#is this a nightmare? is it a sex dream???

[fragilefawn333]

you're my religion ♡ -

caitvi x religious virginfem!reader (roommate AU) - smut !! - religion by lana del rey

cw; bottom!reader x cait x g!pvi- peeping, religious guilt and imagery, sex-negativity, threesome, virginity-taking, slowish sex, praise, guided masturbation, scissoring, penetration, comfort (2.1k)

Moonlight spills through hastily shut curtains, a small noise at the far-end of the apartment disturbing slumber. You know that your roommate, Caitlyn, has a habit of sneaking her friend in at the middle of the night. Sometimes they make noises, and you usually keep your eyes screwed shut — not wanting to intrude on Caitlyn’s privacy. The wall between your beds serves a purpose. But tonight, your curiosity spikes. You cannot mutter prayers into bitter-air and force yourself back to sleep after the dream you just had. So instead, your socked foot meets cold, wooden flooring as you quietly sneak to peer into the crevice of the door, somehow left open. You keep one hand on the cross that hangs delicately from your neck, dipping down into the crux of your chest.

The room is dark, only the faint stolen-light of the moon and a simple lamp illuminates Caitlyn’s bed. You put your face to the crack in the door, watching as a figure rises. Your breath hitches as you catch sight of writhing bare back, layers of perspiration stuck to skin glistening under silver haze. A moan falls on stunned ears, as you peek further and see your roommate Caitlyn, naked, grinding on her ‘friend’s’ face. Huh.

Heat throbs in your veins, blood rushing to taint cheeks dusty-red. Your left hand wanders down to grasp at your necklace again, a lifeline to your belief — everything you’ve known. Yet the scene unfolding in-front of you presses your thighs together, all sensations heading downwards.

The silhouette falters, then stills. Your breath quickens, light bouncing off the walls and into your eye. You bring up a hand to rub at it’s sting, and in the process; accidentally knock the door. It creaks as it opens another inch, revealing you to the two women.

You stumble backwards, hiding your face in your hands in attempt to conceal yourself. Pure humiliation wracks through your body, because - fuck - you just watched your roommate do dirty things, and you watched your roommate dirty things.

There’s a muffled noise from the bed, you can’t make out precise features but that doesn’t stop you from picturing Caitlyn’s face when she realises what a pervert you are.

“It’s just my roommate,” you hear Caitlyn assure her ‘friend,’ now turning her figure to you — “Honey, what’s wrong?”

Caitlyn sits, now turned to you, so unashamed of her nakedness. Through the darkness, you can see her hold a hand out to you — beckoning you. Your feet move without permission, pacing dangerously close to Caitlyn’s bed. Caitlyn’s body. You stop at the foot of her bed, now able to get a better view than you had previously. Caitlyn’s ‘friend,’ sits against the headboard, she’s wearing nothing but loose sleep-pants — taunt abs on display under the warmth of the lamp. Caitlyn sits with her knees pushed into mattress, tracing her fingers down your arms. Leaving a path of goosebumps in it’s wake.

She pulls you to the bed, soft and comforting. Closer to her body, and you feel the heat radiating off her, her body curving under the glow of the night — large breasts capped with hardened nipples. The chain suspended from your neck is cold against your nape, sticking to the sweat there. The cross jagged, digging into your chest.

“I had,” a nightmare? it wasn’t scary, but why do you fear it so? “a dream. A bad — dream.”

The strap of your satin nightdress falls, exposing a shoulder, and Caitlyn’s eyes follow it. Your pulse throbs in your throat. Caitlyn scours the expanse of your skin, the stoop of your collar, eyes burning exposed flesh. Her brows knit together.

“Bad how?” She questions, “What happened in the dream?”

Caitlyn’s eyes are so magnetic, deep-blue pools that you’re too-willing to drown in. You almost forget about the other presence, Caitlyn’s visitor who is sitting a couple inches away. Watching intently.

“I — can’t tell you,” A shaky exhale. “It’s wrong.”

You find yourself locked onto Caitlyn, attentive to the way she brings herself closer. So close that her nipples brush against yours, also hardened beneath satin.

“Then,” Her breath tickles, “show me.”

Light sensations travel down your shoulders, to the straps hanging loose at your side, bringing them down to expose chest.

Your nipples ache under the chill of the room. Caitlyn pulls back, eyes cast downwards — below your necklace. Silent sobs escape your lips, pressing against Caitlyn’s blood-red, flushed cheeks. She caresses your breasts, groping and rubbing soft circles around puckered nipples.

“Don’t be scared, me and Vi will take care of you. You want that, don’t you?”

There’s hesitation, a moment filled with nothing but heavy breathing. You can hear your own heartbeat in your ears, fluttering. The vulnerability of the situation, and the lingering sensations of your dream, render you thoughtless — the need for a release of this tension. And you swallow back guilt, thick in your throat, nodding.

Caitlyn smiles at that, midnight hair spilling and framing rounded cheeks bathed in the glow of the night. It evokes an image of a halo, so angelic, your saviour. Plush lips meet yours, you’ve never kissed anyone like this before. Never had your tongue feel too big for your mouth, unsure of where to put it next. She tastes faintly of lavender tea, familiar as you drink her in.

It’s like playing inverted tug-of-war, her pushing into you waiting for you to push back. Lost in the feeling of her tongue exploring your mouth, you scantily notice that Caitlyn’s friend - Vi’s - own tongue has found the base of your spine. Mouth moulding against the bend of your back, sucking colours like painting a canvas. Completely blank, untouched and twisted, pliable to them.

Caitlyn mirrors Vi’s actions, mouth moving downwards, kissing around the cross and pulling a nipple between her lips. You whine when you feel her teeth graze against the sensitive flesh.

Vi’s fingers thread through your scalp, tugging your head back and exposing the channel of your neck. Caitlyn licks a clean stipe up to your lips. Gap-toothed grin into heated face, watching heavy-lidded eyes glistening with tears.

“You’re such a good girl. So obedient.” She lulls, thumb stroking face, “Does that feel good?”

You nod hastily, jumping when Vi bites the base of your spine, teeth-marks implanted into flesh. Rasping against skin, “Use words.”

“Hmph …yes.”

Vi calloused hands pull your nightgown, exposing intimate areas used to being hidden. It falls down your legs, until Caitlyn’s tugging it into her hands and throwing it to the bed. “But it’s wrong,” you hear yourself say. Subconsciously clinging onto the last of your conviction.

“What we’re doing — what you were doing was,” you look over your shoulder, running your eyes over the round of Vi’s bicep, muscle sculpted under skin, “…Sinful”

“But you stayed,” Caitlyn’s long fingers cover yours, guiding your hand down your sternum, over supple flesh. “So does it matter? Love isn’t wrong, and you’re perfect nonetheless.”

A tear drips down your cheek, landing onto metallic crucifix. “Stay.” Caitlyn whispers with gentle remonstrance.

So you don’t leave, instead draping yourself over her. Caitlyn’s mouth devours you, eating anguish off tongue. Intertwined hands reach your cunt, lips parting to reveal swollen clit. Caitlyn pushes your fingers to circle around the nub, working yourself open, building up lubrication around your pussy. You can feel Vi’s heavy breathing prickling at your nape as she watches you touch yourself, with Caitlyn’s help.

She increases the pace of the circles, your fingers pressing down further.

“That’s a good girl.” Caitlyn mewls, and Vi chuckles.

She moves your hands through your labia. “Straighten your fingers — like that, yeah,” she orders. Dipping down through slick thighs, finding your entrance and sliding in a finger. You whimper to the air, bucking into your finger as Caitlyn thrusts your hands. You jerk backwards, something pressing into the fat of your ass.

Vi’s pants are pulled down her thighs, her hand palming at her cock. You gape at her erection, pre-cum glistening as it leaks from engorged tip to base. Pink-ish hairs climb to below her bellybutton, unruly and matted with sweat. A hand under your chin turns you back to Caitlyn, her voice laced with arousal,

“Tell me how good it feels. Tell me.”

“Caitlyn,” moaning her name like a prayer, “Caitlyn.” She pumps your fingers in, curling as they hit a particular sweet spot. “It feels,” you inhale, “really, really, hmph — good.”

Your hips snap forwards, plunging fingers to hilt as you near your peak. Caitlyn’s thumb toys with your clit, overwhelming sensations stressing the heat coiling in your stomach. Bright-light engulfs vision, ears ringing — soundless cries from the intensity of your orgasm.

Vi strokes down your back, causing you to shiver. Her own breath quickens, the sound of skin slapping growing as she ruts into her own hand. Shooting a pleading glance over your shoulder to her girlfriend, who smirks in response.

Caitlyn leans back, resting against the headboard, using trimmed fingernails to tweak at her pebbled nipples.

“Come here, baby,” Vi grabs your hips, helping you entangle your thighs with Caitlyn’s. “You’re such a pretty girl. You’ll do anything we say, huh?” Vi husks.

She steers your hips into Caitlyn’s, grinding your wetness together. Her cunt petals outwards, clit puffed and sleek, grinding against yours. You feel Vi shuffling behind you, and Caitlyn cries out. Vi slams forward, her nose burying into your neck. “Mm, fuck - yes!”

Caitlyn bounces under you, riding Vi’s dick, which in turn increases the friction as she fucks into you. A large palm presses against your upper-back, pushing you to lie on Caitlyn. Her breasts bounce with Vi’s thrusts, your nipples meeting hers. She pulls you into another intoxicating kiss.

“Fuck,” Vi says in-between thrusts, fingers digging into Caitlyn’s thighs and prying them open — watching as your pussies sloppily kiss, “you’re a fucking vision.”

Cross swinging over Caitlyn’s heart with each force. Strangled yelp vibrating against Caitlyn when you feel clawing at your hips. You glance down between Caitlyn’s rising chest - laboured breaths - watching as Vi sides her erection through your soaked folds. Lathering her dick with enough wetness to bring her head to your entrance.

“You good?” Vi croaks, voice breaking. Caitlyn tugs a piece of fallen hair behind your ear, laughing when you whine a desperate “yes please,” into her shoulder.

Vi uses the confirmation to begin pushing into your dripping cunt, slowly inching in to try and avoid discomfort. She brings her hand to steady arched back as you whimper into Caitlyn’s neck, as she massages your sensitive tits.

Vi stops when she’s half in, eyes glazing over as she watches the way your entrance stretches around her dick, swallowing it with need. She pulls out at an agonisingly slow pace, and when just the tip remained, thrusts back in. Vi’s breathy moans intermingling with pathetic whines as you beg for more, a juxtaposition of the girl you were just ten minutes ago.

“She’s so wet, so fucking needy,” Vi huffs.

Then Caitlyn chimes in, lowering her hand from perked nipples to stroke your clit, “She takes you so well. So innocent, doesn’t even know how to touch herself properly. Lucky we’re here.”

Vi thrusts with unrelenting rhythm, as you roll hips backwards to meet her. The double-stimulation is overwhelming, feeling pressure building in your pelvis. Caitlyn’s fingers now pressing hard, moving in quick circles like before. Giggling and teasing, “Let it out, honey.”

You frown when Vi pulls out, missing the burning feeling of being stretched out. Caitlyn’s skill-full touches don’t stop though, allowing you to go headfirst into your second orgasm of the night. It wets Caitlyn’s fingers, and her abdomen below you — dripping from your twitching pussy. The sight causes Vi to finish in her palm, releasing her cum over both Caitlyn and you, now spent and collapsed in Caitlyn’s arms.

She wraps herself around you, stroking your hair and down your sides. Vi moves to tidy up, chest heaving in exhaustion as she pats herself, and pair, clean.

Caitlyn rests her chin on your head, using her hand to rub at your now wet cheeks. “It’s ok, pretty girl. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You lift yourself onto your elbows. Gleaming, tear-filled eyes meeting sympathetic blue. “Vi will go run a bath, and it’ll be ok. I told you — we’d take care of you, didn’t I?” And you smile weakly in response.

You feel the beat of her heart on yours, the symbol of religion pressed between you. Caitlyn presses a gentle kiss to your lips, a vessel of devotion and love. Maybe it will be ok, because tormenting yourself with shame heals nothing. Whatever was out there had brought this moment upon you, and you figure you should hold it with gratitude.

You lull your head back onto Caitlyn’s shoulder, allowing the moonlight to rest on your weary soul.

#but like no homo though

[fangdokja]

They’re not heroes. They’re your tormentors, and you’ll love every second of it.

❤︎ Synopsis. Four men, each consumed by a darkness that binds them to you, will stop at nothing to claim your soul. In their world, love is a twisted cage, and you’re the captive—lost in a nightmare where escape is impossible and desire is the cruelest torment.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Mr. Reca x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Mydei x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Anaxa x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Phainon x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. The Game of Surrender - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 4,707

♡ TW. dom + top + older + slightly sadistic yandere, general non-con + manipulation, suggestive themes, psychological + mental conditioning, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological + emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, Stockholm Syndrome

♡ Note. This was made before the official releases of characters, so be warned that some information may be inaccurate once additional lore comes out.

