive pressure that makes your breath hitch. “If you want me, Omega, you’re going to have to beg like you mean it.”

Shame flares hot in your cheeks, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the smoldering heat coiling deep within you. Your body trembles as the words burst from your lips, raw and unfiltered.

“Please, Agatha, fill me.” you gasp, your voice cracking as your hips shift against her grip, desperate for relief. “I need you to fuck me until I can’t think, until I can’t even stand.”

Her smirk falters, her pupils dilating as she leans in closer, her breath hot against your lips.

“Keep going.” she murmurs, her voice rough and dripping with hunger. “Let me hear how desperate you really are.”

Your body arches into her as the heat claws at your senses. 

“I want you to knot me so hard I feel it for days.” you sob, your hands clutching at her shirt as the words rush out of you, like a river surging past its banks, drowning everything in its path. “I want to feel every inch of you, every thrust. I want you to fill me so completely it drips out of me every time I move.”

Her growl comes immediately, vibrating deep in her chest as her lips skim along your jaw, hot and possessive. One hand slides lower, her touch purposeful, searing. 

“Fuck, Omega.” she hisses. “You’re so pretty when you beg.”

You don’t stop. You can’t stop. Her words fuel you, each one stoking the fire in your core, her need blending seamlessly with your own, leaving no room for restraint.

“Please, breed me.” you plead, your voice trembling as tears begin to blur your vision. “I want you to keep going until I’m so full of you I can’t take it anymore.”

Her grip on your hips tightens instantly at your words, her nails carving crescent marks into your skin as her chest rises and falls in ragged, heaving breaths. 

“You want me to breed you?” she snarls, her voice low and feral. “You want everyone to know that pretty cunt of yours belongs to me? That you belong to me?”

“Yes!” you cry, your gaze locking onto hers with unflinching intensity. Desire blazes in your eyes, bold and shameless now, challenging her to claim everything you’re offering. “I’ll take everything, Agatha. All of you. I’ll be yours.”

The last shred of her control snaps.

“Prove it to me, Omega. Every. Last. Word.” she growls against your lips, her voice shaking with the weight of her need.

You don’t even have time to process her words before her lips crash against yours, fierce and unyielding. Her tongue claims yours immediately, delving deep as if she’s devouring every ounce of your desperation. The kiss is all hunger and possession, leaving no room for gentleness. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Her teeth graze your lower lip before sinking in just enough to draw a sharp gasp from you. The sting sends a shiver racing down your spine, your breath hitching as her hands begin to roam your body with deliberate intent. One slips beneath your top, her fingers brushing against heated skin as she drags the fabric upward.

“Arms up.” she commands, her voice velvety, demanding obedience without question.

You obey instinctively, trembling as she pulls the fabric over your head and tosses it aside without a second thought. 

Her eyes take on an even deeper shade as they sweep over your exposed skin, lingering shamelessly on the curve of your breasts. Her lips part slightly, her tongue darting out to wet them as if savoring the sight, and the way her gaze tracks your every breath makes your chest heave even harder under her scrutiny.

“You’re just… perfect.” she murmurs, her voice a hushed reverence laced with hunger. 

One hand ghosts over your skin before pinching a sensitive nipple between her fingers, catching you off guard with the sharp jolt of sensation. The other trails downward with intent, her fingers brushing against the waistband of your pants as a wicked smirk tugs at her lips.

“Agatha” you whimper, your voice trembling as your hands pull more insistently at the fabric of her shirt. “Please, I—”

The words die in your throat as her hand slips lower, cupping you through the damp fabric of your underwear. The pressure makes you cry out, your hips bucking against her palm.

“Look at you…” she murmurs, her voice thick with smug satisfaction, the edge of mockery sharpening her words as her fingers press harder, the friction sending sparks through your body. “So wet, so needy… you’ve been aching for this for days, haven’t you?”

You nod frantically, your teeth sinking into your trembling lower lip in a futile attempt to stifle the lustful sounds spilling from your throat. Your eyes are glassy with unspoken pleas, the sheer effort to contain yourself only makes your surrender all the more obvious.

She chuckles darkly, her lips trailing down your neck to your collarbone. 

“Poor little Omega.” she murmurs against your skin, her teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. “But I’m here now, and you’re finally going to get what you need.”

