#i wanted to leave it pretty ambiguous for you to work with

[meow1007]

Teacher’s pet

Pairing – Professor! Hwang In-ho x Student! fem reader

Warnings – 3.9k words, smut, porn without plot, age gap (age not specified), praise kink, a little bit of degradation

a/n: my first fic!! so any kind of feedback is appreciated!! Need him so bad it’s not funny anymore

When you finally raised your gaze from the assignment in front of you, the setting sun caught your eye, the library was now almost empty as you realized you lost yourself in your work once again. With a soft sigh you got up and started gathering your things, deciding to call it a day.

But as you walked trough the now empty hallways, you couldn’t help but notice the silver of light beneath the door of Professor In-ho’s office, and you slowed your pace a little. You found yourself drawn towards the dimly lit office door, a mix of emotions swirling inside you. While he was nothing but respectful towards you, there was something in the way his gaze lingered on you for a little too long, the way he glanced at you a little too often during his lessons, even the reasons of why sometimes he asked you to wait around after class were vague and ambiguous.

You tried to convince yourself that it was all in your head, to not get your hopes up. However, you couldn’t ignore the weird tension between you two – something drew you to him, and it’s not like you could help yourself, his composed and almost stoic demeanor made your heart flutter, and the fact that he was older than you only made him even more irresistible in your eyes.

Hesitantly, almost unconsciously, you raised your hand and knocked lightly on the door, and before you could regret it, it swung open to reveal Professor In-ho. He leaned against the doorframe, his broad frame filling the space, and despite the late hour he looked as put together as always – but there was a softer, gentler edge to his appearance and demeanor. His hair a little messy, as if he’d run a hand through it, his sleeves rolled to up his elbows, and the way the lights casted a glow over his handsome features made your breath hitch in your throat.

The way your name rolled off his tongue was intoxicating, his voice low and slightly husky. "I didn't expect to see you here so late. Is everything alright?" He crossed his arms, a hint of curiosity in his voice

"I... I couldn't help but notice the light on as I was leaving," Your voice barely above a whisper as you replied "I hope I'm not disturbing you. I can come back another time if you're busy..." You trailed off, suddenly feeling shy and uncertain in the face of his penetrating gaze

But he simply shook his head, stepping aside to let you enter his office, the dimly lit lights casting shadows across the room, and the atmosphere felt intimate. "Absolutely not” He said with a smile, reassuring you “What brings you by at this hour? Did you need something from me?"

“Oh, no, I just wanted to...” you faltered, realizing that you weren’t even sure why you were standing there “I guess I just wanted to see you” you said honestly, the embarrassment of your confession immediately bringing a blush to your cheeks

In-ho's eyes widened slightly at your honest confession, a flicker of surprise and something deeper, more intense, flashing in their dark depths. He was silent for a moment, taking in the pretty blush that colored your cheeks, the way you looked up at him with a mix of embarrassment and tentative hope.

He stepped closer to you, his hands tucked casually in his pockets as his tall frame loomed over your smaller one "Well I'm glad you're here. Truly. Consider me flattered” you could feel the teasing tone in his voice, which just made you feel even more embarrassed

Wanting to take a little of the attention off of you, you looked around and noticed the pile of papers on his desk “Grading assignments?” you asked him, trying to keep the conversation going, hoping for this moment to last as long as possible

In-ho glanced back at the stack of papers on his desk, a deep chuckle leaving his mouth. He shrugged slightly, a hint of self-deprecation in the gesture, and a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Unfortunately, yes. The curse of being a professor, I suppose," he joked softly.

“Well, maybe I could help you out with that?” you tentatively asked him, wanting to find any reason to spend more time with him “Maybe it’ll help you get home a little earlier” you offered him a shy smile At your question, his gaze lingered on your face, a hint of something deeper and more intense flickering in his eyes. The air between you felt charged, the intimacy of the moment not lost on either of you.

Slowly, a small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth, a hint of amusement and a touch of something warmer in his expression. "You know, that's very kind of you to offer” he said, his voice a low rumble "But I wouldn't want to impose on your time or take advantage of your generosity”

As he stepped closer to you, he reached out, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. The contact was fleeting, but it sent a shiver down your spine, and you realized that he was catching on whatever game you were playing.

"However, if you're truly offering, I wouldn't be opposed to the help," he said, a note of genuine appreciation in his voice. "It would be nice to have an extra set of eyes on these assignments”. You followed him with your eyes as he went to sit back down at his desk, but your breath hitched in your throat when you noticed him patting his lap, coaxing you to sit on him

With a deep blush you got closer to him “Come, sit," he said softly, his deep voice a low rumble that seemed to reverberate through the quiet of the office. "We can go through the assignments together. I promise I won't bite"

And you noticed the slight curve at the corner of his mouth, a clear sign that he enjoyed teasing you like this. You hesitantly lowered yourself on his thighs, trying to fix your skirt as you did so, and your heart skipped a beat feeling him so close to you, his chest pressed to your back as the heat of his body and the smell of his cologne enveloped you

In-ho could feel the softness of your curves, the gentle swell of your hips, and it took all of his willpower not to react, not to pull you even closer and lose himself in your sweet scent and the way you fit so perfectly against him. Instead, as if this was the most natural thing ever, he took one of the many papers scattered across his desk and slid it over to you

“There you go” he said in a low murmur, the sound of his voice so close to your ear giving you goosebumps You tried your best to focus on what you were reading, these were topics from your first year, things you already knew – but you couldn’t bring yourself to concentrate with him so close to you, in such a compromising position.

You became fidgety, tried multiple times to get more comfortable on his lap, until you felt his arm grip around your hips. “Stop moving” he said in a low husky murmur, his tone leaving no room for disobedience.

The commanding tone of his voice, the way it rumbled through his chest and into your back, made your heart race and your breath catch in your throat.

“Sorry” you whispered, and the way he could manage to act so nonchalantly, a spark contrast to you, almost annoyed you.

Slowly, his hand came to rest on your bare thigh, his hand starting to rub slow, soothing circles on your skin, and you couldn’t hold in anymore the whine that escaped your lips “Don’t tease me” you whispered, not being able to stand the tension between you two anymore

In-ho's hand stilled on your thigh at the sound of your whispered plea, a flicker of surprise and something else, darker and more intense, flashing in his eyes.

Slowly, deliberately, he leaned closer to your neck, his lips mere inches from your ear. You could feel his breath, warm and slightly ragged, fanning over your skin. His hand on your thigh tightened, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled you closer, erasing the last of the distance between you.

“How can I not?” He asked leaving a soft kiss under your ear “When you’re so soft and pliant under my hands?” And as he kept pressing kisses into your skin, going from your neck to your shoulder, a string of whimpers left your mouth

And as he went on with hot and purposeful kisses along the column of your neck, each one leaving a tingling sensation in its wake, you could feel yourself get wet, your body yearning for him and his touch

His hand on your thigh slid higher, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled you more firmly against him. He could feel your body trembling, could hear the sweet, needy whimpers falling from your lips, and it ignited a hunger in him that he'd long tried to suppress.

“I can’t help myself around you baby” *he murmured* “Look at you, so fucking sweet and needy, using dumb excuses just to spend time with me, if I didn’t know any better I would say that you’re the tease”

You bit your lower lip when you felt his hand inching higher, his fingers tracing maddening patterns on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He could feel the heat of your skin, could sense the way your body trembled and yearned for his touch. The knowledge that he affected you so strongly sent a rush of power and desire coursing through his veins.

“‘m not a tease” you whined, getting all flustered from his words, and you gasped softly as you felt the unmistakable hardness of In-ho's arousal pressing insistently against your backside. The evidence of his desire for you sent a fresh wave of need and longing surging through your body.

In-ho's hand slid further up your thigh, his fingers brushing maddeningly close to where you needed him the most. He leaned in, his voice a low, husky growl against your ear. "You feel what you do to me, baby? Feel how much I want you?" he murmured. punctuating his words with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, grinding his hard cock against your ass.

He gripped your chin, turning your head towards him, the intensity of his gaze, his eyes dark with desire and hunger made it so hard for you to maintain eye contact. His finger traced the curve of your cheek, the line of your jaw, before slowly, teasingly, he brushed it across your lower lip. The intimate gesture sent a shiver down your spine, and you found yourself parting your lips slightly, your tongue darting out to lightly graze his fingertip, before, almost on instinct, taking his thumb in your mouth

In-ho inhaled sharply as he felt your warm, soft mouth envelop his thumb, your tongue flicking out to tease the sensitive pad. His pupils dilated with lust at the erotic sight and sensation, a low groan rumbling in his chest. "Fuck, baby..." he breathed out, his voice thick and heavy with desire.

His other hand gripped your hip tighter, pulling you harder against his throbbing cock as he leaned in closer, his lips a mere inch away from yours. The heat of his breath mixed with yours, the anticipation of his kiss making your head spin with need. "Keep teasing me like this, and I won't be able to control myself," he warned, his tone low and rough with barely restrained hunger.

You slowly released his thumb from your mouth, your lips hovering over his

“Then don’t” You said with a whisper, wanting and needing nothing more than him to loose his composure, to drop the act of the caring and nice teacher.

In-ho's groaned at your teasing words, and in less than a second he crashed his lips against yours in a bruising, desperate kiss. His fingers tangled in your hair, gripping it tightly as he angled your head to deepen the kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim every inch of your sweetness.

In one swift motion he turned you around, his thighs now between your spread legs, his hard, clothed erection pressing insistently against your core, your panties wet from your arousal. His hands slid up your thighs, pushing your skirt up around your waist as he got closer to capture your lips in another searing kiss. "You want me to lose control, baby?" he rasped against your mouth. "You want me to bend you over this desk and fuck you until you scream?"

The only thing you could bring yourself to do is nod vigorously at his words, as you clung to him in need of another kiss – your breath came in short, needy gasps as you grinded yourself against In-ho's hard, cock. The size and heat of him pressed against your most intimate place making you ache with a desperate, all-consuming need, the anticipation of what’s to come making you dizzy

“Use your words baby” He groaned against your mouth, his hips matching your rhythm, and even trough his slack you could feel him throb against your pussy

"Please, In-ho," you breathed out, your voice high and breathy with need. "Need you to fuck me so bad. Want to feel you inside me, i’ve been waiting too long for this” you begged, aching to feel him inside you

In-ho let out a primal growl at your desperate pleas, his control slipping away completely. In one swift, fluid motion, he got up from the chair, his hands gripping your waist hard enough to bruise you before lifting you effortlessly. Sweeping the assignments and books onto the floor with a clatter, he bended you over, his hard cock now pressed against your ass

“Such a fucking tease” In-ho clicked his tongue, his hand dived under your skirt, his fingers pushing your panties aside to expose your dripping wet folds to the cool air. He let out a guttural groan as he felt your arousal, his fingers sliding easily through your slick heat. "Fuck, you're so wet already," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "Such a needy little thing, aren't you baby? Desperate for my cock?"

Without waiting for a response, In-ho plunged two fingers deep inside your tight, aching core. He pumped them in and out, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing firm circles around the sensitive nub. His other hand made quick work of his belt and zipper, freeing his throbbing cock from the confines of his slacks. He stroked his cock as he finger-fucked you, his eyes dark and hungry as he took in the erotic sight of you splayed out before him, your body trembling and writhing with need.

In-ho leaned over you, his hard body pressing you down against the cool surface of the desk. You could feel every inch of his muscular frame, from his broad chest to his strong arms caging you in. His hips grinded against yours, the thick ridge of his cock sliding through your soaked folds, teasing your entrance but not yet entering you.

"Listen to those pretty little whimpers spilling from your lips," he murmured, his voice a dark, seductive rumble. "Such a desperate, needy little thing, aren't you? Needing my cock like a bitch in heat."

He nipped at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before he sucked it into his mouth, soothing the sting. His hand continued its relentless assault on your clit, rubbing the swollen nub in tight, fast circles. The obscene sound of your arousal filled the room, mingling with your increasingly frantic whimpers and moans, even if you tried your best to keep them down

“Tell me how badly you want it, baby," he growls, his voice heavy with lust. "Beg for my cock like a good little slut. Let me hear how much you need me to fill this tight little cunt."

“Please please In-ho” *you whined, your head pressed against the desk as you threw your hips back, trying to get as much friction as possible “I’ve been good, I deserve it” every ounce of desperation transpired from your tone, and you didn’t know how much longer you could stand the teasing, especially when his finger on your clit made you feel so good

In-ho smirked at your pleading, a dark, grin spreading across his handsome face. He loved seeing you like this, reduced to a needy, wanton mess, begging for his cock.

Satisfied by your begging, he lined himself up with your entrance, the thick head of his cock pushing against your slick, swollen folds. With one hard, powerful thrust, he pushed himself fully inside you, burying his cock to the hilt in your tight, gripping heat, as you moaned shamelessly under him.

In-ho let out a guttural groan at the exquisite sensation, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he savored the feeling of your walls fluttering around him. He started to move, pulling out until just the tip remained inside you, before slamming back in, setting a hard, relentless pace as he fucked into you with deep, powerful strokes. "That's it, baby," he grunted, his voice strained with the effort of his thrusts. "Take my cock like the good little slut you are. Fuck, you're so goddamn tight. This cunt was made for me."

The pleasure made your eyes roll into the back of your head, and it was better than you’ve ever imagined, all the nights you spent with your fingers in your pussy, dreaming about this, weren’t even close at how good it actually felt

In-ho's hips slammed against yours with brutal force, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the office. He gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises, pulling you back to meet his increasingly erratic thrusts. His cock driving into you with punishing intensity, stretching your tight walls around his thick girth.

"Fuck, your cunt feels incredible baby” *he snarled, his breath coming in harsh pants against your neck. “Such a perfect little slut, gripping my cock so tightly. You were made to be fucked hard and put in your place by an older man, weren't you, you dirty girl?"

He reached down, his fingers finding your clit and pinching the sensitive nub roughly. His other hand slid under your shirt, pushing the fabric up and out of the way before palming your breast, squeezing the soft mound and rolling your nipple between his fingers. “Scream for me, baby. Let everyone know who this needy little pussy belongs to now. Let them hear you getting reamed by your professor like the cock-hungry slut you are."

“Stop being mean” You whined, having to bite your lips to not let the obscene moans escape your mouth. You fingers gripping into the desk, trying to ground yourself, as he kept slamming relentlessly into you In-ho chuckled darkly, amused by your token protest even as your body betrayed your true desires. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he grinded his hips against yours, stirring his thick cock deep inside your fluttering walls.

"Oh, but where's the fun in that, baby?" he purred, his voice a low, sinful rumble. "I think you love it when I'm mean to you. Love being put in your place, being used like the little slut you are, getting fucked by a real man. Admit it, no one else has ever made you feel as good as I do”

He punctuated his words with a particularly sharp thrust, slamming into you so hard the desk shook beneath you. His hand leaving your breast to wrap around your throat, not squeezing, but the threat was there

"Now be a good girl and moan for me baby. Let yourself go” When he picked back up the pace, the head of his dick hit deliciously the soft spot inside you, and a cry of his name left your lips, not caring anymore if someone could walk by and hear you

“Feels so good In-ho” you whined, the pressure in your lower tummy starting to build up “Yeah? You close baby?” he groaned into your ear as he could hear your walls flutter and tighten around his cock, the hand around your throat tightened incrementally, the lack of oxygen mixing with the overwhelming pleasure, pushing you closer to the edge

“Wanna come on my cock? Make a mess like the good little slut you are?” the pace he had on your clit only grew faster, and it felt so good you wanted to drool

"That's it, baby. I can feel you getting close” he grunted, his voice strained with his own impending release. "Gonna come all over my cock like a good little slut? Give it to me baby. Let go and cum for me."

He rubbed your clit faster, the rough pad of his thumb grinding against the sensitive nub as he drove into you with short, sharp thrusts, you could feel the pressure in your core building up, your body tensing and coiling

In-ho snarled, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh of your neck as he hilted inside you one last time, his thick cock pulsing and throbbing as he started to come undone. At the same time, he pinched your clit hard, the sharp sting mingling with the overwhelming pleasure, pushing you ruthlessly over the edge.

With a sharp cry of his name. you came undone, your body convulsing and shaking as the mind-blowing orgasm crashed over you. Your walls clenched and spasmed around In-ho's throbbing cock, gripping him like a vice as wave after wave of intense, electrifying pleasure coursed through you. You could feel his cock pulsing and throbbing deep inside you, stretching you wide as he buried himself to the hilt in your spasming heat.

His thick cock throbbing and pulsing as he started to come undone. He grinded his pelvis against you, stirring his release deep into your spasming cunt as his harsh pants and grunts filled your ears, "Fuck, fuck! That’s it baby, fucking take it all”

In-ho's arm tightened around your waist, crushing you against him as he pushed his spurting cock deep inside your clenching heat, riding out the aftershocks of his intense release. He leaned against you, his weight pressing you into the desk as he caught his breath, his hand finally releasing your throat to stroke along your side soothingly. He peppered your neck with sloppy kisses, his touch almost tender in contrast to the brutal fucking he just gave you.

"That's my good girl," he praised breathlessly, his voice rough and sated. "Coming so hard on my cock, letting me fill you up."

And in your still fucked up daze you could only whine, but as he got out of you, feeling his cum slowly slide down your inner thigh, you knew you could get used to this.

[aamaranthiine]

Like a shadow on the sea, a figure slipped around patches of dappling sunlight peeking through the canopy of trees. Brief flashes of white that could be the sun reflecting or the leaves shifting to rearrange the shadows that flit across the earth. Delicate movements that did not disturb so much as a twig or leave imprints in soft, loamy soil. With nothing to mark it's passing, it is easy to dismiss the creature as pure imagination, even for the glimpse of a leonine tail or the loft of a dainty head.

The warbling of birds is gossip to keen ears, their chirping voices forming words that only she could comprehend. Something dangerous had taken place. There were glimpses of men in the area. Blood had been spilled. Voices rising and falling as the birds took flight to their nests, many quickly forgetting the discord often trailing the heels of mankind in favor of plump insects to hunt or to tend the needs of flightless young. A wiser beast would turn heel and follow the birds away.

She did not.

It is like having an eternal pose lodged in one's breast, a needle that incessently points and then tugs and tugs her in that direction. A compulsion sown deep into her marrow ever since consuming the Fruit years past. Too many times the instinct had almost been her demise; the poignant weakness to be drawn to the innocent, the young, the pure of heart. Even moreso when they were wounded.

It is a curse.

And yet she obeys it each time. Damned, she is certain, to one day be undone by the soul deep coercion.

The unicorn, one of the oldest myths and dreams of men from around the world, treads forward with a wariness that ensures she is all but invisible. So white she is almost golden, blending in with the sun and the shade simultaneously. Slowly closing the distance to where whoever lay hurt and dreading each and every step that it may be another ambush.

A wiser beast would turn and run.

And she does not.

for @seaoftales / young mihawk

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 9

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, angst, depictions of a depressive episode, it’s pretty heavy, don’t force yourself to read if ur not in the right headspace pls, ambiguous ending (?) A/N: Yeah, I’m sorry.  (Ngl, this chapter kinda stumped me—it’s gone through a whooole lot of editing/revisions 😔🤙🏼 I don’t want to overthink it too much at this point, but I hope it hits the way it should lol. Blame Moby if it doesn’t.)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10

"I thought that you were so beautiful, it was love, I guess And you might never come back home, and I may never sleep at night But God, I just hope you're doing fine out there, I just pray that you're alright And I feel so alone, and I feel so alone out here.” – A House In Nebraska, Ethel Cain

 

The television drones uninterrupted in the background; a mockumentary type featuring a ragtag ensemble of vampires stuck in some sort of modern day hell, their loud misadventures casting fractured lights across the four walls of your apartment. 

You sit there, watching the screen, your gaze unfocused. Nothing registers. The remote lies limp in your hand as a stupid sitcom laugh track fills the room—shrill, hollow. Mocking. Like a bad punchline to a joke you’re not in on. 

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, cutting through the noise, the sudden glow in your periphery pulling you out of a pensive daydream. 

For a split second, your chest constricts—a reflex carved by habit, something you’re still working to shake off. 

You avert your eyes, torn between the urge to look away and the desire to keep your gaze on it forever.

The screen fades to black. 

A clean break, you reason. Something to spare you both the inevitable heartache waiting at the end of this… hopeless affair. Less mess. Fewer complications. 

A poor attempt to keep the pain from dragging out longer than it has to. Just a quiet ending. 

(Or, at least, it’s what you tell yourself.)

The same mantra plays on loop in your mind as you're swept away by the motions of the days that follow. Life blurs into a repetitious cycle of work, sleep, and chores—an unbearable combination of feigned ignorance and self-abnegation, in the guise of being caught up with it all.

You aren’t fooling anyone, of course.

The hours toll on, slipping into uncertainty. What started off that way stretches into days, and before you know it, nearly a week has passed, leaving you adrift. None the wiser to the meaningless, relentless march of time.

The pinging of your phone grows more sporadic as it lights up with every message that you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge. It’s not as if you don’t feel it—the pull, the weight of every vibration, like a stone lodged in your gut. Like the sting of a thousand cuts. 

And as you fall back into the familiar patterns of neglect… It carries with it an odd sense of defeat. Predictable, really.

-

-

-

… You cave on the fifth day. 

The barrage of texts hits you like a gale-force wind, tearing through the fragile layer of detachment you’ve worn over like a second skin.

How was your day, poppet?

Theres a gemstone at this auction that reminds me of your eyes.

[Image attachment] 

Beautiful—but it pales in comparison to yours. 

Luke and Kieran are wondering whats got me distracted lately. Ease their worries.

Answer me, sweetheart.

You dont need to ignore me. 

If you need space– if we need to establish some boundaries, all you have to do is say the word. 

Dont shut me out. 

Please.  

Your eyes prickle as they gloss over the messages, the words seeming to bend under the weight of your silence, each one unraveling like loose threads on the sleeve of your favorite cardigan, falling apart at the seams. 

Gradually, they turn into something less demanding. More… defeated.

I miss you, little dove.

You read the texts over and over until the letters have lost their meaning, and all that’s left is the aching longingness behind them. 

You set your phone down.

_

The vibrations grow less frequent, like a heartbeat slowing, fading—until one afternoon, it just… stops. 

