#i know so little about him i just find him completely and utterly pathetic in the most charming of ways

[squirshie]

would my bargaining method work for other gacha games

[malicexo]

Unprofessional Thoughts

idol!San x Staff!Reader

smut, mirror sex, overstim, begging, secret fucking, corruption, 18++, MDNI!!

You should have known from the moment you got assigned to be San's stylist for the day, that this would be dangerous.

It started subtly, him lingering too close when you adjusted his mic, the way his eyes would flicker over you during styling sessions, the teasing smirk that never seemed to leave his lips. You told yourself it was all in your head. That he was just like this with everyone.

But you knew better.

“Need something, sweetheart?” San’s voice was a low purr as you fumbled with the in-ear monitors, cursing your shaky hands.

“No,” you said too quickly, clearing your throat as you focused on the task at hand. “Just making sure everything’s secure.”

He chuckled, tilting his head so your fingers brushed against the side of his neck. “You’re always so nervous around me,” he mused. “It’s cute.”

You froze, heat crawling up your spine. “I—I’m not nervous.”

San hummed in amusement, eyes dark as he watched you struggle. “Really? Then why are your hands shaking?”

You yanked back, flustered beyond belief. “I have other things to do,” you mumbled, turning away.

But of course, he wasn’t done with you yet.

Later, backstage, you were checking over his outfit one last time before he went on stage when he suddenly reached for your wrist, his grip firm but not forceful. “You should really stop running from me.”

Your breath hitched as he pulled you just a little closer, his gaze flickering to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “You make this too fun.”

“San,” you whispered, trying to sound firm, but it came out far too weak. Unconvincing.

He grinned, utterly shameless. “You like it when I do this, don’t you?” His fingers ghosted along your wrist before dropping back to his side. “I think you like being flustered.”

You swallowed hard, unable to form a coherent response. The worst part? He was right.

The announcement for showtime cut through the moment, and with one last smirk, San leaned in just enough that his lips barely brushed your ear. “Don’t miss me too much while I’m on stage, sweetheart.”

And then he was gone, leaving you standing there, hot-faced and completely screwed.

Later that night, you were back in the dressing room, gathering scattered accessories and clothes while the staff packed up. Most of the crew had left, and you assumed San had, too until you felt a presence behind you.

“Were alone...” his voice came low and teasing, sending a shiver down your spine.

You turned, only to find him standing much too close, still in his stage outfit, the sweat on his skin making his black shirt cling to his toned chest. His hair was slightly messy from the performance, his lips curved in a knowing smirk.

“I'm leaving.” you stammered, stepping back, but he followed, his fingers catching your wrist again—so casually, like he owned your reactions.

“But I wanted to see you,” he murmured, eyes dark with something unreadable. “Wanted to know if you were still thinking about me.”

You swallowed, heart pounding as his fingers traced slow, deliberate circles on your wrist. “I—I wasn’t.”

San chuckled, clearly entertained by your pathetic attempt at denial. “Lie.”

His free hand lifted, ghosting along the hem of your shirt, his fingers barely brushing your skin beneath the fabric. The air between you felt thick, charged.

“I think about you, you know?” he mused, tilting his head as his gaze roamed your face. “I think about how pretty you look when you get all flustered for me.”

Your breath hitched as he stepped even closer, caging you between his body and the vanity behind you. His lips hovered just above yours, the heat of his breath teasing against your skin.

“I wonder,” he murmured, “if you’d still be this shy if I really touched you.”

Your knees nearly buckled, but before you could even process what was happening, he leaned in—

And then, just like that, he pulled away.

With a wicked smirk, he let go of your wrist, stepping back as if nothing had happened, leaving you breathless and dizzy.

“See you at work tomorrow, sweetheart,” he winked before disappearing through the door, leaving you aching for something you never should have wanted.

“See you at work, sweetheart.”

That one little word had been echoing in your head all fucking night.

Sweetheart.

He said it so casually — like he hadn’t just leaned in close enough to kiss you in the empty dressing room, breath hot against your lips, eyes flicking down to your mouth like he was thinking about breaking every single unspoken rule between you.

You’d been holding your breath — waiting for him to close that tiny little space.

He never did.

Just smirked.

Winked.

Left you standing there flushed and shaking while he disappeared through the door, leaving you aching for something you should have never wanted in the first place.

You told yourself you’d forget about it by morning. That it was just San playing one of his little games — always pushing, always testing how far he could go before you snapped.

But then you walked into the dressing room the next day — clipboard hugged tight to your chest — and San was already sitting in the makeup chair, legs spread wide, black tank top clinging to his chest.

His dark eyes flicked up the second you stepped through the door.

“Morning.”

Your stomach dropped.

Fuck.

You froze — gripping your clipboard like it might stop your hands from shaking.

“A—Morning,” you muttered, bowing, eyes locked on the floor.

You could feel him smirking without even looking.

He knew exactly what he was doing to you.

He was testing you again — waiting to see if you’d pretend last night never happened or if you’d finally crack and let him ruin you the way you both knew he wanted to.

You made a beeline for the rack of stage outfits — pretending like you didn’t feel his eyes dragging down your body.

Professional.

Stay professional.

You were halfway through double-checking the fitting schedule when his voice drifted through the room.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again after last night.”

Your breath caught.

He was still sitting in the chair — arms draped lazy over the armrests, legs spread wide like he was inviting you to climb right into his lap.

His voice was so low, so casual — like the two of you were the only ones in the room.

You glanced around quickly — heat creeping up your neck.

There were three makeup artists in the corner. Staff moving in and out. Cameras tucked into the corners of the ceiling.

He knew you couldn’t react.

That’s exactly why he was doing this.

“I—” You cleared your throat, clutching the clipboard tighter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

San’s smile flickered — slow and lazy.

“That’s cute.”

His eyes dragged down your body — stopping at the little gap where your blouse was tucked into your high-waisted skirt.

“You always this shy when someone’s about to kiss you?”

Your whole body flushed hot.

Fuck.

He was pushing you right to the edge and he knew you couldn’t say a damn thing.

You swallowed hard, forcing your eyes back on your clipboard.

“I’m here to work, San.”

He leaned back in the chair — all sharp smirks and cocky little tilts of his head.

“But you want me to finish what I started, don’t you?”

Your breath hitched.

His smile flickered wider — so fucking smug.

“That’s why you’re shaking right now, sweetheart.”

You gripped your clipboard tighter — nails digging into the paper.

This was a game to him.

A long, slow game he’d been playing for months — pushing you inch by inch, waiting for the moment you’d finally break.

You hated him for it.

You hated how bad you wanted him to win.

“Need me to help you calm down?” he murmured — voice so low you almost thought you’d imagined it.

Your thighs clenched together automatically.

San’s eyes flicked down.

Ohhhhhh, he fucking saw that.

You needed to get out of this room before you did something stupid — something you couldn’t take back.

You spun on your heel — ready to run — but San’s voice stopped you cold.

“That’s okay, sweetheart.”

“I like watching you squirm.”

You sucked in a sharp breath — heart slamming against your ribs.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whispered, hating how weak your voice sounded.

San’s fingers brushed down your arm — just the lightest touch — barely enough to be inappropriate.

Enough to wreck you completely.

“Yes, you do.”

You were going to lose your mind.

You were going to let him break you.

He winked again.

Like he already knew you’d spend the next four hours with your thighs pressed tight together — aching and wet under your little skirt — trying to pretend your sweet, polite professional little self wasn’t already completely ruined for him.

You’d been avoiding him all day.

Keeping your head down.

Sticking to the schedule.

But San had been watching you.

Waiting.

It was after rehearsal when he finally made his move.

You were sorting through accessories in the wardrobe closet — pretending you didn’t feel his eyes on you from across the hall— when he shouted your name from across the hallway.

“Y/N… can you help me with something?”

You froze — heart slamming hard against your ribs.

His voice was all polite and sweet — the way it always was in front of everyone.

But when you walked over to him— his dark eyes were already on you.

Waiting.

“What—What do you need?”

San’s smile flickered — slow and lazy.

“My necklace.”

His fingers curled around the silver chain on his neck — thumb dragging along the clasp.

“I can’t get it off.”

You should have made someone else help him.

You should have stayed right where you were — safe behind the racks of clothes.

But your body was already moving — clipboard tucked under your arm, legs carrying you across the room before your brain could catch up.

It wasn’t until you slipped through the doorway that you realized he was standing in one of the back storage rooms — dark, secluded, far away from anyone else.

The door clicked shut behind you.

Locked.

Your stomach dropped.

“San—”

He turned slowly — leaning back against the table like he hadn’t just trapped you on purpose.

“You always come running when I ask, don’t you?”

Your heart was slamming so hard you swore he could hear it.

“This isn’t funny—”

“Never said it was.”

His fingers brushed up the back of his neck — tilting his head just slightly, offering you the chain.

“Come on, sweetheart.”

His dark eyes flicked down to your hands.

“Help me.” he pouted.

You swallowed hard — throat bone-dry.

You were supposed to be professional.

Supposed to keep your hands off him — supposed to forget about last night and every other time he’d whispered filthy little things to you under his breath when no one else was listening.

But you moved anyway — hands shaking as you reached for the clasp at the back of his neck.

He was so warm.

So close.

His head dipped lower — breath fanning soft against your cheek.

“You’re nervous.”

You sucked in a sharp breath — fingers fumbling with the clasp.

“N-No—”

San’s smirk flickered — soft, almost teasing.

“Lie.”

His hands slid down slow — brushing against your waist.

You froze.

“Relax, sweetheart…”

His voice was so soft — barely more than a murmur against your ear.

“It’s just me.”

That’s what made him so dangerous.

He never had to force you.

He just pushed — so soft, so sweet — until you were the one crossing the line without even realizing.

“I… I need to get back to work—”

San’s fingers slipped lower — toying with the hem of your little work skirt.

“But you don’t want to leave, do you?”

Your whole body flushed hot — heat pooling low in your belly.

“San—”

His fingers curled around your chin — tilting your head up until you were staring straight into those dark, lazy eyes.

“Say you want me to stop.”

Your breath caught.

You couldn’t.

You both knew you couldn’t.

That’s exactly why he was doing this.

“That’s what I thought.”

His mouth brushed against your jaw — slow, teasing little kisses down your neck.

“You want to be a good girl for me, don’t you?”

Your knees buckled.

He caught you — one strong hand gripping the back of your thigh, bringing you closer against his waist.

“You’ve been waiting for me to fuck you since the first day you saw me.”

You whimpered — hips grinding up into him completely on instinct.

San’s smile flickered.

“There she is.”

His free hand slid between your thighs — fingers dragging up slow, lazy along your soaked little panties.

“Soaking wet just from me locking the door.”

You let out a broken little sob — nails digging into his shirt.

“You know how long I’ve been waiting to get you alone, sweetheart?”

He pressed two fingers right against your soaked little slit — not pushing inside, just teasing — watching the way you squirmed against him.

“You think I don’t notice how you squeeze your thighs together every time I call you that?”

“You’ve been begging me to fuck you for months without even knowing.”

You were shaking — thighs clenching around his hand.

“I—I’m not—”

San’s fingers slipped inside — two thick fingers stretching you open, making you silently cry out into his shoulder.

“Lie.”

He fucked you with his fingers slow and deep — thumb circling your clit, coaxing out every filthy little sound he knew you were trying to swallow down.

“You gonna let me ruin you in this room, sweetheart?”

“You gonna let me fuck you so hard you can’t even look me in the eye at work tomorrow?”

You sobbed — hips grinding down into his hand like you couldn’t stop yourself anymore.

You went silent.

San’s smile flickered wider — so fucking smug.

“That’s what I thought.”

You were still trembling against him — two fingers buried deep inside you, panties shoved to the side while San whispered filthy little lies into your ear.

“You were made for this, sweetheart.”

His thumb circled your clit slow and lazy — just enough to keep you on the edge without letting you fall over.

“You just needed someone to show you how to beg properly.”

Your whole body shook — tears hot behind your eyes, thighs squeezing tight around his wrist.

“I—I can’t—”

San’s smile flickered — so sweet.

“Yes, you can.”

He squeezed your throat tighter — making your head tip back, breath hitching in little broken gasps.

“You’ve been waiting for me to break you, sweetheart.”

His fingers fucked into you deeper — slow and steady, stretching you out inch by inch.

“You’re not gonna act shy now.”

You whimpered — nails digging into his biceps, hips grinding down into his hand without even meaning to.

“You want me to stop?”

You shook your head — bottom lip wobbling.

San’s smile flickered wider — so fucking smug.

“That’s what I thought.”

He pressed his thumb harder against your clit — slow little circles that made your whole body arch into him.

“You gonna cum for me, sweetheart?”

Your thighs clenched around his hand — head falling back against the wall.

“N-No… I can’t—”

San’s teeth dragged down the side of your neck — biting just hard enough to make you cry out.

“You can.”

“You will.”

His fingers slammed into you harder — wet little sounds filling the room as you fell apart around him, crying into his shoulder while he fucked you through it.

“That’s my good girl…”

You were still shaking — thighs sticky, breath broken — when he finally pulled his fingers out of you.

San held them up between you — two fingers soaked in your slick — watching the way your glassy little eyes flicked down to them.

“You made such a mess for me.”

You were still too wrecked to answer — chest heaving, cheeks flushed hot.

San grabbed your chin — forcing your mouth open with two wet fingers.

“Clean it up.”

Your whole body locked up.

But you opened your mouth anyway — letting him push his fingers down on your tongue.

San leaned in close — thumb smearing your own slick across your swollen bottom lip.

“You gonna let me ruin you in here, sweetheart?”

You whimpered around his fingers — glassy little eyes flicking up to him like you didn’t even know how to say no anymore.

San’s cock twitched hard against your thigh.

"You think I don't see the way you squeeze your thighs together every time I get too close?"

You whimpered - thighs clenching.

San's dark eyes flicked down.

Ohhhhhh, he saw that.

His voice was so soft — so sweet — like he wasn't about to ruin your whole life in this room.

"You just needed someone to break you in."

Your head was spinning — heart slamming against your ribs.

"San-"

He loosened his grip on your throat

His hands yanked your skirt up around your waist - fingers sliding under the waistband of your soaked little panties

Your whole body arched into him — breath catching in little broken gasps.

He ripped your panties clean off - tucking them into his pocket like the psycho he was — before turning you around and shoving you up against the wall.

His hand slid down your spine — pressing you flat against the cold wall.

"You know why I picked this room, sweetheart?"

You shook your head - breath ragged, thighs trembling.

San's hand wrapped tight around the back of your neck - forcing your glassy little eyes up to the mirror mounted on the wall.

"So I could watch what how pretty you are when I fuck you."

You let out a broken little sob - thighs squeezing shut.

San kicked your legs apart — pressing the tip of his cock right up against your soaking little cunt.

"You gonna let me ruin you, sweetheart?"

You nodded frantically - cheeks burning, eyes already glassy.

San smirked - slow and dangerous.

"That's my girl."

He slammed inside you in one deep thrust — making you scream into his hand as he stretched you open.

"So fucking tight..."

He fucked you slow at first — long, deep strokes that had your eyes rolling back into your head.

"You feel how perfect you fit around me, sweetheart?"

His hand slid back up around your throat - squeezing tight as he forced you to look at yourself in the mirror. "Look how pretty you are when you're finally letting me have you."

Your whole body was shaking - face smushed up against the mirror, palms flat against the wall while San's cock dragged deep into you from behind.

"Look at yourself, sweetheart."

His voice was so soft — breath hot against your ear.

"Look how  messy you get for me."

You couldn't stop whimpering - little gasping sobs echoing off the walls as his cock stretched you open, wet little sounds filling the room every time he slammed into you harder.

"You gonna cry for me, baby?"

San's hand wrapped tight around your throat

- squeezing just hard enough to make your head spin.

"You gonna let me have you?"

You blinked up at your reflection - glassy little eyes wide and dumb - tears streaking down your flushed cheeks.

You hated how pretty you looked like this.

How much you loved the way he was wrecking you- Fucking you so deep you could feel him in your fucking stomach -

Dragging out every filthy little sound you didn't even know your body could make.

"You should hate this, shouldn't you?"

San's fingers slipped down between your legs

- circling your swollen little clit in slow, lazy strokes.

"You should tell me to stop..."

You whimpered — hips bucking back into him without even thinking.

"But you like it."

San's breath was hot aginst your ear — soft, syrupy sweet.

You sobbed - legs shaking under him.

"You like knowing you're gonna spend the whole day walking around work with my cum dripping down your thighs."

You squeezed your eyes shut — face burning.

"N-No-"

San laughed softly - cock dragging so slow, so deep inside you it made your whole body tremble.

"Lie."

He slammed into you harder - one hand wrapped tight around your throat, the other circling your clit until you were crying into the mirror.

"You gonna cum for me?"

You whimpered — head falling back against his shoulder, body twitching underneath him.

"You wanna cum on my cock in this little room where anyone could walk in?"

He was so fucking mean - dragging you right to the edge, making you work for it.

"You want me to fill this tight little pussy up?"

Your whole body locked up - walls squeezing tight around him at those filthy little words.

San groaned against your ear - hips snapping harder, slamming you up against the wall.

"That's what you want, huh?"

"You want me to fuck you full and send you back to work?"

You sobbed - nails scratching down the mirror - thighs trembling as the first orgasm hit you so hard your whole brain shut off.

"There she is..."

San grinned against your ear - dragging you through it, fucking you even harder...

"That's my good girl."

You were still crying — half-conscious — when he finally pinned you flat against the wall, hips snapping rough into you, cock buried so deep you couldn't even breathe.

"Can I fill you up, sweetheart?"

You nodded frantically - brain completely broken - too fucked out to even speak.

"Please—"

San's teeth sank into your neck — hips slamming into you one last time as he came so deep inside you  

you could feel it leaking out before he even pulled out.

"Ohhh" he moaned.

He held you there — cock still twitching inside you — hands gripping your hips so hard they were definitely going to bruise.

"You look so pretty like this, sweetheart."

You whimpered - completely wrecked - body boneless in his hands.

But San wasn't done.

He reached down - grabbing your soaked little panties off the floor.

"Open."

Your lips parted on instinct — brain too dumb and cockdrunk to even think about saying no.

He stuffed your panties into your mouth - making you taste yourself while he slid them back up your shaky thighs.

"Don't take them off."

His fingers pressed against the ruined fabric - pushing his cum deep inside you.

"You're gonna wear them all day."

"Every time you feel me dripping out of you, you're gonna remember you're mine."

You were still shaking when he finally fixed your skirt — smoothing it down over your trembling thighs like nothing ever happened.

"Go back to work, sweetheart."

[dogwithrabies]

【★】 Wanderer SFW and NSFW headcanons

【☆】 Bullet list format with some scenarios included. Written with a gender neutral reader in mind but has a AFAB anatomy section at the end, word count: 2.7k

honestly, i could go on forever, there's so much i love about him i could never fit it in one post.

This is not proof read!

Starting off with the fact that it would probably take him SO long to realize he’s caught feelings and even longer to accept them. It’s a ridiculous predicament he’s found himself in. The Wanderer is a yearner at heart, but he also carries a huge amount of baggage.

Realistically?

It’d take him years.

And even after he’s sort of accepted it, it won’t be smooth sailing. It’s still complicated for him, yes, he likes you, now what? You make him feel all sorts of things and it’s so frustrating. 

He always finds himself making excuses to linger around you, and even then he acts like willingly spending time with you is some sort of atrocious torture. Always complaining and huffing. You don’t take it to heart as it’s very evident this is just a self-imposed hostage situation, he could leave anytime he wants; he simply chooses not to.

So you decide to spare him and not call him out on it (for now).

Despite yearning and wanting, he has no intention of making the first move. It gets to the point that it’s painfully obvious to anyone around him that he’s got a soft spot for you. But he won’t budge, even if the traveler or Buer tease him relentlessly.

It’s sort of his last resort, if you don’t reciprocate his feelings then he can rationalize it as another instance of the human nature disappointing him. Just another reminder to not trust again.

Alas, it all flies out the window the moment you (metaphorically or literally) corner him. It’s kind of funny how little resistance he puts up, despite his aversion to touch he never pushes you away (another example of his favoritism).

Pretend to fix his hair out of his face, play with the ornaments of his clothes, accidentally sit too close to him, it all leads up to the moment where everything escalates. 

Grab him by the waist and drag him close to you, tease him with what you know he craves just to let go. It’s an utterly unnecessary dance around the obvious but his reactions are just too cute, the way his face turns an absurd red color while he fights his hands from reaching and holding onto you.

Frustrating.

(note: overdoing it will make him think you’re just toying with him, he already feels like some sort of pathetic damsel in distress in this predicament, so please spare him).

He tries to psych himself up to reciprocate your touches (or do the unspeakable, initiate them), he always chickens out at the last second, but this time, his hands move faster than his brain can think and he finds himself pulling you back in.

It’s instant regret that fills him as he cringes at his own behavior but you quickly shut it down by kissing him.

It’s messy and unpracticed on his end, and it even took him a second to process it and reciprocate.

The label of your relationship is never stated outloud, you’ve been chasing each other for so long that it goes unspoken.