♡ A/N. Not me not knowing fully who these characters are. So... not sure if I did this right hahaha. It's too early to judge the unreleased characters but oh well. And, I did put this into my usual style... idk adjskaskd Take this like a brief hypothesis, I suppose. I am thinking on getting back to Genshin and HSR... maybe. Probably not though. Idk. Anyways, I personally thought I cooked with this. Just not sure with personalities askadsdakldsm

♡ Mr. Reca.

"Every thought you have, every breath you take, is a scene in my film—my masterpiece. And don't worry, darling, I'll make sure you never forget your lines. Not even when you're screaming them in your sleep."

The universe had always been a canvas to him—a vast, writhing tapestry of chaos and order, the kind of unpredictable beauty that Mr. Reca found utterly magnetic. He had always been a collector of moments, a Memokeeper who consumed emotions, gestures, and unguarded thoughts with the same fervor a drowning man gulps air.

But you—oh, you—you were not just another fleeting spark in the vast night of existence.

You were an anomaly, a glitch in the dreamscape, a hauntingly real smear of imperfection across his perfectly constructed illusions. And so, he watched you, studied you, devoured the fragile lines of your every expression. It wasn’t obsession, not at first. It was curiosity, a scientist’s hunger for understanding. But curiosity, as it often does, rotted into something far darker.

It began subtly. At first, you didn’t even realize you were his subject. The assistant frog—so innocuous, its mechanical chirps like a child’s toy—hovered too long in your presence. That thing recorded the barest twitch of your lips, the dilation of your pupils when you dreamt, the cadence of your breath when you were lost in thought.

He played those recordings back again and again, crafting you into the centerpiece of his mind’s latest film, a work of art that no audience but him would ever see. Each flicker of your gaze, each half-whispered syllable, was dissected with a surgeon’s precision and woven into the dream bubble of his fantasies.

You had not agreed to this, of course. You would not have, had you known. But consent had never mattered much to Mr. Reca, not when reality itself could be edited, overwritten, and reshaped to suit his narrative.

He didn’t fall in love with you in the way mortals understood love.

No, it was something far more grotesque. You were not his equal. You were not even human, not to him.

You were a role to be perfected, an actress bound to his script. And he—he was the director, the puppeteer pulling the strings of your existence with a touch so light, so surgical, that you didn’t notice your autonomy dissolving until it was too late.

He didn’t approach you like an ordinary man. Ordinary men didn’t cloak their words in riddles, their intentions in shadows.

“Your dreams are fascinating,” he said once, his tone light but his eyes dark, predatory. “I could make a masterpiece from them. Would you let me?”

His gaze burned into you, not with affection, but with hunger—the kind of hunger that consumes, destroys, leaves nothing but ash in its wake.

When you hesitated, when you stammered out a polite refusal, his smile curved sharp and cruel. “Ah, but do you really have a choice?”

You didn’t, of course.

The dream bubbles began soon after. Vivid, horrifyingly real landscapes where you were no longer yourself but a marionette dancing to his whims.

The first time you woke screaming, trembling from the phantom pain of dream wounds, he was there. He shouldn’t have been—your door had been locked—but there he was, sitting on the edge of your bed with his head tilted and that damned frog-camera clutched in his gloved hands.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, as if you were a specimen under glass. “You feel it, don’t you? The fear, the thrill, the pain. Tell me, how does it taste?”

In bed, he is not a lover. He is a creator, and you are his medium.

His touch is clinical at first, cold and calculated, his gloved fingers trailing down your spine as if mapping the curve of your body for a sculpture he plans to carve later.

But there is heat beneath that coldness, a violent, consuming fire that erupts when he lets himself indulge. He does not make love. He takes. He presses you into the mattress as if trying to merge you with it, his weight oppressive, suffocating. His hands grip your wrists too tightly, leaving bruises like the ink stains of his artistry. His breath is hot against your ear, his voice a low murmur that mixes poetry with threats, promises with lies.

“Do you feel it?” he whispers, his tone too calm for the frenzy of his movements. “The way your body betrays you? The way it obeys me, even when your mind doesn’t want to?”

His teeth graze the shell of your ear, and the sharp pain that follows is not accidental. “I could keep you here forever,” he says, his voice thick with sadistic delight. “Inside the dream, inside me. Would you even know the difference? Would you even care?”

You would care, of course.

You fight him, or at least you try. But he’s relentless, unyielding, a force of nature that smothers your resistance with sheer willpower. He doesn’t let you hide from him, not even in the sanctuary of your own mind.

His powers as a Memokeeper ensure that every thought, every secret, every fleeting desire you’ve ever tried to bury is laid bare before him. He uses them against you, weaving them into the narrative of his control.

“You want this,” he says, his voice a velvet knife. “You want me. Your body knows it, even if your mind refuses to admit it.”

His lips trail down your throat, his teeth leaving marks that will linger for days, physical proof of his dominance. “And when I’m done with you, when there’s nothing left of you but what I’ve created, you’ll thank me. You’ll beg me to keep you.”

The horror of it all is that he doesn’t just break you physically. He breaks your mind, piece by fragile piece, until you can no longer tell where the dream ends and reality begins. His dream bubbles seep into your waking hours, twisting your perception until even the memories of your resistance feel like fabrications.

He tells you that you’re his muse, his masterpiece, his greatest work. And despite the revulsion, the terror, some part of you begins to believe him.

Because how could someone so brilliant, so meticulous, be wrong?

And yet, in the darkest corners of your mind, you know the truth.

You are not his muse.

You are his victim, a living doll trapped in the nightmare of his creation.

But no one will ever hear your screams.

He’s made sure of that.

After all, reality itself is just another film to him, and he’s already written your final scene.

♡ Mydei.

"You belong to me, just as I am bound to this blood-soaked fate. No one will ever take you from me, not in this life, not in the next. I’ll carve my name into your soul, and you’ll learn to love it, even if it takes a thousand deaths."

It begins as a hum in the back of his throat, a low vibration that settles into his chest like the resonance of a beast stirring in its lair. He watches you, not from afar, but from the corner of your vision, where his shadow seems to stretch and curve unnaturally—always larger, always darker than the dim light allows. His gaze is not mere sight; it’s weight, pressure, suffocation. He sees the tremor in your fingers as you pour water into a glass. He catalogues the way your breaths hitch when his footsteps echo closer, closer still.

And when he speaks, his voice is a razor dragged slowly, deliberately, across raw nerves. “You’re trembling,” he says, though there’s no concern in his tone.

It’s an observation, clinical yet laced with something sharper, something akin to hunger.

He doesn’t touch you yet, but the proximity is suffocating—his presence a noose tightening with every passing second. His breath brushes your ear as he leans closer. “Are you afraid of me?”

You flinch but say nothing, and he chuckles. It’s low and guttural, almost amused, but there’s an edge of cruelty there, a promise that he’ll savor every inch of your fear.

He feeds on it, you realize, and the thought sends a chill racing down your spine. “You should be,” he murmurs, the words dripping like venom. “Fear keeps you alive… but not from me. Never from me.”

He lies, of course.

The predator in him is far too obvious, a wolf cloaked in something barely resembling humanity. He doesn’t see you as prey to consume in haste.

No, he sees you as a possession—a rare, precious thing to break slowly, to shatter and rebuild in his image. He thrives on control, on the knowledge that every shiver, every gasp, every cry is something he owns, something he’s dragged out of you inch by agonizing inch.

When he finally touches you, it’s with the precision of a surgeon dissecting his subject. Fingers glide over your skin like scalpels, drawing phantom lines where his teeth will follow, where his hands will linger. There’s no tenderness in the way he grips your wrist, the bruising force of his palm a warning, a declaration.

He doesn’t need to speak for you to understand: you’re his.

The room is suffused with a kind of tension that seems alive, thrumming in the air like an electrical charge waiting to snap. His lips curl into something that might resemble a smile if not for the sheer malice in it.

“You can fight,” he says, voice as smooth and cold as glass, “but we both know how this ends.”

And then he moves, swift as a predator pouncing, pinning you against the unyielding surface of the wall.

The impact drives the air from your lungs, and before you can catch your breath, he’s there—everywhere. The heat of his body seeps into yours, the solidity of him a cage that leaves no room for escape. His hands are firm, unrelenting, roaming with a kind of obsessive thoroughness that feels both maddening and humiliating. He maps every inch of your body as if it’s a territory to be conquered, claimed.

The words he whispers into your ear are sharp, biting things, designed to slice through your defenses. “Do you know how easy it would be?” he breathes, his voice a silken thread woven with danger.

“To tear you apart. To ruin you so thoroughly you wouldn’t even recognize yourself. And you’d thank me for it, wouldn’t you? By the time I’m done, you won’t want to remember what it felt like to be whole without me.”

His grip tightens, and you can feel the latent strength in his hands, the power that could snap bone without effort.

And yet he doesn’t.

Not yet.

He revels in the anticipation, in the way your body reacts—fear mingled with something darker, something you refuse to name. The way your breath catches, the way your pulse races beneath his fingers… it’s a symphony to him, a melody of submission he’s determined to conduct to its crescendo.

When he finally takes you, it’s not an act of love—it’s an act of dominance, of ownership.

His movements are deliberate, almost cruel in their precision, each thrust a reminder of who holds the reins. He doesn’t allow you to close your eyes, doesn’t let you escape into the safety of darkness.

No, he demands your gaze, demands that you see him, that you acknowledge the monster who has reduced you to this trembling, gasping wreck. And when you do—when your eyes meet his, wide and glassy with tears—he smiles. Not with joy, but with triumph, with the satisfaction of a hunter who has cornered his prey.

His words during these moments are a mix of degradation and adoration, a twisted litany that leaves no doubt of his intentions. “You’re mine,” he growls against your skin, the heat of his breath searing like a brand. “Every breath, every scream, every drop of blood in your veins—it all belongs to me.”

And yet, even as he tears you apart, there’s an undeniable allure in his madness, a magnetic pull that keeps you rooted to the spot even as every instinct screams at you to run.

Because beneath the cruelty, beneath the overwhelming force of his obsession, there’s a flicker of something more—a need so desperate it borders on pathetic, a craving for connection that he can’t voice but demands nonetheless.

When it’s over, he doesn’t release you.

His arms remain locked around you, a vice that refuses to loosen. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath ragged, his body still trembling with the aftermath.

And in that moment, you realize the truth of it: he doesn’t break you because he hates you. He breaks you because he loves you, because the thought of you existing without him is unbearable.

But love, for him, is not soft or kind. It is a blade, honed to a deadly edge, and he wields it without mercy.

“You’ll stay,” he whispers, and it’s not a question.

It’s a command, a promise, a threat.

“You’ll stay because there’s nowhere else for you to go. No one else who could ever understand you the way I do. And if you try to leave…” His voice trails off, but the unspoken consequence hangs heavy in the air, a silent vow etched in blood.

You nod, because what else can you do?

And as he tightens his hold on you, his lips brushing against your temple in a mockery of a kiss, you feel the full weight of your reality settle over you.

There is no escape. There never was.

And in the dark recesses of your mind, a small, terrified part of you wonders if you’ll ever want to leave at all.

♡ Anaxa.

"You think you can escape my mind, but you're already tangled in my thoughts—your every breath, every movement, is an echo of me. You belong to me, and I will never let you forget that."

The air around him was always cold, as if reality itself recoiled in his presence, drawing its warmth into the void of his indifference. Anaxa moved like an unfinished thought, fragmented, deliberate, yet ever disquieting.

You felt his shadow linger before you saw him, a chilling weight that settled on your skin like frost, sinking into the marrow of your bones. His eyes—one bared to the world, the other concealed beneath the eyepatch—were an unforgiving tapestry of contradictions: icy intellect simmering beneath the calm veneer, an endless labyrinth of thoughts that spiraled toward madness.

He whispered your name like a sacrament and a curse. Each syllable, spoken in that low, velvety cadence of his, seemed to unravel you, a knife peeling back every layer of resolve.

"You think knowledge can shield you," he murmured one night, his breath as cold and intimate as the edge of a scalpel. "But even wisdom has limits. I’ve seen them. I’ve transcended them." He would circle you like a predator savoring the hunt, his movements calculated, his proximity suffocating.

Anaxa was not a man who shattered the soul through brute force.

No, his torment was subtle—a slow dismantling, piece by piece, until you became something unrecognizable to even yourself.

You didn’t notice how he had claimed your life until it was too late. The quiet manipulation seeped in like poison—so gradual, so insidious, you mistook it for safety. Every book you touched, every whisper of thought you dared to express, every step you took outside the prison he called your sanctuary…all of it traced back to him. You'd look up from a page of text only to find him leaning in the doorway, a slight smile curling his lips, the sort that spoke of secrets too profound and too damning to voice.

"You have such a beautiful mind," he'd say, his gloved fingers brushing the side of your neck in a touch that was almost reverent.

"It’s wasted on anyone else. They’ll never understand you—not like I do." The words were honeyed, dripping with a sincerity so intoxicating you almost believed it.