Her hands move quickly, tugging your pants and underwear down in one fluid motion, leaving you completely bare beneath her. The cool air against your heated skin makes you shiver, but it’s nothing compared to the intensity of her gaze as she takes you in.

“You have no idea what you do to me…” she says softly, her voice filled with quiet awe as her hands slide up your thighs, spreading them apart.

A loud moan tears from your lips, your cheeks burning as her fingers trail boldly against your slick heat, exploring your folds with an almost cruel precision, testing and teasing until your breath comes in shallow, broken pants.

“Gods” she groans, her voice rough and strained as she pushes two fingers inside you. The stretch pulls a sharp gasp from your lips, the burn of it melting into a rush of pleasure that has your thighs trembling. Your body clenches around her instinctively, and the sound she makes is a primal, dangerous growl. 

She sets a slow, unrelenting rhythm, each thrust dragging a broken moan from your throat as pressure builds deep in your core. 

“Your body’s screaming for me to fill you.” she whispers, her words dripping with anticipation, almost lost in thought, as if she’s speaking more to herself than to you. There’s a raw wonder in her eyes as her fingers curl deeper, savoring the way your walls tighten around her, imagining how much more you’ll give her.

“F-fuck, Agatha! Please, please I can’t take it anymore!” you cry, your hips bucking against her hand.

Agatha doesn’t waste another second. She pulls her fingers away suddenly, leaving you whining and gasping for relief. With feral growl, she grabs your thighs and pulls you forward, dragging your hips to the very edge of the couch. Her strength leaves you breathless, the suddenness of her movements forcing a sharp gasp from your lips.

“You’re going to take every inch of me.” she snarls, her voice rough and dripping with authority. “Every inch, every thrust, until you can’t think about anything but how good it feels to be mine.”

Her words make you shudder, your head tipping back as your eyes flutter shut, her fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs with a bruising grip that promises vivid reminders on your skin for days to come.

“Look at me.” she orders, her grip tightening further as if daring you to disobey.

Your eyes snap open, meeting hers, dark and wild with need. It doesn’t look like she’s going to let you get away with anything less than complete submission.

“That’s better.” she growls, her voice edged with control as her lips curl into predatory grin. “Now, keep your eyes on me while I ruin you.”

She doesn’t bother undressing fully, her movements urgent and almost frantic as her fingers fumble with the clasp of her pants. She impatiently tugs them down just enough to free herself, the fabric pooling loosely around her hips. The sheer tension in her body is palpable, every motion speaking to a need barely held in check.

The sight of her hard cock steals the air from your lungs. Thick and flushed, a bead of precum glistens at the tip, catching the dim light as she wraps a firm hand around herself, stroking once to spread the slickness. 

The way she towers over you, every part of her commanding and unapologetically Alpha, leaves you trembling in anticipation.

“Spread those legs wider.” she orders, her tone resolute, demanding. “I want to see all of you. Don’t you dare hide from me.”

You obey, trembling as her tip brushes against your entrance, teasingly sliding through the slickness that coats you. Her cock glides up and down your folds, unhurried, pausing just long enough to make you ache for more. She taps it lightly against your clit, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips, before sliding lower, the head pressing briefly against your entrance only to retreat again, trailing back up with maddening slowness.

The deliberate rhythm has you squirming beneath her, every teasing stroke sending shivers through your body. Her cock catches on every ridge, every sensitive spot, heightening the unbearable tension with each pass. 

When she finally aligns herself, her tip presses firmly, and with one slow, unyielding push, she begins to sink in, the stretch immediate and all-consuming, setting every nerve in your body alight.

“Fuck” she groans, her voice thick as her hips roll forward, driving herself deeper. “So warm… so fucking tight. You were made for this, made for me.”

You cry out, your nails digging into the couch cushions as she fills you completely, the heat overwhelming as your body struggles to accommodate her.

“That’s it.” she growls, her hands sliding up to grip your hips. “Take all of it. I want you to feel how deep I am, how fucking good it feels to be full of me.”

She picks up her pace, and the sound of her hips colliding with yours echoes through the room, harsh and rhythmic, mingling with the wet, obscene noises that accompany every thrust.

“You hear that?” she asks, her voice dripping with satisfaction as her nails bite into your skin. “That sound—that’s what it means to belong to me.”