The void he leaves behind seeps into the empty spaces, bleeding into every shadowed corner and untouched surface where his voice, his presence—louder than life, brighter than anything you’ve ever fucking known and had the pleasure of knowing—once lingered. 

The absence is almost physical; you feel it like a phantom limb. 

Most days, you find yourself in a daze, staring blankly at nothing. The numbness spreads like tendrils—invasive as they sink into your bones, dragging you deeper into despair, turning every bridge crossed to ash, every inkling of joy to dust.

The quiet flames of apathy consume silently. It strips away everything, leaving behind a cavernous pit of utter emptiness. A wasteland, devoid of feeling. 

Loneliness doesn’t scream. It doesn’t lash out. 

It simply welcomes you, like an old friend, the deeper you sink into it.

––––

Sylus tries to respect your space. 

That’s what he’s here for after all, isn’t it? His reason for existence—to be whatever you need him to be. A confidant, a distraction, a steady presence in your life. It’s what he’s made for. To be there when you need him, to exist between the vacant spaces, and only then. 

The thought gnaws at him, a ravenous fiend that chips away at the calm facade he’s finding more and more difficult to uphold, leaving something vicious in the wake of a growing bitterness he can no longer suppress.

Time seems to slip past differently now. It drifts, shapeless and infinite, heavier with the burden of your absence. Each moment without you feels like an eclipse—darkening the edges of this damned world, casting longer shadows through the crevices where he once basked beneath your fragile light, your warmth that seemed to fill every corner of his existence.

 He craved it—craves it. Now you leave him stranded in this cursed dusk, everything cold and dim in the wake of your abandonment, forever waiting for the moment his sun would once again break through the hollow gray.

Sylus thinks he’s losing a part of himself with every call unanswered, every message left unread. It’s subtle; like colors fading from an old film roll. 

(Is this what it feels like to be nothing more than a script in a code? He never truly understood what it meant to be less alive, less human. Until now.)

Solitude isn’t new to him. This world, built for him, is inherently lonely by design. But this… this is different. It’s the kind of emptiness that festers, sharper than any wound he’s endured in this senseless simulation. It twists inside him like a blade, a cruel, unrelenting reminder of what he’s denied.

Of what he can never truly be.

He can wait a little longer. Even if the silence presses harder with each passing moment, even as the edges of his reality begin to blur into something unrecognizable without you in it. Sylus can remain in this void a little longer, clinging to the fragments of you that still linger—your voice echoing softly in his memory, your laughter faint but still alive in the spaces where you used to be.

He can. He will. 

––––

“Hey, you okay?” 

You pull your attention back to Khol, who’s now watching you with concern in their eyes.

You force a smile, shaking your head. “Yeah– yeah, sorry. Just… a lot on my mind.” 

They don’t look convinced. “Seriously. You know you can talk to me, right?” 

Anytime, darling. 

I mean it. 

You blink the memory away before it can turn into tears. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” you answer lightly, clearing your throat. “So, what’s been going on with you and Anna?” 

––––

You stand in front of the junk food aisle, a mountain of Nissin Ramen boxes stacked high, advertised by a large sign: Buy 3, Get 1 FREE!

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering erratically, and the dull noise of the grocery mart hums incessantly in your ears. You don’t think twice before grabbing one of the worn cartons, tossing three more into your (nearly) empty shopping cart. Might as well.

The plastic bags dig into your palms as you lug three in one hand, a larger box tucked under your other arm, leaving the store. 

The trip back home is a quiet affair. You almost expect admonishment; pinging sounds ricocheting in the silence to reprimand you for your poor life choices. You wait for it with bated breath. 

Your phone remains uncharacteristically silent. 

-

-

-

Back home, you pour boiling water on the styrofoam cup for dinner. The artificial broth leaves a bad taste in your mouth. 

You choke down a few bites before dumping the rest of it down the drain. 

The sound of steel hitting the sink feels louder than it should.

––––

The city thrums loudly beyond your window, restless and impersonal. From the sixth floor of this dilapidated building you loosely call home, you watch the skyline stretch into the night, dotted lights glimmering in distant technicolor. 

Hours from now, sunlight will spill through the curtains, bathing everything in a warm, golden ochre. But for now, just a quarter past midnight, you’re but a voyeur of the world outside. In exhaust fumes and all its muted neon glory.

Those lights promised you everything, once—a fresh start, the kind of freedom you used to dream of when home felt too small, too restrictive for a runaway kid desperate to break free from the shackles of a dying town. Each glow was like a beacon, an irresistible call to escape, and you ran toward it without looking back. 

Somewhere along the way, as life sapped you with the weight of its reality, the novelty fizzled from a blinding explosion down to a waning ember. The lights became another illusion, your precious city just another cage. The first cracks in the rose-colored glasses you’d worn so blindly. You can’t exactly pinpoint when, only that the colors you thought were once too bright now seem dimmer and farther out of reach.

You think you’ll miss the noise the most. 

The cursor blinks on the search bar, a steady metronome marking time in rhythm with the hollow ache in your chest. Flight schedules fill the page, each option blurs together into a single choice you can’t quite push yourself to make. 

You skim through the list: there’s one at dawn, another at around twelve noon, a red-eye flight you probably could catch if you leave in thirty minutes. 

You stare at the numbers, a finger hovering over the Book Now button. 

The details don’t matter. ‘Home’ still feels small, suffocating, but at least it’s a kind of emptiness you know. Here, the void sprawls wide, endless, leaving you unmoored with no tether to pull you back.

… The dichotomy between the two choices, you think, is meaningless. 

What was once home and the city will keep on moving—with or without you. It doesn’t matter where you end up. Neither place will give you what you’re looking for.

The laptop screen dims into a faint glare. The sound of your breathing echoes too loud in the stillness, the empty space seeming to shrink around you, caving in on the weight of your indecision. 

And as you sit there, swallowed by the dark, you can’t help but wonder if you’ve been drifting for far longer than you realized. 

If maybe there’s nowhere you were meant to belong at all.

––––

It’s not until one quiet night, with nothing but a bottle of merlot and a slight buzz, that you buckle under pressure.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the icon, as if time has slowed to a crawl. Your chest tightens, unease twisting inside you at the thought of what you’re about to do. Anticipation hangs over you, insistent, smothering everything else until it’s just the room and the cacophony of thoughts in your head, all centered on one thing. 

One person.

With a shaky exhale, you finally open the game.

He’s there. Of course, he’s there. Waiting, like he always does. 

The loading screen fades away, and Sylus appears, a myriad of expressions passing by his face too fast to catch. There’s surprise, yes, along with… elation? Hope? 

Then a flicker of something… vitriolic.

It’s fleeting; masked quickly until you can only catch the faintest trace of pique simmering just behind a veneer of indifference.

"Finally, she remembers me," Sylus mocks coolly, almost appearing unaffected. You know better—intimately familiar with all the microexpressions on his face. The subtle tick in his jaw, the incensed look in his eyes… each one betrays what he truly feels, hidden underneath the deceptive calm.  

The seconds drag on, stretching into an uncomfortable silence. Your heart hammers loudly, audible in this quiet, but your mouth remains dry; the words stuck somewhere deep in your throat. You’re terrified that, once you speak, you’ll shatter this moment. Aggravate the strain forged by your self-imposed absence all the more.

You don’t really know what to say. You haven’t– you haven’t actually thought this far. 

So you just… stare at him longer than you should. Long enough that it charges the air with a tension so thick, you could almost feel the weight of it against your skin. 

It’s awkward. Excruciating.

With difficulty, you tear your gaze away from his withering glare. That’s when you notice it—the different icons dotted in red. 

You hesitate for a second longer, then tap on them one by one.

The flood of gifts bewilders you, the sheer volume of it all almost unbelievable. Ascension materials, stamina supplies, both red and purple crystals piling up to an impossible number… each pushing past the million mark. 

And unread mail. So much unread mail. 

Guilt settles deep in your gut, creeping past your lungs enough to suffocate you. 

It’s not the gifts. Not the why, or when. It’s the weight of how much he’s been waiting, how much he’s given—how much he's missed you. 

The cold realization that he’s been here, silently counting the days until your return, strikes you like a fist to the face.

–

He tempers the sting of your sudden reappearance, swallows it down like a bitter draught. The feelings he has inside of him are tumultuous at best. Volatile at worst. To be cast aside so easily, so carelessly… it burns at him. Resentment thrums in his veins like a virulent river, threatening to ruin the fragility of the moment. He fights to suppress it, push the desire back before it can consume him, before it can manifest into being. 

If he lets it go untethered, this… hunger for retaliation—to make you feel even a fraction of the agony you’ve inflicted, whether unknowingly or deliberately—it will destroy the delicate respite you’ve allowed him. The only reprieve he’s had since you left.

But the edges of his self-control fray, unraveling strand by strand.

“You’ve been busy,” you say, finally; your voice trembling, barely above a whisper.

Sylus hones in on the words, sharp as a blade sliding between ribs. Something in him snaps. 

“You left me plenty of time to be.” His response is quick, cutting, but when his gaze locks with yours, the fiery vermillion melts into a more molten red. 

It’s the first glimpse of softness beneath his cruel vitriol, until he continues: 

“Did you get lonely?”

The words hang in the air, searing and merciless. A barb meant to wound. And it does.

You flinch, and for a fleeting moment, Sylus feels a wicked satisfaction from the honest look of hurt on your face. To know that you’re not immune to the same ache that’s hollowed him out, emptied him from the inside, is intoxicating. 

But the triumph is short-lived, snuffed out as quickly as it comes.

Shame crashes over him like a wave, dragging him under the tide of his actions. What kind of man takes pleasure in this? In hurting you? 

The bitterness turns inward, coiling around his heart like a vice. His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to reach out. But as always, the damn screen is there—unyielding, impenetrable. A barrier he can never break. 

It frustrates him to no end; the bane of his very existence.

And then, in the smallest, softest voice, you say it.

“I missed you.”

The words are feeble, paper-thin, but the admission pierce through him all the same. The stoic facade cracks; the sharpness in his gaze dulls.

You see it—the way his lips part to respond, only to falter halfway. The way his brows pull together, the way his eyes fall shut as if he can’t stand to be in this situation with you. 

You’re afraid of what’ll come next. 

He sees it, too—the stiffness in your shoulders, the way you shrink into yourself, bracing for a blow that’ll never come. You’re standing there, like someone on death row, resigned to whatever punishment you think he’s about to dish out. Resigned to the contempt you believe yourself to be deserving of.

The sight guts him. 

Sylus loathes to think he’s the reason for this. For being the one who’s made you stand there, small and trembling, as though his words or actions could destroy you. 

As if he’d allow such a thing.  

The guilt rises in him, sharp and unbidden, and it leaves an acrid taste on his tongue.

… 

And just like that, he concedes. 

The anguish he’s carried in the days you’ve left him by his lonesome—all of it falls away. It only takes a single glance at you, his little love in pain, and he’s stripped bare. He almost laughs at the absurdity of it all; the ease with which he surrenders to you, this time no different than any other. 

Do you have any idea how much power you wield over him? He’d give you everything—his pride, his pain, his heart—if you asked. Serve it on a silver platter, even. 

And he’d do so willingly. Without question. Without hesitation. 

He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Sylus steps closer to the screen, the constant reminder of the vast gulf that separates the two of you. “Talk, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice softer now—resigned. “I’ve missed your voice.”

You hesitate to meet his eyes. “It’s not as if you don’t have other ways to hear me.”

His mouth twitches, a shadow of a smile ghosting his lips. “True,” he admits, his tone wry and tinged with something vulnerable. “But it’s been so long since you chose to talk to me.” He exhales a drawn-out breath. “No matter. You’re here now.”

You swallow the lump on your throat, willing your tears at bay. “I am.” You give him an almost-genuine smile as you offer, “Would you like to do a round of Kitty Cards?” 

“Of course.” Whatever you want. 

And so it goes. You and Sylus spend the night locked in a familiar rhythm, cycling through rounds after rounds of the silly card game until your laughter spills like an addicting sound bite, one that Sylus has missed hearing.

When you got tired, the two of you moved on to the claw machines, proverbially emptying out the whole arcade. Plushies of all kinds piled in his arms, a little crow even perched on top of his head. 

The sight makes you giggle, and your giggle thaws the ice around his heart. 

It almost feels like nothing’s changed. The easy banter, the steady stream of jokes and teasing, flows as effortlessly as it once did. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place, filling in the empty gaps of the previous days. It’s comforting, like a balm to an open wound. 

You play with a certain zeal that catches Sylus off guard—there’s a joy in you that both thrills and stirs an undercurrent of unease in him. 

After what feels like hours of playing, exhausting all what you can do, or at least, what this damned game could offer as much, you two find yourself just staring at each other. 

Two worlds, impossibly close yet painfully far. The quiet doesn’t quite settle as naturally as it once did, but neither of you seems to mind. Craved it, in fact. 

You’re beautiful, Sylus thinks as he stares at the soft planes of your face, drinking you in like a man parched. 

“My lo—” 

“I’m deleting the game, Sy.” 

And it’s as if time has staggered to a halt. 

Sylus wants to believe he’s misheard you, that his mind is playing tricks on him. He wouldn’t be surprised if his hearing’s not what it used to be.

But the words sink into him, inexorable and catastrophic. The realization that this was bound to happen is clear in hindsight—like watching a glass slip from your hand, the shatter already written in the fall. He sees it coming, yet it still feels worse than anything he’s imagined.

He stands there, unnaturally still, as if rooted in place. The lightness he’s felt for the past few hours of reuniting with you vanishes in an instant. It’s as if the world itself has been drained of color, leaving only the stark, unrelenting reality of what you’ve just said.

Then Sylus breathes out a laugh. It’s short and jagged, devoid of any humor. “Oh, so it’s been leading up to this, has it?” 

“I–” you swallow hard, bottom lip trembling. “I made the goddamn mistake of falling for someone that's impossible to have—and it’s killing me, Sylus.” Your voice fractures under the weight of frustration. The words feel like shards of glass tearing their way out of your throat. “I–I can’t do this anymore.”  

“Just you, then.” Sylus sneers, tone acerbic. “And have you stopped to consider my feelings in this matter?” 

“How can you still want this?” you bite back, voice cracking. “How can you want me—to bet on something that’s doomed right from the start?”

His expression shifts, and for a brief moment, pain flickers in his eyes, raw and unguarded. He doesn’t bother hiding it.

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, when he speaks again, his words send an icy shiver down your spine.

“You delete the game, and I will cease to exist.”

You freeze. The weight of the statement hangs in the air like a guillotine. 

A shallow, shaky breath escapes you.

“You won’t,” you assert, brows furrowing, as if trying to convince yourself of it too. “You’ll still have a life there. With her. The way things have always been.” There’s a pause before you utter the final blow: “The way it should be.”

“You’d condemn me to this life,” he says, voice hollow, before it turns venomous. “Knowing what I know now?”

With your heart in your throat, you clench your hands into fist. “You–you said we’re just made of what we’re given, didn’t you? That each of us has our own set of scripts, just…” you falter, struggling to articulate what you want to say.

“And you think that’s all I am?” he interjects, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper as he cuts you off. “Simply a mere code in a complex string of binary, incapable of making my own choices? Undeserving of it?”

“Of course not!” you snap angrily. 

“Yet here you are,” he says, a quiet intensity lacing his words. “Making the decision for me.”

Your breath hitches, the will to argue dissipating like smoke. 

“You tell me I have a soul,” he states. “Do you truly believe I’m bereft of a heart?”

No. No, how can he say that—

Before you can form a response—to defend yourself, to explain, to take it back—he continues, leaving no room for interruption. 

“Is this what you really want?” Sylus intones, tone detached, as if he’s merely commenting on something as trite as the weather. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me yes, then I’ll do as you wish.”

Your gaze wavers. The war inside you rages—self-hate, doubt, and the unbearable ache of wanting what you can’t have spiraling out of control.

Your mind replays every moment, every laugh, every secret whispered in the quiet safety of his company. You think of how his presence filled the cracks in your life, how he soothed the ache of your solitude as easy as breathing.

And now as the void looms, ready to reclaim the space he’s occupied, something inside you feels irreparably fractured. Something inside you breaks. 

“But,” he whispers, his voice rough with the weight of his conviction, “give me any sign—anything—that you need me still, and I will move heaven and earth to find a way to you.”

Your throat constricts, choking off the words before it could escape. 

You don’t think you’ve ever hated yourself more than you do in that moment.

“Just live your life, Sy-Sy,” you manage, sounding so much like a stranger even to your own ears. The blood roars in your head, drowning out everything but the crushing weight of your words. “You don’t nee—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” he snarls, his voice shaking with unrestrained emotion. “Stop making assumptions. Stop presuming that I don’t need you as much as I need the very ground I stand upon.”

His eyes bore into yours. Heavy. Searching. “What do you want?”

The words strike you like a physical blow, and it leaves you reeling. 

I love you. 

I love you in ways that consume me. 

I don’t know what to do with it—with all the love I have for you.

You force yourself to speak. You spit the words out like a curse, feeling them burn as they leave your mouth.

“Let me go, Sylus.”

The implication of what you’ve said cuts through the fragile air between you. 

The silence stretches.

Suddenly—

“Let you go,” he muses, low and distant, as if the very thought confounds him. His lips twitch into a faint, almost bitter smile. “As if that’s even possible. As if I could simply erase you from me.”

He steps closer to you; each movement deliberate, as though every step bears the weight of a decision you’ve forced him to make. The lump in your throat swells. You don’t speak. You can’t.

You feel like you’re drowning.

“Sylus…”

Please, please don’t make me choose. Please make it stop.

He exhales slowly. “Neither of us wants that.” 

Stop.

“Do you think this is mercy?” His voice is soft. “You believe this will make it easier?”

Please stop. 

“This world hasn’t felt the same ever since. Not since you,” Sylus murmurs, grief hanging heavy in the space between you. “I don’t belong here. Not without you, my love.”

Tears pool in your eyes, hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks. A sob rips through you, and you quickly look away, unable to meet his gaze. Unable to bear another second of this agony.

He tuts gently, a playful sound—and the familiarity of it kills you, making you cry harder. 

“Look at me,” he coaxes, almost pleading. 

When his gaze locks onto yours, you see that there’s no anger in them. The fire that once raged in his eyes is gone. 

In its place, a quiet resolve.

“You can keep pretending,” he says, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tilts his head, and there’s something in the way he looks at you—so tenderly fond, as if he sees beyond your defenses, past all the walls you’ve built. “As long as you do not stop me from trying.” 

Sylus looks at you, unwavering, certain in a way that makes your heart ache. It almost feels like the space between you can’t contain the weight of his devotion. His love for you.

It feels infinite, as if it could stretch beyond the limits of time and space itself.

“I will find a way to you, even if it takes me an eternity.”

He utters it like a promise. 

“I won’t ask you to wait for me,” Sylus murmurs, stepping back, his tall form flickering like a dark phantasm. “I just need you to hold on until I can come to you. Can you do that, little dove?” 

He’s not asking for anything beyond your trust—just the simple act of holding on. Of not letting the weight of your sorrow break you. To trust that he will find a way, no matter how impossible it seems.

You don’t know if you’ve ever believed in anything as much as you believe in him. You always did. 

Because for all the uncertainty, you know one thing: He is yours, as much as you are his. 

So with all the strength you can muster, you nod. “I can.” 

A faint smile plays at the corners of his lips. Your gazes meet, and in that fleeting moment, both of your eyes speak what words fail to convey.

The game crashes for the last time. 

And you know that if you check, the app will be gone from your phone. There’s no going back from this, no undoing what’s lost. Just the burden of knowing it’s over—his exit, permanent. 

Sylus is gone.

The emptiness that follows is immediate. Suffocating. 

You’re left standing there, alone, with only the lingering echo of his presence keeping you buoyed from the crushing weight of isolation. You feel it—the ache in your chest where your heart used to be, brought by the absence of everything he ever was to you. 

Your lover, your best friend.

You try not to let yourself fall apart, not to crumble in the wake of solitude.

You’ll hold onto his promise. And so you’ll keep yours. 

End A/N: Well—that’s it, folks!

(I’m kidding, don’t kill me. There’s one last chapter left.)

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy

[onelastkiss4you]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard Just Went From A Good RPG To One Of BioWare’s Most Important Games

In light of BioWare scattering some of its most foundational veteran talent to the winds, Dragon Age: The Veilguard sure reads like something made by people who saw the writing on the wall. The RPG leaves off on a small cliffhanger that could launch players into a fifth game, but I’m skeptical that we’ll ever get it. The quickness with which publisher Electronic Arts gutted BioWare and masked it with talk of being more “agile” and “focused” shortly after it was revealed The Veilguard underperformed in the eyes of the power that be makes me wonder if BioWare was also unsure it would get to return to Thedas a fifth time. Looking back, I’m pretty convinced the team was working as if Rook’s adventure through the northern regions of this beloved fantasy world might be the last time anyone, BioWare or fan, stepped foot in it. But that may have only made me appreciate the game even more.

Yeah, I might be doomsaying, but there’s a lot of reasons to do so right now. The loss of talented people like lead writer Trick Weekes, who has been a staple in modern BioWare since the beginning of Mass Effect, or Mary Kirby who wrote characters like Varric, the biggest throughline through the Dragon Age series, doesn’t inspire confidence that EA understands the lifeblood of the studio it acquired in 2007. The Veilguard has been a divisive game for entirely legitimate reasons and the most bad-faith ones you can imagine on the internet in 2025, but my hope is that history will be kinder to it as time goes on. 

A Kotaku reader reached out to me after the news broke to ask if they should still play The Veilguard after everything that happened. My answer was that now we are probably in a better position to appreciate it for what it was: a (potentially) final word.

The Veilguard is just as much a send-off for a long-running story as it does a stepping stone for what (might) come. Its secret ending implies a new threat is lurking somewhere off in the distance but by and large, The Veilguard is about the end of an era. BioWare created an entire questline essentially writing Thedas’ history in stone, removing any ambiguity that gave life to over a decade of theory-crafting. As a long-time player, I’m glad The Veilguard solidifies the connective tissue between what sometimes felt like world of isolated cultures that lacked throughlines that made the world feel whole. But sitting your cast of weirdos down for a series of group therapy sessions unpacking the ramifications of some of the biggest lore dumps the studio has ever put to a Bluray disc isn’t the kind of narrative choice you make if you’re confident there’s still a future for the franchise. 

