#really deep in there and are closer to the skin then its really dangerous

[tinylittlebab]

working sucks, i miss cutting

[lovecuprite]

Kinktober Day 5 - Sex Tape with Kento Nanami

contains: nsfw content: (mdni), fempov, pnv (unprotected), creampie, filming a sex tape ˚₊‧ for more kinktober here - wc: 2.5k

a/n: honestly, i am way too tired after my sukuna 7k one so today was meant to be cockwarming (it will come later), but i was too tired to finish it tonight - if you read this from the cod side already sshh, that post is gone now, i wanted it on here

The camera sat propped up on a makeshift tripod across from the bed, a little red light indicating it was recording. The curtains were half-drawn and it covered the room in a warm orange from the sunset. Everything about this felt strange and new, yet so oddly comforting in its intimacy.

Nanami sat at the edge of the bed, still in his slacks, a white shirt stretched tight across his broad chest. His face softened with a mix of longing and something that made your heart squeeze: vulnerability.

"You sure about this, love?" His voice, deep and rough as always, held an edge of hesitation. His thumb traced small circles into your palm as if grounding himself in your touch, not quite ready to begin. "Don't want you to think it's... y'know, too much. If you don’t wanna-"

You gave him a soft smile, squeezing his hand back in reassurance. "Kento, it's for us. I want you to have this, for those times when you’re away from home with your work and I’m here, missing you, just as much as you miss me.” 

He lifted his gaze, his eyes locking onto yours. There was a fire there—an intensity that was always present but now simmered with something deeper, more intimate. His fingers trailed up your arm in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Alright,” he said, voice low. “This stays between us. It’s just for me, okay? Nobody else sees it.”

You nodded, biting your lip in anticipation, “Not even if Gojo asks?”

“No. Unless you want me to, but I don’t really plan on letting him see my wife like this, only me.” His words were firm, almost possessive, but there was something protective about the way he said it.

Nanami was always careful when it came to you—his sorcerer work might be dangerous, unpredictable, but he kept you tucked safely away from that world. And this, what you were about to share, was sacred in its own right.

His hands, warm and rough, moved to your waist, tugging you gently towards him. "C'mere," he whispered, his voice lower now, looking at you as though you were a precious gem he didn’t want to break.

You climbed onto his lap, straddling him, feeling the warmth of his body even through the denim. His hands settled on your hips, holding you there, not letting you go.

Neither of you said anything for a moment. You could hear the quiet hum of the camera still running in the background; it faded into the periphery of your perception, so it was just the two of you wrapped in this bubble of time.

His forehead leaned against yours while his breathing was warm against your lips. "I hate leavin' you," he whispered, his voice rough with frustration and longing. "Every bloody time, it gets harder."

“I know,” you whispered back, your fingers sliding up the back of his neck, tangling gently in his hair. “But this time, you’ll have something more. You won’t just have to imagine me.”

A low, almost guttural noise rumbled from his chest, and his grip on your hips tightened, pulling you even closer. His lips brushed against yours, a feather-light touch that sent sparks through your skin. “I’ll watch this every night if I have to,” he murmured against your mouth. “Keep me sane when I’m dealing with this messed up hell out there.”

His words, raw and unfiltered, made your heart swell, and you kissed him back, slow and tender at first, savouring the way he tasted. His lips were soft, contrasting with the roughness in his hands as they roamed across your back, holding steady to keep himself anchored to you and in this moment.

He deepened the kiss, his hands sliding under your shirt, fingertips grazing your skin and sending shivers down your spine. He touched you in such deliberate ways, taking his time, committing every inch of you to memory before having to leave again.

He drew back far enough to peer into your eyes, his dark with a need that went far past the physical. "You're mine," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Always- doesn't matter if I’m a few miles away or thousands. You got that?"

You nodded, heart pounding in your chest. "I'm yours, Kento. Always.”

For one instant, the ferocity in his eyes gave way to softening and his lips caressed yours once again, the pace languid now as every moment was cherished. His hands kept on with their exploration, touching and leaving trails of heat wherever they ventured. You could feel the strength in him, the restraint he was holding back, wanting to make this moment last.

When his lips found your neck, you let out a soft gasp, your body arching into him. His breath was warm against your skin, and the way his lips and teeth teased at the sensitive spot just below your ear sent electricity shooting through you.

“Gonna miss this,” he growled softly, his hands moving lower, gripping your hips tighter. “Miss you.”

You cupped his face, guiding his gaze back to yours, your thumb brushing over his jawline. “You’ll have me with you,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the desire pooling in your stomach. “Whenever you need me.”

He groaned softly, his lips claiming yours again, this time urgent, desperate. It was as if he wanted to leave an impression of himself within your soul, something you might hold on to when the nights felt too long.

The camera watched silently, recording every moment: how his hands roamed your body, how your lips danced together in some rhythm only the two of you knew. This wasn't about physical closeness; this was holding onto one another in the only way you could when the distance would soon tear you both apart.

Melting into him, your bodies moved together in perfect sync, every touch, every kiss burning with the unsaid knowledge that the time was running out. You tugged at his clothes, and he did, yours. His lips had left yours, pressing a path of kisses down your neck; his breathing hot and ragged against your skin. "I need you," he muttered, his voice rough and almost broken. "Need all of you.

You moaned softly, your head tilting back as his hands roamed lower, his fingers skating across the edge of your underwear. The feel of him touching you-so gentle yet so intense-only served to increase your need for him. He was unravelling you, piece by piece, until all that was left was the raw undeniable need that pulsed between you both.

His lips brushed your ear, and his breath came in short, ragged bursts. “Tell me what you want,” he rasped, his voice thick with need, but still controlled, still in that deep, gravelly tone that always made your knees weak. He wanted to hear it, needed to hear you say it.

“I want you,” you whispered, your fingers curling around the back of his neck, pulling him closer until his forehead was pressed against yours again. “All of you. Now.”

Something in him snapped at your words. He groaned, low and primal, as his restraint melted away. With one swift movement, he lifted you, shifting your body so you were beneath him. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them as he settled between your legs, his touch firm but careful, always making sure you were okay, that this was what you wanted.

You nodded, breathless, your body already arching toward him, craving his touch. His hands moved with purpose now, sliding your underwear down and tossing them aside. The intensity in his gaze was almost overwhelming, like he was drinking in every inch of you, committing this moment to memory.

“Perfect,” he murmured, his voice barely audible as his hand caressed your inner thigh. His lips found yours again and you moaned into his mouth, your body trembling with need.

His other hand moved to his own waistband, undoing his belt with a practised ease. You could feel the heat between you intensify, the space narrowing until there was nothing left between your bodies but the aching need to be as close as possible.

He positioned his cock at your entrance, his tip teasing you, rubbing along your slit and making you squirm with anticipation. He taps it against your pussy, smirking at the sound, “She’s already wet for me.” he purrs as he momentarily pulls away to grab his phone. “Want a better view- Two films just for me.”

He holds the phone camera just right as he spreads your folds, slowly pushing himself inside you, filling you inch by inch until he bottoms out. The moment he entered you, both of you let out a shared groan of relief, like this was what you had both been waiting for.

He was careful, always so careful, but there was something raw in the hunger of his filling you, the motion of his hips gentle yet insistent.

He stilled for a moment, his forehead pressed against yours, eyes closed, savouring the sensation of being connected in the most intimate way possible. "God, you always feel so good," he breathed, low, his voice breaking with emotion. "So fucking good-

Then he opened his eyes, and the way he stared at you-as though you were his entire world-made your heart skip a beat. The vulnerability in his gaze-an unspoken fear of losing you and not having enough time-stared right back at you. Yet, so much love almost overwhelmed you.

Nanami finally started to move, slow at first, each thrust deep and deliberate, as if he was trying to imprint the memory of you onto his very soul. You clung to him, your body responding to every movement, meeting his rhythm with your own, your moans mingling with his groans, creating a symphony of raw, unfiltered need.

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, your nails digging into his back as the pleasure began to build, overwhelming your senses. Every touch, every thrust sent you spiralling closer to the edge, and you could feel him getting lost in it too, his movements becoming more erratic, more desperate.

“Never,” he growled, his lips finding yours again in a fierce, hungry kiss. “I’m never letting go.”

He pulled away from the kiss so he could get the perfect angle on you, one he knows he’ll watch a million times when he’s away in the middle of nowhere, stuck with only Gojo for company. 

With every thrust, your breasts bounce enticingly, and the camera shows every detail. "Fuck, you're so beautiful," he whispers, his eyes dark with desire as he drinks in the sight of you. "I'm going to watch this over and over again, remembering how perfect you feel." he continues, running his hand up your chest to fondle one of your breasts in his free hand, as his hips falter slightly and he tosses the phone to the side.

He starts pistoning into you again and again, desperate as the pleasure mounts. "That's it, baby," he says low and huskily, "Take it all- Take every inch of me." He shifted slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts a little, and you cried out in pleasure as he hit that particularly sensitive place inside you. Your nails dig into his back, urging him on, and he returns the favour with a groan of his own, hips snapping forward with renewed vigour.

The camera on the side captures it all-a memory Nanami will always treasure, especially when he is far away from home, yearning for your skin against his. "I love you," he says, words spilling off his tongue with no hesitation. "I love you so fucking much."

The lens centres in on the point of contact between your bodies as his cock disappears inside you, stroke after stroke. The camera captures every nuance, every slight movement, so that when he watches this back, he'll relive every moment as if he were with you.

The camera captures a look on your face, too, as he manages to hit that special spot inside of you, your eyes rolling back in pleasure, your mouth twisted into a silent scream. The camera focuses on how your bodies shine with sweat; muscles ripple in his arms and back as he supports his weight, driving deeper into you with rising urgency.

With every thrust, the camera captures the wet, obscene sounds of your bodies coming together, punctuated by the occasional gasp or moan from one or both of you. The audio is crystal clear; Nanami can hear every breathy whimper and desperate plea when he watches it later, which makes it even more real and hard-core for him.

Nanami’s own breathing grows heavier, his movements becoming more erratic as he feels his own release approaching. He reaches down with one hand, his fingers finding your sensitive clit and rubbing in tight, fast circles. The added stimulation sends you both over the edge, and you come together in a shared cry of ecstasy.

As Nanami climaxes, his cock throbs and pulses inside you, releasing a thick load of his cum. The camera picks up everything from the tensing of his muscles to the look of pure bliss plastered on his face. His cum coats your walls, filling you as best he can, a physical manifestation of the love and desire he holds for you.

The camera focuses on the point where his cock meets your entrance, gliding through your folds, as Nanami can see how his cum is mixing with your own juices in an erotic display of shared pleasure. The wet, obscene sounds of his final thrusts are amplified, ensuring that he'll be able to hear every last detail when he watches this back, reminding him of the intense connection you share.

He falls onto you, spent, both your bodies still joined together. The tender moments of soft kisses pressed to your forehead, caressing hands roaming over your body and holding one another close are all picked up.

After a few moments of basking in the afterglow, Nanami slowly pulls out of you, his cum dripping onto the sheets below. The camera captures the erotic sight of your hole clenching and fluttering around his softening cock as he withdraws.

He settles beside you, pulling you into his arms and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "That was amazing," he whispers, still low and satisfied. "I love you so fucking much and I swear I’m going to lose my mind with how much I’ll miss you."

You burrow into his embrace, feeling the warmth. "I love you too," you whisper back, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. "And I'm glad we have this, something to keep you company when you're gone."

taglist:

@yuhig-blog @psychedellyc @char-35 @yowumi

@kaeyeahsworld @sukunadckrider

© lovecuprite - do not copy or translate any of my works

[adispit]

Hii! Do u write for xiao ?? If u do can u do with a amab reader who is extremely sensitive during sex and gets overstimulated really easily and cries??

A Hefty Price

Xiao x bttm m! thief reader

content warnings: slight dubcon, overstimulation, reader cries, Xiao is a little ooc bc he’s irritated and pissed here, mindbroken reader (fucked into oblivion), punishment sex (?)

note: hiya I didn’t know if u wanted plot with it so I just did it, hope you enjoy 😭🫶

You always thought you could get away with it. Xiao’s warnings, his sharp glares, the low growl in his voice whenever he caught you—it had become almost a routine, something predictable. You'd brush off his words, slip through his fingers, and disappear into the night with whatever prize you'd set your eyes on.

Maybe that’s why you kept going. Deep down, you believed Xiao would be lenient with you forever. That no matter how many times he cornered you, no matter how many times he said, “This is your last chance," there would always be one more.

But tonight was different.

The moment you saw him step out from the shadows, his figure illuminated by the pale moonlight, you knew something had shifted. His eyes weren’t just filled with the usual exasperation or annoyance. There was something darker, more primal, simmering beneath the surface.

You should’ve stopped.

But instead, you smirked, brushing off the unease creeping up your spine. "What, are you here to lecture me again, Xiao?" you teased, trying to keep your voice light. "You know how this goes. I’ll be gone before you even—"

You never got to finish your sentence.

Xiao moved faster than you’d ever seen him before, closing the distance between you in an instant. One moment, you were standing, your usual bravado shielding you from the weight of his presence, and the next, you were pressed against the stone wall of Wangshu Inn, your wrists pinned above your head in a grip so tight it made you gasp.

"Xiao—" you choked, but the words were caught in your throat as you met his gaze. His golden eyes bore into yours, no longer just filled with warning, but with an animal like intensity that sent your pulse racing in a way that had nothing to do with fear—and everything to do with something far more dangerous.

"You think I’ll let this slide again?" His voice was low, rough, almost unrecognizable in its rawness. His face was mere inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. "That I’ll keep letting you walk away like nothing happened?"

His grip tightened around your wrists, his body pressing you harder against the cold stone. The sudden, brutal force of it made your heart stutter, a flicker of panic mixing with something else you didn’t want to name. He wasn’t just angry—he was done. Done with your games, done with your teasing, and done with your refusal to take him seriously.

"You always brush off my warnings," Xiao growled, his voice so close, so filled with something dark and primal that it made your knees weak. "You think I’ll be lenient forever, that I won’t do anything to stop you."

You swallowed hard, the smirk that had once danced on your lips now completely gone. Your breath came in shallow gasps as you tried to understand what was happening. Xiao had always been intense, but this—this was different. He wasn’t holding back anymore.

"You’ve pushed me too far," he muttered, his voice low and dangerous. His hand left your wrist, sliding down to your throat in one swift, controlled motion, his thumb pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. "You think I’ll keep forgiving you? That you can keep stealing, keep defying me, without consequences?"

His eyes darkened as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "No more."

Your chest tightened at the finality in his tone, the weight of his words settling over you like a heavy cloak. You had always played with fire, but now, you were burning. Xiao’s restraint, his patience—it was gone, replaced by something far more wild, far more dangerous.

"I… I didn’t think—" you stammered, trying to gather your wits, but Xiao wasn’t having it.

"That’s your problem," he interrupted, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to make you still. "You never think. You believe you’re untouchable, that you can keep running from your consequences."

His fingers pressed harder against your skin, his body trapping yours completely against the wall, his eyes narrowing as he watched the realization wash over you. For the first time, you truly understood—you had gone too far. You had pushed him too far.

You opened your mouth to speak, to say something, but nothing came out. His grip on you was unyielding, his presence overwhelming. The usual playfulness you had wielded against him was gone, shattered under the weight of his fury.

His other hand slid down your side, pinning you in place with a strength that left no room for argument. You gasped, the pressure making it clear that this time, there was no escape.

"You never took me seriously," he murmured darkly, his lips brushing against your neck, sending heat coursing through you. "But I’m going to show you exactly how serious I can be."

Your breath hitched as his hand moved lower, tracing the lines of your body with a possessive touch, one that made it clear—he wasn’t playing around anymore. There was no teasing, no games. You had crossed the line, and Xiao was about to teach you the consequences of defying him.

"You’ll remember this," Xiao muttered, his voice filled with quiet dominance as he pressed you harder against the wall, his body leaving no space for resistance. "You’ll remember who you belong to."

Your heart raced, fear and something else—a darker, more dangerous thrill—mixing together as you realized just how far you had pushed him. Xiao wasn’t fucking around anymore.

And now, you were going to pay for it.

Your chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, your heart thundering against your ribs as you stared up at him, completely at his mercy. Letting out a quiet whimper at his gaze, you could feel heat pool in your core, inwardly groaning as his body pushed against yours, giving you no space to retreat or run. “Quiet, (name). Take your punishment.” He shot you a silent glare of disapproval as he fumbled clumsily at your pants.

You weren’t stupid, despite haven’t done this kind of thing before, but you knew what the Yaksha was trying to do, and was clear to your eyes. There was a flash of thought that crossed your mind that if Xiao was the one standing before you, and you weren’t pinned against a wall, you might have considered sharing your first with him.

Your body, however, was much more honest. As he freed your cock, it was already erect, as pearls of precum slid down your length, the cold night air graced your naked lower abdomen. Teeth chattering as the cold wind blew, it didn’t stop your cheeky mouth teasing him much to your regret later on, “Seems like the yaksha is quite the inexperienced one— Ah!” He gripped your dick forcefully, sending a shock of mixed sensations of pain and pleasure through your body. “You never shut up do you, mortal?” Xiao rebuked unhappily as he gingerly jerked your cock up and down, bringing about an onslaught of sheer pleasure and ecstasy that seemed to intertwine with each other.

Being a virgin yourself, it didn’t take for you to release, splattering ropes of white cum into his hand as you let out a strangled gasp. Your eyes widened as you felt Xiao's teeth graze your sensitive skin, a shudder running through your body. The combination of pleasure and discomfort had your nerves alight, every touch sparking a new wave of sensation.

"Nnh...haaah..." You whined, hips bucking involuntarily as you grinded down against the firm muscle of Xiao's thigh. The friction provided some respite, but it wasn’t enough to quell the ache building in your core.

“Stay still.” He let out a growl of frustration before biting down on your collarbone, fangs glinting in the moonlight, sunken into your sinewy skin. The bruising pain and burning pleasure felt indistinguishable as your mouth hung open with inaudible gasps escaping.

“You don’t listen,” he murmured darkly, his breath warm against the raw skin of your collarbone. His teeth released your skin, leaving the bruised, throbbing mark of his claim, the sting lingering like a brand. “You never listen.” His tongue flicked out to trace the bite, sending another wave of heat through your body.

Not intending to give you a break, his fingers thrust into your waiting hole, making you squirm and writhe, insides clenching around his fingers. “Hhn!” A gasp left your lips as you felt the fingers prodding a certain bundle of nerves, nudging it repeatedly until you was moaning incoherently. A little sob even escaped you, as your cock twitched, spurting white all over your own pelvis again. Your whole body quivered, eyes rolling to the back of your head as the stimulation didn’t cease, your breath came out in ragged gasps, each one more shallow than the last as your body trembled under his control.

The Yaksha’s name left your lips in a stutter.

The pleasure left you reeling in its wake like a tidal wave engulfing your body in full force. Tears began to decorate your eyes as you let out small hiccups and chokes from the merciless sensations that seemed to plague your fatigued body endlessly.

Xiao’s hand shifted from your ass to your chin, forcing you to look at him. His golden eyes bore into yours, sharp and unyielding. For a moment, something flickered in them—a recognition of the tears that now streamed down your face, glistening in the moonlight.

But his grip didn’t soften.

“Are you crying?” Xiao’s voice was rough, his words cutting through the haze between you. His thumb brushed against your cheek, smearing the tear across your skin. “After everything, you still don’t understand.”

“I’ll make you understand.” You let out a scream as he impaled you on his cock, the girthy length bullying his way into your insides, searing his shape into your walls. There was pain, yet most of it became pleasure as Xiao started to thrust in and out of your tightness. Inaudible, slurred cries escaped you as you hung your head low, body rocked back and forth as Xiao fucked you deep and slow. The tears kept falling, but you were helpless to stop them. Everything about this moment felt too intense, too overwhelming.

Half-sober, you muttered pleas and apologies from your hoarse throat amidst the obscene squelches of his cock kissing your walls repeatedly. “Too late.” He huffed a noncommittal sigh as he put your arms over his shoulders and carried your limp legs with his arms before driving his hips against yours with full force.