Almost.

Until you noticed the way his gaze lingered on your trembling hands, on the ink smudges on your skin, on the way you recoiled yet stayed rooted in place. He liked the way fear made you fragile, and though you hated him for it, you hated yourself more for the flicker of thrill that bloomed in your chest.

Anaxa didn’t need chains to hold you down; his words alone were shackles. His intelligence was a web, intricate and all-encompassing, and you were the fly ensnared at its center.

"I don’t want to hurt you," he whispered once, late into the night when the room was too quiet and his voice was too close. "But I will, if it’s the only way to make you stay."

And you knew he meant it—not as a threat, but as a promise, a truth spoken with the same certainty as an immutable law of the universe.

The moments of intimacy—if one could call them that—were no less haunting.

His touch was clinical, precise, like a scientist studying a fragile specimen. He knew where to press, where to hold, where to carve into your soul with a calculated cruelty that left you yearning and dreading in equal measure.

His lips on your skin felt like frostbite, burning cold yet addictively sharp. His hands, those hands that wielded intellect like a blade, seemed to map every inch of you with the precision of a scholar dissecting sacred scripture.

"You’re beautiful," he would say, the words an oxymoron of tenderness and possession.

"Beautiful because you’re broken. Broken because you’re mine." He traced the curve of your throat with a gloved fingertip, lingering on the places where your pulse betrayed your terror.

His gaze bore into you, unrelenting, as though he could peel back the layers of flesh and bone to reach the essence of you. "Do you know what the Titans whispered to me in my dreams?" he asked once, his voice a mix of wonder and madness.

"They said I’d find divinity in ruin. And here you are."

The nights were the worst.

In the darkness, you felt him even when you didn’t see him.

The weight of his presence pressed against you, suffocating, inescapable. His words would echo in your mind, winding through your thoughts like a parasite. He’d appear at your bedside, his figure shrouded in the dim glow of moonlight.

"You should sleep," he’d murmur, though his tone carried no warmth. "You’ll need your strength. Tomorrow, we’ll unravel the secrets of the cosmos. Together."

And though you tried to resist, you found yourself clinging to the edges of his words, desperate for the clarity he promised, even as it led you deeper into his labyrinth.

When he finally claimed you, it was an act of calculated brutality disguised as love.

Every kiss felt like a conquest, every caress a branding. He whispered to you like a poet reciting his magnum opus, his voice soft yet unyielding, every syllable carrying the weight of his obsession.

"You belong to me," he said, his lips brushing against your ear as his hands pinned you beneath him. "Not just your body. Your mind. Your soul. Everything. No one else is worthy—not even you."

And as his touch became more demanding, more consuming, you realized that he wasn’t just unraveling you. He was recreating you, piece by piece, reshaping you into something that existed solely for him.

And though every fiber of your being screamed in defiance, a small, treacherous part of you wondered if this was love—or if it was something far darker, something that transcended the bounds of human understanding.

"You’ll never leave me," he said, his voice a blend of certainty and desperation as his lips ghosted over your trembling skin.

"Even if you try, even if you run…I’ll always find you. You’re the only constant in my chaos, the only light in my darkness. And I will burn the stars themselves before I let that light fade."

And so, you lay there in the cold embrace of his obsession, trapped between terror and desire, caught in the orbit of a man who would dismantle the heavens just to keep you by his side.

♡ Phainon.

"Every strike I make, every victory I win—it’s all for you. So don't be afraid when you see the blood. It's just a little sacrifice to remind you: you're mine, and I will burn this world to the ground before I let you go."

The moments he craves most are the quiet ones when the two of you are entirely alone, but tonight, silence isn’t kind.

It’s oppressive, weighted by the looming presence of the man before you—the Deliverer, the Nameless Hero, a man who wears the name Phainon like an armor of light.

Yet beneath that golden radiance, a storm of obsession churns, relentless and unyielding.

He stands over you, the faint luminescence of his ichor-stained veins pulsing faintly in the dim, cold air of the temple chamber. You can feel his gaze before you see it—heavy, glinting with something raw and unspeakable.

His voice, when it finally breaks the silence, is soft but unshakable, carrying the weight of a promise that makes your blood run cold.

“You don’t understand, do you? You’ve never understood.” A smile curls at the edge of his lips, serene yet terrifying. “I don’t want to save the world, not anymore. I want to save you. Every step I’ve taken, every blow I’ve struck, has always been for you.”

His claymore rests at his side, its edge gleaming faintly with an unsettling crimson, dried remnants of the battle from earlier still clinging to the blade.

He hasn’t cleaned it.

He hasn’t even sheathed it.

The weapon is as much a part of him as the air he breathes.

You can’t help but wonder if the blood that stains it belongs to someone you knew, someone who once stood too close to you for his liking.

He takes a step closer, the sound of his boots against the stone floor echoing like the toll of a funeral bell.

You back away instinctively, but there’s no escape.

His pace is slow, deliberate. He knows exactly how far he needs to push you before your resolve shatters.

“Run if you want to,” he murmurs, his tone almost gentle. “I won’t stop you. But you’ll come back. You always do.”

There’s no malice in his words, only certainty—a chilling, inescapable truth that wraps around your throat like a noose.

His hands are stained too.

Not visibly, not this time, but you can feel it in the way he reaches for you.

Fingers meant for wielding destruction now hover over your cheek, trembling slightly with restraint.

You flinch, and the flicker of hurt that crosses his face is almost human—almost.

“You’re afraid of me,” he whispers, his breath brushing against your ear as he leans closer.

“And I... I hate that. I hate that you make me this way. But I hate it even more when you’re far from me.”

When his lips press against yours, it isn’t a kiss—it’s a conquest.

His desperation seeps into you like venom, intoxicating and suffocating all at once. He tastes like metal and fury, his ichor burning faintly where his tongue grazes yours. His touch isn’t tender; it’s possessive, frantic, like he’s trying to carve his existence into your very bones.

His hand tangles in your hair, tugging hard enough to make you gasp, and the sound only seems to spur him on. “You’re mine,” he growls against your lips, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous timbre. “Say it.”

You don’t.

You can’t.

And that’s when his patience snaps.

His grip tightens, dragging you against him until there’s no space left between your bodies. The heat of him is overwhelming, a furnace of ichor and madness that threatens to consume you whole. His other hand presses against the small of your back, forcing you to arch into him as he lowers his head to your neck.

His breath is hot against your skin, and when he speaks again, it’s a guttural rasp that makes your stomach twist. “You don’t understand how far I’d go for you. What I’d destroy. Who I’d become.”

He sinks his teeth into the curve of your shoulder, not enough to break the skin but enough to leave a mark—a brand, a reminder of his claim. You cry out, and he exhales sharply, almost like he’s savoring the sound.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “That’s the truth of it, isn’t it? You’ll scream for me, cry for me... but you’ll never leave.”

And he’s right, isn’t he?

Because even now, as fear and anger coil in your chest like a viper, you can’t bring yourself to push him away.

His presence is suffocating, his obsession terrifying—but there’s something about the way he looks at you, like you’re the sun in a world of endless night, that makes it impossible to resist him entirely.

It’s sick.

It’s wrong.

But it’s real.

Phainon knows it too.

He knows you better than you know yourself, and that knowledge is his greatest weapon.

He wields it with precision, unraveling you piece by piece until there’s nothing left but the parts of you that belong to him.

“You’ll stay,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over your collarbone. “You’ll always stay. Because no one else can have you. Not the Titans, not the Trailblazer... not even yourself.”

When he finally pulls away, his eyes lock onto yours, glowing faintly with the golden ichor that courses through his veins. There’s something hauntingly beautiful about him in this moment, a tragic god draped in shadows. He tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he’s just solved.

“You’re mine,” he says again, softer this time. “And I’m yours. Whether you like it or not.”

And you believe him.

────────────

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❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. 🔞Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

[unintentionalseductress]

Hold Me Tenderly

Warnings: MDNI, sex, angst Summary: When woken up from a nightmare, you and Caleb are forced to confront some uncomfortable truths. WC: 3075 A/n: This week has been crazy. As I've mentioned in an earlier rant, there's more to Caleb than meets the eye and I'm here for it. I've seen a bump in toxicity since his launch, and I just want to take this space to say, please remember this is all FICTIONAL. Let people like who they like and if you have nothing nice to say, scroll on by.

It’s pitch black. You squint, your heart pounding frantically as you try to get your bearings. Up, down, left, right, direction seemed to have lost all meaning. It was dark. And quiet. Too quiet. The unsettling sound of your blood rushing through your own veins adds to the paranoia building inside you.

“Are you looking for me?” Your body jolts at the voice as you look around desperately for the source.

“Caleb?” You call through the echoing nothingness. He sounded so close but where was he? 

“Right here. Can’t you see me?” He sounded further away this time. You jog through the void, not even certain if there is ground beneath your feet. Were you actually moving? Or were you stuck in place, wasting effort to run through a medium that couldn’t be traversed?  

“Caleb, where are you? I can’t find you!” Your voice calls out, shrill, and panicked into the void.

“Here.” He sounded much farther away now, the faint sound of him disappearing into the dark. You give chase, plunging deeper into the unknown.

“Caleb!”

“Hey.” You’re shaken gently and your eyes fly open, your limbs tangling under the sheets as you thrash to free yourself.

“Whoa, calm down. It’s ok. It’s ok my little mouse.” Strong arms wrap around you and you’re pulled into a tight embrace against a firm, muscled, chest. You swallow, then blink your eyes open. The bedside lamp is turned on, and you feel relief flood your chest as Caleb’s face comes into focus. You sniff, burying your face into the comforting warmth of his skin. 

“Nightmare?” He asks softly, cupping the back of your head. You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat. “It’s gone now. I’m here.” He shushes you, patting your back soothingly.

You’re here, but you’re not here.

The thought enters your mind, unbidden, and suddenly, it’s too much. Your eyes squeeze closed, trying and failing to stop the cascade of tears that form. You couldn’t bear it anymore. Caleb came and went like day changing into night - too brief and without a trace. You hated it. You hated him acting like this tension between you didn’t exist, like the events at Skyhaven had been put to rest.

But most of all you hated that whenever Caleb visited, he never seemed to understand that you wanted him to stay. You had never said he was unwelcome, but he treated himself like an unsavory visitor, only packing enough clothes for a day, before leaving the next. 

And you hated yourself for being unable to shake off the question he had asked the last time he had visited. 

“Why didn’t you ask me who kept me up all night? Were you afraid I’d say it was you? Or were you scared I’d say it wasn’t?”

Wasn’t the answer to that obvious? Why else would you keep letting this man back into your life, over and over, like a moth drawn to a flame? Simply put, you were now in a precarious state, knowing you could never go back to a world where Caleb didn’t exist. It was infuriating, the way he thought he was being considerate, never overstaying his visits, when it was so plainly obvious you didn’t want him to go. Your heart broke each time he left without asking if there were feelings that went beyond the bond of growing up together. 

So you cry, and he holds you tenderly. You couldn’t remember the first time you had both done this, years ago, sharing a bed to avoid facing all the past trauma you’d endured together. But all you knew was that you never wanted there to be a last. 

“It’s just a dream baby girl,” Caleb murmurs in your ear. 

Your eyes snap open, and through gritted teeth you say, “It’s not just a dream Caleb.”

His hand pauses. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not a dream.” You sit upright, burying your face in your hands, your body racked with sobs, shaking and trembling on the bed. The sheets ruffle and Caleb pulls you against him, trying to console you. He seems to be at a loss about what to say. You take a shuddering breath and it’s like a dam burst inside you.

“You come when you want. And leave when you want. What about me, Caleb? Did it ever occur to you that I don’t want bits and pieces of you anymore?” You look up at him, tears streaking down your face, your heart skipping a beat as his eyes grow wide with shock. You ramble on. 

“I don’t know how we got here. And I’m trying to fix it but Caleb…I can’t fix it if you won’t stay.” 

You finally admit the things you’d tucked away inside, trying to bury them; now they were crawling out of your throat like ghosts desperate for a rebirth. You swallow, and Caleb grabs the glass of water from the nightstand and presses it into your hands. 

“Drink.” 

The word is said so firmly that you dare not refuse and you gulp, the liquid somehow helping dull the harshness of the lump in your throat. He puts it back before gathering you close to him.

“You realize that’s the first time you told me I could stay.”

“Well, I’m sorry! I thought it was obvious!” You hurl the words, which get muffled by the wall of his chest. 

Caleb huffs. “Well, it wasn’t. And who told you that I didn’t want to stay? I was trying to give you space.” He takes a deep breath. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me around anymore.”

Your heart clenches, and your hands tighten on his T-shirt. “Of course, I want you around Caleb. You’re my…” Your voice trails as you realize the term ‘best friend’ rang hollow. He was so much more than that. 

Caleb gently leans back so that he can look at your face. He cups your cheek, his eyes gazing at your face searchingly.

“What? What am I?” 