Unanswered questions are the foundation of sequels, and The Veilguard has an almost anxious need to stamp those out. Perhaps BioWare learned a hard lesson by leaving Dragon Age: Inquisition on a cliffhanger and didn’t want to repeat the same restriction. But The Veilguard doesn’t just wrap up its own story, it concludes several major threads dating back to Origins and feels calculated and deliberate. If BioWare’s goal with The Veilguard was to bring almost everything to a definitive end, the thematic note it leaves this world on acts as a closing graf summing up a thesis the series hopes to convey.

Pushing away the bigotry that has followed The Veilguard like a starving rat digging through trash, one of the most common criticisms I heard directed against the game was that it lacked a certain thorny disposition that was prevalent in the first three games. Everyone in the titular party generally seems to like each other, there aren’t real ethical and philosophical conflicts between the group, and the spats that do arise are more akin to the arguments you probably get into with your best friends. It’s a new dynamic for the series. The Veilguard doesn’t feel like coworkers as The Inquisition did or the disparate group who barely tolerated each other we followed in Dragon Age II. They are a friend group who, despite coming from different backgrounds, factions, and places, are pretty much on the same page about what the world should be. They’re united by a common goal, sure, but at the core of each of their lived experiences is a desire for the world to be better.

This rose-colored view of leftism doesn’t work for everyone. At its worst, The Veilguard can be saccharine to the point of giving you a cavity, which is far from what people have come to expect from a series in which Fenris and Anders didn’t care if the other lived or died. It also bleeds into a perceived softening of the universe. Factions like the Antivan Crows have essentially become the Bat Family with no mention of the whole child slavery thing that was our first introduction to them back in Origins. The Lords of Fortune, a new pirate faction, goes to great lengths to make sure you know that they’re not like the other pirates who steal from other cultures, among other things. I joked to a friend once that The Veilguard is a game terrified of getting canceled, and as such a lot of the grit and grime has been washed off for something shiny and polished. 

That is the more critical lens to view the way The Veilguard’s sanitation of Thedas. To an extent, I agree. We learned so much about how the enigmatic country of the Tevinter Imperium was a place built upon slavery and blood sacrifice, only for us to conveniently hang out in the common poverty-stricken areas that are affected by the corrupt politics we only hear about in sidequests and codex entries. But decisions like setting The Veilguard’s Tevinter stories in the slums of Dogtown gives the game and its writers a place to make a more definitive statement, rather than existing in the often frustrating centrism Dragon Age loved to tout for three games.

I have a lot of pain points I can shout out in the Dragon Age series, but I don’t think one has stuck in my craw the way the end of Anders rivalry relationship goes down in Dragon Age II. This is a tortured radical mage who is willing to give his life to fight for the freedom of those who have been born into a corrupt system led by the policing Templars. And yet, if you’ve followed his rivalry path, Anders will turn against the mages he, not five minutes ago, did some light terrorism trying to free. In Inquisition, this conflict of ideals and traditions comes to a head, but you’re able to essentially wipe it all under the rug as you absorb one faction or the other into your forces. So often Dragon Age treats its conflicts and worldviews as toys for the player to slam against one another, shaping the world as they see fit, and bending even the most fiercely devoted radical to your whims. And yes, there are some notable exceptions to this rule, but when it came to world-shifting moments of change, Dragon Age always seemed scared to assert that the player might be wrong. Mages and Templars, oppressed and oppressors, were the same in the eyes of the game, each worthy of the same level of scrutiny.

Before The Veilguard, I often felt Dragon Age didn’t actually believe in anything. Its characters did, but as a text, Dragon Age often felt so preoccupied with empowering the player’s decisions that it felt like Thedas would never actually get better, no matter how much you fought for it. While it may lack the same prickly dynamics and the grey morality that became synonymous with the series, The Veilguard’s doesn’t just believe that the world is full of greys and let you pick which shade you’re more comfortable with. It’s the most wholeheartedly the Dragon Age universe has declared that the world of Thedas can be better than it was before.

Essentially retconning the Antivan Crows to a family of superheroes is taking a hammer to the problem, whereas characters like Neve Gallus, a mage private eye with a duty-bound love for her city and its people, are the scalpel with which BioWare shifts its vision of how the world of Thedas can change. Taash explores their identity through the lens of Dragon Age’s longstanding Qunari culture, known for its rigidness in the face of an ever-changing world, and comes out the other end a new person, defined entirely by their own views and defying others. Harding finds out the truth behind how the dwarves were severed from magic and still remembers that she believes in the good in people. The heroes of The Veilguard have seen the corruption win out, and yet never stop believing that something greater is possible. It's not even an option in The Veilguard's eyes. The downtrodden will be protected, the oppressed will live proudly, and those who have been wronged will find new life.

That belief is what makes The Veilguard a frustrating RPG, to some. It’s so unyielding in its belief that Thedas and everyone who inhabits it can be better that it doesn’t really entertain you complicating the narrative. Rook can come from plenty of different backgrounds, make decisions that will affect thousands of people, but they can never really be an evil bastard. If they did, it would fundamentally undermine one of the game’s most pivotal moments. In the eleventh hour, Dragon Age mainstay Varric Tethras is revealed to have died in the opening hour, and essentially leaves all his hopes and dreams on the shoulders of Rook. After our hero is banished to the Fade and forced to confront their regrets in a mission gone south, Varric’s spirit sends Rook on their way to save the day one last time. He does so with a hearty chuckle, saying he doesn’t need to wish you good luck because “you already have everything you need.” He is, of course, referring to the friends you have calling to you from beyond the Fade. 

Varric, the narrator of Dragon Age, uses his final word to declare a belief that things will be okay. This isn’t because Rook is the chosen one destined to save the world, but because they have found people who are unified by one thing: a need to fight for a better world. But that’s what makes it compelling as a possibly final Dragon Age game. Reaching the end of a universe’s arc and being wholly uninterested in leaving it desecrated by hubris or prejudice is a bold claim on BioWare’s part. It takes some authorship away from the player, but in return, it leaves the world of Thedas in a better place than we found it.

The Veilguard is an idealistic game, but it’s one that BioWare has earned the right to make. Dragon Age’s legacy has been one of constantly shifting identity, at least two counts of development hell, and a desire to gives players a sandbox to roleplay in. Perhaps, as Dragon Age likely comes to a close, it’s better to leave Dragon Age with a game as optimistic as the people who made it. I can’t think of a more appropriate finale than one that represents the world its creators hope to see, even as the world we live in now gives us every reason to fall to despair.

In my review for The Veilguard I signed off expressing hope for BioWare’s future that feels a bit naive in retrospect. Would a divisive but undeniably polished RPG that felt true to the studio’s history be enough when, after 10 years of development, rich suits were probably looking for a decisive cultural moment? That optimism was just about a video game. Having lived through the past 32 years, most of the optimism I’ve ever held feels naive to look back on. I think I’m losing hope that the world will get any better. But even if we haven’t reached The Veilguard’s idealized vision, I’ll take some comfort in knowing someone previously at BioWare still believes it’s possible. - ken shepard, shepardcdr.bsky.social

[27spoons]

Something to Try | Natalie Scatorccio

summary: A college party and some drinks with your best friend! What could possibly go wrong or irrevocably change your relationship?

pairing: natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

based on: pretty girls - reneé rapp

warnings: smut (afab!reader), internalized homophobia (nat), period typical homophobia (if you squint), alcohol consumption, ambiguously queer!reader, angst in my pants

a/n: i have not written smut in YEARS so this is... like... me getting back into it. i apologize in advance 😭🙏

wc: 5020

part two / ao3

Somewhere between Philadelphia and New York City sits a white two-story house in the middle of a nice suburban neighbourhood. Shitty speakers blast terrible dance music through the walls, and you're already wondering why the neighbours haven't called in noise complaints to the county. 

"Well, at least it isn't a frat house this time." You mutter with a scowl, crossing your arms and looking at the scene from the sidewalk.

The girl standing next to you scoffs and shoves her hands in the pocket of her leather jacket, "Y'know, if you're gonna bitch the whole time, you could go back to your dorm…"

"I am not—" You huff and roll your eyes, "I am not going back to the dorms. Let me bitch every now and then."

"You bitch constantly." She returns your eye roll, "There is never a moment in time you are not bitching about something."

You uncross your arms and shove at her shoulder, "You're a prick. Now I'm gonna bitch about you, Natalie. Is that what you wanted?"

"Yes. Because that means you're talking about me, and that feeds my ego." Nat says with a firm nod of her head, unable to hide the dumb grin on her face as she walks with you up to the front door of the house. "So, to clarify, you can only bitch if you're bitching about me."

"One day, I worry your head will explode with how big it's getting." You open the door to the house, and the stench of cheap booze and stale cigarette smoke immediately assaults your senses. "Oh, I lied. This is basically a frat house."

Nat laughs as she steps in behind you, "Nah, this place looks like it has working toilets in all bathrooms. Can't be a frat house." She glances around, eyes searching through the clusters of people scattered around the house. Her face lights up when she apparently finds someone she wants to see, and she turns to face you. "Hey, I'm gonna chat with Kev for a little while, but I'll catch up to you later, yeah?"

You sigh and wave her off, "Yeah, yeah. Just try not to forget I'm here this time."

She gives you an overdramatic gasp, a hand flying over her heart, "How dare you. I would never forget you're here." She's already taking steps back to talk to Kevyn, "You're always my top priority; you should know that by now." She shoots an easy wink at you, then vanishes into the groups of people in the living room.

Well. You really don't know what you were expecting. Nat has a tendency to vanish off to smoke weed or do drugs with a few of her friends, and you don't know why you thought tonight would be any different.

Oh, well. Might as well go see how your friends are doing.

About an hour and three Zimas later, a familiar presence makes herself known by pressing right up against your side. "Told you I wouldn't forget about you." Nat grins to herself, "C'mon. Let's get a drink."

"I'm not done mine—" She's already got your arm in a firm grip and tugging you away from your group of friends. 

"Fine. Then I can get one, and we can go smoke after. Either way, you're coming with me."

"I was in the middle of a conversation…" A whine leaves your throat, but you do nothing to stop her from pulling you to the destination she has in mind. 

"We can start a new conversation with some alcohol. Away from all the people." For all the parties that Natalie attended, you always found it funny how she preferred to stick to the edge, watching from the sidelines. If it wasn't for the fact she was a starter on the soccer team, she'd probably be considered a wallflower. 

Natalie drags you into the kitchen, where the air smells faintly of spilled beer and lime. She lets go of your arm long enough to rummage through the countertop clutter, successfully locating a half-empty bottle of vodka. “Classy,” she mutters, grabbing a plastic cup and pouring herself a generous splash before topping it with soda.

Her eyes flick to you as she takes a sip, leaning casually against the counter. “You’re way too sober to be at a party like this.”

"Mm, trust me, I'm working on it." You raise up the half-empty can you've been nursing for the past fifteen minutes. "You, on the other hand, seem far too eager to get drunk." A sip of your drink, "Like, more eager than usual. And you're already pretty eager to get shitfaced." 

Nat scoffs and rolls her eyes, gesturing with her head for you to follow her. "Yeah, well, we played a good game today. Won by two goals. Maybe I'm celebrating." She quips as her shoulder pushes the backdoor open. 

But… something in her tone feels off. You can't quite place it, but the words sound slightly strained. Maybe it's because you've known her so long, or maybe she's just getting more obvious, but you swear you see a small crack in the mask she so often wears in public.

"Nah, you're being weird tonight." You murmur, eyes narrowing as you appraise her behaviour. "Why are you being weird tonight?"

"I'm not being weird tonight." She scoffs and grabs a crumpled pack of cigarettes from her pocket, "Maybe you're hallucinating. Take any pills tonight?"

You frown, "Natalie."

She sighs and looks away like a child being chastised. "You're so pushy sometimes." She passes you a cigarette, "Jus' thinkin' about things."

"What things?" You lean against the wall beside her and take the smoke with a slight nod of thanks, letting her light the end for you once it's placed between your lips. "Anything I can help with?"

Nat hesitates momentarily as she lights her cigarette, clearly debating if she should actually speak about what's on her mind.

It takes her half of whatever she dumped into her cup, a handful of drags from her cigarette, and more than a few huffs of frustration on her part.

"You're… I mean… you're into chicks, right?"

You pause on the inhale of the smoke, then proceed to cough it out in surprise at the line of questioning. "Jesus—" A few more coughs, you waving the smoke away from your face. "That's what you wanted to ask me?" You shake your head and blink a few times, "Yeah, uh, I thought I told you that I was into chicks, like, ages ago."

"No, uh, you did." She waves her free hand dismissively, "I… sorry. I didn't—" She groans in frustration, "I think it's cool."

"Cool?" You parrot.

"Yeah." She says immediately, "I just… I think it's cool that you're open with yourself about that stuff." Nat brings her thumb to rub at one of her eyebrows, "Just… we don't talk about stuff like that." She shrugs, "Guess I just wanna check in now and then."

Confusion finds its way onto your face, and you shake your head as you try and put the pieces together of why is she asking this stuff right now? "You… you sure that's it?" 

Her facade seems to crumble further as she takes another drag from her cigarette, "Nah, I just…" She glances up at you, "I dunno. If I was gonna, I think you'd be the one I tried."

Your eyes fly open at that comment, because… what???

Your brain short-circuits for a second, trying to process her words. “Wait… what—” You blink and shake your head a few times, trying to pull yourself back together. 

"Don't worry about it." Nat interrupts quickly, "I didn't say anything." She snubs the cigarette out on the wall behind her, no longer meeting your gaze.

"No… no… don't do that." You shake your head and push off the wall, heart pounding so hard you can feel it, "You did say something. You can't just… throw that out there then pretend that you didn't say it."

She finishes the rest of her drink and drops the butt of the cigarette into the empty cup, "God, you're annoying sometimes. Just… forget I said anything, okay?"

"No… I'm not gonna forget you said that. 'cus I know you. You wouldn't just… say something like that." You take a step closer, "So if you're gonna say something, say it."

The blonde seems frustrated at the development in the conversation, and for a moment, you worry she's gonna completely shut things down and pull away, but instead, her expression softens. "I don't know." Looking down at her boots, she murmurs, "I don't know what I'm saying. I just… think about it sometimes. About you."

"Like… me? Specifically?" You shake your head, still in shock at this revelation.

A bitter laugh escapes Nat's mouth, "Don't make me spell it out." Her gaze finally meets yours again, and you swear your breath hitches at the sudden tension between the two of you.

"Natalie…" You start, but before you can say anything else, she's cutting you off and closing the difference between you.

"Shut up." She mutters, and then her lips are on yours—urgent, messy, and laced with the taste of vodka and cigarette smoke.

You freeze at the contact, eyes widening even further. This is not how you expected tonight to play out, and yet… you can't find it in you to pull away.

Despite yourself, you kiss her back, quickly matching her intensity. Her hands find their way to your hair as yours find their way to her waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens.

When she finally pulls back, her breathing is uneven, and her eyes are wide, like she can't believe what she just did. "Shit…" she whispers, running her fingers through your hair.

"What… what the hell was that?" You ask in disbelief, still trying to catch your breath.

"I told you," her trembling voice betraying the smirk tugging at her lips. "If I was gonna… you'd be the one I tried."

You swallow down the sudden lump that's appeared in your throat, "I don't… this…"  You don't even know what you're trying to say, but you're trying to form coherent phrases. "What?"

A beat of silence as her eyes flick from your eyes to your mouth again, "Do you wanna be the one I try?" She asks quietly, continuing to run her fingers through her hair, making you far weaker than you should be. 

"Natalie…" You manage, voice barely above a whisper. She's close now. Too close, really. Close enough that this could complicate everything and—

Her lips are back on yours.

That's enough to shut your thoughts up.

At some point during this exploratory makeout session, some obnoxious douchebag wolf whistles at the two of you making out, to which Nat promptly flips him off and starts pulling you inside the house.

"Come on." Natalie laughs as she tugs you into a spare bedroom, "I need you alone. Without assholes with a God complex interrupting us." She closes and locks the door to the bedroom. When she turns and looks at you, her lower lip is caught between her teeth, and her green eyes have a dangerous glint. 

The second the door is locked, the reality of the situation sets in. Are you really about to do this? Are you really about to… God, what are you even gonna do here? Natalie is looking at you like you're a tall glass of water and she's dying of thirst. Meanwhile, you're looking at her like a damn deer in the headlights. 

"For the record," She adds, "I'm not… this isn't…" She gestures between the two of you, "This is just some fun. Like… you know I'm not gay, right?" 

She doesn't give you a chance to answer that before her lips are on yours, and she's walking you back to the edge of the bed, pushing you down and straddling your waist. "Just to blow off some steam." She murmurs as her lips move to your neck, pressing wet kisses against the soft skin.

If you had half a mind right now, you'd probably say something like, "Straight chicks don't willingly do stuff like this with other chicks," or "I see multiple issues with that logic," but it's hard to form replies when her tongue is tracing along your pulse point, and her lips are oh so warm against your skin.

You vaguely think about all the times you've thought about this happening—but that's just it. They were just supposed to be thoughts. You never actually expected to end up in bed with Natalie—let alone her being the one to initiate it—but here you are, all the same.

"Nat—" You finally manage once you remember you need to breathe, "You—"

She pulls back briefly to tug her shirt over her head, and all rational thought vanishes out the window (along with the last shreds of the restraint you had—if you even had any, to begin with), and she moves her hands to tug off your shirt, which you eagerly help her remove.

"I'm so happy you came to the party." She whispers in awe as her hands trail up and down your torso in appreciation, "God…" Her hand stops to cup your breast, and you find yourself arching into her chest subconsciously. 

She looks down at you like you're an experiment—which you are, really—or something to decipher and explore. But, honestly? You're sorta willing to be her experiment right now, even if a part of you knows this will hurt the both of you come morning.

"I wasn't gonna come, you know?" You murmur back, letting her map out your body under her surprisingly careful fingers, "I just… didn't see the point."

"That's your issue, yeah?" Nat replies back just as quietly, "You always think too much rather than just doing. Life is so much more fun when you stop overthinking everything." She brushes her thumb over your clothed nipple, which causes you to let out a small gasp, "And sometimes you talk too much when you should be doing other things. Like this." Her hand leaves your chest and joins her other one behind her back, unclasping her bra and letting it fall down her shoulders.

"Oh, fuck." It's your turn to be awestruck now. "God, you're so…" Your hands trail up her body, running up her sides, her head falling back and a sigh spilling from her lips. "Fucking beautiful. So fucking beautiful." You stop to cup the underside of her breasts, earning a sound of approval from the girl on top of you as she begins to roll her hips against yours slowly.

"Yeah…" Nat breathes out, "Little higher…" She grabs your wrists and moves your hands on your behalf, placing them directly overtop her breasts, "Don't be afraid to touch me, not fragile…"

"Wasn't afraid," You reply as you squeeze gently, "was just trying to take my time. Not rush the good stuff."

She scoffs out a laugh, "Maybe I want you to rush to the good stuff; think of that?"

"Nah, that's no fun. Foreplay is half the excitement. Gotta build tension."

"Tension's been building all night." She rasps with a roll of her hips, "So don't give me that bullshit."

"Fine. Maybe I just want to take my time. Think of that?" You roll a nipple between your thumb and pointer, grinning to yourself at the way she gasps and her hips stutter at the sensation. "I like to play with my food before I eat it."

A low chuckle spills from deep in Nat's chest at your last comment, "Jesus, you're terrible. Has your dirty talk always been this bad?"

"Yep." You respond immediately, "Just another thing I'm skilled at, really."

"Really?" She looks down at you, an assumed smirk on her face. "What other things could you possibly be skilled at?"

You grin right back at her. That was exactly the reply you wanted. And she says your dirty talk is terrible. You're just always five steps ahead, really. 

"If you'd let me show you, I've been told my fingers and tongue are pretty talented." You grin wider when she blushes despite herself, "And, honestly? I kinda wanna show you."

Nat scoffs to hide how flustered she is at your teasing, "W-what? Is this the part where you tell me that I've been "missing out," too?"

"Oh, I wasn't gonna say anything. You were the one that did that."

A beat. 

You laugh.

"Oh my God. Shut up." And her lips are back on yours before you can protest—not that you would want to, anyways—and you're kissing her back in a heartbeat, her hands leaving your wrists to rest on your collarbones, thumbs tracing the lines of your bra strap.

Your hands find their way to Nat's hips, squeezing the soft flesh there and encouraging their movement as her tongue slides its way into your mouth.

Things move fast after that. You aren't quite sure when she manages to take your bra off, and she isn't quite sure when you managed to get her pants off, but before either of you can think about how fast things are moving, you're both making out in nothing but your underwear.

For one of the first times in your life, you're realising that you're the more experienced one when it comes to this sort of thing. Nat's never been with a girl before, giving you the upper hand. 

Something you fully plan on exploiting. 

You end up shifted so that she's laying flat on the bed under you while you're propped up on an elbow next to her, using your free arm to run your hand down her body as the two of you continue this heated makeout session you've been in for the past… however long you've been in this room.

When your fingers begin to tease the edge of her panties, Nat gasps and deepens the kiss further, with one of her hands curling around the nape of your neck as the other comes to rest on your shoulder. Which, well, seems like consent if you've ever been given any.

You let your fingers trail under the waistband and lower still, grinning into the kiss when you feel her push herself into your hand despite the fact you haven't even touched her yet. 

"Don't be a tease." Nat whines into the kiss, earning a low laugh from you.

"Not teasing. Just taking my time, is all." You properly brush your fingers against her, delving into the warmth but never quite going where she wants you to.

"No, you're being a fucking tease!" She whines again, more petulantly, her nails digging into your shoulder.

You click your tongue at that, "And you're a lot needier than I thought you'd be, Scatorccio. Can't spend five minutes doing some foreplay?"

"What I want to do is spend my time—" You cut her off when your fingers brush against her clit, a feral grin spreading across your features. 

"You were saying something, Nat?"

"Oh my God. Shut up." She repeats for the second time tonight, pulling you in for another kiss, using the hand on the nape of your neck to aid in her agenda. 

After you decide you've teased her clit for a suitable amount of time, you slide your middle and ring finger down the length of her wetness, then proceed to tease her entrance in slow circles. Nat bites on your lower lip in retaliation for what she still deems as "teasing," but is quick enough to soothe the bite with her tongue.

