#or maybe out of pleasure that man is an enigma

[lac-c-c-conchadetumadre]

Ha was so excited to see one of the serpent sisters die by touching Mida's hand-

[hoshifighting]

Ways to Have a Man in the Palm of Your Hand.

— Synopsis: In the flow of uncertainty that defined your situationship with Mingyu, you decide to take action, making Mingyu start chasing after you like a loyal puppy. — WC: 3.9k — WARNINGS: Smut, unprotected sex, overstimulation, degradation, begging on knees, oral (f. receiving), fingering– he watches reader fingering herself, handjob, dick riding, penetrative sex, humiliating, manipulation and etc.

Your life connected with Mingyu's since you both first met through your groups of friends, and a situationship had emerged between you two. It was just sex, with no strings attached and no promises made.

Yet, as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, it became challenging to keep your heart safe from the unpredictable tides of emotion.

Mingyu had a way of making you feel special. He'd surprise you with homemade dinners, he was attentive, considerate, and made sure to put your self-esteem on the highest with his skillful photography.

The tall and good-looking guy wasn't just amazing during sex; he was an enigma that both fascinated and frustrated you. Mingyu could vanish for days, leaving you on blue. But just as you were about to write him off, he'd resurface, as if nothing had happened. It was a maddening cycle, and yet, you found yourself caught in its web.

Mingyu: Hey! Been swamped asf with work lately. Let's grab coffee or something stronger soon? Let me know when you're free!

You couldn't help but scoff as you read Mingyu's message. His casual tone and nonchalant invitation stirred a mix of irritation and amusement within you. Swiftly typing a response, you questioned his unpredictable appearances.

You: Are you planning on always popping up out of nowhere like this?

Mingyu: I always come back, don't I? So, when are we catching up darling?

Despite the inner conflict and your ego's warning signals, there was an undeniable allure to Mingyu's charm. His words, laced with playfulness, had a magnetic effect that bypassed rational thoughts. With a sigh, you found yourself succumbing to the familiar pull.

The room was filled with the echoes of skin slapping as you both lay on Mingyu's bed, your eyes locked as you two moaned out loud, the crescendo of pleasure punctuated by the rhythmic thud of the bed against the wall.

Mingyu lays beside you, the heat of the moment still lingering between your bodies. You rose from the tangled sheets, picking up your scattered clothes. Mingyu's gaze remained fixed on you, an intensity that betrayed a deeper connection than the situationship allowed. 

"I really like spending time with you Y/N" 

"Me too Gyu." 

[...]

Seungkwan leaned in "Okay, spill. What's the latest drama with Mingyu?"

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Honestly, I can't figure him out. It's like a cycle. We talk every day for a month, hang out, fuck, and then poof! He disappears for a week or more. I don't get it."

Seungkwan chuckled knowingly. "You know, maybe you should try something. Do the same to him, but take it up a notch. Make him miss you even more."

You furrowed your eyebrows, slightly taken aback. "Seungkwan, I'm not into playing games or being spiteful. It's not my style."

He waved his hand dismissively. "No, no, hear me out. It's not about being spiteful. It's about making him realize what he's missing. Mingyu knows you'll always be there, right? So, he takes it for granted. Maybe he needs a taste of his own medicine."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. "And how exactly do I do that?"

Your mouth hung open as Seungkwan delivered his comprehensive lesson in the art of emotional tactics. The confidence in his advice left you both amazed and slightly apprehensive. Unable to contain your curiosity any longer, you finally asked the burning question.

"How on earth do you know all of this, Seungkwan?" you inquired, eyes wide with disbelief.

Seungkwan leaned back, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, my dear friend, when you've been in the game as long as I have and witnessed enough romantic dramas unfold, you start picking up on patterns. It's like a survival guide for the heart."

You raised an eyebrow, still processing the information. "Survival guide, huh? And all this contempt, playing hard to get, and hurting egos – that's your secret weapon?"

Seungkwan chuckled, "Not a secret weapon, sometimes, a little strategic move can make all the difference. Trust me, I've seen it all."

With Seungkwan's advice resonating in your mind like a strategic playbook, you approached the next phase of your relationship with Mingyu, with a newfound determination. It felt like diving into a complex homework assignment, each step carefully calculated to shift the dynamics in your favor.

As you decided to implement the first step, a newfound sense of liberation washed over you. You stopped responding to Mingyu's messages immediately and resisted the urge to initiate contact. It felt strange at first, but there was a sense of power in reclaiming your time and not being at his beck and call. Mingyu's messages awaited your attention. 

The challenge of making Mingyu realize he could lose you sparked a newfound determination. Your calendar filled up with plans that didn't involve Mingyu. Mingyu, accustomed to your constant availability, seemed to sense the change, though he couldn't quite pinpoint it. He might have been the object of desire for many hoes, but your indifference challenged his accustomed narrative. 

After all, a man is not more important than your personal goals, right?

All while allowing Mingyu to observe your life unfolding without him. The realization that you were not waiting by the phone for him sparked a large curiosity.

Throughout the process, a mix of emotions surfaced. Doubt, at times, whispered in the back of your mind – was this the right approach? Seungkwan's advice, unconventional as it was, had brought a shift in Mingyu's behavior. Now, you wondered how Mingyu would respond to the transformed version of you – a person who refused to be taken for granted.

Mingyu's relentless messages flooded your phone. The janitor, a silent witness to the unfolding drama, discreetly shared the news of Mingyu's visits to your condominium entrance. Three times he had appeared, seeking a glimpse of you, only to be met with the absence of your presence, the deliberate distance, and the air of indifference were beginning to provoke a reaction from him.

You were determined to see this journey through, to understand whether Mingyu's renewed interest was genuine or a fleeting reaction to the perceived loss of control.

The persistent pings of Mingyu's messages had become a constant background noise in your life, infiltrating your workdays and even interrupting the serene moments of your brunches.

"Free today, Ms. Busy?"

"Pls respond to me. :(("

"Why are you acting like this?"

"Wtf…"

"Omggg, when are you going to answer me properly?"

"I'll invade your house."

"Y/N-ieeee, pleaseee!"

"I really want to see you right now."

"You make me so confused :("

The encounter at the pedestrian crossing unfolded in a scene of unexpected tension. Mingyu, spotting you in the midst of your Sunday morning run with Seungkwan, seized the opportunity to bridge the gap that had grown between you. As you halted, waiting for the light to change, Mingyu approached, a mixture of eagerness and confusion etched across his face.

"Hey there! Fancy meeting you here," Mingyu greeted, attempting to strike up a conversation.

Seungkwan, standing beside you, looked on with a side-eyed glance, a smirk playing on his lips as he sipped casually from his water bottle. As the pedestrian light shifted to green, you seized the moment to extricate yourself from the short encounter. "Sorry, Mingyu, I really need to finish my morning walk. Catch you later," you excused yourself, leaving Mingyu standing there, perplexed and surrounded by the bustling activity of the street.

He couldn't shake off the confusion – Why weren't you responding as before? Why weren't you as available as you used to be? Did you at least still like him? It dawned on Mingyu that the game had changed, and he wasn't sure if he understood the rules anymore. The pursuit, once fueled by the expectation of your constant availability, now seemed to slip through his fingers like grains of sand. The reality of being just one among the many who sought your attention was a bitter pill to swallow.

[...]

The doorbell's unexpected chime disrupted the tranquility of your self-care routine, with moisturized skin and a mind ready for a cozy movie night, you approached the door, curiosity dancing in your eyes.

As you swung the door open, the sulky face of Mingyu greeted you. A momentary pause hung in the air, your eyes meeting his in silent expectation. Before you could utter a word, Mingyu stepped inside, dropping to his knees and hugging your legs as if seeking solace.

Surprised by his sudden display of vulnerability, you widen your eyes, caught off guard by the intensity of his reaction. The door lingered ajar, and you managed to close it, arms crossed, a mixture of confusion and caution etched on your face.

Mingyu, still hugging your legs, looked up at you with pleading eyes, his voice laden with remorse. "What did I do, Y/N? Why are you treating me like this? I'm sorry."

"Hm?"

He looked up at you, his eyes brimming with a mix of confusion and regret. "I just… I don' understand. I miss you," he admitted, his voice trailing off.

Your initial surprise transformed into a mix of emotions – disbelief, a hint of empathy, and the need to assert your newfound boundaries. Crossed arms and a measured gaze met Mingyu's desperate expression. The sudden intrusion into your personal space prompted a silent assessment of the situation.

"What did you expect, Mingyu?" you countered, your voice steady but laced with the weight of unspoken questions. "You disappear, then reappear, and now you're kneeling in my living room. What's going on?"

"I messed up, okay? I thought I could keep things casual, but I didn't expect to feel like this. I miss the way things used to be between us." he confessed, his voice carrying a raw honesty.

"You ask me to come to your house, and then after you get what you wanted, you let me go. Do I look like a food delivery or something?" you confronted Mingyu, your words cutting through the charged silence that hung in the room.

Mingyu's eyes widened at your accusation, shock and a hint of hurt registering on his face. "No, no, no, Y/N, it wasn't like that."

You raised an eyebrow, a mix of skepticism and frustration evident in your expression. "It feels like you only want me around when it's convenient for you."

Mingyu, still on his knees, looked up at you, his eyes pleading for understanding. "It's not like that. I just... I didn't want to push you. I thought you preferred it this way."

You sighed, the weight of the unresolved tension palpable. "Mingyu, I can't read your mind. If you want me to stay, you have to say it. Communication goes both ways."

"Y/N, I'm truly sorry. I'll do whatever you want. I didn't see you as just a fleeting thing, and I want to be present."

Mingyu's earnest apology hung in the air, a plea for understanding and a promise to change. As he laid his face on your bare thighs, expressing his sincere regret, you cut through the moment with a tsk sound, a dismissive gesture that left him wide-eyed and caught off guard.

"Poor boy, begging on his knees for attention. What a shame," you remarked, a hint of teasing in your voice as you observed his reaction.

Mingyu, his hands now gripping each side of your thighs, sat back on his feet, his expression a mix of surprise and a subtle flush coloring his cheeks. He hadn't anticipated this response, your playful teasing catching him off guard.

"You didn't see me as a fleeting thing?" you continued, your tone mockingly contemplative. "Well, Mingyu, this is quite a sight – you, on your knees, practically begging for my attention. I'd never do something like this."

His widened eyes met yours, uncertainty and a trace of embarrassment flickering in them. Mingyu's bit his lip, cheeks flushing deeper.

"I'll do whatever you want, Y/N. Just tell me," Mingyu replied, his hands still holding your thighs.

You let out a soft chuckle, running a hand through his hair as you continued your teasing. "Oh, Mingyu-ah, the mighty one on his knees. Maybe you'll learn to appreciate what you have when it's not handed to you on a silver platter. Now, let's see if you can keep up with your promises."

As you spoke, Mingyu's cheeks continued to flush, a complex dance of emotions playing out on his face.  "How can you forgive me?" 

Mingyu's question hung in the air, a genuine plea for forgiveness. You paused, considering the weight of his words, before adopting a more serious tone.

"Get up," you instructed him, your voice carrying a command that seemed to catch him off guard.

Mingyu, without hesitation, rose to his feet from his submissive position. His eyes fixed on you. An arched eyebrow and a smirk played on your face, savoring the moment of dominance as you instructed him to follow you.

The atmosphere grew charged with anticipation as Mingyu attentively trailed behind you, his eyes inevitably drawn to your body covered only by a shirt. The click of your bedroom door signaled a shift in the dynamics, and when you turned to face him, his eagerness manifested in an attempted kiss.

Your finger halted his advance, a calculated pause preceding your question, "Do you think you deserve to kiss me?"

Mingyu, his eyes reflecting a mix of longing and remorse, shook his head no. Your smirk deepened as you delivered a verdict that left him whimpering.

"Then you won't kiss me today."

A whimper escaped Mingyu's lips, a sound that echoed the frustration and desire that simmered beneath the surface. The unexpected turn of events had left him yearning for a connection, yet you, in your assertive control, denied him that solace.

As the tension hung in the air, Mingyu's eyes glistened with unshed tears. The dynamics between you had taken a surprising turn, a power play that left both of you navigating the intricate threads of desire, forgiveness, and the consequences of a maybe – ex-complicated situationship.

With a commanding tone, you instructed Mingyu to kneel once again, a subtle smirk playing on your lips. He obeyed, sinking down to his knees with a mix of anticipation and eagerness. The air in the room crackled with a palpable tension as you laid down the terms.

"If you act like a good boy, maybe I'll forgive you," you declared, your voice carrying a hint of authority.

Mingyu nodded earnestly, a silent pledge to abide by your terms. As you proceeded to remove your shirt, next your pantie, allowing it to fall to the floor, the atmosphere became charged with a new layer of intensity. 