The question snaps the coil that had been steadily winding tighter during his stay. Frustrated, you move to your knees, hands springing out to capture his face. Before he can react, you roughly cover his mouth with yours. The kiss is raw, pouring out every moment of rage and loneliness you have felt since being reunited with him. You had never kissed him before, and a momentary flash of worry crosses your mind at the implications but they’re pushed out as you take what you had been desiring for so long. 

Caleb groans lowly at the feeling of your soft lips against his but his mind is fighting propriety. “Wait. Hang on, wait baby girl.” Caleb’s large hands catch yours and he breaks the kiss, trying to put some space in between you both. 

“Are you sure about this?” Caleb’s eyes are painted with confusion and doubt, but there is no denying the growing darkness at the edges of his irises. Despite everything, neither of you had dared cross that line, the one that threatened to upend your complete understanding of each other. 

“Never been more sure of anything in my life.” 

Your consent brings forth a growl from his throat, and finally, finally, he claims you back. You revel in the push of his body against yours, the hard muscles pressing against your softness as he wraps both arms around you and you’re crushed under his weight as both of you crash onto the mattress. Everything was fair game now, no qualms asked. His mouth, hot and demanding, finds yours, and your hands anchor onto his shoulder blades, trying to pull him impossibly closer to you than he already was. Everything about him was familiar, yet different. 

You’d held his body before, cupped his cheeks, and cuddled him during the bad days, but now, you feel the tension in his body as the boundaries between friendship and something more start to blur. The raging ache in your chest that had been clawing at you since you had left Skyhaven now had a name; possessiveness.

Because he was yours. And weren’t you his? Was it fate that had brought you two together at the shelter after the day of the Chronorift Catastrophe? It hardly seemed to matter but now, the both of you were intricately bound together and you couldn’t figure out where he ended and you started. All that mattered was that he was here. 

A gasp leaves your mouth as Caleb rakes his teeth down your lips, nibbling and sucking the soft flesh. Carding your fingers through his hair, you wait until the sting has passed before leaning up to pepper his face with little kisses, causing him to pause as he catches his breath.

“I was afraid you’d say yes.” 

“What?” Caleb’s eyes knit in confusion as he regards through the haze in his brain.

“Your question. I was afraid you’d say yes.” Your breath hitches as he cushions your head with his arm, gazing down at you with affection. 

“Why?” He murmurs as he dips down to lick and nibble your ear, sending currents of heat down your spine.

“Because Caleb. I’m always afraid. I thought I lost everything during the chronorift. I didn’t want to dare ask for more. Because asking for more means being vulnerable to getting hurt.”

Caleb’s eyes are full of emotion. “I didn’t want to ask you for more,” he admits quietly. “Because I know you are already empty from giving me whatever you have now.” 

The room falls into silence and the only thing that can be heard is the hammering of your hearts, pounding in sync with each other. 

“Take me, Caleb.” You murmur and his heart nearly stops in his chest. “I can never be empty if you’re here. But promise me you’ll stop leaving the way you do.” Your voice hitches. “I can’t do it all over again.” 

Caleb presses kisses to your temples, rubbing your noses together like a puppy and there’s conviction in his voice as he speaks. “I won’t. I promise I’ll never be gone long enough for you to start questioning my position in your life.” 

Your hands start to trace his face and he catches one of them, kissing your fingertips and sighing against your palm. The heat between you threatens to consume you whole. When his mouth touches yours, you open and let in his tongue, exploring the taste and wetness. His hands are now bruisingly dug into your waist like he’s steeling himself from going too fast and rough.

Primal instinct pours into his veins and visions of his past fantasies flood his brain; ripping off your clothes while his hands spread apart your legs. How wet you’d feel as he tasted the sweet nectar of your sex before plunging his cock so deep within you that you’d feel for him for days long after it was over. How long had he held back from acting on those impulses?

He grits his teeth as he rolls you over onto him, knowing he wouldn’t be able to control himself having you pinned powerless underneath him. You’re looking at him in a confused daze, then, with a gesture so cute that it almost made him lose restraint, you raise your arms above your head. He leans up, dragging the pajama shirt off your torso, swallowing hard as you reveal yourself to him. Those soft, inviting breasts, the ones he’d imagined for years now, were perfect. He cups them reverently as he presses kisses to your cleavage, squeezing and enjoying the feel of your flesh. 

Your body reacts naturally to him, responding so strongly that you feel like you might combust from the rising need gathering in your sex. Your clit throbs within its folds, swollen and delicate, as it waits to be unsheathed. Caleb’s erection was straining against the fabric of his shorts, brushing against your crotch and as he pinched and rolled your nipples between his fingertips, you started to grind against him. 

A hiss escapes from him as he looks up at you, crazed with desire, the sight of you rubbing against him pouring fuel into the fire. He sits up, crossing his legs and upsetting your balance before drawing you securely onto his lap. His head dips to suckle, the feel of his tongue and teeth on your nipple sending shocks of pleasure through your system. You struggle against him, finding the hem of his T-shirt and undressing him, amazed at the sight of his bare chest. 

You sigh before running your hands over the expanse, his mouth busying itself with your breast again. There was no shame or reluctance as you took from each other. A sheen of sweat covers your bodies as you tease and stroke each other. Every small gasp, whimper, and moan was part of a private symphony, and he was desperate to hear you sing. 

You could feel the drip of moisture inside your sex now and were growing impatient from the wait. Your eyes lock with Caleb’s, those smokey, purple irises watching you intently. When your fingertips hook into his waistband, he doesn’t question you, but with a show of strength, braces his palms on the bed and lifts his hips. You slide forward slightly but manage to yank off the garments below his knees, watching his cock spring free from its confines, weeping precum from the slit.

“Fuck. Don’t look at me like that.” Caleb’s cheeks are flushed and his voice is gravelly, a soft rumble of barely contained need. He bites back a moan as your fingers curl around his shaft, squeezing and pumping him tantalizingly, and his hips rock against you as pleasure floods his brain. His hand catches your wrist, stilling you as he tries to control the rushes of arousal that shoot through him. His cock felt painfully hard and your willingness was driving him to the edge.

Without missing a beat, Caleb pulls off your shorts and panties, panting as your wet sex hovers over the tip of his cock, your knees sinking into the mattress as you try to settle back on his lap. He groans wantonly as your pussy, moist and warm, brushes against his engorged head, mixing your essence with his. It felt divine, and your hips start to seek friction, dragging the length of his cock in between your folds, gasping softly into his ear each time it hits your clit. 

“That’s right baby girl. Use me. I’m all yours.” Caleb whispers encouragement into your ear and it only makes you want to claim him even more. You whimper as you raise as high as your knees will take you, sliding the slick little bud along his slit, trying to fit it into the little hole that was leaking those milky beads from his shaft. 

“Caleb.” Your voice is a whine as your nails dig into his back, dancing so carefully along the ridge so that your clit doesn’t miss any action. 

“Oh, that’s it little mouse.” Caleb coos at you while his hands stroke down your back. “My sweet girl. Take what you need.” His fingers indent into your hips to help guide your movements and you feel a similar series of small spasms flutter their way into your core. Knowing you’re close you use Caleb, solid and grounding, as an anchor and hump him with abandon, your breasts bouncing with each movement. You’re both in a trance, broken from it when you feel the tension in your clit suddenly start to feel wonderfully light and sublime. You moan as your climax hits you, continuing to stimulate the little bud on his tip as the rest of the orgasm follows, sending ripple after ripple of hot pleasure through you. Your mouth hangs open as you pant from the exertion, then are caught off guard as Caleb cups your face and kisses you.

While he was occupied with your mouth you raise your hips and ease your fluttering hole onto his length. A guttural grunt spills from Caleb’s mouth into yours as you continue to lower your pussy onto him, taking him further into your slick welcoming heat. His cock throbs as it slips further inside you and he watches your face as you settle to his size. You felt so full, the way his cock filled your inner space, and when he rolls his hips, you cling onto him for dear life. You’d never thought he could feel so good, feel so comforting as his meat thrusts up into you before easing back down. 

Your hips start to coordinate a rhythm to his movements, sinking onto him as he pushes up, helping him bottom out each time, and he swore he could see stars forming around him. You were so tight, so inviting, and so unbelievably sexy as you writhed in passion along with him. 

“Fuck little mouse.” Caleb’s vision blurs at the edges as he feels himself on the precipice of a climax. “You feel good. So damn perfect.” He chases his orgasm, his thrusts growing more urgent and sloppy as he did so. Your juices coat his cock and start to form a ring around his length, your walls quivering and sucking him further in towards your cervix. 

Caleb’s abdomen is rigid and he feels every part of him tensing up in anticipation for a mind-blowing finish. He moans, the noise sexily floating into the air, then holds you tightly against him as he finishes, spilling himself messily into your quivering channel, the thick jets of seed coating your walls white. He doesn’t move, savoring the closeness and intimacy of having you pressed up against him, sated and warm. After a few moments, he maneuvers both of you to lay down, his softened cock still nestle within you as you immediately move closer to snuggle into his chest.

“No more running away. Whatever happens, we’ll talk it out. And I promise I won’t leave you unless you’re screaming at me to get out.”

You chuckle quietly, then kiss his chin. 

“Never. Unless you refuse to make your braised chicken wings for me.” 

He laughs heartily and both of you feel some of the awkwardness between you ease. It wasn’t going to be easy but you were both determined to fix whatever had been lost. One step at a time, you reminded yourself, before snuggling into Caleb and finally drifting off into a dreamless sleep. 

© nanamiscocksleeve original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

@tokyorevengersrin @brekkersgf @ladyparamount @otomegamesforlife @shddyboo @supernaturalbaesduh @sweets-kozume @theimmortalbuns @venussakura @prisjean @laddelulu30 @lethargiccryptid @ravenclaw-jojo @redactedbimbo @crypt-0rchid @fattybattysblog @xinnn6

[sanakiras]

PICTURE ME LIKE I PICTURE YOU

PAIRING — kim mingyu x fem!reader

WORD COUNT — 1.2k

SYNOPSIS — mingyu is hopelessly in love with someone who doesn’t love him back, and all that lies ahead is acceptance.

TAGS — unrequited love, fwb!gyu, explicit sexual content

NOTE — just a short drabble i felt like putting out. came up w this while listening to picture you by chappell roan, such a beautiful song, give it a listen !! <3

it’s been dark outside for several hours when mingyu’s kissing every inch of your body. he pushes himself into you with ease, but his touch is light as a feather. gentle.

the pace he keeps is slow, and fuck, you don’t think it’s ever felt this intimate before.

normally he’s relatively talkative during sex — this might be the quietest he’s been in bed so far, save for the grunts and moans working their way out of his throat.

“feels so good, gyu—” you’re half-slurring your words, not missing how his big hand interwines his fingers with yours as he ruts into you, a gesture that breaks your heart.

how can something feel so right yet so wrong at the same time?

of course mingyu didn’t go into this little friends-with-benefits thing with the idea of falling in love with you. hell, it’s the last thing he expected. he wanted something without strings attached but with consistency, a sense of easiness; you turned out to be looking for the same.

but he fell in love with you in a way he didn’t think was possible. to him, it felt like the kind of love you only find in the movies; the kind you can only dream of encountering in real life. it hit him sudden and hard — he didn’t confess to you, out of fear he’d lose whatever bond you have with him.

or perhaps that’s not all there is to it. perhaps he never confessed his true feelings because he knew, deep down, that you’d never reciprocate them.

because you don’t really fall for guys like him. you much prefer guys like wonwoo.

his best friend. his roommate.

the day he first saw it, he was horrified. what was a simple interaction to anyone else, was his worst nightmare. his heart sank in his chest the second he watched you and wonwoo meet from afar — that look the two of you shared was enough.

you’d never looked at him that way.

all that’s been on his mind is your look of brutally honest disappointment when he opened the door to his dorm and told you wonwoo was out. if you’d stood any closer to him, you could probably hear his confidence plummeting to his feet, as well as his heart ripping in two.

the whole ordeal should’ve made him put an end to the agreement you had with him, but he couldn’t do it.

because it’s all he had left of you. the realization hit him like a truck; the moment he’d put a stop to it, you’d no longer be his in any way.

not that you ever really were to begin with.

he’s clinging onto this last piece of you so selfishly, he knows that, but he so much as looks at you and everything he wants to say gets stuck in his throat, his thoughts never seeing the light of day.

an unsettling feeling slowly brews in his ribcage. all he wants is to understand. why don’t you love him? what does his best friend have that he doesn’t?

he might just break on top of you here — would you even care?

maybe you would. or maybe you’d just pity him.

the sound of your whimpering underneath him makes a strange, achingly good combination of heartbreak and lust. he wants nothing more than to dig his teeth into your soft skin, but forces himself not to.

your legs wrap tighter around his hips, pulling him closer to you. it’s you who puts your hands on the back of his neck, kissing him so sweetly that it almost makes him believe you want him as much as he wants you.

what makes everything worse is that he knows you tried. for a little while, you tried to see if you could give him a shred of the love he so desperately wanted to give you.

but you couldn’t.