He starts inviting himself in your spaces now, the kiss left him with a whole new level of yearning. He never outright tells you what he wants, instead, he leaves a trail of undecipherable hints.

The sound of scribbling of pens and shuffling of papers fills the air as you work away at some unimportant receipts. He sits behind, you boring holes in your back by the amount of glaring he’s been doing. He’s here, he’s available, and you’re completely ignoring him in favor of wasting his time on some frivolous documents.

When he scoffs for the nth time you finally grace him of your attention.

“What?”

He’s almost caught off guard when you acknowledge him, quickly regaining his composure to shoot a glare at you.

Okay, so it’s another challenge of his.

One that he hopes you’ll pick up, because why be upfront with his desires when he can just throw at you a puzzle and watch you struggle to solve it? (one that he himself wants you to solve, and fast, don’t make him wait).

You calculate your options, ignore him until he gets so frustrated he confronts you (or leaves), or up him at his own game.

So you make a show of getting up from your spot and plopping down next to him, so close you’re squishing yourself in his side. He looks at you with a puzzled look as you embrace him with one arm, pulling him close and ensuring he doesn’t try to make a run for it.

“What’s wrong, my dear Wanderer?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” He responds bitterly, refusing eye contact, the slight red on his face betrays him. Cute.

“Awh”, you move your arm down to his waist, “I’m sorry I neglected you, how can I make up for it?” Your tone almost hints at something more suggestive, he wants to shoot back with a snarky remark but he’s so out of his depth that he just stares at you.

He wants, he craves, but…

You let out a breathy laugh, “If you want something from me, you should just tell me.” You finish the sentence with a kiss on his cheek and start retreating to get up, but he stops you.

“Stay.” He looks conflicted, like he’s fighting himself to speak up.

“Okay,” you sit back down and face him. “What else?”

“...Kiss me again.”

And you oblige.

The progress is slow, but it’s there. His selfishness will always win.

It can be insanely difficult to navigate sometimes, you’re the first human he willingly subjected himself to romantically and just the thought of sharing you with other people is gut wrenching. The way people look at you when you’re out and about, the friendly touches and hugs, it all just drives him a little bit insane.

He hates feeling like this. It’s those times he disappears for hours, just mellowing in his own feelings.

It takes a LOT of reassurance, he wouldn’t outright tell you but it’s sort of obvious. Lots of (involuntary) tears. He wants to trust you, but his emotional walls are incredibly thick.

With time, he improves a lot. He has taken his whole redemption seriously, he wants to be better and be better for you.

You showed him he can rely on you, and trust you. It’s a very scary trust fall for him, but you’re there to catch him.

He goes from reminding you of a tiny feral cat, constantly hissing and hiding to the cutest little kitten. Get domesticated, idiot.

Additional stuff:

He doesn’t do PDA, but won’t stop you from holding his arm or hand.

His love language is definitely acts of service, he loves doing things for you. He cooks, he cleans, he’s a house wife in denial.

For him, words of affirmation and physical touch. He loves it when you hold him, tell him how much you love him and whisper corny sweet nothings to him.

Skin to skin contact is very soothing to him. It doesn’t have to be sexual. he just wants to feel you.

He’s a little spoon, again, loves being held.

His favorite spots to kiss you are on the corner of your lips and forehead.

NSFW starts here:

He is, what one could call, a virgin. lol.

In his pursuit of divinity, he had no time or intention of getting distracted in engaging that way with humans. He knows what that activity entails, he just never had an interest in it. Until now, when he met you.

It’s that sort of unique situation that only a four hundred year old puppet could find itself in, four centuries of self imposed abstinence thrown out the window the moment you pop up. It starts innocuous enough that he can rationalize it as simple curiosity, but before he can realize it, it all spirals out of control.

He’s spent long sleepless nights trying to ignore the very obvious tent in his shorts. He never had the inclination to masturbate before, he tried to ignore it the first times, waiting it out staring at the ceiling until he had enough peace of mind to rest a bit.

And then you appear in his dreams. He is beyond frustrated now, how dare you infest his mind even when he’s unconscious? And so he finds himself reaching down to free his aching erection out of his shorts. He doesn’t want to, but maybe if he gives his body what it wants he can finally move on. He grabs himself with very inexperienced hands and tries to get it over with as fast as possible.

Images of you pop in his mind, he wants to be ashamed of where his thoughts are going but he finds it incredibly hard to when every picture of you makes him twitch and leak in his fist. He wishes it were your hands instead of his stroking him to completion, but perhaps it would be too much for him, and just the mere thought of that makes him spill on himself, making a mess of his hands and shorts.

Utterly shameful.

With you in the picture, he just doesn’t have the will to deny himself any longer.

He wants your hands on him, bite him, or scratch him he doesn’t care as long as they’re on him. He doesn't want you to know how desperate he is, but it’s kind of impossible to hide how hard he gets every time you hold him and kiss him.

You make the first move, dragging him onto your lap and sneaking your hands on his thighs. He wants to complain about your man-handling, but your hands are teasingly close to his bulge. A tiny voice in his head is screaming at him to leave, save whatever little dignity he had left and not engage in “filth”. But he’s also thinking with his other head, and he blames you for it, so why don’t you do your due diligence and take care of it?

He’s already squirmy and you haven’t even started. He’s used to pain, to harsh hits and blows, but you cradle him so delicately and he doesn’t know how to act.

He’s imagined this scene several times, your hands on him, stroking him to completion, but he’s woefully unprepared for the actual thing. Your hands are impossibly soft, spreading his pre-cum on his whole length to facilitate the movement.

He wants it to last forever but he finishes embarrassingly fast, making a mess of your hands and clothing. 

You figure this is the end of your first sexual encounter with him, but he never softens in your hand. Yeah, puppet stamina be like that.

Additional stuff:

He’s a whimperer.

He wasn’t even aware he had the ability to ejaculate. He still thinks of it as an utterly useless feature. But he’s also somewhat glad he can, he likes seeing you covered in his spend. 

Also, since it’s artificial he’s shooting blanks. There’s no need for protection.

He doesn’t have refractory periods. He does get sensitive after a climax but he’s immediately ready to go again.

He’s a switch, more leaning on the submissive side. He does have a dominant streak in him, it’s mostly when he’s feeling more possessive, he starts acting on it once he’s more confident.

Kissing gets heated quickly with him. He’s very eager to stick his tongue in your mouth.

He’s very good with his hands and mouth, you had to guide him through it the first times. He’s inexperienced but very dedicated and a fast learner.

Being inside you is his favorite thing. Alongside cumming inside you.

Exploring the sexual side of a relationship can be tricky, and his constitution does make it harder. It’s a long process of trial and error. He also, in the span of 400 years, never bothered to figure out his turn-ons/offs, just to add an additional layer of difficulty to the whole ordeal.

You do know of his past position of power, so it’s no wonder he likes being serviced. Ride him, suck him off, it’s all good to him. He loves how sweet you are to him, taking him so gently.

Despite his doll joints being no longer visible, he still presents seams on his torso. The whole area is very sensitive, kind of an unconventional erogenous zone, but you work with it. He also has very sensitive nipples. He’s a bit sheepish about that.

Speaking of unconventional, he has a thing for choking. He doesn’t need to breathe, so it’s not the lack of air that gets him so ecstatic, it’s more of the act per se.

Marking, he loves hickeys, and his bodysuit covers his neck area so others seeing them is not an issue. Loves being bitten. Not the soft munches, he wants to feel your teeth breaking the skin. He’s been hurt before, to unimaginable extents, to the point where he almost started craving that pain. To have you bite and scratch him in such a carnal and vulnerable context immediately drives him over the edge.

Despite his masochistic tendencies, he’s not willing to do the same to you. He’s sturdy, you couldn’t injure him no matter how hard you tried. But you’re human. He knows from first hand experience how fragile your kind is.

Risk play is off the table, and so is any sort of public/exhibitionism. Alone and secluded in the woods? Sure. But nothing of the sort where people can see. This won’t save him from having embarrassing hard ons in public, sometimes just your presence is enough to get him bricked up. He just won’t act on it.

He has a mean streak, he loves teasing you, edging you, and pushing you to your limits. However, he cannot take even a bit of teasing. he immediately breaks and starts begging you to let him cum.

He’s a crier in bed, it’s cathartic for him.

Has an oral fixation. It works out great for you, he loves using his mouth on you.

His favorite part of you is your thighs. If you let him, he’d spend hours shoving his cock between them. Don’t get him wrong, nothing compares to being inside you, but something about being able to feel you twitch as he fucks himself through the softness of your thighs just does it for him.

Lastly, hear me out pleaseplease

Peg him.

He’ll be a bit put off by it initially.

He’s just never heard of it before. Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?

You decide to put away the strap-on for the time being, starting with the basics as to not overwhelm him. Just fingers. You find out he has a completely functional prostate, and it’s your new way of tormenting him.

Don’t let him touch himself, instead, work him ever so slowly to his orgasm by spreading him on your fingers. He wants to be annoyed, to tell you that it’s useless and it’s just faster to let him do the fucking, but he’s hard, and leaking, twitching every time your fingers intentionally brush against that spot, and before long he’s shooting ropes all over his chest.

He’s still a bit fussy about it when you show him the toy you bought just for him. Because there’s no way that thing is going inside him, except it is, and he’s ashamed of liking every second of it.

AFAB anatomy section:

He’s a bit embarrassed of it at first, but he really likes your chest. He likes lying on them, he’ll fall asleep like that if you let him. His hands are always on them, kneading them around or just to feel you.

When you proposed to let him fuck your tits, he had no idea it was a thing. He likes the idea, in theory, when it comes to practice you get to find out just how much he really likes it.

He’s leaking so much it makes him practically slide around in them.

It’s not long before he finds himself covering your chest in cum.

It quickly becomes one of his favorite spots to cum on.

[courtofcravings]

Everyone Knew (1)

Cassian x Reader

After realizing you're hopelessly in love with your best friend, a night out at the bar takes an unexpected turn when unresolved feelings become the topic of the night.

Mutual pinning, Slight angst, Fluff Warnings: Drinking, border line nswf (but only make out) Completed Series - Read part 2 here

“You could, perhaps, try talking to him…” Feyre suggested, lifting her glass to her lips, “I mean, how long do you think you can avoid him?” She added, with a pointed look

“Would forever be too long?” you muttered, staring into your nearly empty drink. Tonight was supposed to be a break—a brief escape from your endless pining. Somehow, though, it had turned into an interrogation.

“You’re acting pathetic,” Nesta grumbled from beside her sister. “Just talk to him. He is only a man.”

“I tried,” you whined, throwing a pleading glance at the girls. You really had tried—more than once. The problem was that every time Cassian’s eyes lingered on yours for too long, your brain short-circuited, leaving you speechless and rulling any possibility of confessing: utterly impossible.

“Tried,” Nesta repeated mockingly, a smirk curling her lips. “If you call drooling over him and bolting out of every room he’s in trying, then sure.”

“She gets flustered,” Feyre said, reaching across the table to pinch your warming cheeks. “It’s not her fault.”

“Exactly!” you mumbled, swatting Feyre’s hands away. “Every time I look at him, words just… don’t form… into complete thoughts.” You groaned, slumping back. You weren’t exactly the drooling mess Nesta made you out to be—at least, you hoped not—but lately, you’d definitely been frazzled.

A poorly muffled laugh broke from the man sitting on Nesta’s other side—silent for so long, you’d almost forgotten he was there.

“I hardly see how you find this so amusing, Azriel,” You scolded, shooting him a sharp look.

Azriel’s eyes flicked to yours for a brief second before darting back to the other girls. “I’ve never seen her acting so… odd,” he said, shaking his head. “And neither has he.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” you grumbled, crossing your arms. “I am not acting weird.”

“Besides becoming a moping mess?” Nesta quipped, her lips curling into a sly smirk.

“He knows you’re avoiding him,” Azriel said flatly. “And that’s… odd behavior. You two are normally inseparable.”

“You told him I was avoiding him?” you accused, your heart beating a little faster.

“No,” Azriel replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Skipping practice for the third time this week clued him in. He didn’t stop complaining about it during sparring today.”

“Wait… he’s upset with me?” you asked, a knot forming in your chest.

The last few weeks had been overwhelming. Realizing just how deeply you loved your best friend had been consuming. He had been consuming. The mere thought of stepping into a ring with him, his large, strong hands on you, made your pulse race.

“I never said he was upset with you,” Azriel corrected, arching a brow.

“But he’s complaining about me?”

“Not about—” Azriel sighed, his tone edging toward exasperation. “Would you just talk to him?” His frustration showed in the slight crease of his brows, his patience clearly wearing thin.

“And say what?” you muttered, more to yourself than anyone else. Just having a fraction of his attention made you flustered—having all of it? You were sure you’d melt on the spot.

“Literally, anything.” Nesta answered.

With a scoff, you laced your fingers together dramatically, resting your chin on them. “Oh, my dearest friend,” you began, your voice dripping with mock sincerity. “I hate to ruin our valuable friendship, but our friends think it is vital that I inform you of how completely, utterly head over heels I am for you.”

You paused just long enough to grab the glass Feyre had left in front of you, tossing back its contents in a single gulp. The alcohol burned its way down your throat, making you wince. But as you set the glass down, all traces of mockery vanished, your tone softening to something achingly earnest.

“Every morning, I wake up sad because you aren’t beside me, and I fall asleep just as bitter. Truly, though, that's the least of my problems…” Your voice faltered for just a moment before you pressed on. “Because I haven’t the faintest idea how to act around you anymore. And I miss my best friend.”

“Yes, say it exactly like that,” Feyre said, her soft smile full of encouragement.

“That was… actually very romantic,” Nesta added, her usual sharpness tempered by genuine surprise.

“As if I could ever say that—Oh!” you groaned, digging your hands through your hair in pure frustration. “Did I tell you what he said yesterday? About how excited he was to pin me under him?” Your voice cracked, and the words spilled out in a hurried, breathless rush.

You knew Cassian had meant it in the context of sparring, but the unintended suggestion had completely scrambled your thoughts. “How am I supposed to train with him now?” you muttered, shaking your head and pressing your palms to your temples. “The thought of me under him, or worse, me on top of him… Cauldron.”

Azriel, caught off guard, sputtered into his drink, his usually stoic composure vanished as he coughed and gasped for air. Feyre, her face flushed with suppressed laughter, pressed a fist to her mouth in an attempt to control herself. Nesta didn’t bother to hide her wide grin.

“This is not helping.” You groaned, burying your face in your hands.

“Neither is skipping training,” Nesta quipped.

“This is all your fault!” you snapped, spinning to point an accusing finger at the trio. “You three just had to point out that I loved him. You couldn’t leave it alone—you all just had to be right!” You were ready to argue further, but their expressions gave you pause. Instead of guilt or concern, they were all smiling at something behind you.

“Gonna be honest, Y/n…” A chill crept into your stomach as you heard a very amused familiar voice.. “Didn’t think that line would work.”

You froze, the air rushing from your lungs as you turned around. “Cass!” The unintelligible squeak that followed was a sound you were certain had never left your lips before. Your voice climbed a pitch higher, your heart hammering so fast you feared it might escape your chest entirely and throw itself at the man standing before you. “Cass—Cassian! You’re, uh, here. Why? Uh… why are you”—you swallowed hard, your throat painfully dry—“here?”

Behind you, the chorus of girlish giggles from your so-called friends did nothing to steady the waver in your voice. Cassian’s arms crossed loosely over his large chest, his posture casual, but his eyes anything but. They raked over you with an intensity that left you rooted to the spot. “I heard you went drinking without me.”

“Is that… what you heard?” you stammered, your voice faltering as you struggled to keep your composure. “What else—what else did y-you hear?” You couldn’t tear your gaze from his hazel eyes, the intensity making your heart race.

“Enough to piece together why you’ve been—well, avoiding me.”

“Have I?” you asked, feigning confusion as you awkwardly scratched at the back of your neck. Cassian’s lips twitched, his amusement rising alongside the arch of one dark brow.

“I’ll get us a round,” you blurted out, inching toward the edge of the booth. The plan to escape was short-lived, though, as Cassian’s arm shot out, blocking your path. Two shot glasses clinked against the table as he set them down with a smug grin.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Cassian chuckled to himself as he squeezed into the booth, his broad frame leaving you no choice but to shuffle further back. “We should talk.”

“A talk? You and I?” you asked, your voice high-pitched with forced casualness as you plastered on a tight smile. “It’s a girl’s night—we can talk later… or never. Never works for me.”

Cassian’s grin grew. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if struggling to decide what to say first. His eyes flicked to Azriel, who sat stiffly at the far end of the booth, before returning to you. “Girl’s night, huh?” Cassian drawled. “But Az is sitting right there.”

“No, I’m not,” came the shadowsinger’s low, muttered reply.

You barely had time to blink before the sound of Azriel getting up filled the booth. Disappearing into the crowd without so much as a backward glance, leaving you alone with Cassian. Feyre and Nesta, you realized belatedly, had also vanished at some point. Traitors.

“Coward!” you yelled after Azriel, your frustration swallowed by the chatter in the bar.

“Says the kettle to the pot,” Cassian quipped, his smirk turning devilish as he reached for the bottle Azriel had left behind, taking a long swig. He set it down, leaning back as his gaze pinned you in place. “I’ve never seen you act so… flustered before. It’s cute.”

“I—” The word barely escaped your lips, snagging on the lump forming in your throat. Cute. He called you cute. Like you were some kind of child.

Mortified, you buried your face in your hands, as if that would somehow block out the world—and him. Heat flooded your cheeks, and his presence, so close, so warm, only made it worse. “Can you just pretend you didn’t hear any of that?”

“Y/N, would you just—”

“Please—pretty please?” you cut him off with a groan, your voice tinged with desperation. You just needed him to let it go, to move on, to give you even a moment of reprieve.

But the sound of your plea died in your throat as two large, warm hands gently wrapped around your wrists, pulling them away from your face with surprising tenderness. His touch sent a wave of buzzing exhilaration coursing through you.

His breath fanned against your ear, and you flinched at just how close he was. Too close. There was no hiding the heat crawling up your neck and settling in your cheeks.

“W-What?” you stammered, completely losing track of whatever he had just said. Your eyes flicked to his lips, watching as he caught his bottom lip between his teeth, a faint smile tugging at the corners.

“Why would I do that?” he repeated, his voice low and deliberate.

“Because… because it’s easier,” you admitted softly, the words tumbling out before you could catch them.

Cassian’s brows drew together, a flicker of confusion shadowing his expression. “Is it?” he murmured, leaning in ever so slightly. His teasing smile returned, softer but no less disarming. “Because it looks like you’re struggling quite a bit.”

“Cauldron, Cass… please.” Your voice wavered, breaking under the strain of your emotions. “I—I can’t. Don’t tease me about this. I can’t…”

The raw and fragile plea hung in the air. Your wrists went limp in his grasp, as if surrendering would somehow make it easier. Maybe if you stayed quiet, he’d let it drop—let you go so you could disappear into the safety of your blankets at home and pretend this moment had never happened.

Instead, he loosened one hand, his fingers brushing against your face as he gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His knuckles lingered, grazing your cheek with a tenderness that sent shivers down your spine. You told yourself not to, begged, but you leaned into his touch anyway.

“This is why you’ve been acting so…” His knuckles trailed downward, leaving a scorching path to your neck. The sensation was maddening, each inch sending waves of heat and goosebumps alike coursing through your skin. “…so distant?”

You swallowed hard, words trapped under the weight of his steady gaze. His fingers brushed lightly over your throat, as his hazel eyes searched yours, waiting.

“Yes.” The word was barely a breath

“I thought I did something to piss you off.” His hand slid from your wrist, trailing slowly up the bare skin of your arm. Every brush of his fingers left a trail of fire in their wake. “I hounded Az about it for weeks,” he continued, voice low and laced with something unspoken. His touch traveled over your shoulder and down your back, finally settling on your waist—where it fit like it belonged.

“You did?” The question barely made it past your lips, as soft and fragile as your resolve under his gaze.

“Needed to know why things changed.” His grip on your waist tightened slightly, warm and possessive, his thumb pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. “I hated the distance you put between us.”

“Cass—”

“Promise me, Y/N.” His voice dropped, low and intimate, the weight of his words sinking deep into the charged space between you. “Tell me you won’t ever do that again.” His hazel eyes bore into yours, sharp yet devastatingly tender. “Alright, Cassian.” You whispered it, though it felt more like a surrender than a promise.

He used his hold on your waist to draw you closer, your bodies nearly flush. His face hovered just inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Promise me you’ll talk to me when something’s bothering you,” he murmured, his fingers drawing lazy circles on your waist that sent shivers rippling through you.

“I promise.” The words came out on an exhale, barely audible over the pounding of your heart. The air between you felt heavier, thick with tension.

“You even went drinking without me,” he added, the playful pout on his lips disarming in contrast to the intensity of the moment.

You couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped you, your heart warming despite the charged atmosphere. “Cauldron, Cass, really?”

His grin softened, but his eyes never left yours. “I missed my best friend, too.”