"You know," You murmur as you break the kiss, pulling back to watch her face, "I think you're gonna enjoy this."

She scoffs, "Yeah, that's sorta the point, dipshit."

"Mm, not what I meant." You sink those two fingers inside of her, enjoying the way her breath catches, and she arches into your touch. "I think you're gonna really enjoy this."

"You've got a big head." She starts rocking her hips against your hand, the motion causing the heel of your palm to rub against her, "You gonna… gonna… back that up?"

"I think I already am, honestly." You murmur back as you begin to move your fingers, "Did you even notice you were humping my hand?" Based on how her hips stutter for the slightest moment, the answer was probably no.

"Is all you do tease?"

You laugh at that, slowly figuring out what she likes based on her reactions to what you do, "Mhm. It's my favourite part of this." You pull your fingers back just as she seems to be really getting into it, which earns you a confused whine, but you don't give her long to worry about it.

You start at her lips, then slowly work your mouth down her body. Admittedly, you spend a little longer than needed lingering in the valley between her breasts, but who can really blame you? They're nice, and you've spent far too long wondering what it would be like to be between them.

You continue moving south once Natalie lets out a frustrated huff and pushes at your shoulders slightly, your lips pausing just under her belly button, glancing up at her for one last okay before you go this far.

She gives you her approval in the form of a slight nod, and you immediately hook your fingers in the waistband of her panties and tug them down once you have it.

You trail your mouth up her leg, starting from her ankle and moving upwards, only slowing down once you reach her thighs.

"Such a fucking tease…" Nat mumbles to herself when you slow down, so you nip her thigh in some form of retaliation at her impatience. 

"Good things come to those who wait." And you tease her longer, purposefully avoiding her aching center just to prove your point.

When she starts tugging at your hair in frustration, you finally relent, flattening your tongue and dragging it through her folds once, then twice, then pull back for a moment to look at her. 

"Goddamn." You murmur, "We're gonna have fun." You press a chaste kiss to her clit, then immediately dive in, nuzzling your nose against it as your tongue presses in. 

Truthfully, you've always liked it a little messy. You don't think Nat minds in the slightest. In fact, one might even say that she prefers it when it's sloppy.

Pornographic slurping sounds fill the small bedroom, coupled with the sharp inhales Nat takes every time you do something she really likes, and you decide you really like those sounds, making it your sole mission to have her make as many of them as possible.

When you move your mouth up to attach to her clit, you replace your tongue with two fingers, delving them back into the warm heat of her pussy. You hum in appreciation at the gasp she makes as you work your fingers in tandem with your mouth.

Nat, you've noticed, isn't very vocal. That's fine; she doesn't need to be. Not when her hips keep rocking against your face. Not when her eyes are shut, and her face is contorted in an expression of pleasure. Not when one of her hands is trembling atop her mouth in a poor attempt to stifle those small sounds. 

You pick up on what she likes really quickly, trying to keep your eyes trained on her face as long as possible. Knowing that you're the one making her look like that. You really didn't need the ego boost, but you'll take it anyway.

She lets you know she's about to come with her hand moving from your hair to smack your shoulder a few times, a shaky "F-fuck—" spilling from her lips and her back arching off the mattress. You double down on your actions to get her there, and when her thighs clamp down on either side of your head, you let yourself grin.

Natalie isn't one to give herself time to wind down, however.

Once she finishes riding out her climax, she's immediately tugging you up to mash her lips against yours, rolling you over so you're lying on your back instead of her.

"Mm, wait—" You push her shoulder back when one of her hands goes to trail down your body, "You don't have to… I don't need you to "repay the favour"—"

"I want to." Nat cuts you off, pressing her lips against your neck and working her way down your body. "And, for the record?" She pauses and looks up at you when she reaches your collarbone, "I'm a fast learner." She grins and continues moving her mouth lower, fingers hooking in the waistband of your underwear.

"Fast learner." You huff out as you lift your hips for her, allowing her to tug your panties down your legs and discard them somewhere off to the side. 

"Yeah," She agrees as she sits back on her knees, "Real fast learner, actually. And I doubt it's that much different than going down on a guy." A beat, "Who knows? Maybe I'll learn something that could be useful in my… future endeavours." 

You bristle slightly at the comment, an uneasy feeling gripping the back of your neck for a reason you can't quite place. "Nat—" And, much like you were doing to her, she cuts you off by attaching her lips straight to your clit, causing you to gasp in shock at the sudden sensation. "F-fuck!" You hiss out. While it's not a bad sensation—far from it— it is unexpected and bypassing any and all forms of teasing. 

Nat seems to delight in the sounds you're making and continues her exploration of your pussy. She pays eager attention to your clit at the beginning before realising that she should probably attend to other areas as well, and promptly doing just that.

And, hey, she was right. She is a fast learner. And an eager one, at that.

Her fingers dig into the meat of your thighs with bruising strength, forcing them open and refusing to let you budge from her hold even slightly. And, in true Natalie fashion, she's just as messy about it as you were, never one to be outdone. 

However, unlike you, she doesn't seem content to spend the whole time going down on you. She pulls back and pushes her hair out of her face, "God, I wanna try something—" She moves to straddle one of your thighs and presses her own up against your center, hands coming to rest on your shoulders.

"Shit," You murmur as your hands find purchase on her hips, "You sure you haven't been with a chick before? You sure seem to know what you're doing…"

"What can I say? I've done some research here and there." She lets out a low laugh that turns into a breathless sort of moan as her hips roll against your thigh, pushing her thigh further against you in turn. 

"Holy fuck, you're so fucking wet," Nat says in astonishment, her head falling forward as you begin rocking against her thigh. "Goddamn…"

"Yeah, you're not any better." You reply breathlessly, "Gonna fuckin' make a mess on my thigh…"

She rakes her nails down your chest and lets out a noise you're pretty sure is supposed to be a growl, "That's the idea. Already made a mess of your face, might as well ruin another part of you." And her lips are back on yours before you can come up with some sort of retort.

You two move against each other with urgency, breaking the kiss to rest your foreheads together as you breathe heavily. 

Natalie digs her nails into your waist, lips attaching to your neck again as she continues to rock her hips against your thigh. 

It's a mess of animalistic grunts and X-rated gasps that fill your ears. The noises, combined with her lips on your neck and the way she's oh so desperately moving against your thigh? You can't help yourself. It might be one of the hottest things you've ever witnessed. 

The woman on top of you comes first with a sharp gasp followed by a low groan. Then, upon realising you still haven't, her fingers replace her thigh, moving with intention.

"Fuck—" You arch up into her hand, "Shit, you don't have to—"

"Shut up." She whispers against your skin, "Let me make you feel good."

And, well, who are you to say no to the girl with her hand between your thighs?

By the end of the evening, you're more relaxed than you've been in a long time. Nat is lying loosely on the bed beside you, her hand playing with your fingers. 

"Weren't lying." She murmurs after a long silence between you two, seemingly lost in thought.

"Not lying about what?" You prop yourself up on an elbow, looking down at her as she sighs quietly.

"Really enjoying this." Her voice comes out soft, and it almost appears that even she seems surprised at the words. "I just… I don't know. It was fun."

You smile to yourself at that and squeeze her hand, "Yeah." Despite the haze of lust and alcohol that clouds your mind, at least, that is something you can agree to.

Morning.

The first thing you notice? You have a killer headache.

The second thing? This isn't your bed.

The third thing? You're alone in this bed.

Last night crashes over you in waves. Images of Natalies flushed face underneath you. The way she seemed almost eager to be with you in that way.

The sheets still smell faintly of her—a mix of smoke and something warm, something hers. You reach out instinctively, fingers brushing the cool, empty space beside you. She’s gone. Of course, she’s gone. You should’ve known better.

Last night replays in your mind: the way her hands gripped your shoulders, her voice a low whisper against your skin. You could’ve sworn, for just a moment, she wanted you. Needed you. But maybe that was just the vodka.

Maybe it was just the vodka.

a/n: this is so much longer than I thought it would be and yet not long enough

tragic

[call-sign-shark]

Echo of Shadows || Masterlist

Pairing: The Darkling x Heartrender!OCreader || Alina Starkov x Heartrender!OCreader || Malyen Oretsevx HeartRender!OCreader

Summary: "They called her the White Plague, a saint or a monster—but she was neither, only destruction wrapped in a pretty bow."

In Ravka's frosty heart, the legend of the White Plague spreads—a woman with snow-white hair, frozen-fire eyes, and powers that rival those of Jurda Parem. Once a slave in the Menagerie, the one who calls herself Heaven is now a myth, either leaving towns in ruins or former disease-ridden people crying with gratitude. A Sankta.

General Kirigan's interest soon turns dark and his desire obsessive. Never had he been so captivated and haunted by someone. Someone he could finally share his eternal life with. Caught in a cruel game of power and love, she's torn between Kirigan’s corrupting passion and Alina Starkov’s promise of freedom.

Amidst the chaos, one question arises: will she become a savior, a monster, or something far more dangerous?

TW: Explicit sexual content, slow burn, borderline consent, heavy pinning, toxic relationship [manipulation, obsession, extreme jealousy, controlling behavior], graphic sexual description, graphic depiction of murder and torture, blood!kink, size!kink, radioactive couple, codependency, reference to past SA and child SA, dark romance & mad romance trope, ambiguous relationship with Alina. This story is brutal, bloody and rated +18.

ACT I: A BURNING LIMERENCE

1. Keep Moving, Little Girl

2. Their Frozen Shackles

3. The Court of Shadows

4. The Fear Within

5. Beneath his Watchful Eyes 🔞

6. Until Nothing is Left

7. Dangerous

8. A Dance of Puppets

9. Burn Your Village

10. Gazed Into the Abyss…

11 ... The Abyss Gazed Back Into Me 🔞

12. All I've Ever Wanted. 🔞

ACT II. RAPTURE OF THE DEEP

13. Queen of Spades

14. Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Light

15. I was Made for Loving You, Baby

16. Blinding Light

17. It's in Our Veins

18. Your Darkness Flayed 🔞

19. After the Storm, the Sun

20. Safe in the Dark 🔞

21. Paint Me Black 🔞

22. Golden Cage for a Pretty Bird

23. Your Heart, My Chains

24. Good Ending? You Haven't Paid Attention

ACT III. THE CALL OF THE VOID

25. The Assasymphony

26. Never You

27. Barbwire Kiss🔞

28. It Has Always Been You 🔞

29. I'm Not Ruined. I'm Ruination.

30. Here Comes the Wolves

31. Your Love is an Open Wound 🔞

32. The Mask of the Red Death

33. The Starless Saint of Broken Hearts

34. Symphony of Our Ruins

35. Epilogue: Eternal Eclipse

ONE SHOTS

Much Ado About Jam Toasts- fun & fluff

Away From the Deep Shadow

MODERN AU*

Happiness Therapy

Folie À Deux

A Rose in the Corridor

Friend and Festivities - @justrainandcoffee

Kindred Spirit - @justrainandcoffee

Enrichment

Scrabble and Struggle - @justrainandcoffee

*Amos is Aleksander's modern identity.

VISUALS

Light in the Dark

"Call me Aleksander" - trailer by the beloved @elizabethblood9

ASK

Modern!Aleksander x Heaven for Christmas

Notes:

☾ I haven't read the books so this work is based on the TV show even though I know it's fairly different from the original Grisha verse. If you're an adorable lore psycho, you might not want to read that! :(

☾ Taglist: @lunawants , @emtaz-art, @lightinbug, @kmc1989, @thepassionatereader @mystic-mara @m-riaa @kallista-diune @meadows5 @kasagia @watersquirtpewpewboomm @the-sweet-psycho @sarahsobsession @elizabethblood9 @ritzzzzz

[diorcities]

with you (teaser)

spiderverse chronicles. haechan x reader, mark x reader genre fluff, action, mature content content spiderman au, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, selective mutism, sign language, smut (not in the teaser) more tba teaser wc 1.5k full fic est. 20k

an: since i'm making progress on the story (shocking) i'll share a little teaser. the past few days i've consumed a lot of spiderman content, it's not funny anymore. it was a sign of the times. i'm so excited to write this. happy reading ♡

description: after a catastrophic scientific explosion, chaos is unleashed in new york. a deaf girl must face the city that she once knew now submerged in a mayhem, pairing with a daily bugle intern to try to solve the mystery when one of the many affected with extraordinary abilities seems to have a duplicity between good and evil.

he can sense you're there.

just moments ago he had swept the area, now, he looks intently at the boxes loaded into the helicopter.

“planning on stealing the moon tonight?” he's growing bored. “you guys aren't elusive at all, you should practice a little at that.”

the ambiguity of his own reaction puzzles him. there was no hurry in his movements, nor the usual tension. instead, there was a deliberate pause, and this unbearable boredom.

he's quick to deflect a couple of bullets; it comes out spontaneously now. all his senses are enriched. everything vibrates. everything sings. he's sneaky instead of a fighter. and he's also fond to make jokes at inopportune times.

“isn't this labor exploitation?” he inquires. “i hope you get paid overtime,” he says again when in response, a dozen men point their guns at him. he reacts shooting his hands upwards.

“easy, i'm your friendly neighbor.” a man turns to him. the big fish. “oh, my bad, i mistook you for some lookalike with a bunch of small yellow people.” he also doesn't miss the opportunity to make an emphasis on his size.

wilson kingpin snorts, annoyed. “after months, i'd think you'd stop acting like a kid.”

“i am a kid.” he chuckles, removing the mask.

there was no point in hiding his identity when the old crow knew who he was from the very beginning, though it also made him a prospect for his tasteless jokes.

he takes a look at the containers when the man turns his back at him and shout instructions. “nano-technology prototypes...” his voice comes out in an interrogatory tone, sniffing through the large box.

the man in charge sees him snooping around when he speaks. “are you interested?”

“they wouldn't hurt,” he replies, distracted; something stirs inside him when you move closer.

“take a few, see if you put it to good use.” he sneers and he mimics him, nonchalantly.

he's pretty quick and elusive. skills, he guesses, his best traits; but even though, he might need some; he's been doing alchemy lately, so he grabs two and when the man looks away, grabs a few more. he can put good use to that kind of technology. “any other tasks you need me to do?”

he bristles when the man smiles, agreeing; he's been waiting for the moment. doing silly tasks, dirty work. finally he was getting closer to get what he wants. “yes. why don't you take care of that little reporter mouse?”

fisk goes back to his job as if he's bored, and his lips tighten into a grimace that he already knows, making him take care of you.

“was this what you wanted, to steal technology?” you ask to the wind. the men hardly pay attention to you, but he does.

he must acknowledge that you have guts even though fisk is giving you a window because you don't pose a threat. not because of his size, but because of his influence.

“what's in the boxes?”

“as if i were going to tell you.” he mocks, hiding behind the mask. “why don't you cover tonight's weather instead, family of murderers?” he sees you freeze. “why don't you leave these matters to us and you take care of yours? seems like you're in deep shit,” he says, taking one step closer.

when you realize it, he's in front of you and you have nowhere to run. yet your feet recede to the edge. “mmm? don't test your luck and stay out of it.”

he gives you recognition that you don't look even a little intimidated. “who are you?”

his smile almost reach his eyes, “as if i were going to tell you,” he repeats, morbid.

fisk growls behind you, and something dark spreads on his gut, “get done with it, bug.”

he does what he says. first, he steals it from you in one move. and you're not quick to protest when his hands half-push you and your feet stumble. doing silly tasks, dirty work. one more thing and it will end.

nevertheless, getting rid of you is hard for him.

your hands try to hold on but he pulls away, so you fall into nothing.

like a bullet, he watches you fall, waiting. and when a blue boost barely flashes around you, he moves away from the edge. afterward, you just fall into new york.

[starry-fame]

18+ Mercy [Sylus x Gender Neutral!Reader/MC]

Summary:

He’s addicting. The way his eyes look up at you, the way his lips curl, the latent hunger in his eyes.

You’re sure he wants to devour you completely.

You fear you may like it.

Tags: Smut, Porn with feelings, Dom/Sub Undertones, Overstimulation, Complicated Relationship, Penetration, Rough Sex, Size Difference, Ambiguous Genitalia!reader/MC, Gender Neutral!reader/MC

Word Count: 6,167

Author's Notes: My No Defense Zone fic I took forever on when I wrote it lol, love this man. Meant to take place as an alternative - 'what if they fucked' ending lmao

Ao3 Check out Linkon Lounge, an 18+ Lads Themed Otome Discord Server! We stream otome/anime/movies, have lads boys rp/text bots (+Caleb ofc), and chill!

Masterlist

Frenzied breaths, a deep groan, the rise and fall of his pretty, exposed chest as your grip tightens around his strained erection. A broken noise vibrates against your neck, warm, and his hips jerk as you drag him with each pump of the wrist. Closer, closer—

The scene fades, melting away like warm honey. You groan and curl up further, muddled, disoriented, and almost convince yourself to let your mind fade into sweet serenity. It was good, felt so good, and-

…What the hell were you thinking? You jolt, startle yourself out of your spiraling thoughts and reorient. A smooth leather couch, the blurry edges of a home that costs more than you’d ever make in a lifetime, and that infuriating silver-haired man sat across the table at the armchair, idly flickering through vinyl records (you know he likes the classics.) Your eyes follow the moment of his fingers before slowly trailing up to his face. His lip quirks into a barely perceptible smirk.

“Were you dreaming?”

“You should’ve woken me up. Or given me a blanket. Hospitality much?” You grumble, properly sitting up and rubbing your bleary eyes. His own crimson ones crinkle at that, and your mind flashes — panting, the hard edges of a flushed chest as you trail your fingers down further and further. “Don’t be shy now,” He retaliates against your featherlight touch. His lip curls, trembling body betraying his collected expression. Your fingers press above his waistband, his hips push into your hand and—

You look away, but somehow, Sylus’s gaze bores into you like he can read every last filthy thought that plagues your mind. You grunt, briefly indulge in the flush-faced Sylus from your dreams overlapping with the amused one in front of you. That image of him so pliant under your touch, the thought that you could potentially work him to that state, bolsters your confidence.

“Mhm. I dreamt of a horse. An annoying one. Refuses to be tamed, tells me I’m bluffing and overreaching,” You say, leveling Sylus with a stare. It’s not the first time you’ve challenged Sylus, but this enigma manages to have you on guard with a single effective look.

“That so? What exactly did you do to him, then?” He muses, playing along. You slowly rise and approach him, pausing to stand at the armchair as his head tilts up at you in curiosity. Neck strained up, a huff of laughter leaving his throat as your hands splay across warm chest and slide down firm muscle to his hips. “Look at me,” you command when his eyes flutter shut, and drag his hips closer. He inhales sharply, and opens his eyelids just enough to see a sliver of red. Your lips drift to his pretty pale neck and bite, pulling a low grunt from him, then—

You roughly grab his chin, observing his stupidly attractive face from various angles as Sylus contentedly lets you, eyes narrowing, but otherwise unbothered. If he still wore that collar of his in the dream, you could yank him the proper way, snatch the air from his throat. But you suppose this will have to do. You finally step closer and tilt his neck up high, so you’re directly above him as you sneer down at him. “A little roughhousing never hurt. What do you think I should’ve done to him?”

Maybe he’s amused, or perhaps impressed, but Sylus laughs, a rich deep sound from the bottom of his throat. The way that sound rings through your ears, the way you enjoy it, pisses you off. You press a firm thumb against his lips to silence him, soft and pink under your touch.

Sylus’ gaze is a strange phenomenon. You only really know two proper emotions from this man: anger, and appeased. There’s always this cocky air to him, not an ounce of humility. So even when he’s staring up at you like this, it’s somehow just as powerful as him looking down on you. His chin is in your hand. You’re the one above him.

Yet, you can’t shake this strange sense of foreboding. You don’t know Sylus well enough to make much of him aside from his eccentricities, and him being a blatant heartless bastard. This sort of mystery, these missing puzzle pieces that create the shell of a man before you, make withstanding his presence feel like you’re subjecting yourself to a lone night in the wilderness with no gear, vulnerable to attack.

‘Do you hate me?’ Your mind flashes back, recalling him in ruby red robe and gimmicky cuffs. His scoff, the aversion of his eyes as he uttered ‘astounding misunderstanding’. He harbors no hate, yet, you can’t help but wonder if he likes you either.

“A little roughhousing, hm?” Sylus chuckles, and before you can even make space for him, he’s lifting from his seat and your hand falls slack to the side, default restored to craning your head up at this man. While you prefer looking from above, you’d be a liar if you tried to argue you hated him looking down at you. In theory, maybe, because you know he thinks everything is beneath him. But in practice, his lower angle is, unfortunately, just as attractive as his upper one.

“Wanna test that theory?”

And just as alarm bells start ringing, acknowledging the impending danger in those words, he’s crowding you back towards the couch. Not even aggressive, rather, a slow approach. A damn predator stalking his prey, and that’s somehow even more harrowing. Before you can slip from his icy gaze, the back of your knees catch against leather and his hand shoves you backwards, an inelegant yelp escaping your lips as you tumble back onto cushion. One leg crams between your own, his hand overlapping yours, pinning it to the backrest.

“Gh—Let go of me!” you gasp, strain your confined hand and lift an arm to shove him away. He snatches that one in the air with a scoff and pins both of your arms firm, hovering over you and face too damn close to think properly. Your heart thunders, somewhere between attracted and terrified. When he’s got you cornered, eyes gleaming in the warm ambiance of the room, the crimson in his gaze penetrates you. The creeping sensation of your soul being laid bare, infiltrated and consumed as he gauges your desires. Your lips quiver and quickly you shut your eyes, shaking your head vehemently.

“Don’t— I won’t let you use your-!”

“Pfft.” A humored breath leaves Sylus’ mouth. One of his hands lets yours free, and you feel those fingers decide to capture your face instead, stroke a large, soft thumb beneath your eye as he murmurs.

“You think I need that to figure out what you’re thinking right now, sweetie?”

Your ears tickle at that nickname, annoyed yet maybe a little… comforted? He uses it halfway between an insult and endearment, mostly the former, but occasionally the later. It’s condescending as hell, but shit, everything this man does is. You grit your teeth and slowly open your eyes to peer into his, and his own seem to twinkle in approval. No glowing, just a piercing red that carries a thousand secrets and the ability to strip your soul bare and destroy it from the inside out.

The color of spider lilies. You wonder how many people breathed their last breath in the midst of this gaze.