"How much do you want this pussy Mingyu?" you inquired, the question hanging in the air as you observed Mingyu's reaction. His shoulders slumped, a subtle expression of desire and longing evident on his face.

"A lot," he moaned, the words escaping his lips with a mixture of need and surrender. Your legs spread open, an invitation too tempting, as he feels his mouth waters at the view. 

"Open your mouth," you commanded Mingyu, your voice carrying an air of authority. He complied without hesitation, anticipation flickering in his eyes.

As he held his mouth open, you slid two fingers inside, the intimate contact a subtle exploration of boundaries and desire. Mingyu's tongue teased your fingers, a provocative dance that elicited a hiss from you.

"No teasing," you admonished, a note of warning in your voice. With a swift motion, you delivered a little slap to his chin as you withdrew your fingers from his mouth. The air crackled with a newfound tension, a moment that blurred the lines between control and submission.

Mingyu furrowed his eyebrows, as he watched your fingers slowly disappearing inside of your cunt, your fingers and your slick gushes out of you, and all he can do is watch. He sits patiently on his feet, watching your fingers leaving and entering your pussy in a too provocative rhythm. His bottom lip quivering to the desire of eating you out.

"Please Y/N…"

"What?''

"Please, let me eat you out, it looks so good…"

To tease him even more, you fastened your fingers, moaning while your cunt sounded like Mingyu's favorite song, wet, luscious, mouthwatering, appetizing, tempting. He cries out, his hands together on his lap. "Please, I beg you, I missed you so bad." 

The room was charged with a blend of anticipation and surrender as you stopped, taking a moment to look at Mingyu's mournful face. The desire in his eyes was palpable, and the silent plea for what he had begged for lingered in the air.

With a subtle nod, you allowed him to fulfill his request. Mingyu, starved and eager, approached the task with a concentration that hinted at a deep desire to please you. As he held you with a gentle yet fervent touch, mouthing your pussy, licking you clean, his focus on your pleasure was unwavering. The way he clung to you conveyed a fear of losing you, made you mewl as he sucked your clit, you held onto the sheets, a silent anchor in the sea of sensations. Mingyu's devotion and the way he concentrated on your pleasure only intensified the building release within you. Like a wave, you're cumming all over his mouth and chin, he hums in response flickering your clit with his tongue.

"Enough." You breathe out, closing your legs. "Strip, and lay for me." 

Mingyu rose from the floor, a determined look on his face, seemingly oblivious to any discomfort his knees might be feeling. The sounds of his clothing being discarded echoed in the room, punctuated by the soft thud as he settled onto the bed. The mattress shifted as he moved closer, his warm touch caressing your arm.

"What are you going to do?" he asked, his voice a low murmur, a hint of curiosity and desire lingering in the air.

"Don't touch me," you instructed Mingyu, your tone carrying a note of command as you climbed onto his lap. Leaving him momentarily frozen, his hands hovering in the air, uncertain of where to go.

The close proximity of his cock intensified the wetness between your thighs. Mingyu, eager and responsive, looked at you with a mix of desire and restraint, his hands now cautiously placed together on his chest.

The atmosphere crackled with a blend of dominance and submission as you straddled Mingyu, humping your wet pussy against his cock, your movements deliberate and provocative. His moans in response to your degrading words only heightened the intensity of the moment.

"Oh my god, look at you," you cooed, your voice a mix of mockery and desire. "I just stopped paying attention to you, and you came fucking begging me to talk with you. You're humiliating, Mingyu."

His moans, a symphony of pleasure and submission, filled the room. Mingyu's response to your degrading words conveyed a complex dance of desire and self-awareness. The acknowledgment that he deserved the degradation.

The room filled with a momentary hush as you sank your hips, Mingyu's length now fully inside. He shut his eyes, a silent surrender to the sensations that enveloped him. 

The unspoken admission hung in the air—though you wouldn't openly admit it, there was a trace of longing, a subtle acknowledgment that, despite the complexities, you had missed him a little. The air became charged with a mix of desire and restraint as your hips rode him, his length fully fulfilling the connection between you.

His angry tip brushed against that special spot, sending a surge of pleasure through both of you, cause now, you were so tight around him. "I'm going to cum, f-fuck"

"You better not." 

The charged atmosphere intensified as you edged Mingyu, denying him release, while simultaneously relishing in the control you held over his pleasure. He gasped for air, his eyes clenched shut, a desperate attempt to hold back as your dominating presence and the sensations of your movements threatened to overwhelm him.

Your hips moved with a purposeful intensity, driving him to the edge, and his body contorted in a desperate attempt to maintain control. The struggle was evident in the way his breath hitched and his eyes rolled back, succumbing to the overwhelming pleasure that surged through him.

"I-I can't hold it anymore," he stuttered, his voice strained with the effort of restraint.

"If you cum, I will-"

The moment of release was inevitable. Mingyu's hot cum filled you, triggering your own orgasm, he cried out your name, making your wall clench harder around him.

As Mingyu managed a string of apologies, you allowed him to slide out of you, leaving his lap coated with both of your arousal, your legs damp with his seed. 

The scoff echoed in the room, a mix of amusement and assertion. However, your actions spoke a different language. As you tighten your legs around the sides of Mingyu's legs, restraining his movement, your hands take control, pumping his cock fast. The focus on his red tip elicited a loud cry from Mingyu, his back lifting off the mattress in response to the overstimulation.

The wet sounds filled the bedroom as the intensity of your touch drove him to the edge. Mingyu's hands gripped the pillow beneath his head, a desperate attempt to anchor himself in the whirlwind of sensations that consumed him.

As Mingyu's body trembled under the heightened sensations, he felt a knot tightening in his abdomen, a sensation he hadn't anticipated. The overwhelming intensity built up to a point where he couldn't contain it anymore. A primal scream tore from his lips, his body convulsing in the throes of another orgasm.

His cum pooled on his abdomen, a physical manifestation of the powerful release that coursed through him. You observed his trembling body, struck by the raw intensity of his response. Mingyu's reaction seemed to surpass any previous experiences, his vulnerability and ecstasy on display in a way you hadn't witnessed before.

"Sorry, I came without your permission…"

"Enough with the sorry's, Mingyu," you said with a soft smile. "Let's just take a bath."

As the warm water cascaded around you, cleansing away the external worries, you both found solace in the simplicity of the moment. Emerging from the bath, you lay on the bed alone, the silence speaking volumes. Mingyu, holding his shirt, stood in contemplation. His gaze met yours, and he released a breath he seemed to have been holding.

The room felt charged with unspoken emotions when Mingyu finally gathered the courage to ask, "Can we sleep together tonight? Can I stay here with you?"

His eyes held a lot of shyness, and for a moment, you felt a genuine change in the air. You bit your lip, a subtle smile playing on your lips. In response, you patted the bed twice, a silent invitation for him to join you.

Mingyu threw his shirt away with a smile, a blend of shyness and excitement. He settled on the bed, maintaining a cautious distance, uncertain about what the night held. Your gaze met his, and you turned to face him. His eyes sparkled, and with a newfound boldness, he closed the gap and hugged you tightly.

"Don't be away from me again," he whispered, his voice tinged with vulnerability. And for the first time in those weeks, you let yourself savor the sweet taste of his pink soft lips, making him melt in response.

You smiled, your palms sliding gently along his back. The walls that once stood between you seemed to crumble as Mingyu embraced you, his actions speaking louder than any words. In that moment, it felt like a page turned, and a new chapter began.

Well, Seungkwan, you knew a lot. The five ways to have a man in the palm of your hand indeed. 

[sooguru]

INTOXICATE ME NOW ?!

⌗synopsis ⸝⸝ 𝜗𝜚 ── when your ex bf suguru refuses to let you forget him — twt link drabble !

⌗cw ⸝⸝ 𝜗𝜚 ── DARK CONTENT. toxic relationship. , killing mentions , insane ex! boyfriend suguru , slapping , hate sex , pervert , spitting , degrading , spanking , choking , dacryphilia , daddy kink and physical violence. — not proofread !

─── ⋆⋅ 𝜗𝜚 DESTRUCTIVE is a word that could describe the relationship you and suguru shared. geto suguru was a man you still struggled to figure out; you thought you had, but he made sure to remind you that he was still an enigma in your pretty little head. the first few months were the best of your life. he was attentive and caring, always spoiling you with gifts and sweet seductive words that would send you straight into his bed, legs spread ready to receive the best dick of your life.

however, he got “bored”. that boredom led to him being distant, cold. it led him to other girl’s houses. led him to being annoyed with everything you did. when you both had sex, he wasn’t there. using you to get himself off, not caring wether you enjoyed it or not. he wouldn’t respond to your texts, leaving you on delivered for weeks. the final straw that broke the camels back was when he stood you up at a restaurant he agreed to take you on a date at. getting all dolled up for him. only for him to not show.

eventually you had to take matters into your own hands. if he couldn’t care about you, then you’d make him think that he was in the very back of your mind. so you did exactly that, moving from man to man. business associates of his, old friends, fellow rich men like himself. you didn’t care. it was all for something. a purpose. his attention, it’s all you craved. it all set off a web of insanity to unravel around you. it started off with small things. being watched, stalked..then it was your used panties going missing, or finding random..semen laying on your clothes. then the sick..sick, death threats. he wasn’t well, you already knew that, however even you didn’t expect him to go so far as to killing off every man you had slept with.

you had his attention now, what were you going to do with it? you couldn’t run. he was always watching. you couldn’t tell the police, not when he worked so closely with them, connections everywhere. perhaps your plan worked far too well. that was all made clear today. your door wide open, roses trickling from the doorstep, leading you into your living area, the large window panels leering over the city, the sky dark, the lights of the hustle and bustle down below bright and blinding.

“suguru,”

you whisper, spotting the long awaited man standing by the window, staring at the city, the trail of roses ending at him. he slowly turned around, a wry smile on his lips, sharp purple eyes gleaming at you.

“my love.”

your feet whisked you away, standing right in front of the dangerous man you so badly longed for, his cologne filling your senses, the same one that made your blood run hot with pleasure, the same one that left you in a frenzy when he’d take you on the bed. the same cologne that your body had been craving, a divine drug that left you with paralysing withdrawals. maybe that’s why you couldn’t help yourself. lips smashing against each other, hands desperately gripping where they could, bodied pressing against each other in a rush of passion. one which quickly ended as you punched him square in the jaw.

“you..you don’t get to leave me ‘n come back like shit’s sweet!..”

his hand grabbed the back of your head, slamming it into the glass, pressing up against you from behind, lips grazing your shoulder.

“stupid bitch.”

he muttered lowly, rubbing his jaw, flipping you around and slamming your body back into the window just to make you hurt, our lips crashing back against each other, quickly removing each others clothes.

“you’re insane..”

“if i’m insane then you’re maniacal”

before you could create a witty retort, his hand was wrapped around your throat, gripping it tightly, clearly pissed as he gritted his teeth, face inches from yours.

“fucking whore.”

he spat, the gloopy wad settling on your cheek before you recieved a harsh slap, only proving to rub the spit into your skin further, red hot pain searing through your cheek, the sting only going straight to your cunt, leaking down your legs, moaning as he threw you around like a ragdoll, face pressed against the cool of the window, his belt buckle being undone from behind you.

“wanted my attention baby? miss me?”

you bobbed your head, tears rolling down your cheeks, staining the supple flesh with salty black streaks, eagerly licked up by your deranged ex, his hand slapping your cheek lightly, mouth opening off instinct, moaning as he landed the salty spit on your tongue, groaning as he watched you swallow it.

“daddy makin’ you cry sweet girl?”

he was enjoying it. grinning as he pulled you back into his erection, rubbing his cock against your ass, pre-cum dripping onto your back. his hand landed on your ass roughly, yanking your head back, scowling at you.

“i asked you a fucking question bitch.”

your eyes were glazed over with lust, bottom lip stuck between your teeth as you nodded slowly, more tears flowing from your eyes, happy that you finally had his affections, his attention.

“yes daddy”

you practically moaned out as he flipped you around, holding you up against the window panel, cock hard and ready at your leaking entrance. he scoffed, shaking his head in disgust at how wet you were, chubby folds glistening with your sweet slick, drooling pussy begging to be filled with some cock.

“you’re a disgusting slut. who knows how many men have been here.”

he landed another slap to your teary face, slamming into you at the same time, hand intertwining with yours, foreheads pressed against each other as he wrecked your pussy. cock ramming into your inviting cunt with a sick depravity that only the two of you could muster.

“i love you daddy”

your cries of disgusting obsession and his groans of sick toxicity filled the room, lips moving against each other, as if catching up for missed time. your legs still wrapped around his waist tightly, even though his fat tip was currently bullying your cervix, the pain and pleasure of it threatening to send you overboard, eyes rolling back, drool seeping past your parted lips, hair a complete mess, all thanks to him. body littered in bruises and bites, his way of marking his teritory, stopping others from even looking at what was his.