You sat up straighter, planting your palms on his chest to create just enough distance to breathe. “I—I still don’t know how I’m supposed to act around you anymore… how to go back.” Frustration bubbled up, and you groaned, scrubbing your hands over your face without a care for the smudge of your makeup. “I need a drink.”

“Go back…” he echoed under his breath. His hand slid away from your waist as he reached for a shot, the absence of his touch a sudden, jarring loss. “I thought I’d get you drunk enough tonight to spill what the fuck was on your mind.” “I’m surprised you didn’t know.” You grimaced, taking the chilled glass from him and pressing it to your flushed face. The coolness was a welcome relief against the heat simmering beneath your skin. “Everyone knew. Literally. Everyone.”

Cassian’s wings twitched, tension rippling through him. “Yeah, I’ll be having some words with them later,” he muttered darkly, the sharp edge to his voice offset by the warmth in his eyes. He downed his shot, the sharp scent of liquor mingling in the air between you, intoxicating in its own way.

“I begged them not to tell,” you admitted, dazed as you watched his tongue dart out to catch the last drop of alcohol from his lips. Your breath hitched. Those lips—the way his tongue moved—flashed through your mind. The memories of sleepless nights, haunted by dreams of him, surged hotly. Your pulse faltered, and a tight, burning heat spread through your chest.

Your face flushed even deeper, the heat not just from embarrassment, but from the way Cassian’s gaze locked with yours, that knowing grin spreading across his lips like he could read your thoughts. You reached for the shot, desperate to regain some composure.

“Hey!” A sudden pinch to your waist jolted you, causing the alcohol to spill across your neck. You winced "Why’d you do that?" You reached for the spill, but his hand shot out to firmly grasp your wrist.

"Sorry, Y/n," he murmured, his voice low and laced with intent. “I wanted another taste.” His gaze fell to the liquor on your skin, and his body leaned closer, his presence nearly overwhelming. “Let me clean that for you.”

“Cassian, what are–” Your words caught in your throat, and you didn’t have the chance to finish as his warm tongue followed the path of the spilled drink, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. The surprise melted into a soft whine as his mouth moved to your neck, sucking and nibbling at the sensitive skin there. He paused, pressing a chaste kiss to your fluttering pulse point.

“I’m surprised you didn’t know,” he murmured, his words a quiet echo of your own. But you barely registered them, lost in the heat of his touch. A soft chuckle rumbled from him as your fingers instinctively tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

“Everyone knew,” he breathed, his lips brushing your collarbone before returning to the crook of your neck, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. A breathy moan escaped you as his hands lifted you further onto him. “Literally everyone,” he whispered, teasingly repeating your words.

You could barely process what he was saying, not with his lips tracing your skin and his strong hands gripping you like he couldn’t get enough. Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging gently, drawing a low groan from him that vibrated against your throat.

“How am I supposed to focus on what you’re saying,” you gasped, the words tumbling out between uneven breaths, “when you’re touching me like that… making sounds like…” You swallowed hard as his hand moved to rest lightly against your throat, the pressure intoxicating. “That?”

Cassian’s eyes darkened with amusement as he pulled back slightly, just enough to create a small space between his lips and your skin. A knowing, cocky smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“You want me to stop?” he asked, his voice rich with teasing, each word a challenge.

“No—Maybe.” Your thoughts tangled into knots, the weight of his closeness stealing any coherent response. The idea of kissing him—of what it would mean after—tugged at you. Your lips quivered under the weight of unspoken words, and Cassian’s eyes dropped to them, his thumb brushing against the bottom one in a slow, deliberate motion.

“Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d see you this flustered over me,” he breathed, his voice a velvety murmur. “So cute… It’s everything.”

The words hit like a bucket of cold water. The amusement in his expression, the teasing—it felt like a joke to him, just something to feed his ego. Something inside you snapped, and you pulled away, raw frustration and embarrassment bubbling up to the surface. “Stop saying things like that,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you pushed against his chest, breaking free from his arms. His grip slackened just enough for you to pull away completely.

“Y/n, wait—” Cassian’s voice was strained, a thread of alarm creeping into his tone.

“No!” you shot back, your voice trembling with emotion. “Stop. It’s not cute. I’m not some… some game for you to amuse yourself with for the night, Cassian.”

“What?” He looked stunned, his brows furrowing in confusion as he reached for you again. “That’s not what—hold on!”

“I need air,” you muttered, your voice cracking. His hands reached out, desperate to stop you, but you slipped out of the booth before he could catch hold of you.

You didn’t look back as he called your name, his voice rising above the music and chatter. Instead, you moved quickly, weaving through the bodies on the dance floor. Your calculated escape took you through the densest part of the crowd, where his large frame wouldn’t be able to follow as quickly.

[prettyboykatsuki]

I LIKE IT BETTER WHEN YOU CAN'T KEEP WARM | ODXNY

✮ tags ; heavy themes, gender neutral reader, mentions of past suicidal ideation, getting together, romantic tension, angst to fluff, extremely lovey-dovey ending, some implicit and suggestive content (lit one paragraph n non descript), themes of touch starvation, small height difference (reader is shorter)

✮ wc ; 6.3k (this is so shameful bye forever)

✮ a/n ; every time a semester ends i lose my mind and me writing this in several hours straight is evidence. if i had a nickel for every time i wrote a character study with the central theme of loneliness, i'd have two nickels - which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.

i will spare you the insane rambling for the authors note at the bottom of this fic.

✮ synopsis ; he wants something. to live maybe. and if he could be a little selfish, to be with you. he wants that, too.

Bright.

Could just be the dark room he keeps himself in talking. His computer system and encrypted Internet browsers are all in dark mode - and his desktop set-up doesn’t have any L.E.D. strip lights to keep him company. He prefers it that way, the ambiance a better environment to work in  when he’s doing his usual rounds. Down to the programs U.I. - Odxny spends most of his time in perpetual darkness. Cozy and familiar - totally safe and secure. Nothing but the low whirrs of a computers fan and the faint blinking of routers to keep him company.

You’re the brightest thing he’s had on his screen in a long time. You’ve got white walls and no precaution, really. You’re sitting at your own desktop - and he can see everything of your life in the background of where you sit. There are photos of you graduating high school, being around unnamed friends, vacations and trips, and head shots like the kind you take for a resume. It’s all so personal. Bookshelves, trinkets, poorly made clay sculptures. Posters of musicians you like and Studio Ghibli movies. Evidence of life surrounds you like a halo.

Awful. Angel comparisons to someone he’s only known for a day make him wonder if he’s more pathetic than he thought. He probably shouldn’t think so hard about a stranger, a real stranger. Thrim generated randomly, though he thinks it sounds like a name. Finds it fun to say, for better or worse.

Natural light pours in from a window nearby, casting shadows in your room. He already knows you, in a way. He did the background search. Where you were born, raised, grew up.  The schools you went too, the career you seek. Bits and pieces of you are all scattered in his memory and are not at all thorough. He wasn’t really trying for that at the time, just needed to know if you were dangerous. There’s a cognitive dissonance. To know a life so thoroughly and to witness it is completely, and utterly different.

There’s miles between you. Must be thousands. He can’t remember the last time he’s really met someone, though. It’s hard not to notice that this feels akin to that. Like the embers of a campfire, glowing but not burning. A comfortable warmth.

Bright. His screen is very bright talking to you. Even obscured behind the mask, it’s a little difficult to look at it and leaves him on edge - restless and mildly painful.

When his vision adjusts though, there’s clarity. A person, a stranger - with an exceptionally nice laugh and who is exceptionally trusting. Odxny tries not to think too hard about the feeling of warmth that flutters at your overflowing sincerity.

The conversation is easy.

“Does that mean you trust me now?”

Odxny pretends to think on it. “Enough to keep you around.”

“See you later.”

“See you.”

You accompany your last words with a wave - short and sweet. Darkness pulls him in, back where he started. He has a mild headache from all the light.

__

You pick up on the language better than he thought you would.

He underestimated you. Can you blame him? Your choice is language is ArnoldC, for fucksake. Sure, he has limited knowledge on esoteric languages but can it really be in-depth enough to show you the basics.

(It can. Or at least, Od presumes this to be the case because you’re rather helpful in Incri’s hacks and Incri is hardly helpful to anyone in the world, no less the server.)

You pick up on things quickly with little guidance - always to the point and not usually making many errors. He has to commend your abilities and give you credit where it’s due. It’s not a hard language to learn, but for anyone with no familiarity with coding at all he’d expect there to be a learning curve. Even if you had coding language, it’s not like you knew SQL coming in.

You fit strangely well into the server somehow. You’re happy to learn and nonplussed about helping with small things, though you don’t know these people at all and have no reason to participate in their nonsense. You talk to Incri fine, and manage to get Pep to accidentally reveal telling information. Odxny finds all of this rather… entertaining maybe. More than impressive, really.

He has a hard time making sense of the feeling. He would hope you don’t think you’re under duress - given the fact your relationship in two days has been pleasant. Then again - maybe he’s missed some social cue and you do think that. It’s possible. After all, he doesn’t actually remember the last time he’s spoken verbally to anyone with very, very few exceptions.

He manages to call you again after the fact - opens the call with sincere and heartfelt congrats and feels pleasant seeing you take the compliment in stride.

You land on the subject of programming again, inevitably. He interrogates you a little more over your choice in language - almost like he can’t help himself. It’s basic curiosity. You had said you were the best in ArnoldC. A little research proved that to be true, presence of you in the forums of various esolang pages. He landed on many things. You’re the best at ArnoldC, but you also know Brainfuck for some ridiculous reason.

He thinks you’re a little ridiculous in general.

“It’s really for the love of the game, huh?”

You nod when he asks this. Smiling, bright and unbothered with a soft edge of smug pride that makes the muscles of his face twitch up. “Mhm. I like my little collection.

Odxny doesn’t doubt it for even a minute. He’s seen the proof, but perhaps he doesn’t need to mention that. “Your trophy case of ridiculous language?”

Your eyes come to life all of a sudden. “Wait. A real trophy case would actually be so cool.”

He pauses, blinking as the words sink before a smile breaks onto his face helplessly. “That was not to enable you.”

“Too late. I’m already looking up the ugliest wood trim display cases I can find.”

The laugh comes naturally. “You really are just like this?”

You look proud again. “What? Fun?”

Yes, Odxny thinks but doesn’t say. “Baffling.”

You ask Odxny to elaborate and he does. The conversation flows with frustrating ease. So easily that he mouths off about his plans to you without a second thought. He doesn’t know why he does it. Not really. He’s thought it through over and over - so it’s not like he needs to disclose it. He made his choice.

He thinks about moving it along. About ending the call or simply brushing past without going into any detail.

When he glances at the screen, you’ve got a pillow in your lap and your eyes completely focused on him. There’s that feeling again, alarming clarity in your gaze and brightness that causes him immense unease in the world he’s made of nihilistic, apathetic darkness. There’s a plan, always has been. He’ll do this and disappear and the world will soon forget him. If it happens that way, than at least this loneliness is a choice he’s made for himself and not something the world has cruelly decided for him.

His lips move faster than his head, than even his heart. Compelled by a nameless and brilliant force. “I don’t have any reason to stay. I’m just — tired. Of everything.”

“No reasons? Nothing makes you happy here?”

His response is measured. Quiet. It’s not secret. He finds his voice crumbles around the words anyway as if they’re a confession. “Not for a long time. I don’t feel much of anything, really. It is what it is.”

You frown. He’s seen it all before. Heard it all before. “That’s…”

He cuts you off quickly.

“We just met. And we’ll be strangers again soon enough.” He says with as much conviction and resolve as he can possible manage. Who he’s convincing remains unclear. “So, not to be cold but..you know.”

The disappointment in your face leaves an impression, but you relent. He tries to make amends for the depressing conversation of talking again and you perk up so genuinely it makes want to cry, in a distant and foreign way.

“Catch you later, then.” He says, and closes at out the call. The room falls dark for the second time. He blinks a few times to get rid of the light clouding his vision.

__

Wnpep is eager to teach you on the third day.

You’re eager in reply - matching energy with sharp wit and enthusiasm. Wnepep is a better teacher than Incri by several miles. Evident in how much faster everything falls into place for you. Not that you really need too much help in the first place. You break down the crumbling walls of an insurance scam with ease and come out of the other side more accomplished.

It’s a noble last hack, Odxny thinks.  Not unsurprising from Pep - unofficially the most sane and likeable member. He figured it’d be something like this less than a matter of personal vengeance.

You go back and forth for a bit in admin chat. Od types an apology about winding you up and tries not to read too much into the innuendo of it as you reply back with your own faux offended replies. He insists he’s somewhat sorry, and you’re far from believing him.

He finds himself grinning at his screen while he texts you mid conversation. When the realization hits, he almost curls into himself from embarrassment - a hand covering his mouth like it’ll do away with the grave sin.

The inneundo happens twice in one conversation, before you get to call under the premise of a victory toast.

A brief conversation about the last hacks barely leaves room for much else except Odxny plans of total isolation.

“Mm. I should’ve known it would come back to this. Why do you care what I choose to do with myself?”

That baffles you in a terribly genuine way. “Am I not allowed to care about another person?”

Odxny speaks honestly. “You are but I mean…” He trails off. He knows how he feels. “I’m not really a person anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m no one. I’m going to be no one. You have other things to fill your life with.”

There’s a vulnerable edge to his voice that he winces at when he hears it. It’s true isn’t it? All of it is true to Odxny, but especially where he says you have other things to fill your life with. You might share the same hobbies, but he’s seen it. He’s seen how different you are - your livelihoods, your existence. You’d be missed if you suddenly disappeared. Odxny knows the same isn’t true for himself. It’s been like that for a long while now.

(It’s crushing. That’s what makes your very ephemeral existence feel like a burden. Why it casts the shadows of doubt on choices he made, about how he would live so long ago. You care, don’t you? At least, more than anyone else in his life in the present. You care so undeniably, and so obviously and it is all so simple to you.

He almost envies it. Almost resents it, too. It’s such a small shred of humanity, the barest forms of sincerity but it is painfully raw. A split nerve. An open wound It’s not like the server, all of whom have accepted this distant fondness. It’s a delicate thread - spider silk accuracy and just as much strength. There’s conviction in your missing him and it haunts him.)

You think of what to say for a long time before landing on it. “I do. But I can care about multiple things at once,”

It sounds like I care about you too closely. He finds himself shivering. He’s truthful with you, unsure of how else to be when it comes to these conversations.

“That sounds burdensome.” He says. “Isn’t that exhausting?”

You don’t lie to him either. “Sometimes. But it’s worth the trouble.”

“Why?”

“Because I like your company,” You reply. Soft sincerity in your words. More clarity. More painstaking light.

“It can’t be that simple.”

“Why not?”

“If it was that simple then -“ Then it makes it seem like things could be different. He doesn’t say that. Stops himself before it can happen. “I don’t know why I’m bothering to argue. Why do I feel like I need to prove this to you?”

He’s almost afraid to look at your face, wincing when he sees how knowing you look. Not in a condescending way - but genuine, full blown understanding. Like you see through him.

He wonders if he knows you as well as he thought he did.

Your face is so sympathetic. “Are you sure it’s me?”

He cuts the conversation short on his own - making an awkward transition from the topic at hand into whatever he can manage. It’s an awkward fumble - a poor attempt at distracting both of you from this line of thinking. You’re kind enough to let him have it. He asks about your hobbies. You tell him about how you like to try the weirdest things and combinations you can find in a restaurant.

He finds it suits you.

A lot of things suit you. Even your piss poor attempt at the Terminator that he quickly mimics - possessed by god knows what.

You laugh when he does. Brilliant and bubbly and characteristically warm. You say the words through giggles.

“That was so bad!”

“It was a lapse in judgment,” He replies back defensively, smiling against his will. He finds himself laughing too.

“I like your laugh, by the way.”

He pauses caught off-guard. “Oh? My laugh. Oh, uhm. Thank you.”

You make a face that he can’t read. Knowing. In a different way than the last. He feels nervous.

“I have been laughing quite a bit, haven’t I?”

You grin. Smug and deliriously happy. “Sure have.”

He looks away from you. “Ha...Odd.”

You giggle again. Your eyes crinkle at the corners, nose scrunched in genuine delight. It’s a pleasant sound but not because it’s particularly wispy or floaty or delicate. But it’s real. Pleasant in the way the white noise of park during summer. Pleasant like the varied playlist overhead in a record shop. Pleasant like a moment of humanity tucked between everyday. He clears his throat.

“I like your laugh, I think.”

You laugh again, gasping with faux offense. “You think???”

He tries not to feel so grounded by that sound and fails. “Yeah. I think. Laugh again.”

He tries not to add please. You shake your head like you’re reprimanding him.

“No, no, you have to earn that. Make me laugh.”

“Nevermind. Shut up.”

You do laugh again that time. He joins you soon after. “And now you laugh? At me?”

The conversation moves again, comfortable like a tide. You ask about his favorite language and he tells you as much. You’re quiet and growing cheeky, listening to him talk.

“So you do like coding.”

“Maybe a little.” He replies, not giving in. “You remember far too much of what I say.”

The conversation comes to a close again. He thanks you for how nice its been and you make an off-handed attempt to get him to change his mind. You could always talk more. The implication delicate beneath it.

We don’t have to forget each other. Odxny brushes past it - but says he’ll see you tomorrow anyway.

__

Extorting Elimfs childhood friend (?) is an easy enough endeavor. Odxny texts you through out - to ask advice on what things to take when he leaves.

He calls you again when its over too. He can’t find a reason for it - nothing that makes sense. He just wanted to call you. He hasn’t wanted something like that in a while,  but he tells himself its fine. This is the last time you’ll ever know each other.

So its fine. He won’t waver.

He’ll just.. call you.

He asks you on your weed habits, mildly surprised when you tell him you smoke and take edibles sometimes too. The conversation loops back to the fund at one point. You don’t hide your displeasure about the whole thing today.

You’ve talked about it already. No need to keep bringing up. But you seem to feel so strongly and Odxny can’t figure out why. Can’t shake the feeling of wanting to know why every single time.

“Is it really so hard to believe I’ve come to like you in a few days?”  You ask, after probing.

“In a way that matters, yes.”

You frown at him when he says that. It’s the most upset he’s seen you look, if he can call it that. You’ve never been upset when he’s been rude or insulting - but this is bothering you. It doesn’t help him pull away from you.

He says it again. Reinforces how temporary this all is. He’s trying to convince one of you. Both of you, maybe, of his unimportance.

“I don’t think that little of you.”

He finds it hard to reply to that. It’s that feeling against. It makes him uncomfortable. It’s not empty platitudes or some vague sense of responsibility for his life. All of it is real, and all of it is meaningful in how plain it is. You make it seem easy.

“It’s life. It’s normal. People come, people go.”

You shake your head. “Not for me. I can’t forget you that easily.”

He wishes you would. He’s painfully, painfully relieved that you wouldn’t it. He voices neither thought.

“Then- try! You’re putting so much on yourself, and for what? You don’t stand to gain anything.”

You shrug. “Peace of mind. Knowing you’re still out there.”

It’s heavy. The implication is heavy. He’s not going to kill himself. He doesn’t want that anymore, though he thought about it. At the beginning. Loneliness is more painful when you have memories of what not being that way was like - he thinks. At the start of all that loss, the hollowness bared an almost painful gravity inside of him.

It’s like being told to breathe or blink - becoming conscious of what was once a natural function, how full life was once when it’s escaped. He doesn’t want to kill himself, but living is meaningless.

 These things aren’t paradoxical to him. They haven’t been for all this time.

(They weren’t until he met you at least. A mirror of wanting. Odxny looks at you and sees life reflected back. Despite it not being his, its moving. It’s beautiful in a human way, reachable. Tangible. Earned.

Wherever you are. Whenever you’re together, the black hole inside of himself seems to fade back into average planetary darkness. He becomes cruelly human again, feeling warmth and laughter.

He’s tells himself he’s not afraid of dying and that’s mostly true. He’s most afraid of living. Afraid he won’t be able to learn it again.)

 He manages to tell you some of what he’s thinking. He has no clue how to start over. He doesn’t know if it’s possible. You don’t feed him any false hope, but he tells you how he sees it. You’re feeling pity for him right? And you should figure that out sooner rather than later.

“Is it really that easy for you?”

You shake your head. You’re smiling but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “It isn’t. But I have to try.”

“Is that what you’re doing with me?”

“What?”

“Is this…?”

He cuts the call off when he hears himself, unsure of what answer he’s hoping for. The realization dawns on him too much, too quickly. The feeling of hope is loud in his chest but there is another feeling, embarrassing in it’s swiftness that follows shortly after.

Oh.

Oh.

__

The servers shuts down after a mildly sappy adventure to close up shop. The closest Odxny has gotten to flirting with you in his own way. He’s sad to see everyone go, despite there being no other choice.

It’s easier than he thought it’d be. To give you his number he means, even after shutting the entire server down. After leaving everything behind. He gives you the choice to make. Call me if you still want it - a silent promise.

 Maybe because deep down - some part of him always wanted to make this choice. Just maybe.

Your voice is different over the phone line. A little clearer, spoken softer. Just as lovely as it was the first time he heard it. Maybe more. Maybe.

