#my desperation has reached its peake

[noturbutchboy]

Universe pls stop testing me and give me a domme who’s obsessed with me.

[arolesbianism]

Working more on the local group of Synchronized Light and hoo boy. There's smth wrong with these guys.

[taintandviolent]

sin creeps in ; Nosferatu x Reader

summary: You're plagued by heinous nightmares of a mysterious monster, but you can't help but feel drawn to he who plagues you.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 1.5K | female reader, monster fucking, vampires, vampire sex, bloodplay, biting, drinking blood / blood loss, mentions of death, making out, smut, unprotected sex, mentions of accents, shadow play (fingering)????.

a/n: MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR NOSFERATU 2024! this is just.... listen, I'm not even going to try to justisfy myself. rack up yet another hear me out moment for me. you either understand or you don't. shorter than I wanted it to be, but I needed to get this out and sate my hunger. banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / playlist here / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

You awake with a strangled gasp, your hands flying to your throat as your breath gradually returns. The nightmares had roused you, as they had every night, but this time, something lingered. Your room was frigid; the gauzy curtains fluttered in front of the open window like misplaced ghosts, allowing the chill of the night to penetrate your quarters. Everything looks terrifying at night; familiar shapes are transformed into horrible spectres, and your very room feels unknown. Unsafe. 

He is here. For the first time in several nights, you weren’t dreaming – he has come for you.

“I know that you are here with me,” you bravely whisper into the emptiness of your own bedroom. The wind whistled, a familiar sound, but something growled – growled in a language you didn’t speak, but understood. The voice was low, gravelly, and heavily accented. 

Hurriedly, you kick the sheets from your legs. The moonlight pales your skin, washing you in its blanch, bluish tone. Gripping your gown with both hands, you gather it up your thighs, exposing them to the cold. The chill of the wind hits your center, and you hiss through your teeth. Your head drops to your chest, and so does your gaze, watching patiently. At the edge of your bed, a large, slender shadow manifests. Him. 

You dare not look up. The feeling of his presence petrifies you, but also arouses you – letting a slick warmth pool deeply between your legs. 

The shadows continue to creep further up your bed, until they reach your feet, which twitch in response. Up, up, up… along your shins. Your skin prickles, and you shiver, doing your best to remain calm. Though he doesn’t touch you, you feel him. You feel every pass of his large hand as it makes its way up your body. His shadow glides over your hip, to your stomach and finally between your plump breasts, coming to a stop over your beating heart. It thumps away like a rabbit’s heart underneath the blackness of his form, and you hear a ragged, strained groan.

Then, with no warning, it moves down, leaving a cold, lifeless chill in its path like a gust of winter wind. You pant, desperately clinging to what breath you have. All at once, the shadow envelopes the soft, warm mound between your legs and your hands fall to the bed, bracing yourself. You have felt his ghostly touches for countless nights, tasting your body as a lover would, but each time your body climbed the peak, the sensations disappeared.  He comes to you in dreams, always leaving you unsatisfied. Your chest heaves in the night, cold droplets of sweat peppering your decollete and breasts. Your hands claw the sheets while you dream, but never reach euphoria.

Tonight, there are new sensations. The phantom wisp of his middle finger runs along the length of your slit. Grazing it. Somehow, you feel his finger part your wet folds, toying with your most sensitive areas. The nonexistent pads of his fingers sweep back and forth over your swelling clit, bringing a spasmodic twitch from each of your muscles. Wanting. Craving. While the sensation lacks the familiar warmth of a living man, it is bountiful with pleasurable feelings – your body responds embarrassingly; your shoulders shudder violently. 

He inhales, a deeply hollow sound. “You desire this… thine own body craves it….” 

The accent seems to fill his entire mouth, rumbling in his throat as he speaks slowly, drawing out each word like an incantation. You let out a plaintive moan, throwing your head back against the pillows, the down feathers crackling underneath you. As though he’s still pleasuring you, your hips writhe back and forth, practically convulsing with need. The shadow of his hand is gone from your body, replaced by the looming darkness of his physical form. After a moment of trepidation, you finally lift your head, and stare into the dark, terrifying eyes that watch you. 

You swallow hard. “I do.” 

A moment passes before you continue. “Take me as you will, for I am yours.” You consent again, desperate to convey your own insatiable hunger, your unimaginable need. 

Another intake of breath from him – it almost sounds labored, painful. His footsteps are dreadful as he moves around to the side of your bed. He’s tall, his form stretching towards the ceilings and towering over you, consuming your atmosphere as he had in your nightmares. His silhouette is large; enhanced by the countless furs he has on.

Weightlessly, his lithe, ghastly fingers reach for you and make contact with your form. They are cold, and the icy feeling of them penetrate the thin fabric of your nightgown. He moves gradually, but hungrily, feeling the curves of your body beneath the cotton. As he moves southward, his fingers skim over the peak of your breast, a nail catching on the swollen nipple. It hurts, but your chest jerks forward still, craving more of his touch. 

Pulling a breathy moan from deep within your throat, his long, sharp nails rake across the tender flesh of your thigh. It’s bathed in the silvery moonlight, which casts horrible, elongated shadows of his fingers down towards your center. He scrapes downward, his middle finger digging into the flesh enough to leave a reddened streak behind, but not so much to break the skin.

“P-please…” you mewl, looking up into his horrifying visage. The sight of him fills you with dread and disgust, but like a single drop of blood in water, it’s tainted with something else, something else that has been lingering in your system for days. 

He’s above you now, though you don’t remember seeing him move atop of you. Still, he’s there. The bed creaks as you push yourself into the mattress, whimpering underneath him. He lowers himself down onto you, the brush of his mustache tickles your face as he lingers above you. A second passes and his waiting mouth envelops yours. He tastes damp and cold, faintly of ash and earth. His tongue slips out and it too is cold, slipping wetly along your own and along your bottom lip. His kiss is dreadful, but possessive, and he inhales each time you exhale, as though he’s trying to suck the very warmth out of you. No man has kissed you the way Count Orlok kisses you, and the chill of the room disappears, snuffed out by the fire that rages in your lower abdomen. 

Your tongues collide with each other; you tasting his lifelessness, and him tasting your utterly intoxicating, vibrant liveliness. For a moment, the two of you stay intertwined at the mouth until he separates himself, smearing his mouth over the warmth of your neck. He hovers, pausing over your pulse. It thrums under his lips, and his hips urge into yours, indicating his hunger.

There is a shuffle, a rustling of clothing. You try to lift your head up to gaze between your bodies, but his hand holds you fast, pressing you against the pillow. The size of his hand is staggering; his palm underneath your chin, while the fingertips extend past your hairline, into the strands. You shudder again and whisper his name. He inhales as though he plans to speak, but doesn’t. 

The front of your nightgown falls apart, revealing your chest to him. With one hand covetously clutching your breast, his mouth opens between your breasts, the slithery coolness of his tongue gliding down along the length of your sternum. As the teeth puncture your flesh, your hands make fists on either side of your body, pulling the sheets into the confines of your palms. He enters you, in more ways than one, and you feel the steady tug of his mouth as he sucks the blood from your veins. Warmth pools in the cave of your stomach.

The fingers of his other hand crawl up your shoulder, and like a quill in ink, he dips the pads of his fingers into the hollow of your chest, coating them in your crimson essence. He smears the blood along your decollete, along the hem of your nightgown, tugging it harshly over your shoulder. The blood coats you in a flash of warmth, and then chill as it meets the cold air. 

His hips rut against yours as he drinks, the pulse of your blood matching the thrust of his hips. An ache starts in your neck, a slow pulling sensation that has your eyelids fluttering. He moves within you, his length penetrating as deeply as his sharpened teeth have. Your release is found amongst blood and groans and that same language which you understand, but do not speak. His tongue scrubs at your soft skin, lapping up the blood as it comes… as you do. 

The darkness is ever-looming, and as your aching cunt ebbs its throbbing, it settles down upon you. You let yourself fall backwards into the abyss, freely. It takes you, wrapping its arms around your tiny frame which is dwarfed by his stature. His mouth breaks free of your bloodied skin with a slick pop.  Into the softness of your skin, you hear him growl, ‘Mine.’ The feeling vibrates against your neck, and your lids flutter shut.

[memientom0ri]

Similarities between Inhun/457 and Hannigram; personal analysis of the attitudes that connect these characters 💭

Starting with actor Lee Byung Hun's face. I don't even need to go into details...

• Villain disguised as a hero;

Inho/001 x Hannibal Lecter

Both wear a good guy disguise to get close to and mentally and psychologically manipulate their "target" of obsession, taking actions to impress and defend the target that sometimes make us question their villainy towards the good guy.

Both Inho and Hannibal seem to be desperately searching for a trace of understanding and similarity in someone towards themselves. Hannibal became obsessed with Will when he saw this similarity in him (both characters misunderstood by society, mentally broken and with difficulties in expressing and understanding their own emotions), and just like the cannibal, Inho saw something similar in Gihun, therefore, feeling the need to, somehow, get close to him to keep him under his control.

"But Inho and Gihun are completely different", yes, just like Hannibal and Will; that doesn't stop the characters from identifying with each other psychologically.

In my opinion, Inho saw in Gihun an ambition and confidence that piqued his interest. "But Gihun is not ambitious or self-centered" No, he is not, not materially speaking. Gihun's ambition comes from the will he has over the things he sets out to do. He is ambitious about what he wants and this ambition is accompanied by a hyper-empathy bordering on masochism, considering that Gihun returned to the game not only because of his desire to end it, but because of the guilt of having survived when people died, because of the desire to prevent other deaths. This hyper-empathy also shows up in other scenes, and this is where Will comes in.

• The hyper-empathetic good guy;

Will Graham × Seong Gihun

Unlike Will's hyper-empathy, which manifests itself through his ability to put himself in the Assassin's shoes and mentally experience the murders, Gihun's empathy is blatant, making us feel a little angry and uncomfortable with the situations in which 456 puts himself by thinking more about others than about himself. A scene that left me in agony was in season 2, in the first game, where he runs from the safe area to pick up a man who was shot in the leg. The man would have been killed anyway, but he insisted on picking him up with less than 30 seconds to go.

Unlike 456's blatant empathy, which almost makes him seem naive in several scenes (like when he gives his only extra ammunition to Inho to save himself in the future), Will's empathy is more "dark" and firm. Will doesn't trust people easily, much less Hannibal, while 456 trusts Inho/001 right away and from the first contact they are inseparable.

• Jealousy, Control and Possessiveness

I think that after their faces, these are the characteristics that Hannibal and Inho have most in common. Neither of them want their good boys to have anyone other than themselves. We can see Hannibal eliminating the people who get close to Will throughout the series, but with Inho, we follow the stages and moments of this jealousy until it reaches its peak (the final episode that resembles Mizumono). Inho observed Gihun's interactions with Jungbae (Gihun's longtime friend) in silence, just processing each moment and creating a mental bomb that would explode in the future (like when Jungbae made Gihun laugh, at night in the dorms, and the scene cuts to 001 listening under the bed in total DISGUST).

• Mizumono

Both villains analyzed here need to control their targets of obsession, manipulating them and trying to build a home in their heads, and when they realize they have been "betrayed", that's when the bomb explodes.

Hannibal felt betrayed by Will when he learned that he was helping in a plan against him behind his back (but we know that Will was so confused about his feelings and morality that he didn't even know who to go with), and then killed Abgail in front of him after a heartbreaking speech.

Inho felt betrayed by Gihun when, during a shootout in the player vs. soldier attack, Gihun said he would go inside to find the way out. Inho asked: "Shall I go with you?", and Gihun simply said that Jungbae would go with him. Later, Jungbae asks 456 why he chose him and not 001 who is more skilled with weapons, and Gihun answers that he chose him because they are friends. The next scene suggests that Inho, disappointed, listened behind the communicator, but we don't know if the communicators were on or not...

It's worth noting the expression on Inho's face when Gihun said that Jungbae was the one who would...

(POOR GUY 456 APOLOGIZE TO HIM AND TAKE HIM WITH YOU NOW

The Mizumono between 456 and 001 happens thanks to this event, when, later, after putting on his masked Boss costume, Inho goes to Gihun and Jungbae on the stairs. Just like Hannibal, he says heartbroken words (less dramatic and more angry) and eliminates Jungbae in front of Gihun.

Both killed people close and important to their targets out of possessiveness and hurt, out of a sick and incomprehensible feeling of betrayal; feelings that only they understand.