“missed my pussy.”

he grunted, teeth entrapping your ear, biting it hard, drawing blood from the puncture, a sharp cry being drawn out from your plump lips, his tongue lapping at the crimson liquid, your gummy walls quivering around his thick cock, desperate for release, all his sweet torture only making you crave for more.

“d-daddy mmhg! p-please- fuck!”

his hand landed on your ass, making sure he left a red hand print on the soft flesh, roughly pulling out and flipping you around again, lifting your hips, pressing your body into the window, fucking into you with renewed vigour.

“i said to fuckin’ hold it bitch”

he groaned, fingers now on your sweet bud, torturing you further as his cock ruined your poor pussy, stretching her out to the point you felt like you’d be split in half. hands desperately clawing at the windows, your body banging against them, whiny sobs filling the room, sure to be heard by anyone nearby.

“i love you dollface”

he cooed in your ear, kissing you softly, a harsh contrast to the way he was abusing your swollen, sticky pussy. your hand wrapped around his neck from behind, tongues rubbing against each other.

“cum f’me, daddy wants it pretty”

he whispered, smiling as you nodded, using his kisses to muffle your screams, juices flooding out of you, squirting all over his throbbing dick, hearing it drip onto the ground, some running down his thighs and yours, but he didn’t stop thrusting. chasing his impending orgasm, soon intertwining his fingers with yours, burying his head in the crook of your neck, biting it as he moaned lowly, pumping out a hot sticky load into your awaiting cunt, letting him fill where he belonged. in you, with you, you and only you. he was yours and you was his, till death did you part.

“i love you too daddy”

[anarchy-and-piglins]

After a mere half hour spent in the same room as these people, Philza has already been reminded of why he doesn't normally answer a summons.

The constant staring annoys him to no end. He supposes it's to be expected, what with his country's reputation for being a complete enigma. The Antarctic Empire is one of the lucky few nations that operates entirely self-sufficiently, producing all their own resources. They do not trade with other countries often. In fact, the mountain ranges that border the very south of their peninsula do not offer any convenient trading routes to begin with. And since that same treacherous terrain also cuts the empire off from the continent in such a way that passing through becomes a challenge in wilderness survival, they're mostly left to their devices. Some folks still believe Phil's nation is a myth, a story conjured up by fairytales.

So Phil coming all the way out here for Dante's attempt at diplomacy must be quite the sight. Most people will die without ever having seen the king of the Antarctic Empire, no wonder they have a hard time looking away.

That won't stop Phil from getting some satisfaction every time one of these pompous nobles cowers if he so much as flexes his wings and turns toward them. He's currently locked in a bit of a staring contest with a man across the room. Phil doesn't know if he's another royal or random noble, but he does know he can't stand the look on this fucking guy's face.

At one point the man smiles more broadly, as if pleased that Phil caught him staring. He bows his head a bit, with Phil half-heartedly returning the courtesy, tucking in his wings to keep them from flaring automatically with the gesture. However, this leaves Phil's elbow to bump into somebody trying to slide past him.

Phil didn't expect anybody to be there, the entire crowd had been giving him a pretty wide berth all evening. He's even more surprised when he sees it's a child, maybe ten or eleven years old. His fancy clothes and intricately braided pink hair with golden jewelry betray him as a prince.

"Sorry," Phil says. He reaches out to steady the boy, but the kid flinches and steps back at his attempted touch, pulling his sleeves up over his wrists. "I didn't see you there, are you okay?"

The boy looks up at him and instead of answering, his blue eyes widen a bit. "You're the emperor of the Antarctic Empire," he says. The statement is delivered in a deceptively neutral tone, especially for somebody of such a young age. Phil is used to more dramatic reactions.

"I am. Call me Phil. What's your name?" Phil smiles gently at the boy. He always had a soft spot for children.

Again, he doesn't receive an answer. Instead, the boy's gaze moves across him for a moment, pondering. He grins slightly, but it's a strange sort of expression. Almost private. As if nobody else is supposed to see. "You're shorter than I thought you'd be," the boy says. Before Phil can blink or respond, he's disappeared into the crowd.

Phil is very much left completely flabbergasted.

Curiosity ever the greatest motivator for him, Phil walks up to the man who was staring at him earlier. The guy pales three shades at seeing Phil approach him, maybe thinking his rude behavior is getting retribution after all. But Phil couldn't care less about this man anymore.

He wants to know who the boy is.

"The child I was just talking to, do you know who he is?" Phil asks, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

"Who- Oh, he's nobody, sir." The way the man blunders and becomes overly formal brings Phil little pleasure. "Prince Techno. From the Blade family."

"From the Blade family? What is he doing so far away from home?"

"He's King Dante's ward." 

Phil glances over to where the man is looking, in the direction of Dante himself. Techno is standing next to the king, head bowed a bit and seeming pretty disgruntled to be there. But when Dante lays his hand almost delicately on the nape of Techno's neck, the boy flinches again and forces a neutral expression on his face.

"You know how the Blade family is," the man says grimly. "Ferocious beasts of war, all of them. It's a wonder Dante has managed to secure an allyship. They even got close enough bonds to leave their son in Dante's care."

Thinking about the summons, about how Dante was a nobody three years ago who since managed to overthrow several small countries by using superior weapons and strategies - those the likes of which only the Blade nation is known for - makes several things click into place. Allyship? It makes sense. A lot of sense.

Then what is the uncomfortable feeling that seems hooked into Phil's gut?

(Maybe it's because of the flinching. Or because of how Techno seems to move around like a ghost. Or because when he pulled up his sleeves, Phil was sure he saw the faded blue and purple of bruises on the boy's pale skin.

The Blade family runs their kingdom in a similar way to the Antarctic Empire. They don't make allies. Only enemies.)

"Are you staying for the peace conference, sir?" the man is brave enough to ask, now that Phil has broken the ice. It's probably a question for many of them. Despite Dante's ruthless way of overtaking other countries, Phil's empire isn't threatened by him. He's only here as a formality. He has no reason to stay, no stakes in this game.

Dante pulls his hand away and it's like Techno can finally breathe again. Phil's eyes meet his for a moment, then the boy looks away.

"I think I'll stick around to see how things unfold," Phil says pleasantly.

[valentine-cafe]

Hi there! I normally walk just past this place, but something smelled particularly good. The croissant, maybe? Chocolate? (Dark content, smut)

Yeah so like this is a bit of a weird ask and I know that... but the aesthetics of your page just made me think of an enigma whose body was like that of taffy? Squishy, soft, sticky, and most importantly, stretchy. I was thinking reader would be a man, who was working for the Resistance but ended up in the clutches of some very nefarious people.

Maybe they can start out with just invasive physicals, but it slowly worsens and... yeah. Do as much as you feel comfortable with, please!

Yours truly, Hush~

. ˚◞♡ 𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒅 𝒅𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝒙 𝒃𝒕𝒕𝒎 𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ꒰ 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒅 𝒅𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒏𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 ꒱◞ ₊˚

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ 209 jingyi / bttm male reader ꒱ you caught the mad doctor's eye. he hated the idea of feeling attracted to an experiment. and no matter how much he tried to sate it, he needed to get his hands on you

𖹭. content warnings◞  dark content . experimentation on reader . implied torture . dub con . mind control . explicit content . rough sex . penetrative sex . 0.7k

𖹭. receipts◞  glad that you decided to stop by dear customer<3 one croissant coming up! this honestly was so much fun to write and quickly became my favourite request because I have been itching to write some dark stuff with the herrera husbands<3

. ˚◞ ꒰ 🍰 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔 ꒱ m.list . guidelines . characters . lorebook ⊹ ۪ ࣪ 

𖹭. the mad doctor of valence has certainly seen many peculiar enigma around, but you by far were quite the special case. he is well aware of the classification of “body morphers” under the enigma hat, but you caught his eye in quite the special way.

𖹭. jìngyí had seen you around his brother a few times. he was uncertain why the depths of his soul burned with bitterness. he assumes it was the idea of an enigma type being out there that he had not quite explored. in reality it was you. the fact that a lowly enigma had sparked his interest in a way he never thought it would.

𖹭. he was disgusted, yet thrilled. like a snake eager to sink its fangs into new prey. one can imagine his excitement when his husband admitted to the same dark desires.

𖹭. lucky them. you’d found yourself caught in the last hunt and now found yourself along an examination table. jìngyí did well in exploring your limits. how far your body could go. viscosity? durability? compressibility, torsion, extensibility and temperature? oh he was salivating like a kid in the candy store.

𖹭. he especially loved the way that you would scream. how your voice would change depending on the shape and condition your elastic body was in. he found himself especially fascinated with how you’d cry when his hand would bury into your squishy side or around your sticky neck. even your tears tasted sweet.

𖹭. no matter all his experiments, he couldn’t rid himself of those dark desires that plagued his very being. so what better than to offer you a place in his circus? to perform, to live - while he induced you with a mind control mechanic?

𖹭. oh how you begged for him. how he adored the way your body would wrap around him and cling like a lovesick fool while he pounded your tight, gummy walls. one strong arm wrapped around whatever amalgamation your figure took while the other palmed at your squishy ass.

𖹭. you felt amazing. his mind would swim with pleasure every time his thick cock buried and throbbed into your warmth. he’d cream you so many times an over. it mattered how much or how long he fucked you over whatever surface he could find — he’d always end up cum drunk.

𖹭. jìngyí would be in a state when you started wrapping around him more intensely. extending your hands to provide him more pleasure as well. he’d bite down on whatever soft, messy flesh he could and buck his hips into yours like a feral animal.

“god you are so tight,”

a pant. a ragged groan. snake pupils constrict and his lips part. displaying fangs extended and blood on his tongue. soon to be more when he buried his cold face into your chest and bit again.

“h-hngh fuck -” your hand reaches to cling onto his hip. feel the way that he’s pounding your poor ass raw. filling it to the brim and fucking out his cum onto your thighs from the sheer intensity of his thrusts.

“d-don’t stop - dontstopdontstopdont -”

you choke out when strong fingers squeeze around your dick. a calloused thumb rubbing messy circles around your tip.

“you are disgusting.” the deep hiss finds your ear. followed by a hiccupping moan. his brows crease and he messily thumps his hips against yours as he tenses and squirts your walls white once more.

“d-disgusting little creature. but ah, d-damn. . . do you feel so good.”

he’d hoist you up. twisting your limps into whatever way he wishes as he presses you up against the examination table and goes for a third round. a fourth. a fifth. anything to ease this insatiable sweet tooth.

𖹭. taglist◞ wanna join the taglist? fill out this form

𖹭. remember◞ you make a writer's day every time you like, reblog and/or comment on their piece. if you enjoyed my work, please considering doing so<3

. ˚◞ ꒰ 🍰 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒔 ꒱ tip jar . masterist ⊹ ۪ ࣪

[fonulyn]

for @kreonweek day 1: First encounter.

-

“Jack Krauser, right?” What was probably the prettiest man in the damn universe asked, smiling as he looked at Krauser from those bright blue eyes, calm as if they weren’t about to set out on a mission that could mean they’d both be brought home in bodybags. “My name is Leon. It’s good to have your support on this one.”

At first Krauser only grunted, grabbing the offered hand, pleasantly surprised by the strength of the grip. “Are you sure I won’t be the sole muscle on this?” he asked, unable to keep himself from poking and prodding and teasing. “Looks like you’re straight out of middle school.”

Apparently Leon was used to that as he didn’t even react, unless one counted the littlest huff. “You’ll be eating those words later,” he said, a hint of a grin curving his lips. “That’s a promise.”

Interesting, Krauser thought, immediately intrigued. This was going to be worth his time, the mission be damned, Leon himself had already piqued his curiosity enough. He followed the man, holding back his questions for now, just observing. And the more he saw the more curious he got.

In all his years in the military, Krauser had never quite met anyone like Leon Scott Kennedy. Sure there had been pretty boys who surprised everyone with their strength and sadistic streak, and sure there had been kids who looked like they’d snap in two but ended up being vicious on the field. Krauser had known for years that judging a book by its cover was a very, very stupid thing to do.

But even then, there was something about Leon that defied all expectations. There was a kind of softness to him that didn’t end up pulling him down, but worked to his advantage. There was a kind of earnestness to him that Krauser didn’t know what to do with, as he followed Leon through that jungle, with laughably little information about what they were going to face in there.

Leon was an enigma, and Krauser wanted to peel back every single layer until he’d get to the truth. And it didn’t help that Leon was drop dead gorgeous, too. Something possessive reared its head within Krauser’s gut the first second one of those walking corpses almost managed to get its hands on Leon, and Krauser didn’t quite shake out of it before he was on his knees, his knuckles bloody and the attacker a warm puddle on the ground.