“Ag—oh, fuck!” you whimper, your voice cracking as your head falls back, your body trembling under her assault.

“Say it!” she snaps, her teeth grazing your jaw before biting down hard enough to make you gasp. “Say my fucking name.”

“Agatha!” you cry, your voice pitching higher as her hips drive forward with a ferocity that leaves you gasping for air. Each thrust buries her deeper, the growing swell of her knot pressing insistently against your entrance, stretching you further with every punishing movement. 

The sheer intensity of it sends a fresh wave of arousal pooling between your thighs, the undeniable slickness amplifying the pleasure that teeters dangerously on the edge of unbearable.

“Scream it louder, Omega! I want the whole fucking street to hear who owns you.” she growls, her voice a low rumble as her lips find your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

You sob her name, your nails clawing at her back as she shifts her angle, the new position sending a jolt of pleasure so intense that stars dance behind your eyes.

“You’re taking me so well, like you were made for my cock. Like you were made to be mine.” she groans, her thrusts becoming messier, rougher. Her hips slam into yours mercilessly as her hands slide to the back of your knees, pinning you in place. 

“I’m yours, Agatha. Only yours.” you cry, your body arching into hers, chasing the heat that coils tighter and tighter in your core.

Her left hand slides between your bodies, her fingers finding the most sensitive part of you as she circles it with brutal precision. The wet slap of skin against skin grows louder, the sound mixing with your cries and her deep, guttural groans.

The added pressure on your throbbing clit sends a jolt through your entire body, making your walls flutter and clench around her cock. Her rhythm starts to falter, thrusts turning erratic as her groans deepen into primal, animalistic grunts, vibrating against your neck as her need consumes her.

The knot at her base swells even more, pressing insistently at your entrance, stretching you impossibly wide. The sensation is overwhelming, the perfect mix of pleasure and pain, and you can’t take it anymore.

Your voice, breathless and desperate, breaks through her haze, each word drenched in urgency. 

“Oh fuck, yes! Give it to me, Agatha.” you plead, your hands clutching at her shoulders as your gaze locks onto hers, unflinching and shameless. “I need you to fill me up, please.”

The words obliterate the last fragile threads of her restraint. Agatha’s body seizes above you, her hips snapping forward in one final, devastating thrust that buries her completely inside you. 

The knot locks into place, stretching you to your limit as she comes with a deep, feral growl. Her cock pulses inside you, thick and hot, each wave of her release filling you so completely it feels like it could spill over.

And the sudden fullness, combined with the steady friction on your clit, triggers something deep inside you. The sensation is intoxicating, unbearable in its intensity, and it sends your body spiraling out of control. You cry out as your climax washes over you, violent and unrestrained, your walls squeezing around her, greedily milking her until there’s nothing left to give. 

“Fuck!” Agatha snarls, her voice shaking as your body reacts to her. Her hands grip your waist tightly, her fingers digging into your skin as she rides out the intensity of her own release, her hips jerking involuntarily with each pulse. “That’s it. That’s my good Omega.”

Your hips roll instinctively against hers, desperate to take everything she’s giving you. Her cock, her knot, her cum, her words, her growls—it’s all so overwhelming, you feel like you might pass out from the sheer intensity of it.

“You feel that?” she murmurs against your ear, her voice weak and wrecked, yet still dripping with dominance. “That’s me, filling you. Breeding you. And you’re taking it so perfectly.

Her words push you even higher. Your moans break into breathless cries, and your vision blurs, a single tear slipping down your cheek as the overwhelming sensation consumes you entirely, leaving you trembling and undone beneath her.

Agatha keens softly, her lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck as her body finally stills.

“You’re mine.” she whispers, her voice gentler now as her knot remains locked inside you, keeping her warmth exactly where it belongs.

The aftershocks ripple through you both, your body still clenching around her knot as you collapse back against the couch. Her hands roam over your thighs, soothing and grounding, as her lips press a lingering kiss to your temple.

You remain still for a few minutes, basking in the lingering haze of passion as the intensity of the moment refuses to fade. Agatha’s knot starts to soften, each slow shift of her hips pulling a satisfied whine from her lips as she moves, her careful withdrawal drawing a wince from you at the residual stretch. 

The slick, wet sensation of her release slipping free leaves you shivering, a warm gush spilling from your core and pooling beneath you in a sinful mess.