How can little sweet creatures like this be so DESTRUCTIVE.

There doesn't seem to be a need and mutual dependence in 457 like there is in Hannigram (at least not yet, there's still one season left), the obsession and interest come from Inho, but there is a notable chemistry and tension, smiles and exchanges of OBVIOUS glances.

I know that Hannigram is complex and very intense, I'm not making an extremely serious comparison, but rather recording some points that I observed and since I love both couples, I wanted to do this. The depth of the characters is obviously different, we're just making a fan observation here. ♡

[gojosoups]

Syncing My Period Tracker With My Bf (gone wrong) — gojo satoru

cw: smut, ovulation, ovulation sex, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, clit pinching, cum licking and eating, little bit of anal play, gojo is pussy drunk fr, female reader, all characters are 18+, MDNI, slightly proofread

wc: 0.8k

a/n: thank you guys for 1k! finally wrote something after so long lol.. pls check out my navigation for updates on when new fics will be posted, what's coming soon [series] and [long fics and drabbles], and my current semi-hiatus due to exams! hope you all enjoy this <3

whoever told you that syncing your period tracker with your boyfriend was a good idea was wrong. it was a bad idea to begin with, giving satoru full access to your cycle on his phone.

because the minute he got the notification that your ovulation started, he teleported his ass home.

without even greeting you, he makes his way into your shared bedroom, with you slung over his shoulders. not sparing a single second, he manhandles you onto the bed, forcing you on your hands and knees. tearing off your clothes, his hands grip the fat of your asscheeks, spreading them wide open to the sight of your glistening pussy, while you're lying underneath him confused.

“toru?” you ask, looking behind your shoulder and receiving no reply, your boyfriend busy burying his nose in between your folds. a groan leaving his lips as he takes a big fat sniff of your ovulating pussy, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his skull from your scent.

“you’re ovulating,” is the only response you get before you squeal, his tongue diving in without warning, licking eagerly at your wet folds, drinking in your juices with vigor.

your arms and legs tremble as you try to keep yourself up, arms giving out underneath you as your face falls flat onto the bed, moaning in pleasure as drool ruins your pillow covers.

“toru- toru please-,” you whine, feeling a suck to your clit that has your body thrashing and squirming. his hands gripping the plump of yass as he spreads you open, back in a pretty arch, only shoving his face deeper into your pussy.

feeling his warm tongue leaving your wet pussy to lick at your little puckered hole teasingly, you sob. pussy clenching on nothing, begging him to touch you where you need him the most.

your nails dig into the sheets beneath you, smothering your face into the pillow as you try to swallow and keep in your moans, afraid to wake up the neighbors, but satoru has other plans. tongue curling against your slippery walls, his fingers pinch your engrossed clit whenever you try to muffle your pretty sounds.

wet slurping noise fills the bedroom. satoru's tongue and nose deep in your pussy as he drinks your sweet juices, adams' apple bobbing as he gulps. your pussy tightening with each curl of his skilled tongue as he laps at gummy walls.

"mhmm- oh god-" a choked moan leaving your wobbly drooling lips, knuckles turning white from fisting the sheets tightly. your head buried in your pillow as you try to grind your hips against his face, despite his bruising grip on your ass, thick fingers digging into your cheeks as he spreads you wide open for his eager tongue.

the bed creaks slightly as satoru grinds his hips against the mattress, trying to reach his peak with you. cock straining against his uniform, precum leaking under his boxers, making a wet patch against them as he eats you out, his voice muffled between your thighs as he devours his meal.

hands fondling your asscheeks, a finger sneaks its way inside, stretching your tights walls as he laps at your juices, pulling out a silent scream from your shaky lips. your abdomen tightens as he abuses your poor sweet spot, lips making their way further down to wrap around your sensitive clit, while you desperately try to run away from the overwhelming pleasure.

"fuck baby-" he groans, forcing you to stay still as he abuses your poor cunt, "stop moving." you think you're finally hallucinating, your ears betraying you as you hear him nearly whine, begging you to stop moving, to stop depriving him of his sweet desert.

your body trembles as satoru relentlessly pleasures you, his skilled fingers and tongue bringing you closer and closer to the edge. your senses go numb as tears stream down your cheeks, the coil in your belly ready to snap at any moment as orgasm approaches.

"toru- I'm close," you sob, voice shaky and breathing ragged as your eyes flutter shut tightly.

doubling his efforts, his tongue flicks against your swollen clit, finger curling against your spongy wall with each flick of his tongue. his soft, wet lips wrap around your sensitive bud, sucking your clit as pleasure consumes your senses.

the pace of his fingers increases, thrusting up against your sweet spot, and with a final suck to your poor clit, you come undone. your back in a pretty arch as intense waves of pleasure wreck your body. a loud moan escapes your lips as your pussy flutters, coating his fingers with your juices before he sucks them clean, humming at the taste of you, his favourite sweet treat.   

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 © 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐒 — do not copy, translate, repost or modify my works on any platform.

[sightseertrespasser]

Odds of Survival part 9

Jazz has an itty bitty teeny weeny severe mental breakdown.

Credit once more to @keferon for starting this au.

———————————————————————

Jazz never thought he’d find himself deeply empathizing with the xenomorph from Alien, but here he was.

Doing freak shit.

A lone lifeform trapped on a spaceship with no idea how their technology works, no means of escape and no way to sustain themselves. Skittering across the ceiling and one wrong move away from murdering someone on contact.

Plus, I pop out of my mecha like an actual motherfucking chest burster. So I’m sure that’ll go over GREAT.

The parallels were compounding into existential crisis territory.

It got way too fucking close handling that checkup with the medic. Trying to keep his cool felt like he was trapped in an hours long quick time event. Every question had to be snap judged for the safest possible answer. Completely make shit up and risk getting caught in the act, don’t give away any information and they’ll know you’re hiding something.

Jazz juggled that damn Catch 22 like a professional. Thank you.

Case in point, while one of his mechas arms was still non functional, Jazz managed to maneuver his actual arm inside the cabin to grope around for some water to chug. Without disconnecting from the mecha.

That particular stunt felt like splitting his brain in half with a splintery wedge. The water was absolutely necessary, but the pressure inside his skull rang like an air horn zip-tied open.

Right now the only coherent thought he could form was the overwhelming animal desire to find a dark hidden hole and crawl up inside it. Then repeat that motion by disconnecting from his mecha, finding the most secure hiding spot inside that, and passing out for oh just a quick little 24 to 36 hours.

The pilot paused. Down the hall, mechas- giant alien robots- had noticed his disappearance. Even through the language barrier, Jazz would recognize the opening lyrics to his personal theme song anywhere: “Oh fuck where’d he go?”

Hidden behind rows of pipes, Jazz counted his inhalations until the thuds of metal feet passed him by.

Was the alien invader from The Thing scared? If it had finished building its spaceship would the Thing really have tried to take over the world? Or was it just desperate to go home?

Jazz was panting. Or maybe hyperventilating. He made a conscious effort to pull air through his grit teeth at an even flow. Even though he couldn’t actively feel his human body, the dull droning dread pressed through the disconnect to whisper “You’re running out of time.”

He didn’t know how long he had left before his stupid flesh sack would start giving out, but he needed to be somewhere safe when it happened. He’d make it. He’d make it because he had to to make it. He was the best goddamn pilot in the entire program and that was for one reason and one reason alone: Failure Was Not A Motherfucking Option.

If his options were do it the hard way or not at all, then the hard way was what the world got.

Once the guards passed, Jazz slunk along the wall, reaching upside down to fry another security pad, only for the door to open automatically.

Risking it, Jazz peaked into the room and not seeing or hearing anyone, slipped inside.

Once the door slid shut behind him, Jazz lowered himself to the ground one handed, scanning the room more thoroughly.

More screens, inactive. A chair and a couch. Miscellaneous wall kibbling, a table, cabinets. Windows.

Jazz gasped.

Glowing clouds of light, layered like sheets stretching into infinity. Star clusters like paint splatters on black velvet.

White and amber. A haze of something pink.

Unconsciously, Jazz moved towards the window, until he could lightly tap his visor against the glass. His field of view consumed by galaxies.

Back when they first launched him into space, Jazz had come to terms with the let down that all he’d get to see was a black slate and maybe a couple dots. The space station didn’t have many windows to start with, and all his space walks took place when the sun was “out”, so Jazz never really got to see as much of the Milky Way as his inner child hoped.

Now, the child was quiet. Face pressed against the glass, Jazz felt his throat closing up.

At least I got this. Even if I’ve got a half life, I got to see the stars the way they were meant to be.

He hovered. Wanting to find a song to match this moment, but couldn’t find anything more fitting than his own breathing. The rush of blood in his ears was still loud, but a white noise that could substitute for silence.

Like a marble rolling off a table, Jazz felt his stomach drop a moment before his conscious mind could follow.

“It’s wonderful isn’t it?”

Jazz had his arm cocked back to turn the poor fuckers face into a plate but locked himself mid swing at the last second. The mech had lifted a tablet to protect himself, and the move was such a Bullied Nerd cliche it stopped Jazz cold.

Now that his heart rate was breaking highway speed limits again, the angry radio static that was his racing thoughts drowned out any coherent thoughts of what to say.

The mech peeked out from behind the tablet and wow. That’s a guy. That’s just a straight up dude. Prowl and Elita were bulky enough that Jazz could at least imagine where a pilot could sit. But this guy? He looked like the only thing he could throw out was his back. Jazz didn’t even know “elderly twink” was a look possible for a giant robot.

Mystery Codger was staring at him. Jazz still had a fist raised.

Do something say something do something say something you fucked up you fucked up either kill him or start lying just do anything brain please.

“Could you help me find my glasses?”

Jazz faltered. “Wu- What?”

The mech uncurled from his brief defensive huddle. “My glasses? Spectacles? Ah, object-sight-improve-positive?”

The pistons in his arm faintly hissed as the tension released.

Maybe-

As if this was all normal, the mech gently set the tablet on the table, before squatting and squinting at the floor.

Maybe I just have actual brain damage.

Acting on mental autopilot, Jazz took the opening to behave like a normal person. Crouching and scanning the floor for giant alien robot spectacles.

“My name is Rung by the way. I actually don’t think we’ve met previously.” Rung said that last bit with an odd inflection Jazz didn’t have the brain power to think about.

“Jazz. We definitely haven’t met.” He couldn’t quite keep the exhaustion from making that last bit come out snippy.

Rung simply hummed and continued his search. For his part, Jazz was taking the moment to center himself, preparing the best mask he could on short notice.

How long could he keep faking it? Prowl had been with him since he woke up and he didn’t show any signs of needing to sleep. They had doctors. Prowl cared enough about his “health” to take him to one. If Jazz collapsed in front of anyone, they’d drag his sorry ass back to the medbay and it’d be game over. He couldn’t just ask for a place to crash or else he ran the risk of tipping them off he wasn’t one of them if they really didn’t sleep.

A faint tapping sound made him twitch in his stupor.

“Now where could the blasted thing have gone.” Rung was sat crossed legged on the ground.

With Jazz. Who’d vaguely crumbled into a kneeling ball under a table.

Jazz stared at Rung tapping his glasses against his chin. The orange mech made eye contact, and Jazz swore to god he caught him smile.

He reached out a hand, pointing, “Found ‘em.”

The smile came to fruition. Rung aha-ed and held his glasses before himself, inspecting them fondly.

“All that trouble for such a small problem. And all I needed was to ask for help.”

Jazz let himself sag slightly against the wall. Dully thudding the back of his head. “Okay. I’ll cop that was a good trick.”

“It did pull you out of your spiral didn’t it?” Rung said sounding way too smug. He pulled a cloth out from where-ever-the-fuck and cleaned his glasses with it.

He’d been seeing these mechs pull out and disappear objects all day like a bunch of Looney Toons characters. That kind of lapse in logic didn’t bode well for Jazz’s mental condition.

He let his eyes close, rationing his remaining focus.

“How’d you know that’d work?” He mumbled.

“You seemed afraid. You stalled out when you saw I was afraid.” Rung simply stated before he then asked rhetorically, “You’re a protector aren’t you?”

Jazz made a noncommittal sound. Lying was his first impulse, but he really didn’t feel like giving this guy more material to hook him with.

The mech laughed once anyways, “You are. Unorthodox too. I can see why you have such a hold over Prowl.”

That got his attention, “I do?”