Whatever that feeling was, from then on it refused to die. Krauser put his life on the line for Leon, not even the mission anymore, but Leon. He threw himself into the fight recklessly, obsessively, without another thought. Too recklessly, as it turned out when pain exploded in his consciousness, one wrong move leading to the worst injury of his career.

Even then Krauser couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when Leon kissed it better. He let himself fall right into the mystery that was Leon, let himself get lost in the feverish kisses and wandering touches, let himself sink right into that willing body and the pleasure it offered.

Maybe it was time for a change, Krauser told himself. Maybe Leon was what he’d been meant to find.

In more ways than one, that first meeting changed the course of Krauser’s life forever.

[cherubispunk]

ICHOR. BLOOD. WATER. (part i // ichor.) - Din Djarin x Witch!AFAB!Reader

summary: stranded. alone. a traitor to your people, your family. aeaea is the prison of paradise you call home, and he is the prophecy you like to call an enigma. the 'man made from metal', forged in fire, melted by your spell that is no witchcraft on your part. he is the hunter, you will always be the prey. it is the way as the fates designed it.

a note from lucy: so, its back. i'm officially back! basically, I went through it. accidentally deleted my blog. had to start from scratch. repost it all. but! I'm here. you're here. we're all here! Greek mythology is a huge love of mine. I always like to add a small sprinkling into my fics where possible. and now im writing one based wholly of two greek myths: eros and phsyche, and circe. I've read Madeleine Miller's 'Circe'. I fell in love with it, it's genuinely one of the best books ive had the pleasure of reading --hence the fact that this is heavily based off it in terms of 'lore'. Din is the perfect character for these myths to be translated into fic. So, without further ado, I present to all you lovely people (again lol), my mythology!au; ICHOR. BLOOD. WATER. for @inklore and @psychedelic-ink's haunted hoedown. A three part fic with our beloved space cowboy. I really hope you enjoy it as I put a lot of time and thought into this. I love you all, you wonderful Pedro fanatics.

playlist

wc: 2255 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! mythology!au, no use of y/n, reader is referred to as 'Circe' twice in this chapter alone, dubcon, smut, p in v sex (unprotected), reference to past sexual assault (very mild), cussing, mentions of witchcraft, voyeurism, mentions of drinking alcohol, mentions of food and descriptions of eating, choking, breath play, oral sex - f receiving, edging, orgasm denial, toxic relationships, dom!din/sub!reader dynamic, sex as a means for manipulation and control, manipulative!din, stockholm syndrome?

series m.list | m.list

You had done many things under the pseudonym of Circe. Bird. Crow. What your mother and siblings used as a knife to your throat. An insult in the form of a name. One that man whispered in myth around fires. One a sailor would call out in fear upon reaching the shore of any island in the vicinity of Aeaea. It clung to the disgusted curl of their tongue like the tang of sour fruits. Lemons of Sicily. Limes from crete. Wrapped in letter parchment, sweetened with ink. 

Across from you is the god responsible for many of those tall tales. In his gold sheathed glory, olive skin gleaming with a ripple of muscle against the warmth of your hearth. Under it flows ichor, steadily. His winged sandals flutter in a twitch every few minutes. A subtle sound that is heard little too often over the lilt of his voice. Hermes. A deity you invited to your bed when he would visit, indulge in the stories of how he stole cattle as mere youngling, delivered messages of ruin to mortals. Travelled the planes of the underworld from the Styx to Elysium Plains. Hades and his sunken eyes on his throne. Where winged sandals would carry him overseas with his travellers cap and staff of entwined twin snakes. 

He would sit upon your chair, open his loose lips and a drone would pour out, Maybe to a mortal he would seem all so interesting. One to dote hours of your day to the thick honey like pouring of his voice in your ear. But to you – the witch – a goddess in your own right, he was a mere drag. A rake. A god worthy of being turned to swine at the unjust sight of his curling smirk. 

You would have drifted off it weren't for his voice picking up in interest, your ears perking up with it. The high buzz from his drone of white noise faded, ebbing into coherence while his lips drifted in voice. Practised and perfected movement the way any divine being did. 

“The fates speak of a man. Made of metal.” He mused, studying his thumb and forefinger as a stand of your lionesses hair was snagged between it. You wished to singe it from his fingertips. “A warrior.” “From overseas of Greece?” Now, and only now,  he had your attention. 

“Further.” 

You muttered a curse under your breath. Where would be further. “He will sail on a ship, strand himself on your shores engulfed with fire. And you shall do as you have before.”

“Take it?” You sneered, sitting forward in your seat, teeth bared at him. “I suppose I shall feed him before he sets his disgusting hands upon me.” 

“Oh come now,” He smirked, “Were you not to take him to your bed regardless?” 

“I shall sew your mouth shut for such accusations.” 

Hermes sighed, rolling his eyes in all his dramatics. Lounging in his seat. 

“Circe, you humour me with your feral tongue.” 

“And you disgust me with your plight.” “Ah,” he held up a single finger, humour on his face at the top of his curled lip, “I may be bored. But at least I have the world. You, Circe,” he spat, raising a brow in sickening amusement, “have nothing.” 

Your face drained of colour. Your heart aching in its chasm of a chest, ribs pinching. He was right. Your oasis was still a prison. Despite its bars of gold, it still held you. Contained you. 

He stood in his victory over you, taking one last look around. “One last thing–”

“Oh, there’s more, is there?” You sighed, staying seated. For all his heirs and graces, he was no more worthy of your respect than the dirt caked to your bare feet in winter's first bite. The god merely crossed his arms, a diving wind rustling the blonde curls upon his head, wrapped in laurels, 

“You must never look upon his face.” 

You sat in a furrowed brow muddle. He had drifted to the wind, turned to a shimmering spectacle of dust, in nothing more than a blink. 

—

He came with a blundering sputter. In a ship that was no ship of wood that sailed on tides. A hunk of chrome with spitting fans of fiery heat. A thwip through your cloudless skies to crash upon sandy shores. 

He came…with a child. A green creature with pointed ears similar to satyrs, no taller than your mid calf, alien to you. Wide hickory eyes that masked his face with innocence, having seen things unspeakable to even brave sailors. And when they sat at your table, piled plentifully with sweet figs, legs of mutton infused with rosemary, steamed and seasoned greens, and honey in its jar, the man of metal left all deserted by his lips. His plate was clean, wine untouched in his cup. Never once needing an added refill. Nor did he speak kindly. Rather, reserved. Gruff, distorted by something in his helmet seemingly fused to his head. While the child chewed on the fleshy roasted bone of lamb. 

Rhythms of autumn, songs of summer, ballads of winter watched over you and the meadows you walked. Gardens you tended to. Woods you roamed. And he did too. There was something within him. Under that beskar. It called, howled, growled in insubordination. A vulgar hatred of being vulnerable out in this position. Where you held an advantage of both terrain and power. 

So he took in a way he knew. In carnal, biting desire paced by him. Phallically. Reversed the role of who won who, made you beg in your own bed, in the drowning pools of darkness. Never to see his face. 

But oh so familiar. 

The first time he took you was akin to a memory in the very moment it happened. A haze of something so absurd it couldn't possibly have been true. Played out the way it did. The Mandalorian watched while you bathed. In a creek not too far from the path. A rock for your lioness to splay out over, sunbathe and make her coat gleam gold like the ichor in your veins. Her ears pricked at a sound he made. One you did not hear with your head submerged under the clear pool. 

She looked up, lifting her whiskered chin from her large paws, and her eyes met his. He did not fret. Nor did he stop and turn away from the great willow he stood below. Only glanced from her to the curve of your bare chest rippling above the crystal waters rippling surface. 

From there, he had stalked you to the deeper parts of the forest where even your familiar did not follow. Watched as a wicker basket was tucked under your arm, flowers and mosses being picked from the ground as you went about gathering pharmakeia for your draughts. 

He appeared, bringing his musk while his hand clamped down over your parted lips. Pressed your front firmly into the tree, hands scraped gold raw by the silver birch’s peeling bark.  

“Don’t.” He growled upon your demand to turn around. “Face the tree.” 

And you obeyed in tandem with the hiss of something– his helmet– as it dropped to the dewy floor by your bare feet. A single kiss, seasoned with sparse prickled hairs was laid to the nape of your neck, a wondrous dichotomy to the events yet to unfold, noises of restraint on the tip of his tongue, the back of his throat. The skirts of your dress were gathered in messy haste, undergarments pulled to the side, revealing the shine of your own slick. How you dreamed in secret nights of this very moment. His taking of you, his claiming of your cunt— grunting while he invaded the tightness of your walls, flayed you open forever like a sacred text, ready for him to read once again. 

A large palm of his, gloved in leather, pressed to the nape of your neck where the notch of your spine ended and your skull began to curve, thumb pressed to flesh, fingers curled into gnarled hair. You gasped, cold air nipping the back of your exposed thighs, fully clothed still, yet bent to submission by the masculine will of him. Naked. 

The orgasm was The Mandalorians. And the Mandalorians alone. You never questioned the burning ache of pending release. Merely let it simmer in the tight heat of your walls at the mouth of your cervix. His noise still stinging in your ears, shocking the breath from your lungs. He took no time. It was a rush for his release. His domination of the witch of Aeaea. 

From that moment onwards, you imagined his lips, recited in drugged sleep to the egyptian cotton and goose down of your pillow. His irises. To write a poem on parchment about something you could not see, nor ever would per his and Herme’s telling. Fingertips itching to feel warmth of skin, not beskar. While his armour was smooth, buffed, polished to shine in rays of Helios's chariot, it was cold to the touch. You had his visage mapped in your mind. Well trodden by fingertips such as the paths by the tall cliffs. The Mandalorian. Nameless. Faceless. 

He spent each night for a fortnight in your bed. The first, he parted your legs himself, and the rest they were already spayed open for his wanting. He snuffed the candles with his thumb and forefinger, unsheathing them from his gloves before doing so. You watched with intent from the sheets as his visage dominated the tall door frame. Shoulders broad and intimidating the negative space he occupied. Only when he was shrouded in utter darkness did he remove his helmet, climb his way up to your parted lips. Curating a careful path from them, over the column of your throat, descending your navel to the forbidden fruit gleaming, ripe and juicy for his lips. Ready for his first damning lick of your sex. 

Like the apple in the garden of Eden, temptation on Lucifer's forked tongue, he delved deeper, rested his naked face between your tensing thighs. Broad arms, still sheathed in beskar curled under them, dragging you closer to his open mouth while your arousal, slick and thick as honey, drizzled out your weeping hole to his open, wanting mout. 

His tongue drew ellipsis over the twitching bud of your clit. Thick and firm, the tip pressing into your cunt, following your hot seam down to your quivering hole. He dipped inside, curling it to draw the taste out. You couldn't see his eyes. But you liked to imagine they were open to feast on the sight of your quivering and naked chest the best he could without the guide of the candlelight. Now snuffed into curling stings of smoke. Staring while you were shaking under the pleasure rolling up from your centre and cascading like a landslide down your spine. It made you shiver. The soft plush of your legs swallowing his exposed ears, the small, neatly trimmed curls tickling the sensitive flesh. His coarse beard, scruff scattered in a smattering over his sharp chin scratching your skin. 

A low groan rumbled from the back of his throat, your tang dancing with light feet over his taste buds And his nose bumped into your clit as he tasted more. Devoured your cunt like his last meal. 

It wasn't long before you felt the burn behind your eyes replicate in knots in your belly. Tightening at the mouth of your cervix while he ate at you. A cry of his name bursting from your chest as he flicked his tongue with vigour. He had one aim in mind. To taste your release. The sticky mess that would coat his lower face. 

“Give it to me.” He commanded. And oh, how you tried. You willingly left this realm while he licked at your pussy, his tongue languidly rolling up one side of your labia, up to your clit and circling it, then down the other side to plunge into your tight, clenching hole once more. 

You nimble fingers curled into his hair. It was coarse, wispy at its ends where it started to coil loosely. And you gripped it as you ground your core into his face. RIding and grinding into his face that was exposed to your quivering cunt. Not ready to part with the way his ips enclosed around your clit and added enough suction for you to see Ouranos and all the stars that tattooed his blue skin. 

You panted a chorus of heavenly oh’s. Breath came in heavy as he pulled back to spit. You felt it, cold in contrast to your own heat, drooling down to your slick entrance. It quivered when he added a finger, curling up from the second knuckle. It was merely one digit. But it stretched you out, had you reeling while he beckoned your orgasm closer to materialising in your belly. 

He could smell the musk of you and it was divine. 

He had your orgasm building and building into a near state of harrowing oblivion before he let it rip through you. The first wave was one of numbing pleasure. The one that fizzled through your legs until you were nothing but a mere speck for a second. And then it broke, like some great epiphany from him as an enigma. 

He stood, replaced his helmet, leaving you boneless. A quivering, babbling mess of sweat and slick in your own sheets.