The city beneath him is bright. So bright. It doesn’t hurt to look at, he thinks.

__

You call him every day.

You’ve been doing it for months.

He thought, at some point, you’d let up or start to forget. He’s been waiting on it to happen as horrible as it sounds. Like some self-fulfilling prophecy, he’d slip back into the background as is natural. A proof of his nonexistence, if you will.

You don’t forget though. He almost wonders if he’s dreaming when it happens. There’s a routine between you two, these days. You have your own life that you’ve been living the same as normal. When it’s night time for you, though - you hop onto your desktop and call Od like you’re two very average people.

There’s nothing solid to define your relationship aside from friendship as is. This is less frustrating than he expected it to be. Getting to know you better has only made him like you more. Your relationship is solid in a strange way. It’s been about six months total, and as corny as it sounds - Odxny feels like he’s known you for his entire life. You understand him in an intimate way, with vulnerable tenderness and radical acceptance.

He kind of misses the privacy of his old stomping grounds, but he doesn’t mind speaking though discord. It feels… normal. In a not displeasing way. You mostly talk to talk about whatever comes to mind. Sometimes it’s your job search, other times it’s  your part-time or friend drama. You’re vibrant as always. Without the wall of anonymity, Odxny gets to know of you like he’s just your average person. He finds he really, really likes that.

You play games together frequently. He’s never been interested in cozy gaming, but you play Minecraft and Stardew Valley together per your request. Odxny streams himself playing Ocarina of Time for you on Discord in the background sometimes too, and you keep it on when you’ve got work to do or you’re cooking or something else. There’s something very mundane to it.

You’re not doing anything with him today though. You’re calling him on facetime, rather than at your desktop. You’ve made the executive decision to laze around and Odxny has no problem joining you though you speak less than usual as a result of being sleepy. You had a long shift yesterday so perhaps Odxny can’t blame you.

“Need to get better shoes. For walking and stuff.” You say thoughtlessly. The corners of his lips twitch up.

“Yeah?”

You nod. Your face is smushed against your pillow at an unflattering angle. He smiles a little.

“Yeah. I’m on my feet for like nine hours when I serve and it hurts wearing flats. Need something sturdier even it diminishes my drip.”

He laughs at that. “Please never say that again.”

You continue onwards. “Decreases my aura, even. But alas, utility comes first.”

He snickers as he glances at you through the phone. You’re propped against one of his monitors as he does work on his computer. He’s getting back into programming for the love of the game, just seeing what he can do.

“Want help looking?”

“Feels a little ridiculous asking a super pro-hacker to shop Sketchers with me.”

“You seriously thinking of buying Sketchers?”

You laugh lightly. “Maybe I’ll get tipped more if I get the light-up ones.”

“Please don’t.”

“Hater.”

You break out into genuine laughter as Odxny shakes his head in despair. It’s something you’d do, no doubt. You sigh.

“I really do want a break from work.” You roll around on your mattress. Odxny can hear your rustling but can’t see you much. “The chains of capitalism shackle me in place. Woe is me.”

Odxny thinks on what you’ve said for a long while in silence. The question comes up every now and again though he’s never brave enough to ask it. His ludicrous amount of disposable income however is still sitting in his bank, collecting dust. It’s been six months and he’s hardly made a dent in it.

“Do you want to come visit?” He asks, cringing at the sound of his own voice. The words are strained and a little too eager. “I can pay the difference for expenses for wages and stuff. And, uh. Uhm,”

He loses his train of thought trying to speak, worsened by the way you pop onto his screen when he says that. Your expression is unreadable to him, comfortable and even. You smile a little as you lift the phone so he can see what you look like laying in your bed. Your face is in full view.

“It’d be a little weird to visit you before we start dating officially, no?”

His eyes go wide at the implication. You grin, mischief and mirth making your eyes practically beam. He can feel a blush crawl up his neck as soon as he registers it.

“Excuse me? Why are you saying that like it’s already been decided?” He bites back, not sure what else he could say.

“So you don’t want to date me?”

“I didn’t- you - damn it,” He groans at his own bluster as he giggles on the other side of the line. So cheeky. Damn him for liking it and damn you for being cute. “…You are saying you like me right?”

Your face softens. He can feel his heartbeat quicken. “Uh-huh. Just wanted to take it slow. But I’ve liked you for a long time.”

“How long is that, exactly?”

You shrug playfully and the fact he can’t be within reach to kiss you feels especially harrowing. “A secret.” You smile again, all trouble. “So. Wanna date?”

“Terrible confession. Zero stars,” He says petulantly. He leans back in his chair and finds himself smiling uncontrollably. “Fine. I guess.”

Your laugh fills his room. He doesn’t get tired of hearing it. His face hurts from smiling.

__

He manages to stave off on the anxiety of you coming to see him for a lot longer than he thought possible.

Making arrangements proves to be a little difficult. You have to tell your roommates that you’ll be gone for a while but promise to still pay rent and explain to your boss where you’re going. You have a good enough relationship and have been working long enough for them to agree to keep a spot open so you can start working when you come back.

After that, there’s the matter of Visas. Odxny goes out of his way to make that process go much faster than normal, though he doesn’t actually tell you. Once all of that’s sorted, there’s living arrangements. Try as you might to insist to live somewhere else, his place is too spacious for him to let you stay anywhere else. You can take the guest room.

He pretends that all of this is just happening in his imagination. He doesn’t even know the last time anyone came over, let alone lived with him. He does his best to make things presentable, and makes a guest room for you to live in should you desire. He even buys more decor (plants and things) to make it look… less like a cave and more like a home.

Nothing really feels real until the day arrives though. It’s a long flight and difficult trip. You refused to let him pay for the tickets so he moved it around to get you into first class both ways through other methods.

You text him the terminal, the arrival time, any and all delays. Still. None of it feels real until he’s already waiting for you near the bags. He can feel his heart race, his lungs short of air. He’s never experienced something so ridiculously contradictory in his entire life. He wants to run away while feeling stuck in place.

The anticipation nearly kills him.

He would recognize your voice anywhere though. Like he did for so many days alone in the dark. A hand waves high, shouting as loud as it can.

“It’s you!”

The sound of sneakers skidding across tile floors make his breath hitch. His eyes go wide as you stand still in front of him, luggage in hand and a million-watt smile on your face. He feels his heart beat so loud, he wonders if he’s going to throw up.

“Hey.” He says, dumbly.

“Hi!”

__

The adjustment period to living together isn’t what he expects.

It’s been a long time since he’s been so close to another human being. It becomes clear that you’re really living together though when your things end up in the bathroom completely incidentally. There’s something about finding your sleep shirt on a towel rack that makes reality settle in. You’re living together.

He’d be stupid not to notice the purposeful distance between you. An attempt to be thoughtful and not overwhelm him. It’s never awkward when you’re together. You eat together, watch movies and play games while sitting too close on the couch. You’ve been on a date in the two weeks you’ve spent, and it barely took any convincing on your end to make him go along with you.

Isolation aside though, Odxny is not clueless to the conventions of modern dating. You avoid touching him too casually. He doesn’t blame you, but he can’t help but crave your presence with a little more bittersweet longing as the days pass. He has to get past it or bring it up eventually, but it feels like something he’s never going to get over somehow.

The opportunity to do so gets thrown at him all at once. You’ve been living together for sixteen days. A conversation about love languages is what undoes it.

“Whats your love language, Od?”

He gives you a quizzical look. “Dunno actually. Never bothered to look.”

“I’d guess… hm. Quality time maybe? Or words of affirmation.”

He shrugs as he sits next to you on the couch, glancing at your phone as you read through the different ones. “What’s yours?”

“Physical touch. I’m super touchy. With anyone who will let me, honestly. Bad habits.”

Odxny gives you a long look as you say it. He debates if he should bring it up.

“You don’t have to be so careful around me, you know?”

You look up at him, startled by the comment. Several things pass over your face before you settle on an apologetic smile. “Sorry. It’s not like I don’t want to. I just don’t want to be too much for you.”

“That wouldn’t happen.” He says automatically. You laugh good-naturedly.

“Your confidence is assuring, but you underestimate how touchy I am. I’m afraid of I get my hands on you, I’ll never let go again,”

He thinks he wants that more than is normal. He shakes his head. “I don’t mind.”

You give him a long look, seeming struck by an idea, before humming and standing up. You turn around with your hand out towards him. His brows furrow in bewilderment.

“Have some faith.”

He takes your hand and stands up with you. He likes that he’s taller than you. Staring at you, he feels your fingers clasp around his hand and his heart thuds - loud and messy.

“Your room or mine?”

“What?”

You laugh. “Get your mind out of the gutter. Or don’t actually, but I don’t bear lewd intentions.”

He crinkles his nose at the word usage and laughs. “Shut up.”

“Just trust me, okay?”

He concedes with embarassing swiftness.

“Okay.”

__

You lead Odxny to the guest room you’ve been living in for the last two weeks. The bed is well-made and all the new furniture he bought is occupying so many of your belongings. It makes him dizzy. You shut the door behind him as you lead him in. It just feels especially surreal.

Wordless, you let go of his hand and hop up onto your bed. Once you’re laying down, you prop up on your side with your elbow and pat the empty space next to you, smiling at him as you do. Once it clicks what your asking, he can feel his face grow hot. He can’t refuse it though, and he doesn’t want too.

The sheets you bought together smell like you. Between there’s practically no distance between you at this angle. He’s gotten to look at you plenty through these few days but it’s different. You scoot impossibly close to him until there’s nothing separating you.

Your breath is warm - a soft exhale leaving your lips as you inch closer.

“What’re we doing?” He asks in a murmur, stone stiff. You smile, coyly.

“Touching each other.”

He frowns at the joke. Your expression goes a touch serious right after. The sincerity is debilitating. “Can I touch you?”

He nods. Can’t do much more than that.

He stares at you with impending, long-suffering longing as you bring a single hand to his face and cradle his neck. He flinches unintentionally, but pulls your hand back when you try to move it. He wants this. You relax a little when he does that.

Your hands are softer. Softer than a heartbeat. He can feel the various cuts and scars from years of working against his skin but they’re still so soft. He can feel how warm you in such a brief touch his chest aches. Your hands cradle his face tenderly, thumb brushing across his lip with a smile brighter than thousands of lights. Something in your expression wreaks havoc on his heart. Something so raw and so gentle and so full within it - all directed towards him.

It’s been so long. So long. He’s never wanted something so bad  he couldn’t remember needing. He’s never wanted to be closer to someone than he does to you in the moment.

“You’re handsome,” You say, so sweetly. Not a confession, but gentle appraisal. It’s rare he cries but he wants too. “I like looking at you. Can I kiss you?”

“Please.” He rasps, gravel in his voice unfamiliar.

You hum a little. Closing the space between you with a press of lips. It’s not chaste. Odxny is grateful for how long and how deep you linger. He wants it so badly. He wants you in some damning and unforgiving way. How could a human being feel so warm? Feel so pleasant with so little?

You press your foreheads together. His hand trembles when they grip onto your waist but you encourage him just a little. It’s just a kiss. His heart might beat out of him. It’s just a kiss. He thinks he loves you.

Your hand moves away from his face. You let it go underneath his loose shirt to touch his shoulder, running your palm down the plane of his chest. You squeeze his waist, and wrap your arms around his back and pull him to you until your bodies touch somewhere in the middle.

You guide his face to your neck and chest as you hold him. He grips onto you tight in response, a gasp in the back of his lungs at the sudden sensation. You coo above him, soft and light - your fingers threading through his hair and nails massaging his scalp.

Your voice sounds above him, despite how deep in a haze he is. He can’t do anything but cling to you with impossible longing. You speak softly as you pet him. Your heartbeat soothes his.

“I’m glad you’re here.” You tell him. There’s that familiar clarity that makes him want to cry. “I’m glad you let me come with you.”

He can’t think of anything to say back. It’s a soul-shattering emotion. “I love you.”

You laugh wetly above him. “I love you, too. So much.” And then much softer. “Let’s be together for a long time.”

__

You lay in each others arms until sunset. In small talk and silent murmurs. It takes him hours to work up the courage to kiss you again - but only minutes to take it further.

It’s desperate. Terribly. Inevitable. You’re beautiful in a way that is undescribable, best expressed through his teeth on your neck and his hands all over where he can reach - each grip and thrust and bite a reminder. You’re pretty when you’re pleased, warmth reaching up inside of him whenever you make the right face.

He buries himself in you. You’re soft and warm and beautiful and he wants to stay with you. Time is a thief. He damns the sun when it tears you from him come morning.

__

He decides to make breakfast when you wake up. Nothing complicated. You go to shower after him and he plates up toast and eggs and other various things. It’s half done when you come downstairs.

Your skin is still damp, and you smell of vanilla and soap. Your coffee sits in a cup on the table as you pad over to him. He turns to look at you as you reach your hand up and cup his face. You pepper a kisses along his cheeks stopping at his lips for the last one before you’re satisfied.

He fails in his attempt not to blush.

“Morning.” You grin. He tries not to be sick at the domesticity of it all and fails.

“Yeah. Morning.”

You sit at the counter and drink your coffee, glancing outside the window. “It’s bright outside.”

Odxny can’t tear his eyes off of you. “Yeah...” He agrees. He’s not torn his gaze away. “Very bright.”

✮ a/n ; i want all real life compsci men to kick rocks but odxny sweeped me off my feet in a way i can only describe as humiliating. he is a bit like astarion for me in that i see a lot of myself in him at least in the past. he is also incredibly babygirl and uhm . other things (fine. he's very gorjus.) but i truthfully was most compelled by his idealized idea of isolation. as the fic will show it resonated with me as a fellow compsci dork who also tends to isolate like crazy LOL

this fic was like a demon that possessed me. literally no meds, no caffiene - just balls to the wall demonic possesion of needing something out of my system LMAOO. and adhd of course. im working on all the other stuff too i promise. consider this a short interlude 👍🏾

[transformers-spike]

Haven’t seen a lot of TFA starscream content around tumblr😢

So can I asked TFA starscream x femme human reader who’s like the COMPLETE opposite of him? Sweet, kind, not bratty like him ykyk.

He definitely hates it at first but in all honesty she calms him down🤷🏻‍♀️ oh and could you perchance make this NSFW? Tysm🫶

Love me this bitch - he's definitely out there in terms of fruitiness ngl

He loathes fleshies. Or so he claims. It doesn’t take a genius to realize he’s full of shit. Then again, you lack the self-preservation to avoid him like the plague.

You can’t help yourself, he’s so utterly pathetic yet charming, the prettiest rat in the sewer system. You’ve spent more time than you care to admit hanging around the likes of him. Yeah, he’s annoying and his voice sounds like nails against a chalkboard – but you’ve never had the best taste in men. Or extraterrestrials for that matter.

Through the months spent together, you’ve patiently listened to his frustrations and innumerable plans to depose Megatron and take his rightful place as the new leader of the Decepticons. He doesn’t want a second opinion (and frankly you know better than to offer yours) – and you’ve come to see him for what he truly is: a child desperate for attention. Usually, he’s the one lying next to you, resting his chin on his crossed arms, leaning into your touch as he goes on and on about whatever’s bothering him. He mellows out, eventually. Powering down for a minute or two, only to come back online and pick up where he last left off.

He’s flighty (pun not-intended on your part), always on the move, coming up with new schemes to infodump about for hours on end while stroking your head with his digit. A villain petting his cat while monologuing.

You don’t mind it. Any sane person would, but you don’t. He comes to you insulted Megatron won’t give him the time of day, and you happily give him the attention he craves; caressing his helm until his rambling slows and his voice softens. Things got weird after he admitted your species wasn’t so bad. Was it an attempt at flirtation? You didn’t know enough about Cybertronian courting to recognize the obvious signs. Wings held high – EM field wrapping itself around yours. Humans, as he told you, have a primitive version of it – which makes it all the more impressive he went out of his way to reach for yours. Light as a breeze, yes. But undisputedly there.

Either you’re the chosen one, meant to commute with aliens and establish peace on an intergalactic scale, or (most likely) he’s wasting energy trying to rizz you up the Cybertronian way instead of googling how humans flirt.

Actually – you’re glad he didn’t. Knowing him, he would have stumbled upon “fratboy tips and tricks to bagging gals” and become insufferable as a result.

You’re not sure how you got together – it just happened after days of watching him strut around like a preening peacock,

Your parts are – to put it lightly – completely incompatible. Talk about jamming a brick into a blueberry-sized hole. No human being can survive what he’s packing. But you make it work. There’s more to interface than spike to valve action – or so he told you. And frankly, you have to agree. Exploration is a given considering your anatomical differences. There is little you can cover at your size, which he finds hilarious. Instead, he’s the one running his digits over you, delighting in your softness. Sure, he may be self-absorbed and his favorite subjects involve he, himself and him, but he’s scarily good at analyzing your reactions. Or… maybe you’re just easy to read. Eh, either way, it doesn’t make a difference.

He learns fast, and he’s quick to rub where you’re most sensitive. But it would be nice if he stopped teasing you for once; he makes you beg for it, draws out your pleas until your voice cracks and frustrated tears stream down your face. You could be cruel, give him a taste of his own medicine so to speak. But you’re weak. It only takes a glimpse into his eyes and the faintest prickle of static in his vox to convince you. He knows you cannot satisfy him properly – not that he actually cares.

His spike is warm in your hands, biolights pulsating like stars in the night sky. It takes the slightest kiss for him to dig his claws into the ground and demand you continue. And who are you to refuse? You’ve learned when to pull back lest you swallow too much and get sick, wiping the transfluid from his tip. If he’s noticed this in his sea of pleasure, he’s never mentioned it – too focused on the mouth diligently working his spike.

When he’s feeling generous, he slips a digit inside of you – but if you hiss in discomfort, he switches to rubbing the dull end of his claw across your clit, making you moan against his spike until you’re wet enough to take his digit.

It’s his way of rewarding you, the best “thanks for the orgasm” he can give. He doesn’t last long, but he refuses to stop fingering until you cum and he feels your walls clamp around him.

Once everything is all over, he acts all proud of himself, back to preening like a peacock with you curled up in his lap. For all his faults, Starscream cares in his own unique way.

[mistiell]

I'm Starvin', Darlin'

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Summary: Spencer realizes how touch starved he is when you, the newest member of the BAU, develop a habit of casually touching him throughout the day.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Fluff, mutual pining, bit of a misunderstanding towards the end, this hasn't been proofread so I might come back to correct some things later

A/N: So, I have been like, completely MIA for the passed few months, and I apologize for that. Life has been hectic and I haven't had any motivation. However, I'm back now! At least for a little while. This is my first fic for Spencer but I hope to write more for him in the future. There'l definitely be a part two to this sometime in the future, so look out for that.

Part 2

Spencer has never been one for physical affection.

Logically he knows that he needs a certain amount of it to survive, and he doesn’t particularly mind it anymore when Morgan claps him on the back or when he has to shake somebody’s hand. But when he’s pulled in for a hug, there’s this weird sort of anxiety that makes him worry about whether or not he’s holding on too tight or how long he can stay there without making it awkward. He’ll endure it if he thinks a hug would be the best way to comfort someone, but typically, he avoids them altogether.

That was, until you came along.

It was sunny out, and for the first time in a while, the blinds in the bullpen were pulled open to let the sun shine in. Spencer was sitting at his desk, flipping through his mound of paperwork when JJ had led you over to your new desk, right across from his. JJ had caught his attention to introduce you, but the moment he laid eyes on you, whatever she was saying went in one ear and out the other

You had to be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his entire life. 

“Spence.” JJ’s voice snapped him back into reality and he was suddenly acutely aware of how long he’d been staring.

“Hm?” You’d giggled at his dumbstruck expression and he swore he’d do anything to make you laugh like that again.

JJ stared at him expectantly for a few seconds before rolling her eyes and gesturing to you again, “I said, this is Agent L/n. She’s our newest member.”

“Oh, right, um, I’m Sp-Spencer Reid. Er– Doctor Spencer Reid.” He was halfway through mentally berating himself when you smiled oh so kindly at him, extending your hand.

“Y/n L/n. It’s nice to meet you, doctor.”

“Oh, um, you can just call me Reid.” 

“Right.��� You very obviously looked him up and down in a way that made his heart race, “Reid.”

And then you sat down at your desk.

And he had to sit there and pretend he wasn’t utterly and entirely flustered by that tiny, microscopic interaction.

He came to realize about a month into your friendship that you were a touchy person by nature. You’d touch his arm when he made you laugh and sometimes you’d squeeze his shoulder before you sat down next to him at the round table. Six months into your career there and you’d gotten comfortable enough that you’d hug most of them when you showed up for drinks outside of work and playfully pinch Morgan’s arm or side when he got a little too brazen with his flirting. Sometimes you’d bump Spencer’s shoulder to tease him. It took a few times to get used to it, but eventually he started bumping you back.

Actually, he found that the more you touched him, the less he seemed to dislike it. In fact, he finds himself waiting for those casual displays of affection. Every time your skin meets his, he feels warm, revitalized. 

Which is why on one particularly late night, when he’s utterly exhausted and the two of you are the only ones in the office, he feels comfortable enough to do what he’s about to do.