“Oh yes.” He heard Rung shift into a more comfortable position on the floor. “Even if he can’t recognize the feeling anymore, I think you give him hope.”

Jazz wanted to laugh and he would if he had the energy.

Instead Jazz sighed. “I’m kinda at rock bottom right now man. And currently? Lil bit fresh outta hope myself.”

And ideas.

Jazz was of the opinion that any problem was solvable if you were willing to get crazy enough, but this was like trying to solve treading water a million miles from shore with only sharks for company. He either drown slowly or get torn apart the moment the sharks realized he was there.

“Hopeless mechs don’t stop to stare at the stars in wonder, Jazz.” When he opened his eyes, Jazz saw Rung staring him down like he was insulted. “To be hopeless is to let yourself die. Do you intend to die today?”

“No.” He challenged back, body minutely tensing.

“Are you willing to do absolutely anything to keep living?” Rung poked him in the chest.

“Yes.” He responded just as quickly, but there was a rasp to his voice. Something small and quiet. Not easily caught. Not easily killed.

“Even ask for help?” Rung quirked his head at him, shit eating grin growing by the second.

Jazz deflated, groaning loud enough for his mecha’s speakers to vibrate his bones.

“Look, I appreciate the therapy session doc, but asking for help is legitimately not an option for me right now.”

Rung leaned forward, resting his chin on a servo, “Alright then. List your current alternative options that you alone can accomplish, devoid of any assistance whatsoever.”

Jazz didn’t respond.

The silence continued to linger.

“Go on.” Rung gestured.

Cornered, Jazz could feel his horns pin back and a burning sensation in his eyes. He rubbed a hand over his visor even though it didn’t actually help.

“Where’s Prowl?”

Rung chuckled, victorious. The scrawny orange mech scooted out from under the table and stood, offering a servo to Jazz to do the same.

The brief rest left Jazz jelly limbed, which was evidently bad enough to translate to a faint tremble in his mecha. Despite that, Jazz didn’t take Rungs hand because there’s no way in hell that guy could support him if he fell. Elita’s threat over harming her crew was still fresh and shiny in his mind.

“You’ll find his office down that way.” Rung pointed out the direction. “Down the hall, turn left at the first junction, pass by two more doors, turn right at that junction and then keep walking until you reach the end of the hall. His office isn’t labeled but I don’t think that’ll be an issue.”

Rung opened the door and then took a seat in the chair next to the couch. “I’d offer to have Prowl come to meet you here, but I have another appointment coming up shortly.”

Oh uh. He actually is a therapist.

Jazz laughed humorlessly, “Why not invite them to join the party? Make it a group session.”

Avoiding eye contact, Rung fiddled with a stylus, “Ah, that would not do I’m afraid. My next patient recently figured out how to “bite” people by quickly jabbing his helm forward and I’d rather that not be your first encounter with him.”

“Ah. Gotcha.” Jazz simply nodded numbly.

He paused at the doorway, running the directions through his head again, before turning back slightly. “Hey Rung? Thanks.”

“It’s Rung, and you’re… welcome?” The mech trailed off, looking at Jazz with surprise as the door slid shut behind him.

Walking away, Jazz got about thirty feet before realizing he couldn’t turn his head too quickly or else he’d start seeing double. Feeling the countdown drop into double digits, Jazz hurried along Rungs path.

And nearly crashed into another mech.

It had a head like an old school security camera, a single yellow camera lense cycling down to a pinprick at his appearance. The chassis was crazy long and pointed. Out of habit, Jazz tried mapping out what the interior would look like. The pilot seat would need to be horizontal but it was pretty doable. The limbs were definitely on the skinny side but sharp and fast looking. Bonus points for what was definitely front mounted guns.

All in all, solid design. 7/10.

“Hey.” The mech rasped.

Oh fuck right, Alien.

“Sup.” Jazz replied eloquently.

The camera lense eye loosed, upgrading to a coin sized pupil and clearly looking him over.

“Empurata?” The mech said casually pointing to his legs and visor.

“Uh, sure.” Jazz shrugged.

“Same.” Nodded camera-head.

“Cool.”

The two of them awkwardly stood in the hall. Camera-head seemed content to block traffic and Jazz was mentally banging rocks together in hopes of getting a spark of intelligent thought.

“Can I peel off your visor with a knife?”

The mech held a dagger pinched between its crab claws and Jazz had to bite his tongue not to ask why it didn’t just use those.

Instead, the brain rocks came through.

“Rung lost his glasses.” Jazz threw up a thumb, gesturing over his shoulder. “Needs help. Now.”

Good job brain rocks.

“What? He does?” The mechs head popped up like some kind of fucked up goose, before shoving past Jazz, knocking him into the wall.

“HOLD ON DOC I’M COMING!”

The mech folded inside out into a mother fucking helicopter?! Charging down the hall in a whirlwind so strong Jazz could feel it through his mecha.

Jazz counted to five, and crawled back up into the safety of the ceiling pipes.

He blinks, and he’s staring down another hall. Left turn, two doors, right turn. . . Wait. Was that a right or left he just did? He’s upside down so everything should be reversed right?

He doesn’t remember blinking but the hall is at a different angle. New hall? Or did he just turn his head?

Jazz wants to press the heels of his palms into his eyes until everything holds still but he can’t. So he keeps moving. Keeps hiding.

And then he sees the most beautiful goddamn mech in the universe marching down the hall. Followed by half a dozen substantially less impressive mechs with guns drawn.

Stilling, Jazz remained hidden behind the pipes. Evidently alien robots had the same peripheral blindness to ceilings that human security guards did, as none of them noticed him.

Except for Prowl.

Through the gaps, Jazz watched as Prowl gave rapid fire orders to the armed soldiers behind him. Six mechs. Six guns. Three too many for Jazz to take in his current state. Prowl went silent and his wings twitched. Shivering, Jazz got the deeply uncanny sense he was being intimately observed.

The lights were ringing in a tinnitus B flat. He had the audio feed from his mecha dialed way too high but he couldn’t afford to miss any detail of what would happen next.

Whatever Prowl was said next, it must have been in his native language. Which Jazz found deeply unfair after all the work he’d put into learning Common.

The black and white mech turned to his cohort, waving them down the hall ahead of them. Prowl did not follow, wings still minutely shifting position. Once they were out of sight, Prowl turned on his heel back the way he came. Flicking a single piercing look to Jazz.

Silently. Shakily. Jazz skulked along the shadows after him.

He mental map was fucked. Every time he blinked, Jazz lost track of the most recent few seconds of his life. If Prowl wasn’t stopping every fifty feet to not-so-subtly check that Jazz was still following him, the human didn’t know where he’d end up.

Finally, Prowl reached a door at the end of a hall and entered without any delay. Jazz dropped, moving inside before the door could close again.

“Please don’t freak out.” Jazz cut him off before Prowl could set the tone of this conversation. The mech closed his mouth and after a moment’s consideration, assumed a tense but mostly neutral stance.

“I will not ‘freak out’.” Prowl looked like wanted to say more, but Jazz couldn’t afford that right now.

“Awesome! Because right now I’m freaking out and I won’t be able to keep it together if you start freaking out too.” He was pacing back and forth, not really seeing the mech beside him anymore.

“Jazz.” A servo caught his elbow, stopping him in place. “Where have you been?”

“Oh you know. Here. There. Ceiling mostly. Shockingly unrelated, but I think a talking helicopter wants to wear my face as a hat.” Jazz nodded way too enthusiastically in a manner he hoped translated into an appropriately manic “Please god help me.” grit toothed grin.

Prowl was momentarily speechless before physically shaking off the latest deluge of confusion, “That sounds like Whirl. You would not have encountered them had you stayed in the med bay like you were supposed to. Now I’m asking you again: What are you doing and why are you doing it?”

Audibly cracking, Jazz tried to answer honestly but found his voice locked up. He couldn’t, why couldn’t he..? Why was talking suddenly so fucking hard?

Meanwhile, Prowl just looked defeated. He rubbed that spot between his eyes, not yet letting him go.

“If you cannot provide a reasonable explanation for your sudden shift in behavior, I will have to assume the worst. You leave me no choice but to-“

“I’M REALLY SHORT.” Great. Fantastic. Incredible work brain. Take five.

Prowls optics flickered. Brow furrowing as he looked up at Jazz’s clearly taller mecha.

“That’s not- I mean-.” Jazz clasped his head in his hands, switching back to English. “{I- I- don’t know if this is even real.}”

Something was gripping his arms. Black and white appeared in his vision. “Jazz, please. I can’t help you if I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Common was easy to learn but right now it felt like Jazz was playing Scrabble with a bad hand.

“Prowl, where do you go when you- when you change-body-shape?” He had to stop to breath midway.

Please, please, please this is the last chance for anything to make sense.

But instead the mech slowly shook his head in disbelief, “Where do I..? Nowhere Jazz, it’s still me, I’m not ‘going’ anywhere. My alt form is not a different person.”

The mech gently pulled Jazz’s hands off his head from where he’d been stressing the damage from earlier. “I understand if you’ve never seen an alt mode before but your behavior, your questions, they’re not making any sense.”

Prowl stopped. Optics going wide as placed his servos on Jazz’s wrists. “Jazz are you Crashing?!”

“What? What is that what you call a mental breakdown? Cause yeah I’m having one of those.” He said a little too breathlessly.

“Sit-“ Prowl pulled him down to the floor. “Sit down. I’m calling for a medic.”

“No!” Desperately, Jazz grabbed onto Prowl who was helpless but to join him on the floor. The floodgates opened and Jazz couldn’t stop.

“No no no no, please god no. They’re gonna find out. I need to to tell you. I need to tell you myself. Just, please I’m begging you don’t do it. Give me a chance. Just give me a chance to explain, I don’t want to wake up on a table, please Prowler.”

For his part, Prowl was handling the situation as well as to be expected. He didn’t try to leave again but did get into a more comfortable kneeling position next to the panicking mecha.

“Alright. Alright, I won’t leave. Speak.”

Jazz tried tapping an alternating rhythm on the floor, giving himself literally anything else to focus on. He swallowed back bile and his thrashing fight or flight instincts.

“I’m not-“ Jazz grit his teeth. Telling the truth felt like trying to pop a dislocation back into place. Actually no. Jazz had done that before and it had felt infinitely less unnatural than what he was trying to do now.

Prowl was patient. Bless his heart, motor, whatever he’s got in there. Remaining silent beside him.

The pilot forced himself to take complete breaths, “l. Am not. The same. As you.” One, one two, one two, one two, Jazz counted in time.

“I noticed.” Prowl stated flatly, then softening his expression, “You hadn’t realized you were an alien until now, didn’t you?”

Jazz laughed a little too hysterically, “No, no I Fraggin’ did not. Please don’t freak out.”

“Jazz, you are hardly the first alien species I’ve ever encountered. At least you actually look like a person.”

The pilot got very, very quiet.

“Prowl, what do you think of organics.” Resolutely, Jazz stared down the floor panels, refusing to look anywhere else.

Momentarily, Prowl opened his mouth to speak and shut it again. He shifted to kneel in front of Jazz. Sharp optics darting across his frame. Lightly, Jazz could feel him trace something along his undamaged shoulder. He shivered against his will.

“Jazz.” Prowl got down to where he had to look at him. He spoke so, so softly, “Were you created by organics?”

Well, when a mommy human and a daddy human love each other very much…

“You could say that.” Jazz rasped instead.

He hadn’t even moved, but the energy in the air just went burning cold. Prowl went from soft to deathly serious so fast Jazz visibly flinched.

“Listen to me. You do not have to go back. You do not ever have to go back. I swear on everything I stand for I will not let another one of those things anywhere near you again.” Unintentionally, Prowl was crowding into his space.

Despite himself, Jazz just kept drawing himself in smaller and smaller as Prowl closed in.

“No no no no you don’t get it, that’s not what I meant. That’s not what I am!” He started quiet and steadily grew in volume.

Prowl wasn’t getting it. Instead, raising his voice to match, “No you are wrong! You have a choice now! You aren’t just your function and you aren’t just something they made to die!”

He grabbed Prowl by the shoulders, shaking him, “I DID CHOSE THIS. I KNOW I’M GONNA DIE, BUT THAT’S NOT WHAT I’M FUCKING TALKING ABOUT.”

“Then what ARE you talking about?!” He shouted back.

“I’M ONE OF THEM.” His microphone peaked, and his voice broke.

The quiet hurt. Anything that wasn’t numb hurt. He gulped down air and couldn’t keep more than one eyelid up at a time.