“i want to love you like that, y’know. i want it so bad, and i tried, but…” you told him last week while slow dancing at a friend’s birthday party, “i just can’t.”

while your head was resting between his neck and shoulder, your bodies rocking side to side to the music together, he looked up at the ceiling to hold back his tears, the corners of his mouth curling downwards. it was admirable, how he held his head high that night.

truthfully, you didn’t expect him to come knocking on your door again after that. you broke his heart — even though you never wanted to — so you wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t want to see you anymore.

but to your surprise, he did come back. he was less cheerful, sure, but it’s as if part of him chose to ignore what you said to him, for reasons you didn’t understand at first.

he needs to accept that you and him aren’t meant to be. perhaps that’s the sole reason he wanted to fuck you tonight.

it almost sickens him how much he wants to beg for you to try again. maybe if you saw him more often, or spent more time together doing whatever you wanted, or if he kissed you even more than he already has — maybe you’d grow to love him in the end.

he buries his head in the crook of your neck, hiding how shitty he feels.

‘cause he knows you won’t love him, no matter what he does or how hard he fights for it.

“i’m close,” he mutters, only momentarily lost in the chasing of his high, “fuck—”

you clench around him with shaky legs, and he shivers at the feel of your nails digging into his skin, hitting his climax right after you.

and it’s then that he breaks. as he lays his head down on your chest, staring at the wall, his lips trembling — he can’t hide how hurt he is anymore.

“i’m sorry,” he chokes out with his face turned away from you, a few silent tears slipping from his eyes in defeat.

with a sad attempt for a smile, you stroke his naked back with your fingertips, your eyes welling up once you feel his teardrops landing onto the skin of your chest.

he’s so dear to you, as loving as a person could possibly be, yet you can’t love him back. a part you hates yourself for it, “i’m sorry, too.”

the sobs are fighting to escape his mouth, but he keeps them quiet, making you almost just as emotional as he is.

“i’ll get over it tomorrow, i promise. i’m sorry.” he whispers, his way of asking if you can stay together like this for just a little while longer.

you just let your tears go with a numb face and strained voice.

“i know.”

eventually, he has no more tears left, and his whole body shudders, feeling himself drift off into sleep with burning, tired eyelids.

he’ll be okay — it’s better like this.

it’s something he’ll come to terms with when he wakes up in the morning.

thank u for reading. please let me know if u enjoyed it x

® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever. translations are not allowed.

[rhaeheartzsquirrelz]

Uhm… alright??

Goop

Sevika x Female Reader (Smut)

Content: Sex: fingering and being observed.

NOT Proofread || Note: Sorry guys, got bored! I hope u enjoy this, cus I sure did! Barely put effort into this, it was meant to be a joke…..

Your wrists stayed tied to the levitating bed by a special rope, one that glew blue in the dimly lit room. You weren’t sure where you were, all you knew was that you were naked. Bare with every inch of you showing. Your ankles were, also, tied by the same kind of rope. Everytime you struggled, it pulled tightly onto your legs until they were spread and open again.

What the hell was going on?!

Before you could speak up, the door in the corner of the room slammed open. Your lidded eyes tried to make sense of the sight infront of you, it all felt as if it were a fever dream. A sort of.. nightmare. Nonetheless, you gather your courage and speak.

“Hello?.. Who.. who is it?” Your voice echoed through the empty room.

“Glorp glop glip, glippian glarpi glore.” A high pitched, strange voice came from the far end of the room. You heard a few human grunts before whatever it was stepped up. The view of it terrified you, but it’s funny looking face made you fight the urge to smile.

It’s deformed, large head and eyes stared at you. Slender, thin body naked and exposed as it’s lanky arms held onto a muscular, human woman’s. Wait.. wait, no.. was that—

It couldn’t be?!

Sevika?!

“Glip!” The thing exclaimed, pushing the woman onto the bed and she hesitantly crawled closer.

“Sevika—“ “Shh.. I know, I’ve got no fuckin’ clue what the hell’s goin’ on.” The woman’s flesh hand ran up your side, resting on your back for comfort.

“They want me to..” she paused, clearing a lump from her throat. “Have sex with you.”

“Glip glip! Glop glian gilder, GLIP!” The alien looking thing raised its hands and demanded intimacy. It was scary, having a nonhuman thing watch you have sex? Disgustingly unreal. So freaky.

“Look, they just wanna know how we reproduce.” She tried calming you, mech now on your thigh. “We?.. Us? Two.. two girls—“ “Yes, they.. they wanna see us.”

The room went from quiet to irritably loud. The alien shifted a levitating chaid infront of the bed, sat down, and just.. stared. Seemingly growing impatient. The chair hummed a frequency that you found aggrivating, as if it were taunting you— telling you to “get to work.”

“I’ll be gentle.” Sevika reassured, siding her flesh hand to your inner thigh before spreading you wider. Her warmth helped you relax, you were glad you weren’t the only human in the room. She pressed her large finger against your clit, circling in a slow, tantalizing manner.

See, you and Sevika were.. well, friends. Friends who often kissed in the public restroom, friends who slept at each other’s place every few days, and friends who.. fucked. It was just the fact that you had no idea what was going on, how you ended up on an airship. You were just strolling around Zaun with the muscular woman when you randomly passed out.

Everything was confusing.

“Pretend the thing’s not there,” the woman spoke. Her voice making your cunt, already, pool. She’d used the same tone she did whenever she was.. in the mood. Whenever she needed to ruin you and make you feel good.

“But, how the.. the fuck?..” your breathless response was countered with a shove up your pussy. You recoiled at the sudden movement, even moaned as your insides clenched around the woman’s fingers. “How? ‘Cause I told you so, doll.” Her usual demeanour somehow back, how was she so unfazed by everything? So casual?

“I know it’s weird, but I need you to cum for me. Can you do that for me?” Sevika’s voice dropped to a whisper, her breath hit your ear and you found yourself too desperate to oblige. Your relaxed your muscles, gave into her touch, let her make you feel good, and gave her a nod of approval.

The alien, on the other hand, just sat on the chair and took.. notes. It seemed. It seemed to be writing with the use of his big head, the tool infront of it moved without being touched; meaning it was writing something. Possibly in it’s own language.

“I’ll make y’feel so good, baby,” Sevika’s voice was too distracting that you couldn’t focus on anything other than it. Her two, pretty large, fingers curled inside of you as her fingertips hit your sensitive g-spot. Her mission was clear: make you cum, feel as good as possible, then get the hell out.

“You’ll cum for me, yeah? Such a good girl.” The woman picked up her steady pace, pushing in and out all the while rubbing against your g-spot. With your legs and arms tied, all you could do was take her, moan in response to her dirty little words. Give her full excess of your body. Which felt like lava, hot. Burning hot. Your skin was sticky from sweat and your head barely managed to stay upright.

Your orgasm was close, pooling in your abdomen as Sevika showered you with pleasure and love. Her fingers never slowed, only worked faster, harder, and rougher. Her own breath was heavy, mixing in with yours as she captured your wet lips in a passionate kiss. Tongue against yours, mouth open for you, and her sweet moans escaping. You, yourself, couldn’t help but express your feelings. Moaning her name inbetween to show her affection; which the woman smiled at.

“Mm, yeah. Y’gonna cum for me? Gonna let it out?” Her voice a gruff as she wrapped her mech around your waist; forgetting you were tied to the bed. She was getting ahead of herself, and you loved every second of it. “Shit, these ropes ain’t no fun.”

You breathlessly chuckle at that.

Sevika wasn’t one to stop until you were completely satisfied. Even if her forearm hurt, jaw ached, and her body gave up, she’d always push through for you. This time was no different, the woman gave you pleasure through and through. Helping you ride your amazing orgasm to the point where you were writhing against her, whimpering into her in appreciation.

After you finished, the big headed alien stood up and approached. It’s fingers reaching to your cunt as it “sampled” some of your cum.

“Goop.” It said, eyes wide with awe, curiosity.

I’ve lost all of my dignity. Enjoy.

[saphiccarma]

- Sweet Thing Pt.5

pt.4

Relationships - Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary - Nightmares plague you in the nights the follow your capture, but luckily, Agatha and Rio are there for you. In more ways than one.

Warnings: Some heated kissing, mention of sex

A/N: HIIII I'm semi-past my writers block because well, here's part five of Sweet Thing, but also it's short and took me a while to write.

The air in the cabin was heavy as you sat upright in your bed, eyes wide and teeth bared instinctively as you flapped your legs, almost as if they were a tail. The bed sheets, a thick cloth designed to keep you warm in the chilly space, suddenly felt too heavy, too hot. Skin tingling with nerves and unspoken tension, you glance around the room frantically. Your heart pounds beneath your chest, a fast, racing rhythm that drums in your ears.

An arm drapes around your waist and you bite down on your lip hard, stifling a scream that threatened to rip from your throat. The sudden contact makes your pulse jump beneath our skin, heart doing a leap in your chest.

"Shh," Rio's voice is familiar, soft, and ladled with sleep. It was hoarse, still dripping with exhaustion. "Lay down."

Every inch of you screams to not obey her, the command sending a spark of mixed fear and anticipation straight to your core. Her head lands in your lap, the light pressure somewhat grounding you back to the present. You couldn't ignore the slight flashes of other pirates, the ones that kidnapped you, and their rough, calloused hands all over you. But Rio's touch is different, her fingers are slenderer and thinner as she splays them across your stomach, under your shirt. Rio was always cold, but not in personality, more like body temperature.

Every time you made contact with her, she was colder, sometimes just as cold as the depths of the ocean you lived in. Rio plopped her head into your lap, brown hair splaying around her like an angel. While most of the time it was kept somewhat nice, at night Rio’s hair was a complete mess.

Agatha stirs next to you, turning over to face you, but her eyes are still closed. Her body presses up against yours beneath the sheets in way that should be confining, should make you feel more stifled, but it doesn't. Instead, like Rio, she helps you stay in the present moment.

"What's going on?" she murmurs, eyelashes fluttering against her sharp cheekbones as her blue eyes open. They're a striking blue that reminds you of the ocean and even though you can't drown, you could in her eyes. The blue irises lure you in, pulling you closer and closer until she hooks you. You were already hooked. You have been for a while now.

Twisting in your lap, Rio presses her face into your stomach, her lips finding your skin as she softly presses a kiss there. Her lips linger and she sucks lightly before murmuring, "Our little siren had a bad dream."

The other woman hums lightly, and she scooches closer. Rio's lips, plush and dark plum-colored lips trailing along the soft skin of your stomach, sending welcome shivers down your spine and heat straight to your core that coiled there tightly and rested low in your body. Ears flicking under their touch, you lean back against the wall of the ship. The soft rocking of the waves echo through the wood, eyes fluttering shut, as you listen to the light crashing of water on wood.

Rio trails up your stomach, sitting up as she climbs higher and higher, pushing your shirt up in the process. You can hear Agatha exhale slowly and can practically see her eye roll. Eventually, your shirt is tugged off your head and tossed to the floor. Rio's weight settles in your lap, her thighs resting on either side of your hips. Her hands find your shoulders and she pushed you further back as she leans down to press her lips to your neck.

You can’t deny the arousal the pools between your thighs, a warm and slightly sticky reminder.  You can feel some of the worries of the day disappearing, and it helps.

At first, the touch is reverent, almost a silent worship, as if she is scared to harm you in your fragile state of mind. But Rio never did care for your mental state, and her kisses became more insistent, firmer. Her teeth graze your skin before she nips at it, tugging it between the canines and sucking. You go limp beneath her, surrendering to her touch. This type of thing has become familiar over the past...you're not sure how long. However long it's been since you were taken from them.

Night terrors would leave you writhing in bed as you screamed, and the sheets tangled into your frantically kicking legs. It only took a couple nights of that before Agatha and Rio dragged you into their bed, squishing you between them. It was stifling for the first few moments, too much, and you struggled, but then it quickly became a comfort.

Some nights, if you're lucky, Agatha will sit up, pulling your head into her lap. Her fingers would card through your hair, nails lightly scratching as the other hand would trace delicate patterns on your arms in smooth, calming movements. Then Rio would curl up behind you, her arm wrapped your waist and fingers splayed over your stomach possessively.

But tonight was not one of those nights. It was a night where Rio thought the best way to help was through distraction. It did help, but her touch also seared and burned and left you a writhing, gasping mess. Her lips found your pulse point, pressing down before she bit, hard.

You gasp, arching into her touch and hips bucking beneath her. The brunette chuckles into your neck, the sound vibrating along your skin as her hands tickle your sides, fingers lightly dancing along the sensitive skin. Her lips leave a trail of wet, lip shaped marks, soft purple bruises already blossoming. Rio loved to stake her claim on you, as did Agatha, but Rio found it enjoyable to watch you squirm as the crew stared at your marks.