Your brain was mush at this point, barely registering anything as your overstimulated hole rapidly twitched and clenched around Xiao’s disappearing cock into your hole. Your cock let out pitiful drops of cum, if that could even be called that, as you had truly lost count on how many times you had climaxed simply from the sensation of his cock scraping against your sensitive walls.

You had truly paid a hefty price.

note: might have made him a little too intense here sry 😢 but i ran w it he’s tired w readers shit lol 😹

Reblogs are appreciated!

[moonyswoony]

A stitch in the heart

pairing: Diego hargreeves x reader

Summary: After Five’s betrayal you and Diego find unexpected comfort in each other.

Warning(s): making out, insults, humour

Your fingers trace the edge of the old, worn-out armchair, a painful reminder of all the moments you thought you once shared with him. A hollow feeling settles in your chest, and you can’t decide what hurts more—the betrayal or the fact that you actually hadn’t seen it coming.

The doorbell rings sharply, startling you from your thoughts. You hesitate before opening it, your heart sinking as you see Diego standing there. He had come straight from the Umbrella Academy’s chaotic mess, having heard about the situation from Klaus, who had filled him in on the details. Diego’s dark eyes are filled with frustration and concern as he steps into the apartment.

“I didn’t know he was that stupid,” Diego says, his voice rough with a mix of irritation and empathy. His short brown hair is slightly tousled, and his mustache gives him a rugged, determined look.

You scoff, biting back the tears that threaten to spill. “Neither did I. But hey, at least I’m not the one who’ll be dodging flying knives for a while.”

Diego’s jaw clenches, the muscles working under his skin as he processes your pain. He had always been the protector, the one to throw himself into danger without a second thought, but this was different. He couldn’t punch Five without making things worse—without hurting you even more.

“He’s an idiot,” Diego mutters, stepping closer. His presence is like a comforting weight, a reminder that not everyone in this messed-up world would abandon you. “And if he wasn’t, I’d be happy to throw him off a building for you.”

You look up at him, trying to find solace in his words, but the wound was too fresh, too deep. “You’re way too good at the ‘throwing people off buildings’ thing, Diego. I’d hate to see what you could do if you really put your mind to it.”

Diego’s jaw twitches into a reluctant smile. “Trust me, I’ve got a lot of practice. But this isn’t about me or Five or Lila. This is about you.”

“You mean it’s not about making sure Five ends up face-first in the dirt?” you ask, a hint of sarcasm in your voice.

He shakes his head, his expression serious again. “Look, I know you’re hurting. And I’m not saying Five isn’t a jerk—he is. But you don’t deserve to be dragged down by his mistakes.”

A heavy silence sits between you, filled with unspoken words and the shared history that ties you both to the people who had hurt you. Diego has his own scars, the ones Lila had left on his heart. He knew betrayal, maybe as well as you did.

“Lila…” you began, but Diego cuts you off.

“She’s not worth it,” he says sharply, his tone brooking no argument. “And neither is he.”

His words are a balm, a gentle reminder that you aren’t alone in your pain. You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day begin to lift, if only slightly.

Diego’s hand finally finds its way to your shoulder, a tentative touch that sends a shiver down your spine. His fingers, rough but warm, rest gently on your skin. “You don’t have to go through this alone, you know.”

You look up at him, really look at him. The scars, the bruises, the lines of worry etched into his features—Diego had always been there, in the background, watching out for you even when you didn’t realize it.

“I’m sorry about Lila,” you whisper, not really sure why you’re apologizing. Maybe because it feels like you should, because your pain is linked to his in a way you hadn’t expected.

Diego shakes his head, his expression softening. “Don’t be. That chapter’s over. Has been for a long time.”

There’s something in his eyes, something that made your heart skip a beat. He’s not lying, he had moved on. But from the way he’s looking at you, you wonder if he had been waiting for you to realize you needed to move on too.

And maybe… maybe with him.

“Diego,” you breathe, the air between you crackling with a sudden tension, a shift that makes your heart race for an entirely different reason.

His fingers tighten on your shoulder, his gaze dropping to your lips for the briefest moment before returning to your eyes. “If you ever want to forget about him,” he says, voice low and intense, “I’m right here.”

The world seemed to narrow down to the space between you, the inches that felt like miles. Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest. This was the Diego you knew so well—hotheaded, stubborn, fiercely loyal Diego. The man who had been by your side through thick and thin, who was willing to pick up the pieces of your heart when they fell apart.

You take a step closer, your hand coming up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palm. His eyes darken, and he leans in, his breath warm against your skin. The tension between you is palpable, like the air before a storm.

Then, as if on cue, he closes the gap between you two.

The kiss is urgent, his lips surprisingly soft as snow.It all feels like a desperate attempt to make something beautiful out of the wreckage of the day.

The kiss deepens, growing more fervent as you both lose yourselves in the heat of the moment. Diego’s hands roam to your back, pulling you impossibly closer, his embrace enveloping you completely. His lips move with a new, careful intensity, exploring your mouth with a touch of tenderness and need.

After a few moments, Diego pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes sparkle with a playful glint, and he gives a light-hearted chuckle. “You know,” he smirks “Before Lila came along and turned everything upside down, I actually had a crush on you.”

You look at him, surprised and amused. “Seriously? You had a crush on me?”

Diego nods, grinning. “Yep, and I guess I was so busy trying to play the tough guy that I didn’t realize honesty might’ve worked out better. But hey, Five and Lila didn’t exactly set the bar high, did they?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “True, true. It’s not like they made the most convincing case for keeping things simple.”

Diego chuckles, pulling you closer again. “Exactly. And honestly, if I’m better at anything, it’s being upfront about my feelings.”

You smile, feeling the warmth of his words and the comfort of his embrace. “I guess that’s something I can definitely appreciate.”

Diego leans in for another kiss, his lips brushing against yours with renewed fervor and for the first time in a while, the future feels like something worth fighting for.

[whorediaries-09]

hiii just saw your kinktober post and wanted to ask if i could request james potter x reader with “you’re not playing fair” with james in a whiny/desperate situation? maybe a little bit of a size kink thing too 🤭🤭

thank youuuu lovely <333

oh okay. it's not like i did not just drop on my knees.

stare into my soul;

pairing- james potter x reader warning(s)- 18+ content. a/n- big beefy james come save me 🫠

prompt- sizeplay + 'you're not playing fair.'

the diner. kinkotober masterlist. kinkotober rules.

it's the second time this week you've seen james semi-naked. in nothing but a towel around his waist. even in that spilt second your eyes fell on his body, you couldn't take your mind off of him. he'd been wet, with pellets of water dropping down his, across his brown skin. there had been tatted antlers on his lower stomach, climbing all the way to his stomach.

out of respect, you'd gotten out of the guest room as soon as you could.

no matter how much you wanted to sit and stare and devour his beauty, you knew you wouldn't- you shouldn't. after all, he was just your friend. a friend with whom you wore your heart on your sleeve. a friend for whom you pretended that you'd never been loved, trying to escape the rendezvous boozy nights he'd fucked you till the only thing that fell out your mouth was his name.

it had been just a few weeks since the incident. initially you'd thanked the great heavens that the things hadn't been awkward between the both of you...until it was. until you'd realized that your desire for him wasn't just lustful. it was more than that. you'd just tried to escape it by thinking fucking him would solve all your problems.

but they wouldn't. how could they? after sleeping with him, your nights had only gotten longer as you relished the way he touched you. the way he felt, so warm, so intimate and so much more than just a fling. you realized that you were ruined for any other person. you were made for him.

and he was made for you.

unconsciously, you thought about the night he'd fucked you. he had his fingers deep in you, his tongue lapping away at your clit like a starved man. as you were the only meal he'd ever be served. how the cold frames of his glasses touched your inner thighs, making you shake and writhe in pleasure. you'd pushed him closer to your dripping core by his curls, moaning his name.

thoughts were a dangerous thing. especially when you were thinking about someone who was present in the house at this very moment. he watched you stroke your swollen vulva with your short fingers. you couldn't really pleasure yourself the way he could, his thick, long fingers cutting you open for him.

you were moaning his name, rubbing small, pathetic circles on your clit. he felt the blood rush down to his cock. in a way, he was turned on. he was turned on by the idea that you couldn't really pleasure yourself, and you needed him when you were desperate. and he knew about your feelings too. he wasn't entirely stupid, however oblivious he might be. he'd felt your longing glances, gazing right through his body. he'd felt your warm and heated touch, the glassiness in your eyes when you'd walked in on him just after his shower.

a part of him thinks he should just watch from the ajar door. watch you as you try to pathetically pleasure yourself, aching for relief. but the primal part in him wants otherwise. he wants to walk into your room, pin your comparatively tiny body on the mattress, and fuck you till you're breathless. till you're spilling out your gut of secrets.

and he can't help it. he listens to the latter.

'thinking about me, love?' he asks. alcohol isn't present today to say it was just a drunken mistake. you're shocked. you're embarrassed. he thinks its adorable when you cover yourself with the blanket, as if you can hide yourself from him. he can see the blood rush under your skin and he moves closer to your bed.

'i-i'm sorry,' you say. he tuts.

'sorry for what, darling? i know your dirty little secret,' he says, sitting on the bed and throwing away the blanket, exposing your body to his hungry eyes. the sudden wave of cold hits your nipples and they harden against the thin fabric of the tank top you wear to sleep.

he moves towards you, watching as embarrassment makes way for expectancy. he's not going to give in just yet, no matter how hard his erected cock might hurt him against the cotton of his shorts. he takes your hand, the fingers that had been inside you not a minute ago, and places it on his tongue. he wraps his lips around your fingers, and moans at the taste,

'so sweet for me,' he praises. he sits down on the bed, back facing the hoverboard. he pulls you closer, making you straddle him on his big muscular thighs. you rub your wet bare cunt against his erection and he hisses.

'not now,' he says, even though he wants to plunge himself right into you. ram himself into you till you're begging for him to stop. but he won't. he knows it'll hurt you. he'll have to scissor you open, make you ready for his cock.

'please james,' you whine, 'i need you so bad,'

you're desperate for him. desperate to feel him when you're not drunk. when you're not high on liquid courage. you want to feel him inside you again, release himself deep into you. you want to watch his curls drip with sweat, his brown eyes roll as he does so.

'fuck, you look so pretty begging for me like that,' he groans. he trails his hand into your cunt, pushing his index and middle finger into you, and you let out a silent moan, mouth wide open with the sudden pleasure that dawns upon you. he curls his fingers, thumb on your clit, rubbing rough circles.

your core tightens with his actions. you feel like you'll topple over the edge with the orgasm that builds within you with each thrust and rub of his finger. it's as if he knows your body by heart.

he pulls out before you can release yourself, leaving you to the brim of an orgasm.

'you're not playing fair,' you whine. he chortles, pulling his shorts down.

'we'll see about who's playing fair,' he says, ramming his cock right into you. it's huge, filling you up so deep. you can almost feel it in your cervix. his large hand cups your belly.

'see this, sweetheart? my huge cock inside your belly? feel it,' he says, pulling out and then pushing into you again, 'so deep,'

you almost let out a cry with pleasure. you're numb with it, as he thrusts into you. gently. warmly. softly. as if he wants to memorize your body from inside out. he pulls your tank top over your head, his fingers circling your hardened, swollen nipples.

he pops his mouth onto your left one, sucking on it, his teeth slightly grazing the sensitive flesh. you groan at his action.

'fuck james,' you say as your core familiarly tightens again. your walls tighten around him. you feel the bubble grow within your belly. hard and tight. boiling over to the brim of pleasure begging to be released.

'cum?' he asks, his chest heavy as his thrusting grows erratic.

'yes,' you answer.

'together,' he says. it's not a question, it's a request. you nod, breathless. you're not able to get out any words.

then everything explodes. all at once. you reach your climax and he reaches his own. he fills you up to the brim, till there's no more to be pumped out. the both of your breaths are heavy against each others mouth, catching air to breath in.

then there's laughter. sweet, idiotic laughter. he nudges your forehead against his, lips brushing but not locked yet.

'sirius is going to kill us for ruining his sheets,' you chuckle heartily, feeling his cock grow soft inside you.

'i've got a feeling he arranged this long weekend so that we could finally confess to each other,'

his laughter rumbles against his chest before you've got your lips on his.

****************************************

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©whorediaries-09, 2024.

[loganhowlettshousewife]

animal

chapter 1

friendly reminder that i am not a writer, i'm just a girl who loves logan howlett and wanted to write something exploring his animalistic side since i so rarely see it done. my first language is also not english, so please do not be rude when giving me any feedback.

warnings: non-sexual nudity, swearing, some sexual-ish thoughts

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you had been baking a pie, rolling out the homemade dough for the crust, humming along with the soft music playing through the house, when through the open window you’d seen him. a large man, as naked as the day he was born, running towards your farm. you could only watch in numb shock as he went into your barn, now hidden from view.

what the fuck.

you haven’t been inside that barn in over a year. the farm belonged to your grandparents, and you’d inherited the property after they died. while you love the peace and quiet that came from living in the middle of nowhere, you aren’t a farm girl, so the barn went largely unused.

you think about just leaving the man alone, hoping that he’ll leave eventually.

you keep rolling out the dough, soothing repetitive motions, while you stare at the barn, expecting something else to happen. but nothing does. you almost think you made the man up in a moment of insanity.

it’s this that gets you to finally exit the house, anxiously heading towards the old barn with its creaking wood and chipped paint. you take a deep breath to prepare yourself before stepping inside, every nerve in your body screaming at you that this is a very bad idea. 

you’re both relieved and not when you see the man curled up in a corner. relieved, because you weren’t going insane, and not because, well, now you’re going to have to deal with this strange situation.

you take a step closer when he doesn’t lunge at you to attack, then immediately jump back at the gleaming metal claws that appear from between his knuckles. one second he seems mostly harmless - or at least as harmless as a buff, six foot tall man could be - and the next he’s growling at you, face twisted into a snarl, body tense and ready to pounce at the slightest wrong move.

“hi,” you say, softly, the way you were taught to speak to distressed animals. the man cocks his head to the side but doesn’t lunge at you, which you take as a good sign. “i won’t hurt you, promise. but i am curious to know what led you here.”

by here, you mean both the physical location of your house in the middle of nowhere but also whatever reason he has for running through said middle of nowhere naked. there’s some kind of story there, likely not a good one judging by the way he watches you distrustfully. you have a feeling he hasn’t had a good or easy life.

the man doesn’t answer, not that you really expected him to, but slowly his claws retreat back into his skin. he’s marginally less threatening like this, though you know the smallest thing could bring the sharp blades back out.

despite this, you don’t believe he’s a danger to you. he just seems scared and confused.

“are you hungry?” you ask him. again, he doesn’t answer, and you wonder if he’s able to speak. “okay, how about this, i’ll bring you food and you don’t have to eat it but you can. i’ll be right back.”

you don’t turn your back on the barn, on him, as you jog back into your house. it’s much warmer inside than it is in the barn - you were so distracted that you hadn’t been feeling the full effect of the early winter cold. you think of the man, he must be freezing, but you hadn’t seen any sign of it, no shivering, not even goosebumps raising on his skin.

one thing at a time, you tell yourself.

your half-finished pie is sitting discarded on the kitchen counter and you look at it mournfully. you’ll finish it later, and maybe you’ll actually have someone to enjoy it with you.

(it gets lonely sometimes, so far from any cities or towns. usually, you don’t mind it, but apparently there’s some small part of you that still desperately craves human contact and interaction, since you’re jumping at the chance to take care of a random stranger.)

you have leftovers in the fridge that you suppose will have to do, since making him a fresh, home-cooked meal would take time, and you’d promised to return hastily. you heat it up quickly, the warmth emanating from the food another reminder of the frigid temperature outside as you bring the plate into the barn. 

he looks up when you enter, sniffing the air like a dog. it’s cute, and you smile as you put the plate down, careful not to get too close to him, letting him make the first move.

whether he trusts you or he’s just starving you don’t know, but he rushes to your side and starts eating like he hasn’t had food in a month. with him distracted and closer to you, you can get a better look at him. 

he doesn’t look malnourished. he’s buff, muscular and hairy, and you have to stop your eyes from going lower as you stare at his chest.

you look away despite the man being too distracted to notice your shameless ogling. he might be the hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life - or you’ve just been away from men for too long and have become pathetic.

he eats quickly, and looks up expectantly at you when he finishes, like a dog at their owner. you giggle at the comparison you’ve made in your head - it’s quite accurate, you find, with the way he immediately seems to trust you now that you’ve fed him.

“do you wanna go inside? it’s pretty cold out here, and inside i have more food.” you say, and when you go to stand up so does he. you explicitly do not look down.

he follows you into your house, and you’re so glad you live alone so there’s no one to question whatever is happening.

it’s easy to find extra clothes in the guest room, less easy to find any that you think will fit him. eventually, you give up, hoping the sweatpants you found will do for now, and grab one of your own shirts, thankful for your habit of buying oversized men’s t-shirts. it goes down to your thighs, surely it’ll fit him.

you turn to head back into the living room where you left him, and your soul nearly leaves your body when you spot him standing at the door. you yelp, your hand flying to your chest and the clothes falling to the ground.

he startles at the noise, tensing and looking around like he expects danger. 

“shit,” you swear, “how are you so quiet?”

he frowns, and you could swear that he seems apologetic, though you aren’t sure how accurate your interpretations of his facial expressions are given that you’ve only known him for about an hour. it makes you feel a little guilty, though really you shouldn’t be since he snuck up on you.

you’re about to offer him the clothes when you pause, gaze locked on his chest. “you should shower.”

he follows you when you lead him to the bathroom, which you take as agreement on his part. he’s dirty, covered everywhere by a thin layer of dirt. a shower will feel good. it would also give you time to process this without him watching you. his eyes are quite intense, and he keeps them directed at you. you need the privacy to freak out.

it’s only after you place the clothes down on the countertop and show him how the knobs in your shower work that you realise he’s not making any moves to enter the shower. you start to leave the bathroom and he takes a step to follow you.

you stop, thinking about how he doesn’t seem to know how to speak, how he looked so scared and confused when you’d found him, and you sigh when you realise it’s likely he doesn’t know how to use a shower either.

what is your story? you think to yourself.

“do you want help?” is what you ask instead.

he nods slowly, which is the closest you’ve gotten to a response from him so far. you look up at the ceiling, inhaling deeply and bracing yourself when you realise this means you’re going to have to touch the hot, naked man.

you turn on the shower, waiting for it to warm up before you motion for the man to get in. you are absolutely not willing to get naked in the shower with a stranger whose name you don’t even know, so you step in fully clothed, already regretting it when you feel the fabric growing wet and sticking to your skin.

it’s as you’re helping rinse the dirt off him that you spot the writing on his dog tags. you’d noticed them previously but hadn’t been able to get a good look. 

you take the metal chain in your hand, turning it to read the name stamped into the metal.

“logan,” you read, and the man in front of you purrs, a low rumble in his throat. you smile. “i’m going to guess that’s your name. logan.”

this seems to relax the last dredges of tension that he holds. he practically melts into you, and the feeling of being trusted so fully by someone who seems so broken warms your heart in a way that you haven’t felt in years.

you finish washing him up in silence, only interrupted by occasional soft purrs and hums from logan. he quite enjoys it when you wash his hair, hands reaching up to scrub shampoo into the strands, nails scratching at his scalp. you switch your earlier comparison from a dog to a cat, the purring reminding you of the kitten you had growing up.

he shakes his head when he gets out of the shower, water flying everywhere, and you laugh as you hand him a towel. you once again have to help him when he just stares at it like he doesn’t know what to do with it.

he gets dressed on his own, thankfully, since you already feel like you might implode from being in such close quarters with an extremely attractive, wet, nude man for so long. 

you leave him for a minute to dry yourself off and change into dry clothes. it’s nice to have a moment of reprieve, where you can simply breathe and process and question what the fuck you just got yourself into. you finally allow yourself to freak out a tiny bit, muttering to yourself in the mirror, tugging at your hair.

you just manage to pull a shirt over your head when you hear quiet whimpering at the door and the sound of loud banging against it.

your heart breaks at the sound, reminded of the wounded animals your grandparents would nurse back to health, and you rush to pull some pants on so you can open the door. logan looks at you with the most devastated eyes and then falls into you, face nudging into your neck, inhaling deeply. you stumble back, thankful for the wall that catches you. he’s heavier than he looks, which is saying something, given his size.

you’re shocked for a moment, frozen, but quickly come back to yourself and place your hands on his firm back.