[changbinisms]

Two Sides of the Same Coin - Choi Jongho x reader

Summary: Jongho had always been an enigma, holding most people at an arm's length, and you even further. What if there's a reason behind that?

wc: 1,797

non-idol au / office worker au

contains: minor angst?, jealousy, confusion over feelings, y/n is in denial, probably out of character Jongho, implications of alcohol, not proof read

[a/n: it's been a long, long time since I've posted a fic, and even longer since I wrote one, so I'm a little rusty. I'm not 100% happy with it but if I went back and reread it I'd probably talk myself out of it, so hopefully someone enjoys this.]

Few people had the pleasure of being in the company of Choi Jongho, and even fewer had the pleasure of having him enjoy the company too.

He always held the same stony-faced expression on his face, unless of course, he was in the company of his friend group. Then he could always be seen with a smile on his face, laughter leaving his plump lips, and his round eyes crinkled in delight.

That’s not to say that he was stuck up or rude, he just felt most comfortable around his friends, rather than the people that he only really saw in passing.

Unfortunately, you seemed to be stuck in some limbo in between. Not a stranger yet not quite a friend. You got on well with the rest of the group, some could say that you were friends. However, Jongho always seemed to hold you at an arm’s length. Which was a shame really since you had been quite enamoured with the man since you had started working at Aurora & Co. Media.

When it came to interacting with you, he always seemed to go quieter and developed a habit of mumbling. Some could say he had a crush on you but who could be sure? You hadn’t had enough interactions with him to know what he was like around people that he’d taken a fancy to, hell, you didn’t even know if he was interested in people at all. 

~~~~

The day seemed to drag in, almost as if it knew that you longed for the comfort of your cosy little flat, and the series that you had halfway binged into the early hours of the morning.

Staring at the clock in hopes of it making time pass faster clearly wasn’t cutting it anymore. Your day was almost done, and you’d ran out of work to do to fill in the gap between the start of your shift and the end of your shift.

Almost like a knight in shining armour, your view of the clock is obscured by Hongjoong’s lithe frame.

“Now correct me if I’m wrong, but I can count on you to turn up to the Halloween party, right?” his eyes almost pleading with you “half of the guys can’t give a straight answer on if they’re going, Hwa said he’s not going after the chaos at the last work party, and San and Wooyoung are going to be insufferable on their own,”

“Joong,” you chuckled at his distress, “you know I would never let you suffer through those two on your own,”

He physically relaxed at your answer, before a cheeky smile crept its way onto his face; “good - because Jongho is actually going to this one,”

And there it was… the “some” that could say he had a crush on you. Maybe Hongjoong had more of an insight into Jongho’s thoughts and feelings since he was in his inner circle, but you couldn’t quite work out what he stood to gain from telling you about a crush that may or may not even exist.

You let out a sigh.

“Hongjo-“

“don’t even try to hide that you’re happy about that, y/n” he cut you off, “we can all see the hearteyes you send him,”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, you fiend,” you hiss back, taking another peek at the clock, “oh would you look at that! My shift’s over! Bye!”

You quickly grab your phone, bag, and cardigan, and head to the cloakroom to collect your jacket and escape this conversation.

Unfortunately Hongjoong follows you, seemingly undeterred by your efforts to elude him.

~~~~

Despite your insistence that you were indifferent to the news that Jongho would be there, you found yourself panic-shopping online to find something that would somehow be both attractive and comfortable – there’s no way you can wear the pink, fluffy bunny costume you wore the year before, which was the product of an ill timed, dumb bet that you lost.

If anyone were to asl, you’d just tell them you were trying to rebuild your costume reputation. No one would know that it was actually an attempt to look good in front of Jongho.

Not that you wanted to look good in front of Jongho of course…

~~~~

Before you knew it, the end of October was upon you and you found yourself in the back seat of a taxi, wedged in between a (slightly) giddy San, and a (most definitely) tipsy Wooyoung on your way to the venue that your team leads at Aurora & Co. had booked for the party.

You prayed to whatever deity was out there to speed up the journey as there was only so much elbowing you could take from them (“oh come on! You totally imagine what it’s like to kiss him” “We finally won’t have to witness you both pining over each other anymore”) while Hongjoong sat in the front trying to contain his giggles.

Promise be damned, you were abandoning him at the first chance you get.

~~~~

Finally arriving at the venue, practically shoving San out the way to get out the taxi, you make your way into the venue, taking in the sight before you.

Twinkle lights adorned the high ceilings and gave the room a subtle ambience. True to typical fashion, your eyes immediately find Jongho, who had come dressed as a vampire complete with shirt, waistcoat, suit trousers and a typical gothic cape, with what you would assume to be droplets of fake blood trailing down his chin and almost trailing onto his neck.

Almost has if he could sense that you had arrived, he was already looking at you or, most likely, in your general direction (you did arrive with three out of seven of his friends), his conversation with Yeosang, the (at first) quiet man with a cheeky streak, seemingly forgotten.

The intensity of his stare proved too much for you, quickly averting your eyes with a light blush making its way across your cheeks.

Thankfully, you’re saved by your absolute favourite people to work with: Jeon Soyeon and, her equally devilish partner in crime, Kim Seungmin. Most people would assume that their personalites would clash, what with Soyeon having little time for shit-stirrers and Seungmin being the biggest shit-stirrer in the office, but it came as a surprise when they met and struck up what is possibly the funniest friend duo.

“Well look who decided to show up actually looking decent this Halloween!” Seungmin laughed, smile stretching across his face exposing his pearly whites. Beside him, Soyeon tittered and affectionately rolled her eyes. You wonder just how many times she had heard him say similar things before you arrived.