Prowl ground his jaw tightly, practically steaming from reeling back a sense of calm by force, “You are not shorter than me. You are not thinking straight. And You. Are not. An organic.”

Jazz only semi involuntarily rolled his eyes.

“Fuck it.”

He disconnected, and everything hit at once.

Vision went and came back out of focus and way too close. His ears were ringing too badly to hear the sound of his mecha’s chest plates opening, though he knew that they were.

Every fiber of muscle in his body was torn and screaming, he’d throw up later if he had the strength. Jazz did not so much stand as he did lift off the pilot seat and then buckle forward. The hard shell of his pilot suit saved his knee from getting gouged by the corner of the platform he was slipping off of.

That’s fine. He’d land on the steps.

Except, his mecha had been leaning forward hadn’t it?

Like a rag doll, over the edge he went. A huge and blurry and black shape rushing to meet him.

———————————————————————

Is Jazz capable of telling the truth when it’s to save his life? No.

Will he do it out of spite just to prove someone wrong? Yes.

Also, secret props to @somerandomcockroach for showing how fun Rung is to write.

Bonus bit, Prowl finally let his EM field loose far enough for Jazz to notice! It was bad.

-SSTP

[jesuistrestriste]

this is my request for more patrick. dare i say artrick. dare i say them both totally pliable in your hands. i am terribly greedy and want to see sub!artrick and dom!reader written by you. please and thank

love youuuuu

eee hope this is to your liking annie ♥️ muah muah muah !

cw (18+) : sub!art donaldson, sub!patrick zweig, dom!reader, messy handjobs, desperation, dirty talk, patrick and art work for it

“does this feel good?” you breathe out, your voice almost shaky from the feeling of both sets of lips on your neck.

“mmn—yeah, yeah, i’m s’good,” art slurs into your left side, bucking up into your sticky hand, “can i—more—ah, faster—? aah-!”

patrick bites at your right earlobe and whimpers against your skin. his cock throbs in your right fist, dribbling with fluid from his attentive slit. it looks like melting glass pouring down his sensitive flesh.

“please,” he groans, “touch my tip, please.. oh, fuck, please—“

you chuckle and then suck in a soft breath when the blonde nips needily at your shoulder, lathing over it with his tongue after in apology. sometimes when his body starts to ache with arousal, he has to find an outlet for it—and sometimes that means biting, grabbing, sobbing, the like. patrick’s usually only slightly more restrained. they’re like two sides of the same coin, both constantly vying for attention, only in subtly different ways. it’s a good thing that you’ve trained them to stop bickering when you’re playing with their willing bodies. otherwise, they’d be at each other’s throats a bit right now.

“behave.”

that singular word from your mouth snaps them both back into place like rubber bands. art pants, high-pitched and whiny, while patrick grabs at the front of your body. he palms over your chest and squeezes whatever he can cup.

“i’m sorry,” you hear earnestly from the left side, accompanied by a calloused hand rubbing your inner thigh. you fist the back of his golden curls, which elicits a sharp, guttural cry to spring forth. his length twitches, balls drawn up.

“sorry, ungh, sorry,” comes from the right side, but less earnest and more please, just don’t stop. your other hand rubs at his bouncing leg. his eyes roll back under heavy lids, eclipsing his colorful irises.

“who wants to come?”

art smushes himself into your side and accidentally slides his dick through your returned grip, shuddering, “me, me—i wanna—.. please, it hurts—“

he swallows his mouthful of drool and buries his face into your neck. whines like a newborn puppy. grabs at your bicep.

patrick tugs roughly at the waistband of your bottoms, desperately wanting to slide his hand down and make you feel good. you can practically feel the waves of heat radiating off of his dazed body.

“i’m ready to come for you, feel me,” he takes his other hand and wraps it around your hand that’s holding his length, urging you to squeeze him a bit more and feel how much he needs it, “i’m so close.. so close, s’ close, i feel it coming..”

you slide your hands off of them at the same time. they crumple forward and moan brokenly at nearly the exact same moment, both feeling the swell of their peaks taper off painfully when your curled fingers caress the undersides. they pout and look up to your eyes.

“are you both going to be good for me?”

simultaneous nods follow the question. unsurprising. they share a look between themselves, then back to you.

you place a hand on the back of art’s neck first, then patrick’s. a soft smirk creeping over your lips as you urge them both forward in front of your eyeline.

they seem to get the hint, their gazes immediately fixating on one another. patrick’s the first to move, reaching his touch from your body to cup art’s ruddy cheek. the blonde leans into the touch like its some sort of lifeline, pleading for any point of contact he can get. he dives in and smushes his lips to the brunette’s, licking at his bottom one to beg for entry. pat obliges.

while you watch them begin to sync up, all broken sounds and lewd smacking and furrowed brows, you spit into your palms and bring them back down to begin pumping them. watching them kiss is like watching them play tennis: they know exactly what to do. it’s almost like they’re doing a dance.

art’s eyes flutter open and roll back, patrick’s squeezing shut tighter. their jaws slack and they lick into each other’s open mouths, gulping each other’s cries down greedily—like they’re consuming one another’s pleasure in the midst of their own. you feel a blurt of warm lubricant seep between your fingers from art’s cock, and a thrum of heat runs through your spine at the realization. he’s always been one to enjoy making-out. thoroughly, actually. he can finish just from it alone. patrick needs a bit more stimulation.

so, expectantly, the brunette chokes on a soft sob against his opposite’s bottom lip and drags his tongue over it. “more,” he murmurs, “aangh, jus’ a bit more—“

you stroke them both faster and they nearly break. pat bites down hard on art’s lip and art yelps, his hips bouncing with your touch.

“gentle, patrick, gentle,” you remind him, thumbing the ridge of his cockhead, the area pulsing and hot to the touch.

art sniffles, kissing his tennis partner deeper despite the sting from the clamp of his teeth. their hands are all over each other now. clawing at forearms and snagging handfuls of hair and gripping over shoulders. it’s a mess.

suddenly, patrick breaks the kiss and whimpers against art’s jaw—low and stuttered. art tries to kiss him again, too lost in the feeling to realize he’s stopped, but misses his lips and mouths at his cheek instead.

“i’m too close,” the brunette shudders, “please, can i come yet? i can’t hold it anymore, it’s gonna come out, gonna come,” he murmurs urgently.

“art, are you ready too?”

he nods, licking over the sweat on pat’s skin depravedly. he kisses him again, finding his lips. “mhmmmn—!”

you slide your hands up to begin rapidly jerking their tips, using their oozing evidence of arousal to work them up to their frayed ends. art squeezes patrick’s arm, mouth open and letting out little sounds that rise in pitch—higher, higher, higher—almost there. patrick tries in vain to fuck into your touch, his pelvis stuttering, his fluids leaking over his happy-trail.

“are you boys going to come now?”

art mewls sharply, patrick swallows thickly around a throaty sob. any more teasing, and you’d never hear the end of it. it’d be cruel, really.. and they’ve been good enough.

you press your thumbs to their tacky frenulums. rubbing quick, successive circles there. just how they like it—just what they need.

“.. let it all go.. show me how obscene and filthy you both look when you break..”

and they do.

they shatter.

their visions white out dizzily as the stimulation reaches the point of no-return; their mouths opening and bodies convulsing in ways that are nothing short of pornographic.

“oh, fuuuck—!” patrick gushes, ropes pouring from him in heavy waves, the paralyzing jabs of pleasure rendering him useless and twitchy as he orgasms. the thick, clotted load spills copiously.

a string of clinging spit bridges their lips as art leans back to pant raggedly. he looks down and watches as his own climax floods the gaps between your fingers and bubbles frothily as your movements refuse to relent. he uses his free hand to grab your wrist, thrusting reflexively as he hiccups and nearly squeals from the overstimulation. “ow—hmmngh—coming, coming, so much—“

you touch both of them until tears spring to the corners of their eyes, threatening to spill down their cheeks as they writhe and squirm in their seats. you suck your inner cheek between your teeth and bite down to resist the desire to torture their parts until they’re too fucked-out to form a thought. you’ve done it before, and it backfired when they weren’t able to stand up afterwards. all limp and shaky. maybe another time.

you slow your movements and slide your fists off of their shafts with a wet squelch, both of them curling inward from the oversensitivity.

“good job,” you croon, “didn’t realize you both were so pent up.. look at my hands..”

you hold up your messy palms to show them what they did. they look up with vacant stares, still breathing heavy and lost in the aftershocks.

“what do you say, hmm? you know what i need to hear.”

art lolls his head to rest on your shoulder and moans lowly, chest rumbling. patrick leans forward to sigh against your neck.

“thank you,” you hear on your left, “thank you so much,” follows on your right.

you smile.

“you’re welcome.”

[moonchild9350]

Make a Wish

summary: Hyunjin ends your birthday perfectly.

pairing: bf!Hyunjin x fab!reader

genre: fluff, smut-18+ MDNI

wc: 900

warnings: unprotected sex (don’t), love making, sweat, nipple play, clit play, multiple orgasms, implied creampie, squirting, overstimulation

notes: this is kinda self indulgent. A little piece for hyunjin since it’s my birthday tomorrow <3

please do not copy, modify, translate, use, or repost this work elsewhere without my permission. ©️moonchild9350 (2025)

Rain patters on the window, thunder rumbles through the night with the occasional flash of lightning filtering through the glass. The air is thick, the sound of your moans floating through the room.

You gaze up at Hyunjin who’s between your legs, his favorite place to be. Your eyes widening as he hits a particular spot within you that makes you see stars, that causes your pussy to clench around him.

Hyunjin groans and slows his pace, adjusting himself slightly as his cock reaches deeper in your walls, nice and snug, the puzzle complete. You whimper as the feel of his pelvis, grinding smoothly, succinctly, against your clit, providing the stimulation that has your toes curling and your body arching into his.

“Sh my love, look at me,” he whispers as he rocks his hips into yours leisurely, not in a rush but instead just enjoying the moment. The pleasure that flows through you is like a spark to a flame.

“Hyun, please- ah!” You moan, wrapping your legs around his torso, pulling him ever closer to you.

Hyunjin looks in your eyes, soaks up the pleasure that’s painted there, the love you have for him radiating through every part of your body. He looks at you and feels his heart swell, so large he feels like it will jump out of his chest and his love will bleed onto you.

He reaches for your hands and intertwines his fingers with yours, placing them gently on either side of your head. He drives his hips more fervently, chasing that feeling that’s slowly bubbling up within, creating a warm, gentle fire beneath the flesh.

Little tendrils of sweat drip down his face, traveling down the sharp curves of his jaw and landing on your chest. His eyes roam your chest, eyeing your breasts, how they are perfectly swole, perfect for him to grasp, to play with.

You gasp as he leans down to take a nipple into his mouth and feel yourself drip with arousal as he rolls the nub against his tongue. It feels warm and wet and you feel even more aroused, your breath coming out in a little pants at the sensation.

“Perfect, so perfect. Just for me,” Hyunjin groans before locking his plush lips with yours, moving them slowly and in tune with his thrusts.

The rain continues to come down and darkness continues to spread across the room, bathing you both in twilight. It begins in your belly, a sensation akin to a tingle until it spreads, grows like wildfire looking for brush to fuel its flame.

You let out a whine as it travels down your belly, past your navel and to your core, pleasant little shocks coursing through your pussy as he drives his cock in and out in and out. Hyunjin squeezes your hands harder and lets out a sigh as the feeling continues its way down your legs until it reaches your toes.

“Let go love,” Hyunjin mumbles, recognizing the look on your face that occurs when you reach your peak.

Thrust Thrust

You stare into his eyes and tightened your legs around him.

Thrust Thrust

You let out a loud moan, trying to breathe as the impending explosion rears its head.

Thrust Thrust

The coil explodes, flooding your body with white hot pleasure, your pussy drenching his cock and pelvis with your arousal. The sound of your wetness mixes in with the rain, accentuating your whimpers and Hyunjin’s breathy moans.

He speeds up, snapping his hips into yours, faster, harder, chasing his high that he needs desperately. He brings his hand down to you clit and rubs, quick messy circles that has your toes curling, your body twitching in overstimulation.

Hyunjin grunts as he stares at your pussy, in awe of the little spurts of liquid that leaks from your core and the little white ring that coats his cock as he drives into you. His finger slips off your clit once, twice, three times and he groans in frustration, the slide too wet for his thumb.