“i’m sorry,” you say, “i didn’t mean to scare you. i wasn’t going to leave you, i just needed privacy for a moment.”

you don’t know if he understands anything you’re saying but it makes you feel better to explain yourself. you’re shocked that this is the same man who was snarling at you, claws out and ready to rip your throat out not so long ago, shocked at how quickly he’s grown attached to you.

shocked at how quickly you’ve grown attached to him, too. then again, you’ve always been this way. you like to help people, and logan seems like a man who needs a lot of help.

“i was baking a pie, when i saw you,” you tell him, “how about we go finish that? you don’t have to leave my side. you can watch me and i’ll teach you all my secrets.”

and as you expected, he follows you into the kitchen, trailing after you like a lost puppy. normally, you hate having anyone else in the kitchen with you, getting in your way when you’re in the zone, but his presence is nice. he doesn’t speak, doesn’t distract you or get in your way, just stands and watches you intently.

you’re already used to having him here with you, comfortable enough to turn your back to him. it’s crazy, and a (big) part of you knows that this isn’t exactly a smart thing to do, but you’re already planning on letting him stay for as long as he needs, maybe even forever.

taglist: @mystiquesvendetta @raeinyourdreams

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Ghost & König’s Reaction to You in a Maid Outfit

Warnings: 18+ (just to be safe), Implied Sexual Content, Rough Ghost & König, Dominant Ghost & König, Lashing (with a Belt), Restraining, Victim Blaming (Kind Of), Petnames, König is Basically Feral™, Implied Oral, Threats, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.

Ghost

Comes up behind you when you’re idling with something and straight-up just sticks his hand up your skirt.

He pulls you to his chest when you jump, squeal, taking advantage of your flailing to hook the band of your underwear and pull them down your thighs.

Confused, you’re given no time to react before Ghost has your hands pinned behind your back, held in place with handcuffs of bone, flesh and pure muscle as he shunts you against the countertop, something protruding – intruding – hard against your exposed centre as he presses himself tightly against you.

Your cheek pressed against the cold surface, you barely see or hear Ghost between your startled breaths, feeling only a shadow come over you as he leans down to your ear, his free hand slithering from your back to your face, where he slips a lock of hair from your vision.

“Did’ya really think you could get away with wearing this,” he said, low, dangerous, his hand coming to grip the hem of your skirt.

“Without consequences ?”

You can feel his hand on your thigh now, gripping the skin hard enough to leave a pale imprint of his lust. Fingers slithering up the expanse of your leg, resting just beneath where you’ll be screaming for him to have mercy half an hour from now.

It doesn’t matter what you do or say now – not that you can or will be able to do much of either with your arms bound and Ghost occupying your mouth with a meat delicacy you can’t buy over a counter (despite that being where you are now, ironically) in about ten minutes’ time..

“The time for apologies is over, Darling,” he tells you. You wince when you hear his belt hissing as he slides it from his jeans, the material crinkling in his grip as if the creature it hailed from was still alive.

And he cracks it. Once. Twice. Against your bare thighs, making you cry out, your stockings having withered under Ghost’s harsh stare.

“All you can do now is repent.”

König

Lures you into a false sense of security with low, soft praises of “How beautiful you look, Engel !” And “Won’t you come closer so I can have a better look at you ?”

By the time you may suspect something in König’s tone is unusually jovial, it’s too late.

You missed the feral glint in his eye, the shattering grip he had on his wine glass, discarded as he turns his attention to you now.

Before you can even wonder what it is he’s thinking, you’re slammed onto the sofa, König sinking down on top of you, his hands steel around your wrists as he holds them beside your head.

And now, you see it.

All at once, and entirely too late.

A predatory possession of all that was your kind, mild-mannered, sensitive König, replaced with a shadowed imitation, blackened by an almost supernatural depth of desire none but he could execute to its fullest potential.

And it shows in how his breathing is ragged despite you posing no real physical test to his strength. Rather, there’s something within trying to break free. And it has you in its sights.

Leaning down, König takes the skin of your neck between his teeth, biting it, sucking it, leaving a path of destruction in his wake as your skin reddens. There will be bruises soon.

Not that König will be letting anyone else see them. You’ll be lucky if you’re able to even leave the bedroom, nevermind the house.

That much is apparent to you in how König growls when you move, try to slip your constricted wrists into some position of comfort, making him clamp down on top of you, his thighs gripping your sides, your ribcage a shell in his vice.

“Don’t try anything cute, Engel,” König husks, voice deep and feral. His pupils are pinpricks, unhinged in a most biological manner. And his teeth seem sharper now. Somehow.

“Or I may be forced to try something unorthodox with you.”

The bulge between his legs, one which he presses to the sensitive spot between yours, tells you he’s deadly serious. If his killing smile wasn’t enough.

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Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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[goldengirliez]

TIPSY MIKEY. We all stan a cute, tipsy Mikey.

09:53 pm

Nighttime is the most amazing part of the day. You can give yourself the attention you deserve, taking care of yourself, watching your favourite show, preparing a nourishing meal... All of this after the frenzy of the day, the heat of the city, the infinite traffic jams, and the overwhelmingness of your daily job.

Once you get your favourite shirt covering you up, you can't help but sigh contently, letting the perfume of the clothing fill your nostrils, the softness of the cotton fabric gently caressing your skin and the white colour of the tissue soothes your tired eyes.

His shirts are always your anchor after a long day when you haven't been able to meet. After a whole week you and your boyfriend, Mikey, haven't been able to meet because of his busy schedule due to an upcoming race and you being buried deep down the pit of work and hectic everyday life.

Just when you're about to get into the covers and call it a day, some motherfucker dares to ring the bell of your apartment, knocking at your door mercilessly. It's almost 10 pm, who could it possibly be?!

Stomping your feet towards the door of your apartment, you rub your eyes in a pissed manner, the lotion you put on your face earlier slightly oiling the tip of your fingers. When you open the door with a frustrated sigh, your eyes go from annoyed to surprised in less than two seconds. You surely didn't expect to find Draken, Mikey's best friend since the old days and a member of his racing team, looking at you apologetically while holding your boyfriend on his back, piggyback style.

You don't question him, despite wanting to do so, and let the beefy man in. He drops Mikey on your couch and he yelps, whining a slurred and slightly annoyed "Ken-chinnnnn".

You and Draken share a look that says it all: he was drunk, dead-drunk, cockeyed.

"A week is left before the big day, everyone wanted to meet up before having to go all in until the race day" Drake sighs and scratches the back of his head.

You have never seen him so shy, he must be quite tipsy too but you decide not to point that out, showing mercy for his virility.

"I'm sorry about this- he kept on blabbering about how much he missed you so I thought this was the best thing to do".

Of course, it is. Mikey's addicted to you. He loves you so much and every time he can't meet you even for a short period, not being able to hold you close and pepper your face in kisses, he loses it and does stupid things like... Getting drunk with his friends.

You can feel a sudden weight on your shoulder, strong arms wrapping around your waist like a snake and a stinging smell of mixed alcohol make its way through your senses.

Mikey's cheek is squished against your shoulder and he looks at you with big, doe onyx orbs and sweet, plump pouty lips.

His obsidian hair is a bit messy, and his cheek is slightly rosy due to his tipsiness.

You could devour him. He looks so adorable.

"Babyyy, is this really you? Fuck– I've missed you so much" winey voice and teary eyes. He always acts like a child whenever he's drunk and that never fails to put your heart in danger because of cuteness overload.

"You did great Draken, I'll take care of him, thank you for bringing him here" you smile at your boyfriend's best mate and motion him to go before Mikey throws off a tantrum on how much he had missed you and how you should have answered to his messages more often.

Just when he gets out you sigh and look at your boyfriend who's snuggling against you (probably because he's not even capable of standing still by himself), caressing your warm skin with the tip of his nose.

“Why haven't you answered any of my calls today, baby?”

It is surprising how his voice rings in your years, shaking your very core: his slurred and childish words from before have been completely replaced by a deep, low and shy whisper. He sounds pained.

You can feel the warmth of his muscles flex on your abdomen as he brings you closer to him until your back is touching his toned chest. His heart is thrumming against his ribcage, you can feel it.

“Can't focus on anything without hearing from you for so long… I get worried too, ya know?”

Your Manjiro has always been this way, whenever he got tipsy, he would always become more clingy, whinier and vulnerable.

Despite this, his charm is undeniable and you can't help but pend from his lips when his words flow effortlessly like the smoothest cream. Listening to him and absorbing his body heat is like indulging in the sweetest thing you might ever taste.

He doesn't do it on purpose, such antics become natural when he's with you: your magnecticity touches every cell of his body and makes it act on its own, getting on the right frequency just because you are there.

You're everything he needs and all he has always had.

You can't blame him for behaving like this, like the lovestruck man he is.

“I’m so sorry, ‘jiro, I've been busy… but I'll make it up to you, okay?”

His body weight leans more towards you as he mutters a slurred ‘you better'. Despite wanting to sound pissed, the smile on his face is clear as day even if his face is hidden in the curve on your neck. His satisfied tone betrays him: maybe wearing one of his shirts was a start to make up for the lost time already.

As your hand smoothes over his liquorice locks you can feel a damp, hot sensation on your neck: his hot breath reaches your skin as he kisses it in both relief and contentment, exciting your nostrils with a pungent hint of alcohol.

Once your hands make contact with his back in a fluid, circular motion, you can feel Mikey's muscles tense and melt in your hold in less than a few seconds: you prepared him a warm bath to help him ease up his paranoia about “you avoiding him” and wash off that nauseous smell of liquor that was making you sick.

The water ripples underneath his body, circular little waves expand and dissolve among the warm water whenever he moves.

Letting the fragrance of the oils and the body wash hug his senses, filling his thoughts with your gentle hand scratching his scalp deliciously with the tip of your fingers and your idyllic voice that echoes through the bathroom walls he feels at peace.

He breathes in deeply every time, his toned chest rises and falls at a slow pace and the droplets of water kiss every inch of the skin for you, sliding down his muscles deliciously.

With his eyes gently closed and his silky, obsidian hair sticking to his forehead slightly, he looks like a greek god, just for you to be blessed with.

You can't help but sigh happily as his consciousness clears up with every passing minute: he starts to make more coherent sentences, talking to you about his week and complaining about his team that put his life in such a hectic frenzy for the upcoming race that he hardly had time to check up on you.

“The only way I thought I could see you was by taking advantage of this dinner: I mean, no one wants to deal with a drunk, complaining pain the ass before the race, yeah? They had to let me come here, I'm a genius!”

You love him for that.

The soft thuds that jog up the stairs are unmistakable: as Mikey reaches your room and opens the door, you are already waiting for him in the bed, keeping the sheets warm for him, and making a comforting nest for his arrival.

He insisted that you wait for him upstairs as he brushed his teeth and dressed up, claiming that he wasn't that tipsy to be looked out for like the big baby he is.

Let's give him credit for that, he was right.

His face seems to be sparking under the warm light of your abatjour, the freshness of his body reaches your nose more and more as he walks closer to the bed, inching towards your face so you can breathe in and taste the minty scent of his mouth onto yours with a sloppy kiss.

When your hand guides its way on his collarbone, tickling his damp skin with your palm, he wastes no time hovering over your frame completely and crushing his weight on top of you, making the soft mattress sink lower underneath your bodies.

Even if Mikey has always had a quite smaller frame compared to other guys, he never fails to knock the breath off your lungs when he catches you by surprise. He might have a thing for that small puff of air that leaves your chest unexpectedly, making you yelp in such a delightful tone… but he would never admit that out loud. Where would the fun be otherwise?

Snuggling against your body, you can feel the tip of his nose playfully rub against your cheek as he kisses your jaw with a small movement of his mouth, the softest flower petals caressing your tender skin graciously.

Useless to say that you'll sleep in that position for the whole night and you have no room to argue, not when your man starts to mindlessly mumble sweet nonsense under his breath and ask questions about your week until late that night.

Mikey's head is still a bit fuzzy, his senses don't connect down on earth fully due to the fragmentary memories of the embarrassing, confused events that happened that night tormenting his subconscious, but he doesn't care: as long as your voice lulls him to sleep, all his repressed pre-race anxieties melt away; every fear of having missed out on a big event of your life that week dissolves into thin air; every inch of the emptiness that your absence brought fills up gradually, leaving him giddy inside.

He doesn't deny it, Manjiro admits that he can be whiney, childish and reckless (idiotic actually): getting drunk and causing a scene at the restaurant, screaming at the waiter because he didn't receive a flag on his entrecôte and spilling the carafe of wine on the white table cloth in front of the team before falling from the chair wasn’t the best idea to get him to your house, especially since he's an emergent public figure in the motorcycle racing industry.

But, honestly, that's all worth it if he gets to spend time with you once again, babying him the way he deserves.

English isn't my first language so I apologise for any mistakes!

This has been in my drafts for way too long, so I decided to finish it– I'm not that proud of the outcome but I hope it brought a smile on your face regardless!

Sending y'all hugs. ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

©GOLDENGIRLIEZ do not repost or modify on any platform.

[furuu]

I looooooooove the way you write shark Sukuna (///▽///) Can I get a part 2 of them interacting again? They both seem like they’re equally curious about each other so maybe they can show each other how they show affection? Thanks! (⁎⁍̴̛ᴗ⁍̴̛⁎)

𐔌 . ⋮ The days following your encounter with Sukuna were filled with an almost unbearable curiosity. You couldn't stop thinking about him—the way his presence seemed to fill the entire ocean, the strange gentleness beneath his predatory nature. It was unsettling, but also… intriguing. You hadn’t told anyone about him, about what happened in those waters, and somehow, it felt like your secret. Something between the two of you.

And you were drawn back, once again.

You found yourself diving in the same spot, heart thumping with anticipation as you ventured deeper into the water. Part of you wondered if he’d show himself again. If he was waiting. If he had even been thinking about you. The ocean felt eerily calm, almost as if it was holding its breath along with you.

Then, as if the water itself responded to your thoughts, a familiar shift occurred. A ripple, a pull in the current—and suddenly, Sukuna was there, materializing out of the deep, his massive form effortlessly cutting through the ocean toward you.

“Back so soon?” His voice rumbled through the water, dark and smooth, but there was no mockery this time. His two sets of crimson eyes locked onto you, and you felt the weight of his gaze, his curiosity palpable.

He circled you again, like a shark sizing up its prey, though there was no danger in his movements. It felt more like a dance, a silent communication that neither of you fully understood but were eager to explore.

“I knew you’d come back,” Sukuna murmured, his smirk still in place, but his eyes betrayed a deeper interest. “Humans are always drawn to danger.”

“Maybe it’s not the danger,” you replied, surprising even yourself with the boldness in your voice. Sukuna’s brow raised slightly, amusement flickering in his crimson gaze. He floated in front of you now, his massive body blocking out the light as his tail swayed gently behind him.

“If not the danger,” Sukuna purred, his claws brushing lightly against your arm, “then what?”

You hesitated for a moment, but the truth slipped out before you could stop yourself. “Maybe… it’s you.”

For a brief second, something flickered in Sukuna’s eyes—surprise, maybe? But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual smirk. Still, his touch softened, his fingers trailing gently down your arm in a way that sent shivers through your body.

“You really are a strange little diver,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “Humans fear me. They flee. But not you.”

Sukuna’s gaze lingered on you, his eyes narrowing as if he were contemplating something deeper. Then, in a slow, deliberate motion, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispered, “Do you even understand what you’re playing with?”

You felt a tremor run through your body at the intimacy of his words, but instead of fear, there was only a strange warmth. The water around you seemed to pulse with his presence, the currents shifting gently as his tail brushed against your legs again, circling you in an almost protective manner.

"I think so,” you whispered back, your voice barely audible in the water.

Sukuna chuckled lowly, a dark, rumbling sound that vibrated through the ocean. “Interesting,” he murmured, his clawed hand coming up to gently cup your cheek, his touch surprisingly tender for a creature of such power.

For a moment, you simply floated there together, the tension between you building in the silence. Then, as if deciding to push the boundaries further, you reached out and lightly touched Sukuna’s arm, your fingers grazing his skin. His eyes snapped to yours, his body stilling for a moment as he watched you closely, as if trying to gauge your intentions.

You smiled softly, your heart pounding in your chest. “How do you show affection?”

The question seemed to catch Sukuna off guard. His brows furrowed slightly, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d overstepped. But then, a low, almost contemplative hum rumbled through his chest, and his gaze softened—just a fraction.

“You want to know how I show affection?” he repeated, his voice quieter now, more serious.

You nodded, feeling the weight of his gaze on you. “I’m curious.”

Sukuna’s lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. “I’ll show you.”

Without warning, Sukuna’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer to his massive body. His tail coiled around your legs, holding you in place as his claws lightly grazed your back. But instead of the cold, predatory touch you expected, there was a surprising gentleness in his movements. His chest rumbled softly against you, almost like a purr, as he held you close.

His eyes, all four of them, watched you intently, gauging your reaction. And when you didn’t pull away, didn’t flinch, Sukuna leaned in, his lips brushing lightly against your forehead—a strange, almost tender gesture coming from someone like him.

“This,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a low growl, “is how I show affection.”

You felt your breath hitch at the intimacy of the moment, your heart racing in your chest. Sukuna’s claws continued to trail lightly down your back, his tail tightening just slightly around your legs as if to keep you close. There was a possessiveness in his touch, but it wasn’t suffocating. It was protective, like he was claiming you in some quiet, unspoken way.

And yet, beneath all the power and danger, there was a surprising warmth. Sukuna’s touch, his presence—it wasn’t just about dominance or control. There was something deeper there, something more vulnerable. He was sharing a part of himself with you, something he rarely showed to anyone.

You smiled softly, leaning into his touch, and without thinking, you placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. Sukuna stilled for a moment, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. But then, a low, rumbling chuckle escaped his lips, and his grip on you tightened just a little.

“You’re a bold one,” he murmured, amusement flickering in his eyes. “I like that.”

He pulled back slightly, his eyes scanning your face as if trying to read your thoughts. Then, with a small, almost reluctant smile, he let out a soft sigh. “You’re different,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“And I’ll be keeping an eye on you, little diver. Don’t stray too far.”

With that, he released you from his hold, his tail slowly unwinding from your legs as he floated back slightly. But before he could swim away, you reached out and gently took his hand, surprising him once again.

“And what about me?” you asked softly. “How do you think I show affection?”

Sukuna tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “You’re the human,” he murmured. “Show me.”

You smiled, your heart pounding in your chest as you leaned in, placing a soft, lingering kiss on Sukuna’s cheek. His eyes widened ever so slightly, and for a brief moment, you saw a flicker of something softer in his gaze—something that made your heart race even more.

When you pulled back, Sukuna stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. But then, a slow, dangerous smile spread across his lips, and his eyes gleamed with that same dangerous curiosity.

“Interesting,” he muttered, his voice low and amused. “Very interesting.”

With one final glance, Sukuna turned and swam away, disappearing into the depths of the ocean. But as he vanished from sight, you couldn’t help but feel a strange warmth in your chest—a feeling that maybe, just maybe, you’d see him again.

And the next time, things might be even more interesting .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

[dandelions-143]

Stalking - Jisung

Kinktober Masterlist

Word Count: 3450

PLEASE READ WARNINGS

Warnings: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, Non-consensual sexual content, Stalking, Bondage, Forced orgasm, Dubious consent, Mild violence, Explicit sexual content

No summary just smut under the cut

The thunder rumbles, a deep, resonant sound that reverberates through your chest. Rain lashes against the expansive bay windows, obscuring the view of the dense forest beyond. Suddenly, a bolt of lightning illuminates the night sky, its brilliant flash revealing a chilling sight - a dark, looming figure standing just outside your windows. Your breath catches in your throat as you realize: he's always watching you.