He thinks about it for a long while, never one to do anything like this without properly thinking it through. He’s just so tired and this case was so draining that, as pathetic as he thinks it is, he finds himself wanting to ask for a hug.

He won’t. He’s not that confident yet. But he thinks that maybe there’s another way to get away with touching you in some capacity.

So he rolls his chair over to your desk, attempting to casually plop down next to you so his side is practically pressed against yours. To his surprise, it actually works, though his casual “plop” is more like a rather awkward “slip-and-almost-accidentally-knock-you-over”. But you don’t mind. Instead, you laugh and bump his shoulder a lot more gently than he bumped you.

“Watch it, clumsy.”

“Sorry.” He chuckles, awkwardly clearing his throat, “What are you working on?”

“The mountain of paperwork that’s been accumulating since I got here.” You huff a short, embarrassed puff of laughter as you glance down at a notepad he hadn’t noticed, “That, and doodling.”

“Doodling what?” He asks, though he wonders how much he’s actually going to be able to pay attention when he’s so focused on how warm your thigh and shoulder feel against his.

“Oh, um,” Is he crazy or are you blushing? “It’s embarrassing.”

“I won’t judge.” After a split second of deliberation, he gently shifts his weight into his shoulder to nudge you just a little.

“Promise?” You smile shyly and he can’t help but smile back.

“Promise.”

There’s a second where you hesitate before sliding the pad over for him to see. He uses his middle and index finger to drag it over a little more and what he’s met with makes his cheeks warm and his heart flutter about in his chest.

It’s him. 

You’ve drawn him at just about every angle, and in such detail that he wonders if you were trying to downplay your abilities or if this is really your definition of doodling. It’s clear you’ve done most of these by memory only because he’s had his head bent over his desk for the past few hours, and most of these are full views of his face. They’re unbelievably accurate, and he realizes you must look at him enough to have his facial features memorized.

“I-I know they’re not great, and I messed up your lips in a couple, but, uh–.”

“Wow.” He breathes in such genuine wonder that you cut yourself off. He looks up at you, a strange, viscous warmth weaving in between his ribs and settling to swirl in his stomach in such a way that it makes him feel a little sick. But, even more strangely, in a good way. He catches himself staring and quickly looks back at your artwork with a flustered smile, “I-I’m flattered. This is… I mean, you’re amazing.”

The moment the words leave his mouth, heat creeps up his neck and he rushes to correct himself, “I-I mean your work is amazing. Not that you aren’t amazing, because you are, but–.”

“Spence.” This time, it’s his turn to cut himself off. That’s the first time you’ve ever called him that.

And fuck, if he isn’t a goner.

You place your hand over his and his heart leaps into his throat, “Thank you.”

“Y-Yeah.” He’s so lost in your eyes that it comes out a whisper. With a little flush of confidence, he turns his hand palm up in yours to squeeze your fingers before hastily pulling away to avoid you noticing how clammy his hands are.

After that night, he finds himself seeking you out a lot more. Knocking his knee against yours under the table, tapping you to get your attention rather than just calling your name. 

It isn’t until you’re both out with the team that he realizes he hasn’t been as discreet as he thought he’d been. He’s had a few drinks and is a little more than tipsy, which is never a good thing with how much alcohol loosens his lips. Especially when you’re sitting right next to him, definitely more sober than he is. 

“Pretty boy, when did you get so comfortable with people touching you?” Derek asks, earning a rather confused look from the man in question. Before he gets a chance to respond, you’re asking exactly what he’d been thinking.

“What do you mean?” By the way he’s looking between the two of you, Spencer assumes Derek is referring to the way you’re pressed against his side – or rather, how he’s pressed against yours, considering he’s the one who leaned practically his whole body weight into your side the moment you sat down.

“You don’t know?” Emily asks, and you shake your head, “He doesn’t like touching anyone.” A knowing smirk creeps up on her face as she locks eyes with him, “Or at least he normally doesn’t.”

“Oh.” Is all you say in response. He doesn’t like the sadness in your tone, and he especially dislikes the way you shift away from him to give him space. There’s a rather startling urge to wrap his arm around you and pull you back to him, but he shuts that down immediately, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

“Do you remember that time he dodged a handshake by telling the guy it would be safer for them to kiss?” Penelope giggles, clearly drunk at this point.

“You weren’t even there.” Spencer counters, laughing a little to diffuse the tension. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye and notices that your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

You’re a little too quiet the rest of the night. At one point, you leave for the bathroom and when you return, you slide your purse in between the two of you to keep a safe distance. 

He hates it.

He hates it even more when you stop him outside the bar with an apologetic look on your face as you’re all leaving.

“Hey, Spence?”

He swallows the butterflies in his throat that surface at the nickname, “Yeah?”

“I, uh,” You clear your throat awkwardly, “I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you uncomfortable with all the, um… touching.”

He opens his mouth to tell you he really, really doesn’t mind it, but you accidentally cut him off, “I didn’t even consider that you might not be comfortable with it, and that was really inconsiderate of me. Now that I know, you don’t have to worry about it anymore. I’ll be sure to uh, keep my hands to myself.” You titter, glancing at your shoes sheepishly.

“Oh, it’s okay–.” He’s cut off again, this time by Emily, who’s yours and Garcia’s designated driver for the evening. “L/n! You coming?” She calls with a smile.

“Yeah!” You call back, before turning back to him. He watches you almost lean in for a hug, and a pang of disappointment stabs at his chest when you stop yourself in favour of nodding at him with a smile, “I’ll see you next week, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Is all he has time to say before you’re climbing into the backseat of Emily’s car.

He is seriously dreading going into work on Monday.

[empress-simps]

Line That Leads To You

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem! Reader AU: Soulmate AU CW: Language, Genre: Angst with a happy ending (don't worry guys) Summary: You make Sirius realize that having a soulmate isn’t all that bad— that he too, will have his happily ever after.

Note: One of my favorite tropes to write, soulmate AUs! Sirius just needs love and affirmation. I love writing for this! Enjoy! Picture is from pinterest, credits to the owner!

You know, Sirius never really believed in those pesky soulmates stuff. It irks him to no end, and makes his head hurt.

The topic makes him snappy, bitter, and it leaves him feeling angry. To whom? The world— the one who’s responsible for everything that has to do with soulmates. He thinks it is a bunch of bollocks. It’s a pathetic little concept that everyone seems to be too invested in.

Sirius would be very much happy to tell you it doesn’t really end with a happily-ever-after.

“I’m telling you, Prongs. It’s just a bunch of crap.” Sirius tells James one time at the drawing room in the Potter Manor. James shakes his head, disagreeing with his best mate.

“It isn’t always like Walburga and Orion, Pads.” James gently tells him, eyes swimming with empathy for Sirius. “Just look at me, Lily and I are together, finally.” Sirius can’t help but scoff, shaking his head in a disagreeing manner.

“That’s because you were already pathetically in love with her before you even knew she was the one, Prongs. Same thing for Lily, but she was quite stubborn trying to deny what she felt about you. You guys are actually made for each other.” James lets out a laugh, the memories resurfacing making a love-struck smile appear on his face (Sirius gave him a disgusted look)

“That’s what soulmates are, Pads. You’re supposed to complete each other, balance the other person out” He pursed his lips and sighed, there’s no way Prongs could understand his opinion on the matter.

Complete each other, huh?

Then can someone give him a reasonable excuse on why his parents broke each other? One descended into madness; the other doesn’t really seem to care as long as the noble house of Black lineage will continue.

Sirius bites his bottom lip, deep in thought as he stares at his pinky, willing the connection to be seen; a red string that was tied into a bow that leads to Merlin-knows-where. It serves as a connection; the string that he and only his soulmate can see whenever they want. He tugs on it curiously, awaiting any reaction with bated breath. He almost scrambled away when he felt the other end also tug it. Sirius was utterly terrified, a shiver crawled up to his system, it’s foreign feeling for the Black’s eldest son. It made everything feel too real. A fact that he desperately tries to deny.

That night, before they returned to Hogwarts as sixth year students was the last time he ever willed to see the annoying little string in his pinky, not caring if his supposed other half was finding him or already found him.

Maybe it had to do with his twisted upbringing. He saw how his father cut the string tying him to their mother, the purple string that bound them together turning gray and withering away.

He saw how Regulus flinched, no one should’ve seen a scene like that, but they did. Someone severing their connection to someone who should’ve been with them through better or for worse, the one that fate intended for them. Their life got worse just after that, forcing him to flee and leave his younger brother behind at the deranged hands of Walburga Black.

“You should eat more, Reggie.” You turned towards the quiet and reserved Slytherin, pushing his plate closer to him, which made him wince. “I am quite full.” You raised a brow “None sense, all you did was sip pumpkin juice so you better do as I say or I’ll tell Evan and Junior.”

“Do you know that you boss people around quite well?” He grumbles, shoving a few spoonsful of dinner in his mouth as you hummed in approval, cracking a small smile. “I was told.” Your eyes flickered to the Gryffindor table, it seemed to gravitate you, pulling you in.

Looking down at your pinky, you willed the string to be visible to you. Seeing the red string attached to Sirius Black made your stomach churn; was it butterflies? Unease? You don’t particularly know, having mixed reactions to the string that leads to your other half.

You’ve known for over a year now, keeping it to yourself as you quickly figured out that he wants nothing to do with his soulmate.

“Reggie! Reggie!”

You exclaimed, slapping the poor boy’s arm as he was currently staying in the L/n Manor. He looked in your direction, quite annoyed, he was interrupted reading his book. “I’m reading, Y/n. You know, you should too. It’ll do you some good.” He sassed, trying to find which part he stopped reading. “My soulmate! They tugged the string!” You gushed, “They must be looking for me too, right?” You asked no one in particular, you can still feel the tingles you felt, how your heartbeat picked up, and how you felt like you were in could nine.

Quite the opposite from what Sirius felt, huh?

You never told him, never planned to. It was quite clear what his views are on the concept of soulmates when you saw him snogging different girls every week. It wrecked you; you swore you felt your heart stop beating every time you see him loving a girl other than you even just for a week. It sounds stupid and all, but you would give up everything just to know what it feels like; how he will look at you with love and adoration in his eyes, how his touch and kisses would linger on your body, and how his voice would sound like as his breath fans in your ear, whispering promises of love.

You looked at him from the Slytherin table; so close yet so far.

Regulus noticed, the all too familiar broken look in your face. His heart hurts for you, even if you do not tell him, he already knows. Seeing his brother’s indifference, Regulus’s gaze hardened. How could he have the guts to do this to his soulmate?

The memory of their mother's despair, the way she withered away after their father severed the bond, was etched into his mind. Regulus does not wish for anyone to feel that way, he does not wish upon it even in his worst enemies.

It was a pain no one should endure, a lesson that should have been learned.

Yet there sat his brother, laughing with his friends and willfully ignoring the pulls of his heart. The person who held the other end of this unseen tether, was beside Regulus. Your soul ached as you watched your soulmate. It was a betrayal of the heart's deepest connection, and it stirred a tempest of fury within Regulus that he struggled to contain.

“My brother is foolish. Eat.” He states, pushing your food and placing the cornbread on his plate to yours. She cracks a smile, chuckling. “Alright, Reggie. You’re lucky I love you.” You pat his curls, proceeding to eat the bread, smiling a little. Reggie never really shares his food with anyone, except for you. You’re the only exception.

“Padfoot.” Remus starts, looking out of the window as Sirius lays down lazily in his bed, looking at nothing.

“What, Moons?”

“If I say that I have an inkling on who your soulmate is, would you… look for them?” Remus asked cautiously. Peter and James perked up, eyes wide with shock. How could Remus possibly guess who his soulmate is? Unless… They’re also in Hogwarts?

“Don’t start with that crap, Moony.” Sirius sat up; a scowl displayed in his features as his grey eyes turned stormy.

“Don’t you even feel the slightest amount of guilt in your system as you snog other girls?” Remus frowned.

Sirius’s scowl deepened, his hands clenching into fists. “Guilt? For what, Moony? For not wanting to be chained down by some ancient magic?” His voice was a low growl, barely containing the emotions that surged within him. “I won’t be dictated by fate. I make my own choices, and I refuse to be bound by a bond I never asked for.”

Remus’s expression softened, the lines of concern etching deeper into his face. “It’s not about being chained, Pads. It’s about finding someone who complements you, who understands you in ways no one else can.” He paused, his gaze steady and piercing. “You’ve seen what happens when that bond is severed. You’ve seen the pain it causes. Is that what you want for yourself? For your soulmate who’s probably hurting somewhere?”

Sirius looks down, biting his lip and playing with the rings on his fingers. “I don’t plan on severing our bond, Moons- “

“Then what the fuck are you doing?” Remus spat, Sirius flinched, looking at anything but them. He knew deep down that Remus was right. He can’t deny he also wants to look for his soulmate. The only thing that was holding him back is that he’s scared. What if your story would end similarly like how Walburga and Orion’s did? Dread fills his system as he reflects on how he slowly realized he’s becoming like his father. Peter and James exchanged a glance, the weight of the conversation settling heavily upon them.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Scared of finding her… Scared of repeating the same mistakes.” He paused, his gaze lifting to meet Remus’s. “But you’re right. I can’t keep running from this. It’s not fair to them, and it’s not fair to me.”

James offered a supportive smile, feeling happy for his friend. Sirius stood up, his posture straightening as if shedding the weight of his fears. “I’ll do it. I’ll find her,” he declared, his voice steady. “I owe it to both of us to at least try.”

“That’s our Padfoot.” Remus breathes a sigh of relief as Peter nods encouragingly at Sirius.

The next daylight soon came. Sirius gulps, looking around the great hall, feeling quite overwhelmed at the number of students entering for breakfast, eating, or chatting amongst themselves. For the first time in a long time, he willed the red string of fate to reappear within his vision.

Ah, there it was. The red string connected to someone from the Slytherin table. Sirius felt his heart drop, seeing the end of the string connected to your pinky. “Y/n?” The name left his lips in a hushed awe, his heart skipping a beat as he saw the string connected to your pinky. You, who laughed with such ease beside Regulus, were the missing piece.

Whether it was some brotherly instinct, Regulus looked at him, shooting him a warning stare as if to say: ‘If you hurt her, you’ll never see the light of day ever again.’

Remus raised his eyebrows in surprise, knowing eyes set on his friend. “Found her, Pads?”

“Yeah. Found her, Moony.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” James chimed in, a grin spreading across his face as Peter silently cheers him on. “Go on, before you lose your nerve.”

Sirius took a deep breath, trying to shake off the weight of Regulus’s protective stare. It was a silent challenge, a vow to keep your heart safe from his brother. With a nod of acknowledgment, Sirius stepped forward, crossing the small distance between the Gryffindor table and Slytherin.

“Y/n,” he said, standing before you, the red string pulsing with a life of its own.

You stilled, slowly looking in his direction. Eyes wide with surprise, searched his for a moment before softening. “I was wondering when you’d come around,” you teared up, making Sirius’ heart ache.

Sirius extended his hand, the red string wrapping around both your destinies. “Let’s talk, yeah?”

And in that moment, as your fingers intertwined, Sirius knew that whatever the future held, he had made the right choice. For in finding you, he had found a new path that began to unravel, one filled with hope and courage. The buzz of Great Hall continued, but both of them felt time still, feeling the bond weave into their souls deeper.

Sirius’s and Y/n’s story had its flaws, but it was theirs, uniquely woven by the red strings of fate.

[qvrcll]

nsfw + afab r. ❀ thomas h.

just thinking out loud here about one last night of passion with thomas hutter and how utterly sweet, how overwhelming it would be. there is no pretence in how he almost, no definitely, worships you. he is far from pious, but kneels like a man at the foot of god by your bed side. he is so impossibly pale, so warm and shivering slightly, whilst knelt between your legs. his hands dig into your sides, as if you were made to be held by him. he’d kiss your hip, a noticeable blush forming at his nape when he can see your body beneath the fabric. can see your plush thighs, the whiter edge of your undergarments, the way you glow in the flickering candlelight.

he’d apologise, though it was not his fault, for having to leave. some business about a count, and his estate, and how he hopes it’s not as harrowing as his boss has made him to believe it is. but he is distracted. by you. your presence. how can you blame him? he is besotted with you. when you cup his cheeks, reassure him, he turns his face so he can better kiss the inside of your palm. his kisses don’t stop there. they trail up to your wrist, almost sucking at the skin. he would leave a mark if he wasn’t mapping your entire body so fervently and in such little time. in seconds, he crawls to you with both hands and feet, caging you completely. his body is broad, broader than yours. and his face is twisted in agony, in need. he is so desperate that he should be ashamed, but he isn’t.

“i do not know how long i can keep away from you,” he’ll mouth against your neck, trailing hot kisses against the thundering pulse there, “this trip will test me. i know it will.”

his hands will wander underneath your shift, broad, calloused and strong, spreading apart your thighs for room or massaging your hip, or sliding downward to grab your calf so he could better adjust between your legs. he’d be such a mess, not stuttering - not yet, atleast, there’d be more of that soon enough - but begging with his eyes alone. he would roll his hips into your own, chasing for friction, finding the restriction of clothing a blessing and a curse.

if you even begin to seduce him in the way that always sets him off like a habit, maybe a fluttering of your lashes or some begging or even the mere act of being so breathless, teary eyed and chasing his hips with your own, he would hold back no longer. he near pops the button off his dress shirt from yanking it off, revealing toned, pale muscle. his hands would feel up your sides, his lips too busy kissing your own till they bruised as his hands push up your shift, revealing your body to him. your tummy, your perky nipples, your undergarments barely clinging on - and when he gets them off, you’re so unbelievably warm down there, that he actually flushes. he says unintentionally teasing little things, like “it is so warm, and my fingers… they disappear completely…” that only spur you on.

and he’d make love to you. he is a lover, not a fighter. he’d give into you so easily that you could barely call it a fight. he’d push into you, warm and wet walls clinging onto his cock like a vice. he’d stutter - there it was - his head dropping pathetically against your collarbone, his hot lips dragging against the column of your neck. he’d try so, so hard to keep it together, to last a while longer. but the way you clench down on him is only short of torture, the rest being sweet, sweet pleasure.

if you’re thinking of giving, he wouldn’t be opposed. as your husband, and contrary to conventions of the time, your pleasure would be above anything else. his pleasure too, but he finds that in your sharp little gasps and the way your body writhes. his pleasure is yours. so he is a little surprised when you roll the both of you over, him pinned to the bed. a little disoriented, sure, and a bit conscious of what exactly you were getting at - but when he sees you almost hugging his hips, your cheek squished against his hip bone and so dangerously close to his hardened cock, his heart jumps.

maybe you let slip a “please – please, can i make you feel good too?” and he can barely breathe. his vision is swimmingly, and his cock twitches ever so slightly near your lips. his hand would come to tighten in your hair. not pulling nor pushing. just there. his voice would be so breathy, all guttural and raspy as he nods. he can’t hear the words but he is half sure that he responds with a yes, yes – please, my heart, please.

© 2024 qvrcll. do not repost any of my works on any platform.

[leviathanleva]

Sugar Bomb

Pairing: Findlay 'Hazard' Docherty x Fem!Reader

Description: Trying to court Hazard is tough. You nearly give up, thinking your methods have failed. Or have they?

[2.4 k words]

Chapter 5

“Listen, I’m an omnic and even I can smell your perfume.”

You purse your lips at Susie before averting your attention to the lava lamp on your nightstand.

How everyone but Findlay had noticed the changes was beyond you. You’d tried so hard to impress him, your wardrobe was full of cute dresses now, even knitted winter ones you tended to freeze in, but soldiered on just to try and catch his eye. Thigh-high socks had become a regular sight, squishing your thighs just perfectly. You’d even gotten your nails done, a pretty bubblegum pink.

A sweet candy perfume rested next to the lava lamp; one-third of the bottle was already gone because you never missed the chance to renew the aroma on your neck, hoping that the dumb blond would be lured in by the smell of treats. But no, the oblivious bloke instead checked the cookie jar every time you were together in the kitchen because he was too daft to realize the notes of vanilla and cinnamon were coming from you and not some hidden pastry.

“I just missed being girly.” Is the first lie you can think of to tell Susie and sate her hunger for being in on the secret to your sudden and drastic change.

You’d rather move out than tell anyone the pathetic reason why you abandoned sweatpants and leggings for short dresses and tight thigh-highs.

“And that’s why you spent half your savings on a new wardrobe when your clothes are perfectly fine?”

You cross your legs in discomfort and suppress the need to hide under your covers.

“Yes.”

Every morning you took a shower before starting an intensive skincare routine. From ampules to face masks and even a rose quartz face roller. You scrubbed yourself raw, used the best-scented body lotion you could find, and caked yourself with copious amounts of vitamin C and sunblock, made sure that every little imperfection and blemish was covered up, that your cheeks always had a ruddy tint to them, lips always hydrated and as plump as possible. Your skin was glowing, your hair was immaculate, your clothes were ironed to perfection, everything about you was as spectacular as you could make it.

And still, he didn’t notice a fucking thing.

Men…typical.