“Hyun, Hyun, I’m, im-“ an animalistic moan escapes your mouth and your body arches off the bed as you come again.

Hyunjin doesn’t slow down but instead continues to fuck you, to play with your clit that has you seeing stars. Your hearing decreases and you can barely hear the moan that comes out of your lover. You stare up at him, your lower half spasming as he fucks you through both of your orgasms, the sound of your fluids mixing, the proof of your lovemaking evident in the dark room.

Finally Hyunjin ceases his ministrations and withdraws his softened cock, cradling you into his arms and pulling the covers over the two of you.

“Happy birthday love,” he whispers and presses wet kisses down your jaw, slow and sweet.

You sigh as he continues to glide his lips over your jaw, your neck. It’s not long before his semi-hardened cock is pressed against your back and he’s gently rocking into you.

“Ah,” you moan as his fingers find your nipple and he’s rolling them, brushing the digits across the bud.

And with a groan he fills you up once more, his face buried in your neck. He takes you again, slow and gentle, worshipping you, praising you on this special day of yours. Making you feel like the queen that you are.

divider by: @sweetmelodygraphics

taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @armystay89 @palindrome969 @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @amarecerasus @kaysungshine @baby-stay92 @fun-fanfics @velvetmoonlght @possum-playground @katsukis1wife @my-neurodivergent-world @hanniebaeee @hwanghyunjinismybae @channiesrightasscheek @skzdreamer13 @lezleeferguson-120

[quillsandcravats]

The Doll from Dover | A.B. x fem!Reader

Summary: Anthony returns home from a trip with gifts for you, your children, and your unborn babe...including yet another doll for your doted-upon daughter. You tease him, but he insists no present is too much for his little girl. 🧸 Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!wife!Reader Rated: G Word count: 1.6k Warnings: reader is pregnant, parenting, other than this is pure and sweet fluff Requested: Yes

Bridgerton House buzzes with a quiet excitement as news travels from the servants' quarters to your family: the Viscount has come back. Edmund II, affectionately known as ‘little Edmund’ to his Grandmama Violet, waits impatiently near the front door of the estate, peaking out of the large windows. He gleefully waits, practically bouncing in anticipation, as he spots the carriage making its way down the cobblestone drive. He reaches down, his tiny fingers fiddling with the edge of his knee-high socks, a furrow of concentration etched across his boyish face. At just six years old, he feels the weight of responsibility, eager to emulate his father’s grace and dignity. The spinning top, a vibrant swirl of colors, lies neglected on a nearby table, a gift from Uncle Benedict that usually commands his full attention. But today, he sacrifices its joyful whirl for his father’s return.

The door opens, and little Edmund grins wide, spotting his father immediately. He idolizes Anthony deeply — and feels an aching absence when he's away. Edmund cherishes the moments spent with his Papa in the quiet of his study, pretending to write his own ledgers in a childlike scrawl. In contrast, his father diligently works on the genuine ones. He is often reminded that one day, when he grows big and strong like Papa, he will occupy the same desk. The six-year-old offers a swift, polite bow before darting forward and melting into a tender embrace in Anthony’s waiting arms.

“Hello, my boy!” Anthony smiles, squeezing Edmund II affectionately before placing him back down. Anthony recalls being held by his own father like this, filling him with a wistful, bittersweet feeling.

He hears the tiny pitter-patter of her feet on the pinewood of the hallway, bringing him out of his nostalgia.

"Papa!" Charlotte giggles, her three-year-old voice ringing out joyfully. Anthony is overcome with love at the sight of her - a flurry of ribbons and curls. He lifts her into his arms and twirls her around, prompting loud laughter from his daughter.

“There is my little lady,” He gently kisses her forehead, cuddling her close to him. Charlotte takes in the comforting scent of her Papa. She leans back, placing two chubby hands on his cheeks. He beams warmly in response, gazing into the eyes that mirror his own. “I missed you much, my darling girl. I hope you and Brother have been good while I have been gone?”

“Yes, Papa! I was the man of the house, just like you said to be,” Edmund says, holding up his head proudly, hands behind his back just as he sees Anthony do repeatedly.

He places Charlotte back down as the servants discreetly take his coat and gloves. A footman stumbles in behind him, swaying as though he is tipsy, desperately attempting to peer over a towering stack of cumbersome boxes. One box teeters precariously, and in a heroic yet clumsy effort, he lunges to catch it, all while trying to maintain his gracefulness and suppress a bead of sweat that threatens to betray him.

Anthony barely turns, “Oh, Ephraim, please take the packages to the drawing room.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Anthony holds Charlotte’s tiny hand while Edmund eagerly runs into the drawing room to see which fantastical box is his. The Viscount never forgets to bring gifts home for his family when away on business.

The afternoon sun casts a warm glow over the drawing room as you sit in a high-backed chair, concentrating on your embroidery hoop. The needle moves deftly through the fabric, creating patterns of flowers and leaves. The creak of the door disturbs the quiet, and you glance up, curious to see who enters.

“Mama! Mama! Papa is back from Dover!” your son announces. “And he has bought parcels! Many!”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head in amusement as Ephraim carefully places everything on the floor. His weariness is evident. With a respectful bow, he addresses you, "Lady Bridgerton."

"Thank you, Ephraim. You may go now."

Then, you see your husband enter with your daughter by his side, and your heart fills with warmth. Oh, how deeply you love Anthony Bridgerton.When you first fell for him, it was more akin to puppy love. But now, you have watched him grow into a strong Viscount and an adoring father. He has become everything he ever promised to be - and you take great pride in being his Viscountess.

He approaches you with a gentle smile, bending down to softly kiss the back of your hand. You giggle, feeling like a young debutante being courted for the very first time.

“Wife.”

“Husband,” you beam.

Anthony’s lips curl into a tranquil grin as he reaches out, pulling you into a warm hug. The scent of his cologne, a subtle blend of cedar and citrus, envelopes you as he leans in for a tender kiss.

“Yuck,” Edmund chirps, occupying himself with the spinning top he had been playing with again. You and Anthony glance at each other before splitting your sides with laughter.

“My Dear, it is delightful to see you.”

“I have missed you so, Anthony. We all have.”

“Do come; gifts await each of you,” he announces, gesturing toward the pile of wrapped items.

You sink into the sofa's plush cushions, watching Edmund settle himself cross-legged on the carpet, a spot he always claims. Charlotte climbs up beside you, her legs swinging freely above the floor, unable to reach it with her tiny feet.

Anthony gives you the first box. "For my Viscountess," he says, watching eagerly as you take it in. The present is wrapped exquisitely in thick paper and tied with a bow in your favorite color. You smile as you gently undo the wrapping, placing the ribbon beside you. A delighted gasp falls from your lips as you behold what is inside — a fine hair comb with a delicate scroll-like filigree design. It is embellished by a beautiful sapphire, bordered by two salt-water pearls.

Next, Edmund is handed his box. He does not take as much gentleness as you, tearing the paper impatiently. He holds up his gift, getting up to run over and give Anthony another hug. The toy knight in his hand carries the scent of fresh-cut wood, mingling with a faint hint of varnish and paint. “A brave fellow for my brave boy,” your husband announces. Edmund examines it with awe, smiling wide at his father.

“He is wonderful, Papa!”

Anthony picks up the most prominent package and sits next to Charlotte. The bundle is carefully wrapped in soft linen and tied with a luxurious silk ribbon that glistens in the light. He gently assists her in opening the gift, his fingers working together with her tiny hands to unveil the hidden treasure within. As the wrapping falls away, it reveals a stunning porcelain doll. The doll's face is delicately painted, her features artfully detailed, with brown curls cascading down, mirroring Charlotte’s own. She even wears miniature stays and a muslin gown styled in the elegant French fashion, complete with intricate lace and tiny, perfectly placed buttons. The doll embodies a sense of grace and charm, a perfect little companion for a highborn girl, brought to life with exquisite artisanship.

Little Charlotte’s eyes light up wide, and she immediately clutches the doll to her chest. “She shall sleep with me tonight!” she declares with all her authority. Anthony nods and plants a soft kiss on her head.

“Do not forget to name her Charlotte.”

“Oh, I shall name her y/n. Like Mama!” Charlotte retorts, running a hand over the doll's shiny curls. “She is pretty like Mama, too.”

Your heart glows as you place an adoring hand on your chest, leaning over to give your daughter the tiniest peck on her cheek.

Anthony then presents a final, more delicate package—a handmade baby bonnet—for your soon-to-arrive child. He gently places his hand on your belly with a sense of wonder.

“For the little one, not yet arrived, but never far from thought.”

“Oh, Anthony,” you smile, holding the teeny hat. “It will be perfect.” You place your hand atop his. Just then, you feel the faintest feeling - like a flit of hummingbird wings inside your abdomen, followed by a swift kick to your ribcage. “Ah!” you pant with a soft laugh.

Anthony’s eyes go wide as saucers, realizing that he has just felt your unborn baby move. “Well, someone has taken a fancy to their gift.”

Later, in your private chambers, you sit on the plush velvet stool, drawing a brush through your hair with deliberate strokes. A smile tugs at your lips, and your eyes glint with mischief as you tease him, your voice laced with affection and a hint of challenge.

“Do you suppose she shall remember the names of all her dolls, My Lord? I believe we’ve reached fifty.”

Anthony slowly unfastens the buttons of his waistcoat. A soft titter escapes his lips, his eyes crinkling at the corners in amusement at your words.

“Fifty-one, in fact. And each entirely necessary.”

Your eyebrow arches upward as a smirk tugs at the corner of your lips, a flicker of amusement dancing in your eyes. “Entirely?”

Now clad only in his breeches, Anthony approaches you quietly from behind. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into an embrace, his chin on your shoulder. Together, you both look into the mirror. You set your brush aside, your fingers curling around his forearm, feeling the warmth of his skin. You closed your eyes for a brief moment, hanging onto this moment. His voice, when he speaks, is delicately adoring.

“She is my only daughter. My little girl. And this one came from Dover. It would have been most unkind to return without it.”

“If this child is a girl as well,” he murmurs, planting a soft peck on the crown of your head, “I shall be compelled to procure an entire nursery of dolls.”

You chuckle murmuringly, leaning back against his chest. “You’ll raise a house of spoiled daughters,” you admonish facetiously.

“I should be the most fortunate man alive, then.”

I DO NOT CONSENT FOR MY WORK TO BE COPIED, REPOSTED, OR TRANSLATED FOR ANY REASON WITHOUT MY CONSENT.

Anthony Taglist: @whatcjdidnext @i-do-not-care-bear @enchantedbytomandhenry Taglist Form!

[bloodcoveredgf]

okay guys i feel bad for posting another crowd funding post like this but while me and my partner have been trying to save up to move out and we have a fund going for that because we desperately need to, i know we also mentioned his car having major problems and those problems have gotten worse leading to him soon being unable to drive it and having to walk to work (he deals with bad chronic pain/back/& leg issues) and we will need $1,500 to fix his car. that needs to be our primary focus now, so we are working on budgeting for that and finding a way but it is going to be difficult and slow and the stress has been eating us alive. on top of having to stay in a bad spot and struggling with our home life, we are struggling to save up for anything big like this and the car situation reaching its peak will hit us hard. any and all shares and donations will be greatly appreciated by us and will help us further and make sure we have a car which is extremely needed on all accounts.

$curtiswldr / cashapp

[supernotnatural2005]

The Great Sam Winchester C*ck Block!

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Dean and you have been desperate for some much needed alone time. However, a certain Winchester keeps getting in the way.

Word Count: 4106

Warnings: Smut! 18+ ONLY!!! Fluff, Sam is a massive c*ck block (yes that’s a warning!)

A/N: I know it’s been a hot minute since i posted anything. Life has been wild. But i miss writing so much and have a few WIP. This just happens to be the one i’ve finished! 😅 Just something fun and spicy. I hope you enjoy and feedback is always welcome!

My Masterlist

You sighed, head thrown back against the leather seat, back arched and legs spread wide as Dean scissored two of his thick fingers inside of you.

Soft lips caressed the sensitive skin of your neck and suckled at the spot behind your ear, which only added to the desperate throb of the walls of your pussy.

Your skin flushed and breathing laboured as he expertly rubbed at that spongey spot inside you, making you gasp and tense at the thrum of pleasure, tingling from the tops of your ears down to the tips of your toes.

The soft praises of; “you’re so wet”, “so beautiful” and “come for me baby”, followed by the lewd sounds of your dripping core against the harsh thrust of his digits, echoed in the small confinements of Baby’s backseat. Resulting in an ecstasy like state of desperation to reach your peak for him.