Agatha leans back slightly, her gaze sharp and intense as she takes in the sight of you—completely wrecked, your chest heaving, your skin flushed, and her cum dripping from you. A satisfied smirk curls her lips, and she reaches out, her fingers dragging lazily through the mess she’s made.

“Look at you.” she murmurs, her voice rough with satisfaction. “So pretty. So fucking full.”

You flinch at the overstimulation, your body twitching under her touch, but you’re too spent to move away. Despite yourself, your thighs clench involuntarily, a traitorous reaction that doesn’t escape her notice. She chuckles darkly, an indulgent sound dripping with pride, as if savoring the proof of how thoroughly she’s unraveled you.

Her fingers glide higher, smearing the evidence of her claim over your inner thighs. Her half-lidded eyes lock onto yours, and the insatiable lust simmering just beneath the surface makes your throat go dry. 

“That’s mine, Omega.” she murmurs, her voice low and reverent, each word rolling over you like a caress. “Every single drop.”

Her hand lingers, tracing the sticky trail she’s left behind, and she leans down, her lips brushing a firm kiss to the curve of your hip. 

“Could watch you like this all night.” she purrs, her tone dripping with admiration. “My perfect, ruined little Omega.”

A soft, pleading sound escapes your throat as your hand snakes down to grip her wrist. The longing in your gaze is undeniable, your swollen lips parting as if to say something, but no words come. Instead, you tug her toward you with surprising force, crashing your lips against hers in a kiss that’s nothing short of a necessity. It’s gentle, yet fervent, your teeth grazing her bottom lip as your nails dig into her skin.

For a moment, Agatha freezes, her surprise palpable. Then, as if spurred by instinct, she returns the kiss with equal fervor, her tongue sweeping past your lips to claim you all over again. 

Her hand slides up to cradle the back of your head, angling you deeper into the kiss as she presses her body closer, her dominance bleeding through even in her response.

When she finally pulls back, her mouth remains slightly parted, her breath coming in shallow, uneven draws as she gazes down at you. Her eyes glint with wicked promise, and her lips glisten with the remnants of your kiss.  

“Rest now.” she mutters, her voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, yet still carrying the weight of her authority. “You’ll need your strength… I’m nowhere near done with you.”

[anonymouscheeses]

I frsaking live thizs so much THANK YOU. the way people treat wlw in comparison to mlm is so horrible. Like im grabbing at the scraps of good wlw rep in shows i have that doesnt get cancelled or isnt toxic. Like, people try SO hard to justify their reason as to why "chaggie jst isnt good." "Its boring." Yada yada. You can just say you like a ship more yknow? Therws no shame in that! But putting down a ship jst because you personally dont fw it is fucking messed up. And people dont even realize they are putting mlm on a higher level than wlw. Ive seen people say "wlw is just not as good as mlm..." AND THEY ARE FREAKN WOMEN MODT OF THE TIME.

So yeah i agree hevaily with you bro thank you so much

(Also im not saying chaggie dong have writing problems. But so does everything in this show. Why is it so important to you when it comes to the one wlw ship in the show?)

[ruewritesoccasionally]

Tequila Temptations | Terry Richmond

pairing: terry richmond x black reader

warnings: smut (18+), power dynamics, oral (m+f receiving), teasing, light choking, overstimulation, squirting } lmk if you think i missed anything else !

summary: in a fiery clash of power and desire, they engage in a competitive battle of dominance and submission; a game no-one can win.

word count: 3.2K

a/n: ngl i kinda hate this one 😭 but take a shot for every time i wrote 'tequila' (yes the title and a/n are included) 🤭

They should have never been friends—never even been in the same circle. She didn’t know how the hell he got along with the people she loved, and Terry was convinced she was merely tolerated, not liked. Every group outing, every game night, every holiday trip—it was a cycle. They bickered. They argued. They ruined the vibe just enough for someone to sigh and say, “Can you two behave for once?”

She thought he was self-absorbed, cocky, arrogant as hell. He thought she was stuck-up, too chipper, fake as fuck. And yet—somehow—they always ended up in the same damn rooms, at the same damn events, circling each other like two predators who hadn’t decided who was prey yet.

Tonight was no different.