Each day you tried a new outfit, thinking maybe it’s not a color he likes, the length is wrong, the combination isn’t his style. And each day your hopes were crushed when he didn’t even dare to look in your general direction.

Were you that unfavorable in a dress? What were you doing wrong?

It was exhausting to be denied even a glance when a month ago you were holding each other like lost lovers. Granted he’d almost died and you were on the brink of a complete meltdown because of it, but still.

Now his eyes were everywhere but on you, his good mornings and good nights were rushed and dismissive as if he didn’t even want to speak with you.

It took a toll on your confidence.

“You know I’m gonna get to the bottom of this, right?”

You squint at Susie’s words and force out a nervous laugh before shifting slightly away from her on the bed.

It was girls' night again, it had been a while since you both had enough time and energy to have a proper sleepover. You had been ecstatic and in desperate need of a distraction from your failed attempts at courting Hazard. But of course, the sweet little omnic was perceptive and she knew you too well for all these sudden changes to go unexplained.

So here you were, being interrogated while you did your best to dodge the matter.

She was more headstrong than you though.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” She says delicately as if she was trying not to frighten a jumpy hare.

“I know Suze.” You sigh and look away when your expression changes from content, but slightly nervous, to utterly pained and dejected. “But there’s nothing to talk about. I’m just running an experiment, trying to boost my confidence is all, but so far…” You take a breath and continue. “…So far it’s felt like an utter failure.”

Her hands twitch in her lap before she rests one over your knee, kind and gentle like she always was.

“Is that what this is all about?” The omnic tilts her head slightly and then chirps out a giggle. “You’re not feeling confident?”

There’s genuine sympathy in her tone and you force out an embarrassed smile and brush your fingers you’re your hair awkwardly.

“Yeah…” Is all you manage before taking your pillow to squeeze against your chest and stuffing your face into it. It wasn’t technically a lie, your confidence was suffering, but it was more due to someone rather than diminishing by itself.

When you hear shuffling you look back up and see Susie sliding off the bed and slipping on her coat with determination you’d not seen in her before.

“Where are you going?” You ask, words muffled into the fluff of the pillow.

“I’ll be right back, trust me.” She calls back and closes the door behind her, leaving you alone in the dim atmosphere of your bedroom.

And so you wait, abandoned to solitude with a bowl of popcorn and a list of old corny movies you were planning on watching. Snow fell languidly outside your window, piled up on the sill, a friend to the frosted flowers decorating the glass. The heater blasting in the corner did well to fill the silence with a soft white noise, but it wasn’t enough to quell your self-doubt. You’re left to your thoughts which have been very unkind lately, it’s not a good place to be in. Your mind berates you incessantly and all you can do is squeeze yourself into a tighter ball of shame and just take it.

Not good enough. – It wasn’t a term you liked to use, you knew how detrimental to one’s mental health it was and in the past you’d managed to stray from it, well, mostly. But lately, it had kept nagging at the back of your head until you couldn’t ignore it anymore. Self-hate had slithered into your bloodstream and now there was no getting rid of it when all of your self-worth was unknowably put on the shoulders of a man who didn’t even want to acknowledge you.

You pat the pillow in your lap gently before puffing out a breath.

“Fuck this.”

You’re wiping the cat eyeliner off your lids and smearing the lipgloss into the back of your palm to get it off your mouth before you can process what’s happening. Once that’s done, you take the perfume bottle and stuff it in your drawer where you hope to forget it ever existed.

If he didn’t like you, that was that, no amount of makeup or pretty clothes were going to change his opinion. You’d just hoped that maybe…

“No.”

You shake your head, shake all the stupid thoughts away before standing to change out of the white knitted dress you were suffering in. A pair of khaki shorts and a large hoodie, a mouthful of popcorn, and a stupid romcom with Susie were all you needed to be happy.

There’s a ruckus outside your door, hissy voices that are scream-whispering at each other but the words are too rushed and belligerent for you to comprehend. You go still and strain your ears, leaning slightly towards the entrance of your room while trying to listen, but nothing comes of it, the voices are too distorted.

When the door opens you jump instinctively and grip onto your hoodie to steady your racing heartbeat.

There stands Susie, gripping Hazard’s arm and keeping him from bolting down the hallway and away from you like he was avoiding the plague. If it didn’t literally rip your heart apart, you’d find it funny. It was like making him eat steamed broccoli all over again.

“Great! Now we’re all here.” The sweet omnic starts and nudges Findlay in the ribs hard. “Now say what you think, Haz.”

“Wut? O,…right. I uh… I don’t – ” The poor Scotsman was stumbling over his words more than you were over your thoughts. He looked about ready to crawl out of his skin, it was torture to see him in such a state and despite Susie’s good intentions, you’d rather just set him free from your unwanted presence.

“Suze, really. It’s okay, he looks so uncomfortable.” You blabber out with a strained laugh and raise your hands up to motion for her to let him go despite the tears prickling the back of your eyes.

“No, no. He’s been dancing around this since you changed your style.” She interrupted and pulled Hazard inside the room before shutting the door to keep him from escaping. “Go on, Haz.”

It was a comical sight, the man barely fit in your small cozy dwelling. This was the first time he had ever entered your room and if the circumstances were any different, you’d be a nervous wreck, but right now, you just wanted this whole charade to be over.

“Susie, please…Just leave him be.” You plead, unaware of the small crystal clear droplets that are starting to weigh down on your lower lashes.

He’s tapping his foot in agitation and readjusting his tee every few seconds. His eyes skim over your bedroom – your lamp, the old TV screen, the popcorn bowl, your bed, everything and anything that isn’t you. You want to scream in his face:

“What the fuck did I do to you?! Why are you acting like this?!”

But you couldn’t, it wasn’t like you, confrontation was scary, confrontation with Findlay was even scarier.

“No. I’m done with you two playing the long game. Just say what you want to say and stop suffering – ”

“ – Susie!” You don’t realize you’ve yelled until it’s already echoing around, you don’t realize your voice broke halfway into pronouncing her name either. You swallow awkwardly, partly curl in on yourself, and speak in a rasp “Just let him go. He doesn’t want to be here.”

You’re sniffling softly, barely suppressing sobs and hugging yourself. It’s pitiful, you hate yourself for it, you wish you weren’t such a crybaby.

“Ey…No..No, no, no.” You hear him say, look up and meet his eyes for the first time in weeks. He approaches you hastily, ripping out of Susie’s grip to bend over you and tenderly wipe your cheeks dry. “None o’ this shite.” He gives the omnic a side glance. “Give us a moment, ye?”

When you hear the door shut behind her your lips part to form blubbery, wet words soaked with days of silent suffering.

“Why don’t you look at me anymore, Haz?” You wrap your fingers around his large wrist, craving his touch desperately after so long. “Did I do something? I don’t get it…You don’t even come close to me – ” A sob, a hiccup, a shiver wracking your body, cutting your mumbling off short. “ – anymore.”

“I’s Findlay. Fin for you. Kay, bonnie?” He speaks evenly, wraps one arm around your waist and gently tugs you into his wide chest. You practically disappear in his embrace, surrounded by warm, heavy muscle and it feels so right to stand like this. You relax, wipe your nose into the sleeve of your hoodie, mewling softly as he coos down at you. “Mah wee hen. Pretty li’le birdie. ‘M sorry…”

You cling to him, standing on the tips of your toes just to be able to rest your damp cheek against his prosthetic shoulder and still barely reaching. Your fingers trace the synthetic cords on his nape and you hear him gurgle out a curse before taking in a deep breath and choking audibly.

Then it dawns on you that your attempt at luring him to you might have backfired. You pull away slightly and cup his chin with unfathomable tenderness. He leans into your caress and closes his eyes to concentrate on stifling the hunger sparking to life inside his abdomen.

“Is it the perfume? I’ll stop wearing it, I thought you’d like it…I didn’t think you might actually be allergic – ”

“ – I’s not tha’, hen.” He struggles for words, a man barely restrained by his care for you and your dignity, because you simply deserved better than him. “Ah like it. Ah do…A bit too much.”

It takes you a moment to process what he means, but once you do, your whole body feels like it’s been lit ablaze. Your heart pounds in your chest, ready to leap through your ribs at any second. You dig your nails in his skin to try and keep from collapsing right there on the spot and earn a strained rumble from him as a reward.

“Prancin’ about in those pre’y li’le dresses. Could smell ya ‘round every corner.” He glowers, driven to the brink of insanity by your existence in his life. He kneads your sides eagerly, craving the flesh hidden beneath the thick fabric of your hoodie. He’s desperate, restrain runs thin and he’s had enough torture to be able to resist again now that you were in his hands, yielding and soft. “Wasn’t enough ta test me with them pre’y clothes. Had to use tha’ stench too. Lure me out like a wolf starved.”

“Fin…” You mewl out weakly, grateful for his solid hold on you because you were nearly ready to faint.

“I like ta think is all fur me, ya know?” He murmurs, it’s barely audible and you want to shout in his ear that it is, but it feels like there’s water in your lungs, you’re drowning in his presence, immobilized and pliant.

“Findlay…”

You manage to sneak a glance. His eyes are glowing in the dimness of your room, a threatening shadow cast over them and making them stand out. He looks like an apex predator about to feast, having finally caught his meal. And you’re right there, the willing sacrifice, ready to be swallowed whole if only to stay with him forever. You’re ready for anything as long as he’s there with you.

“Wonna eat ya up.” His nose is pressed into your neck, inhaling deeply, then you feel a wetness being dragged across your skin and a shiver wracks you entirely. “Cannae take it anymore…”

“Please, please, please…”

This is all you’ve ever wanted.

“You two alright in there?” Susie, bless her, the ever-caring friend that she was, but you really wished she wasn’t waiting for you to wrap it up on the other side of your door. He pulls away silently, regrettably, and spares you a last wanton glance before heading for the door and leaving you there thrumming and beyond overjoyed.

<<< Chapter 4

Chapter 6 >>>

Masterlist

[ham-st4r]

𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓪 𝓬𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓪𝔀𝓪𝔂 𝓹𝓽.3 - 𝓛. 𝓗𝓮𝓮𝓼𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰

📞 Pairing: heeseung + female reader!

Warnings: smut, phone sex, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, cursing.

Genre: PSO (phone sex operator) heeseung.

Summary: too lazy to make one honestly :/ but y’all know the drill probably a couple errors in here too my bad 😣

Number of words: 1,981k

Feel like this is turning into my other work “cyber sex” and I’m highkey disappointed but I hope y’all will still like it

Pt.1 pt.2

Find your way around!

“You always make me feel so good, angel.” You hear Ethan panting on the other end after what had been nearly two hours of being on the phone doing and saying things that you never even dreamt of until you found him.

Despite your initial plans of not calling him back, you found yourself coming home from school the very next day and doing just that. You felt pathetic about it, using what little money you had scraped up from your part-time job just to have phone sex with a guy that was probably millions of miles away, and to top it off, he was probably also laughing all the way to the bank with the ridiculous amount of money you had already spent on these risque calls.

You shifted uncomfortably on your bed, pulling up your soaked panties and fixing your disheveled skirt.

“You had a good time, too, right?” He asks a bit hesitantly because of your sudden silence. He knew it always got a little awkward after you both came together, but you’ve never been this quiet after.

“Yes, Ethan. It always is,” you reply quietly, and he smiles from ear to ear on the other end, happy that you’re just as satisfied as him. You cleared your throat softly before speaking again. “Ethan, you don’t always have to pretend that you’re into it too. I’m fine with you just guiding me,” you say shyly, but it was the truth. You didn’t want him pretending that he was enjoying himself when he clearly wasn’t.

“W-what?” He asks, completely and utterly puzzled by your statement.

You giggle softly, finding it amusing how he tried to act like he didn’t know what you were saying, but it didn’t surprise you cause he’d always been professional at his job. “Ethan, I know you’re not really enjoying it, and that’s fine.”

He just laughs on the other end. “Angel, I think enjoying would be an understatement. I fucking love it when you call me. Love how sweet your moans sound in my ear, and you know what I love most?”

Your face feels hot from his words alone, but you’re still not convinced he’s telling you the truth, especially cause his job was all about pleasing people. He was probably just saying what you wanted to hear. “What, Ethan?” You ask him.

“Love hearing you cum for me,” he sighed softly, looking at the mess of cum all over his chest and stomach. “More than you know,” he whispers.

“Ethan, It’s fine if you do-“

“Angel, let me prove it to you, yeah?” He cuts your words, his voice sounding a little desperate to get you to believe him.

“How?” You question, not taking a moment to stop and even process what exactly is happening, only curious to figure out how he’s gonna prove to you that he’s telling you the truth.

“Do you have any socials? I would ask for your number, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” he chews on his biting lip, hoping he wasn’t coming off as some type of creep, but this is the only way he could think of to prove it to you.

Your heart rate picks up as you mutter your social to him, hoping it wasn’t a mistake giving your account to some random stranger. Well, not exactly random, but a stranger nevertheless.

“That’s my Angel,” he said softly and quickly typed in your account, following you at light speed.

Without thinking rationally, you immediately accept his follow request and open up a DM from him, anxious to see what it says.

Ethan: Hi angel!

You smiled when you saw what he sent. It was a picture of his palm that read angel on it with a little heart drawn next to it.

But before you swooned over him too hard, that could have been anyone’s hand, so you weren’t so quick to believe him just yet.

You: 🤨.

You typed out your reply, and you hear him laughing softly on the other end.

“Still not convinced, huh, angel? Fine, tell me what you want. I’ll do anything to prove it to you. You have every right to be apprehensive.” Your timidness wasn’t at all surprising by now. After a few calls with you, he was well aware that he had to take things slow, which was fine by him.

“Uhh, maybe a picture of your face?” You say more like a question, and it comes out sounding more than offensive. “I-I mean, n-not like- I wasn’t trying to be rude or anything, it’s just- ” you sigh, deciding to just give up on trying to explain yourself, and you hear him laugh once again as you whine in defeat.

“You’re so cute. Fine angel, my face you shall get” he opened his front-facing camera and put his hand in front of his mouth, palm open so you could see the word that he had written prior, and what better way to prove that he was l telling the truth than to show the residual cum coating his upper body from your guys not so quick session earlier.

Your breath hitched the moment you saw it, and your hands fumbled on your phone, trying to exit the screen, shocked by the image you saw. It’s not that you didn’t like it, but it was so unexpected.

So unexpected that not only did you accidentally screenshot it, but you hung up on him as well.

He heard the rustling on your end before everything went silent. “Angel?” He peeked at his phone, seeing that the call had been disconnected. He almost had a heart attack before he realized he could quickly get a hold of you because of your shared socials.

Ethan: Hope I didn’t scare you off ☹️

He anxiously awaited your text. Minutes passed, and you still hadn’t replied. He wanted to say something, but he didn’t want to pressure you into responding if you didn’t want to.

You clutched your chest, face completely on fire from the picture he sent, and you shamelessly eyed every single last inch of his body that was in the frame, and he looked so hot.

While you were having your fun, he was having a complete meltdown, especially cause he saw that you had saved the picture.

Were you sending it to your friends? Were you laughing at him because he looked stupid? Did you find it disgusting?

Ugh

You probably did. Why did he think sending you a picture of him covered in his cum would be attractive?

Speaking of, he got up and went to the bathroom, wiping himself completely clean. Hopefully, by the time he was finished, you would have responded.

That was wishful thinking cause when he looked at his phone, he could see that his message was left on read.

He had the right mind to just block you and save himself the embarrassment, but it kinda was too late for that already.

Ethan: You there? 😬

The ding on your phone finally brought you back to reality, and you quickly typed a reply.

You: Yes

You felt bad you just left him waiting, but how could you be calm and collected enough to type a coherent reply after what he had just sent you?

He sighed in relief now that you had finally replied.

Ethan: So, is that proof enough that I’m not faking it?👀

You cupped your mouth, head hanging low in embarrassment because you practically called him a liar earlier.

You: Yes, sorry for not believing you 😞

Ethan: It’s okay, my angel girl 😘 so I saw you took a screenshot of the picture.. does that mean you liked it👀

You: Screenshot?

You reply confused

Ethan: Angel, you don’t have to pretend you didn’t. It’s fine

Your eyes nearly bulged from your sockets when you saw his reply because you didn’t screenshot anything.

You: Ethan, I didn’t

You told the truth you’d never screenshot anything without his consent.

Ethan: You sure? 🤨📸

He took a screenshot of his screen, clearly showing the part where it said you had taken a screenshot.

You: No…

Ethan: 🤥 yes

He sent back, laughing hysterically because why were you lying over something so trivial? Sure, if anyone else had taken a screenshot, he would have minded, but it was just you, so he wasn’t mad about it. He even thought it was kinda cute, in a way.

You: You calling me a liar? 🧐

Ethan: I never said that. I said, “🤥”

You: That’s the same thing!!?

Ethan: No, it’s just 🤥

You: I didn’t.

You stood your ground, but that screenshot of you clearly saving the picture was not helping your case. It was clear evidence.

You: You know what? fine, I’ll screenshot my gallery and send it to you.

Ethan: K 😌 I’ll give you time to delete it.

You ignored him and went into your gallery, and low and behold, that picture was the most recent one, and the pieces slowly came together.

Fuck.

Ethan: I’m waiting 🤥

You: Umm… so about that

Ethan: You did, and it’s fine, Angel. I’m not mad. I’m glad you liked it enough to want to keep it forever 🙈

You: Hear me out, I took it on an accident.

Ethan: 🥱🤥

You: STOP 😩 When you sent the picture, I was fumbling with my phone and accidentally took it. It was never my intention to save it. I’d never save a picture of you.

Ethan: Never? OUCH 😔

You: No, no, no, that’s not what I meant. I meant without your consent, of course.

Ethan: So you would? 😃

You: Yesn't?

Ethan: Yes or no?

You: I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed to it…👀

Ethan: So yes? Okay then!

Before you could reply, he had already sent you another attachment, one that made your face heat up by a thousand degrees.

Ethan: You can save that one, too, angel. I like the idea of you having me in your phone 🥰

You hesitated for all of a second to save it, not thinking about the fact that you’d have a random bulge pic in your gallery, but who cares? That would only be between you and him.

Ethan: That was fast. You’re making me blush🤭

You: And you’re turning me on 😶

Heeseung had to look at his screen again, a blank look on his face as he blinked a few times to make sure he was reading that correctly. That wasn’t the angel he knew. How the heck were you so shy over the phone and so bold over text?

Ethan: I can show you more, you know? That’s if you want it.

He’d be lying if he said his boxers weren’t becoming taut. He’d also be lying if he said his heart wasn’t racing in his chest cause it most definitely was cause he was literally about to bare it all to you.

You: More of what?🫣

Ethan: More of this

He took another pic. This time, his underwear around his thighs, his semi-hard cock resting in his palm while he turned the flash on so you could see the scribble of your nickname next to his cock, which had already grown more than an inch.

You: 😳

Ethan: Don’t get shy now. That’s exactly what you wanted, and we both know it, Angel.

You: I know, it’s just so….

You can’t believe a single picture of his cock could have you so turned on. You were heating up down there, and the faint pulse between your legs only amplified the longer you stared at it. He was so big and thick you nearly drooled at the sight on your phone screen.

Ethan: So???

He pulled his underwear back up while waiting for your reply.

You: Big 🫣

He smirked reading your text, and he swears you were the cutest little thing ever, so shy yet so bold he liked that about you a lot.