Your body reacts instinctively to his presence. Your heart races, pounding against your ribcage as if trying to escape. Your breathing becomes rapid and shallow, each breath a struggle against the tightness in your chest. A cold sweat breaks out across your skin, your palms growing clammy. You clench your fists at your sides, desperately trying to control the trembling that courses through your body. It's a familiar reaction, one that overtakes you every time you catch a glimpse of him, no matter how many times you've seen him before.

But what truly unsettles you is not the fear - it's the conflicting emotions that surge through you:

Excitement..Arousal…

You know it's not normal, this liquid fire that courses through your veins at the mere sight of him. Your mind screams danger, but your body betrays you with every quickened heartbeat, every shallow breath. He's been a constant presence for months now, a shadow at the edge of your vision, never approaching, yet never truly absent. Always watching, always waiting. And despite every rational thought, a part of you wonders... what would happen if he finally decided to come closer?…

You've begun to put on little shows for him, teasing him, taunting him. Tonight, you're walking around in nothing but a tiny light blue thong and a black tank top that clings to your curves. Your nipples harden against the thin fabric as you imagine his eyes roaming over your body. It's like you're daring him to come closer, to finally make his move. But what would you really do if he did? The thought sends a jolt of fear through your already rapidly beating heart, but at the same time, you can feel the slickness growing between your folds, your body betraying your conflicted desires.

Your stalker has been in your house before, leaving little tokens of his obsession. A single red rose on your pillow, a handwritten note describing how beautiful you looked that day, always reminding you that he can come and go as he pleases. Yet, you've never seen him face to face. The thought both terrifies and thrills you, sending shivers down your spine. As your mind wanders, your feet seem to have a will of their own, carrying you towards the windows where you know he's waiting.

The man's face is shrouded in darkness, his black hood pulled low over his head. You can only make out the slight curve of his lips - full and sensual. An unbidden image flashes through your mind: those lips on yours, on your neck, trailing down your body. You imagine sucking on that bottom lip, hearing him groan with pleasure. The vivid fantasy snaps you out of your trance, heat rising to your cheeks.

When your stalker slowly smiles at you, a cocky grin spreading across his face, you force yourself to wrench your lips up in disgust. You flip him the bird, your heart pounding as you wonder if he can see through your act. With a deliberate sway of your hips, you saunter off to your bedroom, feeling his eyes burning into your back.

You may secretly revel in his attention, may crave the dangerous thrill he brings to your life, but he will never know that. Never. Or so you tell yourself, even as your body aches for his touch and your mind races with forbidden fantasies.

Later that night, your sleep is restless. You toss and turn, plagued by vivid nightmares of a faceless man pursuing you through endless dark corridors. In your dreams, his footsteps echo behind you, always getting closer no matter how fast you run. The terror feels suffocatingly real, your subconscious mind blurring the lines between nightmare and reality.

Suddenly, a rough sensation around your wrist begins to pull you from the depths of your nightmare. It's as if you're swimming up through murky waters, struggling to reach the surface of consciousness. The fog of sleep still clings to your mind as you feel a similar tightness encircle your other wrist. Your body tenses instinctively, a primal part of your brain recognizing danger before your conscious mind can fully process what's happening.

As awareness slowly seeps back into your body, you become acutely aware of several unsettling sensations. The cool air of your bedroom kisses your exposed skin, raising goosebumps along your arms and legs. You realize with a jolt that the comforting weight of your blanket is gone, leaving you feeling vulnerable and exposed. A shiver runs through you, part cold and part fear.

Your face feels strangely tight, as if something is stretched across your mouth. When you try to open your eyes, they feel heavy, reluctant to obey your commands. It's then that you feel it - rough, calloused hands sliding along the sides of your torso. The touch is both foreign and intimately familiar, sending conflicting signals of fear and arousal through your body. Your nipples harden into painful little buds, a mixture of the cool air and unwanted stimulation.

That final sensation is what jolts you fully awake. Your eyes fly open, adjusting quickly to the darkness of your bedroom. The first thing you see is a dark figure looming over you, settled ominously between your spread legs. Panic surges through you like electricity, and you instinctively try to scream. But no sound comes out - your mouth is sealed shut, likely with tape based on the tightness you felt earlier.

As the fog of sleep finally clears, the horrifying reality of your situation becomes apparent. You're bound to your own headboard with thick, rough rope that bites into your wrists when you struggle. And the stalker who has haunted your thoughts for months is no longer just a shadow outside your window - he's here, in your room, his weight pressing down on you as he drinks in the sight of your restrained form.

He's kneeling between your legs, your eyes wide with panicked fear. You begin to struggle frantically, pulling harshly at the confining ropes. Your legs kick wildly, and you buck your hips in a desperate attempt to throw him off. But he's too strong, his muscular thighs easily pinning your legs down. You can feel the raw power in his body as he holds you in place, your efforts seemingly futile against his strength.

Despite your relentless fight, you only succeed in rubbing your skin raw against the coarse ropes. Your wrists burn from the friction, adding to your growing distress. "You're a persistent little thing," he says, his voice a deep, velvety rumble that sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. There's a slight accent to his words, one you can't quite place. It's exotic and alluring, and to your horror, you feel a treacherous clench in your pussy despite your fear. "Let me go!" you scream, but the tape muffles your words into an unintelligible plea.

Your stalker sits back slightly, his weight shifting on the bed. With deliberate slowness, he reaches up and removes his hood, finally revealing his face to you. In the dim light of your bedroom, his features come into sharp focus. His skin is smooth and tanned. His lips are full and pink, the bottom one slightly more prominent, giving him an almost pouty look. But it's his eyes that capture you - big and brown, they seem to glow with an inner light, filled with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

His hair is longer than you expected, falling in messy waves around his face. It softens his features, giving him an almost boyish charm that contrasts sharply with the dangerous situation. You're struck by the realization that he's beautiful - hauntingly, dangerously beautiful. A small, traitorous part of your mind whispers that if this man had approached you like a normal person and asked you out, you would have said yes without hesitation. The thought sends a confusing mix of emotions coursing through you.

He leans forward again, his large hands coming to rest on your hips. The warmth of his skin against yours sends a jolt through your body, like electricity arcing between you. His touch is firm but not painful, his rough palms creating a delicious friction against your sensitive skin. You tremble uncontrollably, your body's reaction a mix of fear and unwanted arousal. The weight of his hands seems to anchor you to the bed, making you acutely aware of your vulnerability and his control over you.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your thong, and a fresh wave of panic washed over you. You thrashed wildly, your body twisting and turning in a desperate attempt to escape. But your efforts were futile against his superior strength. With a sharp tug, he ripped the delicate fabric from your body, the sound of tearing material echoing in the quiet room.

Your chest heaved with ragged breaths as he forcefully spread your thighs wide, exposing your most intimate parts to his hungry gaze. The cool air hits your exposed flesh, making you acutely aware of your vulnerability. You squeezed your eyes shut, tears of fear and frustration leaking from the corners as you realized how powerless you were to stop what was happening.

Your stalker's eyes rake over your exposed body, his gaze lingering on the glistening folds of your pussy. A predatory smile spread across his face as he licked his lips, the sight sending a shiver of both fear and unwanted arousal through you.

"Such a pretty little pussy," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "I've dreamed of this moment for so long. I can't wait to taste you, to feel you quivering against my tongue." His words sent a jolt of electricity through your core, your body betraying you with a rush of wetness. He noticed, his smile widening as he continued, "I'm going to make you crave my touch. You'll never be satisfied with anyone else after tonight."

You whimpered behind the tape, torn between fear and a growing, unwanted desire. Your mind raced with conflicting emotions as you realized this night was about to change everything.

As your struggles intensified, your stalker's grip on your legs tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh. With a forceful motion, he pushed your legs even wider apart, nearly folding you in half. The position left you completely exposed, your throbbing clit and glistening folds fully on display. You felt utterly vulnerable, your most intimate areas open to his hungry gaze.

His eyes darkened with a mix of lust and anger as he watched you squirm. "Listen carefully, little one," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "The more you fight me, the worse your punishment will be. I can make this night pleasurable for you, or I can make it exquisitely painful. The choice is yours."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, fear and unwanted arousal warring within you. You tried to still your movements, but your body trembled uncontrollably, torn between the instinct to flee and the growing heat pooling in your core.

Without warning, he leaned his head between your thighs, his hot breath fanning across your sensitive flesh. Your body tensed in anticipation, a mix of fear and forbidden excitement coursing through you. Then, with agonizing slowness, he dragged his tongue up between your folds, savoring your juices.

A muffled whimper escaped from behind the tape as the warmth of his tongue sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more of that sinful touch despite your mind's protests. "Mmm," he hummed against your flesh, the vibrations adding to the overwhelming sensations. "You taste even better than I imagined. So sweet, so perfect."

His words, filled with dark desire, sent another rush of wetness to your core. To your horror and shame, you found your hips lifting slightly, silently begging for more of his touch. Your body was betraying you, craving the very thing your mind feared.

Jisung, your stalker smirked at your reaction, knowing just how much you secretly wanted this. His tongue expertly swirled around your clit before he began to suck relentlessly on it. Your eyes rolled back in your head, overwhelmed by the intense pleasure. A muffled moan escaped from behind the tape as your body arched involuntarily. Your thighs trembled, caught between the urge to close around his head and the ropes keeping them spread wide. The conflicting sensations of fear and arousal intensified, leaving you dizzy and breathless.

Jisung's hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as he continued his merciless assault on your sensitive flesh. His tongue alternated between broad, flat strokes and quick, precise flicks, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. Despite your best efforts to resist, you found yourself grinding against his face, desperately seeking more friction.

Suddenly, Jisung reached up and ripped the tape off your mouth in one swift motion. The sharp sting made you gasp, your lips tingling as they were finally freed. "I want to hear every sound you make," he growled, his eyes dark. In that moment of newfound freedom, your survival instincts kicked in. You took a deep breath and screamed at the top of your lungs, "HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME!" Your voice was hoarse and raw, but you poured all your desperation into the cry.

Jisung's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed dangerously. In a flash, his hand clamped over your mouth, muffling your screams. "That wasn't very smart, little one," he hissed, his voice low and threatening. "Now I'll have to punish you." You thrashed beneath him, trying to bite his hand, but his grip was too strong. Your heart raced as you realized your attempt at fighting back had only made things worse. Fear and adrenaline coursed through your veins as you wondered what punishment he had in store for you.

Jisung leaned back down, sucking your clit back into his mouth. But when he pulled back, he bit down on your throbbing clit - not hard, but enough to make you cry out in pain and pleasure. His teeth scraped against the sensitive bundle of nerves as he pulled back, letting it slip between his teeth.

The sudden mix of sharp pain and intense pleasure sent shockwaves through your body. Your hips bucked involuntarily, torn between trying to escape the overwhelming sensation and craving more. A strangled moan escaped your lips, muffled by Jisung's hand still clamped over your mouth.

Jisung's eyes glinted with dark satisfaction as he watched your reaction. "That's just a taste of what happens when you disobey me," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Are you going to be a good girl now?"

You whimpered with a mixture of fear and arousal, nodding your head frantically. Tears formed at the corners of your eyes, a testament to the overwhelming emotions coursing through you. Your body trembled, caught between the instinct to flee and the growing heat pooling in your core.

Satisfied with your compliance, Jisung removed his hand from your mouth. "Good girl," he purred, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that sent shivers down your spine. Without warning, he dipped his head back between your thighs, his hot breath fanning across your sensitive flesh.

His tongue resumed its relentless assault on your pussy, lapping at your folds with renewed vigor. The warmth of his mouth contrasted sharply with the cool air of the room, intensifying every sensation. Despite your fear, you couldn't help the soft moan that escaped your lips as he skillfully worked your most sensitive areas.

Your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more of his sinful touch even as your mind reeled from the situation. The conflicting sensations of pleasure and fear left you dizzy, your body betraying your mind's protests with every passing moment.

You felt his teeth again, but much more gentle this time as he nibbled and sucked on your clit and folds. The sensation sent shivers of pleasure through your body, making you arch your back involuntarily. Suddenly, Jisung pushed your knees up further, exposing you even more. You gasped as you felt his tongue run over your sensitive asshole, the unexpected touch sending a jolt of electricity through you.

Without warning, Jisung drove his fingers into your pussy. You cried out loudly, the sudden intrusion both shocking and intensely pleasurable. His fingers curled inside you, finding that spot that made you see stars. As he worked his fingers in and out of you at a merciless pace, his voice, low and husky, filled the air, "You're so wet for me, aren't you?" he growled, his words dripping with dark desire. "Your body knows who it belongs to, even if your mind hasn't caught up yet.”

His words, combined with the relentless assault of his fingers and tongue, pushed you closer and closer to the edge. To your horror and shame, you realized you were starting to want more of him, your body betraying your mind's protests with every passing moment.

Jisung pressed his face deeper into your core, his tongue and fingers working in tandem to bring you closer to the edge. His free hand gripped your thigh tightly, holding you in place as he devoured you completely. "My name is Jisung," he growled against your sensitive flesh, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers through your body. "I want to hear you scream it when you cum. Let the whole world know who's making you feel this good."

His fingers curled inside you, hitting that perfect spot while his tongue flicked relentlessly over your clit. The dual sensations were overwhelming, pushing you rapidly towards your climax. "Cum for me," Jisung demanded, his voice dark with desire. "Cum on my face, let me taste all of you."

Despite your initial resistance, your body betrayed you. The pressure built to an unbearable level, and with a cry of "Jisung!", you shattered. Your back arched off the bed as waves of intense pleasure crashed over you. Your thighs trembled, your pussy clenching around his fingers as your release gushed over his hand and face.

Jisung moaned in satisfaction, lapping up your juices eagerly as you rode out your orgasm. The sight of him between your legs, face glistening with your arousal, sent another jolt of unwanted pleasure through you. As the aftershocks subsided, shame and fear flooded back in. You lay there, panting and trembling, torn between the lingering pleasure and the horrifying reality of your situation.

Jisung sat up, releasing your thighs from his grip. They instantly snapped together, your body instinctively trying to shield itself. Your eyes were drawn to his face, where his lips and cheeks glistened with the evidence of your unwilling pleasure. Despite the fear and shame coursing through you, you couldn't help but notice how devastatingly attractive he looked in that moment, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction and desire.

The realization sent a jolt of confusion through you. How could you find your captor, your tormentor, attractive? The conflicting emotions left you feeling dizzy and disoriented, your mind struggling to reconcile the fear and the lingering traces of pleasure still coursing through your body.

With no words spoken, Jisung leaned closer. You flinched, but he was only untying your hands. As soon as you were free, you pushed yourself up towards the headboard, trying to get as far away from him as possible. His voice low and husky, Jisung murmured, "Next time, I'll have you beneath me." Despite your fear, you couldn't help but feel a throbbing in your lower stomach at the thought.

He took one last look at you. Even though his actions were evil, all you saw in his deep brown eyes was caring, a gentle softness for you. The contradiction left you feeling confused and conflicted. And then he turned around and left through your bedroom door as if nothing had ever happened, leaving you alone with your tumultuous thoughts and the lingering sensations on your skin.

Taglist:

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[joannasteez]

conejita

pairing: damian priest x reader warning: smut. nsfw!! use of pet name. “conejita” means “bunny” authors note: yeahhhhhhh…. expect more probably? this also works as a “sister fic” to @harmshake recent damian fic because we’ve been at it for days talking about this man lmaooooo. word count: like 800 i think…. tags: @333creolelady @kill-the-artiste

"mhphm".

a bright, little noise. sounding from the throat. a little broken. shuddered up really. far too breathy to be anything other than delicate. like a feather. flitting and fragile. a trembling in your legs, the weight of his touch—his caress and the sweep of his thumbs, just there, swirling over your nipples—a measured thing that makes your head spin. a swimming behind the eyes. 

you dig into him. needful. nails holding over the motion of his hands. searching for a reprieve, some grounding. thighs spread wide, an accommodation despite the ache. his frame, his build, kneeing into the sheets, your legs bent over his waist. that full, woodsy note to his cologne rushing your nose. bathing your lungs. everything of him, everywhere. a full consumption. lip bitten teeth, tender from that awful fight with patience. a taunting song under the skin, a quick tempo, pulsing deep, right there, trailing from the pit of your belly till its unfurling harsh in your clit. the tender little nub, untouched still, the fabric of your panties darkened and damp. the lavender color ruined by that awful fight still.

and he's particular about these things. colors and scents and temperaments. loves your skin in pastels and littered with spicy, sweet notes. drapes the room in a silent expectation. those eyes. those hands, kneading in again. a soft pinch that makes your breath hitch. and he's unblinking here. looming over. hair falling over his shoulders and his shoulders wide. littered with ink and flexing strong. 

and he's cupping your breast still. a deep thorough touch. a luring out that won't stop till his satisfaction warms over into a hot bursting. lips pulling in to join. a peak of tongue. sweeping the tip of it over. kissing sweetly. a dangerous repetition. soft slipping tongue, wet and curling. a hiss through your teeth and that faithful hitch in your hips. a sharp, ill-mannered grind into nothing but the fabric of your panties. a dirty mixture singing from your throat. a groan and a whine. that awful fight with patience. shallow breaths and a sweet little shake in your hands. 

he breaks off your skin with a pop. humming dark. his eyes closed. focused. fighting with his patience just the same. and what a terrible fight it is. his tight shoulders sagging just the slightest bit. suckling your nipple whole. like the taste there is too much of not enough. like perhaps if he stayed a little longer, that full satisfaction will come, only to find that it's a long ways away. so he stays, groaning into the skin. cheeks hallowing. a lewd sweeping over as he pulls in. your fingers in his hair. a lazy run into his scalp. 

"...fuck...", breaking brightly. thumbing the nape of his neck. arching up into him. the pillows stuffed under your hips soft, as you roll into him. 

he moves, catches your lips into a sloppy kiss. licking in to taste the balm there. another hum that speaks to that reach of satisfaction. a flavor that catches ahold at his tongue, sinking into the palette till he's breaking with a rough shiver all over. the tender split of your lips play into the air. a sweet twist. touch roaming else where, a fine grazing over your belly, closer and yet so far away still. his fingers done up with cold metal rings. that awful fight with patience seemingly the greatest losing battle. your breaths shallow still. hips canting again. eager and a little ways away from unmodified. 

he smiles. kisses your lips and your cheeks. pulls himself upright. pushes against the bend in your knee. the other hand playing and toying with the damp fabric of would be lavender panties. humming amused. your breath hitching again, his thumb sneaking under the messy fabric to glide faint. a dangerous tease of a touch, enough to verify his presence and nothing more. and when you moan annoyed, rife with a terrible ache, he pinches firm. snags your clit between his thumb and pointer for a short little tug. a softness to his eyes that make you melt into the bed. "...my precious girl", he breathes. amused still. "...what'd i say about breathing? about patience huh?...", a note of something firm in his tone. waiting for that sure compliance to befall. your body settling more, releasing, breaths coming easier. "...there you go". 

"damian...", you lament. a grief there in the tone from all that terrible build of an ache. 

and when he peels over the mess of your panties to reveal your pussy, a groan shifts the air. leaves his belly and urges from his throat. like he's been testing his own patience just as harshly, willing himself into waiting, delaying the sweetness of this for a tastier gratification. the thickness of his fingers sink in. a delicious, slow, agonizing stretch that leaves you arching off of those gentle soft pillows again. feeling him nestle deep, enough till he's wet and sticky at his knuckles. lip tucked under his teeth. "how's that feel baby?"

"..i want more..", you groan. grinding to stroke along his fingers. 

he pats your thigh. short bursting stings that keep you from falling too far too fast out of his methods. "...easy hermosa, you'll get everything you need, right? don't i always do that for you?"

you look to him. lashes wet from the overwork of your nerves, nodding quickly. 

he looms over again. the smell of him rolling in. his lips kissing at your ear. slotting his fingers through the tight pulse of your pussy for a lazy little working in. 

"my little conejita".

[latin5mamii]

Later - Carlos Alcaraz

Summary: He just doesn’t care, if he wants you, he’s having you.