You had grown used to the staring, but your cheeks would still flush what Agatha called a pretty pink and the two of them relished in the sight. Licking a long stripe up the column of your throat, Rio paused near your ear, "Let me make you feel good," she murmured, "You're such a sweet little thing." Despite her words, you didn't really have a choice. Agatha did though and she wasn't in the mood for Rio's shenanigans. The blue-eyed woman grabs the back of Rio's shirt, yanking her away.

Moonlight shines softly through the window, a sign that the night is at it's peak. Clearly, Agatha wasn't willing to be kept awake because Rio wanted to have some fun. Rio yelped, a pout coming to cover her lips as she was pulled back and thrown to the foot of the bed.

"Aggie," she whined, kicking her feet petulantly. Her arms crossed over her chest, "I just wanna have some fun." Her brown eyes were wide and pleading, desperate for attention. Agatha had the final say though, and her answer was no. That much was clear based on the scathing look she gave Rio.

Agatha tugged you down next to her, strong muscular arms wrapping around your still trembling and shirtless frame. She held you close, her body a warm, firm presence. Chin resting atop yours she hummed a soft tune, evidence of her good mood, even though she was snappy with Rio. She doesn’t dignify the other woman with a response.

"Rest, my sweet." Her hands stroked your hair, "It will be better when you wake up."

Curling into her you let your arms wrap around her form and dig into her shirt before your eyes start to flutter shut and your breathing evens out. Rio waits for a few, stubborn moments before shimming into the space between you and the wall, wrapping her body around you protectively.

^_____________^

An excited buzz ran through you, igniting your veins on fire as you stood in front of Agatha. Your entire body was bare aside from a pair of panties and a bra. Both items of the clothing faintly smelled of Rio, her flowery scent lingering in the air and easily detected through your sharp nose. It wasn't as pungent as when you first met her, but whether it was muted, or you were just used to it was unknow to you. Agatha circled you like a shark, her steps slow and graceful, sharp and musky scent filling your nostrils.

She pauses in front of you, blue eyes calculating and taking in your entire form. You felt so small under her stare - like a bug pinned down by its wings and forced to be in place as it was studied. Humming softly in approval, a sound that made warmth spread through your cold, bare form, Agatha tilts her head.

"What are the rules?" Her tone is calm, but firm, demanding a clear answer immediately.

Inhaling slowly for a moment, you reply in a slightly shaky voice, "Stay by your side at all times, don't run off, don't talk to people I don't know." Licking your lips, you furrow your brows, thinking that's all, but you know something was missing.

"And?" Agatha's tone holds a note of impatience, also a gentle guidance as she presses you for the final rule. It clicks in your head.

"Listen. If I fail to follow any of the rules I will be punished." Your voice lost its tremble as you repeated the final stipulation to her.

Agatha reached out a finger, tracing your cheek with her pointed nail, "Good girl," she praised, the words sending a jolt of pleasure through you. Her fingers lingered along your cheek, trailing down to your jawline before curling underneath your chin. Tilting your chin up, Agatha pressed a soft kiss on your lips, "Get dressed," she murmured against your tender lips, swollen from last night.

You hurry to do as she says, slipping on a pretty sundress that was picked out by Agatha. It fits your frame perfectly, revealing some, but not to much. Lately the two of them had taken to choosing your clothing for the day, and once they had you walk around in nothing but your undergarments. Although, the crew was on shore that day, leaving just you with the two women.

But today, if you were able to follow the rules, you would be allowed on land again. It both frightened and exhilarated you at the same time. You longed to be on soldi ground again, not just the ship that was constantly swaying back and forth.

Rio enters in the moment, her grin sharp and catlike as her brown eyes twinkle with amusement. She saunters up to you, her steps light, almost skipping and she stops right in front of you. Tilting her head, Rio's smile widens, eyes scanning over your new outfit.

"You look pretty, pececito," she purred. A single, slender finger trailed down your bare arm, the touch feathery light and Rio giggled a little, at your flushed face, "Are you ready for our little-" she paused, licking her lips and meeting your eyes, finger curling under the strap of your dress, "adventure?"

A few months ago, you never would've smiled at her words and close proximity, but now you did. Returning with her look with a soft smile of your own. You nodded eagerly, bouncing on your toes slightly.

"Where are we going?" Your voice is soft as you ask the question, tilting your own head to match Rio's gesture.

Her eyes twinkle and she taps your nose, "That's a surprise."

She wastes no time in grabbing your hand, ignoring Agatha's exasperated sigh. Rio drags you up to the deck, exposing you to the sun that shone brightly. Blinking at the sudden harsh light, you stumble over your own two feet as Rio guides you off the ship. Per usual, her hands were unusually cold, but you found yourself to desire the cold touch. It reminded you of home.

Seagulls cawed above you, circling for any spare food that humans would give them, and feasting off the small fish and crabs. Laughter caught your ear, craning your head, you saw children running along the beach. Their arms flailed as they sprinted away from each other, screeching and giggling from pure enjoyment. The sight of them sent a sharp pain to your heart and you were reminded of your younger sister, who could be thriving. You wondered if she missed you, if she wondered where you were.

Agatha didn't let you dwell on your thoughts because she caught up to you and Rio, her arms wrapping securely around your waist. Rio huffed, annoyed that Agatha was forcing her to slow down, but she grinned when the other woman nipped on your earlobe.

"Do you recognize this place, hun?" She whispered against the shell of your ear, her words husky and low. They sent a fresh shiver down your spine and you shuddered beneath her grip. For a long moment, you didn't say anything, merely melting into her touch, but then she nipped at your skin sharply - a warning.

Breath catching in your throat, you forced yourself to glance around. Tall buildings, built with ceramic bricks and towering over you lined the shores. Small little alleyways sat between them, but despite the size, they bustled with activity. People flooded in and out, shopping at the popup stalls that were set up there. Your eyes narrowed as the scene began to look familiar. Your gaze drifted towards the sea once again, wind blowing some sand onto your feet and ruffling your dress.

Eventually, you murmur a soft, "No."

Agatha chuckles, vibrations running through you, "This is where you first tried to run away." She reminded, her fingers curling round your waist tighter, "Do you remember? You ran so fast for being so new to your legs and the pure desperation on your face."

She laughs lightly, making eye contact with Rio who watches with a silent smirk. "You actually thought you could run," Agatha taunted, "But aren't you glad you didn't?"

A few months  ago, you would've minded. But Agatha's arms were wrapped firmly around your waist, keeping you there, even though her nails dug into your skin. Her chin rested on your shoulder, warm breath fanning your skin as she inhaled your scent. Rio stood across from the two of you, one hand on her hip as a coy smile played on her lips. And instead of saying some sharp retort back, some spark of defiance, you only respond with compliance.

"Yes," you agree, hands coming up to land on hers. Agatha's lips tickled your neck once again.

"That's my sweet girl," she praised, her tone heavy with appreciation.

Taglist: @vigilante24ish @xanthreee

[bullet-prooflove]

All That Glitters: Part Two - History - OA Zidan x Reader (feat: Scott Forrester)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @trublu2u @mrspeacem1nusone @greenies-green @rosaliedepp @whateversomethingbruh @anime-weeb-4-life @daydreaming-belle @burningpeachpuppy @scarlettsakura @divergent146 @upsteadlogic @malindacath @skyesthebomb @kilikonakapamana @yezzyyae @redpool @stxrryswvrld @district447 @@soultrysworld

Companion piece to:

All That Glitters - Omar suffers after a tough case.

By the time you come on board the scope of the operation has grown exponentially. You’re talking dozens of tender age girls being trafficked through New York, Budapest, Paris and countless other cities worldwide.   

Dotcom millionaires, judges, senators, the list of rich and powerful men involved in this thing just goes on and on and at the centre of it is Colin Kent, international sex trafficker. The man who has just absconded to Croatia, with fourteen-year-old Sunny, a girl he’s been using as his plaything.

When you get boots on the ground in Zagreb you don’t expect to see Scott Forrester waiting for you at the Europol offices. You knew you’d be meeting with a flight team; you just had no idea that it would be his. You’d lost track of him after he’d left your division.

It’s clear he doesn’t expect to see you either, you can tell by the way he says your name.

“When they said they were sending a specialist I had no idea it was you.” He says almost apologetically as he shakes your hand.

You’ve changed since he last laid eyes on you. Your hair’s a little longer, a little darker. You’ve gained a couple of pounds, it looks good on you, healthy. You have more tattoos than he remembers, he can see the bright colours decorating your forearms as you push up the sleeves of the white jumper that you’re wearing. Beside you OA clears his throat and it’s in that moment that Scott realises the two of you are more than just colleagues. There’s a protectiveness in the other man that he recognises because he's been there, in the exact same place.

There’s no time to reminisce, you hit the ground running. Scott doesn’t expect any different. You were tenacious when he worked with you seven years ago, that hasn’t changed.

“How do the two of you know each other?” OA asks him when they’re alone in the conference room. They’re sticking photographs of the girls to the glass wall, trying to figure out how many of them are in play. The scope of the investigation is growing, what started off as one girl has become over a hundred and it just keeps getting worse.

OA’s question is one that Scott’s been dreading because it takes him back to the worst night of his life. He’d been running the operation that landed you that apartment. It had been him who’d decided to use you as the UC, him who’d found you brutalised, half naked in that bed. He’d thought you were going to die that night. He’d sat in the chapel and prayed to a God he didn’t believe in that you’d pull through, that you’d make it back to him. In the aftermath of the surgery he’d sat by your bed, while your father flew in from Delaware, bore the brunt of his wrath when he told him what had happened.

“We worked together.” Scott says quietly, his focus fixated on the task at hand. “Before I took a job with the fly team…”

He sees the moment that it dawns on OA. He exhales suddenly, his arms crossing over his chest, his head dipping low. Scott can’t imagine what the other man must think of him.  

“You’re that Scott.” He says knowingly. “The one she was with when…”

He trails off because he can’t bring himself to say the words and Scott doesn’t want to hear them.

“Yea.” Scott says quietly. “I’m that Scott.”

-

You dream about that night. The sky-blue dress you were wearing, the blood trickling down your face into your eyes, the sound of the material ripping under Tribeck’s hands as he undressed you. More than anything you remember the pain, the degradation.

It’s Omar that wakes you, his soothing voice breaking through the nightmare as his palm cups the side of your face, guiding your gaze up to meet his.

“You’re safe.” He whispers, his lips kissing away the salt that trails down your cheeks. “You’re safe here with me, no one can hurt you, it’s just the two of us.”

He goes through the breathing exercises. In for five, hold for five, out for five, the same way you do when he has a bad night. It takes a while for you to calm down, for your breathing to regulate, for your heart to stop pounding against your chest.

“It’s Scott, isn’t it?” He says softly as he holds you close. “Seeing him again brings it all back.”

“We were together a year before it happened.” You tell him, the grip you have on his t-shirt tightening. “It was his op, his decision to use me as the UC…”

You trail off because everything after that is fractured. Your world had fallen apart and Scott, he couldn’t look at you without seeing what had happened that night, without feeling responsible. It’s been seven years and he still harbours that guilt. It’s in the way he keeps his distance, the two of you have barely been in the same room since you landed in Croatia and you know that’s by design.

“You need to absolve him.” Omar whispers into your hair. “It’s the only way you’ll  both be free of it.”

His palm comes to rest on the back of your neck, his thumb stroking over that delicate little spot, the one that he knows soothes you. He feels the tension start to seep out of your body, your muscles unfurling as you tuck yourself in against him.

“Tomorrow.” You say quietly. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

Love Omar? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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[pmamtraveller]

HENRY FUSELI - THE NIGHTMARE, 1781

The scene is set in a bedroom, with a woman lying on a bed. She is depicted in a state of deep, troubled sleep, dressed in a white nightgown, with one arm hanging limply off the bed. On her chest sits an incubus, a demon in folklore known for lying upon sleeping women to engage in sexual activities, thereby causing nightmares. In the background, through a curtain, there's a ghostly horse with wild, staring eyes. In contemporary folklore, horses were often linked with nocturnal visitations. They were ridden by night-hags and witches, and “hagridden” was used as a term for someone troubled by nightmares.

Fuseli's Swiss-German heritage and his time in Germany exposed him to the Sturm und Drang movement, which emphasized emotion, individualism, and the sublime. This movement's interest in the darker aspects of human nature could have played a role in his thematic choices. He also had a keen interest in the human psyche, nightmares, and dreams at a time when such topics were beginning to be explored more deeply in literature and art.

There is a theory that this piece was designed as an act of sexual revenge. On the back of the canvas, there is an unfinished portrait of a girl, Anna Landolt, who may have been the object of Fuseli’s unrequited affections. This led to a period of deep emotional turmoil, which could be mirrored in the painting's themes of repression, desire, and the torment of the psyche.

After its creation, many were shocked by the painting's overt eroticism and its depiction of the supernatural. The subject matter was considered scandalous for its time, combining elements of sex, fear, and the grotesque in a way that was both innovative and provocative. Some critics found the image too disturbing or indecent for public display.