Your hands found purchase on his broad shoulders, the material covering his skin all but assaulted by your vice-like grip, as he brought you closer and closer to your impending crash.

You opened your eyes, gaze heated and glazed as you met fiery green orbs, drinking in your wrecked state with satisfaction and pride.

With his thumb now rubbing against your clit, you could feel your body begin to tense. The coil in your lower belly wound tight, ready to just about snap, when something over his shoulder caught your attention.

“Sam!” You gasped in an attempt to warn him. Though in your current state, it came out as more of a gasp of unmeant pleasure. But it had Dean’s fingers stilling instantly, drowning the flame he’d brought to life inside of you.

“What?” The shock was evident in his voice and the same eyes that had been filled with lust just moments ago, now laced with hurt at your outburst of his brother’s name. Made ten times worse at the fact it was whilst he was fingering you into oblivion.

Dread filled you at his harshly retracted fingers and you scrambled to explain before another fire brewed in his eyes, but this time with intent to burn rather than pleasure.

“Oh God, no baby! Sam is coming.” You guided his head in the direction of the other end on the motel’s parking lot, to where Sam was indeed approaching.

Relief flooded him like a cold drink of water quenching one’s thirst in a hot desert. His rapidly beating heart simmered somewhat at the realisation and he welcomed the soothing hand you ran through his short strands as he dropped his forehead to your shoulder.

You felt the rumble of his chuckle before you heard it, finding yourself joining in at the absurdity and worst timing ever of your boyfriend’s baby-bro.

“I guess we’re gonna have to pick this up another time.” He sighed disappointedly, but his eyes held a promise you clung to.

Sam Winchester was many things. A great hunter, empathetic and kind, your best friend. But mostly, he was the most oblivious cock block known to man.

For weeks you and Dean had been trying to have a little alone time. If it wasn’t the motel’s having only one twin room left, or a case taking its tole on you both to the point of pure exhaution, it was Sam’s impeccable timing.

You righted yourself by pulling on your discarded underwear and sleep-shorts, grimacing as the fabric met the mess between your legs.

Dean casually sucked his fingers clean of your juices, making your jaw drop and clit pulse in want.

Noticing your longing stare, he winked and slid a hand beneath his sweat pants to adjust the obvious tent, just in time for Sam to tap on the window.

“What are you guys doing out here? I tried calling you both for the past half hour.” Dean had opened the back seat and stepped out, allowing you to shuffle to the edge of the seat.

“I had a nightmare.” You lied easily as you stepped out of the car as well.

“I couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to wake you, so Dean offered to sit with me, calm me down.”

If oscars were awarded for best lie told, you’re sure you’d be up there in the nominees. It wasn’t necessary to lie to Sam but it beat, “your brother was just fingering me in the back of his car because we never have any time alone away from you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Sam was sincere and his look sympathetic. It allowed for a shred of guilt to be had.

“Why were you looking for us anyway?” Dean interrupted, voice slightly rough and irritated, although Sam didn’t seem to notice.

“I found a case a couple of miles out. Three victims have turned up dead in the last week, all with their hearts missing. Sherif is calling it a vicious animal attack but, i figures we got ourselves a werewolf.”

Silence.

“And that couldn’t wait until morning.” Dean speaks up first. His agitation clear this time.

“Well, technically it is morning. It’s like five A M.” Sam shrugs like it’s nothing and you internally sigh.

“You’re right, we just lost track of time.” You force a smile and ignore Dean’s pointed look as a sudden plan forms in your mind.

“Let us freshen up and maybe you could grab us some coffee and breakfast? You know, since you’re the only one dressed and all.” You ask sweetly, hoping he takes the bait.

“Yeah sure. I was going to grab us all some breakfast anyway.” Sam offers.

Bingo.

“That’d be great, i’m starving.” You exaggerate with a hand on your stomach. In the corner of your eye, Dean gives you a funny look and it takes everything in you not to smirk.

“Okay, well i’ll see you in ten.” Sam says before making his way across the street toward the 24 hour diner.

Wasting no time, you grab Dean’s hand and roughly pull him with you toward the room.

“Woah, what in the-“ You shut him up with your lips roughly pressing to his once you enter the room. His back hitting the closed door with a dull thud.

“If you think i’m going to wait for God knows how long before i feel you inside me again. You’ve got another thing coming.” You explain in a rush as you tug his plain-black t-shirt over his head.

A smirk forms on his lips at your eagerness and Dean has to admit, it turns him on just how desperate you are.

“Oh, i like the way you think sweetheart.”

You sat in the backseat of baby, irritable, uncomfortable and beyond sexually frustrated.

Your attempt to finish what you and Dean had started back in the room was short lived, when Sam returned only 2 minutes later, having forgotten his wallet.

To say you were in a mood was an understatement. And the permanent scowl on Dean’s face and his white knuckling grip on the steering wheel, told you he was right there with you.

In the end, the three of you figured out who the culprit was, or should you say culprits were, relatively quickly. It was a young man, Johnny Turner who was recently turned, which explained the sloppy kills. And you later discovered the pack who’d turned him, hiding out in a cabin just outside of town.

Overall, it was a successful hunt with minimum injuries and you had prevented a young girl from being the fourth victim. But three people had still died and a young man had to spend his last moments of life as a monster he never wanted to be.

You still remember the fear and confusion in his eyes at what he’d done. But then he’d went to attack you and ended up with three silver bullets from Dean’s gun lodged in his chest.

So, when you climbed into bed that night, Dean following shortly after you as Sam lightly snored away on the bed opposite. There were no wandering hands under the covers, working each other up until you were desperate enough to find yourself back in the back seat of baby. Just silence.

All in all, Sam’s case had inadvertently been another giant cock-block in itself.

3 Days Later.

It wasn’t your most classiest moment, but you found yourself knelt on a grubby restroom floor; Dean above you with his jeans and boxers pushed down mid thigh as you took his heavy, achingly hard length into your mouth.

You could be ashamed at how horny you were. That you’d stoop so low as to pushing him into a disgusting bathroom stall; dropping to your knees and blowing him right then and there.

But after a whole day of watching him work on Baby, greased up, sweaty and watching his biceps flex as he adjusted loose bolts and nuts under the hood. It was like dangling a piece of meat in-front of a starving dog. You just had to take a bite.

After being unfairly teased all day, you had all ventured to the local dive in town. Of course, Sam came along, actually wanting to join in for once.

Despite your own sexual frustrations, you’d had a good time. Drunk Sam was a lot of fun and it was nice seeing everyone relaxed and with a smile on their face for once.

However, once Sam’s attention was preoccupied by a pretty brunette; and with a strong bout of liquid courage in your system, you’d taken advantage of the situation and summoned Dean to join you in the restroom.

You knew he was just as worked up as you were. You’d felt as much whilst playing a game pool earlier on in the night, when he’d pressed up against you, not so subtly and let you feel just how much the skirt you’d opted to wear turned him on.

So now here you were, sucking off your boyfriend in the restroom stall of a dive bar, like some horny teenager. But if his moans and grunts as he lightly thrusted his hips intime with the bobbing of your head, told you anything. It was that he was more than on board.

Your panties were beyond soaked and uncomfortable but, Dean’s laboured breath’s and flushed cheeks as you looked up at him; his balls drawing up tight in your palm as you let him fuck into your mouth, a tell tail sign he was close, had you doubling your efforts to get him there.

“Holy shit baby. Right there.” He panted as you breathed deeply through your nose and took him as deep as your gag reflex would allow. The hand holding your hair back tightened, bringing with it a sharp sting of pleasure, making you moan around him.

He was seconds away from his release, when a loud bang interrupted you. It was as if an ice-cold bucket of water had been poured over your heads.

Startled, Dean’s slick cock slipped from your lips as you jumped back in shock. The loud bang was shortly followed by a girly giggle and a mans chuckle.

You looked up at Dean, wide eyed and silently asking if he wanted you to continue, when you heard it.

The stall next you rattled as the couple stumbled inside, the sounds of lips lewdly smacking together and then a voice you’d recognise anywhere, instantly cleared your sex hazed fog and had you as dry as a desert.

It was Sam.

You’ve got to be kidding me, Dean’s look told you.

One week later found the three of you pulling into Bobby’s for some much needed R&R.

After a week of non stop hunts, your bruised and beaten body needed at least a long weekend to recover. And the boys were more than inclined to agree.

As soon as your feet hit the gravel outside of Bobby’s house, you sighed in relief. The drive was long and your back, legs and butt ached from the lengthy position held.

“S’good to see you idgits.” Came the gruff greeting from Bobby as he stepped out the front door. You smiled at the term that had always been more out of endearment rather than as an insult.

You were the first to make your way over and fall into his embrace. Bobby always did give the best hugs. You’d missed him, a lot you realised as he gave you a big squeeze.

Although, your wince had him pulling back immediately to assess you with concern.

“Im all good, it’s just been a long week.” You explained truthfully and though he let it go, you could see he wasn’t fully satisfied with your answer.

“Mind if i grab a shower? I need to get the stink of hours being hot-boxed with the most gassiest man alive off of me.” You jab your finger blindly in Sam’s direction and miss his offended look.

Dean however, barks out a laugh to which Sam throws him his signature bitch-face.

“Hey, she’s not wrong man. S’probably all that rabbit food you eat.” Dean shrugs innocently, but is unable to contain his amusement.

“I’m not going to apologise for eating healthy Dean. Wouldn’t kill you to eat a salad once in a while mister, two double cheese burgers with extra bacon for breakfast.” Sam sasses back, mocking Dean’s gravelly voice. And in doing so, starts the endless bickering between the two brothers.

You decide then to make your escape, passing Bobby with a thankful hand on his shoulder and an apologetic look in your eyes as you make your way inside and upstairs toward the bathroom.

You drop your duffle to the floor and rummage through for some clean clothes. Luckily, you find a faded band t-shirt that you’re pretty sure once belonged to Dean and some leggings. It’ll have to do until you can take advantage of Bobby’s washer and dryer.

You’ll have to cook dinner as a thank you, you decide before peeling off your two day old clothes; grimacing slightly at the pain in your overused muscles and possibly bruised ribs.

You turn on the shower, making sure it’s on the verge of scolding, allowing for a billow of steam to encompass the medium sized bathroom, before stepping into the tub.

At first you flinch at warm spray in contrast to your much cooler skin, but quickly melt under the pressure and warmth seeping deep into your bones.

As you stand motionless, the weight of the last few weeks, possibly months, of being tense, unsatisfied and in pain, gradually releases it’s vice-like grip on you and washes away with the muck and grime accumulated on your skin.

Bliss. Thats what this was. Pure unadulterated bliss.

You’re so enraptured with the feeling, you don’t even notice him enter the room. Nor do you hear the shuffling of clothes being removed, or the curtain pulling back for him to step inside behind you.

It’s not until the coolness of his palms makes contact with your hips, do you startle and turn to meet the vibrant green eyes of your intruder.

“You don’t mind if i join you, do you?” Dean asks. As if you had a choice on the matter, as if you’d ever refuse.

You shake your head in both amusement and in answer to his question, and turn back around as he begins to lather his palms up with the body wash you’d brought with you.

A welcoming fruity smell of strawberries invades your sinuses and you soon hum in pleasure as his large, soapy hands glide across your skin. The act is incredibly intimate without the need to initiate into anything more than Dean simply taking care of you.

However, as his slick hands wander to your front, gliding across your stomach and up to lather your breasts. A fire that had been put out one too many times, reignites within you.

You bite your lip and lay your head back against his shoulder as his hands travel back south. Your breathing grows heavier as his seemingly innocent actions spark you to life.

The feel of his smile against the side of your head, tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing though. So as a form of punishment, you subtly press back against him, smiling devilishly at the feel of his hardening length against your lower back.

His breathing shallows as you slowly gyrate your hips back against him and your pussy throbs in need of something, anything.

The famous saying, ‘great minds think alike’ had never proven more true as Dean’s right hand continues its journey, until two of his thick digits part your wet folds.

You gasp as his middle finger begins to slowly circle your clit, causing an electric jolt of pleasure to course through your entire body.

“You’re so wet already baby.” Dean husks in your ear, just as he briefly dips a finger into your dripping hole before returning the coated digit to your clit.

Adding his forefinger, Dean begins to quicken the pace of his fingers and adds pressure onto the pulsing bundle of nerves, making you cry out and twitch and convulse in his embrace.