Genre: Carlos Alcaraz x you, Juancarlos!Daughter x Carlos Alcaraz

Warnings: slightly smut, suggestive talk

Author’s note: Had this in mind and i had to write it down😌

“Estás tan hermosa esta noche”

••••

He was so fucking hot, and he knew it. He knew the power he had over you, the way a single look from them dark, big eyes could make your heart race and your mind spiral out of control. No matter how much you wanted to resist his charm, to not feel the way you did whenever he spoke to you, you always failed.

He had become your biggest weakness, an addiction you couldn’t shake no matter how dangerous it was. ‘Dangerous’ because you were his coach’s daughter, and if your father ever found out what had been happening between you two over the past few weeks, there would be hell to pay. But that didn’t matter. The thrill of sneaking around, lies over lies, kept pulling you back to him, time and time again.

Tonight was no different.

His voice snapped you out of your flashbacks of last night, a night spent in his arms, his touch still fresh on your skin. You turned to him with a disapproving look, knowing exactly what he was trying to do.

Not that you minded, if anything, you craved it,but not here. Not at this dinner where both your families and his team were present.

“Don’t do it,” you warned him, your voice barely above a whisper, trying to keep your composure.

“What shouldn’t I do?” he replied innocently, his hand already sliding onto your thigh, fingers trailing lightly across your skin. The contact made your breath hitch, and you shot a quick glance at your father, who was thankfully engrossed in conversation with Carlos’s father.

Carlos’s hand continued its exploration, moving up and down your thigh with agonizing slowness.“Carlos, stop,” you said, your voice lacking the conviction you so desperately needed it to have. But your body betrayed you, your legs instinctively parted slightly, granting him more access. Why did he have this effect on you? Why, when you knew better, did your body respond to him like this?

The truth was, the risk of being caught, the danger of what you were doing, only made it more thrilling. And that was the problem.

"Tu cuerpo no parece querer que me detenga",

(Your body doesn’t seem to want me to stop,) he murmured, that infuriating smirk you both loved and hated tugging at his lips. His hand moved higher, brushing against the delicate fabric of your panties, the touch sending a shockwave through your body.

"Si tan solo tu padre supiera las cosas que haces... probablemente ni siquiera te reconocería a ti, su chica inocente y obediente. Es una pena que no sea así" he whispered, his hand still teasing your skin.

(If only your father knew the things you do… he probably wouldn’t even recognize you,his innocent and obedient little girl.It’s a pity that it isn’t so)

You grabbed his wrist to stop him, your grip firm, but inside, you were unraveling. You were fighting a losing battle, and you both knew it. All you could think about was how, if you were alone with him right now, you’d be begging him for more, abandoning all pretense of resistance.

“Carlos, please,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “Not here. Someone will notice.”

His eyes darkened with desire, but there was a teasing glint there as well. “I love when you say please,” he murmured, leaning in closer so his lips were almost brushing against your ear. “But you know as well as I do that you don’t really want me to stop.”

You hated how right he was. How, despite the fear of getting caught, despite knowing this was wrong, you couldn’t help but want him. Crave him.

Carlos’s fingers traced along the edge of your panties, and your grip on his wrist tightened, trying to push him away, but it was no use. The fire he ignited in you was too strong, too overwhelming. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath to steady yourself, but it was impossible with him so close, his cologne filling your senses, his touch driving you mad.

“Imagine,” he continued, his voice, "Si deslizara mis dedos un poco más... ¿qué harías? ¿Podrías callarte? ¿Podrías seguir fingiendo que no pasa nada debajo de esta mesa?"

(if I slipped my fingers just a little further… what would you do? Could you keep quiet? Could you keep pretending like nothing’s happening under this table?)

The thought se your body on fire, and you swallowed hard, struggling to maintain your composure. But you were losing this battle, and Carlos knew it. He thrived on it.

Just when you thought he was going to surpass your limit, a familiar voice from the other side of the table made you feel literal fear.

“What are you two talking about so intensely?” Your father. You opened your eyes, your heart pounding, and forced yourself to push Carlos’s hand away.

Carlos turned toward your father with his usual easy smile, completely unfazed. “Oh, just discussing a few plans for after Wimbledon,” he said smoothly. How could he be so calm when you were fighting yourself only for smiling?

Your father’s gaze flicked between the two of you, a slight frown creasing his brow. There was an edge of concern in his eyes, but no immediate suspicion. “Plans for the future, huh?” he said, his tone more curious than accusatory.

It’s not that your father was jealous or thought anything bad about Carlos, but Carlos’ a handsome, rich and young man, he wouldn’t even want to imagine his daughter suffering for him.

“Nothing more,Juanki. I swear,” He says laughing like he just doesn’t care, which is true.He doesn’t care at all.

He wanted you to be his, and nothing and no one could ever change that.

Juan Carlos nods and smiles back to Carlos.He quickly looks at you, and turns back to talk.

As soon as your father was distracted again, you shot Carlos a look that was half exasperation, half something else entirely.

“You’re impossible,” you hissed under your breath, trying to regain some semblance of control over your racing heart. “And so a pathologic liar .”

Carlos only grinned, leaning in close enough that his breath brushed against your ear. “And we didn’t got caught” he murmured, his voice filled with that familiar, dangerous amusement. “And that’s what makes it fun, isn’t it?”

You wanted to argue, to tell him off for taking such a risk, but the truth was, he was right. The thrill of almost being caught, the danger of it all, was as intoxicating as his touch. And it scared you how much you craved it.

Before you could find the words to respond, Carlos’s hand found yours under the table, his fingers intertwining with yours in a gesture that was both intimate and possessive. He squeezed your hand gently, his thumb stroking your skin in a way that made your breath hitch.

“Más tarde” he whispered, his voice a low promise.

"Encuéntrame más tarde. Ya sabes dónde".

[starry-bi-sky]

more clone^2

snippet 21: Danny is Bruce Wayne's Clone and--

Star, with the rest of the A-List girls: alright ladies! it's time for our quarterly 'cutest boys' list! Now I'll get straight to the point, in our number one spot is--

All girls, in unison: Danny Fenton

Star, writing it down on a whiteboard: and for our number two spot--

---------- Snippet 22: clone meet clone

Ellie, dramatically: Danny!

Danny, equally dramatic: Ellie!

Ellie, pushing past him and looking around: where is he! i wanna see the little guy!

Damian, with a sword, brandishing it dangerously: *in arabic* don't come any closer, stay back!

Danny, wrapping an arm around Ellie's waist and pulling her back: woah, woah - he's still adjusting to everything

Danny, turning towards Damian with his google translate open: [please don't stab her. this is Ellie my clone.]

Damian, lowering his sword in disbelief: 'there's MORE of you?

-------------- Snippet 23: Ellie has the same epiphany as Danny

Ellie:...hey Danny

Danny, pouring over his arabic book: hm

Ellie: since I'm your clone, and you're a clone of Bruce Wayne, and Damian is a clone of Damian Wayne, does that technically mean I'm his mom - uh. dad-mom?

Danny:

Ellie:...its a fair question

Danny: .....*deep sigh* you're his cousin until further notice.

------------ Snippet 24: wait for me ii (hadestown, live vers.)

(i'm not sure of the context, but i've been thinking of Danny saying this to Damian during a serious moment for days. the snippet title is the song that the dialogue below is from)

Danny, fixing up Damian's wraith suit: the meanest dog you'll ever meet

Danny, zipping up damian's jacket: it ain't the hound dog in the street. he bares some teeth and tears some skin, but brother,

Danny, adjusting Damian's gloves, pausing to look him in the eye: that's the worst of him.

Danny, he holds a finger up to Damian's eyes and points it at him: the dog you really got to dread, is the one that howls inside your head

Danny, grabbing damian's mask and smoothing it over his eyes: it's him whose howling drives men mad, and a mind to its undoing

------------ Snippet 25: Danny is Bruce Wayne's clone-- (Battinson Vers*)

Ember, in the middle of a fight with Phantom + Wraith:

Ember, knocks off Phantom's mask for the first time: lets see what ugly mug you're really hiding under there, Phantom--

Phantom: *the wettest, most pathetic looking pretty boy on the planet*

Ember:

Phantom, dryly: what, did your mic die out or something? all that caterwauling finally make you lose your voice

Wraith, unsheathing his sword: *vibrating with baby brother rage bc he knows EXACTLy why Ember is silent*

----------- Snippet 26: Damian is finally starting to play nice :)

Dany: hey... guys.... whatcha doing

Damian, hanging out with Sam: Me and Manson are plotting ways to crush the Mayor's plan to cut budget funding for the city parks and cut down the native trees

Danny: oh, i see.... is this safe?

Sam: probably

Danny: hm.

------------- Snippet 27: digging up cold case

Danny: ....if Damian is out with Sam tonight with their plot against the mayor....

Danny, turning towards his desk: then that means I can work some more on Mrs. Witherbury's murder case that she asked me to solve without Dames guilt-tripping me into bed :)

Danny, settling down at his desk with a thermos full of coffee: i'm glad sam and damian are finally getting along

--------- Snippet 28: sparring

Damian, frowning: your reflexes are incredible but your combat is downright awful, brother. it's truly a miracle i didn't skewer you upon our first meeting

Danny, got his ass kicked by his 7yo brother: *groaning in pain* not everyone has super secret assassin training, Damian. And I don't really have time to actually practice anything.

Damian: Mrs. Fenton knows martial arts and her form is proficient enough, I'm sure she would be delighted to teach you if you asked. I will join since I need to keep my skills sharp and my training was unfinished when I arrived here.

-------- Snippet 29: daytime surprise

Phantom, fighting Skulker in broad daylight: *under his breath* at least Lancer's english test will get canceled for this...

Phantom, dodging a blast from Skulker: *in ASL, furious* don't you have anything better to do, you fuck!?

Skulker: foolish ghost child, speak! I know you're capable of it - speak before you lose the ability to

Phantom: *flips him off instead*

Wraith, sending back a ecto-blast with his sword: please pay attention, phantom

Phantom, doubletaking: *in a hissed whisper* what are you doing here!? it's a school day, you should be at school!

Wraith: Tt. If the boot fits.

------------ Snippet 30: guilt

Danny with his head on his desk, his elbows propped up as he massages his hands: hn

Damian, lurking to the side with a guilty look on his face:

Damian: can i....

Danny, silently holding his hand out to Damian: hrm

Damian, immediately taking it and doing the massages + finger exercises: ...im sorry

Danny: hm... I forgive you

[jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue]

Our Little Love part six - OT7 Mafia/Yandere au

Warnings - 3.6k words of : Toxic yandere men, sub drop, crime, violence, injury, emotionally abusive behaviour, possessive behaviour, lying and manipulation, monopolising, unhealthy relationships, aftercare ish, love bombing?, Namjoon's dark side is coming out but internally (because we can read his mind but MC can't)

It’s a sting or an ache that rouses you awake, coming from your bruised wrist. You let out a soft gasp of pain, lifting your head to see Yoongi carefully applying cream to the dents the ropes had burned into your perfect skin. 

“Hoseok and his stupid games,” he mutters, full focus on making sure he’s soothing the marks of their punishment, like if the evidence of them went away so would the sadness they inflicted on you as well. It was a stupid naive thought, Yoongi knew it, but your presence in his life filled him with that silly feeling of hope. 

He gently rests your wrist on the bed, searching for the next limb before he notices your eyes on him. They’re blank he notices, void of anything, fuck, they really did a number on you. He couldn’t swallow down the lump of regret lodged in his throat, no he would suffocate on it until you recovered. 

You feel the bed dip beside your head, but it doesn’t pull your gaze away from Yoongi as he pulls your other wrist cautiously away from where you held it against your chest. You feel fingers in your hair, the urge to nuzzle against them almost overwhelming but the memories of their harsh words keeps you still.

“Heaven,” Taehyung's deep voice murmurs loud enough for you to hear as he plays with the strands. “Does it hurt?”

At his words you feel something pierce your middle, a pain that lay dormant until it was called out. A part of him means the sting of Yoongi’s ministriations, another part of him means the hole they carved out of your chest. At first it might seem sadistic, but he needed you to feel it, if you felt empty it would be harder to coax you back, the hurt meant you were still alive, still with them, and not an empty shell they were terrified they pushed you to be. 

He would take your anger, your betrayal, your sadness over the void you presented to them now. Yoongi moves you carefully from your fetal position on the bed, so you’re lying on your back, your eyes meet Taehyung’s as he peers down at you. The position has an itch of anxiety building under your skin, it's too familiar to your punishment even if you aren’t as physically as exposed, but the burn in your extremities from those ropes lulled your brain into believing it was about to happen again. 

You see the frown in his brows as he watches your chest lift and fall too deeply, the look in your eyes like a caged animal looking for a chance to run. It’s when Yoongi takes hold of your ankle you pull away with a small whimper. Both men look at each other for a moment as you swallow down the rising panic. 

“Little love,” Yoongi says, being as reassuring as he can, “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

You inhale like your soul slammed its way back to your body, the corners of your eyes watering. 

“Liar,” you barely manage to whisper, but it's loud enough that it cuts him. He deserved that. The anxiety in your limbs creeps into your chest, seizing your lungs until you’re unable to take a breath. 

The hand in your hair moves to cup your face, his body lying beside you, your hand is on his chest, your insides fighting with the urge to push him away or clutch his shirt and pull him closer.

“Y/n you need to breathe,” Tae instructs against your hair soothingly, taking your hand on his chest in his. The other palm turns your head so you face him, his thumb stroking circles on your cheek. “Breathe with me.”

You want to tell him you can’t, but you try to follow his example, earning yourself a small smile on his face, the hum of danger dampening. You lose yourself to Tae as you both lie together, feeling yourself calm before sleep takes you again. The last thing you feel is soft lips on your temple, but you’re too exhausted to register it.

—

“How is she doing?” Jin asks Yoongi as he washes his hands, breaking his despondent stare at nothing. 

He just nods in reply, avoiding eye contact. There were only a few times that Yoongi ever felt himself be moved to tears, but the state you were in now shoved him on the brink of a breakdown. And the worst part of it all was that they were responsible. Aftercare, especially after one of Hoseok’s sessions, was vital and they all knew it and yet because they were caught up in their own emotions they let you drop. 

“That bad huh,” Jin laughs humorlessly under his breath, leaning against the door frame as he contemplates his own shortcomings. “Namjoon wasn’t lying when he told her we were the scum of the earth.”

He hangs his head back, looking up at the ceiling as if it would hold all the answers or at least grant him the ability to rewind time back to when you first woke up.

“We weren’t supposed to be scum to her,” Yoongi muttered, turning off the water that scalded his hands red, the pain was good, it felt like he was paying for his mistakes, although it was a small compensation to what he would have to pay. “The rest of the world doesn’t matter, to Y/n we were supposed to be worthy of her.”

“But we’re not,” Jin replies quietly. 

“We didn’t have to prove it,” he bites back, feeling resentment towards Namjoon for bringing it up at all. He understood the need to be accepted, raging red flags and all, but to you they were supposed to be better, you were supposed to be the exception.

“What if she never forgives us,” he whispers his fears to the oldest of them, that tight invisible grip around his throat still present. 

Jin can’t even bring himself to placate him, he can’t, he has the same fears. 

—

Jimin’s tears crumbled their already broken hearts, but when Jungkook joined in it made them feel a despair they hadn’t felt since the day you left them. 

“It’s going to be fine,” Namjoon says through gritted teeth, unsure of who he was trying to convince when a small voice in the back of his head was calling him a liar. If he could he would shoot the voice dead. “Our relationship isn’t that weak.”

Hoseok watches their leader massage his eyes as though a headache was starting. 

“You need to go see her,” Yoongi says to Namjoon, arms folded, voice empty of emotion. Their fearless head of the crime syndicate had yet to visit you since the fight in the bathroom, Yoongi knew he would eat his words once he did.

“How are we going to fix this?” Hosek groans, patting Jimin’s head as he cried. The maknae was attached to Jimin’s back, both of them on the floor as they sobbed. 

Taehyung had refused to leave your side, the others went in and out but Tae was afraid if he left you you would find a way to escape again, and he couldn’t live through that a second time.  

“We broke her by exposing her,” Namjoon mumbles mostly to himself, thinking out loud, biting the skin of his thumb uncharacteristically nervous. “Made her feel like it was something bad…” made her pull away from us because we didn’t make her feel safe and let her drop. “Need to rebuild trust in the same way,” need to make her feel loved, “reassure her,” hold her but keep her vulnerable so she doesn’t build back up with walls against us. 

His brain works fast, now that the Suho problem was dealt with, he could focus on you until the repercussions of the Captain came. He wasn’t stupid, he knew there would be some sort of retaliation, the Captain didn’t seem the sort to let things go. 

“No more games,” Yoongi breaks his train of thoughts, eyes boring into him before looking at Hoseok too. “No more punishments, she never deserved any of them we were just sadistic fucks looking for an outlet for our own insecurity.”

Namjoon’s fist clenches, unhappy with the tone his usually stoic friend takes, even if his words held some truth. 

“A whole world at our disposal to kick down and we take it out on our little love,” Yoongi scoffs, chuckling in disgust with himself and the others. “We really are scum of the Earth.”

—

The Captain doesn’t find the ceiling all that interesting, but it’s all he can stare at alone in the hospital wing. He’s not alone in the sense of physically, the hospital staff mill around working on the ward, he’s merely separated by curtains from the other patients, but the noise around him felt like a hum, a buzz in the background. The only visitor he had was the Chief of police telling him to stand down about the syndicate task force and then offering (ordering) him half a years paid leave. 

“Take the time off,” he had said. “Recover,” he patted Suho’s shoulder before muttering, “it’ll do you some good.”

But the captain could see the truth in the Chief’s eyes, a hidden variable that was making him speak through the shadows. Kim Namjoon got to the police, he had his strings attached to every officer like they were his puppets. He only needed the top brass, they would create order and command for him. He wondered what he had on them all, how deep the corruption ran.

It seemed he was cut at the knees in more ways than one, the leader of the crime syndicate really drove that message home. He laughs at himself humourlessly despite the lack of anything funny in sight. One of the nurses giving him a judgmental side eye, wondering to herself whether they gave him too much morphine. 

Suho could still feel the pain tearing through his knee and his hand, albeit dulled by the drugs in his system. The bullet had been lodged into his bone, it required surgery to be pulled out, surgery that was paid for by an anonymous benefactor. The thought of who he suspected as that person made him want to beg to put the bullet back. 

Powerless wasn’t a feeling he was all that common with, even in his darkest days on the force he always felt hope, knew he would see the Sun rise another day. But Kim Namjoon had a way of drowning the Sun, and all her rays of hope. He could only pray that by some miracle, he could pull you out of the waters before your light washed out. 

—

The scene when you open your eyes is eerily similar to the one before your world flipped upside down, a part of you wanted to believe the hands of time had turned back or at least you woke up in an alternative universe where the fight never happened, but the memories burned through your mind too clearly for anything else to be true. All seven of your walking talking red flags were posted around you in the room, eyes on you albeit much softer than that day, yet for some reason it puts you on edge. 

“Heaven,” Jimin sits on his knees on the bed peering down at you, you notice the telling red rims around his eyes and his nose, was he crying? Why? He tries to cover it with a smile, his eyes disappearing into crescent moons but he couldn’t hide the evidence from you, you knew him too well.

He takes your hand in his, bringing it to his lips before he mumbles desperately against your skin, his voice breaking, “forgive us.”

Tentatively, as if afraid you were going to break or run away, two arms wrap around your middle, the maknae lying beside you burying his head into you but you can hear the tell tale sniffles. It was rare any of them ever cried, you really must look like a state.

Your head throbs from the continuous cycles of sleep you were putting yourself through, sleep was safe and you were too exhausted to live, let alone deal with the repercussions of your relationship. 

“Jungkook, you’re smothering our dove,” Hoseok sighs, arms folded as he keeps his distance. He wouldn’t say it aloud but since he and Namjoon were the directors of your punishment and subsequently the push into subdrop he was afraid of approaching you.

It wasn’t just your rejection that would break his heart, but if his presence caused a reaction of trauma, more than what you were presenting now, it would crumble him. It took everything in his will power not to fall to his knees and beg you to forgive them, and the man had never begged anyone for anything before. 