Ethan: That’s not even as big as it gets 🤫

You: Oh? So, just how big does it get, Ethan? 😝

Ethan: FaceTime me and find out 👀

Thank you for reading. Please reblog and leave feedback. - 🐹

Permanent taglist🔖 @hee-pster @hoyeonheeseung @furious-eagle @heehoonsnemo

Just a call away taglist🔖 @heeseungshim @rayofsunshineeee @fakeuwus

[weepylucifer]

Disco Elysium if it was a Hollywood Blockbuster

(inspired by the trailer by @brainrotdotorg)

Harry has to have a glowup arc where he regains his faith in his job and ability to be a good cop. The police isn't criticized here apart from maybe some handwaves at "a few bad apples" rhetoric. In the climactic moment, the phasmid appears and tells him it is his duty and his destiny... to reform the RCM

Because we don't have time for a nuanced take on addiction in this 90-minute movie, the narrative just turns on a dime halfway through to portraying Harry's alcoholism as rugged and badass instead of pathetic, or he suddenly stops drinking when he gets his groove back, with no withdrawal effects shown. The whole thing about speed helping him be better at his job doesn't factor in; Harry drinks and does drugs because he's sad about Dora and there's nothing more to it. All he needed was to buck up and focus on being the best cop in all of Revachol

Klaasje is portrayed as a one-dimensional scheming femme fatale. Her backstory doesn't really come up. She's dumbed down so that Harry can triumph over her, and is also genuinely attracted to him for some reason, "I am Sherlocked" style

Ruby is either cut entirely, or she's genuinely a predatory lesbian and that's it. If the latter, she shoots herself in the head in front of Harry and Kim and they make a MCU-style "Well that happened" quip about it

No political quests! We don't have time for that. Actually, both communism and fascism are only mentioned once in a backstory dump as stuff that happened in a bygone era. If anything, the film ends up really riding for moralism by complete accident

The film makers don't really know what to do with Kim, so he gets reduced to a guy that stands around and delivers snarky one-liners

The Hardie Boys are in one short interrogation scene, not quite enough to make casual moviegoers care when half of them are gunned down

Fan-favorite characters such as Cindy, Cuno or the Speedfreaks can be seen once in the background of a group scene, but have no lines (you KNOW hollywood couldn't handle the Cuno). It's announced on the director's insta as "a little easter egg for eagle-eyed fans"

Joyce has a way more active role, but also her character turns into an utterly flat "milf girlboss" type who gives Harry and Kim direct instructions on what to do, Madame Director style. The movie writers pat themselves on the backs for being more progressive and feminist than the source material. Also she has nothing to do with the mercs, they just sort of... appeared. Don't think about it too hard! It's stressed repeatedly that they're "rogue agents" and it's really nobody's fault that they're there

Evrart is a corrupt mob boss and that's it. He will be played by a skinny actor in a fatsuit. He also doesn't help find Harry's gun, Joyce has someone retrieve it offscreen so she can gravely and meaningfully hand it to him just in time for the mercenary tribunal

The Deserter just kinda being a shitty sad old man would be too anticlimactic for our summer blockbuster, so he is rewritten to be some kind of evil mastermind. Maybe he even directly communicates with Klaasje and tells her what to do, again "I am Sherlocked" style

The tribunal absolutely does end with RCM backup triumphantly arriving to save the day, led by Jean who underwent a mini-arc offscreen about putting his differences with Harry aside because at the end of the day, they're both cops, and goddamn it, cops help each other. He dramatically takes the wig off and chucks it on the ground to signal his character growth, and everything

No homo-sexual underground thought. The Smoker on the Balcony is allowed to show up in one scene, where he flirtily waves at Kim and Harry. Kim nods at him. Disney's first gay character--

There's a moment where Kim talks to Jean, expressing doubt about Harry. Cut to Harry doing something goofy across the room from them. Jean briefly glances at it, shakes his head, turns back to Kim and says gruffly: "He's a loose cannon... but he gets the job done." This is supposed to be a good thing

[spideyhexx]

okay i love ur coryo writings, and can we juuuust talk about how much of a sub pre-peacekeeper era coryo is??? and he's sweet then too, i think he has very genuine feelings for anyone at that time. he lets you cradle his face and everything, being the touch starved little guy that he is... ahh i just daydream about him in the academy era so much💝

thank you!!! been waiting to speak on this.

I think while he's still got some questionable tendencies while he's at the academy, he's less tainted by those thoughts. I think he's still not completely attuned to his own feelings, but he's a lot more accepting of them? And with you, he's falling very hard, he'd just about let you do anything to him if it means he gets to feel your touch or have you in his space.

so it makes sense that he ends up being submissive in bed. Coryo wants to be pleased and taken care of, but he also finds himself completely and utterly at your mercy. So if you decided he wouldn't be pleased one night, he'd take it with just a pout on his face, but fully give in to give you all the pleasure you asked of him.

You would cradle his face in your hands and give him sweet small kisses anywhere you can on his face, thanking him for being such a good boy. His cock would twitch against you and your smirk makes him tremble.

Coryo's hands would always get him in trouble. He would touch your breasts before you give him permission. "Please, baby, you know I just missed them," he would try to plead with, giving you his puppy dog eyes that he doesn't even need to try to do, it's just natural for him.

Sometimes, you would give in regardless if he misbehaved. You're too struck by how hard his cock is pressing against the zipper of his pants that you've made him keep on.

"I need your mouth, not your hand, please." Coryo grits his teeth as you fist his cock in your hand, nipping at his neck as he mewls in pleasure. He'd let out a fucking growl when you ignore his pleas.

"Mmm what was that? Is my good boy getting frustrated? Poor baby," your words and your mocking put him in his place so easy. "Don't get all pathetic on me, Coryo, take what I give you." Its funny how much power you have over him. And in all honesty, you would actually love how pathetic he'd be for you.

And then, when you finally let him cum, he keeps mumbling out a thank you, leaning his head against yours as you pepper kisses on his cheek.

let's chat about coryo, here :)

[luxcuriousao3]

Mutter (Chapter One)

Summary: When he looked at Lelia, truly looked at her without letting his fears and resentment get in the way, all he saw was a sad, scared girl too sweet for her own good. She was so easy to take advantage of, just like his mother had been. König wanted to protect her, and not just because of his instincts. But because in a way, it felt like he would be protecting his mother. Word Count: 5249 Warnings: vague/brief smut, mentions of past domestic/sexual abuse, König has mommy issues and also self-esteem issues and also intimacy issues (he can still get it tho), *** means POV switch, and -*- means timeskip but no POV switch. Notes: A new Leliaverse fic, since some of you showed interest and this has just been rotting in my drafts lol. This one is ABO and KönigxLelia. Dove still takes priority, this is just a side project atm. So updates won't be as regular for this fic. But the chapters are longer lol. I have no beta for this fic so all SPAG and consistency errors are my own, feel free to point them out. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! AO3, Masterlist

“I do not want her.”

The tiny omega standing across from König flinched, but otherwise didn’t react to his matter of fact statement. He felt a bit bad for phrasing it in such a harsh way—there wasn’t anything wrong with her, after all. She was beautiful—a petite girl, nearly two whole feet shorter than him with long, loose auburn curls, round, cherubic cheeks, a small nose, and thick lashes. He didn’t know what color her eyes were—she hadn’t bothered to look up at all since walking into the room, and her scent was clouded by fear. It was so potent he was surprised the officer he was speaking to couldn’t smell it, even if she was a beta.

No. It was less that he didn’t want the pretty little omega, and more that he could tell how very much she didn’t want him.

He endured rejection often enough from the beta women he slept with—they never wanted him for more than his huge cock and his even bigger knot, and he’d learned to accept that after a while—and had no desire to constantly be around a woman who was terrified of him. A walking reminder of how unloved he was, and how unloved he always would be.

“Sorry, Colonel, it’s KORTAC’s newest policy,” the beta officer replied. “All unmated Alphas, when on active duty, are to be assigned support omegas to keep them stable and help them through their ruts. Starting with the upper ranks.”

The woman shrugged, then nodded at the omega, who was still staring at the ground.

“She’s yours, now.”

König growled. The beta officer paled a bit, and the omega’s shoulders hunched, like she was trying to make herself smaller.

“I. Do. Not. Want. Her,” he repeated forcefully. “Take her back. Or find me a new one,” he added the last part reluctantly. He didn’t want an omega—any omega. He knew they would all be afraid of him, that none would care about him. But perhaps, if he had to have one, they could give him one that didn’t look like she was two seconds away from bursting into tears just because she was in the same room as him. As pathetic as it was, it stung. He knew he was a monster, completely and utterly undesirable except for his Alpha status. But her terror made him feel like the scum of the earth.

“Each omega volunteer was scent matched to an Alpha to find the best possible fit for all parties involved,” the officer said after a long moment, swallowing nervously. But there was a hardness in her gaze as well. A glimmer of anger. “I’m afraid you can’t simply swap her for a prettier version like she’s some sort of toy. Sir.”

König flushed beneath his sniper hood, feeling like a scolded child. An embarrassed, ashamed child. He cut a glance to the omega again, wincing when he saw her skinny arms wrapped around her middle in a sad parody of a hug.

“That is not—” he started, before cutting himself off with a sigh of frustration. There was no use protesting. This was happening, whether he liked it or not. He would simply do his best to avoid his new roommate. It’s not like they could force him to mate with her. “Fine. Fine. I will take her.”

“Wonderful,” the officer said flatly. “Your omega’s belongings have already been delivered to your quarters, along with additional pillows and blankets to use as nesting materials. Necessities will be provided for her, paid for by the new program.”

König rolled his eyes. Paying for her living expenses was just an excuse to keep him from rejecting their stupid new policy, not a kindness like the beta was making it out to be.

“Come along then, Fräulein,” he said, trying to gentle his tone a bit so as not to terrify her any further. But he couldn’t hide his displeasure with the situation, and it was clear in his voice. She jumped, but then scrambled to follow him, having to run to keep up with his long strides as he walked out of the meeting room. He forced himself to slow down. “Tell me. What is your name?”

“Lelia, Alpha,” the omega replied in a whisper, eyes darting up to meet his for just a second before she looked back at the floor. They were big and round like a newborn doe’s, and the prettiest shade of light, honeyed brown. König hated that he felt his heart flutter in his chest at the sight of them.

“You will call me Sir,” he told her firmly, grimacing under his mask at the use of his designation. He was not her Alpha. He would not have her claim him as such. Not when she couldn’t even stand to look at him with his mask on. No, he would rather her speak to him as if she was just another one of his soldiers. “Or Colonel.”

“Yes, Sir,” she replied obediently as they arrived at his quarters. He opened the door and gestured to her to go in. She did so without protest. She had been well trained, it seemed. It made him sick to his stomach. He hated seeing omegas stripped of their personality, their autonomy, taught to be nothing but a slave to their Alpha’s whims. It reminded him far too much of his mother.

She reminded him of his mother. Small stature, red hair, meek attitude… even a similar name. Lelia. Lia. He gritted his teeth and looked away. Her fearful scent was already stinking up his room, and his stomach turned. He couldn't deal with this, with her right now.

She had already moved over towards her bag, a small suitcase that couldn't possibly contain more than a few items of clothing. He supposed she would have to get used to wearing whatever plain clothes the program provided her with, rather than the smart, sophisticated dress she was currently wearing—one that looked like it cost half of what König made in a month. She was clearly used to luxury—he wondered why she would leave all that behind to volunteer to be a stranger’s fucktoy? Because that’s what this damn program sounded like to him, no matter what the beta officer had said. Giving a bunch of rough military Alphas fragile little omegas like her… it was madness. König wanted nothing to do with it.

“I will be back by dinner time,” he told her, not even having stepped inside. “You may put your things in the closet. The toilet is through the other door.”

With that, he was gone, the metal door slamming shut behind him.

***

Lelia's new, masked Alpha was terrifying. But he already seemed kinder than Andrew.

Her husband—ex-husband now, she supposed—would have shoved her onto the bed and taken her the second they were alone. It was what he had done on their wedding night. And then again, every night since, until over a year went by and he had nothing to show for it. No baby, no strong little Alpha son to take over his father's company when he was old and grey.

What he did have was several million pounds of debt.

A debt that was cleared by selling her and her useless, barren womb to the owner of a German strip club. Which was then raided by a private military company less than a month later for human trafficking.

Lelia, one of the victims they had recovered, was given two options: be returned to Andrew, or remain in KORTAC’s custody by joining the pilot wave of their new ‘Comfort Omega’ program.

It wasn't much of a choice, really. Anything was better than Andrew.

Her new Al—the Colonel's scent permeated the room. Gunpowder and cloves—the warm, spicy kind. Something else that was woody and slightly sweet. Oud, she thought.

There was a hint of smoke to his smell too, but with a grassy undertone that neither her father’s cigars or Andrew’s cigarettes held. One she didn’t recognize.

All in all, it was far more pleasant than Andrew or Rodolfo—the man she’d been sold to—ever smelt, and her omega wanted to properly scent him. Lelia wanted no such thing, and doubted the Colonel would even let her.

Even still, Lelia was wary. She hung her clothes up in the closet, taking up as little space as possible, but left her toiletries in her bag, which she tucked into the corner next to a pair of huge, muddy boots. She hesitated, but then pulled the leather monstrosities out, digging around for a buffing kit. Once she found it, she carried everything into the toilet, and spent the next half hour meticulously cleaning the Colonel’s boots. She knew he didn't want her—even found the fact strangely comforting, though her baser instincts made her want to whine and whimper at being rejected, again—but she would still be a good omega. She didn't need him to want her. She would prefer that he didn’t. But if he liked her, he would treat her decently… she hoped.

Once his boots were clean, Lelia put them and the kit back into the closet. She changed out of her day clothes—a cream, knee-length tweed dress with half sleeves and an oversized white bow at the collar—and into a set of pink silk pajamas. The bottoms were far too short for her liking, but at least the camisole was oversized and not see through. Rodolfo, the owner of the club she’d been traded to, had preferred to keep his girls in lingerie at all times. Lelia, being his favorite, had been allowed slightly more modest options, as well as a single proper dress for when he took her on ‘dates.’ KORTAC had allowed her to keep some of her clothes when she’d been taken into custody, and she’d chosen the least revealing pieces. She still wished she could have stayed in her dress, but the mud from the Colonel’s boots had stained it. She hoped he would let her get it laundered rather than just throwing it away…

She did her best to wash the stain out, but with only harsh soap and water, a dirty brown spot still lingered. Lelia sighed, blinking back tears, and simply hung it up in the closet. Then, needing comfort, she finally allowed herself to begin building her nest.

All of the materials she’d been given were painfully sterile smelling, and so, unable to resist her instincts, she swapped one of the Colonel’s pillowcases for her own—taking the time to make his bed after, so he would be less likely to notice. She felt better the moment the new pillowcase was added to her nest. Perhaps she would grow to despise his scent, but for now, it soothed her terrified omega.

She curled up in the pile of pillows and blankets she’d made under the Colonel’s desk. She knew that even if he didn't intend to take her tonight—which she still wasn’t sure about—she wouldn’t be sleeping, anyway. She couldn’t sleep if she wasn't alone. She hadn’t been able to since about a month into her marriage, when sleeping meant waking up in the middle of the night to Andrew on top of her, forcing himself inside her as he covered her mouth and nose with his hand. He'd learned his lesson after the first time, when her screams of pain and fear had woken the household staff.

Lelia shuddered at the memory, forcing herself to shut her eyes, pulling a blanket up under her chin and hugging a pillow close to her chest like it was her precious teddy bear. She often wondered what had happened to the stuffed animal, after she’d been married off. She hoped Ulyana, her childhood governess, had taken it. Perhaps the old woman had gone back to Russia to be with her own family, now that she didn't need to raise Lelia anymore. Perhaps Lelia’s teddy slept soundly in the arms of Ulyana’s granddaughter every night… Lelia liked to imagine that was the case. That her faithful stuffed friend, her only friend, was still loved and treasured, rather than falling apart somewhere in a landfill, all alone…

Lelia sniffled, scrubbing her eyes harshly. It was best not to linger on memories. She wasn't that innocent little girl anymore, that hopeless romantic who believed in true love and adored stories and films about it. That thought someday, she would marry the love of her life, and he’d give her two beautiful children, one boy and one girl, for Lelia to dote on and shower in all the love she’d never received from her own parents. That dreamed of going to Uni and becoming a famous poet, so she was praised for something other than her looks and obedience…

No. Lelia was not that girl anymore. She no longer lived with her head in the clouds. She was grounded firmly to earth, and all its horrible realities.

It wasn’t long before sleep found her. She’d grown used to taking the opportunity to rest whenever the chance presented itself, in preparation for her sleepless nights. She only hoped she was too exhausted to have a nightmare.

***

When König left his quarters, he immediately went in search of a beta he knew would be happy to be dragged away from their duties for a quick fuck.

He found one in a pretty blonde nurse named Isa, who he had taken plenty of times before in the storage room of the base’s hospital, where she worked. She was a nice girl, always greeting him with a smile on her face and a hunger in her clear blue eyes. She wasn’t the only one he hooked up with, but he wasn’t the only one she hooked up with, either. Just the best, according to her.

She was also quite talented, though he refused to rank the women he fucked. It was unbecoming of a superior officer. Besides, he was lucky enough that they let him drill his oversized cock into them, despite the fact that he always wore his mask when he did. He never knotted any of them either, no matter that some of them begged for it. That was far too intimate.

After twenty minutes, Isa stumbled out of the storage room with a slight limp, her hair mussed and a pink flush to her cheeks. He followed, straightening her shirt discreetly, not wanting to shame her. He always made sure that any woman he was with was satisfied—multiple times. He enjoyed it. Enjoyed hearing them moan and whimper from the pleasure, breathily telling him how good he made them feel…

And secretly, he always hoped that if he did well enough, they’d tell him that he was a good boy and that they were proud of him.

Of course, they never did. They probably assumed a big, strong Alpha like him would be offended. And he could never just ask for it, for the same reason. His partners tended to gossip about their trysts, and if anyone ever heard about how König would come in his trousers just from being called a good boy, his men would lose every ounce of respect they had for him.

So he kept his desires to himself, as always.

After Isa headed back to her station, König sighed and left for the mess hall, still keen to avoid his quarters—especially after his plan to fuck away any thoughts of his new problem only seemed to make it worse. He’d caught himself thinking of Lelia a few times while sunk halfway into Isa’s pussy. How different would it be to fuck an omega? Would she be able to take his entire cock, unlike the beta girls he was so often with? Would she beg for him to knot her? To fill her with his seed and make her belly grow round with his pups?

That was the thought that had brought him to orgasm, and he’d barely had time to pull out of Isa’s warm, wet pussy before his knot expanded, locking them together when he thrust too deep.

Thus the poor girl’s limp.

König killed as much time as he could get away with in the mess hall before finally admitting defeat and returning to his quarters. When he opened the door, the first thing he noticed was that the sour fear-stink had faded somewhat, allowing him to smell what must have been Lelia’s actual scent—something floral and sweet that reminded him of the garden he’d grown up tending at his grandparents’ cottage, as well as his favorite dessert—vanilla pudding. He instinctively closed his eyes and breathed in deeper, trying to place the flowery smells. Rose was immediately obvious, though there was almost a sugary hint to it. A rose flavored candy, maybe?

He recognized peonies after another moment, and he stiffened. Peonies had been her favorite flower—his mother’s. He left them at her grave on her birthday every year. The only time he ever visited.

The second thing he noticed, when he opened his eyes again, was that Lelia was gone.

“Omega!” He snapped, panicked. Where was she? Had she gone out into the base? That wasn’t safe, there were far too many ill mannered, unattached Alphas that could snatch her up and claim her, and there would be nothing she could do to fight back—

The fear-stink returned full force, and he heard a terrified gasp followed by a crash and then a pained whine. He looked down at his desk, where the sounds had come from, and saw a pillow sticking out. Crouching down, he was met by a pair of wide, scared brown eyes brimming with tears.

“S-sorry, sorry A-Alpha! I— I m-mean Sir, sorry Sir, I’m sorry—” the omega whimpered as she clutched the top of her head, sniffling as she tried to keep from crying. König’s instincts didn't even give him a chance to resist—he reached under the desk and grabbed her slight frame in his massive paws, carefully pulling her out. She went stiff as a board when he did, shifting her arms to cover her face as her shoulders hunched, like she was trying to curl up into a ball. König growled. He was used to being treated like a terrible, violent brute—and he was. He had a deep rage inside him, from years of merciless bullying and a mother who chose drugs over her son. That was why he had joined the military, to give that rage a safe target. He would never hurt an innocent woman. An innocent omega. 

“I will not hit you,” he said angrily. Lelia flinched in his lap, not lowering her arms. He tried to gentle his tone. He was marginally successful. “You have already hurt yourself.”

He smoothed his big hand over the top of her head lightly, feeling for a bump. But she began to squirm wildly in his arms, trying to escape, her scent sharp with panic. He let her go, and she practically dove back under the desk and into the nest she’d made there.

“Fräulein,” he huffed, confused and exasperated. But then he caught sight of the fogginess in her eyes, and he paused. That was the look of a soldier who had been on the frontlines for too long. Who had seen too many horrors to ever truly recover. König saw that look in the mirror often. His expression softened beneath his mask in sympathy, and he sighed. “I will leave you be.”

He stood up, joints creaking in protest, and turned around. He was greeted by the sight of a neatly made bed, which he knew he was certainly not responsible for. He glanced at the desk again. It had to have been Lelia. No one else but her had access to his quarters.

“Thank you,” he said awkwardly, unsure if he would only make her more afraid by speaking, but unwilling to seem like a mannerless oaf. “For the bed.”

There was no response for a long moment, and König headed over to the closet to take off his boots. As he opened it, a tiny, nervous voice spoke up from under the desk, though when he looked back, she was still hiding under it.

“I cleaned the boots in the closet,” Lelia said. Then, “I can— I can clean the ones you’re wearing now too, Sir.”

König blinked, looking down at his spare pair of boots. They were spotless, practically looking brand new. His heart thudded hard in his chest. It was such a kind, motherly thing to do—making his bed and cleaning his boots. Small things to make his life easier, to show she cared…

She doesn’t care about you, a harsh voice in his head said. König flinched. She probably thinks she has to do these things for you.

“That is not necessary,” he replied, unlacing his boots and putting them next to his newly cleaned spares. He looked back up to grab his sleepwear when he noticed the feminine clothes taking up a sliver of space in his closet. Curious, he flicked through them. His cock twitched at the frills and sheer fabric, and he blushed beneath his mask as he spluttered. “What is this?”

He heard Lelia’s heart skip a beat, and he turned around to see her young, anxious face peeking out from under the desk.

“My clothes,” she answered after a second of hesitation. “They’re all I have… except for my white dress. But it— it got mud on it.”

