#some would deliberately move away from that
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hy6erion · 2 days ago
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Viktor being jealous??!!?!??!
𝐔𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 - 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
⇢ 𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲/ 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞
𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠. ૮₍⇀ ‸ ↼‶₎ა
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Viktor isn’t the type to throw a fit. He won’t storm out or pick a fight—no, he’ll sit there, watching, cataloging every detail. The way someone leans too close, the way they laugh just a little too easily at your jokes. His jaw tightens, his fingers twitch against his cane, but he waits. He studies.
He won’t cause a scene, but he will dismantle his opponent with terrifying precision. A casual, cutting remark that leaves the poor fool questioning their existence? A pointed comment that makes them realize they’re utterly beneath him? He delivers it with a polite smile, an arch of his brow, and then turns his attention back to you like they never existed.
Viktor doesn’t need grand gestures. A hand on the small of your back, a thumb grazing your wrist as he guides you away, a lingering press of fingers against your hip. He is tactile when it counts, his touch burning with intent.
His voice drops, low and velvety, when he leans in close. “You are enjoying yourself, yes? I hope so. Because I would hate for you to feel… unattended.” It’s not a threat, not exactly. But his fingers at your waist tighten just slightly, just enough to let you know he’s very aware.
There’s a moment where he decides he’s done entertaining the nonsense. He doesn’t yank you away, doesn’t make a scene. He simply steps in, a warm body at your back, his breath at your ear. “Come with me.” And there’s no argument.
˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗
The room is warm, the air thick with conversation and the occasional clink of glasses. You hadn’t expected the night to stretch this long, but here you were, laughing at some story being told by a man whose name you had already forgotten.
You could feel Viktor before you saw him.
That particular kind of weight in the air, the prickle at the back of your neck that told you he was watching. It wasn’t overt, not yet. But you knew him well enough to recognize the signs—his patience had an expiration date.
“That’s fascinating,” you hum, just to be polite. You shift your glass in your hand, casting a glance over your shoulder.
There he is. Seated just far enough away that he could pretend he wasn’t paying attention. His fingers tap idly against the head of his cane, his mouth a neutral line. But his gaze? Heavy. Unwavering.
You can feel it trailing over you, catching at your neck, your collarbone, the curve of your waist. He is not pleased.
“Am I boring you?” The man in front of you tilts his head, misreading your distraction entirely.
You smile, but it’s not meant for him. “Not at all.”
You take a slow sip from your glass, deliberately holding Viktor’s gaze over the rim. There’s a flicker of something in his expression, something dark and considering.
He moves.
It’s not rushed, not dramatic. Just the smooth, purposeful way he unfolds himself from his chair, the slow click of his cane against the floor as he makes his way toward you.
You straighten instinctively as he stops at your side, his body close enough that you feel the heat of him.
Viktor doesn’t immediately acknowledge you. His attention is on the man in front of you, studying him with a polite, distant kind of amusement. “You are very entertaining, I see.”
The man laughs awkwardly. “I do my best.”
“Mmm.” Viktor hums, unimpressed. His fingers brush lightly against the curve of your hip, as if it’s an idle thing. But the touch lingers.
Your breath catches.
Viktor shifts, angling himself ever so slightly toward you, his lips close enough to ghost against the shell of your ear.
“Come with me.”
A whisper, nothing more. But his voice is low, edged with something dangerous.
You shiver.
“Excuse us,” Viktor says absently, already guiding you away. He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t need to.
The hallway is quieter, dimly lit, far from the eyes of the party. Viktor doesn’t stop until your back is against the wall, his body a breath away from yours.
“You are playing with me,” he murmurs, eyes gleaming.
You tilt your chin up, feigning innocence. “Am I?”
His lips curve, but there’s no real humor in it. He steps closer, his thigh brushing against yours. “Careful, love.” His fingers find your wrist, tracing the delicate skin there, feeling the way your pulse betrays you. “You might not like where this game ends.”
The air between you is electric, your breath caught somewhere between anticipation and challenge.
You don’t back down. “Maybe I would.”
Viktor inhales slowly, his thumb sweeping up to brush over your lower lip, his gaze dropping.
“You test my patience.” His voice is a rasp now, thick with something unspoken. “And yet—” He leans in, just barely, his mouth a whisper away. “I find I do not mind.”
Your heart is a traitor, hammering against your ribs. His presence is suffocating in the best way, his attention a brand against your skin.
“Viktor—”
The moment shatters as a voice calls from the main room.
“Viktor! There you are! We were just about to—”
Viktor exhales sharply, his forehead brushing yours for half a second before he pulls away, irritation flickering in his gaze. He closes his eyes, composing himself.
“You are lucky,” he murmurs, shaking his head. But his grip on your wrist tightens, just enough to remind you—this wasn’t over.
You swallow, your skin still burning where he touched you.
Lucky? No.
You weren’t sure luck had anything to do with it.
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rizzanon · 3 days ago
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His place
a tim drake and batsis! reader oneshot | m.list
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Summary: you remind your brother what his role is in the family | events somewhat align with pre-Red Robin if you squint
Tim Drake barely registers the destruction around him. The broken glass, the overturned books, the scattered papers—all of it blends into the edges of his vision, insignificant in the face of the storm still raging inside his chest. His breath is shallow, uneven, like he’s just come up for air after drowning. His hands are curled into fists against the floor, his nails digging into his palms, but he doesn’t move.