Even Namjon kept himself an arm length away, sitting on the ottoman at the end of your bed, watching you as the others interacted. Soekjin had stood beside you, his fingers massaging your forehead as if he could sense the pain, but your eyes find Namjoon. 

“Did you hurt him?” It was the first time you had seen him and the first words out of your mouth were about that cockroach. He can feel his anger begin to simmer dangerously, his jaw clenches before he releases a self deprecating laugh under his breath. This was cruel even for you, was it a test? Why didn’t you ask him whether he killed him, that he could answer truthfully, the details were a little more complicated. 

“We didn’t kill him,” Hoseok says, his mind flashing back to standing on the roof of the opposite building holding the sniper as it took out the Captain’s leg.

“That’s not what I asked,” you whisper, eyes starting to water again. 

Namjoon glances at Yoongi’s warning stare, the thoughts written clearly on his stone face, enough of proving to you how evil they truly were, the truth didn’t matter, only you did. But yet there was something inside of him urging him to tell you, a sadistic part of him that wanted to break the already cracked dusty rose tinted glasses. Was it so bad of him to want you to love the darkest parts of him? Couldn’t you hear his soul cry out for you to love him despite how bloodstained it was?

“No we didn’t hurt him Love,” he sighs, hanging his head so he wouldn’t have to meet your gaze, his fist clenching the material of his trousers. The lie tasted like coal in his mouth, but he would swallow it down even if it upset his stomach. 

You let out a sound of relief, the weight on your shoulders suddenly disappeared and you could breathe freely again. They actually saw you smile, and the guilt only cemented. 

“Thank you,” you exhale, the feeling of love you were holding back against them now allowed to roam back into your body. There was hope, there was a chance to heal your relationship; they listened to you despite their murderous intent, you were relieved. You were so worried they would kill him anyway despite your plea not to, but this was proof they were willing to work on themselves with you, that you meant something to them more than being their toy.

You close your eyes, feeling overwhelmed. Jimin wipes away your tears, you hadn’t even realised had slipped from the corner of your eyes. 

“Our baby’s so caring,” Jin comments, trying to keep the bite out of his voice and eyes. Your gaze falls on him and he smiles, it’s the most fake thing he’s ever done in front of you but you’d believe it. Seokjin was a mastermind at manipulation, to the point he could paint whatever he wanted on his face regardless of his emotions. Namjoon had debriefed them before you woke up, the objective was to do what they did best, monopolise you back under their spell.

It throws you, the gentle expression on his face, maybe you did wake up in an alternate reality. Jungkook distracts you, pulling you closer against him, his lips on your shoulder, making his way up your neck and cheek slowly. You turn to face him, eyes in a daze, that sweet bunny smile greeting you shyly but your attention is pulled away by another. 

The back of Taehyung’s fingers trace your cheek gently, another smile greeting you when you turn to him on the other side of you, finding him kneeling on the floor beside the bed. He takes notice of your glazed stare, the slow confusion on your face.

“Aren’t you the cutest little love to ever exist,” he coos quietly.

“Our only little love,” Yoongi corrects him.

“Our slice of heaven,” Jimin pipes in.

“The only heaven we’ll ever see,” Namjoon’s deep voice gruffs.

That overwhelming feeling only grew, but it didn’t feel unwanted, you felt cushioned, like you were being lifted or floating on a cloud. Gentle touches, soft words, soothing your soul quiet, letting it rest. But you were unaware a part of you was being buried.

“Our perfect Angel,” Namjoon whispered and for some reason it felt like the final nail in the coffin making you snap back to your senses.

“No,” you sit up to face him, breaking away all the physical touch they had on you. The safe space they had lulled you into with all your defences bare had shattered. “You can’t expect me to accept you for all your flaws if you won’t do the same for me.”

There’s a fight in your eyes that comes alive as you stare him down, but he keeps quiet letting you fill the silence.

“I am not perfect, YOU need to stop pretending I am,” you throw his words back at him, he fucked you with those words and made you accept their cruelty, he would have to offer you the same respite. “I am done with trying to live up to this impossible image you have of me, because every time I break the illusion I can see the disappointment in your faces and it kills me every time.”

“Little love, you are perfect,” Jin sighs, moving to sit in front of you to break the staring match between you and Joon. “All those things you think are flaws are perfect Love, they’re a part of you, of course they’re perfect.”

His thumb strokes your cheek soothingly, trying to will away the fire when it threatened to burn everything they had spent rebuilding in this room with your recovery.

“If we made you feel anything other than perfect dove that’s our fault,” Hoseok admits, “but you already know how bad we are, it’s always our fault, don’t let us fool you otherwise.”

“You don’t get it,” you frown, looking down at your lap. “When you love me like that, it's a burden.”

“Love,” Yoongi calls for you, desperation in his voice, hating that you felt that way at all. “That’s not our intention.”

“Baby,” Jungkook sits up beside you, and you start to feel confined, their bodies like iron bars of a jail, keeping you with them for a life sentence you were beginning to think you deserved. “We love you, we made a mistake, we know that, but our love for you isn’t bad.”

“It’s the one redeemable thing about us Heaven,” Taehyung adds, looking up at you even with your head hanging low, trying to meet your eyes. 

You feel your eyes water, you just ached, wanting to be drowned in their love but protected from their consequences. Last time you took the coward's way out, you ran away, this time you needed to create distance, but still work on the problem without bias, without their love infecting you until you could heal them and yourself.

“I don’t know where to go from here,” you confess, holding back a sob. Your mind starting to win the war it raged against your heart and all it wanted.

Their solemn expressions snap to you, the panic in their eyes piercing you.

“What do you mean, little love?” Jimin says warningly, you sounded like you were wanting to end your relationship but you surely knew better than anyone that it was impossible. They wouldn’t let you go if you tried.

“I think we need to go on a break,” you state, your voice strained from the heavy feeling of wanting to cry in your throat. 

“Absolutely not,” Hoseok shakes his head, nostrils flaring at the suggestion.

“I’m not asking,” you say firmly.

“You don’t get to make that decision little love,” Namjoon’s lips twitch as he stops himself from growling, how dare you even think it. “You’re ours.”

You both stare each other down, neither willing to compromise. 

“I’m mine,” you felt in control again, you hadn’t felt this way for so long, like your soul belonged to you, you weren’t just floating in their desires, you were your own person. 

“We won’t let you leave,” Namjoon retorted, not denying your statement.

“I didn’t say I wanted to leave,” you shake your head, looking at each of them before your gaze returns to the leader of the syndicate, a challenge present in both your stares. “But you don’t get to touch me, or fuck me, or play your games.”

Every one of your new rules hit them like a punch to the gut, a cruel mocking thought passing through the air between them, this was the consequences of their fuck up, and they knew if they wanted to keep you, they would have to listen. 

“One last thing,” you say after a lot of deliberating, a squeeze in your throat trying to stop you getting the words out, a deep frown set between your eyes. “I don’t want you to call me little love anymore.”

[biribaa]

first request ever bcs im so down bad for dw...

is there any way you could do astro x reader hcs / one shot where they sleep in the same bed? eergrhhffhj im so happy i found ur page!!! dw x reader writers are literally non existent,,, :((

Sweet dreams(Astro x reader)

Thats why im here DW fandom💥💥

TW/CW: none ig

Toons werent allowed to sleep until midnight, that was a strict rule that everyone was aware of, and one that the toon handlers took very seriously. Of course toons were innocent bqck in that time, but god knows what clumsiness they could commit.

Another strict rule, which annoyed you even more, was that Toons couldn't sleep together. To prevent mess as well.

The current situation in Garderview was bothering. No, no... "Bothering" is a weak word for all this. It is hell. To be take away from a comforting life in seconds leaved everyone, including you, too shocked to even process anything. Now you had to run and pray to find some machine that could save your life.

But deep down you had to admit the good parts of it, not that you would ever say "thank you" to Dandy. The stricts rules are gone, toon handlers as well... It leaded you to a idea.

Today, both you and Astro were just exploring the floors, in search of anything that was left untouched by twisteds, or even Dandy himself. With Astro, hide from twisteds wasn't that hard as you thought it would be, he always hided you behind him, warning with whispers about any nearer twisted. Even in danger, he was so careful.

"... I think my bedroom should be around here." Astro commented, unsure of his own words as his eyes searching around the area.

"Your bedroom?" You answer, in which Astro hums back as a affirmative.

Puzzled, Astro frowned during his search. Pieces of his remarkable memories coming back together. The wallpaper was familar, the floor as well, and as his eye followed these details, he came face to face to a door.

With little hesitation, the moon reached for the knob, and the moment a grasp was open, he reached his head to glance inside. A weird nostalgia coming to him.

When Astro opened the door completly, you could see what remained of his bedroom. Just from being behind him, you could see much of it remained the same, but the rest that wasn't untouched, was left in the ground, like small objects.

Astro paced to the inside, reaching for the switch. The lights flickered for a moment, but with a little patient, it standed still.

"Geez." He mumbled.

You walked to his side, a part of you worried about his reaction. "Well... It looks liveable."

Glacing to the side, you were caught by surprise when noticing Astro had a soft smile in his face.

"It does."

Relieve hit you. Your eyes followed Astro as he almost immediatly walked towards his bed. A chuckle coming from you, but deep down you couldn't really blame him for it.

His back hit the rounded bed, you could taste his satisfaction just from his expression, closed eyes and a small smile... This reaction was rare coming from him in those times, seeing all the struggles he and many others face.

You snapped back to reality, noticing Astro shyly reaching a arm from his coat, to your direction. It took you a few seconds to realize he was actually... Asking you to approach. Calm moments like those with Astro was rare nowadays, and even more back then. Even flurstered, you couldn't refuse the invitation.

With delicacy, you pace towards him, laying you body just by Astros side. For a second, your spine shiver, you forgot how cold Astros skin was, but you leaned to it quickly, resting your head by his chest and placing your hand over him.

Without both of you realizing, the doors was already locked, the blanket was covering you and Astro, and his second pair of arms were already revelead to wrap around your waist, bringing you closer to his cold skin. All you could do is rest over him.

Taking a quick peak from one of your eyes, you glance at Astros face. Eye closed, a soft smile set... its been a while since you saw him like this, specially with the current situation. Satisfied, you close your eyes, allowing yourself to finally rest in his grasp for once.

[moonselune]

By the Silk that Binds Us (pt.8 )

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Matron!Minthara x Forced!Betrothed!reader

CW: murder, gore, suggestive scenes

An arranged marriage, enemies to lovers fic: part one part two part three part four part five part six part seven part nine

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The days following that night brought a shift between you and Minthara. The tension that had once crackled like a live wire between you both began to ease, replaced by something more complex—an uneasy truce, perhaps, but one laced with a thread of understanding. Despite this, your magic remained an uncontrollable tempest, its power unpredictable and dangerous, and the rebellion you had orchestrated still lingered in Minthara’s mind.

You threw yourself into the task of planning the upcoming ball that House Baenre was hosting, hoping that focusing on the details would keep your mind from the chaos within you. However, you found yourself constantly having to step away from your work, retreating to a quiet corner to try and reign in the wild surges of magic that threatened to escape. Servants watched you with growing concern, whispering among themselves as they saw the strain in your eyes, the way your hands trembled ever so slightly as you fought to keep your power in check.

“Should we fetch a healer, my lady?” one of them asked, her voice laced with worry.

“No,” you replied, forcing a smile. “I’m fine. Really.”

You weren’t fine, and they knew it, but none dared to press the issue further. They simply nodded and stepped back, continuing their tasks with a wariness that hadn’t been there before. Another servant approached you, bowing slightly as he spoke. “My lady, it is time to get ready.”

You sighed, the thought of facing another night of maintaining your composure exhausting you further. Still, you nodded and made your way to your quarters, mentally preparing yourself for the evening ahead.

When you entered your room, you found Minthara already there, in the midst of getting dressed. She was wearing a gown of deep crimson and black, the colors of House Baenre, the fabric clinging to her form in a way that accentuated every curve. You hated to admit it, but she looked beautiful, a sight that stirred something complicated within you.

Minthara caught your gaze in the mirror, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in your weary expression.

“You look like you’re about to drop,” she remarked, her voice casual but tinged with concern. “Have you used any of your magic today?”

“No,” you replied quickly, your tone firm. “I’m not risking hurting anyone, and I’m not going back to the depths of the Underdark. I’m handling it.”

Minthara’s lips curved into a bemused smile, but she didn’t press the issue. Instead, she stepped closer to you, her hands reaching out to help you with your dress. At first, you wanted to tell her you could manage it yourself, that you didn’t need her assistance. But as her fingers deftly worked the clasps and fastenings, you found yourself appreciating the help more than you expected.

When she was finished, you picked up the necklace—the collar—and passed it to her, a flicker of irritation flashing in your eyes as you did. Minthara caught the look but said nothing, taking the collar from you and stepping behind you to fasten it around your neck. Her touch was gentle, almost tender, as she adjusted the pendant to rest perfectly against your skin.

As she secured the clasp, she leaned in close, her breath warm against your ear.

“It suits you,” she murmured, her lips brushing the shell of your ear before pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. You sighed, rolling your eyes at the words, though you couldn’t deny the shiver that ran down your spine at her touch.

“We have a ball to attend,” you reminded her, trying to maintain your composure.

Minthara stepped back, her hands lingering on your shoulders for a moment longer before she released you. When you looked at her in the mirror, she was smiling—a smile that was all too familiar to you now, one that sent a chill of anticipation down your spine. It was a smile that promised something more, something you knew you wouldn’t like.

“Indeed we do,” Minthara replied, her voice laced with excitement. The look in her eyes as she turned away left you with a sense of foreboding. You had known her long enough to understand that nothing good ever came from that smile. And yet, despite the unease that settled in your stomach, you couldn’t help but feel that whatever was coming, you would face it head-on. There was no turning back now.

The ball was in full swing, and you found yourself in the center of it all, surrounded by guests who lavished you with praise. Compliments flowed like the wine being poured into goblets—your dress, your necklace, your impeccable taste, all admired by nobles and sycophants alike. It all blended into one monotonous drone, a never-ending stream of empty flattery that only added to the pounding in your head.

You had thought the pain couldn’t get any worse, but it had. The dull ache had transformed into a relentless, searing agony that pulsed in your temples, your neck, and down through your shoulders. It was as if your entire body was on edge, teetering on the brink of something you couldn’t control. You kept drinking wine, hoping it might dull the pain, but no matter how much you consumed, it was as if the alcohol refused to take hold. You were still painfully sober when Minthara noticed and cut you off, her eyes sharp as she took the goblet from your hand.

Before you could argue, Lesaonar appeared at your side, his usual grin plastered across his face. With a quick glance around to ensure Minthara wasn’t watching, he slipped you another glass of wine.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, his tone light, but there was genuine concern in his eyes.

You glared at him, not trusting yourself to speak without lashing out. The pain, the pressure, the noise—it was all becoming too much. Lesaonar opened his mouth to say something more but then caught sight of a young woman across the room, his expression shifting from concern to something more playful.

“Who is that?” he asked, his voice filled with a sudden eagerness. You followed his gaze and recognized the woman instantly.

“That’s Minthara’s second cousin, Melinoe,” you replied, a strain in your voice as you tried to manage the pain. “One of their best fighters.”

Lesaonar immediately straightened, smoothing his clothes and adjusting his stance, smoothing his hair out. “She is stunning,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You couldn’t help but laugh, despite everything. “She’ll eat you alive, Lesaonar,” you warned, shaking your head.

Lesaonar winked at you, his grin widening. “At least I’ll die happy,” he quipped before striding off in Melinoe’s direction, his confidence radiating off him in waves.

You watched him go, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. But the moment of levity was short-lived. As soon as Lesaonar disappeared into the crowd, Minthara materialized at your side, her hand darting out to snatch the wine from your grasp.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed, her eyes narrowing.

“Having a drink,” you replied, your voice sharper than you intended. The pain in your head was getting worse, and your patience was wearing thin.

“We’ve talked about this,” Minthara said, her tone laced with irritation. “You’re not drinking anymore tonight.”

You rolled your eyes, your hand twitching with the urge to snatch the goblet back from her. “I’m fine, Minthara. Just leave it.”

“No, you’re not fine,” she snapped. “And we’re not going to make a scene here.”

“We wouldn’t be making a scene if you’d just let me—”

Before you could finish, the doors to the grand hall burst open with a thunderous crash, cutting your argument short. All heads turned towards the entrance as a group of armed figures stormed in, their weapons drawn and eyes blazing with a fanatical intensity. The room fell silent, the music dying out as guests scrambled to make sense of what was happening.

You recognized them immediately—the Seldarine extremists, a faction of elven zealots who had long opposed Lolth and everything she stood for. They were known for their ruthless attacks on drow strongholds, and now, it seemed, they had come for House Baenre.

Chaos erupted as the extremists fanned out across the room, their leader stepping forward to address the crowd. You could feel Minthara tense beside you, her hand instinctively reaching for the weapon she always kept hidden beneath her gown. Your own heart pounded in your chest, the pain in your head forgotten in the face of this new threat.

“Daughters and bastards of Lolth,” the leader spat, his voice ringing out across the hall. “Tonight, your tyranny ends.”

The room was frozen in shock, the guests too stunned to react. But you knew what was coming next, the violence that would inevitably follow. Minthara’s eyes locked onto yours, a silent understanding passing between you. You were hosting the ball, it was up to the two of you to deal with the vermin.

The air crackled with tension, and you could feel the magic within you stir, responding to the imminent danger. It was as if the tempest inside you had found its purpose, the chaos outside matching the storm that had been building within you for days.

The Seldarine extremists began to make their demands, their leader stepping forward with a sneer on his face.

“Hand over your young,” he declared, his voice ringing out with a fanatic’s conviction. “Free the innocent from Lolth’s grasp, or perish!”

A murmur of shock rippled through the assembled guests, but before anyone could react, you began to laugh. The sound echoed through the hall, loud and unrestrained, cutting through the tension like a knife. It wasn’t a nervous or incredulous laugh but one filled with a dark amusement that sent shivers down the spines of those present.

Without realizing it, you stepped forward, the crowd parting around you as if making way for the force of your presence. Minthara stood just behind you, her eyes gleaming with a mix of curiosity and pride as she watched you take command of the room.

You wiped a tear from your eye, your laughter dying down into a mirthful chuckle as you addressed the extremists.

“Really?” you said, your voice carrying an almost mocking tone. “You storm into the most powerful house in Menzoberranzan and demand we hand over our young? Or we perish?”

The extremists bristled, their leader snarling in response. But before he could shout something back, you raised your hand, and with a flick of your wrist, your magic surged forward, silencing them. The power within you, which had been simmering and bubbling under the surface for days, now practically hummed with anticipation, eager to be unleashed.

Your head no longer throbbed with pain; instead, it was filled with the intoxicating hum of your magic, a melody that sang for blood, for retribution. You could feel the eyes of every guest on you, and you relished the attention, the power that coursed through you as you let your magic flow freely.

“Fools,” you murmured, your voice dripping with disdain as you surveyed the extremists. “You’ve chosen the wrong house to make demands of.”

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, you began to work your magic. It wasn’t enough to simply kill them; they needed to be an example, a warning to anyone who might think to challenge House Baenre—or you.

One by one, you picked them apart, using your powers to tear through their ranks. You transformed some of them halfway into driders, letting the grotesque transformation begin but not complete, so they died in agony, caught between two forms, their bodies breaking under the strain. The sight was horrifying, and their screams echoed in the grand hall, but you felt nothing but satisfaction as you watched them suffer.

Others, you mutilated with strands of divine silk, wrapping them in a web of your making, tightening it around their bodies until their blood seeped through the silk, leaving them to bleed out slowly. The silk shimmered in the dim light of the hall, beautiful in its deadliness, and you made sure everyone saw just how delicately you wielded your power.

Minthara watched, her eyes wide with awe, a twisted smile of approval playing on her lips. She had seen you use your magic before, but never like this. This was a display of pure, unrestrained power, and she could hardly tear her eyes away from the spectacle.

As the last of the Seldarine extremists crumpled to the ground, the silence in the grand hall was deafening. Blood pooled on the marble floors, the once pristine surfaces now stained with the crimson evidence of your wrath. The oppressive tension that had gripped the room during the attack remained, but it had shifted—no longer the tension of fear, but of awe and trepidation directed at you.