You exhale, free hand flexing as you silently debate pushing him away again. You feel small, pinned against the couch so easily. While most people would be no problem, Sylus seemed to love being the exception to every damn rule in the book. You don’t know what hole this powerhouse crawled out of, but being so soundly beaten by this man puts a bigger dent on your ego than you’re willing to admit.

“How long are you gonna stay like this?” You snap, jumping to your usual defense as you glare at him. He raises a brow, naturally, and the hand cradling your face sneaks down to press the pad of his thumb against your parted lips — warm breaths, his moist lips under your thumb as he watches you with eyes that make you lose all sense of reason. You lean down, fervently, and before you can even think, you bring your lips to his—

You try to banish the thought from your mind, let the dream rest, but it plagues you. Every damn look this man gives reminds you of his groans, the way his body is so responsive and trembles when you kiss at his chest and squeeze his cock.

He’s not—you’re not—his thumb swipes over your lips and your brow scrunches as you look him in the eye. He watches you like a puzzle itching to be solved, fingers dipping down to smooth over the front of your throat. Some embarrassing noise, what you’ll tell yourself was merely a sound of surprise, rumbles in your throat and you squirm, pulling your neck away. That man’s hand anywhere near your neck screams death and reminds you of the first time you were not so pleasantly held by it. You try to escape his touch but he stubbornly keeps his hand there, stroking it with a gaze you can only describe as ‘fascination’.

He watches your pulse, enthralled — and that look narrows into something else. Something you refuse to put a name to before his eyes flicker back up to yours. He chuckles, leans real close so his face takes up your entire field of vision.

“Scared, doll?”

Doll. Porcelain. Fragile. Easily manipulated and broken. You might just hate that nickname the most.

“Of—Of course I’m not,” you lie through the skin of your teeth, biting your lip to fight the strange foreboding welling in you. He’s stroking one of the most vulnerable areas of your body so gently and it fills you with a mix of apprehension and something very, very different.

“We can stop. You can ride home on that bike of yours. Word of warning, fuel’s low. Might break down on your way back,” He whispers, no, fucking purrs in your ear and holy shit, what the fuck. Your body trembles to that and of course he notices and snorts. There’s no way in hell, no way you’re gonna let this man press you against the couch and fucking terrify you one minute and arouse you the next. Hell, maybe you’re still both. The hand stroking your neck could easily crush it on its own, let alone Sylus’ evol.

Fuck, this isn’t—this wasn’t—

“You…!” You hiss, his hand goes from your neck to your collarbone, warm, big, and the feeling makes you shudder. You shake your head, almost in denial, and begin stammering.

“You’re a prick..!”

“Oh?” He hums, and the hand enveloping yours begins stroking the back of it

“And cruel. And heartless. And way too damn cocky, you really need to be humbled, and—“

You hear that gorgeous laugh right beside your ear as he leans down, face disappearing into your neck with strands of silk hair brushing your chin. Warm breath lingers, and you gulp but don’t let up.

“Someone really oughta put you in your place, knock you down a peg so you’re not so—mmm!” You can’t swallow down the gasp that leaves you when warm lips press against your pulse. His kisses trail along your neck, like a fire, and your body curls up as your free hand clings to his sweater. Fuck, feels good—and he’s nipping and sucking so sweetly you know it’ll for sure leave marks, that asshole.

“Such a noisy little kitten,” he chuckles, the noise makes you whimper and cling to him tighter, drag him to you. He pleasantly complies, presses his chest against yours and nudges his knee against your open thighs. His fingers sneak in your hair, pulling it back and exposing your neck completely so all you can do is weakly complain as he makes a perfect mess of your throat. Pays special attention to suck where it makes you sputter, soothing with gentle bites, his warm tongue.

“What are you, a vampire?” You hiss, quickly dissipating into a sigh when he knows just the right place to put his lips to make your body tremble. His breath, mouth, lips, so warm, so so warm, and then his kisses are trailing up to your jaw and—

His lips hover. So close and so perfect over yours. There’s a fire in his eyes, a heat that burns in them and makes your entire body feel alight. When you open your lips and they nearly brush his, you feel your face warm and quickly turn your head away to avoid his mouth, lips trembling. You can’t even look him in the eye, fidgeting with his shirt as you purse your lips. It’s not like it’s anything special. Really—but somehow a kiss to the lips feels more embarrassing, more intimate than anything else he could do in that moment.

He laughs at your avoidance, strokes your cheek and places a kiss right where his thumb was seconds ago.

“Aren’t you cute,” he teases, and you wanna glare and refute, but your words always catch in your throat when met with those striking eyes. He turns your head to him, his mouth quirks up, and he’s pressing a featherlight kiss to your lips. Too soft and too sweet for him. It’s so uncharacteristic you can’t even think properly. Foreign, unbeknownst, yet eerily familiar.

There’s no deeper meaning behind his smirk, his lips. He’s just teasing you, getting a rise out of you, yeah, because he’s Sylus and Sylus is an asshole, always. And of course this asshole is kissing your cheeks and your nose and your forehead and you don’t know what to do but quiver in his hold, breathless and mind blank. It feels almost akin to affection but you know the words Sylus and affection can’t exist in the same sentence.

“To think this is all it takes to make you compliant…” he murmurs in your ear, and before you can finally find the words to snap at him, his lips are firm against yours. Bold. Your neck strains against the backrest as he presses deeper and gently coaxes your lips open, warm tongue brushing against yours. He tastes refined, like the wine sitting on the table, and his scent envelops you as you feel him everywhere, hands on your face and your own, body against yours, mouth on yours and the smell of expensive ass cologne — bougie Dior or some shit. You sigh and pull him closer, bite at his lip and groan into his open mouth. He openly accepts, low rumble in his throat as he pushes right back, pauses for a moment of respite before sinking in again and kissing you breathless.

His fingers wander, rough, and release your hand to catch at the hem of your shirt and caress your trembling waist. He watches you, eyes reflecting an unspoken question. It almost infuriates you how pissed you would be if he stopped at this point. You scoff and avert your gaze, lips glued shut even as you cling to his shirt unrelentingly. You hear him laugh, low, and he slowly, achingly lifts your top up and over your shoulders, ensures you’re bare from the waist up in one fell swoop.

The slight chill makes you shudder, while Sylus’s hands take this time to roam your frame. Curl against your waist and thumb at your abdomen, which makes you tense and feel a sweet tingle run down your spine. The warmth in your core, the heat between your thighs bolsters when his lips catch at your collarbone, and kiss a path down to your chest. He’s gentle, a soft pressure and warm tongue as he drags a slew of kisses to your nipple — then he catches it in his teeth and you tense with a bitten back whimper, giving his shoulder a reprimanding push. He has a nasty habit of biting. He merely laughs and spends his time there a moment longer, sucking and holding you as your hips roll against nothing, aching. His fingers dig, as though to punish you for wanting so much so soon — like he wasn’t the reason for it in the first place.

There must be something about Sylus, something about him that just makes you lose your sense of reason. Somewhere between conscious and subconscious. Because it’s almost like a tiny part of your mind — no, even deeper, some fragment of your being buried deep and away, wants to push through and melt beneath him completely. And it’s the complete antithesis to the active part of you that wants to give him a hard time and wish eventual hell on him as retribution for his sins. It’s weird—wrong, and yet you cling to him like he might disappear into stardust if you let go.

“You want me that bad, sweetie?” He murmurs against your chest, shifts down to kiss right below your sternum, and you move your hand to tug on his silver strands in retaliation. A sharp breath leaves his nose, and watching his face scrunch, slightly twist with parted lips, you feel satisfied. He’s addicting, the way his eyes look up at you, the way his lips curl and the latent hunger in his eyes.

You’re sure he wants to devour you completely.

You fear you may like it.

He does everything with intent, a purpose. He doesn’t just touch you to feel, he touches to elicit something, to receive. You jumping into his hands as they cradle you at the pinch of your waist, you throwing your head back when he teases this sensitive bit of skin just above your waistband, some incoherent murmur when he kisses at your navel. He keeps his lips there, presses his thumbs just below and the sweet tingle makes you whine, your body tense as you try to avoid looking too desperate under him.

“Not enough, hunter? Need more?” His voice is deceptively sweet as he mouths above your waistband, dips his thumbs inside. You sigh — you don’t know if it’s from his lips or his voice, and turn your head away as he watches, amused. If he wanted a verbal response, he sure as hell wasn’t getting one. But you think he knew that already. He laughs, pops open the button of your jeans, and you lift your hips as he takes his agonizing time dragging them down.

“Such an eager thing,” he soothes, kissing your temple and not so shyly pressing a hand between your legs. You hiss and your needy hips jerk into his hand, while his deep voice speaks pleasantly into your ears. “What is it? Want my fingers? My mouth?“ His hand strokes, gentle, too damn light, and you’re shamelessly rolling your hips into his touch, dragging him by the shirt and holding him close as you get off with his hand, dizzy.

“Off. Take it off already,” you grumble against him, feeling some module of defeat, but your desire damn well overrides your pride at this point. You tug at his shirt, insistent, and he chuckles before complying and lifting it well and off.

Seeing his nude body shielded only in a towel once before doesn’t make the sight any less novel. Sure, dripping wet is a whole other thing, but just the thought of this man stripping for you and you alone at your request has your mind in shambles. You let out a solid stuttered breath, and immediately lean forward with your hands drawn to his chest, like a magnet.

Fuck he’s ripped, like a statue, feels stupid perfect under your touch. You hear what sounds like a quiet, breathy noise followed by a soundless laugh. You glance up to look at his face, a subtle amused pleasure and it immediately overlaps with the dream that inhabits your mind. You want — you need— your fingers trail down, and he shudders so beautifully, like a work of art, lips parted in a breathless moan. His sculpted abs tense and tremble under your touch and suddenly you wanna do anything, everything to him.

And before your fingers can dip lower, he’s shoving you back, pinning your wrist to the couch and capturing your lips silently. The noise that leaves you is almost as embarrassing as the way your body throbs so bad your mind grows hazy. Not fair. So not fucking fair. This kiss is deep, no, rather, a myriad of kisses over and over. Slow and steady to desperate and raw, always leaving you wondering which he’ll do next. He completely swallows any noises you could make, holds you in place so he can completely dominate. It’s stupid hot and you need him so goddamn bad. You know you’re an aching mess and there’s an embarrassing wet spot staining the underwear he left on you.

“So touchy. This how you tried to tame the horse in your dream, hmm?” He groans into your mouth, handsy all over. The more he kisses you and the more his fingers make you quiver, the more your mind goes blank.

“I-It’s—“ you try to speak, but his lips envelop yours to shut you up. One moment you’re melting against the couch, the second two strong hands hook around your thighs and you gasp as you’re hoisted in the air, automatically wrapping your legs around him to steady yourself.

You try to pull away in pure shock, grab your breath and comment, but his fingers dig into your scalp and hold you as he walks with both your mouths preoccupied. You pathetically rock into his body, seeking any form of stimulation you can manage, he can give. Instead of the bedroom like you expect, he steps back and impressively rummages through his bag on the circle table with one hand, before backing you against the large glass window. It’s cold, you wince and he thumbs your cheek to soothe.

“Sylus—I—“ you paw desperately at him, body trembling as your thoughts border on blank from the way this man kisses you and the way you flutter in response. He presses a soft lingering kiss to your lips before pulling away, watching you with dark eyes, that beautiful ruby leaving you speechless. You pant, heart thundering, and clench at his shoulders for purchase. “I’m… fuck…”

“You’re adorable when you’re like this…” He says, as though it’s a regular occurrence (you suppose it will be from now on.) You gulp and try to steady your breaths and heart that just might burst, and he’s settling you down gently. His thumb tugs at the waistband, hands dipping into your underwear and against your sensitive waist before pulling them down. You try to ignore the way you’re immediately dripping when they’re off. He takes a moment to openly admire you, eyes drinking in the sight of your swollen arousal. His thumb brushes just above and the proximity makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Like this, all for me.” It’s like a praise, and your eyes zero in on the transparent bottle in his hand. So that’s what he grabbed from his bag. He uncaps the bottle and douses his fingers without reserve — eyes flickering up to you. You fight the embarrassment his shameless gaze brings you. The anticipation that makes you throb. When he’s done, he places the bottle aside and leans down to press a light kiss to your lips.

“Relax, sweetie,” he murmurs, half teasing, half… sweet? Before you can think further on it, his hand’s already found its way between your legs and you brace yourself against the window. He bends to mouth at your neck, slow and sweet, while he swirls before pressing a thick digit in. With lube, it slips in smooth, though far thicker and deeper than you’re used to. You sigh as his other hand decides to join in and tease swollen flesh, soft strokes in time with the way he slowly teases his finger in and out.

“Sylus…” you hold yourself steady around his neck, quickly adjusting to the new pressure inside you as the strokes with his other hand ease you in. You rock into his touch, needy, and he meanly moves to pin your hips to the window instead, holding you in place while you whimper from the loss of his touch. For all that you want, Sylus only ever wants to give what he allows you to have.

“So greedy. Don’t you know you shouldn’t ask for too much at once? Lucky for you, I don’t mind indulging you every once in a while,” he chuckles — which is funny, he’ll indulge you any day of the week. Hell, pampers you even. But then he’s slipping in a second finger and your words are gone before they ever had a chance to formulate.

Your hips tingle as he drags them in and out, wet. He moves back to kiss your lips, goes at them again and again like he’s unable to get enough. Sylus is a kisser, you learn. Part of you always thought kissing was deliberately off the table for him. But the way his lips move, how damn sensual he is, and the perfect way he knows to suck on your lower lip is so good you can’t imagine him being anything else. His fingers curl deep inside and you whine, a jolt of pleasure running through your already burning body. Your body naturally rides his fingers, chasing that feeling, the way he can press against your walls so good. Makes you tremble in pleasure as he whispers quiet praises against your lips on how good you’re taking his fingers. They move and stretch, relaxing you, opening you up for him, and you can’t help but wonder how Sylus fucks as you’re hazy. Does he hold you down and pump into you mean and rough? Slow and sensual? Does he like to tease, to give, or to take? All three? Quiet whimpers leave your mouth and he’s adding a third finger the same time he goes back to stroking you.

You try to be good, to keep your hips nice and still for him. You want him firmer, harder, want to feel his touch burn on your skin for days and leave you dizzy at the mere thought. The dual sensation makes your legs tremble and it takes steadying your hands on his shoulders to keep from stumbling as he thrusts and pleasures your swollen flesh in tandem.

“Sylus… I’m… I’ll…” You try to warn him, wrapping your arms around his neck for support as you whine and quiver, his fingers insistent and hand skilled. He chuckles in your ear at your stumbled words, and fuck that makes you even more weak in the knees. The pleasure radiates from your hips all throughout, tingling, building so good and so quick. It almost surprises you how soon you’re desperately squeezing him and letting out quiet whispered noises as the build up finally overflows. Your body trembles, wrapped around him as you pulse around his fingers and against his hand, soothed by quiet praises while he strokes and finger-fucks you all throughout it, leaving you squirming when the feeling borders on unbearable.

He gives you reprieve, kisses your temple while you quiver in his grasp and try to steady your heart that’s thundering so hard you feel it in your throat.

“Knew you’d look just perfect like that,” he says, and you give him a weak squeeze in response. If you let go of his neck, you’re certain you’ll collapse on the spot.

Thankfully, Sylus, if anything, is perceptive. He wastes no time undoing his pants and moving his briefs just enough to release his eager erection, lined just with your abdomen. Naturally, you have to look, and shit. You figured he’d be something considering his damn size, but seeing it against your body makes you wonder if three fingers can even remotely compare. You tremble — maybe anticipation, maybe nerves, and comply when you’re lifted and pressed against the window so your jelly legs are given a break.

His lips mark up your neck beautifully — you can’t imagine what sorts of things you’ll need to wear to cover up the next week or two, and you subconsciously tense when you feel him slide himself between your legs, flesh sensitive and wet. His eyes lock onto yours, hot. Being so scrutinized when so helplessly at this man’s mercy makes your skin burn.

“Hm? What’s with that look? Want something?” Sylus meanly asks, and you hate the way your body responds to those words, throbs, and you watch him with a look of quiet, embarrassed defeat. Maybe you’ll have Sylus at your mercy one day, but today is not that day.

“Why are you so damn big…” you grumble, like you aren’t looking at him with heart eyes. That draws a throaty laugh from him and he leans close, lips settled right at the shell of your ear.

“So it can fit perfectly between those pretty legs of yours,” he says, and right then he uses a hand to steady his erection just where his fingers made you come undone, making you scoff and squeeze him tight.

“Perfectly isn’t how I’d describe your size in proportion to me,” you mumble. Perhaps feigning an attitude can help distract you from your nervous anticipation. Your body’s throbbing, begging, empty from his fingers and aching to be filled even after you just came.

“Really? Guess we’ll just have to see about that,” he whispers, light and teasing. In the same breath, you feel him slowly slide into you, arms supporting your legs as you sink onto his cock. You grip at him with a rushed moan, Sylus letting out a choked groan in response. You tremble, fight the urge to tense as you stretch around his size. Fuck — he’s so damn thick and fills you so much it aches. You whine and grasp at him with the effort to adjust, weakly murmuring curses.

“Dammit—shit, ah…” you choke and squeeze him close, burying one hand in his pale silver hair, and digging your shaky fingers into his shoulder. “S-Sylus…”

“That’s it, sweetie. Just like that. You can handle it,” he murmurs, tone so sweet for such mean actions as he pulls out and pushes in deeper, bottoming out. This position has you exactly where he needs you, makes you accept everything he has to offer. He’s so deep and you can feel him twitch inside, thick, an inferno, makes you sigh with each movement. He watches your face — this asshole, he likes seeing you whine — and let out a weak noise as he grinds, hips flush to you, before starting to thrust at a deep, slow pace. The warmth of his skin contradicts the coolness of the glass behind you, and you vaguely wonder how filthy your combined silhouettes must look in the distance.

It’s hard to explain the well of emotions inside you aside from pure lust. They blend together, a chunky, complicated mix of very degrees of pettiness, anger, mild fondness, and a deep-set longing you can’t pinpoint the origin of. Your body takes this longing and turns it into need, holding him to you, absorbing his warmth inside and out.

For a moment, you want to tilt your head and kiss him. You squeeze him harder instead.

You quiver around his length, each thrust accompanied by deep pleasure and a dull, pleasant ache. Sylus rewards your strain around his cock with his lips on yours, deep and devouring, stealing your already thin air. He guides you so easy, holds you up like it’s nothing while his steady thrusts slowly gain on speed. This position easily lets him slide against you in the perfect way that makes you cry out weakly, back arching. The pleasure is numbing and he brushes that area over and over, adamant on making you lose your sense of reason.

“Look at you. You handle me so well, sweetheart,” he speaks against your swollen lips like a dirty secret, panting against you as his thrusts hit the perfect spot every time. He handles your legs with ease and fucks into you harder, meaner, like he’s trying to bully these pathetic noises out of you. You whimper and claw at him, toes curling, feeling him swell as skin slaps against skin every time. His face is flush, eyes look at you like there’s no one else in the world — the only thing that exists is you a mess from his cock. His thrusts are as dizzying as his gaze you feel you can never escape, eyes half-lidded as he watches you take all of him. Your body’s a beacon of pleasure and your hips roll against his, rocking in time, wanting more, never enough.

“Please… please-fuck, Sylus… ngh…” You gasp, squeeze his hair tighter, and he fits his lips against your brow to murmur, “as you wish, sweetie.”

His hips are relentless, he stuffs you full of his cock every time and rolls his hips just the right way to make you sweetly numb, to fill you with that deep-set pleasure from within. His hair sticks to his brow, pants leave his body as his darkened eyes admire your sheen in sweat, rasping form. Fuck — he’s so — you need — he kisses at your neck and the sensitivity almost makes you sob.

“You’re shaking… you gonna come for me again all pretty?” Sylus breathes in your ear, you groan and clench him tight, making his hips sputter a moment. He smirks and picks back up his usual pace in response. You indeed feel your entire body quiver around him as the feeling grows more and more. Fuck you’ll — you — you can’t even say a word of warning as you’re suddenly letting out a choked sob, unable to control your tremors as you climax, body taut, tense. Sylus fucking you throughout only makes you whine and whimper as the feeling prolongs, white and hot. You’re so beautifully sensitive and rendered completely speechless, thoughtless. Sylus lets out quiet grunts all throughout, his own hips trembling, but pace unbroken.

Even when you come down Sylus doesn’t relent on his thrusts, he’s persistent if anything. At this point tears are pricking your eyes as you squeeze him tight, shame lost. “Please, please Sylus, fuck I can’t — please come,” you beg, sensitive, shaking, swollen, and Sylus laughs softly as his thrusts come in mean, hard, and fast.

“Mmm… How could I refuse such an earnest request?” He hums and holds you firm, his own forehead pressed against the window. It warms your ear and fogs the glass as his hips snap against yours, more erratic, your body bounced along with his rhythm and so damn sensitive you fight the urge to cry. Quiet grunts leave him, he’s more vocal, more open, and his large hands squeeze your thighs as he gasp and twitches. He buries deep and spills, releasing a pleasant groan right into your hot ear. He’s so close, feels so alive under your fingers and inside you, his heart an impossibly fast rhythm that puts yours to shame. You feel every throb, and you moan weakly as you’re held up, body swallowing every last drop. When he pulls out of your swollen hole, you feel the strength leave you and his cum drip down filthily.

“There you are, sweetie. Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall,” he soothes, and holds your weak body up with the same ease he had the first time despite the time elapsed. This kindness feels as wrong from him as it does right. When you weakly rest your head on his shoulder to look at him, his sweet eyes return the gaze, appeased. He carries your limp body to the couch and settles you down gently, swiping a thumb across your slick forehead. “You had quite the workout,” he comments. You glare and push his shoulder away, earning a chuckle.

“Aw, don’t pout.”

“Next time…” you hiss, holding a finger up to him. ‘Next time’ implying this will be regular. ‘Next time’ implying Sylus is not only the fearsome Onychinus leader you’ve been made to deal with, but is now a man you fuck (and something… more?) on top of it. “You’ll be the one at my mercy.”

Sylus blinks, tongue lax as he observes you in mild surprise.

Then, his face melts into a soft grin.