From cleaning his boots, no doubt. He felt a bit guilty about that, but he was still too stuck on the fact that she was claiming the pretty lingerie hanging in his closet was clothing to think much about that.

“This clothing is not fit for a whore!” He exclaimed, flustered. Perhaps he was exaggerating—for lingerie, it was quite tame, actually. It was soft and pretty, exactly the type of thing he liked on a woman. And that was why he was so upset—because now he was imagining coming back to his room everyday only to see this beautiful, unclaimed omega looking so perfectly fuckable, when he had already promised himself he would do no such thing.

His cock was half hard from the fantasies alone, and it took him a long moment to shake them from his head. That was when he recognized the salty scent of tears. His eyes widened and he looked back at the desk to see Lelia had disappeared beneath it once more. He couldn't hear a single stuttered breath or gasping sob, but that she was crying, he had no doubt.

Immediately, he was swarmed with guilt, and he quickly approached her nest, crouching down once again. She was just a small lump under a blanket at this point, one that was trembling from the force of her silent cries.

“Oh, Lelia…” he whispered helplessly, fighting the urge to reach in and pull her out again, to place her in his lap where she would be safe. Where he could keep her safe. Damn his Alpha instincts. “I am sorry. I did not mean to insinuate that you— that you are—”

His oversized hands gestured uselessly. She wasn’t even looking at him. But he couldn't bring himself to repeat what he had said, knowing how it had hurt her.

“I was just… surprised. Your clothes are— very pretty, but I do not think they are clothes, Schatz. They are for sleep, and— other things.”

König was bright red beneath his hood. He hated that he had made her cry. And not even because she was needlessly afraid of him—but because of his stupid big mouth. This was why he tried not to speak very often. He always ended up saying the wrong thing.

“I know,” Lelia whispered, voice small and endlessly sad. “But they’re all I have.”

“I will get you new clothes,” he found himself saying. What was he doing? He didn't even want an omega. Not when he knew they wouldn’t want him back, not really. Especially not one as sweet and pretty as Lelia. Especially not after he’d just accidentally called her a whore… yes, exactly. That was why he was doing this. Not because he wanted her, but because he felt bad. She had done him a kindness despite his standoffishness, and he had been rude in return. He needed to make amends. “Tomorrow. I will request them from the program. Or— you can shop online, if you would prefer, ja? I think the clothes the program will provide will not be very… fashionable.”

Lelia seemed like the type to care about that, if the pretty dress she’d worn today was any indication. Though that begged the question—if the dress was now in his closet, did that mean she was wearing lingerie now? Surely not, he would have noticed earlier when he held her… though he had been quite focused on checking her head for injuries…

“Are you going to fuck me?”

König choked on his spit, staring wide-eyed at the lump under the blanket, wondering where the hell that had come from. Until he realized he was hard as steel and practically soaking the room in aroused pheromones, just from the idea that the sweet little omega in front of him was dressed in nothing but frills and bows…

König tried and failed to reign in his scent, and the resigned, despondent voice continued.

“If— if it’s not too much to ask, could you— could you shower, first, Sir? I promise I’ll be good, and I’ll make it worth the wait, I just— it hurts my omega… to be t-taken if I can— can still s-smell someone else on you…”

König’s arousal abruptly died, mortification and shame replacing it. He had known she would smell Isa on him when he came back—had walked around base with her scent on him just to show just how displeased he was with the ridiculous Program. To show that he didn’t need or want an omega. And he hadn’t cared about how it would affect Lelia. It was thoughtless. It was cruel.

“Nein,” he responded firmly, and the blanket lump deflated, growing impossibly smaller. He quickly continued. “I am not going to— to take you.”

The lump perked up, and after an agonizingly long moment, Lelia sat up, the blanket falling off her shoulders and pooling in her lap. König’s mouth went dry and he swallowed as he saw the oversized pink camisole she was wearing. It had sweet little ruffles along the straps, and obscured the shape of her body, puffing out in front—but that only made her look pregnant, stirring his earlier fantasies about breeding her. He quickly looked away.

“Because you don’t want an omega?” She asked hesitantly. “Or— or because I’m a whore?”

König cursed himself in German, tugging anxiously at his mask.

“I did not mean to say that,” he answered, looking back at her, neck bent at an awkward angle so he could see her. She still had tear tracks on her face. He swallowed thickly. “That was unkind. I did not mean it. I do not think you are a whore.”

Even though he found it beyond strange that any omega would volunteer for a program like this, he wasn’t lying. When he looked at Lelia, truly looked at her without letting his fears and resentment get in the way, all he saw was a sad, scared girl too sweet for her own good. She was so easy to take advantage of, just like his mother had been. König wanted to protect her, and not just because of his instincts. But because in a way, it felt like he would be protecting his mother.

But Lia Adler had been selfish, choosing drugs over her son at every turn. Lelia, on the other hand, seemed like she would be a wonderful mother. He could make her one, if she wanted.

He immediately shut those thoughts down. Lelia was not his mother. She was not his anything. Conflating the two of them was so very wrong. Craving maternal affection from her even as he thought about knotting her… It was disgusting. König was disgusting. He looked away again.

“I will not take you,” he repeated. “I can smell your fear. You do not want me to claim you. I will not have an omega that does not want me.”

I will never have an omega at all, he thought, pained. No one ever wants me.

“You aren’t going to force me?” She asked warily. König had already known she thought he would, but hearing it still hurt. He would never force himself on a woman. Ever. And he would certainly never claim an omega against their will. “Or just fuck me without claiming me?”

“No,” he said sharply. “You do not want me to touch you. So I will not touch you. In any way.”

The sour smell of her fear was gone, though the saltiness of her tears still lingered in the air, tainting the otherwise delicious scent of flowers and vanilla. If she were his omega, he would make sure she always had a fresh bouquet. But she wasn't. And he didn’t want her to be.

“I don't understand,” she finally whispered, tone fragile. König frowned underneath his mask. Was it really so hard to believe that he might not be a complete monster?

But you are a monster.

“What is so hard to understand?” He asked, his accent growing thicker to hide his hurt. “I believe I have been very clear!”

Lelia cowered as he raised his voice, and König exhaled sharply through his nose as he tried to calm himself. She did not want him. Not even his cock like the betas he slept with. She was afraid of him. If he was going to survive this forced cohabitation, he had to stop scaring her.

“I am sorry,” he said through gritted teeth. Then, a little steadier, “We will sleep now. It is late, and I am tired.”

König stood up once again, returning to the closet to grab his sleep clothes. He hesitated before going into the small, cramped toilet to change. She would probably think he was going to rape her if he started undressing in front of her.  He suddenly groaned as he realized he was going to have to sleep with his mask on. He couldn't risk her seeing his face… his quarters had truly been stripped of their safe haven status. There was nowhere left on base where he could relax.

When he was done, he found Lelia curled up in her nest once again. He disliked the thought of her sleeping on the floor. It wasn't right. The gentlemanly thing to do would be to offer the bed to her while he took the floor. His Alpha, on the other hand, wanted to insist she sleep in bed with him, where he could protect her.

König did neither.

He laid in his bed and slid under the blankets, turning to face away from the little omega tucked under his desk, hoping she would feel a little calmer if he wasn’t looking at her. He could feel her eyes on him, assessing, but after a few moments, it seemed to work, at least a little bit. Her heart rate slowed down, not near enough for her to be asleep, but at least no longer drilling a hole into his eardrums with her anxiety.

[leifygreeens]

brain rot hours 👀? you said nsfw was cool sooooooo what do you think shane sounds like in bed lol

This ask made my brain rot even worse so I did all of the bachelors LMFAO. This is kind of all over the place, and I veered off tangentially on a few of them, but I did my best to stick to the topic. I also went ahead and situated them in (what I think is, anyway) ascending age order, so younger bachelors are first. Some are longer than others but that does not reflect my feelings for them. No favoritism here, bay-bee. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Thank you very much for your request hkjhlashfiloveu. :)

Warnings: Mentions of sub/dom dynamics, explicit language, GN!Farmer, praise/degradation/dirty talk, a few bits of dialogue, and mentions of oral sex. Enjoy!

Sam

Sam is fucking loud, okay?

Lead singer of a band and you really think he doesn’t have a set of pipes on him?

You’ve reserved your escapades to the farm only, because Haley and Emily would get an earful if you fooled around at his place, and you don’t need any incidents with his family overhearing his loud ass, either

He is loud, and he is shameless, and whether it’s moaning, whimpering, whining, or groaning—you’ll hear it out of him

Mans is versatile

Pathetic is one of the only words I can find to describe how he sounds in bed though if I’m honest

This guy definitely doesn’t have too much experience, so it’s easy to rile him up, and holy fuck if he isn’t sensitive as hell

He’ll make noise even if you're just kissing him

And he’s needy

“You’re too far away, come here” “kiss me more”

This boy has a filthy mouth on him

And he begs like a little bitch lol

“Please, I’m so close, it’s right there, just a little more, fuck please”

If you were expecting him to be a dom you’re on the wrONG BLOG LMFAO

Tie him up and treat him a little roughly, and this boy is drooling with fucking heart eyes, I promise you

But yeah, doesn’t matter if you’ve got your hands on him, if you’re blowing him, or if y’all are fucking, he’s gonna make noise no matter what

When he’s close, his voice gets higher and comes out faster, so every other breath he’s making noise

The only time he’s completely and utterly silent is when he comes

He’s the type to hold his breath when it hits him, and it only lasts a few seconds before he’s gasping and moaning again

And even if all of the attention is on you, and you’re not touching him, this man is gonna be loud

If he’s fingering you? Definitely gonna spill a few curses at how you feel on his fingers

If you let him go down on you? He’s moaning, and lord help him, if you start pulling his hair and forcing him this way and that??

Lights out, goodnight, he is officially gone.

Sebastian

Depends heavily on circumstance, I think

If you’re in control, he’s moaning and gasping, and his voice is so fucking pretty

A little scratchy from his smoking habit, if I’m honest, but it’s still a very nice voice

Especially if he’s the one in charge

And if he is in charge, he’s groaning, and hear me out—he laughs at you.

Not meanly! (kinda meanly) just, yanno

Some slight degradation

“Hah, does it really feel that good? I haven’t even done all that much to you yet and you’re already like this?” 

Hnnnghghffsebastianjustonechanceplease

Probably a little insecure about his voice, but if he knows you like it, that’s all the information he needs

He just wants to make you feel good, so if there’s something he can do to make it feel better, he’s going to do it

That said, he mirrors you quite a bit

So if you’re loud, he’s gonna be loud (what do you expect from him, really? It’s not his fault you sound so good), and if you’re quiet, he’s gonna be quiet, too

He’ll never be completely silent, just because he doesn’t have that kind of self-control, but he’s definitely quiet

It also depends on how heavy you’re going

So if it’s rough, his voice will also probably reflect that: lots of groaning, heavy breathing, some curses here and there.

Soft sex will be quieter, but he’ll also be a little sweeter. There’ll be more praise, probably some “I love you’s” sprinkled in there, and he’ll try to muffle his higher noises into your lips or any other skin he can reach

Overall, I think sex with him will go one way or the other

Sub or dom? Whines or groans? Flip a coin and lemme know how it goes lol

Alex 

He’s the kind of person who won’t make a lot of noise

he’s panting and breathing heavily, and that’s probably it

But he talks quite a bit

And we all know that deep down this boy is a hopeless romantic(hello, ten-heart event!), so his dirty talk def reflects that

Get ready for PRAISE. SO much praise

“You feel so fucking good, baby,” “I’ve been waiting for this all day,” “you’re doing good for me, just like that,” etc.

If he’s really into it, especially when he’s close to cumming, he’ll stutter a lot or just give up halfway through his sentences lmao

Don’t misunderstand, it’s not that he refuses to make noise because he thinks it’s weird

He just prefers the way you sound, yanno? So he’d rather keep it down to hear you better

But if you let him know that you want to hear him more, he’d make an effort to let some sounds loose

But he wouldn’t fake them, and he’s not gonna suddenly start blowing out your eardrums

The first time he properly groans, he feels the effect it has on you

It could be the most pathetic, shaky, and quiet sound ever, but your reaction is immediate

Goosebumps over your arms, subtle trembling/shivering, bro, if you grab him a little bit tighter???? 

and now that he can see with absolute certainty that you enjoy his voice?

His confidence will sky-rocket, and you’ll get wayyyy more noise out of him from then on

He will take the opportunity to tease you about it after you’re done though

“Damn, you like my voice that much, huh?”

I am also a firm believer that he prefers positions with a lot of proximity and skin contact, so lots of missionary, back-to-chest, etc. (he also likes positions where he can show off his strength and stamina, but that’s neither here nor there)

He loves anything where he can press in close and have as many points of contact as possible

Which makes it way easier to dive low and spit romantic filth into your ear, you with me?

Lives for the reactions he can drag out of you with just his voice

It might be his favorite part about sex with you if I’m being realistic

It's nice to see tangible proof that you’re enjoying yourself because of what he’s doing, obviously, but the fact that he can have you reduced to such a mess with just his voice?

This man is absolutely gone on you, I swear

Elliott

Lordt have mercy

I think in terms of volume, he’d be pretty average.

Like he’s not going to drown you out, but he’s definitely not quiet

Having said that

Moans, praise, and sappy declarations of love are his modus operandi

Elliott is a poetic soul: he’s got a way with words, and a romantic heart

Intimacy is important to him, and the more connected you are, the sweeter he sounds

He doesn’t curse nearly as much as any of the bachelors, either

While the rest of them spit filth at you with a good helping of swearing tossed into the mix, he’s a little more classy and eloquent with how he goes about it

“You sound heavenly, my love,” “how was I so fortunate as to meet you,” “so good to me, my precious flower”

what a cheese lol elliott pls i’m begging i would give you everything

One hundred percent convinced y’all are soulmates

And it’s kind of obvious during sex

He hates not being able to see your face while you’re in bed together

Wants to be able to kiss you while he’s making love to you, and will absolutely moan into your mouth while doing so end me

But he’ll be at his loudest when you’re indulging his desire for intimacy

Hold his hand during sex. I dare you.

Cup his cheeks? Tell him you love him while he’s mid-thrust?

Lol if you’re at his cabin on the beach, you better hope Willy took his boat out for some ocean fishing because otherwise, he’ll definitely hear

But enough about volume

Elliott’s voice is smooth like butter, and fairly deep

listening to him fall apart feels like pouring warm honey down your spine

He sounds so good, and he’s not shy about it

Will only beg if he wants you both to come at the same time—otherwise everything is pretty neutral—no dom/sub dynamics, he just wants to make love to you

I wouldn’t say he’s vanilla by any means, but that’s a story for another time

Shane

If he’s in a Mood™, this man is nasty.

Point-blank, no bullshit.

He doesn’t moan, or whine, or whimper—you’d have to overstimulate the shit out of him to get a reaction like that, but unless you’re willing to deal with the consequences, I don’t personally recommend doing that lol yes I do

But for the sake of the ask, let’s say you don’t

Grunts and groans—that’s all you’re getting as far as sounds go

But not to worry, because dirty talk is his specialty

Will praise you while degrading you

“Look at you, drooling and drunk all for my cock,” “Wish you could see how pretty you are, baby”

Hnngf anyway

He’s at his loudest when you agree with him

Sound confusing? Here, have some examples.

“I’m the only one who can fuck you like this, aren’t I?” “no one could make you feel the way I do”

Say yes to anything like that? ^^^

And this man is yours.

He’ll get SO loud, and he’ll dive head-first into dirty talk like his life depends on it

Oh, you thought he was filthy before?

Lmao anyway yeah he’s possessive and likes it when you indulge him

But if he isn’t in a Mood™, and you catch him during a good moment, he veers a little more toward Elliott’s territory

Like definitely still possessive, but less vulgar about it, and not as cheesy

This guy has low self-esteem, and a lot of his insecurities stem from not feeling adequate for everyone in his life—including you

So if he’s feeling a little softer around the edges, and you take the moment to remind him that you’re in it for the long haul and have no intention of going anywhere

He’s groaning praise and loving filth in your ears

Definitely has a breeding kink I mean what I didn’t say anything

Anyway yeah lots of “so good to me,” “can’t believe I got this lucky,” “do you have any idea what you do to me?” etc., etc., etc.

Shane sir my husband my favorite chicken man just one chance please I beg

Harvey

A crier

Lol jumping straight into it LESGO

Pathetic little sobs because he’s so overstimulated and it feels just a little too good

Stutters quite a bit—he likes giving up control to you so he doesn’t have to think, but that often means he loses his ability to speak coherently

this man is so stressed all the time and he just wants you to help him shut his brain off

Is a blushing, sobbing mess

Probably hiccupping a little if it gets to be too much

His crying is probably due to a mix of embarrassment and pleasure if I’m being realistic

But I personally hc him as someone who enjoys feeling a little stupid and sex-drunk, especially because of how much you seem to enjoy seeing him get like that

Don’t get me wrong, when it’s casual sex and not in the midst of a scene, this man is just as loving as any, but there’s a certain empty-headedness he gets when he feels too good

Doesn’t really talk much, again, he can’t think straight long enough to string anything together

If he does manage to get anything out, it’ll be a lot of one-word compliments and simple begging—also he slurs his words quite a bit

“Feels s’good, please don’stop” “please, s’pretty,” “like that, right there—hnngmfuck!”

I am dead

Sex is probably one of the only times he’ll cuss actually

Now I don’t imagine him as a goody-two-shoes-pure-boy-do-no-wrong-innocent-mind

Definitely not

But yanno, he’s not swearing up a storm in his day to day, or accessorizing every other sentence with “fuck” and “shit” like a certain someone abby i’m lookin at you babe

But he’ll definitely lose his filter during sex

My brain has collapsed after this jesus christ

[worstscholar]

I cant shake this idea out of my head while listening to music lol

What if reader is a popular singer/star and Doffy is publicly spreading news about his and readers alleged relationship, so reader released a music titled "obsessed" by Mariah Carey. I would loveeee to see Doffys reaction lol

Btw, love your works 💗

Reader cab be in any gender, Thankyou!

thank you so much :) this is super rushed and not edited at all. I had fun making doffy out to be a pathetic loser, part of me wanted to make him stalkerish, but I didn't feel like writing a whole fic, so here's this little drabble.

the reader has no gender

He didn't know what to call it, the sinking feeling in his chest every time he heard your voice, heard your name, saw your face. He couldn't find a good name for how utterly lonely you made him feel. Doflamingo knew he was obsessed, he loved you, he couldn't stop thinking about you, he needed you. 

He knew he looked dumb, spending hours watching youtube tutorials on how to photoshop like a pro, just so he could convince his poor mother and father that he had found ‘the one’. If only they knew you had no idea who he was, that the only thing he was holding at night was your photo. It doesn't matter if he didn't have you now, he knew he'd have you in the future, you were bound to be his, Doflamingo could feel it, and he'd wait for you, no matter how long it took and no matter how lonely he got. 

He was dedicated, using his inherited wealth to buy your albums, merchandise, anything you sold, no matter who was the target audience, Doflamingo bought it and cherished it. He's probably spent over thousands of dollars on you by now, fantasizing that it was his money that bought you that pretty new outfit, or that bag, or your new car. He couldn't help himself, could never stop himself from stalking your socials, compulsively hoarding your photos, sending you designer things, in hopes you’d read his messages and respond. 

His parents were convinced you two were a thing, so proud of their son for getting such a pretty partner, always bothering him about you coming to dinner, getting married, and giving them grandkids. His mom was especially proud, posting on her facebook about the two of you, bragging to all of her friends about her son's special new partner. Rosinante on the other hand saw right through his brother's lies, in the beginning it was harmless, innocent little lies to skip out on family functions, or holidays. Then it started to get annoying, the pictures were weird enough, but the lies had been going on so long now, their mother would start asking him about any boyfriends or girlfriends, she’d even compare him to his brother. “Roci dear, when are you going to settle down with a nice boy or girl like your brother?” She’d ask, looking all innocent, while Doflamingo sat a few feet away suddenly looking a little pale.

He doesn't outright tell his parents that doffy’s lying, instead he leaves little (big) hints, like teaching his mom how to use instagram, and adding you and doffy as her friends. He lets his mom find out for herself that your profile does not mention her son at all, in fact, your profile says you’re dating someone completely different. At first she’s horrified, thinking you’re cheating, and she stirs the pot, leaving comments on your posts, asking if you were cheating on her son. And before anyone realizes, you have a full blown cheating scandal on your hands with a man you’ve never met. The media is all over you, criticizing you, spreading ridiculous rumors. Your real partner is understandably horrified, and ends up leaving you. 

Doflamingo is also very horrified, and embarrassed. He has no idea what happened, how did this blow up so fast? He feels sick, as he scrolls social media, he started a scandal without even meaning to, ruining both of your reputations. It's easy for doffy to ignore the hate directed at him, but when it's meant for you, he's enraged. This is his fault, why are people hating on you? 

When his phone pings with a notification saying you’ve released a new single, his heart drops when he reads the title. As he listens to the song, part of him is excited that you’ve recognized him, but another part is upset that you don't reciprocate his feelings. He's done so much for you and his mom just had to go and blow up this whole situation, you’re supposed to love him.