Terry’s place. A small gathering—good music, good drinks, a little too much tequila. The group thinned out as the night stretched on. Before long, it was just the two of them.

She could have left. Should have left. But there was something smug in the way he leaned against the counter, glass in hand, watching her like he had already won something she hadn’t figured out yet.

Terry took a slow sip of tequila, a smirk creeping onto his lips. “You know, you could go. But there’s still a lot of tequila left, and I’m not finishing it by myself.”

She crossed her arms, unimpressed. “So?”

His smirk deepened. “Unless you’d rather get home early than stoop as low as entertaining me, your greatness.”

She knew it was a trap. She should have just rolled her eyes, grabbed her bag, and left. But she didn’t. Instead, she tilted her head, eyes dark with something he couldn’t quite name yet.

“Little-known fact,” she said, stepping forward, slow and deliberate. “Tequila, aka the Devil’s Juice, will land me in one of three places.” Her voice dropped just enough to make him pay attention. “On top of someone, underneath them, or simply in jail.”

She leaned in, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin. “Are you sure you’re prepared for that?”

That was when Terry knew.

Knew he was about to test fate. Knew they were both about to cross a line they’d never be able to uncross. And he had never been one to back down from a challenge.

He poured another shot, licking his lips as he met her gaze. “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

The tequila burned warm in her throat, but it was nothing compared to the heat crackling between them.

She sat opposite Terry, legs crossed, back straight, one arm draped over the chair like she had all the time in the world. The rest of their friends were long gone, leaving behind empty glasses, a lingering rnb playlist, and the kind of silence that made every glance feel weighted.

He rolled the dice between his fingers, smirking. “Truth or dare?”

She tilted her head, considering. “Dare.”

Terry leaned back, slow, deliberate, gaze flicking from her lips to her throat before settling on her eyes. “Take a shot without using your hands.”

A soft scoff left her lips, but she reached for the lime wedge, dragging it between her teeth before knocking the shot back, throat bobbing as the tequila slid down. She didn’t break eye contact, even as she sucked the juice from the lime, tongue flicking against the rind just to make a point.

Terry’s smirk didn’t falter, but something darkened in his gaze.

Her turn. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he said easily, licking the salt from his thumb.

A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips. “Who’s the best you’ve had?”

Terry’s smirk twitched, just barely, but she caught it. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, voice dropping lower. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Her nails tapped against the glass, watching him over the rim. “You don’t have an answer or you don’t want to say it out loud?”

His chuckle was quiet, almost amused. “Cute. You think you’d make the list?”

She didn’t blink. “I think I’d top it.”

A beat of silence stretched between them, so thick it nearly swallowed the air in the room.

Terry exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he poured them both another round. “You talk a lot of shit for someone who still has all their clothes on.”

She arched a brow. “Is that your way of asking me to strip?”

He slid a deck of cards across the table. “It’s my way of saying you won’t win a single round.”

They played. Each hand was a battle, not just against the cards, but against the tension threading tighter between them. He lost first, dragging his shirt over his head like it was nothing. She refused to look—refused to give him the satisfaction—but when he sat back, flexing like it was second nature, she felt the tequila settle deep in her stomach.

Then she lost.

Terry drummed his fingers on the table, watching as she peeled off her sweater, revealing smooth, bare shoulders and the strap of a lace-trimmed bralette. His eyes dragged over her like he was committing her to memory.

Her breath hitched—barely—but he caught it.

A slow smirk curled at his lips. “Something wrong?”

She met his gaze, chin tilted. “You’re staring.”

“So are you.”

Neither of them moved. Neither of them blinked. The air between them was electric, pulsing with something that wasn’t quite hostility anymore.

Terry leaned in, elbows on his knees, voice smooth as sin. “If I win the next round, you do whatever I say.”

She mirrored his movement, their faces a breath apart. “And if I win?”

His gaze flicked to her lips before dragging back up. “Then I do whatever you say.”

The corner of her mouth lifted. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Richmond.”

He poured another shot, tongue darting out to catch a stray drop of tequila before he spoke.

“You'll love it, trust me"

The next hand played out in slow motion.

She had him cornered—a queen of hearts against his king of spades, her victory sealed before he even flipped his card. He let out a low hum, jaw flexing, before exhaling through his nose.

She tapped the table, smug. “Looks like you’re all mine.”