He holds you tightly to him by wrapping his other arm around your waist, as you shake and your stance falters, gripping onto the arm wrapped around you like a life line.

“Come for me baby.” You hear him all but growl, before you feel his soft lips begin to nip and suck at the sensitive junction between your neck and shoulder. His fingers are vigorous now and the coil wound tight within in you finally snaps.

Everything goes white; your veins like molten lava, fiery hot and melting your bones as the tremors of your well- overdue orgasm course through you.

“Fuuuck.” You can’t help but moan as your tense body slowly becomes like jelly against the strength of your boyfriend. Dean holds you upright as you slowly come to and only loosens his hold when he knows you’re able to stand on your own.

For a moment you feel like you had died and gone to heaven. Utterly relaxed and boneless, you smile dopily until the numbness fades and the overwhelming need to feel him inside you takes over.

You twist in his embrace and pull his face down to crash your lips to his. It’s messy, all tongue and clashing teeth, both blinded by pure desire and pent up frustrations.

You slide a hand between your bodies and glide your hand up and down his length. He’s hard as a rock and seeping at the tip, which you gather in your palm as you continue to jerk him off.

“Shit.” He pulls away with a hiss, eyes closed tight as he presses his forehead to yours. You bite your lip as you take him in, forever impressed of the beauty that is Dean Winchester.

His hand moves to stop you suddenly and he meets your questioning look with pupils blown wide.

“I’m not gonna last if you keep it up. Need to be inside you now.” He all but growls before sliding his hands under your thighs and lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

You wrap your legs securely around his waist as he pushes you against the tile. The coolness brings out a gasp that’s soon swallowed by Dean’s all consuming, toe curling kiss.

“Please.” You beg as you pull away for a needed breath. Too worked up to vocalise anything else. Dean understands you though and shifts you higher up the wall, using it as leverage as he frees an arm to guide himself into you.

Your eyes cross as he slowly descends you onto his cock. The stretch is both overwhelming and not enough at the same time as he bottoms out. It’s a feeling you’ve missed gravely and he hasn’t even moved yet.

“Holy fuck.” Dean groans deep in his throat at the feel of your tight, warm walls finally wrapped around him. A feeling he’s been starved of for too damn long.

“You feel so good baby.” You praise and cup his cheek to guide his lips back to yours. He slowly slides his way out of you until just his tip remains, before thrusting back in with a sharp snap of his hips.

The action makes you cry out breathlessly, eyes wide in the most painful pleasure. You keep your eyes locked when he does it again, mouth agape in a silent scream with each drag of his length against your sensitive walls.

He builds up a confident rhythm, hitting you in the sweet spot every time, making your toes curl and breathing labour.

“Fuck i’ve missed the feel of you.” You moan particularly loudly when he hits the right spot.

“You’re so tight and wet. Fuck.” Dean groans as he picks up the pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin, almost overshadowing the patter of the showers spray.

You’re close, you can feel it. Feel it in the way your lower belly clenches and limbs tense as your nerve endings spark with each thrust.

Dean’s close too. His panting breaths making way for the odd growl to slip out as he strains with effort to keep you both up. His own limbs starting to flutter in strength at his impending release.

Just as you’re about to loose it, there’s knock on the door, causing Dean to still and you to bite your lip in attempt to stop a frustrated groan.

“Hey Y/N? Have you seen Dean? I need the keys to the impala.” Sam’s muffled voice carried through the door.

Dean looks livid, but you look at him questioning eyes. ‘What do i say?’

It takes a moment, but Deans irritation fades and a sly smirk replaces it.

“I’m in here Sammy!” Dean calls out and your eyes widen in shock. However, you’re unable to say a thing when he shifts his hips, slowly dragging his cock almost all the way out, before pushing just as slowly back in.

Your mouth drops open and eyes flutter as he repeats the action.

“Wait why are you…” Sam trails off and you almost don’t hear his “oh.” Of realisation.

“Might not wanna traumatise yourself Sammy.” Dean calls out, just before he snaps his hips harshly into you again, and you can’t help but cry out. Your cheeks blush at the fact Sam could hear you.

“Dean!” You scold in a hushed whisper, but he doesn’t stop, making you bite your lip to stop from crying out more. Thankfully you hear Sam’s footsteps quickly retreat.

“I’m done with interruptions.” Dean all but growls before crashing his lips to yours. His hips begin to piston into you at an almost bruising, quickly bringing you both back to the brink. Your cries of pleasure muffle against his lips and your hands tangle in his hair harshly, making him moan.

“Fuck i’m going to cum.” You gasp, head thrown back and back arching as much as was possible in the position you were in.

“Let go baby. I’m right there with you.” Dean pants and you meet his eyes in a silent cry as you tense up. Your orgasm rippling through you like a bolt of electricity.

“Fuuuuck.” Dean quickly follows you with a couple more thrusts. His body tensing as he grunts into your neck, each twitch of his cock as he empties his seed deep inside you, sending little aftershocks through your body.

You’re both breathing hard, even when he pulls back to look at you. Dopy smiles rise on your lips simultaneously, and laughter soon follows. Dean slowly puts you down on shaky legs, but keeps you close as he leans down to claim your lips once more.

It’s slow and passionate and striking you back to life as we speak. The smirk on Dean’s lips is all knowing and you want to smack away his smugness, but you can’t find it in you to make on that promise when his wandering hand cups your aching sex.

“Someone’s a needy girl, ain’t they.” He mumbles between kissing his way down your neck as his thick digits stroke you to life.

You gasp at the sensation, torn between too sensitive and desperate to feel more.

You glide your hand up his broad shoulder and through his damp hair before gripping tight enough to make him hiss. His eyes darken lustfully and you smirk a little at the feel of him twitching against you.

“You have no fucking idea.” You whisper, before pulling his lips to yours.

It’s safe to say Bobby’s water bill paid a price that day.

[p1n-p0int]

Honest to gods, I'm working on that that hc, but hear me y' all...

I have a "Ghost who's too closed off due to his trauma, doesn't talk about his past nor his work (the details he's allowed to say), and a reader who is desperately trying to save him from drowning in his self-hatred, and everything seems fine between them til the day before Simon's countless employments where reader pokes the bear too hard and Ghost snaps at them before leaving for the base" agenda running free in my mind

Like man, he loves you but the constant betrayals he went through, both familial and work related, before making him unable to let you into his comfort zone properly. Don't get me wrong; this man loves you to death and could do anything and everything, illegal or not, for you at the drop of the hat, but the thought of you knowing about his past? It sends him spiralling.

Thus why he doesn't see any issue in keeping you at arm's length and out of his business 'til the night before he has to depart for a mission.

You randomly begin to talk about hypothetical marriage and children you two are going to have one day. A happy life together you wanted for yourself and Simon... He threw you a side-glance telling you to drop it, he told you twice when you insisted on interrogating him as to why a loving family he could come back to from employment sounds bad... He has never meant to verbally snap at you the way he did - you backing away from his reach zone and putting a heavy kitchen table between him and you as an additional barrier, your brain was terrified of the man you were seeing in front of you. But it was not your Simon that was speaking, it was some twisted, traumatized soldier? child? part of him peaking its sorrowful head out, that much you knew - triggered his traumas. He couldn't hold it in. You pushed way too many times and his glass-like wall broke under the pressure.

When he was done ranting off to the grimy image in his head and looked up at you, scared of him, he bolted, grabbing his things and running out of your shared flat, not able to face you and the look on your face that's going to haunt him for the rest of his days. Because, sworn with a hand to his heart, he thought he singlehandedly ended the relationship there and then.

I don't have detailed route options for this one, but definitely, just like for Price, I'm planning for:

that hits all the raw points and talks about all the important topics of mental health, PTSD, self-worth and trust issues, you name it basically. A bit darker, with Ghost literally going through it to make himself better for the reader and first and foremost himself. (Groveling on his knees, fix-it route)

Ghost coming back from the employment, determined to discuss the previous fight with them, explain his side of view... Only to find the reader long gone from their apartment. (Angst route)

[thirteenheavens]

maybe virtual sex with scoups (ending with him knocking on your door because virtual doesn't satisfy him)

Fuck it|| Choi Seungcheol x Reader

Notes: damn this has gotta be one of my favs

Seungcheol grins at you through the screen, his eyes dark with desire as he looks at you. "Miss me?" he asks, his voice low and husky. You nod, biting your lip as you adjust the camera to show more of your body. "I always do," you admit, your hand trailing down your stomach.

"Show me how much you missed me," he commands, his hand already working on unbuttoning his shirt. "Touch yourself for me." You slide your hand between your legs, feeling how wet you already are just from seeing him. Your fingers circle your clit slowly, the sensation amplified by knowing he's watching.

"That's it," Seungcheol groans, his shirt now off and his hand rubbing against the growing bulge in his pants. "Look at how needy you are for me." Seungcheol unzips his pants, freeing his cock from its confines. "I want to see you take two fingers," he says, wrapping his hand around his shaft and stroking slowly. You slide two fingers inside yourself, moaning at the feeling of being filled even though it's not him. "Cheol," you gasp, your hips bucking up as you thrust them in and out.

"Good girl," he praises, his eyes locked on your movements. "Imagine it's me inside you instead. Imagine how deep I'd reach." You close your eyes, picturing Seungcheol's body above yours, his cock filling you up perfectly. Your fingers move faster, curling to hit that spot that makes you see stars.

Seungcheol groans in frustration, his hand moving faster on his cock as he watches you pleasure yourself. "I wish I could be there right now," he says, his voice strained. "I want to feel you squeezing around me." You whimper at his words, your fingers working harder as you picture him pounding into you relentlessly. "Cheol, I need you," you moan, your other hand coming up to tweak your nipple.

"Soon," he promises, his breathing becoming ragged. "But for now, let me see you come. I want to watch you fall apart for me." You can feel your orgasm building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core. Your back arches off the bed as you push yourself closer to the edge, your fingers moving desperately.

Seungcheol's hand moves in quick, rough strokes as he watches you nearing your peak. "That's it," he grunts, his abs flexing as he tries to hold back his own release. "Come for me, baby. Let me see how beautiful you look when you fall apart." The sound of his deep voice and the sight of him pleasuring himself sends you over the edge. You cry out his name as you come, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm.

"Fuck, that's it," Seungcheol groans, his own release following seconds later. "You're so gorgeous when you come. I can't wait to be back with you." Seungcheol wipes his hand on a tissue and zips up his pants, his eyes still burning with desire. "Fuck it," he repeats, standing up from his chair. "I'm coming over. Screw the studio." You watch in shock as he grabs his jacket and keys, his mind clearly made up. "Cheol, what about the others?" you ask, trying to process the sudden change of plans.

He stops at the door, turning back to look at you with a smirk. "They can wait. I need you more than I need a recording session right now." The screen goes black, and you're left staring at your reflection. Your heart races as you process what just happened - Seungcheol is actually coming over, despite the fact that he was supposed to be in the studio.

You scramble to tidy up, your body still tingling from your earlier orgasm. The anticipation builds as you wait for him to arrive, wondering what he'll do once he gets here. You hear the sound of a car pulling up outside and footsteps rushing towards your door. Your heart skips a beat as you hear Seungcheol's voice calling your name.

"Y-N, I'm here!" he calls out, pounding on the door. "Open up!" You stand frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do. But the desire to feel his touch again wins out, and you quickly run to the door, completely naked.

You throw open the door, and Seungcheol's eyes widen as he takes in your naked form. "Fuck," he breathes out, pushing you back inside and kicking the door shut behind him. He pins you against the wall, his hands roaming over your bare skin as he captures your lips in a hungry kiss. "You're trying to kill me," he mutters against your mouth, his body pressed flush against yours.

Seungcheol breaks the kiss just long enough to pull his shirt over his head and shove his pants down. He lifts you up in his arms, carrying you towards the bedroom while continuing to kiss you passionately. Your legs wrap around his waist as he walks, your fingers tangling in his hair. The feel of his naked skin against yours is electric, making you moan into the kiss.

"I need you so bad," he growls, tossing you onto the bed and crawling on top of you. "You have no idea how long I've been thinking about this." Seungcheol runs his fingers through your folds, feeling the evidence of your earlier orgasm. "You're still so wet," he groans, bringing his fingers to his mouth and tasting you. "God, you taste so good." He kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he lines himself up with your entrance. "Ready for me?" he asks, his voice rough with need.