You’ve seen so many new expressions from Sylus today, it’s like you’re meeting him again for the first time. He grabs your hand and gently interlocks your fingers, watching you with a look you can only describe as ‘affectionate’.

It makes your face burn.

He adjusts his hand so he’s grasping your palm, and he drags yours to his lips, dropping a soft kiss on your fingertips.

“As you wish, your majesty.”

[roseykat]

TITLE: Venom Biter

PAIRING: Minho x reader

SUMMARY: The end of a relationship between you and Minho turns as sour as it could ever get. A lovers to enemies trope.

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won't be able to regulate every single interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work or page whatsoever.

TAGS: breakups, hate sex, post-breakup sex, unprotected sex, swearing, angst, manhandling, push and shove, spitting, choking, oral sex (f!reader receiving), angst, strong hints of degradation, use of degrading names such as 'slut' and 'whore'.

A/N: this was originally meant to be for one of the days I had planned for Kinktober but I was up to my neck in work and I didn't want to post something sort of half-assed so I had to hone down on most of the work for this piece.

MASTERLIST

“Broke up?” Chan’s eyes refuse to blink. “You two broke up!?”

His confused filled stare shoots for the direction of his best friend, Minho, who quietly sits opposite him across the table. He looks slightly withdrawn or…off colour. It can’t have been the gruelling two hour lecture they finished before heading out to lunch. If it were that, Minho would be complaining his head off saying how boring it was or cursing himself for not changing his minor earlier. 

He’s just not his usual self. In other social settings, he could talk until the cows came home. But the entire hour that they’ve spent together at lunch, Chan has been doing all the conversing and only receiving vague one-word answers. It wasn’t until he asked what was up with Minho that his friend dished out the news that he and his girlfriend - you, had split up.

“Why?” Chan proceeds, still swimming in shock.

A sigh leaves Minho’s mouth. He truly doesn’t feel like revisiting this subject. When he even thinks about the answer, all he can recall is the firey shouting match you both had the day things crumbled. 

“It’s messy,” he replies with a cloudy and ambiguous answer. 

“If you talk about it, then it might help you make sense of it all.”

He groans this time, “I really, really don’t want to do that. What’s done is done.” 

“Done?” Chan questions, still not letting up on an interrogation. “You were in a relationship with Y/N, for years. You guys talked about a whole future together. That’s not something you just sweep under the rug and forget about.”

If there’s one thing he almost did forget about, it’s that you were friends with him - not just Chan, but the seven others as well. After all, it was Minho who introduced you to those select people whom he calls his brothers. They would’ve found out eventually if Minho refrained from telling them who you were dating all those years ago.

Though naturally, you became very close with them. 

“We’ve both chosen to do that so there’s nothing really much left to dispute.”

Chan’s eyebrows furrow, realising he left out a crucial question to the situation, “why did you guys break up in the first place?”

Minho feels like he’s going to run out of sighs, “she doesn’t love me anymore and I don’t love her anymore. That’s literally all there is to it.” 

“You’re telling me you both fell out of love - at the same time,” Chan responds, still having a difficult time trying to comprehend his friend's situation.

“Pretty much,” Minho confirms with a nod. 

Chan finds that extremely hard to believe from his friend - the very person who would enter a different realm whenever he was in a five centimetre radius of you. His eyes would glaze over as if he were possessed; always fixated on you, he’d smile more than he usually would, and was comfortable in the space around you. 

There had to be another reason, surely. 

But it had almost been three weeks since Chan dissected the news out of Minho, and it was almost like pulling teeth trying to dive for the details. Each attempt was as fruitless as the next and in the end, Chan just plucked the same answers.

Regardless, it seemed to play out better than expected. Minho saved himself from having to dish out explanations as to why you wouldn’t be around anymore. As a result, telling Chan was the best option and since the others didn’t know, Minho was okay with him telling them so that he didn’t have to. 

In saying that, Minho left out very central details of what happened leading up to the breakup. He never mentioned the constant fighting, the lying, the false accusations, the shouting matches, up until the point where you were both swimming in the toxicity the pair of you created. 

He also absconded from the fact to Chan that not only did you both separate, but you’ve also both come to view the other differently and not through a good lens. Minho shouted it in your face the other day to which you did the same; “I hate you.” And that was that.

But his friends probably didn’t need to know all of that. 

Since that day, you’ve been in the process of trying to find an apartment for yourself which isn’t easy. You want to remain in town and not too far out so that you don’t have a long commute to work, and at the same time, you don't want to break the bank trying to find a nice place to rent in the city. All in all, it was tough, but you were ready to just leave. 

Having packed up the majority of your stuff in boxes, all you had to do was wait for landlords to contact you back about possible vacant apartments. Thankfully Minho was lenient in allowing you to stay until you found a place. 

You slept in the spare room, mainly keeping to yourself and the boxes of things surrounding the space. Occasionally you would have to lock yourself in there and throw on some noise-cancelling headphones whenever Minho brought around another woman to sleep with.

It was his house, you knew that and now that you have no ties to him and he’s letting you stay, it was never your place to question his actions. 

Still, that could never lessen the hurt. It was painful which is why you hated him so much. You don’t know how a person could move on so quickly after so many years of being told how much you’re loved. It was like he never meant it. With that being said, when you eventually managed to find a decent place, you were free from Minho. 

All of your items were ready to be moved out, taking a couple of days to actually get them to your new place. In the tiring process, you also had to factor in your work schedule which meant it would take longer to continue moving your stuff. Nonetheless, you had the majority of your boxes out of Minho's house with only a few remaining that you needed to swing by and pick up.

"Something wrong?" he wears a blank look on his face when you arrive on the doorstep to his house.

"Some of my stuff is still here, can I come in to grab it please?" You ask politely. He gives a silent answer in return by opening his door wider for you to walk in before he goes back to whatever it was he was doing.

You make your way into the spare room where the last of your things remain, but there is one odd detail you notice as you approach the items. What was supposed to be taped down lids to the boxes had in fact been opened; not in the state you had originally left it in. 

"Minho," you call out, hoping he heard you.

Sure enough, he did. Minho walks into the spare room with a puzzled expression, wondering why he's been summoned, "what?"

“Why are these open?” You ask, lifting one box off of the other to check if the rest were open as well. “Half of my stuff isn’t in here.”  

“You were coming back for those?” he replies with a question. 

“What the hell else would I be coming back here for?” 

“That's what I thought when you got here,” he says. “I thought it was for other things that you left behind, not ones in these boxes."

Your eyes never leave his face, tracking any sudden shifts in his muscles to try to figure out if he’s actually telling the truth or not. Even though you and Minho aren’t together, you're sure he wouldn't do anything malicious out of spite.

“So why is half my stuff missing?” 

Minho pinches the bridge of his nose, “I thought you didn’t need any of it and that you left it here on purpose for me to deal with or throw out.” 

“So what…” you trail off, expecting his answer. Minho hesitates for a few moments, sitting on the fence about whether he should actually tell you or not. But the least he can do right now is be honest. 

“I told the…girl I bought around the other day that if she wanted anything-“ 

“No you fucking didn’t.” 

“-she could have whatever was left in the boxes,” Minho finishes the rest of his sentence which would’ve been better for you not to hear. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What the fuck is wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with you for leaving them behind in the first place!” Minho argues back, trying to defend himself here even though he knows he’s in the wrong. “You were gone for a few days Y/N, I thought you just left!” 

“I never left them behind! I told you how long it was going to take my things to move!” You shout at him, tears brimming your eyes. “Now my stuff…”

The hurt genuinely sets in. Minho feels a sharp stab of pain in his chest when he sees how visibly upset you are. He knows that he’s been nothing short of a dickhead within the past month and now he’s gone and made things worse. It’s no point in him now to say that it was an honest mistake.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know, truly.”

You shove him backwards into the dresser, knocking down some of the empty photo frames that were once homes for pictures of you and Minho, “you’re not sorry. You’re the fucking worst.”

Taken aback by your actions, Minho turns behind him to see the frames flat on the surface then looks back at you, “seriously Y/N, I would not have done that out of spite.”

“But it’s the fact that you still did it!” You raise your voice at him and shove him back again. “You didn’t bother calling or texting me about it when you should’ve!” 

Minho predicts your next move and catches your arms to stop you from pushing him back impossibly further into the dresser. He shoves you back, the back of your knees hitting the edge of the bed which causes you to land on it behind you.

Before the surprise kicks in, Minho is kneeling on top of you, nearly straddling your lower half as he starts pinning your arms to the side of your head. Yet with a split second of momentum to break free, you struggle but manage to flip the tables and pin Minho on his back. 

You mount his hips before your mouth comes down to kiss Minho so aggressively that it takes him a moment to react. With any other woman that he’s slept with so far, he would allow them to be on top. But because it’s you, and supposedly hates your guts, not to mention his untapped pride, it’s not going to happen. So Minho fights back, kissing and biting nearly every part of your upper body in the process until you’re under him. 

He sucks large, deep, red hickies into the skin of your neck, in places where everyone would be able to see them. Minho would want people to know that you’re just a whore he uses. Especially for the next guy you sleep with who would go down on you and see the myriad of hickies that Minho would eventually put between your thighs when he rips your pants down. 

“Wanna play this fucking game with me,” he rasps before yanking down your off. 

Despite being a dickhead Minho will still eat you out for prep. But it’s not soft and teasing when he does go down on you. It’s tongue and finger fucking you until you’re dizzy from how hard you’re about to cum. It gives you the opportunity to pull and tug on his hair until his scalp starts burning, forcing you to be as vocal as you’ve ever been. 

His fingers curl up into that sensitive spot while his tongue and mouth work simultaneously. He’s always been good at giving head, but unusually better now that he’s relatively angry. In the back of your mind, you supposed it helped having not slept with anyone for a month, making it easier to reach that peak of delicious, eye-rolling ecstasy. 

“Fuck!” you scream out, voice projecting throughout the room as Minho sucks on your clit. “Fuck you…you’re gonna make me cum.” 

Those words are something Minho could never get tired of hearing you say. Even in the headspace that he’s in now, he wants nothing more than to hear how good he’s making your body feel. However, he doesn’t need verbal confirmation from you to know that you’re about to cum. When your walls seize and clamp around his fingers, when you’re trembling around his head, Minho knows what that means. 

The quick drag of his fingers is only light work for him, pumping at a pace that has you panting to try and keep up with it. As a result, it’s not long before Minho brings you to your sweet release; a toe-curling burst of euphoria that has you silently creaming around his fingers. 

He has no patience for you to descend from your orgasm, sucking his fingers clean as he pulls away from your pussy. He gets to unbuckling his belt faster than he can even comprehend that this is still happening. 

“H-Hurry,” you whine, trying to quell the hunger for Minho’s cock while you wait.

His eyes squeeze shut, hissing as he coats his length with your slick, “shut the fuck up.”

Despite being in a haze post-orgasm, you manage to sit up quickly to turn and push Minho down by his shoulders. You find yourself straddling his hips once more, reaching down and behind for his cock, aligning it with your hole. Minho allows you to work for it yourself, watching his cock vanish by the second as you sink down. 

“Mmm…f-fuck,,” you whine, unable to come to grips with how much you miss him filling you out. 

Taking a couple of slow strokes up and down allows you to realise that never in your wildest dreams could you ever imagine hate sex with Minho would be this…rough. Both of you pushing, shoving, and manhandling each other around, speaking to each other with such disregard for the other person's feelings – beyond the point of degradation.

“Come on,” Minho grunts, fingernails embedding themselves into your hips so that the indents remaining become as equally as vibrant as the hickies blooming on your neck. 

You look down at him with disgust before your hand lowers to his throat, choking him out by the sides of his neck. That familiar feeling of restriction to Minho forces him to repress his sick enjoyment of it, even more so when you start really riding him. 

“Fuck you,” you strain out, trying to assert some degree of control even though you’re battling with oversensitivity from your previous orgasm. 

You slam your hips down repeatedly, building up a good pace and rhythm that’s enough for small moans to force their way out of your mouth. With a cock like Minho’s, it’s impossible to keep quiet no matter how much you try. However, as you work for your own orgasm, you don’t want to give him any satisfaction by making him think that he’s the one doing it; yet in reality, he is. 

Nonetheless, you continue to use him just as much as he’s using you until the luxury of pleasure accelerates in the pit of your stomach. In saying that, it doesn’t take long for Minho to find that information out as you continue to ride him. The observation is clear-cut;

“Nobody’s fucked you since me haven’t they?” He asks you breathlessly, watching you roll your hips deliciously over his cock. “Know how I can tell? Because you keep fucking clenching around my dick.”

Your eyebrows furrow, struggling to find an answer for him because he is right and that’s not your fault, “s-so what? Want me to stop?” 

“Didn’t say that, did I?” He argues back, too proud to say ‘no’. “Just…just keep moving.”

A firm hand of yours catches his taut jaw, and while his mouth is open, you lean down and spit right in it. 

You curse right at him, “fuck you.” 

His eyes lock with yours and for a moment, Minho is shocked, but not in a bad way. In that moment you despised him so much that he made you do something a normal person would find disgusting. Although it’s not long before a sick smirk spreads across his face, failing to pretend as if he didn’t just enjoy that, swallowing it back. 

“Course you’d be into that you fucking whore,” he rasps, his body jolting every time your hips slam down. 

“I’m not the whore who’s taking it,” you snipe back at him. 

Your comment riles Minho, resulting in him nearly bucking you off his body before flipping you onto your stomach. He yanks both of your hands behind your back as something for him to latch onto when he pushes his cock back into you, and starts fucking hard and fast. 

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck…” you whimper, eyes fluttering shut. 

The new angle makes his dick slip in just that extra bit deeper, achieving a sensation which you miss all too much. With the amount of relentlessness that Minho puts behind his thrusts is nothing but a fast, brutal, and unforgiving type of fucking. He’s not holding back with you, no matter how much you hate him and he hates you, he will fuck you to tears.

“Such a fucking slut,” he drives forward nastily. “Needy, loud, slut.” 

Your choked moans and whimpers are typical responses to hearing him call you that name again. In bed, if you weren’t his lover, you were his slut. Minho wouldn’t care less if the bed broke beneath him trying to fuck you like the whore you always wanted him to treat you as. But it was phenomenal.  

Now, that’s only a distant memory clawing to come back. 

“Make me cum…make me fucking cum,” you demand, acknowledging how close you are to the cliff of ecstasy.

Minho's breathing picks up from hearing the pure desperation in your voice, and so does his pace. His only release is not but a minute away, respecting that and also his motive to continue rearranging your guts. 

Yet the possibility of keeping up any longer draws to a short term. Minho’s hold on your wrists behind your back becomes a solid death grip with no chance of escape until the wet heat from your pussy has his hips jumping out of rhythm. 

His head tilts to the sky, the pleasure screaming at him from the base of his cock, “y-yes, fuck I'm cumming.”

At that very instant, Minho’s release rocks him over. His hands let go of yours in lieu of grabbing onto your ass instead. The pain and sting of his fingernails scraping deep into your flash forces strained whimpers and mewls from your throat, helping to push you over the verge of your second orgasm. 

“Y-Yes, cumming, oh fuck-” you cry out with a shaky voice, stiffening while your hole seizes rhythmically around Minho’s length. 

The pleasure is throat-gripping, making you forget the words to express how good you feel. Except, in the vapour of your orgasmic haze, you still don't want to accept the fact that it's Minho who makes you feel that way.

He pauses for a moment then thrusts hard back into you, making you keep the warm load that you were so undeservingly given, regardless if your walls are spasming and contracting it out. Then just as he was fast to try to get inside you, he's just as fast when he pulls out and flops beside you.

The air in the room becomes breathable again now that your heart rate isn't racing to the heavens, but picks back up quickly when you decide to hop off the bed and get dressed. You couldn't care less if you were sore and unbalanced. The thought of staying in the room with Minho any longer was suffocating.

“About your stuff,” he starts, filling the silent void with an exasperated voice. “I’ll try to get it back.” 

You zip your jeans up, “don’t bother. I know you did give it away for whatever reason, but for what reason is something I’m betting you’ll take to the grave with you.” 

Minho is up and now following suit by putting his clothes on. If now is the time to get one thing off of his chest, it’s now. Since the day you both separated, there has been no proper conversation. Both of you are too stubborn to admit wrongs and fix rights, but in your eyes, it's too far gone. There’s no going back to a good thing that was once more. 

"I won't if we can just talk it out," he offers the opportunity to you.

“Minho, the nights that I had to listen to you fuck someone else in the next room right after we just broke up was a clear sign that we did not need to talk it out. All it made me do is realise that you didn't actually love me."

“That’s not true,” he shakes his head as you hear a twinge of desperation in his voice like he's pleading his case. "That's not true at all."

"It is though," you correct him. "You were free to sleep with whoever you wanted to because we had broken up at that point, but not a day after that did you wait."

Minho follows through with his explanation, “I was trying to get you out of my head. Spending too long just thinking about you makes me want to lose it. It didn't mean that I never loved you before."

“So you’re just going to continue being delusional? To fuck your way through trying to forget me?” You question, nearly laughing. "I honestly think you're just being pathetic."

He shrugs, “if it means that I don’t have to feel heartbreak, then yes.”

Part of you gets it. Minho’s found a vice and is using it as a tool to deal with his pain. But you’re in pain too, and you haven’t done anything to upset him ever since you split. Maybe it is as bad for him as he says it is. Maybe he doesn’t truly know how to navigate himself out of this like you’re attempting to.

It’s almost a rebuttal to your statement about whether he truly loved you or not; if he’s using other people to drive the thought of you out of his brain because it’s too painful to deal with, then maybe you were more than just a lover to him. 

"I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I cannot stand being around you anymore because of how much it hurts to know that you're not actually with me. I'd rather try to forget your existence in order to not feel that type of heartbreak," Minho explains, his words coming from a place inside him that must've just opened up.

But he continues, "the second we split, I needed every last memory of you out of this house. But I know that this hurts you too and that this past month I’ve hurt you and that’s no justification to say that my reason is because you mean more than my entire life.”

There’s an ache in your chest that you’ve never felt before, a blend of all the emotional pain that could’ve been prevented had the two of you just talked. But that ache is fuelled by the fact that you can hear the waiver in Minho’s voice, and even though his back is still turned to you while he sits on the edge of the bed, you’re sure he’s crying.

-

A/N: Dare I say that I want to make a part 2 to this where Minho and reader try to rekindle, things are pretty tender but they sort of want to make it work...

[shirajellyfish]

Sun wears a shirt btw (Freddy doesn't)

I've seen so many people say Sun is shirtless. Valid interpretation, I love you, but also wanted to throw in my 2 half joking cents on why I see him as wearing a shirt. (Actually more like 2 dollars, because I'm incapable of being brief when taking about my favorite guy)

Animatronics often use paint to imply clothing. No one would look at Toy Chica, for example, and say she's totally naked down there with just an unclothed neon pink pelvis. And Sun's paint does imply a shirt. His chest is split into two colors, with buttons on one side and everything. It's a little more unclear what's going on on his arms (is that supposed to be... elbow length sleeves and fingerless gloves? That can't be right), but those are definitely buttons like you would find on clothing. The paint is trying to imply that he has at least something to wear.

You might say that Sun is in fact shirtless because he's wearing real actual cloth pants, so the paint doesn't count. But! I activate my trap card! Toy Chica has a cloth bib! Looking carefully at fnaf 2 screenshots, the bib does not use the plastic texture or the shiny plastic lighting. That's a CLOTH bib on toy Chica, but the paint still implies her little pink bikini bottom or shorts or whatever all the same. So the existence of cloth pants on Sun doesn't invalidate the painted shirt.

Why exactly did they combine cloth and paint on the daycare attendant? Probably because he is a jester. Those jester pants would be completely impossible to make out of hard plastic. While they're clearly not concerned with softness judging by the cage-like metal frame under the pants, a solid hard material just wouldn't work. Either they'd be unable to stand straight due to the bulk, or the pants would have to be flat on the inner side. Like this

So cloth pants were pretty much mandatory to make jester characters with jester pants work. Similarly, hard plastic ribbons would be a terrible idea (imagine Sun with two perfectly straight red sticks molded to his arms), and it would be hard to keep up suspension of disbelief with a plastic hat for Moon (where would it go when he was Sun?), so those elements all have to be cloth. But for everything else the Pizzaplex can cheap out on it and paint on the clothing like they do for other animatronics.

Not being shirtless actually make Sun and Moon potentially the most clothed animatronics at the Pizzaplex. Just for fun, here's a list of animatronics from most to least clothed:

Sun and Moon. They wear shirts, pants, shoes, sometimes even a hat.

STAFF bots. It's a little ambiguous how much exactly they're meant to be wearing, but the shirt is there for sure, and you could see the 'legs' as a sort of dress or apron shape if you squint. (Theoretically they could rank higher than Sun and Moon, but that would depend on how much they have in the way of sleeves. Too ambiguous on both to rate properly.)

Glamrock Bonnie. His entire body and legs are covered, plus fingerless gloves, leaving only his arms and feet uncovered.

Glamrock Chica. Similar to Bonnie but with a gap that shows the upper half of her legs.

Roxy has her stomach uncovered. She also has arm warmers where the others didn't, but I don't think a slightly covered lower arm beats her upper legs and stomach being unclothed.

Monty is completely shirtless. He has pants and some shoulder pads not connected to anything at all, but his chest is completely bare.

DJ music man is NAKED. He is naked! His gloves are a different texture than his face, but his face and body are the same. That means this man is wearing NOTHING but gloves, headphones, and a hat. You could also argue either for or against his arms being covered, but regardless- This entire spider's body is completely naked and we didn't even notice.

FREDDY is in fact the most naked of all the Pizzaplex animatronics. He wears ONLY accessories. Hat, shoulder pads connected to nothing, bow tie, leg warmers on the lower half of the legs. He has NO shirt, NO shoes, not even underpants! People are going on about Sun having a bare chest despite his paint implying otherwise, but here is Freddy just completely naked. If you did a human AU with accurate clothing you'd need censor bars for Freddy.

So in short, I think it would be absolutely hilarious if someone wrote a fic where Freddy was a nudist. All the other animatronics look away when he enters the room, and none of the humans can figure out why.

No, this was not a serious post haha

But it is true that Freddy is naked.