“Minnie, you know fine well that I rocked that bunny suit,” you fired back “much better than whatever the hell you’re wearing right now”.

~~~~

True to office fashion, the party only took off from there. You had long since lost track of Hongjoong, San and Wooyoung, and more importantly, Jongho. You didn’t need the ribbing that you would get from your friends for so much as glancing anywhere he was stood.

Coming out from the restroom, the drinks that you’d had finally taking a toll on your bladder and took advantage of the large mirrors to touch up your appearance, you turn down the hall to head back to the main room and bump into someone. A someone sporting suit trousers, waistcoat and typically gothic cape…

“Jongho… hey!” you awkwardly state, “glad to see you came, I thought it was just rumours that you were coming,”

He seemed to not know what to reply with as he looked at you, mouth slightly agape. You suppose that’s on brand for him, at least he’s looking you in the eye.

“uhhh… anyway,” you sidestep around him, the awkwardness starting to seep into your bones “I was just on my way back, I’ll see you in there, I guess,”

You go to continue your walk back to the festivities when a hand around your forearm stops you in your tracks.

“wait,” he breathes out before continue, “I wanted to talk to you,”

“sure… what do you want to talk to me about?”

“I-“ he started.

You waited for him to continue but the silence only extended into even more awkward territory, the minutes stretching on and on. Feeling the need to get out of the situation before you started spewing absolute nonsense in an attempt to fill the gap.

You step away from him with a quiet “Soyeon and Seungmin must be wondering where I am, I’ll catch you la-“

Your words are interrupted with a short “what do I need to do to get your attention?” You’re stunned into silence, which Jongho takes advantage of by continuing, “Why does everyone in the office get your attention easily, but you can’t give me a sideways glance? What do I have to do? What do I have to do to get you to like me?”

His short monologue must have caused your brain to short circuit, the words with a hint of jealousy must have flipped some switch in your brain, as you responded with an “is that what you think? You think I don’t like you? If anything, I thought you didn’t like me, you very rarely actually look at me never mind talk to me,”

Jongho seemed perplexed at your words before letting out a “because I can’t. I can’t look at you without getting my words and thoughts all mixed up. I thought if I had a drink or two, I might have been able to work up the courage to talk to you and I messed that up,”

You didn’t know what to say, would anyone know what to say in this situation if they were put on the stop this way? You couldn’t organise your thoughts, your brain processing both nothing and everything at the same time.

So, you did the only thing you could make out in the chaos of your brain. You stepped closer to him and placed your hands lightly on his shoulders and closed the gap.

Your lips pressing to his, relishing in his soft ones. He didn’t respond, his posture stiff causing you to regret your actions. Maybe you misinterpreted what he said, maybe he was wanting closure and nothing else.

Your thoughts finally got the better of you and you start to pulling away, ready to gush excuses and find the nearest exit so you could make your escape and think out how you’re going to get out of this one on Monday, when his body starts to catch up with his brain, and he does something you didn’t think he would.

He kisses you back.

~*~*~*~

[turnwashingtonsbaddies]

PLS PLS OKS DEAR GOD GIVE US THE PUSS PUSS EATING RANKING OF TURN CHARACTERS I NEED IT LIKE SPONGEBOB NEEDS WATER (must include robert rogers)

ok im officially done with school (woo 🥳) so i can give everyone in my ask box what they've been waiting for. i am going to keep the list limited to the ppl in this promo photo bc there are so many goddamn characters in that show and if you want heavy-hitting analysis, i've gotta keep a short list (at least for now)

analysis under the cut:

as mentioned before caleb brewster does indeed SWEEP the pussy eating power rankings

as also mentioned before john andre is as mediocre in eating pussy as he is in acting and flute playing. he thinks he's amazing at it tho

now for the fun. i need to get this first paragraph out of the way bc it is about the man who made me begin to ponder this question 2 years ago in the first place. abraham. fucking. woodhull. this beanie-wearing menace to society has NEVER made anyone other than anna strong come. point blank period. even with anna tho, he's done it like maybe once or twice. whether or not he did it by giving her head is up for another debate tho

oh and speaking of anna strong. she gives me pillow princess vibes for a reason i cannot quite explain. it is just kind of a gut feeling i have. maybe it has to do with the fact that ppl are always just throwing themselves at her, so she doesn't have to bother with actually working on pleasuring them

but back to abe for a minute. he's actually (believe it or not) NOT the worst one on the list, and that is because richard woodhull has NEVER ONCE made a woman come. not even his wife. not once. richard has never even eaten pussy before. richard has only ever had sex in the missionary position. abe is a terrible partner for a reason, and that reason is bc he was raised by richard

one member of the woodhull family does possess some finesse however. mary woodhull eats pussy like a mf champion. i imagine her learning it was much like her learning how to fire a gun. at first she was like 'wtf is going on??? i cant do that??' but give it few tries and she easily upstages all the men around her

using mary shooting a gun as my transition here..... let's talk about simcoe. honestly, he does give me the vibes of someone who really wants to be good at eating pussy, and maybe he even enjoys doing it. however, i think he gives toothy head. and i also think he does it on purpose. that's right. he's a biter

speaking of ppl who enjoy eating pussy, i think hewlett slays in that department ngl. ik i said before that caleb is arguably the only man on the show who enjoys eating pussy, but i actually want to amend that bc i think hewlett does too. however, i think the one drawback for hewlett is that his desire and ability to give good head does come from a place of him being (and i mean this with peace and love hewlett enjoyers) a massive simp

i straight up dont have a transition for this one but it was literally an intrusive thought and i just need to expel it. ben tallmadge the type of guy to apologize after eating pussy. why? who knows. it could have even been decent head. he's still apologizing anyway. however my bet is that decent is the best he can do bc he's an overthinker, which can get in the way of having strong head game

finally, and yes i made you read all of this before giving you what you wanted anon, robert rogers. "(must include robert rogers)" is SO REAL. SO TRUE. you're right for saying so. however he is such an enigma to me and i really don't know where to place him both as an eater of pussy and frankly as an entity in general. i know he has to exist in some kind of extreme tho. god-tier head or the most abysmal head ever anyone's ever experienced. maybe he's even literally eating pussy, like in a cannibalism way. i'm not ruling that out either. honestly, maybe the quality of head varies between sessions too. after all, he's always gotta keep em on their toes

[ladyxskywalker]

A Beautiful Pleasure

Klaus Mikaelson x Werewolf OFC

falling in love happens when least expected, even faster when your dreams seem to have plans of their own

rating: T | word count: 1.5k

a soulmate au for the moon in may challenge 🌙 hosted by @lavenderursa 🌸

prompt - perfume (week one - new moon)

Just before nightfall, when the Summer air is calm, all else seems to fall away. The sky becomes a softened shade of blue, fading with a certain kindness beneath all the clouds. It makes it so that a rose colored glow marries all of the water when the sail boats pass by. Their sounds, as vivid as the ones in your dreams, awakening your mind to something – or rather, someone you’d once seen before.

When your eyes finally close after having been so restless from your days spent running or hiding from yourself, there’s always that certain distance to be found there, throughout every shadow covered corner. There is only a small inkling of light in your slumber, fanning past – waning. Like an overcast morning where your sight tends to squint throughout a mask of fog.

And so, you wander. Slowly, and the slightest bit unsure. Set out upon a path toward nowhere beneath what soon will be a universe of stars. A darkened sort of magic that reveals a silhouette waiting for you amongst the forest shore line – the bayou’s river passing right through where that mysterious figure tends to stand amidst your mind’s eye above it all.

There’s a man forlorn in his stillness, his back turned away from you, so pensive and brooding. An enigma who from what you’ve been sensing, has been holding onto centuries worth of demons made all his own. His hands, all the while, wound tight inside his jacket’s pockets, as if he couldn’t make sense of what to do with them there at all.

should I call out to him?

You wonder.

But you don’t – silently hoping for this vision to become more clear so that perhaps you might not have to.

Is he someone I know?

and why does this endless stream of water glisten here so peacefully? despite all that I sense here that he might feel?

how is it then, that this gentleman always seems so lost, when it is me who has longed forever to be found?

For a single moment, you had wished that he’d been real.

And in those vivid dreams, amongst every uncertain eclipse he had been.

Atleast…

That’s what you’d like to believe...

Every night when looking up towards all the cloud cover, hoping for the rising of a new moon to come, you had yearned for him. Even through the pain and struggle of when you turned. Your emotions felt completely heightened and deepened by an immortal heart unseen. An unexplained, possible manifestation that you hadn’t realized you’d been conjuring up for yourself for far too long.

And maybe that’s all that it was – a pure and senseless bit of imagining.

Hanging onto each cycle of the moon, until it was time to transform yet again, and you’d wake up shrouded by your tattered clothes in a mess of dirt and brush, entirely unable to forget all about whoever this person was...

That is until you’d gone to the cobblestone square one evening just to paint – to look upon the fountain at the city’s center as though it had been the only thing to fill your heart’s most precious cup.

The one thing that spoke to you – the falling water, and how it traced every stitch of your memory with the trickling of its sound; a song left adrift just as much as you’d been meandering all alone in your thoughts...

A quiet artist who’d sought emotional release in a blank canvas, finding it easiest just to settle on one color in particular. Cool and steady strokes evoking all hope to be found inside a visual story of depth and shadow, forever told by way of sight and fingertips.

Depictions of possibilities perhaps you had been missing in the time you’d be focusing on the thoughts entwined by strangers.

…

“Ah, prussian blue, one of my favorites…”

Beside you there is an elegant whisper to be felt – a gentleman, sharply dressed, yet somehow casually timeless, who sits down with his own work to fold into, interpreting all of his surroundings in ways that speak to having intricately spent time with all of them there once before.

He’s gleaming with a sense of arrogance and an overall insufferable kind of certainty. A prominent, modern day renaissance man who knows exactly what he’s doing. Incredibly handsome with a subtle grin to be shared only in the quiet to be had amongst yourselves. Waves of light hair to accentuate the features you secretly wish for in those seconds to spend an irrational amount of time with. And now you’ve begun to fully understand what your confusing dreams had been about…

The act of stumbling upon someone in the daylight who just might have taken all your breath away…

An accent and capable lilt to his speech that has you hanging onto every word, no matter how simply put the sentiment…

And you wonder then whether or not you should keep talking to him.

…

He notices how you’ve been looking – far too strange, and excited; curious even, as if you’d been caught up all the while in your staring. Smiling lovingly as if you’d known him in many passing lifetimes there before. A slip of amused laughter, and a shake of your head in disbelief, sifting through secrets you only wish to tell, had you been yourself.

But it’s those deep shades of alizarin crimson that have you all but forgetting who and where you are, watching him as he begins dampening the tips of all his brushes once he’s started on a picture just waiting to unfold. A handsome grin written across his face, as though he just couldn’t quite keep it all to himself.

If his eyes hadn’t been so startling and breathtaking in those passing moments, you probably would have let something slip by now.

And so he breaks the weightlessness of which you feel with the trailing off of something else.

A good kind of different to make up for the wordless shift you’d been taking on all by yourself...

But not anymore.

“...a remarkable pigment used by…”

“Van Gogh. Starry Night – I know.”

You smile, playfully, hoping that there’s the slightest chance he’s caught on to your hint of flirting. That when he gives it to you right back, you aren’t worried anymore about the possibility of ever having been rude.

“Apologies. Perhaps I’ve forgotten that there are other people in this city that do in fact appreciate fine art.”

Looking down upon his palette, your stranger for the time being begins to swirl his brush around in a mason glass jar of water, grinning once more – relaxed, and revealing nothing; intrigued.

“Mm. What is that?”

"I'm sorry?”

“Something truly divine…that scent. Can you place it?”

Honing in on the softened breeze that passes by so freely, your senses seem to cloud what’s left of all your better judgment. Sensing the inner lady wolf inside yourself, and letting her take over.

“Hm. Citrus, Spice…an intense hint of Lavender?”

He shakes his head, setting down his brushes. Shifting against the small table in front of him that’s been housing all of his pleasantries and wildly drawn marks.

“Magnolia. Jasmine, then…Lotus flower.”

Looking toward him then, it feels as though there is a powerful pull between you; his eyes, alight all at once with a mysterious and youthful sense of wonder, changing incredibly from a piercing tint of blue toward a brightened, honeyed gold.

A glimpse of something you’d only ever heard about in tales told along the river when you were little…

Woven stories kept safest with many generations of your elders.

soul bonds.

twin flames.

wolves meant for one another who’d been separated by ages of anguish and millennia…

had your sight just done the very same? had he known?

“I am wearing perfume, but usually it’s very subtle. I’m surprised you’ve picked up on all of its underlying notes…I’m rarely one to be seen as something other than invisible.”

“You are far from that, sweetheart.”

And then, there’s a pause to be had where you’d both left your forgotten artwork.

darling, bashful girl…

“You’re kind…”

“Doubtful. Some might even say otherwise…”

“Really?”

“Care to find out?”

The gentleman stands, offering his hand to you – cheeky, though welcome and completely old fashioned. A sudden glimmer of blind faith to set you both free from the torment of small talk. Discussing fragrances as if all of that had been normal.

he can’t be human.

another wolf, perhaps?

an ancient alpha?

or something else?

Nodding in the closing space between you, your hand settles down into a perfect fit inside his own, smooth to the touch, and somehow entirely unbreakable.

You want to know what it feels like to breathe again, but this impenetrable feeling bearing down upon your chest right now seems so overwhelming – both too much, and not enough at the same time.

It’s him.

the man by the glistening dream river.

“Forgive me for not introducing myself…”

It’s her.

the young woman I somehow could not bring myself to turn around for…

“Klaus. Perhaps you’ve heard of me, Little Wolf …”

he knows…

“Such a beautiful pleasure.”

…💞

a/n – thanks so much for reading 💫 this is my first piece of writing that i’m posting since nov. been on hiatus for a while. felt the spark ! hope you do too. all the love always xo

[skylarmoon71]

Lex Luthor (Smallville/X-Men) AU - Fanfiction - Chapter 2

"Change the meeting, I'll be there on Tuesday."

Standing at his side, you kept your focus forward as Lex carried on with his work. The double doors to his main room opening caught both your attention and in walks his father. There was a man behind him. Clean suit, harsh eyes, noticeable muscles. Lex released a sigh.

"Yes, thank you."

With that he hung up the phone, standing, ready to deal with his father's newest game to prove he was the world's worst parent.

"Dad, to what do I owe the pleasure." His voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"Well Lex, I thought that I would do you the honor of hiring a more qualified bodyguard. After that incident at the conference, you can understand why I would be worried."

It was almost laughable that he would say that. Lex knew better.

"While I do appreciate the feign worry, I already have a qualified person in that position."

Lionel merely smirked.

"If she is so qualified, how about a little test?"

The man cracked his knuckles and Lex frowned.

He barely had a chance to object, because Lionel waved his hand and the man came rushing at you. Lex intended to intervene, but he didn't have to. The poor bastard made it about a foot into your personal space before your fist connected with his face and he was down for the count. Lionel just gaped, and so did Lex.