You nod desperately, spreading your legs wider for him. "Yes, please," you beg, arching up against him. "I need you inside me." Seungcheol doesn't waste any more time, thrusting into you in one smooth motion. He fills you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way possible.

"So tight," he grunts, starting to move at a relentless pace. "You feel so perfect around me." The room is filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and your combined moans as he pounds into you, chasing his release once again.

Seungcheol's growl is primal and possessive as he thrusts harder, his hands gripping your hips tightly enough to leave bruises. "Mine," he grunts, his eyes dark with possession. "You're mine." You can feel your body responding to his dominance, your walls clenching around him as he hits your sweet spot with each thrust. The sound of his claim echoes in your ears, sending shivers down your spine.

"Yes," you gasp out, digging your nails into his back. "Yours. Always yours." The old bed frame creaks and groans with the force of Seungcheol's thrusts, protesting against the rough treatment. But he doesn't slow down, instead picking up the pace as he feels you getting closer to your second orgasm.

"I'm not gonna last much longer," he warns through gritted teeth, his hips snapping against yours faster and harder. "Come with me, baby. One more time." The tension in your body builds to its peak as Seungcheol continues his relentless assault. His cock hits your g-spot over and over again, and you can feel your second orgasm barreling towards you like a freight train.

“Cheol, I'm -" you start to say, but the words get lost in a loud moan as your body explodes with pleasure. Your back arches off the bed and your legs tremble uncontrollably as you come harder than you ever have before.

Seungcheol follows right behind you, his own release triggered by the way you're squeezing him so tightly. He buries his face in your neck, groaning out your name as he fills you with his cum. You both lie there panting, your bodies still intertwined as you come down from your highs. Seungcheol rolls onto his side, pulling you with him so that you're spooning.

"That was..." he trails off, still trying to catch his breath. "That was incredible." You nod in agreement, snuggling closer to him and relishing the feeling of his arms around you. "You're incredible," you whisper, placing a soft kiss on his chest.

He kisses the top of your head and pulls the blanket over you both, creating a cocoon of warmth and intimacy. "I meant what I said," he murmurs. "You're mine, and I'm not letting you go."

[rindzaki]

Teacher’s Pet

Synopsis: Yandere teacher Sylus doesn't want you to move to another school. He has plans.

warnings: nswf minors dni. Ftm! Teacher Sylus. Top! Student reader. M reader. Yandere behaviour. 10 years of age difference. riding. unsafe sex. vaginal sex. possessive behaviour. breeding kink. mentions of pregancy.

Have you ever imagined Sylus in high heels? Heels that knock on the floor making noises when he passes through the corridors of the school with a straight posture. In a short tight skirt, down which goes thigh-high stockings that emphasise his ideal leg length. A grin appears on his face when he notices the students' eyes and how they turn around to look at him.

The buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned to his chest, showing his lingerie. He leaned towards your desk, to your eye level. With a smirk on his face, he took your phone out of your hands.

"You'll pick it up after class..."

And quietly whispered: "I'll be waiting for you in my office."

From the first day of his arrival, or rather from your first acquaintance, everything has changed. His presence began to be felt literally everywhere. You started constantly looking at the camera in the corner of the classroom, having a strange feeling that he was watching you. In his lessons, you noticed his gaze, which literally ate you alive.

Sylus began to call you more often. Sometimes he freed you from classes, telling teachers that he needs you. But when you come to him, he just asks you to sit next to him while he was working. There were times when you did your homework in his room. He was sitting opposite. You noticed how he stealthily glanced at you, watching as if he was studying you.

Over time, you found out that Sylus knows all about you. He knew everything from your date of birth to your phone number and address. He knew who you were friends with and who you were in a relationship with. In conversations, he mentioned details that you could hardly remember, but that left no doubt - he knew almost everything about you.

When your grades got a little worse, he offered you his extra classes. He sits very close to you, explaining the topic. His hand gently touches your hip, stroking it and slowly sliding up. Your breath is intercepted, and you feel awkward, but you can't take your eyes off his face. Sylus looks at you with a smile asking if everything is okay with you, acting as if his actions are quite normal for the teacher and the student.

You're not sure how much time has passed, how could you even keep an eye on such a common thing when he is keep going, continues to rise and fall on you. He usually asked you to fuck him, but this time he climbed on you without even saying anything.

His cheeks were covered with pink dust, a slight shine of sweat flowed down his forehead, and these passionate eyes were looking for your eyes, catching every emotion, every moment of ecstasy. You held your hands on his hips, rubbing circles on his delicate skin and from time to time strengthening his grip when he dropped especially hard.

The obscene sound of his hips on yours was heard all over the room. He couldn't hold back. He couldn't hold back a single sound - and given that you were at school, you tried to be careful. You pressed his mouth with your hand, trying to drown out the sounds so you don't get caught.

His hands tightly squeezed your shoulders, his nails dug into the skin, leaving red marks and tearing your name off his lips. You felt a sharp pain, which was quickly replaced by a wave of excitement. He leaned towards you. Your lips collided, your tongues touched when you let your desperate sounds blend into a crazy chorus.

Moving towards your neck curve, he kissed everything, carelessly and wet, leaving gentle suckers all over your neck and collarbone, dark purple marks thoughtlessly coloured in your skin.

"Sylus, I'm c-cumming," you warned him, feeling the tension in your body reaching its peak. He was so passionate about the moment that you didn't have time to put on a condom.

"Inside haa! y-you can cum hngh…! inside...ahh I drank c-contraceptives ♡"

His words only increased your excitement. Sylus slowed down a little when you grabbed his waist with one hand, the other slid down to rub his clitoris while practising your mouth on his nipples, rolling your tongue over the buttons. His hole tightened hard when he cum. Your eyes closed with the feeling, pushing hard a few more times before you also came, pumping him with your seeds. Your sperm covered his trembling walls, and he sighed into your neck, falling from above when you hold each other tightly.

When he said he drank contraceptives, it was a lie. Deep down, he made a decision a long time ago. He knows that his act is selfish and his obsession with you may seem reckless, but all this is the result of the fear of losing you. You lit this fire in him when you said those fatal words about transferring to another school. For him, it was a blow that he can't survive.

Sylus realises that his love for you has gone too far, but this feeling is stronger than him. If he get pregnant, it's the way to tie you up forever, he's ready to take on this burden. In his eyes, pregnancy will be the last way to keep you close, to create a connection between you that cannot be broken. After all, his love for you is so great and sincere that he is ready to sacrifice everything, even himself, so that you stay with him forever.

His hands slowly slide to his stomach, to the womb, he feels satisfaction, as if he was hugging the most precious thing. He knows that the plan was successful. It remains only to wait for the little miracle inside him to begin his development. A little smile appeared on his lips.

[venusstorm]

𝐌𝐲 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲

Trucker!Joel Sneak Peak👀 18+

a/n: I could not get the thought of Joel Miller in all his southern beauty driving a huge ass truck, smoking a cigarette, trying his damn hardest to ignore his “pretty baby” who just cannot keep their hands off him.

Joel smirks to himself, rubbing his unruly beard as he glances at your distant expression. He knows exactly what you're doing. That glossy look in your eyes, the way your hands are wedged between your thighs.

He knows precisely when his girl needs him, and right now you're practically pleading. He could see your brain churning, undoubtedly thinking of him.

"Wettin' my beard so pretty, baby. You see that? See what you've done to me?"  He pulled back from your thighs, his beard stained and wet. You moaned his name, thrashing against his grip as he gazed pridefully at your soaking cunt. "C'mon, Let go for me, squirt all over daddy's face. He suckled your clit, balls heavy and thighs grinding against the sheets as he fought back the urge to cum. "Taste so pretty, baby. Fuck, gettin' me all messy. That's it, open those pretty eyes and look at what you’ve done."

"Been staring at me awfully long, ain't ya?" Joel grins.

You suck in a breath, quickly turning and facing the window. "M'not," you mutter.

"Ah ah, don't get all shy." He puts out his cigarette and you can hear the amusement in his tone as he reaches for your hand, breaking it from its position between your thighs.

You're too embarrassed to speak, afraid he'd tease you for getting turned on by something as mundane as watching him drive. Quickly, you cross your legs, "It's nothin'" you murmur.

"Nothin'?" He questions.

Joel raises an eyebrow, his right hand sinking towards the waistline of your denim shorts. They hugged your hips perfectly, a soft blue hue that left your asscheeks hanging free. He loved when you sat perched on his lap with them on, nuzzling into his neck as he palmed your ass.

You don't object as he leisurely pulls down your zipper, his hand sneaking down your groin. Instinctively you wrap your arms around his, grinding into his palm slowly. "Joel...you're driving."

He traces his thumb across your slit, groaning softly when he feels your wetness against your thighs. His eyes face the road, your sweet sounds are the only indication he has of what's going on beside him.

Your eyes flutter closed as he slips a finger inside of you, rubbing against your folds until you shiver. "You feeling needy, baby?" He coos. "Want my fingers stuffed in that pretty cunt? Cmon, baby, it's alright. You don't think I know how badly you wanna get fucked in that passenger seat? Always begging me to tag along just to sit there and hold your legs all tight together. Gawking at me and looking away as if I can't tell how desperate you are."

"P- pull over, Joel," you whine.

[dwaekkicidal]

Kiss it Better

˚ʚLee Know x Gn!readerɞ˚

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: Minho has a rough day at the company and comes home exhausted, craving your loving.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: <1k (~650)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ warnings: nothing its just tooth rotting fluff

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ notes: double post because ty for 100 followers :3 also max this is ur fault (AGAIN LMAO) im so weak at the idea of this help

edit: MAX POSTED HER OWN VERSION OF THIS PLEASE GO READ IT

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

Not long after his messages, Minho waddles into your shared apartment. Kicking his shoes off and throwing his keys on the kitchen table without any care. You peak your head out of the bedroom at the sound of the front door closing. When his eyes meet yours, you see the deep scowl on his face, but his eyes soften immediately at the sight of you. You smile softly and make grabby hands at him before ducking back into the room to start the shower for him. In seconds he’s following you and undressing through the doorway, desperate to get his sweaty clothes off.

You wait patiently on the bed and scroll through your phone. It doesn’t take long for him to return in his boxers, towel drying his hair on his way to the bed. Your phone is quickly tossed to the side and you pull him into the bed with you, watching as he throws himself on his stomach and groans into the sheets. You hold back a giggle at the sight and opt to run your hands down his bare back. He shudders but you can see him physically relax when your hands lightly massage his upper arms. He turns his head to the side, looking back at you as much as he could without straining himself.

“You wanna talk about it? Let me take care of you tonight baby..” You whisper out, the softness in your voice making his eyes shutter close as he nods lightly. You swiftly move to straddle his thighs, placing a kiss on the back of his shoulder and trailing down very slowly as he speaks up. He goes on for a while, explaining how the new choreography they were learning was extremely draining, telling you about the argument he got into with one of the members, and whining about the quality of the dinner he had at the cafeteria. He goes into light details about every other little thing that chipped at his happiness for the day while you trail kisses down his bare back. Your soft hands massaging up from his arms to his shoulder blades and you hum in response to every experience he lists, placing extra kisses for each as a reward.

By the time he’s done telling you about his day, he’s all but a puddle underneath you. Eyes shut and muscles completely relaxed. You back away to sit up, softly dragging your nails up and down his back to keep the attention on him. A wide smile spreads on your face as your eyes catch one of the cutest sights you think you’ve ever seen. Soonie lays next to Minho’s face, licking his hand as he softly caresses his baby. Not far away, Doongie and Dori are laying near each other and sleeping against your pillows. You carefully reach for your phone and take a picture, before laying beside your boyfriend and Soonie.

“Feel better?” Your voice startles him, his eyes closed and breathes lighter than normal. He doesn’t bother opening his eyes to respond with a quiet “Mmmg..”

You get up and walk over to your closet to grab a blanket, not wanting to disturb any of them by going under the sheets. You pick the softest one you own before returning. Soonie is gone when you kneel on the bed and you could almost thank him for the chance to be close to Minho.

You lay your head on the empty space left on the pillow and watch as Minho drags himself up to you, shoving his face into your neck and wrapping his arms around you. Your hands trail through his hair, massaging his scalp softly as he drifts off.

The two of you fall asleep like this, tangled in each other. There’s a quiet “Thank you" and "I love you so much.” from Minho as he finally falls asleep. You respond with a soft kiss to his forehead, drifting off shortly after.