Terry’s gaze flicked up, slow and heavy. “That so?”

She nodded, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “And since I won, you have to do whatever I say.”

He licked his lips, the remnants of salt and tequila making his tongue drag slow. “What’s it gonna be?”

She hadn’t planned that far ahead. Maybe she expected him to call it quits, maybe she thought she’d be the one to break first, but the way he was looking at her—like he was already three moves ahead, waiting for her to catch up—had her pulse kicking up a notch.

A slow smirk lifted her lips. “Take another shot.”

Terry arched a brow but reached for the bottle anyway. He poured, the liquid sloshing slightly, before tilting the glass back. She watched the muscles in his throat work as he swallowed, the heat in her stomach curling tighter.

His glass hit the table with a soft clink. “That it?”

She rolled her eyes. “For now.”

He chuckled, deep and knowing. “Scared?”

That did it.

She slid her chair back, moving around the table until she stood in front of him. He watched her, amused, eyes dragging over her bare shoulders, the strap of her bralette slipping slightly. She leaned down, hands resting on the armrests of his chair, caging him in.

His smirk didn’t waver. “Bold move, sweetheart.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she murmured, head tilting.

Terry’s fingers twitched on the arms of the chair. “You tell me.”

She leaned in, just enough for her breath to ghost against his lips.

That was all it took.

His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around her waist as he pulled her down—onto his lap, against his chest, into him. A sharp gasp left her lips, but before she could think, before she could react, his mouth was on hers.

The kiss was messy, reckless, months—maybe years—of tension snapping all at once. His lips were hot and insistent, his grip firm as he held her in place. She wasn’t passive—never that—fingernails digging into his shoulders, pressing closer, daring him to give in completely.

Terry groaned, low and deep, as her teeth scraped his bottom lip. He grabbed her jaw, tilting her head just so, before deepening the kiss, tongue sweeping past her lips in a way that made her stomach tighten.

She hated him. She hated him.

So why was she still kissing him like she never wanted to stop?

He pulled back just enough to speak, his breath hot against her lips. “Admit it.”

She swallowed, heart hammering. “Admit what?”

His grip tightened. “That you want this.”

Her chin lifted defiantly, lips still wet from his. “Not if my life depended on it.”

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest, his fingers brushing over her thigh, warm and possessive. “Liar.”

She exhaled sharply, but before she could form a retort, his lips were on hers again, stealing the words right from her mouth.

And this time?

She didn’t stop him.

The aftermath of the kiss left an electric hum in the air, their lips barely parted, still tasting each other like the heat was a living thing between them. But this wasn’t just about the kiss. It wasn’t just about the brief collision of mouths, the hard press of bodies that came before. No, this was the point of no return. Their breaths came fast, erratic, as if they both realized in the same instant what they were about to do.

There wasn’t time for careful calculations. There wasn’t room to weigh the consequences, not when every nerve in their bodies was set alight by the undeniable pull of temptation. Terry’s hands, rough and demanding, slid down her back, fingers digging into the curve of her waist, steadying her against him. Her skin burned wherever he touched her, and when his lips grazed the sensitive spot on her neck, a soft moan escaped her throat—one that she couldn’t hold back if she tried.

It was all moving too fast, but neither of them cared anymore. They were already on the edge.

Terry’s hands, large and possessive, slid behind her back, undoing the bralette and pulling it off in one swift motion, leaving her exposed to him. He took a moment to study her, eyes dark with lust, before his fingers traced the curve of her ribs, dragging his touch down to her hips. “You really think you can control this, huh?” His voice was low, husky with barely contained desire.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly. “Maybe I don’t want to control it,” she shot back, smirking, her fingers working the button of his pants with practiced ease. “Maybe I just want to see how long you can last.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound almost menacing. “Sweetheart, I’ve been handling you this whole time.” His lips pressed against hers again, urgent, demanding. He wasn’t kissing her for pleasantries now. There was no civility, no holding back. His mouth was a declaration, a promise—I will have you, no matter what it takes.

But then, just as quickly, he stepped back, smirking at the frustration that flickered across her face. “Let’s see if you can walk,” he challenged, voice dripping with arrogance.

Her eyes flashed with defiance. “I’m not the one who needs to be carried.”