The power coursing through you was exhilarating, intoxicating. The pain in your head had vanished, replaced by the euphoria of having unleashed your magic in all its terrible glory. But as the adrenaline began to fade, you felt the toll it had taken on you. Your hands started to tremble, and the room swayed slightly as exhaustion threatened to drag you down. The power that had surged through you now felt like a weight, pressing down on you with the intensity of a thousand voices, each one whispering for more, demanding more.

Before you could stumble, Minthara was at your side. Her strong arms wrapped around you, holding you upright with a firmness that was both reassuring and infuriating. She was steady, her presence grounding you, but you could feel the tension in her grip, the realization that you had just displayed a level of power that even she had not fully anticipated.

“You’ve done enough,” she whispered, her voice low and meant only for your ears. “Let’s get you out of here.”

But before you could respond, a group of female nobles caught your attention, their eyes wide with a mix of fear and excitement. They were from rival houses, lesser in power but always eager to curry favor with the Baenre family. Yet now, seeing your vulnerability, they smelled blood in the water.

One of them, a tall, elegantly dressed woman with a sneer that barely hid her amusement, spoke up to the room.

“Such a display of power, from the mistress,” she drawled, her voice dripping with mockery. “But it seems she's exhausted herself. Perhaps the Matron should not have chosen her Mistress from the pits of the underdark."

The other nobles who hoped to undermine you snickered, their eyes gleaming with barely contained contempt. It was a grave mistake.

Minthara stiffened at your side, ready to lash out, but you stopped her with a raised hand. The anger that had begun to simmer within you flared into a blazing inferno and the violent adrenaline came racing back with a vengeance. How dare they? How dare they question your strength, your authority, after what they had just witnessed? The very thought of their insolence made your blood boil.

“You dare to mock me?” you hissed, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade. The nobles faltered, their smug expressions faltering as they realized the extent of their miscalculation, they had not expected you to make such a miraculous recovery.

Before they could react, you unleashed your fury upon them. You didn’t need grand gestures or complex spells—your power flowed with the ease of a predator toying with its prey. The first woman, the one who had spoken, found herself lifted off the ground by invisible tendrils of magic, her limbs splayed out as if on display. The others screamed, scrambling to flee, but they were no match for you. With a flick of your wrist, they were frozen in place, held by your will alone.

You could see the terror in their eyes as they realized there would be no mercy, no escape from the wrath they had provoked. You took your time, savoring the fear that radiated from them as you twisted the magic around them, each tendril tightening like a vice. Their screams echoed through the hall, blending with the shocked gasps of the onlookers.

Their deaths were not quick. You made sure of that. They suffered, their bodies contorting in unnatural angles as the magic tore through them, leaving them bloody and broken. The crowd watched in horrified silence, too terrified to intervene, too mesmerized by the brutality to look away.

As the last of the nobles succumbed to their fate, you felt a surge of energy flood back into you, as if their deaths had replenished the power you had spent. It was as if the blood they spilled had been a sacrifice to your magic, a dark offering that Lolth herself accepted with delight. The weakness that had threatened to overwhelm you was gone, replaced by a renewed strength that coursed through your veins with an exhilarating intensity.

Lolth was pleased.

You straightened, the tremor in your hands gone, the exhaustion replaced by a cold, focused determination. You turned to Minthara, who was watching you with a mixture of pride and something else—perhaps awe, or maybe a flicker of fear. It didn’t matter. You had shown everyone here who you truly were, and there would be no forgetting it.

“Meet me in our quarters,” you commanded, your voice leaving no room for argument.

Minthara inclined her head in acknowledgment, her eyes gleaming with approval.

“As you wish,” she replied, her tone reverent, almost hungry.

Without another word, you stormed out of the grand hall, your steps echoing in the stunned silence that followed. The doors to the hall slammed shut behind you, sealing off the carnage and the whispers of fear that would undoubtedly follow in your wake.

The night was not over, but for now, you needed to be alone—to let the tempest within you settle, to revel in the power you had unleashed and the chaos you had sown. You could feel the eyes of the nobles on your back as you left, the weight of their fear and respect settling around you like a cloak.

They would not forget what they had seen tonight. Neither would Minthara. But as you ascended the stairs to your quarters, one thought lingered in your mind, clear and cold:

You were no longer just a force to be reckoned with—you were a storm, and all who stood in your path would be swept away.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

As the door to your quarters slammed shut behind you, the tension that had been simmering throughout the night reached a boiling point. The remnants of the ball, the bloodshed, and the raw power you had unleashed still thrummed through your veins, a dark symphony that pulsed with every heartbeat. Your quarters, once a sanctuary, now felt charged with an energy that had no outlet, a storm contained within four walls.

Minthara walked in, her posture was relaxed, but her eyes were sharp, calculating as they traced every step you took toward her. She was no fool; she knew why you had summoned her, and the anticipation of the confrontation crackled in the air between you.

“You planned this,” you said, your voice low and laced with accusation. There was no question in your tone—only a statement of fact. “This was the fruit of your manipulations, wasn’t it?”

Minthara didn’t flinch or deny it. Instead, she met your gaze with a calm, steady look that spoke of someone who had nothing to hide.

“And if it was?” she replied, her tone as cool as her expression. “Would you be angry, or impressed?”

“I would be impressed,” you admitted, your voice tinged with bitter amusement, “if I weren’t so vexed by it.”

Minthara’s lips curled into a faint smile, one that held neither apology nor regret.

“I hope you’re not looking for an apology,” she said, her voice smooth and unyielding. “You won’t get one. You looked divine tonight, ethereal. The pain you’ve been suffering is gone, and I’m your wife. I won’t apologize for doing what was necessary to see you in your true form.”

You laughed, the sound echoing off the walls, dark and mirthless.

“Grateful? Like I should be grateful for this?” you asked, your hand gesturing toward the collar around your neck. The collar that had been a symbol of control, of submission. The collar that had marked you as hers. Without waiting for her response, you reached up and grasped the collar, your fingers tightening around it. With a surge of power, you pulled it from your neck, and it disintegrated in your hold, crumbling into dust that slipped through your fingers.

Minthara’s eyes narrowed as she watched the collar disintegrate, but she didn’t move. If she was surprised, she didn’t show it. Instead, she watched you with an intensity that was almost predatory, as if waiting to see what you would do next.

Emboldened by the dark power that roared through you, you stepped forward, closing the distance between you and Minthara. Her eyes flickered with something that might have been caution, but there was also desire there, simmering just beneath the surface.

“There are other ways to claim me, you know, ways for me to claim you,” you said, your voice dropping to a husky whisper as you stopped inches from her. Your breath mingled with hers, the air between you charged with anticipation.

Minthara’s eyes darkened, her pupils dilating as she took in the challenge in your gaze, the power that radiated from you like heat from a fire. She reached out, her hand cupping your cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over your skin. Her touch was possessive, yet tender, as if she was savoring the moment, the power shift between you.

“Then show me,” she murmured, her voice a low, dangerous purr that sent a thrill down your spine.

That was all the invitation you needed.

With a growl of desire, you closed the remaining distance between you, your lips crashing into hers with a force that was almost violent. There was nothing gentle about the kiss—it was a clash of wills, of power, of dominance. Minthara responded in kind, her hands tangling in your hair, pulling you closer as if she couldn’t get enough of you. The kiss was fierce, frenzied, a battle for control that neither of you was willing to lose.

The dark power within you surged, feeding off the intensity of the moment, amplifying every sensation until it felt as if you were drowning in it. Your hands roamed over Minthara’s body, fingers digging into her skin as you sought to claim her just as much as she sought to claim you. There was a desperation in your movements, a need to assert yourself, to prove that you were not just a pawn in her game.

Clothes were torn away with little regard for their worth, discarded carelessly as the two of you moved toward the bed. The room seemed to blur around you, the only clarity found in the heat of Minthara’s body against yours, the taste of her on your lips, the sound of her breath mingling with yours.

You pushed her down onto the bed, your hands pinning her wrists above her head as you leaned over her, your hair falling around your faces like a curtain. Her eyes were wild, pupils blown wide with desire, her chest heaving as she looked up at you with a mixture of defiance and need.

“You think you can control me,” you whispered against her lips, your voice a dangerous murmur. “But there’s a fire within me that can’t be tamed.”

Minthara’s lips curved into a wicked smile, her teeth grazing your bottom lip as she pulled you down into another searing kiss. “I don’t want to tame you,” she replied, her voice breathless yet filled with conviction. “I want to burn with you.”

And burn you did.

The night was a blur of passion and power, of dominance and submission, the lines between the two blurring until you were no longer sure where one ended and the other began. The dark magic within you flowed freely, unchecked, feeding off the intensity of your connection with Minthara. It was as if the power itself had become an extension of your desire, heightening every touch, every kiss, until it felt as if you might shatter under the weight of it.

But you didn’t shatter. Instead, you rose higher, the power lifting you both to a plane of pleasure that was almost transcendent. Minthara’s cries of pleasure filled the room, mingling with your own as you both lost yourselves in the frenzy of the moment.

When it was over, you lay together, bodies entwined, the remnants of your passion still simmering in the air. The power within you had settled, sated for now, but you could still feel its presence, a dark, comforting hum that resonated within your very soul.

Minthara’s fingers traced patterns on your skin, her touch gentle now, almost reverent. She looked at you with an expression that was equal parts admiration and respect, a look that told you that, in this moment, she saw you as her equal, her partner.

“You were magnificent,” she murmured, her voice filled with a rare softness that you had seldom heard from her.

You smiled, a small, satisfied smile that held the knowledge of your shared victory. “So were you,” you replied, your voice low and husky.

For a moment, you simply lay there, basking in the afterglow of the night’s events, the tension between you eased by the understanding that had been forged in the fire of your passion.

But as you closed your eyes, drifting off to sleep in Minthara’s arms, you knew that this was only the beginning. The power within you was still there, still waiting, and the game between you and Minthara was far from over.

There were still battles to be fought, still power to be claimed.

And together, you would face them, side by side, as equals.

You wake slowly, the haze of sleep lingering in your mind like a soft, comforting fog. Your body feels heavy but not unpleasantly so, as if still buzzing from the events of the previous night. The memories come back in fragments—the thrill of your power, the fear in the eyes of the nobles, the way Minthara had stood by your side through it all. You shift slightly, realizing with a start that for once, you've woken before her.

Minthara lies beside you, her face peaceful in sleep, a stark contrast to the fierce warrior you know so well. Her silver hair is tousled, spilling over the pillow and onto your chest. The sight stirs something deep within you, something you had been reluctant to acknowledge, but could no longer ignore.

Careful not to wake her, you gently draw her closer, slipping your arm around her waist and pressing her against you. She nestles into your embrace unconsciously, her breath warm against your skin. You allow your head to rest on her chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing, the rhythm soothing your still racing thoughts.

Your fingers find their way to her hair, stroking the silken strands with a tenderness that surprises even you. As you do, you feel the weight of what has been growing between you, something far deeper than mere physical attraction or the alliance forged in the heat of battle. Without needing to say the words, you know what it is—what it has become.

A small smile tugs at your lips as you lean down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. The gesture is intimate, far more so than any you've shared before. It’s as if by doing so, you’re acknowledging the bond between you, even if you’re not ready to say it out loud.

The kiss seems to stir her. Minthara shifts slightly, her eyes still closed, and she mumbles in a sleepy, teasing voice, "Are you trying to assassinate me?"

You chuckle softly, the sound low and warm in the quiet of the morning. "If I were, you'd already be dead," you reply, your tone light. "No, I’m just showing you a bit of affection."

One of her eyes cracks open, glinting with mischief as she regards you. "Affection?" she echoes, feigning shock. "Perhaps that display of magic last night affected you more than I originally thought."

You laugh, shaking your head at her teasing. "Don’t be ridiculous," you say, giving her a playful shove. But instead of moving away, Minthara only presses closer, her arms winding around you as she nuzzles against your neck.

For a moment, you simply hold her, enjoying the rare quiet and the warmth of her body against yours. The foolish words of "I love you" hover on the tip of your tongue, threatening to spill out before you can stop them. But just as you’re about to give voice to them, the door to your chambers swings open with a forceful bang, shattering the intimate moment.

The High Priestess of House Baenre strides in, her expression stern, eyes blazing with barely contained fury. The tension that had been momentarily absent returns in an instant, filling the room with a palpable charge.

She doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. "You’ve caused quite a stir," she begins, her voice sharp. "Your little display of power last night—what were you thinking, child? You’ve drawn far too much attention to yourself and to this house."

You can feel Minthara stiffen in your arms, but before you can respond, she sits up, fixing the High Priestess with a glare.

"Is that why you’re angry?" she demands, her tone cold and unyielding. "Because of the recklessness, or because you’re worried that people might start to believe she’s more powerful than you?"

The High Priestess’s gaze snaps to Minthara, her eyes narrowing in warning. "Mind your tongue, Minthara. This is not a game. There are forces at work that you do not fully understand."

"And you do?" Minthara shoots back, her voice dripping with challenge. "Or are you just afraid of what it means if she is more powerful?"

The High Priestess ignores Minthara's provocation and turns her attention back to you.

"People will start to ask questions about your power, about who you really are," she says, her voice lowering as if the walls themselves might be listening. "And if they find out that you are related to Eilistraee, it will cause chaos."

A cold, bitter laugh escapes you before you can stop it. "Eilistraee? Is that what you think?" You meet her gaze evenly, your voice steady and firm. "I am a descendant of Lolth. And even you would be wise to remember that."

For a moment, the High Priestess falters, her composure slipping just enough to reveal the doubt lurking beneath. But she recovers quickly, her expression hardening. "Be that as it may, the Seldarine will not care. If they realize who you are—what you could stand for—there will be a reckoning. For you, and for this house."

With that, she turns on her heel and sweeps out of the room, leaving behind a silence thick with unresolved tension. Minthara sighs deeply, the sound filled with frustration and exasperation.

"I much preferred it when the High Priestess was more involved in our sex life than in our political one," she mutters, her tone dry.

Despite the gravity of the situation, you can’t help but laugh. "Careful," you warn, your voice light. "She might hear you."

Minthara smirks, finally relaxing against you once more. "Let her. We have more important things to worry about."

You nod, your thoughts racing. The High Priestess’s words had been meant to admonish, to warn, but they had only solidified your resolve. Whatever was coming—whatever reckoning might be on the horizon—you knew you would face it head-on, just as you had everything else. And as Minthara settled against you once more, you realized that you wouldn’t be facing it alone.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Dismissing the High Priestess' words with ease, a lightness in your step, you get dressed, opting for one of the new Baenre-colored outfits. Minthara had returned to her duties, dealing with the aftermath of last night. Humming a tune, you make your way through the grand halls of House Baenre, greeting the servants and nobles you pass. Their surprised glances don’t bother you—in fact, they amuse you. Today, nothing could bring you down.

Your wanderings take you to the dormitory where the younger girls of the house reside. As you enter, the girls look up from their morning routines, eyes wide with excitement. They swarm around you, eager to hear about the events of the ball last night. Their questions come rapid-fire, each one more enthusiastic than the last.

"What was it like?" one of the girls asks, eyes sparkling with awe.

"Did you really fight off those intruders all by yourself?" another chimes in.

"Is it true you made a noble’s head explode just by looking at them?"

You chuckle, feeling a warmth in your chest at their admiration. “Yes, yes,” you say, holding up your hands to quiet them down, “but that’s not why I’m here today.” You glance around the room, a playful glint in your eye. “I’ve decided that training is cancelled.”

The girls gasp, exchanging shocked and excited looks. Before they can process what that means, you continue, “Instead, we’re going on an excursion. Into the Underdark wilderness.”

Their excitement is palpable, and they immediately start chattering amongst themselves, rushing to get into their armor. The thought of an adventure, especially one led by you, has them buzzing with anticipation. As the girls prepare, Tirael, steps in. She looks at you with a mix of concern and respect.

“Mistress,” she begins carefully, “while you do not need the Matron’s permission for such an excursion, it would be wise to inform her of your plans.”

You wave off her concern with a dismissive gesture. “Minthara will understand,” you say confidently, your mood too buoyant to worry about the repercussions.

Tirael hesitates for a moment, clearly weighing the options, but she can see that your mind is made up. With a respectful nod, she acquiesces. “As you wish, Mistress.”

The girls, now fully armored and armed, line up excitedly, ready for whatever lies ahead. You can feel their energy feeding into yours, and as you lead them out of the dormitory, you can’t help but feel a thrill of excitement yourself. The Underdark wilderness is vast and dangerous, but with your newfound strength and control, you’re confident that today will be yet another testament to your growing power.

As you march through the halls, the girls trailing behind you in a disciplined line, you can’t help but smile. Today is going to be a good day.

Then the young girls, who were just moments ago buzzing with excitement, suddenly stiffen, their postures snapping to attention. You follow their gaze and spot Minthara approaching, her presence commanding immediate respect and fear among the younger drow.

But you? You pay no heed to the tension around you. With the same buoyant energy that has been carrying you all morning, you glide over to Minthara, your smile unbothered by the weight of her stern gaze.

"Minthara, darling," you say, your voice light and teasing, "the girls and I are heading out for a little adventure into the Underdark wilderness. You should come with us. It’ll be fun.”

Minthara regards you with a mixture of amusement and irritation, a brow arching as if to silently question your audacity.

“I have work to do,” she replies curtly, her tone leaving little room for argument. You sigh dramatically, rolling your eyes with an exaggerated flair.

“Ah, always the diligent one,” you say, turning your back to her as you begin to walk back to the girls. “The matron is too boring to join us, girls,” you announce loudly, causing a few of the girls to giggle nervously. Then, in an exaggeratedly loud whisper, you lean towards them, “Really, she’s just a scaredy cat.”

The girls’ eyes widen in shock and amusement at your audacity, while a few stifle their laughter behind their hands. Minthara, standing behind you, lets out a huff of frustration, her lips curling into a thin line. She’s clearly irked by your teasing, and you know just how to push her buttons. You glance over your shoulder, giving her a playful wink, fully expecting her to stand her ground and scold you in the process.

Instead, Minthara’s eyes narrow, and in a tone dripping with challenge, she snaps, “Fine. I’ll join you, but don’t expect me to rescue you if you get into trouble.”

The girls, barely able to contain their excitement, exchange eager glances. The thought of the matron joining them on such a dangerous outing fills them with both trepidation and a fierce desire to impress her. You simply smile, pleased with yourself for goading her into coming along.

Once outside, the group mounts their spiders, the massive arachnids clicking their mandibles in anticipation. As you make your way to your own mount, you notice Minthara getting ready to take her place atop her spider. An idea pops into your head, and with a mischievous grin, you swiftly slip in front of her just as she’s about to mount.

Without a word, you take the reins from her hands, feeling her sharp intake of breath as she stares at you in disbelief. For a moment, the air between you is thick with tension, her ruby eyes boring into yours with a mix of shock and irritation.

“How bold of you,” she murmurs, the words carrying both a hint of admiration and a clear warning. You simply grin up at her, unbothered by the potential consequences.

“Well, you know me,” you say with a playful shrug.

Minthara’s gaze doesn’t waver as she snatches the reins back from you, her expression unreadable. But instead of shoving you aside, allowing you to fall into the dirt, she surprises you by allowing you to remain where you are, in front of her on the spider. She clicks her tongue, commanding the spider to move, and it responds instantly, its legs moving with eerie grace as it carries both of you towards the Underdark wilderness.

The girls, now even more eager to impress with Minthara in attendance, follow closely behind, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and fear. You can’t help but feel a thrill of satisfaction. Not only have you managed to drag Minthara into your plans, but you’ve also secured a spot in the best seat possible—right in front of her.

As you lead the procession into the dark expanse of the Underdark, you can feel Minthara’s presence behind you, solid and reassuring, even if tinged with annoyance. The wild, untamed energy of the Underdark beckons, and with your wife and the young Baenre girls in tow, you’re more than ready to face whatever comes next.