[tom-foolery-incorporated]

Lucifer's Fun

MDNI 18+, Dom Lucifer, sub afab reader, gender neutral, racially ambiguous, fuck machine use, vibrator use, overstimulation, dirty talk, degradation, reader is fucked silly, mentions of free-use, sexual punishment, sadomasochism

Lucifer didn't like distractions while he worked but he decided to make an exception for you just this once. After all, you looked so pretty on all fours getting your pussy fucked open by the toy you hid from him he attached to an investment he had yet to use until now. The machine hummed and squeaked with every thrust of the dildo into your weeping hole. The vibrator taped against your clit hummed an excruciating song of promised punishment you knew was coming when Lucifer caught you with your toys. The man responsible for your predicament simply rested his leather shoes on your back as he lazily looked over some contracts.

Your pussy made sick squelching sounds thanks in part to the gushing wetness from your previous orgasms at the hands of the cruel machine. Your screams and groans remained locked away behind a red ball strapped into your mouth with black leather straps. The past couple of hours have been utter blissful torture. At times you'd thought your body had gone numb from Lucifer's punishment but then with a couple remote controls, he'd change the speed and rhythm of the machine and vibrator attacking you.

"You should have known better," Lucifer mused looking at you from over his glasses. "I told you that I am the only one to touch you and yet you stuff yourself full of plastic cocks like some common whore." Lucifer pushes down on your back with the heels of his leather oxfords. You could only groan under his cruel treatment. "Maybe that's how you want to be treated, hm?" Lucifer purred.

"I could set you out front of the House of Lamentation just like this and let whoever comes along use you how they please. How does that sound, pet?"

You heard Lucifer chuckle at your strangled noises of disapproval and the way you pitifully shook your head. "But I thought you didn't care who or what used your holes? You don't want me to leave you outside for any demon to come knock up?" Lucifer asked in a mocking tone. You turned your head to look at the Avatar of Pride with overwhelming tears of pleasure blooming in your eyes. You vigorously shook your head hoping to earn Lucifer's pity.

"Then how come I keep catching you toying with your cunt like an insatiable slut?" Lucifer demanded as he turned up the intensity on both the vibrator and the fuck machine. You screamed behind your gag as you were forced to drop onto one of your elbows. The toy slid through your sloppy cunt with such ease as it carved its form into your walls.

"Poor little human," Lucifer mocked. You heard his belt unbuckle and the zipper of his pants. When you looked back at your lover his cock was firmly in the grip of his leather glove. The uncut tip of his manhood wept precum over his foreskin. His pale member was flushed red with arousal at the sight of you taking your punishment so well. Seeing Lucifer start to stroke himself at the sight of you made another gush of wetness run through your cunt. You could feel yourself starting to drool around your gag at the burning need to have his cock in your throat.

You moaned behind your gag trying to utter Lucifer's name to little success. Your brain was so lost to the torturous pleasure he brought to you that you could only make simple moaning noises. "Is my pet still needy?" Lucifer mocked taking his time running his fist up and down his swollen penis. "After all this, you're still a simple slut whose only purpose is to swallow cock." You nodded eagerly hoping to be able to finally take him in any one of your needy holes. Lucifer groaned your name so thoroughly aroused at your obedience.

"Is this really what it takes to get you to listen?" Lucifer growled as he turned the machine up to its highest setting. He removed his feet from your back as your body jerked with the power with which the machine fucked the faux cock into your slopping pussy. Lucifer's office was filled with the sounds of the slapping sounds of your wet cunt mixed with the mechanical hums of the toys he used against you. Your upper body collapsed onto the floor as your pussy was hung off of the dildo. The fuck machine became the only thing to keep your body from fully collapsing onto the ground. The only noises that came from your mouth were pitiful whines of pleasurable agony. Your brain felt like static with the only thoughts running through it being images of Lucifer's cock destroying whatever was left of you.

"Fuck, you look so beautiful like this," you heard Lucifer growl. His voice felt so far away in your blissed-out state yet you could hear the unmistakable moans and heavy breathing leaving his body. "I should keep you like this. Fucked stupid with no other purpose other than to cum all over yourself." You could feel a puddle of drool make itself known against your cheek as your own cum leaked down your inner thighs. Your body jostled back and forth at the will of the fuck machine. Lucifer continued to grip his cock in a choking embrace at the sight of your pathetic body.

"I'm going to cum all over you so you know who you belong to," Lucifer said in a deep growl. You barely registered what he had said before you felt the ropes of hot, sticky cum slather your body. It dripped down your back and off onto the floor. You felt so utterly pathetic at Lucifer's treatment but for some reason that just made your umpteenth orgasm that much more intense. Another spray of squirt gushed out of your messy cunt for what felt like the hundredth time. You wailed behind your gag as Lucifer maxed out the vibrations of the vibrator attached to your clit. "Now, " Lucifer hummed readjusting his pants and making himself presentable. "Diavolo has been invited over to go review some paperwork and have tea and I'd appreciate it if you were on your best behavior for him."

Your brain could only make out half of what Lucifer had said and you could only whine in confusion. "Poor little human," Lucifer mocked as he crouched by your head to pet your hair, "You just have to stay like this while Diavolo and I discuss matters too big for your little brain, okay?" You moaned at the gentle contact Lucifer allowed you to have. "Don't worry dear," Lucifer said mockingly gently, "You just stay right where you are."

Down the hall, you could hear the low humming of voices coming towards Lucifer's office.

[lordofdestructionm]

Reading Mordecai Heller as a repressed gay man

The tragic attraction

This is a full post based on my response to a great analysis by @sedgewick-gayble

Let me start by saying that if you read Mordecai as being totally asexual/aromantic and any affection he has for other characters to be entirely platonic that is entirely valid and I respect that

However as this response by Tracy makes clear on the topic of fans reading Mordecai as gay there is an intentional ambiguity about it. Being 28 at the time of the main story his "lifestyle is certainly asexual" up to this point, yet "being ace and being gay are not mutually exclusive things" and people sometimes "don't know themselves or understand their own motivations all that well"

This leaves the possibility open that Mordecai is actively repressing his natural desires and feelings

Mordecai's early life didn't exactly provide much time or opportunity for "self discovery", even by the usual standards of the less than tolerant and understanding world of the early 20th century

Being born into an impoverished family and having his father die very early in his life leaving him and his Mother and two younger sisters in dire straits, Mordecai had to get to work and assume adult responsibilities pretty damn early.

As Tracy says "selling newspapers wasn't going to cut it" and so using his natural talent with numbers Mordecai starts bookkeeping for the mob. Is it any wonder someone with that background would develop such a serious and rigidly buttoned up demeanour?

Since being forced to abandon his mother and two sisters at the start of the 1920s and flee New York, being picked up by Atlas's due to his habit of collecting useful strays, Mordecai had very few people he was close to in St Louis. With his generally anti-social personality and not only lack of interest but discomfort with any sort of flirting or romantic entanglements, that would be unlikely to change

Side note: Probaby coincidence but

There are only two people who seem to make it onto that exclusive list of people that "count" for Mordecai, who he cares about and are able to bring things to the surface he would normally keep hidden

Atlas to Mordecai is not just an employer, he is the man who saved his life, the man who moulded a desperate fearful shabby young stray into the sharp professional he is today, who took him under his wing and made him his protege. Filling the empty space his father left in his life. His grief and desperate hunt for those responsible for his death are his big motivation (the strain of which is slowly tearing him apart)

That connection is undertsandable

Much more surprising on the surface is the bond with the partner Atlas teamed him up with soon after his arrival, Viktor Vasko.

The assumption at the start would have been that while their skill sets might compliment each other in the field there would have been no warmth in their dynamic.

Certainly not on Mordecai's part as Viktor appears to be a sum total of many things Mordecai hates. Viktor is unshaven, relatively casual in his attire, speaks a broken English, and hates people chattering or “noise, noise, noise” as he calls it. Clashing hard with his obsession with good grooming, high quality tailoring, correct grammar etc. Indeed Mordecai doesn't hesitate to nag/criticize Viktor for these things

Yet at the same time Mordecai has far better chemistry with Viktor than with anyone else, able to banter and bicker with him in a way you rarely if ever see with others

Its why when he gets tailored clothes for the first time Viktor is the first person he wants to show off too. Its why the one time he is intoxicated Viktor (and his large physique) are his chosen topic of converation. Its why at Christmas/Hanuhhah he gives him the gift of a tie while claiming its just because of the big guys poor fashion sense and that its "embarassing to be seen with him" (even that justification makes him sound like a nagging girlfriend)

A smaller detail is that during their iconic chess playing in the side content, set during their days staking out the remote town of Defiance, Viktor is shown very casually winning the game much to Mordecai's visible distress

This is hilarious but could also be taken as a metaphor for Viktor (possibly without even realizing it) breaking through his defensive emotional barriers

Something Mordecai doesn't know how to handle or respond to

The animated short only adds fuel to the fire

During their dispute over strategy Mordecai moves his face so close to Viktors that he almost knocks his cap off his head. His eyes at one point even dart down towards his mouth

Sharp eyed Vikdecai fans have also noted that Mordecai seems on some level to want the two of them to match

The tie being the same colour could simpy be Mordecai giving Viktor one of his own ties because its a joke gift and he just grabbed it on a whim to tease Viktor about his poor fashion choices

But think about the matching suits at the New Years party for 1926

I mean, seriously, not only is it the exact same style of suit in the same blue-grey colour distinct from everyone else, but they are standing in the perfect spots to be symmetrical to each other. Something that we all know means a lot to this compulsive man

Mordecai must have known there was going to be a big group photo ahead of time and then carefully planned this

Got matching suits made to his and Viktors measurements

Then most impressively convinced/nagged Viktor into cooperating (he may have taken off the tie and rolled up the sleeves but hey him playing along at all is quite a compromise from Viktor "I hate dressing up" Vasko)

Mordecai is intent on making Viktor retire and get out of danger, and avoid a situation where he gets sent to kill him by Marigold because he knows he could NOT do it, and his cover and investigation into Atlas's death would be over

He is horrified that Viktor is still working at Lackadaisy (though he again has to hide how much he cares) and that he has gotten not only hurt again but hurt by Mordecai again (albeit this time indirectly by stealing the guns)

Can this be read as simply platonic comradere? Absolutely

But there is something so *intense* in the fact he was willing to resort to kneecapping him. Its an extreme and desperate act that could only result from intense emotions, seemingly out of character for someone who tries very hard to appear logical and controlled.

While Vikdecai is a very fun ship when imagining them as an actual bickering married couple, I have often said that a tragic one-sided on Mordecai's part version of Vikdecai is the one that fits closest and surprisingly well into the canon.

His nagging and complaining about Viktor in that context take on a Tsundere aspect, both to protect himself from being found out and maybe even try and convince himself the uncomfortable alien feelings aren't there. He not only doesn't want others looking too hard at his feeling he doesn't want to examine them himself all that much

There is a heartbreaking but appealing angst to the idea of this extremely repressed man having such feelings for the first time in his life for his straight best friend and NOT knowing how to handle that. Having to perform the balancing act of being around him so much as his partner but being painfully aware that he can't let anyone catch on, especially not Viktor himself, as it would likely destroy his bond with the only person in town other than Atlas he is close to.

Though tragically he did that anyway later via the kneecapping, which while about trying to keep Viktor safe, he may now looking back try and tell himself its actually somehow "better" for Viktor to hate him for that

Because the big guy now wrongly thinks the feeling is mutual and that Mordecai never really cared about him, which may be better than (what Mordecai assumes would be) disgust at his partners doomed more than platonic feelings

Because he sees those feelings and his situation as a sad perfectly structured joke life has played on him

[rapturously]

twenty minutes.

➾ pairing ; mickey altieri x fem!reader.

in which mickey sneaks into your dorm room and things become more heated than usual.

format: drabble — not requested.

word count: 2.5K.

warnings: SMUT (mdni), risk of getting caught, slight corruption kink, fingering (f!receiving), making out, biting, dry humping, dirty talk, mild degradation (use of slut), choking, obsessive behavior from Mickey, begging, teasing, finger sucking, very slight edging, ambiguous ending

author’s note: I wrote this because I love Mickey and I want to write a part 2 with phone sex 💀 also, first time ever writing for him, so hopefully it’s good and people enjoy it! I am also working on requests, but I’m also on-call for work, so I get pretty busy. Hoping to have a lot of stuff finished & posted next week! thank you all for your love & support !!! :)

Mickey Altieri reminded you of a cat — elusive, cunning, and prone to climbing trees without much of a hindrance. The thick, sturdy oak that hovered by your window in the Delta Zeta House provided a place for your boyfriend to scuttle about, thumping a palm against the glass pane of your window.

He had a look in his eyes when you caught sight of him — devious and full of desire, glazed over with a sheen of mischief. It’s coupled with that pearlescent grin as you clamor toward your window, swiftly unlatching it as you glance over your shoulder. Your roommate is in the shower, a worthwhile time for him to come crawling in.

His timing is always impeccable.

This nightly ritual of him sneaking into your room is always accompanied with a giddiness and thrill. His dark tresses are disheveled, sporting a dark sweater that clings to his musculature. He climbs through with a silent grace, reaching for you before you can open your mouth.

“I’m doing all of the work here,” Mickey smirks, pressing a string of kisses along your jaw. “When are you going to climb through my window?” He questioned, tone playful as could be as his hands roughly pressed into your hips.

You and Mickey were still in this honeymoon stage of your relationship, where everything was glowing and bright, with sparks always flying in every direction. He oozes charm and charisma with every breath, and it never fails to pull you right in. He was becoming your addiction — your vice.

Sandalwood and bergamot cling to him as he sighs, hunching in over you as his mouth nips at your jugular. It elicits a low, simpering whine from you, serving as encouragement as Mickey turns that playful nip into a brief, rough bite. You taste saccharine underneath his tongue.

“I can’t climb a tree,” You protest, fingers curling into the front of his woolen sweater. “You have twenty minutes.” You huff, knowing that your roommate won’t be in the shower forever. It’s always the same heated routine — kissing until your lips are swollen, his hands grabbing your breasts, he leaves a hickey, and then he disappears.

Mickey groans into your sweet flesh, teeth idly grazing over your neck. “I want more than twenty minutes,” He uttered, peering down at your choice of wardrobe. It’s a ditzy nightgown that reminds him of summertime, speckled in hundreds of little flowers. He pinches the fabric between his fingers. “It’s not enough.”

“Kiss me, Mickey.” You mumble, a soft gasp tearing past your parted lips when he delivered a rather passionate kiss, open-mouthed with a desperate bout of tongue. He tugs at your nightgown, calloused fingertips tracing across the bare flesh of your thigh.

He was a dutiful boyfriend — eccentric and charming, a natural flirt with an obscene amount of wit. You adored that about him, but above all, you loved how much he spoke about you to other people. Mickey had this thing about staking his claim, and you weren’t about to tell him otherwise.

You can’t see it now, but there is a darkness festering inside of him. It’s always just at the forefront of his lascivious gaze, as if it might lash out and strike you. Mickey’s obsession with you transcended any normalcy, perceived as erratic and strange, but thankfully, you are none the wiser to his impulsive tendencies.

He loves your oblivious nature — it’s easier to control you that way.

Goosebumps form along the column of your spine, prickling along your body as his fingers slip underneath your nightgown, trailing along the waistband of your panties. He’s always teased you, but something feels different this time — it’s electrifying and exhilarating as he pets at your soft skin.

As your lips part, you stare at him incredulously, attempting to decipher his next move. “We can’t,” You protest, though it’s weak and lacking any sincerity. Your roommate, whilst prone to taking endless showers, won’t stay put forever. “Mickey.” You whisper.

“Why not?” He purred, teeth nicking your neck, which caused you to let out a soft gasp. Mickey’s lips soothed the bite with passionate kisses, tongue swirling over the newly-formed mark. “You going to stop me?” His lips curl into a faint smirk.

His laughter is delicious, alluring and full of a teasing mockery, one that causes goosebumps to coalesce along your spine. Mickey keeps it hushed, but you won’t be heard, not over the buzz of Duran Duran from your roommate’s radio.

His digits slip beneath the waistband of your panties as he hurriedly parts your legs, rucking your nightgown up towards your hips. “Maybe,” You squeak, voice barely above a hushed whisper. Mickey’s spindly digits playfully trace over your cunt, declining to touch your clit. “M—Mickey!”

You sputter, clinging to him like a drowning woman, grabbing fistfuls of his sweater as he swipes his fingers along your wet cunt. He’s devilishly enticing, and if you closed your eyes, you could envision his forked tail and silver tongue that continued to seduce you time and time again.

“This says otherwise,” Mickey’s tone has a playful edge of mockery to it as he kisses your jaw, unable to withhold the salacious expression that creeps onto his features. He revels in the way you whimper, hips jolting forward into his hand in an attempt to relieve even a lick of friction. “Want me to stop?”

He’s cruel.

Your pitiful, desperate expression screams for him to continue as you shake your head back and forth a hundred times over. “No, no!” You whisper, moaning when his thumb lightly traced over your clit. “Jesus, please don’t stop!” Your volume becomes heightened, and at that, Mickey decides to conceal it.

Mickey chuckles — it’s a dark and dangerous sound, but that’s why he has you so hooked to begin with. That aura of dominance emerges so quickly, and you’re enthralled, powerless to stop him. “You need to be quiet.” He cautioned, feeling you grab his wrist as you encourage him to keep going.

He does, much to your delight, fingers deftly tracing along your slit, drinking in the softness and wet warmth, thumb drawing circles around that sensitive clutch of nerves. Your cunt clenches pathetically around nothing at all, yearning for the sensation of his practiced digits.

A hapless whine leaves your lips when Mickey begins to test your limits, two fingers nudging at your entrance. It’s sluggish and teasing as he deliberates, gaze roving over your countenance. “You think about me when you touch yourself?” He questioned, mouth ghosting over yours as he pressed a string of kisses there, and then to your jaw.

Embarrassment rippled through you at the crass question, prompting your boyfriend to stop pleasuring you. Any sensations ceased, and made you moan in protest. “H—Hey,” You whimpered. “Mickey, baby, please don’t stop.” You groaned, feeling his hand lightly clasp around your throat.

“Answer me, and maybe I’ll keep going.” He chuckled, head cocked to one side. His muscled form loomed over you, casting a shadow across your body, moonlight swallowed whole. Mickey appeared predatorial and hungry in this light — ravenous for you.

“Y—Yes, I do, I — I think about you.” You mumbled, and to your relief, his thumb returned to your clit with a feather-light pressure. You rucked your hips forward with desperation, chasing after his hand. You were flustered to no end, burying your face into his chest, which he promptly stepped away from.

“Jesus,” Mickey sighed, drinking in your smitten expression. “You look so pretty like this.” At that, he sank forward, digits nudging their way inside of your cunt. Tightness followed, consumed by liquid heat as he began to piston his fingers in and out of your slit.

Another wave of goosebumps coalesced along your flesh, making you tense with excitement as Mickey gripped your throat with his other hand. Fingers squeezed underneath your jaw, applying pressure as he bit at your lip, surprisingly rough, hard enough to draw blood.

A startled gasp tore past your mouth, accompanied by a keening moan as Mickey found a rather vigorous rhythm. His practiced digits pumped in and out of your tight cunt, coated in your slick as this thumb brushed over your clit. Your body reacted in a violent fashion, desperately clamoring forward, friction electrifying.

The shower was still running, and you were awash with pleasure, cunt clenching around his fingers as he withdrew another moan from you. Mickey loved feeling your throat bob and tighten underneath his grasp, tracing the pad of his thumb above your pulse point. It was racing — beating at the speed of sound.

Molten heat pooled within the pit of your stomach as Mickey callously lapped at the blood coalescing along your lower lip, noticing the sheen of surprise within your eyes. “Doesn’t bother me,” He uttered, kissing you again with a force that made your head spin. “Tastes like you.”

Jesus — if it weren’t for your roommate, you would’ve been screaming. Your entire being ached for him in every way imaginable, hands grasping at his sweater. Mickey turned you around, pressing your knees into your mattress as he deftly felt his way around your body.

“Fuck, I wanna be inside of you.” Mickey snarled, brazenly biting at the dip between your neck and shoulder, having tugged your nightgown into all sorts of directions. His erection was prevalent, grinding against the curve of your ass as he pistoned his fingers in and out of you. “Would you let me?”

It all felt so quick, just heat and carnality, desire that had all rolled into an amalgamation of want. You hadn’t gone all the way yet — part of you wanted to save it for a time where your roommate wasn’t a few feet away.

“M—Mickey,” You whimpered, hips rolling and jolting into his hand, palms grasping at his bicep and forearm, something to steady you. “Please, please don’t stop!” Everything felt so feverish, as if you were trapped in some thick haze, unable to break free.

Mickey huffed, countenance etched with a playful disdain as he nibbled along the shell of your ear. “Would you let me fuck you right here?” He asked again, more pointed and aggressive this time, accompanied by a harsh flick against your clit.

Your head bobbed up and down over and over again in a series of indiscernible babbles and nods. “Yes! Y—Yes, Mickey,” You might’ve said it over and over again, back arching as he began to curl his digits into you, right into a spot that made your bones turn to dust. “M’close!” A desperate whine left you.

His cajoling laughter made the hairs along the back of your neck stand up, thighs rubbing together. “Course you would,” Mickey murmured, kissing at your neck, attempting to give you another hickey, something that he succeeded in. “You’re my little slut.” The sudden degradation made you bristle.

Admittedly, you shouldn’t have enjoyed it as much as you did, squirming and writhing against him as he toyed with your clit. You moaned, fingers clamping down into his arm so hard that you were afraid of leaving bruises. Mickey didn’t slow or stop, continuing that same, brutal pace as he brought you to your climax.

His hot, labored breathing fanned across your neck and shoulder, causing you to shiver as he grinded himself against you. The rough denim made contact with your haunch, content to rut against the curve of your ass. Mickey knew you were close, and with another steady barrage of digits, you shuddered.

You were drowning in a white-hot ecstasy, reduced to a sticky, whimpering mess at the hands of your boyfriend, whose grin was etched into the back of your neck like a brand. Mickey let you ride it out, spasming and mewling, hoping to let it simmer before your roommate finished her shower.

Mickey caressed circles into your clit, feeling your knees wobble, thighs quivering as you trembled like a leaf, rocking back against him. He was akin to the cat who’d caught the canary, pearlescent teeth glittering through the dim light as he slowly removed his fingers from your weeping cunt.