Before she could react, Terry’s hands were on her again, this time lifting her off her feet effortlessly, his grip firm around her waist. She gasped, instinctively wrapping her legs around his waist as he made his way to the stairs. The tension between them thickened, both of them trying to outdo the other, but neither willing to break.

She kissed his neck, biting it lightly as he carried her up the stairs, her breath hot and unsteady. “You’re not the only one who’s in control,” she teased, but the words were heavy with lust, her hips grinding into him in an instinctive act of defiance.

Terry’s hand tightened around her waist, and he pushed her gently against the wall at the top of the stairs, his lips crashing into hers again with the force of a storm. His hands were everywhere—gripping, guiding, demanding. And still, they both played the game, each trying to push the other into submission.

The couch—where it all started—was forgotten now. They were past the point of no return. No more teasing, no more games. He flipped her onto the bed with such precision that it was clear he knew exactly what he wanted. And right now, it wasn’t her fighting for control.

It was him.

Her back hit the mattress with a satisfying thud, but she didn’t lie still for long. She tugged at his beltloops, drawing him closer, her nails raking down his body, marking him as her own. The electricity between them crackled, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating.

“You really think you’re in charge here?” she challenged again, her voice breathless, desperate to break him.

He smirked, hovering above her, his breath heavy on her skin. “We’ll see about that,” he growled, before leaning down to claim her mouth again.

The control—the teasing, the simmering heat—they both fought for it, one pushing the other further into the depths of desire until neither of them could hold on any longer. Terry’s mouth trailed down her neck, his hands tearing at her remaining clothes with an intensity that matched the desperation in her own touch. She moaned, but it was a challenge, a dare for him to do more.

And so, he did.

His fingers slid between her legs, pushing her further into the bed as he tested the waters, teasing her until she was trembling beneath him, her body a wreck of frustration and need. “You want me to break, don’t you?” he murmured, pressing against her with just enough pressure to make her want more.

“I want you to try,” she shot back, her voice dripping with defiance, but even she knew it was a losing battle.

She took control next, leaning over and wrapping her lips around him, giving him no room to breathe as she sucked with relentless precision. He gripped her hair, groaning at the sheer effort she was putting into it. But it wasn’t enough. She wasn’t done yet.

Even as Terry’s body trembled beneath her, she didn’t stop. She kept sucking, savouring the feeling of him twitching in her mouth, fully aware that he was drained but too prideful to pull her away. The whimper that escaped him was drowned by her steady movements, her lips drawing him closer, until the overwhelming sensation forced a breathless moan from him.

“Terry,” she murmured, licking her lips, “You really think you’ve won?”

But instead of answering, his hands found their way into her hair, tugging her head back and forcing her to meet his eyes. The smirk on his face was one of both satisfaction and challenge. “You may think you have control, sweetheart... but not for long.”

Now it was her turn. She was already gasping, her body betraying her as his mouth descended on her, devouring her with the same brutal hunger she’d just shown him.

She tried to hold it back, to control the inevitable release, but it was useless. His tongue, his lips, his hands—they had her shaking with pleasure, unable to stop the wave of her orgasm as it crashed over her. She bit her lip, struggling to keep quiet, but the obscene sound of her wetness, the gush of her squirt, only seemed to drive him harder.

“Go on, then,” he coaxed in a low, teasing tone. “Say it.”

Her legs trembled, her body on the edge of climax, but she refused to give him the satisfaction. She wouldn’t let him know just how badly she needed him, not yet. But the words that slipped from her lips—raw and unfiltered—were nothing but lies. “You’d have to fuck me better,” she gasped, her eyes fluttering shut, already surrendering to the storm building within her.

Terry flipped her over once more, making sure she was pinned beneath him, before he drove into her again, claiming her completely. She had no choice but to take it, her body a mere vessel for his pleasure and power.

She would never forget this. Neither of them would.

Terry’s grip on her tightened in response, his hands running down her body as he thrust deeper, more desperate, trying to push her past her breaking point. He knew she wasn’t ready to admit she was losing—he wasn’t ready to either. But everything was becoming harder to deny. The way they both moved, the way they fought for control—it was all leading them to the same conclusion.

But then, with a smirk tugging at her lips, she pushed further. “That all you got?” she taunted, voice dripping with defiance, daring him to prove her wrong.