[ivyyisbored22]

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭— 𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐅𝐅

Note: Check Description and other chapters first to understand the story ^^♡

Chapter 18

WARNING!!!🔞 This Chapter contains SMUT: Oral (f.recieving), fingering, semi public, slightest of dirty talk.

Minors do not interract!!!

Aria

There's a 99% chance that an alien took over Chris's body in the past week. And the remaining 1% is that he's actually changing. Trying to change, at least, if we put it in a proper sense.

Getting one step closer to Chris feels like discovering a new part of him and a part of myself I buried down after my last relationship.

Blond, blue eyes, class topper and who looked like the perfect boyfriend, Luke was my ex who I met in business school during my first year. We were made for eachother, or so I thought. We dated for two years, until I walked into him having sex with my best friend on MY birthday.

What an amazing surprise. The bastard had been cheating on me since our 2nd anniversary, that betrayal felt like waking up from a beautiful dream, only to find yourself trapped in a nightmare you never saw coming.

I had grown distant from everyone since then, shutting myself from any relationships after that. Unable to see me suffer internally while not being myself in the outlook was why my parents asked me to get married to Chris, hoping it would make me forget everything.

The heartbreak I went through with Luke is a scar that refused to heal so fast or easily.

But I don't blame them. Some things were easier to be left than to explain and the in the end we have different perspectives of viewing the world. To their eyes settling down after business school was the solution.

Although unknown to my parents was also a certain lingering deadline between Chris and me, that I wasn't healed and still played a fake version of myself in front of others.

I was never destined for true love or a happy ending.

Our marriage was stable, predictable, and perhaps a bit too routine. I had grown accustomed to Chris's cold nature, his affection expressed in the form of providing comfort and security rather than warm embraces or whispered sweet nothings.

The security system in the mansion was tightened, Chris didn't bring up about that Victor guy again, so I didn't ask about it again. Assuming he had whatever of that under control.

But this past week, something had changed. It was in the small things—like how he would pause to ask about my day with genuine interest, or the way his fingers would linger just a bit longer when he brushed against my hand.

Or how today I'm roaming inside one of the biggest bookstores in the city, but is closed for the public because Chris wanted me to spend however long I wanted freely. He had rented the whole place for the entire day.

"Chris, this is too much," I said, turning to face him.

The soft lighting of the empty bookstore with no signs of staff but just the two of us created an intimate atmosphere, making the moment feel surreal. Chris was in a simple tee, jacket and denim trousers today, unlike his usual coat suit and dress shirt outfits, the casual attire adding to the sense that I was seeing a different side of him.

"It's not too much. I could have bought the place if you hadn't stopped me." He said smirking, giving me a view of his leathal dimple that made my stomach do a summersault.

That he would have. As COO of Aurelius, he will go beyond limits to get and do whatever he wanted.

"Well, good that you listened," I replied, rolling my eyes playfully. "Buying the entire bookstore might have been a bit over the top, even for you."

"I'll have you know sweetheart, I've bought things that are way more than a bookstore." A cocky eyebrow arched as he let out a deep chuckle.

"Like what?" I asked, crossing my arms joining his banter.

"The guys and I wanted to go to the Bahamas last summer but our yacht was under maintenance," He slipped his hands into his pockets, "So I bought another one."

My jaw fell unhinged, and eyes widening as I struggled to comprehend the audacity of his statement. "You...bought another yacht? Just like that?"

Chris nodded casually, his posture and expression relaxed as if discussing the purchase of a new pair of shoes.

"Yeah, it seemed like the logical solution at the time."

I couldn't help but laugh incredulously. "Logical solution? Most people would just postpone the trip or I don't know fly there."

"Well, it seemed like a good excuse to upgrade so I figured why not?" he said with a nonchalant shrug, his smirk widening.

"Sure," I slowly nodded, "But it doesn't mean you have to go to such extremes. Like this one right now," I countered, though I couldn't help but smile at his grand gesture.

"Extremes are kind of my thing, Aria," Chris said, leaning against a bookshelf, his buff bicep against the books made my stomach do another flip.

"You should know that by now."

"Yeah, I've noticed," I said, shaking my head, running my fingers through the spines of the Lord of the Rings series.

"You're like a bull in a china shop"

"I prefer 'strategic disruptor,'" he replied, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Our eyes locked briefly for a second, then I turned away, browsing the shelves.

From Shakespeare to best selling authors today, having their own shelves of their books, the building was spacious and three floors high, giving any reader an experience of a lifetime.

There were small lounges in two corners of each floor, cozy and inviting, with plush armchairs and warm lighting, perfect for curling up with a book. The air was filled with the faint scent of aged paper and fresh ink, a fragrance that always brought me comfort.

"Thank you, for this" I turned back to him as I took a random book off a shelf, Chris's eyes were already on me, watching my every move.

"You don't have to thank me for everything," Chris walked towards to me, closing the distance, "You're worth it."

I felt my cheeks flush as well as the butterflies in my stomach frantically erupt, as if closing down a store for a day was the most natural thing in the world.

His words warmed something deep inside me, a place I had thought long frozen. The old Aria, the one who believed in grand gestures and romantic surprises, stirred within me. But I had to remind myself to be cautious; just a week of change could not erase the last months of indifference.

But we'll never know.

As we walked shelf after shelf, an exclusive copy of one my favourite books caught my eyes. I immediately went and took it in my hands, the cover of the book held me captive in my spot.

The title was embossed in gold, glistening under the lights. The rich, deep red background was adorned with intricate patterns of flowers and foliage, intertwining with dragons that seemed almost alive. Each petal and leaf was meticulously detailed, their colors vibrant against the dark, quilted texture behind them.

"Hmm?" Chris came behind me, he was carrying two baskets that were full of the newest thrillers and romance. I kind of felt bad for making him trail after me like a pack mule.

"This is the last one I promise. It's a special edition" I showed him the book, my eyes sparkling with excitement.

Chris glanced at the cover, his expression remaining stoic but with a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. "A special edition? Looks like I'm not the only one around here with expensive tastes."

I chuckled, hugging the book to my chest. "Well, this is worth it. Look at the detail. It's a piece of art."

"Alright, if it makes you happy," He brought the basket up and I placed the book on the top of the stack, a wide smile spread across my face that refused to go away.

"Is this all you want? You're free to get as many as you like Aria. This whole place is yours." He said genuinely, his tone matter-of-fact. I shook my head, still smiling, a warm feeling spreading across my chest.

"As a slow reader these are going to keep me alive for a year or even more. They are enough."

He nodded, a hint of understanding in his eyes. "If you say so"

For a moment, I felt a rare connection with him. It wasn't about grand emotions or declarations; it was about this simple, shared experience. Chris might not be the most emotionally expressive person, but in his own way, he was trying.

And that effort meant more to me than any expensive gift ever could.

"Thank you," I said softly, squeezing his arm. "This really means a lot."

"Well, I hope you have a good place to put all these," he replied, a touch of sarcasm returning to his voice.

"Because my study is not turning into a library."

I laughed, rolling my eyes. "Don't worry, I have it covered."

After I got all the books I wanted, we made our way from the section and instead of going to the counter on the ground floor, Chris stopped walking and placed the baskets on a table, turning to me with a mischievous smirk spread playing on his lips.

I froze in my place, feeling my pulse race as he slowly strode towards me like a majestic wolf, his eyes on me. The way he moved, so confident and purposeful, sent a shiver down my spine.

"What are you up to?" I asked, trying to sound casual but failing to hide the tremor in my voice.

Chris stopped just inches from me, his gaze intense. "Just thought we could take a moment to enjoy this place properly. No rush, right?"

I swallowed hard, feeling the warmth of his presence envelop me. "No rush," I echoed, my voice barely a whisper.

He reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering just a bit longer than necessary. "Good...because,"

Before he finished, he lifted my chin and his mouth met mine, burying his tongue while his hand traced my cheek then sank in my hair. My fingers pressed on his arms as I melted into his taste of mint and sugar, it was an addiction.

I preferred vanilla and cinnamon but I suppose the taste of Chris is much better.

He pulled me closer to him, we were pressed against eachother and there, I felt him growing hard, excitement and anticipation rushed through my body. Chris's hand gently closed behind my neck as he deepend the kiss, slowly slowly striding and having me pressed against a shelf.

I opened my eyes and looked above him, ironically we were under the romance section. Chris removed his mouth from mine, his hand still around my neck, while his other hand went to the hem of my skirt, tracing the line.

"Because what?" I pulled back, arching a brow as I challenged him, my voice breathless yet defiant.

"Because," he murmured, his breath hot against my ear, "I want to make sure you have the best time."

His fingers slid up my thigh, sending shivers through me. The intensity of his gaze, combined with the firmness of his grip on my neck, made my heart race. Every touch, every movement, was deliberate and electrifying.

"Chris..." I whispered, my resolve wavering as his hand inched higher, the thrill of being in such a public, yet intimate setting and the chance someone might walk in on us only heightened the sensations coursing through me.

"Shh," he hushed me softly, his lips brushing against my earlobe, his thumb brushing my bottom lip.

"No rush, remember?"

His words echoed in my mind, the promise of slow, tantalizing pleasure as his hand reached the edge of my panties. I gasped, my body responding eagerly to his touch, leaving fire in their wake.

Chris's lips found mine again, more demanding this time. I could feel his desire, his need, and it mirrored my own. Our kiss deepened, becoming a battle of wills and passion, his hand tightened around my neck, a mix of dominance and tenderness that left me breathless.

With a smooth glid, he slid my panties to the side and a finger found its way through my wet folds. I jerked as he inserted another, a knowing smirk spread across his face looking at how easily and quickly wet and turned on I get.

Paced pumps, breathless kisses and pinned among the shelves of love stories and whispered promises, only added a layer of forbidden excitement to our encounter. He pressed the heel of his palm against my clit, making a soft moan gasp free out of me.

"Mmm... you're clenching me babydoll."

My lips parted, I wanted to say things but nothing came out at how good his fingers curled inside of me, my blood was on liquid fire. The only sensations were pleasure, want and pure need.

Time lost its meaning along with my senses, Chris had pushed my top up, his mouth was closed around my sensitive nipple and his digits pushed deeper inside me. He was licking, sucking, teasing, stretching and playing with me tearing moans, and cries from my throat.

He then sank onto his knees, parting my legs, circling my sensitized clit with the tip of his tongue. His chin grazed my skin as he kissed the nub, his breath fanning over me and burying his face in my heat, drawing my clit into his mouth and sucked.

"Oh my...oh my God..."

I instantly arched against the shelf, the books shook threatening to fall but thankfully they were pushed to the back. My hand went over my face to cover my squeals and whimpers escaping and echoing off the quiet walls, I felt his eyes watch me from beneath me.

Every thought was erased away from my brain as pleasure fogged like a mirror after a hot shower.

My hand fisted his hair as his teeth grazed over my swollen, tender clit, going from slow and languid licks, lapping away my arousal like a man possessed. My hips bucked, seeking for relief but Chris's strong fingers held me in place.

Chris had an uncanny ability to make me feel like I was seeing stars during the day, even when we were under a roof. His hands and mouth worked magic on me, leaving me breathless, trembling, and craving more.

The tingles of an orgasm began to build deep within me as he expertly moved his tongue over my clit, each stroke pushing me closer to the edge. The tension coiled tighter and tighter inside me until I knew I couldn't hold it in any longer. If I tried, I would surely implode.

The pressure finally erupted as my orgasm washed over me like a tidal wave crashing onto the shore, making my body shudder uncontrollably. My thighs trembled as I came, my arousal dripping down my legs and onto his face. 

But Chris wasn't done with me yet. Not by a long shot. One moment I was arching against the shelf praying for the books not to fall on us as he tongue fucked me, the next I was on my back, pinned on the floor.

He switched positions just like that.

"You have quite an interesting taste in literature sweetheart," Chris murmured into my ear, his hot breath sending a shiver down my spine.

His words were teasing, but they carried a dark edge that made my pulse quicken. As he spoke, he pushed my skirt up, a cool air hitting my exposed and vulnerable self.

"Wha—what?" I stammered, my own voice sounded different to my ears. "Did you read—" Heat flushed up my cheeks when I realised he must have flipped through one of the romance books from the stack.

Oh God.

"I might have read a page or two," he admitted, his tone light, but there was something in his eyes—something dark and full of intent. He pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, a simple gesture that made my core throb with renewed need.

"And I thought, why not create our own scene?"

Before I could even form a response, Chris's mouth crashed down on mine in a kiss that was both punishing and possessive. It was as if he was punishing me for the guilty pleasure of my reading material, but also claiming his approval in the most primal way possible.

He held my hips with a bruising force, I dimly heard the rasp of the zipper and then he hammered inside me in one powerful thrust. The sudden invasion made me gasp out, the sharp sound echoing softly in the confined space.

My nails dug into the carpet as I clung to him, one hand gripping his stiff bicep. God, I could never get used to the feel of him inside me.

So hot, so huge, so impossibly hard.

Every time he entered me, it felt like the first time, my body straining to accommodate him. The sensation was overwhelming, making my head spin and my body tremble.