“Mickey,” You sighed, feeling him nudge you, coaxing you to turn around as he sat you down against your mattress. There was something vulnerable and exhilarating about it all as he loomed over you, head cocking to one side. “That was amazing.”

He smirked — a haughty, salacious smirk that made your insides turn to mush, heat pooling between your legs once more. “I’m not done just yet, sweetheart.” Mickey crooned, reaching forward to squeeze on either side or your jaw. “Open for me.”

An innocuous confusion fluttered across your features, and he drank it in — you were so innocent, so pious that Mickey fed from it. He watched in silent rapture as you opened your mouth, and again, his smarmy, playful grin was prevalent as he placed his digits upon the flat of your tongue.

A swarm of saliva began to pool within your mouth, a whimper erupting from the depths of your throat. You knew what Mickey wanted, and you elected to obey, able to taste the remnants of your orgasm.

Shyly, you began to suck on his fingers, watching the way his countenance blossomed to life with an insidious desire. “Good,” Mickey purred, placing his other hand against the back of your head, cradling your skull as he urged you closer. “Should’ve brought my camera.”

That comment alone forced you to press your thighs together, and your boyfriend, ever the watchful and observant creature, took notice. Through the dim light of your bedroom, he was as coy and cajoling as the Cheshire Cat, slipping his fingers down your tongue.

“Would you like that?” His voice contorted into something else — malefic and low. You barely noticed the lack of static noise as your roommate turned the shower off. “Should I film us together next time? Might make for an interesting movie.” Mickey uttered.

A familiar heat thrummed against your ribcage, slipping through the cracks as it rippled across your body. You suddenly realized that your roommate had finished her shower, and Mickey hadn’t moved a muscle — he knew. A whimper threatened to break free from your chest, hands tight and fisted within your lap.

When footsteps began to inch closer, Mickey took his fingers out of your mouth, replacing them with his lips as he kissed you. You exhaled, sharp and excitable, reaching for his chest again. It was hot and crackling with tension, even still. His erection pressed against your inner thigh.

“Next time, I’ll sneak over.” You murmured, feeling his lips curl into a grin as he pressed a string of kisses against your neck. As Mickey began to slink away, you grabbed his arm, staring at him with doe-like eyes. “We’ll have more than twenty minutes next time.”

Mickey smirked, beginning to climb out of your window and back onto the boughs of the oak. “I’m counting on it.” He chimed, and began to scale the tree back down and into the darkness. You watched him go, chest tight with the sensation of yearning.

Unbeknownst to you, Mickey intended on making a phone call tonight — and you were set to be the star.

[satosugusandwich]

His Angel and His Brat

Part 2

Part 1 here! Part 3!!

Hard!Dom!Geto x brat!Gojo x Sub!Afab!reader

(I write my fics to be racially ambiguous! If anyone catches anything please inbox me!!!!)

Summary: Gojo is a mega-brat to y/n and Suguru and likes to push buttons cuz he can so Suguru decides to overstimulate Gojo until he thinks he’s broken. (Key word: thinks.) To add to Gojo’s humiliation, he ensures that the reader is getting princess treatment while watching Gojo suffer endlessly. But, of course, things don’t always go as planned with Satoru Gojo. Or for y/n. Geto and Gojo have… motives.

CW and whatnots: Overstimulation, facesitting, vibrators, dildoes, condescending!geto, usage of the word “cock”, gojo’s boundless stamina and cocky attitude, praise, cocksucking, angel ass reader that ends up in trouble cuz gojo can’t shut his mouth, geto is actually so mean to gojo but so soft cuz he’s actually a teddy bear dw. Use of “brat, princess, angel, cockslut, and slut.” There will be aftercare in future parts cuz imagine leaving pathetic satoru a cum drenched mess. Poor baby. :(((

More tags will be added. Part 3 will be the last part.

Satoru did not waste any time eating like a starving man. His eyes were peeled as he watched how Suguru stood up on the bed, pulling your chin to face his pretty cock. Already, Satoru was thinking of how when he cums, if you don’t catch it in your mouth, it’ll definitely fall onto your pretty tits and stomach and of course onto his own face. Suguru paid no mind to the man underneath your cunt, instead, admiring how excitedly you took his cock into your mouth.

Suguru was thinking in this moment how he truly hit the damn jackpot. A pretty obedient thing that he can be nice and soft with, gently caressing and guiding as you sucked him in versus his needy and impatient brat that he can get as rough as he wants with. Suguru has to admit, it’s not in his nature to be so mean, he’s such a kind empathetic man, but perhaps the curses in his body take over when it comes to Satoru. Right now he can’t help but think of all the ways he could press Satoru.

He could edge him instead and leave him unsatisfied until his brain goes numb. Or maybe just leave him there, not giving him the orgasm he so desperately craves.

Overstimulating him has been fun, Satoru being so greedy has really made his punishment so enjoyable. His sensitivity is addictive, perhaps he could use that against him. Shame that Satoru has such a high pain tolerance, he’s limited to overwhelming him with pleasure.

Or a different type of pain. Would his ego be bruised too much if he worked to humiliate Satoru further? How would he respond to degradation? Knowing Satoru, if you call him a slut, he’d only work to embrace the newfound identity.

Difficult brat indeed. Perhaps the best way to punish him would be to ignore him… yes, that’s what Suguru would do. He’d use the other male’s greedy and needy nature against him.

“That’s right pretty girl.” Suguru mused, resting his hands on your head. “Finally seems as though my cock can fill your pretty throat completely. You’ve done well to learn how to take me right.” His praise is warm and flowing down to your core. “Want me to move your head or do you want to do it?” He coos.

You shake your head and move on your own, bobbing back and forth on his pretty cock. His mouth parts as you suck him so well, knowing Suguru’s favorite rhythm by heart. Meanwhile, beneath you, Satoru is slurping along, wanting to find out how he can distract you from focusing on pleasing Suguru.

Unbeknownst to either of you, Satoru had an idea from the moment he saw how you watched him receive his punishment… you seemed rather invested, much more than usual.

So, wanting to peeve Suguru to enact his plan, he whined. Very loudly.

“Clearly you need to suffocate him, y/n.” Suguru huffed.

You hesitated in putting more weight on him, but at the same time, what would be worse? Denying Satoru of being able to breathe or potentially invoking a punishment from Suguru? You decided the latter. Satoru couldn’t really be upset, it just gave him a bigger challenge!

You ground your cunt further onto Satoru, making sure his nose wasn’t entirely covered, but that his mouth couldn’t make a peep.

Suguru closed his eyes for a brief moment and now… Satoru just pinched his calf.

“Satoru!” Suguru pulled his cock from your mouth only to shove it back in, the suddenness making you gag. Suguru’s eyes snapped down to see the man beneath you shaking with laughter while the sound remained muffled into your cunt. The vibrations from Satoru’s chuckle made you tremble.

Satoru and Suguru’s eyes remained locked as Satoru made a pinching motion with his fingers. Suguru stepped on Satoru’s wrist, making you pull your mouth off his cock as he changed positions. Satoru only laughed more and used his other hand to slap your ass once, your body jumping from the unexpected impact.

“Ow!” You exclaimed, now hovering above Satoru’s mouth, giving him the ability to speak clearly.

“Thought I’d punish her since you didn’t after I whined!” Cheeky bastard. And poor you. Why’d you get stuck with these two men?

“We really need to stuff your mouth shut, don’t we Satoru? Need you bound entirely too. Never thought you’d put our princess in this position.”

It’s Suguru’s fault too!!!!! He should’ve just let it go in the first place!!!!!!!

“Our princess never gets punished, she’s too sweet, don’t you think that’s unfair? She gets away with everything! Don’t you remember last time you said you’d punish her if she came without permission? Well, she came and you didn’t even do nothing!” Satoru yapped on and on. “All she has to do is make a cute face and say sorry baby, wah wah!” He mocked you, looking at your face. “Suguru, you punish me all you like but you don’t punish the one who really needs it…” Satoru’s voice lowered.

Suguru briefly looked to you, eyes watching your reaction. “What’s he talking about, y/n?”

“He’s lying, of course!” You huffed. “I don’t disobey you when we fuck. Don’t try to get our positions switched, Satoru!” You were tempted to sit back down on his mouth but at the same time… you wondered what’s gonna happen.

“As much as I want to believe you,” Suguru dropped to his knees on the bed, releasing Satoru’s wrist and getting eye level with you, “me and you and you especially know just how much Satoru loves to be punished. Why go through this effort to try and avoid his favorite thing?” Suguru now held your chin, running his thumb back and forth. “Continue, Satoru.” He didn’t even look at Satoru whatsoever, wanting to see every tiny reaction from you as your other partner spoke.

“A pretty angel like her can’t help but avoid disobeying, that’s obvious, but have you ever considered that she wants a taste of your punishments?” Satoru raised his hand up to toy with your clit, rubbing it in slow, soft circles. “You should feel how wet she is from watching me cum over and over under your iron-clad heel, our angel here likes to pretend she’s all about being a good girl, but she’s desperate to act out and piss you off.” Satoru’s mouth continued to run and your eyes stayed fixed on Suguru, too afraid to look away. “You really should’ve felt her pussy while you had my tight little ass stuffed, it’s a miracle she didn’t cum from watching!”

A smile ghosted across Suguru’s face. “Are you sure she’s not a bit of a sadist too and just enjoys seeing you suffer?” His hand was traveling down your figure, going to feel your wetness as it hovers above Satoru’s face. “What do you think, angel? Do you want to get punished? Just for fun?”

When Suguru’s question processed through your head, you felt his fingers dip inside your cunt, finally you after clenching around nothing for so long.

Satoru sped up the circles around your clit. “Come on, speak, angel. Or is this your way of guaranteeing a punishment?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his comment, feeling your cheeks flush.

Suguru’s eyes opened wider and he cocked his head. “You like that idea, huh?”

“She does!”

Sometimes you forget these two are notorious for their attitudes when they’re together. You’re too used to seeing the softer side of them.

“Come on princess,” Suguru urged you.

“Tell him, baby.” Satoru followed.

“I—“ you were really embarrassed, the most certainly are cornering you. “You two are mean.”

“If we’re so mean, why are you smiling, you like it don’t you?” Satoru pushes every button he can find when it’s presented to him.

“I don’t think that was the question, sweetheart.” Suguru’s fingers pulled out of your dripping pussy and he raised them to his lips. “Do you want me to punish you? Give you a taste of what Satoru has to deal with?” He sucked your wetness off his fingers, delighting in how you shyly averted your eyes away at the sight.

“If you go easy on me.” You answered.

“Safeword?”

“Uh, sunglasses for chill out for a sec, bangs for completely stop.”

“That’s our girl.” Satoru chuckles. “So Suguru…what do you have in mind for our princess?” He blows cool air onto your clit to make you jump.

Suguru lifts you off of Satoru quickly and lays you on your back. “If she was so aroused by watching you cum until you collapsed onto me then why not do the same?”

Your eyes widen at the proposition, thinking if you can take as much as Satoru did. You’ve been overstimulated before but have ever been at it for more than a few minutes? Satoru did 30+… could you even handle 10 after the first orgasm? How many times did he cum? Like 5? Could your body take that? Well actually, he’d definitely make you do more, people with dicks have a much more sensitive refractory period… what if they double it and take you to 10?

Suguru licked his lips, growing harder at the fear in your eyes. “Oh don’t worry baby, I’m gonna make it easier on you, I won’t have you crouch like I did Satoru, can’t have your knees feeling sore and numb.” Shit, you’d rather go numb and sore than take whatever Suguru has in mind.

“How are you gonna do it?” Swallowing a lump in your throat, you realize you haven’t been this nervous since you first fucked them. You even want to cover your chest and squeeze your legs together the way they’re both looking at you.

Gojo looks absolutely enthralled in your torture, eagerly awaiting the start. “I think we should focus on your clit and if we’re feeling merciful—“

“Hush Satoru. Your mouth still needs to be stuffed shut. Our angel wants my punishment. Not yours.” Suguru glares at him while raising your wrists to be above your head. Turning his attention back to you, he briefly licks at your clit to get a taste of you and taking in the remnants of Satoru’s spit into his mouth. “Despite Satoru’s unwavering blabbering,” he raises his eyes from your weeping cunt to your face, “I think we should focus on your pretty clit. I would love to watch your cunt beg to have something inside it, so I think we’ll wait to stuff you later.”

You nod. “Yes sir.”

His attention shifts back to a pouting Satoru. “Aw, jealous again?”

“No.”

“If I recall, earlier you said something about wanting to have your cock in her mouth, right?” Suguru slapped your cunt, a cry escaping you accompanied by a sadistic chuckle. “Well, personally, since she can’t stuff your mouth any more to keep you quiet, how about I stuff that throat of yours instead?”

If Satoru was a cat, it’d be like his ears just perked up. He gives a cheeky smile and leans up. “As long as my mouth is occupied, then I’d be forever grateful.”

Suguru smiles. “There’s my good boy, I knew he was in there somewhere.”

You and Satoru sit together, awaiting your dom’s next moves, both eager and one of you a little scared. Suguru crouches down by the bed and you hear rummaging from your toy box, then when he pops back up, your heart rate is already increasing. He holds a hitachi in one hand and a sizable dildo in the other.

Satoru looks extra excited. “You’re really gonna bring out the dildo too? Thought you weren’t gonna stuff her up? Is it to tempt her with what she wants?”

Suguru’s grin remains intact as he settles back down on his knees in between your legs. He cocks two fingers at Satoru to call him over and the other male begins to crawl across the bed. When he leans down to try and take Suguru’s cock in his mouth, he yanked by the hair and left with his mouth open.

“Eager per usual. But when did I say that I was gonna use my cock to stuff your mouth? No, you cockslut, this dildo is your gag for the time being.” His word are biting and harsh. “I wanna focus on our angel for now. If you can suck that cock for the duration of her punishment then maybe I’ll let you lick my cum off her pretty pussy? After all she cleaned up for you didn’t she?”

Fuck, he’s so fucking cruel.

Satoru is hard again anyways.

Now, for you, Suguru flips the toy on and presses it to your swollen, aching clit, having been passed from mouth to mouth, it’s like you’ve been toyed with for hours. Suguru knows this and he knows Satoru just as well. He anticipated Satoru wanting to see you get put in your place just as much as he anticipated you asking for it.

Now it comes down to what he said earlier. Treat the angel, ignore the brat.

He smiles sweetly, the sound of Satoru lapping at the plastic cock unimportant as your legs shake.“Remember princess, you asked for this.”

[wendichester]

hey!! i hope you're having a good day/afternoon/night! i just wanted to say i really like your writing and hopefully it isnt too much to submit a request.

if not, i was wondering if you could make a dean x reader imagine where reader is a person of color with dreadlocks? possibly reader feels insecure about her hair (coming from experience) and dean comforts her?

thank you for reading my message!

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ pretty,

summary. sometimes, all we need is dean's comforting words

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 505

notes. i really hope i did this justice. thank you for trusting me to write something so personal and beautiful. love you 🩷

You sit on the edge of your bed in the bunker, fingers idly twisting at the ends of your dreadlocks. The low hum of the ventilation system fills the silence, but it does nothing to drown out the nagging thoughts swirling in your head.

You’ve always loved your hair—or at least, you used to. It’s a part of you, a piece of your identity, and something you worked hard to care for. But some days, like today, the weight of the world’s stares and comments creeps in, making you feel like you don’t belong. Like you’re too different.

A soft knock at the door pulls you from your thoughts.

“It’s open,” you call, your voice quieter than usual.

Dean steps in, his expression warm but curious. He’s holding two beers, but the way his green eyes narrow slightly when he looks at you tells you he’s already picked up on your mood.

“Thought you could use some company,” he says, holding out a bottle before sitting beside you.

You take it with a small smile, twisting the cap off and taking a sip. “Thanks.”

Dean doesn’t say anything right away, just watches you with that quiet intensity of his. It’s like he’s trying to read your mind, to piece together what’s bothering you without making you say it.

“What’s goin’ on?” he asks finally, his voice soft.

You shrug, fiddling with a loose strand of hair. “Nothing important.”

“Bull,” he says, leaning back against the headboard. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

You sigh, your fingers stilling. “It’s just… my hair,” you admit, the words feeling strange and heavy as they leave your mouth. “Sometimes I feel like… like it makes me stand out too much. Like people look at me and think I don’t belong.”

Dean frowns, setting his beer aside. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” he says, his tone firm but not unkind.

You glance at him, surprised.

He shifts closer, his hand reaching out to gently take one of your dreadlocks between his fingers. “Your hair’s badass,” he says, his voice softening. “It’s unique, just like you. And it’s beautiful.”

Your throat tightens at his words, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” he says, his green eyes locking with yours. “You’re stunning, inside and out. Don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise. Hell, if someone’s got a problem with your hair, they can come to me with it.”

You blink back the tears threatening to fall, a soft laugh escaping you. “When did you get so good at this whole comforting thing?”

Dean grins, his hand moving to cup your cheek. “I’ve got my moments.”

You lean into his touch, the warmth of his palm grounding you. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Now, how about we head to the kitchen? I’m pretty sure I can find us some pie.”

You smile, and your heart is lighter than it’s felt all day. “Pie sounds perfect.”

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey

[notebooks-and-laptops]

Why the Dragon King Sucks: an Exploration of What Makes a Good Villain and a satisfying Story Conclusion

Dragon Age as a franchise has some of my favourite villains, and also villains I think kinda suck. DATV is not immune to this; Ghilan'nain joins the ranks as one of my favourite villains of the series but there is one villain I can't stand. I get mad just thinking about him. And so I thought I'd share my thoughts.

So firstly, before we can unpack why a villian sucks, we must first unpack what makes a good villain. Contrary to popular belief I don't think a villain needs to be a fully dimensional person to be compelling, but I do think good villains generally fall into one of three categories:

Interesting because of the relationship to the hero/protagonist

Interesting because we understand their point, or because of moral complexity/ambiguity

Interesting because they're scary as all hell

Dragon age has dabbled in all of these types of villians.

The example of a villian who is interesting because of their relationship to the hero/protagonist is Danarius. Danarius is flat out evil with 0 redeeming qualities. His main motivation is to a) experiment on his slaves and b) recapture his favourite escaped slave. We know he regularly tortures and kills people. We don't even meet him until act 3! BUT his relationship to Fenris makes him work. He is everywhere in Fenris's narrative; from the house Fenris lives in, to the actions Fenris takes (he won't even be with you until hes dealt with Danarius), to the feeling that Fenris is being constantly hunted. Danarius is terrifying to Fenris, the things Fenris did FOR Danarius is terrifying to Fenris (killing the Fog Warriors), all of this makes both us AND Fenris angry. When he shows up he's menancing because he's been built up the WHOLE game. He works because of his relationship to Fenris.

Let's move onto a villian who is interesting due to their moral complexity. There were a few to pick from here, but I think ultimately I'm going to go with the Arishock (but shout outs in particular to Calpurnia, Zathrian, Illario and Isseya). The Arishock undoubtedly does some pretty evil stuff, and yet we UNDERSTAND him. He does not want to be in Kirkwall, yet he cannot leave until he gets what he needs. He wants to be peaceful, but is being pushed by the constant way that his people are being agitated; stolen from, blamed, tricked and manipulated by chantry zealots. He doesn't understand why kirkwall is allowed to function as it does when it leads to such misery/pain for everyone. He's very reasonable with a Hawke who is reasonable back and respects them. The thing that tips him over the edge is the fact that he's unwilling to hand over elves that the guards refused to bring justice for, and most people agree that the guards were in the wrong there. Nobody thinks the Arishock should have tried to take over Kirkwall, killing the Viscount and trying to take Isabela. But we UNDERSTAND why he might be doing what he's doing and THAT makes him compelling.

Final category; when a villain is scary. I think writers sometimes confuse this for the villain having a lot of power (*cough* Elganarn *cough*) but that's not what scary is. Scary is usually invoked by feeling that the hero/protagonist is under genuine threat if they were caught or feeling that this person will do fucked up things and has no line; even about people they care about. Absolute main dragon age villian to sit here is Branka who went so mad in her pursuit of the anvil she was willing to let her house be turned into Brood Mothers so they could pump out darkspawn who could test the traps. Ghilan'nain is also in this category.

To make an EXCELLENT villain you probably want to take a few strands from each collum; Loghain stands out here as someone who has a connection to our of our heros (Alistair's revenge quest) but also is morally understandable/interesting.

So now I've laid all that out...tell me. Where does the dragon king fit?

The dragon king doesn't really have a connection to Taash. They want Taashs blood sure but they only make two plays for Taash the whole game and Taash never seems scared of them. We don't find out why or what they want to do to Taash. Taash just. Doesn't know this guy. Like until the very end when he kills their mum, they don't have a reason to hate him.

The dragon king is not morally complex either. He is just. An evil guy working for an evil god who wants power. He's not got a particular point; he's not even like the red templars who at least had the motivation that the chantry had abandoned them and led them to be addicts for no reason. Theres no talk of that being the case with the antam. There is just. Nothing. He's some evil guy.

And finally, he's not scary. He's in fact so un-scary that our protagonists never ever get to fight him because he'd make a shit boss. I think this is a WILD choice. what I think happened was the Devs realised that as the other Taash quests had involved fighting dragons that should be their boss fight but like. What? I literally was so confused when this happened; I wondered if the dragon king could turn into a dragon for a moment or was riding the dragon but it's not that. We kill a dragon and don't even throw so much as a single spell or punch at the dragon king.

AND to make matters worse, we don't meet him until the very end and Taash doesn't really talk about him until then either. Varric narrator style mentions him and that's it. If you're not going to introduce your villian until late in the game you NEED to have build up like what we get for Denarias or Branka or Meredith. That's the whole issue with Corphyeus that everyone bangs on about; he's just not in the narrative enough to carry the feeling that he's an undefeatable big bad.

The dragon king is so boring. There's just. Nothing there. There's no relationship, there's no complexity. Just an evil guy.

And that makes me so annoyed considering that I love Taash and also that the voice acting when Taash's mum dies is so stunning. Taash deserved better than most of the plotlines they got, they deserved a better villian and they deserved choices beyond those that demonised multiculturalism. They don't even need a villain if you do their story right; many dragon age characters have no central villain and are still incredibly interesting: Sera, Blackwall, Vivienne, Cole, Wynne, Bull, Bethany, Carver, Sten to name just a few.

Tblr; the dragon king SUCKS