Terry froze for a moment, chest rising and falling as he took in her words. She was playing with fire, pushing him with that fucking smirk of hers. “You just don’t fucking quit, do you?” he growled, his jaw clenching. He was about to give her what she wanted—only, this time, she wouldn’t get away with it.

“I’ve made myself come harder than this,” she threw out, casual as ever, eyes meeting his with a hint of challenge.

His breath caught in his throat. A fire ignited in him, something darker, possessive, and raw. “From who, huh?” he rasped, his tone dangerously calm as he leaned over her, locking her in place.

She tilted her head, smirking, maybe unaware of the danger she’d unlocked. “Or from other guys.” The words slipped out like nothing, too easy, but the second they left her mouth, she could feel the shift.

Terry’s eyes darkened. His fingers closed around her throat, not in a gentle way, but firm, enough to remind her who had the power now. “Other guys, huh?” His voice was low, threaded with menace. “Bet they didn’t fuck you like this.”

And before she could respond, his hands were on her again, dragging another orgasm out of her, harder, deeper, relentless. She gasped, trying to hold on to some shred of control, but he wasn’t giving her any space to breathe.

“Say it,” he demanded, his grip tightening as he pinned her against the bed. “Tell me who fucks you better.”

Her body trembled beneath him, overstimulated, her entire being in the grip of his power. She tried to fight it, to hold back the admission, but the words spilled from her anyway, a whisper of surrender. “You,” she gasped, breathless, barely able to get the words out. “You fuck me better.”

Terry smirked, the victory written all over his face. He wasn’t done yet, though. “That’s what I thought,” he growled, driving into her again, hard and fast, forcing her to take it, forcing her to feel every inch of him.

The rest of her words died in her throat, her body overwhelmed by him, pushed to the edge until she had nothing left to give. He didn’t let up, didn’t let her off easy. They were both drowning in the competition of who would break first, but by now, she knew—it wasn’t a matter of if, it was a matter of when.

And Terry? He would make sure she never forgot who she belonged to.

taglist: @writingsbytee @venusincleo @nickidub718 @notapradagurl7 @theogbadbitch @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @wildcardmelaninfreak

comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

[spiriiitt]

MYSTREET S1 NICOLE!!!1 AAAAAAAAAA SHE'S A STUNNER

CLOSEUP ON HER FACE!! SHE'S SO <3333 I kinda outdid myself with this ngl. I know she loves her gold jewellery fr. Nicole Von Ronsenburg the woman you are...

shoe closeup bc Dancole anklet lul ignore how messy it is i was TIRED and hate drawing shoe laces.

The necklace is a white gem with two purple ones on either side, I have a strong personal headcannon that she's religious and this is kind of like how we hold crosses? I didn't want to just draw the symbol of Lady Irene so I felt the gems were prettier. Also the white is partially for Roxy in Minecraft Diaries bc we know I love my odes to their historical selves. Anyways!! She's gorg.

I've had a slight style change since my last one, I changed how I render hair mostly, but it's not that different. I was thinking of my Desi friend while starting this, so I think lowk I imprinted some of her appearance onto Nicole while drawing this i.e the dimples, jewellery and nose so lol.

I started this yesterday afternoon and have already finished it lol I had so much fun doing a full piece again after not for the like last month, and also so happy to finally get started on the Mystreet drawing series again after taking a small break for school and stuff. The last one of these was at the beginning of October, I hadn't even started my HSC Exams at that point!!

Anyways, hope you love her.

[27spoons]

2x07 original script wanted teen!nat to fucking suffer you guys wtf

like, sure, ok, some jealousy from her here, feeling even more isolated from the group, more isolated from her boyfriend(?)

nat, just trying to help: shauna: i will fucking bash your head in with a rock nat: :(

lowkey sad we didnt get to see nat just straight up rip her teeth thru a fish but w/e

also....... i think its interesting that she sees javi at the river - a source of water. the same place that he died trying to get nat to safety. really wish they left this in ngl

i hate to say it but javis death would have been 10x as hard if we got this scene sorry not sorry

nat still trying to be kind and helpful despite feeling like a literal outcast the entire show????????????? nat having a talk with javi about "not dying"?????????????????

crying pissing shitting myself

guys im so fucking worried nat is gonna be an outcast AGAIN in s3 like I cant take this yall send me to switzerland