A strong hand came over my mouth to silence my embarrassing moans, my eyes fluttered open, meeting Chris's intense gaze. The corner of his mouth twitched in a knowing smug smirk as he continued thrusting into me with relentless precision.

"Shh," he chuckled as he continued wrecking me. "You don't want someone to hear how much you love being fucked in your little haven, now do you?"

The fact that someone actually could walk in on us was disastrous but there was no time to process anything other than the feel and the heat of him against me, flesh against flesh as he shattered me apart, the pressure and pleasure was beyond ecstacy. 

The telltale tingles built inside me again, threatening to spill over as he took me apart piece by piece.

"Your pussy is made for me sweetheart. Fuck you're so tight." He growled,his voice thick with lust as he watched me writhe beneath him.

My body responded to his every word, my muscles clenching around his cock as the nerves in my stomach coiled tighter and tighter. My heart pounded frantically against my ribcage, and I could feel the tension building to an almost unbearable level.

I hadn't imagined Chris would surprise me with a whole day at a bookstore when he proposed we go out. And I definitely hadn't imagined we'd end up like this—fucking in the romance section, surrounded by books, with nothing but the tall shelves to seclude us from reality.

"God, Chris..." I gasped, my voice breaking as I felt the pressure reach its peak.

"My name sounds so good when you moan it baby," He groaned or chuckled. I couldn't say.

I was too lost in my world of lust, I forgot my own name. Everything else faded away until all that existed was the feel of him inside me, driving me to madness.

Tears leaked out of my eyes at the sensation, fingers clawing and mouth falling open in a reckless cries. Thrust after thrust, another toe-curling orgasm gushed through me like fire rushing and igniting in a pool of gasoline, bursting stars behind my eyes.

I fell into a boneless mess. 

Chris groaned and I felt his cock twitching uncontrollably as a hot load of cum gathered inside me. He slowed his movements, his breath coming in heavy pants as he rode out the last of his own release.

He leaned down, softly brushing his lips against mine, and I could feel the smile that lingered there—a smile of triumph, of satisfaction, of a man who knew exactly what he was doing to me.

We hung there, breathless and tangled together, the aftershocks of my climax still rippling through me. My mind was still swimming in the aftermath, trying to process the sheer intensity of what had just happened, when I felt Chris begin to move.

He let out a deep, satisfied chuckle as he got up, adjusting his clothes with a nonchalant ease. With just one casual swipe of his hand through his hair, he looked completely composed—flawless, even—as if he hadn't just fucked me into another dimension.

Meanwhile, I was a mess. My legs felt like jelly, barely able to hold me up as I struggled to regain my balance. Every nerve in my body was still buzzing, my core pulsing with a heartbeat all its own. I most definitely won't be able to walk tomorrow or probably right now.

My breath hitched lightly when I felt him clean me up with a tissue. A tender gesture that made my heart ache in the most bittersweet way.

Chris helped me get up and fixed my clothes, smoothing down my hair. His fingers brushed lightly over my tear-stained cheeks, lingering just a second longer than necessary, as if savoring the feel of my skin. The silence between us spoke volumes. 

Chris wasn't one to use words carelessly, and in moments like this, his actions said more than any words ever could. I clung to him, still trying to find my footing, both physically and emotionally.

His eyes were on me, those burning brown eyes that seemed to see straight through me, and even though he didn't say a word, I could feel the intensity of his gaze.

We've had sex countless times by now, but every time it feels different—more intense, more profound. But this time, this was something else entirely. It was as if he had pushed me beyond my limits, only to pull me back again, leaving me reeling from the sheer force of it.

This was, hands down, the best one yet, and I could feel it in every aching muscle and every rapid heartbeat.

My eyes drifted down to the damp stain on the green carpet, a vivid reminder of just how lost I had been in the throes of pleasure. Embarrassment flooded me, my face flushing hot as I imagined the poor soul who would have to clean up after us.

I glared up at Chris, half-expecting him to share in my mortification, but instead, he just smirked, his expression completely unapologetic, not giving a flying fuck.

"Let's get your books home." He wrapped an arm around my waist, taking the book baskets from the table and walking me to towards the elevator to get to the ground floor.

I couldn't process how he went from fucking me on the floor like it was the last day on the planet to smiling casually as if he had been doing nothing but accompany me with my shopping spree.

Once we made it to the ground floor, Chris placed the baskets on the counter and the woman behind started scanning the books. He payed for them and I saw him leave a huge tip to the staff, again my face flushed crimson.

A young boy brought the bags to the car and placed them in the trunk, after settling in, we made our home.

"Enjoyed your day?" Chris's eyes were fixed on the road, but I knew he meant more than just the shopping.

"Every moment of it." I looked at him, those silver hoop earrings glinted in the daylight, drawing attention to his strong jawline.

Chris's eyes fell on me for a second, he nodded, a small, satisfied smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"Good. I'm glad to hear that."

As we drove through the city streets, Chris's hand gently slipped with mine, the comfortable silence between us spoke volumes. The day had been filled with more than just books, it had been a day of connection, of tentative steps towards understanding each other better.

When we arrived to the mansion, Chris carried the bags inside, placing them on the living room coffee table. I followed him, feeling a sense of contentment that had been absent for so long.

He turned to me, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear, I instinctively leaned into his palm, savoring the rare moment of tenderness.

"I don't want to leave, but um..." His words trailed off, a hand rubbing the back of his neck but I knew what he was going to say next.

My heart sank just a little bit.

"Go on," I said, his expression softed, a flicker of something unspoken passing between us. "I'm gonna spend the all the time reading while you're at work."

I played a soft smile, knowing he had to go back to his responsibilities. Chris sighed, his thumb gently grazing my cheek.

"I'll try to be back soon." He said softly, a rare hint of reluctance in his eyes. "I know," my smile widened just a bit.

"Alright," He pulled me to another bruising kiss, breathing me in as he bit my bottom lip. "I'll see you later."

As he turned to leave, I couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. There was the usual frustration of him having to rush off, but also a newfound appreciation for the tiny effort he was making to connect with me.

I watched him drive away, the mansion fell into a deep silence again as I went back inside and picked up the special edition book that had caught my eye earlier.

Running my fingers over the intricate cover, I felt a surge of gratitude for this day and for Chris's efforts to make it memorable.

I opened the book, ready to lose myself in its pages, knowing that Chris and I were slowly finding our way to each other, one small step at a time.

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

Taglist: @bowsnbang @bangchannie97lov @hwasmints @laurenalpha123 @mrs-hwangh @greyyeti @sociallyawkward18 @stephanieeeyang @piscesrising01 @jaquisos @de-uns-tempos-pra-ca @princess-sunshyn @my-neurodivergent-world @ladyeagle @nchhuhi

If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know <3 (If I missed someone please lmk)

Thank you for reading!

xx,Ivyy

Next Chapter

[fayeblackburn]

“He lived the nightmare for a lot of years. He tells this story about accidentally giving the families last twenty dollars and they still had three weeks to live that month on no money and his mom’s leftovers… the dream is a lot like a nightmare for a long time,” Faye said. Her lips pursed. She wondered if she should break the reality or not to them. Part of her wanted to be realistic but also — who was she to stand in the way of someone’s dreams? She wasn’t. She liked it when people dreamed big and achieved their dreams.

“I think a lot of life is suffering and making sure that you’re comfortable with being uncomfortable. You have to be wildly comfortable where you are and have a good lawyer. Might be different for you, but as a young naive woman, we get exploited.” Faye had a lot to thank Edgar for. He was the one to read the contracts and tell her to renegotiate, that they weren’t fair. That was years ago at this point, but she remembered when people taught her something. Faye quirked a brow at Corey with his comment. "If you want to be known for your music, market your music. The package helps, but people connect with the music. Sex might sell, but it cheapens the message you're sending. Especially if you want to be taken seriously."

"Yeah, see, being big about not changing who you are. That shit's important to me, you know? If someone is gonna try and make me come across as more palatable, I don't want it." Corey knew exactly what that meant; it meant come across as less trans, less queer. Their music was a bit of a blend of indie, rock, country. Their biggest fear was someone trying to get Corey to change who they were in order to appeal to a wider audience. Corey was an artist. They wanted to share their art with as many people as possible, but only if the art itself was still true to them. "That's the vibe I want, man. Having people see who you are, respect it, embrace it. Shit, bro is living the dream."

Corey shook their head, considering Faye's words as they sipped their drink. "Manager, yeah, label, contracts... I never even got that far back when I was actively trying to tour. Was mostly me sleepin' in my van and begging people to book me, sendin' newspaper clippings and magazine cutouts to venues and labels. I got an offer from Matador once, but my mom got her diagnosis, and then... y'know. Shit just changed. So I never signed it. I just don't wanna get screwed over. I gotta get on the tiktok thirst trap trend, huh?" Corey teased. "If you know any managers that ain't pieces of shit, maybe you could send 'em my way." They weren't usually too good with their words, unless they were trying to charm their way into someone's pants. Hopefully none of this shit came across wrong.

[albatris]

chapter 10 quinn having the most sexually charged dream abt being ripped apart and dismembered. y'know. normal person things

[elizakai]

Reminder that Dreamtale Twins are canonically sexless beings who identify with male pronouns.

yk what that means troops~💫

[h3roilydia]

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

[buubonita]

Been thinking, MOURNING because we dont have shit of Past/Nightmare but i like the idea that he if werent corrupted, he would be aroace and all his relationships straight platonic 🙏

Aroace Dream is great to think, mainly because you dont always need a partner to be happy or feel complete. Knowing how the twins used to be, i think they would be happy with having each other and their brotherly bond.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

So glad someone else sees the weirdness of people being gross about fem body nightmare it always comes off as somewhat fetishy too bc they reduce him to just being hot

Yes! Absolutely. Seeing the weirdness not only in how nightmare is treated, but also how killer is treated! If he supposedly respects his boss, then why the hell is he drooling over him and treating him vastly different just because nightmare has tits now?

I also see this a lot with female killer or feminine killer—female killer always has huge breasts and small waist and it hardly seems like killer. Even when it’s just normal killer wanting to dress or express himself more feminine, it makes me uncomfortable when it’s done in an overly sexual manner for no reasons?

And of course nightmare and killer are adults, so there’s absolutely nothing wrong with being attracted to them or writing/drawing them in adult situations with eachother or others, it’s just that it feels very fetishized and hyper sexualized to have characters drooling over nightmare when hes just existing and also has breasts.

Even with killer as he is now, vastly hypersexualized as a character for not even any real reason either. He only flirted like once or twice in his canon drawings, clearly as a joke even and mostly because people asked rahafwabas to draw those things with killer, and yet it somehow became his entire character. Not to mention how people took “flirty” and “romantic” and immediately went “lustful creepy pervert.”

To the point where people just cant seem to let these aspects of killer’s character be just that; aspects, something interesting and fun, but not his whole entire character.

Don’t yall find it interesting to explore how a character who views themselves as emotionless and is dissociated from themselves and their actions most of the time navigates things like physical intimacy?

Especially when this character has very likely not felt any kind or comforting touch that wasn’t just a way to keep him further manipulated and controlled? How his experiences with abuse and torture and control have become so normalized it taints every aspect of his life, from the ideas of consent to the idea of boundaries.

Can he even feel much sensation that is too gentle, would it send him reeling in discomfort and disgust at first. would he hate how his body reacts even if it’s something that feels good—wouldn’t he feel viscerally unsettled if someone could provoke bodily reactions like flushing cheeks or a beating “soul beat” or even genuine arousal from him.

wouldn’t he think with contempt if his body reacts positively or negatively to receiving comfort. wouldnt he try to find a way to maintain control and detachment because too much stimulation or stress or feeling threatened or trapped or controlled or afraid for his safety and life could trigger higher stages and he lashes out and literally could kill his partner(s) because his mind mistakes the situation for something else. wouldn’t he need a level of either trust or control to willingly engage in something that feels deeply threatening.

Anyway i got off topic, but you’re absolutely correct. I love female or feminine Sanses, especially with the apple twins, and i don’t think there should be any need to hyper sexualize and fetishize the female body. (especially if these feminine/fem presenting or female bodies also happen to be trans/queer bodies; such as with transfem dream.)

like just let nightmare exists as nightmare, regardless of if he happens to have breasts or not—and don’t have his subordinates drooling all over him and behaving super strange just cause nightmares got boobs now.

(and I also don’t wanna see any situation where nightmare who usually doesn’t have boobs has boobs one day and the gang make a big deal about it, since nightmare is a shapeshifter and all. he could realistically just decide he wants boobs one day and the gang could just go “interesting. Anyway..” and hardly even that.

unless it’s to like, ask for today’s pronouns or something, i don’t see no need to comment on the breasts unless in the context of, nightmare is engaging in intimacy with their partner(s) or something. a context where it would make sense. Anyway just be normal about female/fem killer and nightmare please.)

[mxtxfanatic]

I don’t think anyone will understand how visceral of a negative reaction I get to seeing a bingqiu fic tagged with rape/noncon.