With the spiders securely tethered and the guards standing vigilant, you lead the group toward a narrow crevice in the stone, hidden away from prying eyes. The girls, wide-eyed and full of nervous excitement, follow your every move, their whispers barely audible over the distant echoes of the Underdark. You pause at the entrance, throwing them a mischievous wink before stepping into the darkness. In an instant, you drop and disappear from view.

Minthara’s eyes narrow as she watches you vanish. Though wary, she quickly gestures for the girls to follow her.

"Stay close and don’t wander," she commands, her tone leaving no room for disobedience. With that, she steps into the crevice, vanishing into the shadows.

A split second later, Minthara finds herself freefalling into the abyss, the sensation of weightlessness both startling and exhilarating. Just as quickly, she lands softly on a bed of thick, sponge-like mushrooms, their surface yielding beneath her feet. She takes a moment to steady herself, her eyes adjusting to the dim light that begins to illuminate her surroundings.

What she sees takes her breath away.

The cove is a hidden gem within the Underdark, a secret sanctuary bathed in the ethereal glow of bioluminescent fungi and crystals embedded in the cave walls. The light reflects off the surfaces, casting a myriad of colors that dance across the stone. Spiders, each one appearing as though they were sculpted from precious gems, scuttle about, their bodies shimmering with the same bioluminescence that lights the cave. The webs they spin glisten like threads of silver, catching the light in a dazzling display.

Minthara, typically so composed and fierce, finds herself momentarily awestruck. This place, so secluded and beautiful, is a stark contrast to the harshness of the Underdark she’s accustomed to. She barely notices you as you walk by her, a smile playing on your lips as you help the other girls make their descent.

One by one, the young drow leap from the crevice, landing on the soft mushrooms with quiet gasps of surprise and wonder. Their usual bravado and discipline give way to wide-eyed astonishment as they take in their surroundings. Once everyone has gathered, you turn to them, your voice firm but soft.

“This is a sacred place,” you say, your tone commanding their attention. “Be quiet, don’t touch anything, and stay close. We are guests here.”

The girls nod eagerly, their eyes darting around in awe as they follow you and Minthara deeper into the cove. The atmosphere is thick with anticipation, every footstep echoing faintly against the cave walls. The deeper you go, the more vibrant the glow becomes, until you reach the heart of the cove.

There, in the center of the chamber, sits the Spider Matriarch.

The creature is enormous, easily towering over even the largest of the Baenre guards. Her body shimmers like she’s been carved from a single, flawless diamond, each facet catching the light and reflecting it in dazzling arrays. Her many eyes, each a deep, dark gemstone, survey the intruders with a cold, calculating intelligence.

Minthara immediately steps in front of the girls, her hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of her weapon. Her protective stance is unwavering, even as she recognizes the power and majesty of the creature before her. She spares you a glance, questioning, as if asking whether this was all part of your plan.

“Wait here,” you instruct, your voice calm and steady. You step forward, moving with deliberate grace toward the Spider Matriarch. The air is thick with tension as you approach, the girls watching with bated breath. Minthara’s grip tightens on her weapon, ready to strike if necessary.

When you reach the Matriarch, you lower yourself into a ritualistic bow, your movements precise and respectful. The chamber is silent, the only sound the faint rustling of the smaller spiders as they move about their webbed domain. For a moment, nothing happens, and the tension in the air is almost unbearable.

Then, slowly, the Matriarch’s massive body shifts, her many legs relaxing as she acknowledges your presence. The danger passes, and the aura of threat dissipates, replaced by a silent understanding.

You straighten, turning back to the group with a beckoning gesture. “It’s safe,” you say, your voice breaking the silence. “Come forward.”

The girls, still wide-eyed with wonder, hesitate for only a moment before they begin to move, their steps tentative as they approach the Matriarch. Minthara is the last to follow, her eyes still sharp and alert, but there’s a new respect in her gaze as she looks at you.

As the group gathers closer to the Matriarch, you can see the awe in their faces, the reverence in their movements. This experience is one they will carry with them, a memory etched into their minds as they step further into their roles within House Baenre.

And as you stand there, surrounded by the luminous beauty of the cove, you can’t help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction. The Matriarch, the wonder in the girls’ eyes, and even Minthara’s begrudging respect—all of it reaffirms your place, your power, in this world beneath the surface.

You reach out, your hand gentle as it strokes the crystalline surface of the Spider Matriarch’s body. Her hard, gem-like exterior glimmers under your touch, refracting the light in dazzling patterns across the cave walls. At first, she remains still, her many eyes observing you intently. Then, to the amazement of everyone present, the Matriarch begins to nuzzle into your hand, her massive form shifting closer, almost like an old friend seeking comfort. The connection between you and the ancient creature is palpable, a silent understanding that needs no words.

The girls are utterly captivated by the sight, their expressions a mix of awe and disbelief. You can feel their eyes on you, watching every movement as if this were some sacred ritual they had been granted the rarest of privileges to witness. The youngest of the group, hesitant and unsure, clings to the edge of your cloak, her small fingers gripping the fabric tightly. You turn to her with a warm, reassuring smile.

“It’s alright,” you whisper softly, your voice soothing. “She won’t harm you.”

The girl looks up at you, her wide eyes filled with uncertainty, but she nods. Encouraged by your words, she takes a tentative step forward. One by one, you introduce the girls to the Matriarch, guiding their hands as they reach out to touch the massive creature. Some of the older girls are more confident, their hands steady as they make contact with the Matriarch’s gleaming form, while the younger ones are more apprehensive, inching closer only after your gentle reassurances.

“See?” you say, your tone light and encouraging. “She’s as gentle as she is powerful.”

The Matriarch remains still, her calm demeanor helping to ease the girls' nerves. Gradually, they relax, their initial fear giving way to wonder as they realize just how special this moment is. The younger ones, still slightly wary, nevertheless follow your lead, stepping closer to the Matriarch and letting their small hands glide over her gleaming surface.

You then look over at Minthara, who has been quietly observing the interaction. Her usual stern expression has softened, and there’s a faint smile playing on her lips—a rare sight indeed. You can see something playing on her mind as she looks at you and the girls, but you simply cannot place it. You beckon her to join you, a silent invitation that she accepts after a moment’s hesitation.

Minthara approaches the Matriarch with measured steps, her hand extending to touch the creature’s side. The Matriarch doesn’t react with the same familiarity she showed you, but she allows Minthara’s touch, her massive eyes meeting Minthara’s in what seems like an acknowledgment of respect.

One of the older girls, emboldened by the experience, remarks with a grin, “I think this is the first time I’ve seen the Matron smile when someone didn’t get hurt.”

A ripple of laughter runs through the group, lightening the mood even further. Minthara’s smile deepens just a fraction, and though she doesn’t respond, there’s a glint of amusement in her eyes.

As the girls begin to explore the cove, playing with the spiderlings that scuttle around them, you and Minthara find a quiet spot to sit together, watching the scene unfold. The atmosphere is peaceful, almost serene, the cove’s natural beauty providing a rare respite from the harshness of the Underdark.

Minthara glances at you, curiosity evident in her gaze. “How did you come to know of this place?” she asks, her voice quieter than usual. “Of these creatures?”

You lean back slightly, your eyes tracing the delicate patterns of bioluminescent fungi on the cave walls as you consider your response.

“My mother,” you begin, your voice steady but laced with old, buried emotions, “used to abandon me in the wilderness when my powers became too much for her to handle. She called it a test, a way to teach me control, but it was more about survival. Either I would learn to control my magic or I would die out there, alone.”

You pause, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you recall those early days, looking back on the horror like a funny joke. Minthara’s eyes darken, however, her expression hardening at the thought. But she remains silent, waiting for you to continue.

“It was during one of those times,” you say, your gaze drifting to the Matriarch, “when I was left to fend for myself that I found this place. Or maybe it found me. I was dehydrated, half-mad with exhaustion, my magic out of control. I remember stumbling through the dark, barely able to see straight, when I came across this cove. It felt like a dream, or maybe a hallucination brought on by desperation.”

“When my magic finally calmed down, when I was no longer on the brink of death, I made my way back to the house,” you continue. “But the cycle would repeat. Every time I lost control, every time my power threatened to consume me, I’d end up back here. The Matriarch became my sanctuary, a place where I could regain control, where I could be myself without fear.”

Minthara is silent for a moment, processing what you’ve told her. Her gaze shifts to the Matriarch, who remains still and watchful, her crystalline eyes reflecting the glow of the fungi.

“Your mother was a coward, it is an honour to have slain her, one albeit I wish I reserved for you,” Minthara finally says, her voice low but firm.

If she was more thoughtful of her words she would have realised that perhaps bringing up the fact that she murdered your mother, may 'ruin the moment', but she didn't care, and it seemed neither did you. (Somewhere, Kyorlin was seething for no particular reason).

Minthara continued, “She couldn’t face your power, so she left you to fend for yourself. But I’m glad she did. If she hadn’t, you might never have found this place.. And you might never have found your way to me.”

Her affection effects you more than you were prepared for and you feel a light blush grace your cheeks as Minthara reaches to hold your hand. are a mixture of truth and a comfort you hadn’t expected. You feel a strange sense of relief, as if a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. Despite everything, despite the pain and the harshness of your upbringing, the hand life had dealt you, something good had come from it.

You smile, a genuine warmth filling your chest. “You’re right,” you say softly. “I did find my way to you.”

Minthara’s expression softens even more, a rare and precious sight. “And for that, I am grateful,” she murmurs, her thumb carressing the top of your hand.

The connection between you two feels stronger, real. Your eyes are mesmerised by hers and before you realise what you are doing, you lean forward and press your forehead against hers. You can see Minthara panic slightly, unused to such genuine tenderness towards herself, something that was innocent - not a product of lust. You softly kiss her lips, and Minthara's eyes flutter shut, basking in the warmth of your touch. This kiss is chaste, tender, and when you pull away you rest your forehead once more on hers. Words settle on your tongue, screaming to be said, the three little words you knew would change everything once spoken, that dared to escape you this very morning. Your breath hitches in anticipation as you go to start your confession.

"Minthara, I-"

"-Mistress, Matron, look what we found!" A small group of the younger girls approach you, the youngest clasping something in her hands. You smile and move away from Minthara, your attention soley on the girls, not on the maelstrom of emotions that were pounding in your heart. You didn't look back to Minthara, but if you had, you would see her continuing to stare at you wistfully, as if pretending to hear what she was hoping you were going to say.

"What is it ladies?" You ask, your cheeks still a faint red and you smiled bashfully at them. The youngest shows you her open palms and nestled in them is a red crystal with black streaks running through it, and it is vital to note, that it is shaped as a heart.

"We uh, we uh thought you and the matron might like this, because it is our house colors." The young girl told you, her eye flicking nervously to Minthara, as if she expected her to suddenly smack it out of her hand, and scold her for such juvenile thoughts.

"This is beautiful and a perceptive find. Thank you." Minthara said to them, softly taking it out of the girls hand and putting it up to the light and admiring it as it shined. "We will cherish it, won't we wife?"

"We will, thank you ladies." You smile and nod to them, the girls are overhwelmed with surprise and they bow their heads before scampering off, as if not to test their luck. Before you can turn to Minthara and ask her if perhaps she hit her head on the way down here, or if she accidentally inhaled some sort of rogue fungus, Minthara speaks first.

“It was good of you to bring the girls here, but I must ask why?” she asks, running the crystal through her hands, nodding toward the young drow who were now completely re-absorbed in their exploration.

"They needed to see this," you say softly, your voice carrying the weight of your intentions. "To understand that there’s more to power than just strength and fear. There’s beauty in it too, a kind of grace. I wanted them to see that, to feel it, to know it."

Minthara is silent, her gaze turning inward as she contemplates your words. The harsh lines of her face soften as she looks back at the girls, watching them with an unreadable expression.

“You’ve given them a gift today,” she murmurs, almost as if she’s speaking to herself.

A genuine warmth spreads through you as you smile at her, the gesture unguarded. “We’ve given them a gift, Minthara. You agreed to come, after all. I doubt they would have been half as excited if you weren’t here.”

She lets out a huff, a sound meant to mask the warmth your words bring her. “Only because you called me a scaredy-cat,” she mutters, though the faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth betrays her.

You laugh softly, the sound mingling with the distant echoes of the girls’ laughter. “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

Minthara rolls her eyes, but there’s no real irritation there. Instead, she hands you the heart-shaped crystal the young girls had presented to the both of you. "So, tell me, Princess of Spiders, what type of crystal is this?"

You chuckle at the playful endearment and take the crystal from her, turning it over in your hand as if appraising it. "As the most regal Princess of the Spiders, I can assure you, this is no ordinary crystal."

Minthara lets out a breathless laugh, her smirk widening. "Oh, don’t tell me it’s imbued with some mystical power. Is it filled with the power of love?"

You hold her gaze, your expression completely serious. "Oh no, dearest, this is most definitely a crystallized human ear."

Minthara pauses, her smirk faltering as she searches your face for any hint of a joke. When she realizes you’re not jesting, her eyes widen slightly before she snatches the crystal back from you, inspecting it with ruthless scrutiny. You can’t help but chuckle at her reaction.

"When these creatures are done with their prey, they crystallize the remains," you explain, your tone matter-of-fact. "Think of it as their method of preserving rations."

Minthara’s gaze sweeps over the cavern, taking in the glittering crystals that adorn the walls. "So you’re telling me that this cove—covered in what I assumed were beautiful crystals—is actually adorned with corpses and carcasses?"

"Yep," you confirm with a casual shrug.

She shakes her head, a wry grin spreading across her face. "This outing could not get any better."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The bioluminescent glow of the fungi intensifies, casting a mesmerizing light throughout the cove. The girls, who had been laughing and playing with the spiderlings, are now starting to show signs of exhaustion. You know it’s time to leave, to return to the more controlled chaos of House Baenre, but you’re reluctant to break the spell of this serene place.

You start gathering the girls, calling them to attention with a gentle but firm voice. They gather around you, still chattering excitedly about the day’s adventure, the Matriarch, and the spiderlings they’ve befriended. As you prepare to lead them back out of the cove, a sudden movement in the corner of your eye catches your attention.

A group of larger crystalline spiders, adults by the size of them, scuttle into the cove from a darkened tunnel. At first, it’s easy to dismiss their presence—they’re simply returning to their home—but then you see what they’re dragging behind them. It’s a creature, half-alive, its body twisted and broken, eyes wide with terror. The spiders are efficient in their brutality, their fangs piercing flesh with practiced ease, venom paralyzing their prey even as they wrap it in silken threads.

The scene is vicious and savage, the spiders working with a kind of natural precision that is both horrifying and, in a way, beautiful. The cycle of life and death, survival and dominance, all playing out before your eyes. The girls, who had been so carefree moments before, fall silent as they notice what’s happening. Their wide eyes are glued to the scene, shock and fear rippling through the group. You see this as a teachable moment, one that they won’t soon forget.

“This,” you say, your voice carrying the weight of the lesson you’re about to impart, “is what happens if you do not show respect to these creatures. They may seem playful, even gentle at times, but they are still predators, deadly and merciless.”

The girls exchange nervous glances, the realization dawning on them that the same spiderlings they had been playing with not long ago will one day grow into the very creatures before them. The spiders continue their work, oblivious to the audience they’ve garnered, their focus solely on their prey.

The youngest among the girls, who had been clinging to your side most of the day, looks up at you with wide, scared eyes.

“They were so nice to us,” she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. “But they could have...”

You nod, acknowledging her unspoken fear. “They could have,” you confirm, your tone gentle but firm. “But you showed them respect, and they returned it. That’s how you survive in the Underdark. Respect, understanding, and knowing when to fight and when to retreat.”

Minthara, who has been silently watching the scene unfold, steps forward, her presence commanding and reassuring.

“Remember what you’ve seen today,” she adds, her voice steady. “This is the world we live in. Strength and respect are what keep us alive. Never forget that.”

The girls nod, absorbing the gravity of her words. They’ve seen brutality before—life in the Underdark ensures that—but this is different. This is a reminder that even in a place of beauty, danger is never far away. It’s a lesson that will stay with them, shaping their understanding of the world they inhabit.

You give the signal, and the group begins to move, following you and Minthara back toward the entrance of the cove. The mood is more somber now, the earlier excitement tempered by what they’ve witnessed. The spiderlings, now forgotten, retreat into the shadows as the girls file out, their small, bright red eyes watching from the darkness.

As you help the last of the girls out of the crevice, you cast one final glance back at the cove. The Matriarch watches you, her massive eyes reflecting the light of the fungi. There’s a sense of finality to the moment, as if the cove itself is bidding you farewell, a silent promise that it will be here when you need it again.

Minthara is the last to leave, and as she emerges from the crevice, she pauses beside you, her gaze lingering on the entrance to the cove.

“You’ve taught them more today than they’ll learn in a hundred lessons back at the house,” she murmurs, her voice carrying a note of admiration.

“I hope so,” you reply with a smile. “They need to understand the world they’re growing up in. The dangers, the beauty, and the balance between the two.”

The journey back to House Baenre begins as the group mounts their spiders, the creatures responding to their riders with a mixture of familiarity and respect. You move to the front, confidently claiming your place in front of Minthara on her mount. The large arachnid shifts beneath you, its many legs moving in a fluid rhythm as you take hold of the reins. For a moment, Minthara hesitates, watching you with those sharp, discerning eyes, but she doesn’t object. Instead, she leans forward into your back, her presence a warm, reassuring weight as you guide the spider forward.

The ride home is quieter than the journey to the cove. The girls, though still chatting amongst themselves, are noticeably subdued, their minds clearly occupied by the lessons learned and the sights witnessed.

As you approach the gates of House Baenre, the familiar spires rising ominously against the cavern’s ceiling, the girls’ spirits lift slightly. They’re exhausted but content, their excitement tempered by the day’s events. You dismount first, helping the youngest of the girls down from her spider before turning to Minthara.

"Are you going to join us for dinner?" you ask, the hope in your voice betraying your desire for just a bit more time together before the responsibilities of your respective roles claim you.

Minthara smiles softly, but there’s a note of regret in her expression as she shakes her head. "I’d like to, but there’s work that demands my attention today."

You nod in understanding, though disappointment tugs at your heart. "I’ll see you later then," you reply, letting her go without further insistence. She watches you for a moment longer before turning towards her study, her steps purposeful and brisk.

The evening passes quietly as you join the girls for dinner. Their energy has returned somewhat, and the meal is filled with chatter about the day’s adventure. You smile, encouraging their enthusiasm, but your thoughts keep drifting back to Minthara. When the meal ends and the girls are finally sent to their beds, you retreat to your chamber, expecting Minthara to join you soon.

But as the hours stretch on, and she still hasn’t come to bed, a knot of worry forms in your chest. Something doesn’t feel right. You slip out of bed, your feet barely making a sound as you move through the darkened halls of House Baenre. The path to Minthara’s study is familiar, but tonight, it feels longer, the silence more oppressive.

When you reach the door to her study, you hesitate, a sense of foreboding washing over you. Slowly, you push the door open, and the sight that greets you makes your blood run cold.

Minthara is slumped against her desk, her breathing labored as she struggles to pull a dagger from her abdomen. Her fingers, slick with blood, slip against the hilt, and a pained grimace mars her usually composed features. On the floor beside her, a dead brutalized Seldarine assassin lies motionless, a testament to the viscious fight that had just taken place. Minthara's eyes light up when she sees you, and as if she now knows she is in your hands, she collapses in a heap, her own spilt blood bathing her.

You thought you had felt fear before.

But not like this.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

mwhahahahahahahahahhahahaha

did you really think it would all be sunshine and roses? In this series?!?

I think we can officially ascertain that we are now in the lovers era. I am so SO excited for the direction I am taking this series and I think you guys will love it too!

I think this is the fluffiest chapter I have written for this series (I'm writing this and just remembering the brutal murders I wrote at the beginning - whoops!)

Anyway, let me know what you guys think, i love and cherish every like and comment. Love you all !

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

^As a note; I want to again thank every person who has bought me a coffee, I am in my struggle era rn with unemployment and being completely independent. I also want to thank every single person who has left a nice comment either on a post or in my inbox, all of you are truly the reason this blog keeps running and I stay sane. So thank you.^

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