He was out cold.

"Want to join him?"

Your words were directed at Lionel and he swallowed, sending a disapproving look in Lex's direction.

"Is this how you train your staff Lex?"

He was still trying to wrap his mind around your one punch that took down that beast of a man.

You kneeled, reaching over and grabbing the guy by his collar as you slapped him across the face. He jolted awake, obviously disoriented. When his gaze focused you glared and the man gulped.

"Get up and get out."

You released him and he scrambled to his feet, rushing out the room in record time.

"Not much of a guard I would say." You spoke.

Lionel looked anything but pleased, but he knew when to fall back.

"I'll be seeing you Lex."

He casted his gaze in your direction, lips in a tight line before he turned, leaving the room. The minute he was gone you spoke.

"Your father is an asshole."

Lex turned to you, then after a second, he laughed. Not only had you outwardly intimidated his father, but you were probably the first person that had the guts to say that to his face. Lex shook his head, moving back to his seat.

"How about a raise?"

"Sounds good to me."

He couldn't deny it, you were good.

It was strangely comforting having someone so indifferent.

You never got overly involved in his personal life and you never strayed from your task. Lex appreciated the professionalism. But there was a part of him that wanted to get closer. Understand how you'd ended up not only in this line of business, but in the army. You were an enigma. There was nothing he enjoyed more than solving a mystery.

"This is (Y/N) Howlett."

On one of his trips to the Talon he felt it necessary to introduce you since you would be at his side for the foreseeable future. On the more casual meetings he encouraged that you wear whatever you wanted. That's why he didn't expect the plaid. He couldn't help but smile at the similarity. You and Clark were literally wearing the same outfit. Maybe it was a universal protector's outfit.

Chloe was the one who pointed it out.

"You guys are like siblings." She joked.

Your eyes shifted in Clarks direction, and he raised a brow when you leaned over and sniffed him. Your eyes were narrowed suspiciously.

"You smell funny."

His cheeks flushed and both Pete and Chloe laughed.

"It must be the hay." Pete interjected in which Clark whined about. Lex was wearing a smile.

Despite your very unapproachable energy, they all seemed at ease around you. He'd sat down and you were at his side, a newspaper in your hands as they all spoke back and forth. Clark had not so subtly tried to ask you questions to make you feel more a part of the group.

"So where are you from?"

"Not here."

"Oh, well when did you move to Smallville?"

"A while ago."

"W-What do you like to do for fun?"

"Eat."

Chloe and Pete were trying to hold in their laughter and Lana just gave Clark a pat on the shoulder for good effort. Your hard gaze was now fixed on Clark and he looked away, changing the subject.

After a few hours Lex decided to call it a day. Chloe and Pete were the first to leave and Lana had returned to serving tables. Lex was grabbing some pastries to go. It was just you and Clark standing at the side. He was doing his best not to make eye contact since it seemed like you already didn't like him.

"You're not normal."

Those words had him looking at you in alarm. Your expression was still somewhat stoic.

"I-I don't know what you-"

"Don't lie to me. I'm not an idiot. I can smell it on you."

Now he was unnerved. He thought the scent remark earlier was just a jab.

"You smell different from Lex, and he's been infected by the meteors. Your scent is different, more pure. You don't smell human."

He didn't like this.

Not at all.

"I won't tell Lex."

That's not what he expected.

Your gaze moved to Lex momentarily before it shifted back to him.

"He told me what you did. Not just that day on the bridge, but all the other times that you've saved his life as well as a lot of your friends. I'm not usually someone who gives advice, but you should have more faith in him. He's a lot more understanding than you give him credit for. "

Clark meant to say something, but Lex returned with the paper bag.

"Ready to go."

You nodded.

"Yes."

You didn't say anything else and Lex just gave Clark a tap on the shoulder as you both were walking out the door.

Maybe it was then you realized that Lex was a lot more protected than you thought.

Still, you were diligent in your job.

As easy as it was to remain set on this mission, there were times where it was harder.

Harder to admit that maybe Lex was more than just a charge, or a means to get your next paycheck. 

[mountaincryptid]

initial thoughts on benidorm 2024 participants. under the cut 'cause it's gonna be looong

Almacór

his genre i don't listen to often, but sometimes a song can hit me regardless. not many expectations here tho

Angy Fernández

first of all, she had an emo phase in 2008-10, so we STAN

(sidenote: ever since i got the new phone i basically gave up on trying to take screenshot without that volume sign it's so hard :(()

I also listened to her most recent song (Dualidad) and based on that the potential of me liking her song is HIGH

Dellacruz

could be some good pop. mildly excited for him.

Jorge González

based on the songs i've heard and the vibes i'm getting from him is we're either gonna get a standard basic latin pop song or a bland ballad (every benidorm needs to have a conventionally attractive man with a bland ballad, maybe he's the one)

Lérica

their most popular songs are collabs and i don't like to base my opinion on artists only on those, but i'm vibing. i found some songs that are just by them and i like them less. oops. there's still some hope i like their song tho.

Mantra

their music feels like that type of pop that's pleasant enough to play in the background but it just doesn't do much for anyone. (anyone maybe being just me, idk.)

María Peláé

unfortunately i don't really vibe with flamenco, so unless the lyrics hit me just right she's not gonna be one of my favs i'm afraid. sorry.

Marlena

first of all, their name was inspired by one of my fav Måneskin songs (Torna a casa), so congrats on good taste girls.

unfortunately, their music doesn't do much for me

Miss Caffeina

when an artist has a big discography i like to check out both their most popular and the newest stuff (if they're not one and the same). unfortunately, i liked their most popular song (from 2016) more than i liked any of their most recent ones. based on that, i don't have a lot of hope i'll love their song, but who knows - anything can still happen

Nebulossa

An Una Voce Per San Marino reject at Benidorm is too iconic tbh

I hope she's not out of tune at Benidorm and I love the 80's vibe. I'm already predicting it to be eurofans' guilty pleasure and/or the meme of the season.

Noan

okay with 5 artists left i think he's the one i'm rooting for the most at this point 🤞🏻 i like his general sound. is it slightly worrying that my favourite song of his (zero) is a cover? yes. (the way i went from 'oh hell yeah' when hearing the guitar to 'oh no i've heard this before'...) but i'm hoping and praying he's gonna deliver a true gem for benidorm.

Quique Niza

the intro on rtve's website says he has background in musical theatre and honestly that's already at least +10 points of adoration in my book. he only has one single out (under Quique Gonzalez) and it's pretty average. still, he's still a bit of an enigma musically, so i'm not losing hope we're gonna get something captivating from him.

Roger Padrós

oh some linguistic diversity finally. we're probably gonna get some mellow pop song or ballad in catalan from him. it's most likely not going to be a fave unless the lyrics hit just right.

Sofía Coll

i'm not feeling the vibe, sorry.

st. Pedro

i can't explain it logically but his song could be a huge hit for me. or a huge miss. not sure what direction his song is gonna take, but in general i like his vibes.

also, this is very important, he has a christmas album !! thank you for feeding me i'm a christmas music aficionado

Yoly Saa

hmmmm.... i feel like it's also gonna be the case of hit or miss based largely on whether or not the lyrics hit just right.

[aifastic]

Interview With The Spy

Hello everyone! I gladly present you with my piece for INTRUDER ALERT!: A TF2 Spy Zine. We’re having leftover sales until DECEMBER 19th (12/19/22) at 12:00 PM PST, in case you’re interested in acquiring some items!

Link to the store here: https://tf2spyzine.bigcartel.com/

I hope you enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed witing it! Thank you @tf2spyzine for the opportunity ♥

Fandom: Team Fortress 2 Rating: T Characters: RED Spy, OC’s, RED Team Summary: Lana Hopkins has been looking forward to this interview for ages. Devlin is just scared. The team is nowhere to be seen. And Spy is... Spy.

Interview With The Spy

"Aren't you nervous?" the photographer asked, anxiously looking to the sides and fidgeting with the collar of his shirt. "I mean, he's a murderer. They all are. Oh, dear." He looked like he might faint.

"That's the fun of it!" Lana Hopkins said, barely containing her excitement.

She'd been looking forward to this for ages–after years of wasting all her redaction skills on the horoscope, Hat Wearing Mann had finally given her the opportunity to shine with the interview of her life. At last, she'd be able to delve into the mind of one of the most elusive men in the country, maybe even the world!

Many had tried to learn more from the Teufort Nine, only to disappear after the attempt. But she'd make sure to prevail this time, and get the note that would make her career skyrocket. She would.

The Spy had been previously described as "a puzzle, wrapped in an enigma, shrouded in riddles, lovingly sprinkled with intrigue, express mailed to Mystery, Alaska," and she couldn't help but agree–there were no legal documents to prove the existence of that man. He was a rumor, a deadly one at that, and he made sure not to leave any traces behind, be it of his professional conquests or his romantic ones. His lovers had him in high esteem; his enemies feared him. And that was the extent of the knowledge she had earned from her research.

"Hey!" The photographer waved a hand in front of her eyes, awakening her from her thoughts. "Are you… okay?" He sounded worried, but more so for her mental stability than anything else.

"I'm fine, uh… Dolan." She waved him off.

"I'm Dylan," he said, exhausted. She mentally brushed it off. She didn't have time nor space in her mind to devote it to remembering useless information like the photographer's name.

"Anyways," she said, and promptly started to walk away from the rental car they'd used to get there, heading to the RED base. "Let's get moving!"

-----

The base, anticlimactically enough, seemed empty that day.

"Where are all the mercenaries? I thought we'd get to see them in action!"

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, my dear," said a voice behind her. She gasped and turned back. The Spy was standing behind them, a cigarette in hand and a smug smirk on his face. When did he–?

"Holy fuck!" Donald yelled, almost dropping the camera.

"Careful!" Lana hissed, and turned to look at their host with what she hoped was her most selling smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir!"

"The pleasure is all mine, mademoiselle." Spy grasped her hand delicately and brought it to his lips.

"Where's…everyone?" asked Devin, a twinge of awkwardness in his voice.

Spy looked visibly annoyed for a moment, but he quickly put on a polite smile. "They are currently busy, running some errands." He waved their concern away with a gesture of his hand. "Now, may we head off to my smoking room?"

He led them through a couple rooms–Lana took the opportunity to read every label, examine every piece of furniture for hints of how these men lived.

"Excuse me," she asked, pointing to a closed door that read: 'TRAINING ROOM.' "What's that?"

"It's where we carry out our physical training for battle." A crash was heard inside.

"Wh–who's in there?"

"No one, monsieur, it's just…Some boxes might have fallen off. It happens often enough." Lana thought she heard him mutter: "...Supposed to be soundproof…" But before she could comment on that, he pointed at a door with a flourish. "We are here."

Lana entered the room, taking the room in. It was…Surprisingly bare. There was little furniture besides a fireplace, several framed paintings and double lamps hanging from the walls that gave a soft lighting to the place. There was a bookshelf filled to the top with books whose titles were in a language she assumed to be French; a coffee table with a wooden globe and a half-finished whisky glass on it; and next to it, a red armchair. The only two things that looked out of place, however, were the twin wooden chairs placed in front of the armchair.

"My apologies," said Spy, courteous as ever. "I do not own more armchairs than this one, so the kitchen chairs should suffice."

"It's totally fine, don't worry!" said Lana absently while she stared at a painting of a group of dogs arm-wrestling over a poker table.

"Oh, yes, that one is an authentic Kickasso," Spy said proudly. "No photographs, please, they might ruin the canvas."

The painting wasn't what caught her attention, however: there was a piece of paper attached to the frame with a metal pin with what looked like…a pink unicorn…drawn on it. Did Spy have kids? That could catch the attention of a particular demographic–which she might or not belong to.

"Ahem," Damian cleared his throat with purpose.

"Oh, yes! Let us start. Please, make yourselves comfortable."

-----

"So, first of all I can't believe I've got the pleasure to do this interview. Are you aware of how hard you are to find?"

Spy let out a chuckle. "Yes, and I hope it stays that way. My job requires me to be unreachable, in a way. Though by what means this is achieved, well…That, I can't reveal." He winked.

"Right, professional secret. Alright, um, what can you tell us about yourself that won't get you in trouble?"

"There's not much, really, but there are a few things–otherwise, this interview would be pointless." Lana's grip on her pen tightened. "I was born in France, and espionage has always been a part of my life, in a way. I pride myself in having mastered the art of disguise and the lethal ways of the knife–although other weapons have aided my job, too."

Lana felt frustrated, but decided to press more later on. "About that…What can you tell us about your job? Your current one, I mean. Reliable Excavation Demolition is shrouded in mystery, and there's much speculation about what the Gravel Wars entail."

"Well, it is a complicated matter. Let us say we stare death in the face every day, and the reward for it will never be enough. But there is a good opportunity to grow as a professional here. I believe in that, and that's what keeps me on my feet every day."

"I see."

She stopped jotting down just to think of her next question while Duncan took some photos of Spy. She needed to ask more about his fashion opinions, according to her job, but her curiosity was winning–it was the opportunity of a lifetime. Should she press on more personal details or–?

There was a loud crash outside, and a cluster of footsteps could be heard approaching the room. Spy suddenly stood up, dropping the whisky glass he was posing with on the coffee table. "Oh, no."

"What's happening?" Lana asked, standing up.

"I don't–"

The door slammed open against the wall, and a guy wearing a helmet led a group of seven very angry, red-clad men.

"TRAITOR!"

"Who–" Lana turned to look quizzically at Spy, only to find his chair empty. She looked around–Spy had disappeared in thin air!

"Typical," said a tall man wearing a crooked hat–is that the Sniper? "He puffed away."

"No way! Spy, if you're still there, you can't lock us up for no reason–Wait." The young guy stopped, blinking at Lana and Devon in surprise. "Who the hell are you?"

"We are reporters!" Lana said, ignoring her workmate's desperate hand signals. "We are here to interview Spy–"

"The Ma'am has a No Reporters policy, I'm afraid," a short guy with a heavy Texan accent replied. "I dunno how Spy managed to let you in."

'Ma'am'?

"Great. Our interviewee disappeared and now we're gonna get killed," Devon whined, and Lana elbowed him.

"Not necessarily. Hey, we aren't going to get y'all in trouble. We just need a couple tips about Spy…Maybe a little gossip?"

"Oh, boy, do we have gossip!" Everyone exchanged glances and grinned.

-----

"Come on, Spy, it's a little bit funny. You thought it was Dapper Cadaver."

"You told them I snore?!"

"It's true, though," Sniper said, hitting him on the head with his own rolled copy of the magazine–which Lana had sent them all in thanks.

"That's what you get for locking us up in the goddamn training room. Do you know how long Soldier made us train there?"

"We couldn't afford to waste time!"

"I will kill you all. But especially the one who thought giving them the spycrab photo was a good idea."

"That was me," Heavy said, casually cracking his neck.

"Never mind." Spy deflated against the couch like a fragile Victorian child.

-----

"The boss loved the interview, Dustin!"

"It's Dylan," he replied almost reflexively. "And I'm just glad to have come out alive, to be honest."

"Don't be such a party pooper!" Lana reproached him. "I'm happy that we could unveil a more human side of him."

"I guess me too," he said with a smile.

[alyosiuscreightonward]

Why, God. Why? Why did you make our paths cross like this?

As I told him, for 20 years I kept my feelings to myself and denied myself the pleasure. I fought hard with myself to keep these things and feelings hidden.

I don’t want to be that constant source of disappointment. Like I’m the highway with a series of tollbooths and no exits. But here I am. Does he know that I have given up on several things in order to make it a better place.

I know it’s easy for him to say fuck all the way off. It’s not easy for me to know that he appreciates me. I may not know all the things that he is thinking about because we have a tendency to overthink everything. But I’m still afraid of him. Not like that. The worst that can happen is that I will become the black sheep and he will never be able to trust me again.

He too like me has a big heart and will give just enough for sustenance and when that line has been crossed, it’s done. Myself or others will no longer have existed. Fuck.

He did one thing for me and I am forever in his debt. He didn’t have to do anything about it or anything for me, but he did.

I know that he can be obstinate, recalcitrant and completely immobile when he’s feeling some kind of way about whatever it is. There will be no going back to work on a solution. “You’re dead to me.” When he smiles, I’m wrapped around his little finger. I truly hate myself for knowing this and how easily I acquiesce in order to make him smile or laugh.

I can see that he does like the fact that I’m quirky and weird. He likes the fact that I can have an answer for everything and that my sarcasm makes him chuckle. Yet I have to keep my distance from him.

As a feeble old man who is not the one and has nothing to offer. I’m ashamed of myself. I know that Lily St. Cyr invented the fishnet stocking and I know that Madam CJ Walker was one of the first black women who became a millionaire. I think that he doesn’t care about shit like that or that I can answer a question or two about whatever it is on Jeopardy.

He’s my enigma. I see things. I feel things. His aura is very strong. He emanates from his soul. I know exactly when he’s irritated by me because I can feel it. His charming self can be a blessing but he’s quick to say, “Your word is your bond.” “Your lips are moving and words are coming out. Which is it? Another lie or an another excuse?” That’s just how he is.

So, God. Father. I turn my weary eyes to you and ask, why did you do this? You put him in my life and heart for a reason. Maybe I’m not supposed to know why you did this to me.

I’ve accepted the fact that he is here in my life and I am extremely blessed for that moment, because It means the world to me to know that he was there for me that one time and I will always be extremely grateful for that. I just don’t want to fuck it up.

I overthink everything and therefore I’m a loser.

[k--havok]

I posted 777 times in 2022

That's 666 more posts than 2021!

162 posts created (21%)

615 posts reblogged (79%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@k--havok

@space-cadead

@autisticwolfesbrainisautistic

@ren-c-leyn

@writingpotato07

I tagged 549 of my posts in 2022

Only 29% of my posts had no tags

#shutuplanx - 126 posts

#writeblr - 87 posts

#inspo - 73 posts

#wid - 61 posts

#writeblr community - 54 posts

#waking into divinity - 51 posts

#response - 44 posts

#writers on tumblr - 35 posts

#writing - 32 posts

#ref - 31 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#at this point i could spin a couple of wheels and bake smth in a random generator and itll turn out better than whatever my brain poops out

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

OSIRIS’ TRIALS

Rating: E for Explicit, M for Mature Art belongs to ARTdemariel on Twitter

He was many things. An artist. A black-belt. Gunslinger. Snob. But more than any of those things, a jack of many, many different trades.

Dakarai Zoheir is an enigma that lies in the shadows. His business is more than just death, however. It's art. When a mysterious client contacts him and offers him the chance to kill the billionaire Renenetmos Nimr, it doesn't take long for him to accept. But this job isn't like any other.

Renenetmos is no average man. Nor is he an average billionaire. He's something far beyond Dakarai's imaginations and nightmares.

[Introduction Chapter/Pilot]

Read now! Only on:

AO3 

Wattpad

Please read full summary/tags and warnings before reading. Links will take you offsite.

Like my work? Buy Me A Coffee

20 notes - Posted April 14, 2022

#4

33 notes - Posted October 26, 2022

#3

hate hate HATE the idea of sex scenes being superfluous and unimportant.

Sex scenes can:

Be for titillation (yes this is ok!)

Be a plot point

Show intimacy between 2+ characters

Be used as part of a character study

Be any other reason you can think of

Just because you don’t like sex scenes doesn’t mean they aren’t there for a reason (even just for titillation).

Sex scenes do not make a work less literary or automatically genre fiction. They do not make a work have “less meaning” automatically either.

Let people write what they want to write in peace.

42 notes - Posted November 28, 2022

#2

I've been obsessed about monsters with a gargoyle type of anatomy. With beautiful large wings and they twitch and flutter during pleasure

100% yes to wings. I know you said gargoyle like anatomy but like... if you think about it, gargoyles are pretty romantic (or maybe i’m weird idk) Also does anyone else remember that TV show Gargoyles from Disney?? I can blame half the reasons why I'm like this on kids shows ngl

Also idk if you were expecting wing kink but here we go~ 

Gargoyles

 Rating: T Tags: Wing play, sensuality, lore building

Gargoyles may look intimidating, but in reality such is not the case. They are protectors of the home, old warriors, and vigilant beasts who stalk the night.

During the day, their skin hardens to rock as the sunlight graces their powerful shoulders, where wings sprout from their back. The deep slumber is required to maintain their nightly activities and energy.

But as the sun falls from the sky, and night reigns the firmament, they come alive as moonlight washes across their forms. Their bodies rise, their flesh cracking from the daily disuse. As they shed their daytime sleepiness, the battle beings.

Gargoyles are fiercely loyal creatures. They have an innate sense of intuition and the uncanny ability to read the intentions of others. Those who wish to undue harm upon the home best beware. A gargoyle’s tough hide keeps them protected from both magic and blade. Their stone flesh hinders metal strikes. Powerful magic glances off their sculpted physique, leaving naught a mark behind.

A home is not just a place, however. Home can be found in others as well. And if a gargoyle chooses you as a home, they will spend all of their immortal life protecting your form. Even after death, it is not uncommon to see a gargoyle hunched over a grave, protecting their person, their livelihood, their hearth, until the end of time. Even after bones become dust.

Many see these creatures as terrifying. And in the midst of battle to protect those who they deem important, it is understandable. Gargoyles need no magic. Nor do they need weapons other than their powerful wings, tough claws, and fangs.

A gargoyles’ wings are yet another powerful tool of their disposal. As gargoyles are heavy, stone-like creatures, their wings need to be equally powerful and large to lift their bodies into the air. A gargoyle does not have organs as humans do, as they are made of stone. And although their skin is tough and impervious to most things, their insides are hollow and full of their own inner magic.

It is a myth that gargoyles cannot feel touch. They can sense the warmth of a coming dawn, the cool breeze of night, and those who dust tender fingers across their spine. As most gargoyles usually only feel the lacerations of battle, a more delicate touch is usually quite foreign to most. 

Although made of stone, all gargoyles have softer spots of their body, akin to pressure points in that of a human. This is especially true around the base of their wings. The base of the wing is the most delicate part of a gargoyle and most avoid allowing enemies to get purchase or even others to touch them. 

But, for someone who has befriended a gargoyle, and who has gained a gargoyle’s full trust, touching the wings is a rare gift. 

When touching the base of their powerful wings, the stone is more brittle. Softer. Almost like limestone. It is often cold due to outside temperatures. The gentle dusting of a few fingers will often lead to a small, full-body shudder. The wings, usually still, lower and open wider, allowing further access to those the gargoyle trusts. A slightly stronger press, akin to the kneading of a cat, lends to further reactions. When the uncertainty and strangeness subsides, a new desire burns. 

Gargoyles often show their emotions with their tail. While a quickly lashing tail may denote rage, flicks of the tip often point towards pleasure. 

Some gargoyles have more sensitivities in the wings than others. For those who are extra sensitive, all it takes is a long stroke down the forelimb of the wing, from the joint of the spine toward the first finger of the wing, to induce utter wanton. A gargoyle may open their wings full to the sensation, bowing their head down and curling their limbs beneath their rock-hard bodies in a show of absolute trust and adoration. 

Most who gaze upon the gargoyle do not see a creature of elegance and resignation. But those who can are graced with a sight like no other. Wings powerful enough to snap metal tremble beneath soft, fleshy fingers. The guttural moans of a gargoyle sound similar to that of crumbling stone. Their glowing, pupil-less eyes somehow roll to the back of their skull from the bliss of such machinations. 

For the truly lucky and adored, such attention and care may lead to a gargoyle wrapping their powerful, stone wings around you. Although their flesh may be rough, their touch and passion are not. 

76 notes - Posted September 1, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

729 notes - Posted October 24, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[obriengf]

I finally figured out what I wanted LMAO

“ you just lay back down, and i’ll take care of you. “ (smut prompt) with mitch rapp, ( roommate au if you can)

love u jemma xx

Warnings : mentions of sexual activity, this is also AU!ROOMMATE... no CIA, i know this is a smut prompt but i wasn’t feeling it (aghh) so it’s a slightly smut/fluffy blurb instead (:

"YOU JUST LAY BACK DOWN, AND I'LL TAKE CARE OF YOU."

Raspiness sung lightly through your ears, lips ghosting against the skin of your neck as a chill prickled down your spine. Your shoulders slumped as you fell into a breathless daze - the man lightly grasping your biceps before you only bringing all sorts of elatedness to your contented mind. He knew exactly what he was doing as he walked you backwards, the warmth of his breath fanning against your cheek only further provoking the feeling of weightlessness; as if you were flying toward the foot of your bed until the stern of your knees so very lightly tapped the awaited edge. His eyes screamed hunger, only seen to their full darkened potential when he pushed your body back, your head bouncing against the covered mattress as you fell. 

You both had been dancing around the attraction you shared for the last three months and twelve days - unable to dodge the longing stares and accidental touches that left fiery trails over your skin every time. It was difficult, to say in the least, to have Mitch as your roommate - almost impossible to ignore his smug boyish looks with a well-kept physique, attitude running very much on the rough side but eventually warmed up to your opposing personality and resulting in a valued friendship. 

Mitch always woke you up with his stupid loud juicer and claims that the added protein powder does wonders for your health, and not to mention his habit of leaving his shoes and clothes strewn in every direction. He was incredibly hot-headed before realising that his voice may have risen that octave too high during an argument. He was also incredibly capable, however, of making you smile when he knows you’re about to cry and is just the right height to rest his chin on your head whenever you’re pulled into a bone-crushing embrace. He made you chicken soup when you were sick and silently vowed to protect you from this cruel world with just a simple look of adoration deriving from his amber eyes. Mitch Rapp was an enigma, wrapped in a phenomenon, and tied off with a bow made of mystery. 

Your lungs struggled to suck in needed air, a bittersweet sensation as the image of your shirtless roommate kneeling on the edge of the bed and crawling toward you became a fantasy that crept it’s way into reality. His own laboured breathing indicating that he was trying to hold himself back from completely devouring you right there and then. The veins that stemmed from his wrists became darkened vines that wrapped around his arms, mirrored so ethereally against his neck and chest. You could still see the remnants of his anger among those baby browns; the sea of red provoked by your confession that your date tonight went anything but well. Mitch fell into a protective stance when you explained that wandering hands and drunken slurred words brought on more than an uncomfortable feeling from your date - to which, he simply replied, the man you saw wasn’t who you deserved. That maybe, just maybe, the perfect person to hold you close and make you feel loved and good was standing before you this whole time.

Mitch wasn’t one to express his feelings so easily, but his promise was built with the utmost sincerity, and that’s when you knew that you completely trusted him with your mind, body, heart and soul.

He was now latched to your neck, a hand holding your waist securely as the other combed through your hair. You could feel the warm pulsating of his tongue as it pressed to your weakest points, a moan slipping from your lips as they fell slightly ajar from the pleasure. Your legs kicked involuntarily when the beginning stages of a loving bruise bloomed above your clavicle, another moan releasing and another mischievous grin chuckled into the crook of your neck. Mitch had always wondered how you’d taste, but more so, you you’d sound when pinned beneath his desperate body with his name ringing loudly in his ears and your hands scattered helplessly over every inch of his skin. 

From the moment you knocked on his door to enquire about the roommate advertisement, he knew that he wanted you, but he truly never expected to become so infatuated with your character. You giggled and it was the epitome of a sunny afternoon, you fought back against him to prove your point and it showed the man just how stubborn but also strong-willed you were. He immensely admired your consistency when caring so heartedly for others, especially when it came to him. But most of all, he loved your delicacy... your softness, fragility. You were tough but could be broken so easily, and you believed that he would be careful with you. That reliability alone was an honour.

“M-Mitch..” You huffed out, his tongue trailing toward your chest as he slowly pulled down your shirt. He was tracing over the curved lining of your bra, a euphoric feeling in itself. The hand on your waist had by now trailed under the bottom-end of your shirt, ghosting over your stomach before his thumb rubbed gently over the ridges of your ribs. Your small sounds of contentedness made the man feel relieved - a goal he set for himself after he saw the heartbroken sadness in your eyes earlier that eventing, a dimmed light that he never wanted to see blown out. He was quick to then press kisses down the valley of your breasts, lightly brushing against the material of your bra until the shirt refused to be stretched any further. 

Mitch hummed as he repositioned his face above yours, noticing immediately the red swelling of your lips that you’ve been biting on. He was sure that he looked the same, only his eyes  by now were full blown and dripping with lust and adoration. He absentmindedly licked his well-worked lips before they lifted into a warm smile, one to match the grin that graced between your cheeks. “This is how I always pictured it, you know? Your gorgeous body writhing underneath mine, my heart just beating so fucking hard, it seriously feels like it’s gonna fly out my damn chest.” The man laughed heavily, the joyous sound reverberating off the four walls of your room.

You chuckled in return with crinkled eyes and a scrunched nose before you cupped his cheek with gentle movements. Mitch turned to the side and pressed a tender kiss to the palm of your hand, sighing softly, “I didn’t know what this... what we were, but what I do know now is that I want to be that guy you pour your heart into. Not those jackass tinder assholes.”

You nodded once in acknowledgement, amused by his willingness to open himself up to you unreservedly. He was tough to break through to, but now you had Mitch Rapp in the palm of your hand, and it was so utterly and absolutely endearing. It was risky as you pushed yourself forward until your sensitive lips brushed over his, your hands sliding over the bulging muscles of his shoulders and gathering nicely in an entanglement down his back. You felt his breath hitch when your chests were pushed flush against one another, even the slight shiver he shook from when your nose dragged over his before nuzzling at the tip. His kindness and adherence brought a flutter of butterflies to swarm in your stomach and force a lovely shade of rose to gather over your cheeks. 

You had never kissed Mitch, despite the craving that always nagged you in the back of your mind; but with him so goddamn close to you and that boyish expression of immense infatuation as if you were his first teenage crush... it would be hard to drag yourself away from such a perfect opportunity. And by the glint in his eyes, you could tell that he felt the same. 

“Do you want to be mine, Mitch Rapp?” Your voice was quiet, a whisper that would barely be heard unless the silence around you was deafening in itself. His flushed lips flinched momentarily as you spoke against them, the gulping bulge of his adam’s apple bobbing close to your neck. “And do you want me to be yours?”

He growled. It was loud. It was feverous. It was long awaited. 

It was stopped only by the union of your kissing lips and the coming together of two loving souls.