He can’t.
Everything feels wrong.
Bruce is gone.
Dick is Batman.
Damian is Robin.
And Tim—
He is nothing.
There’s a raw, open wound inside him, and he doesn’t know how to close it. Doesn’t even know where to start.
The word ‘replaced’ makes his stomach twist, but it’s the truth, isn’t it? It had taken Dick all of two seconds to strip the title away from him and hand it over to him.
Damian.
A murderer. A child who barely understood what this family was supposed to be. Who had killed and barely flinched. Bruce had spent months trying to reach him, trying to ground him, and now Bruce was gone, and Dick thought the best thing to do was put Robin’s colors on his back?
It’s like spitting on everything Tim had ever fought for.
He exhales shakily, the weight of it pressing down on him. He’s spent days holding himself together, clenching his teeth and pretending it didn’t matter, that he didn’t care, that he wasn’t unraveling beneath the surface. He knew Bruce isn’t dead, he knew something isn’t right, but nobody would believe now, would they?
And now, standing in the wreckage of his own room, he feels like all that certainty—the thing keeping him grounded—has slipped through his fingers.
His room is a disaster—papers strewn across the floor, glass glinting under the dim light, books lying open and discarded like corpses. The air is thick with the weight of his own fury, his grief, his goddamn exhaustion.
And yet, it still isn’t enough. He still feels hollow.
The room feels too small.
He blinks hard, staring down at the floor. His chest feels too tight. His heartbeat is too loud. The mess around him is suffocating, but he can’t bring himself to move, to clean any of it up.
And then—
The door creaks open. A quiet, deliberate sound.
Tim tenses.
He doesn’t need to look up to know it’s you.
You step inside quietly, careful with your movements. He listens to your soft, measured footsteps, the way you move carefully, deliberately, like you’re navigating through a minefield. You don’t speak. You don’t rush. You don’t even let out a sigh, though he knows you must want to. Instead, you just move toward him, stepping over broken pieces of whatever he destroyed, before lowering yourself onto the floor beside him.
Not too close.
But close enough.
Tim stares ahead, fixating on the cracks in the broken lamp, the scattered books, the torn papers. He listens to your breathing, slow and steady, the faint rustle of fabric as you shift slightly.
He wonders if you can hear how unsteady his breathing is.
You don’t push him to speak. You just sit there, patient.
You don’t sigh. You don’t try to fill the silence.
You wait.
Tim clenches his jaw.
For a long moment, there’s only silence.
Then, finally, he exhales sharply through his nose. “What, did Dick send you?” His voice is rough, bitter, but the exhaustion drags it down, taking most of the bite out of his words.
He regrets it the second it leaves his mouth.
Because you aren’t the problem here. You aren’t the reason everything feels like it’s caving in.
You don’t deserve to be on the receiving end of his anger.
You glance at him. “No.”
Tim scoffs, shaking his head. “Right, you here to tell me I’m overreacting then?”
“No.”
He huffs out a humorless laugh. “Great. That makes one person in this house.”
You don’t react, don’t flinch, don’t tell him he’s wrong. And for some reason, that makes his chest tighten.
“Why are you here, (Name)?”
You don’t answer immediately. You shift slightly, glancing around the mess of his room. Tim wonders if you’re judging him for it. If you’re piecing together everything that must have led up to this moment. If you’re staring at the wreckage and seeing him for what he really is—angry, bitter, and more lost than he wants to admit.
When you finally speak, your voice is softer than before.
“I just want to talk.”
Tim scoffs, dragging a hand through his hair. “Yeah? What’s there to talk about?”
You glance at him, and he hates the way your expression softens just slightly. Like you’re seeing right through him. Like you already know.
And then, finally, you say it. The thing he didn’t want to hear.
“You know you still have a place here, right?”
Something twists in his gut.
Tim swallows, forcing a scoff, his fingers dig into his knee. “Do I?”
“You do.”
He lets out a bitter laugh. “That’s real funny, because from where I’m sitting, it looks like Dick made his choice.”
You don’t react the way he expects. You don’t rush to correct him or try to argue. You just look at him. Your gaze was steady and unwavering.
And for some reason, that’s worse.
“Dick needs you.”
Tim scoffs. “Yeah? Sure didn’t seem that way when he gave my suit to Damian.”
“He didn’t give your suit to Damian,” you say. “He just… gave him a suit.”
“Oh, that makes it so much better,” Tim snaps. “Like I should just be fine with the fact that he handed Robin to someone who doesn’t even understand what it means.”
You exhale through your nose. “Tim—”
“No.” He turns to you now, eyes burning, his voice sharp, bitter. “He knows. He knows what Robin is. What it means to me. And he still—” He clenches his jaw, forcing down the words that feel like acid in his throat.
He still chose Damian.
The words taste like poison in his mouth.
Like betrayal.
Because he and Dick worked together. Because Tim trusted him. Because Dick should have known better.
Robin was never just a suit. It was never just a name.
Dick made Robin a symbol, but Tim made it a legacy. He had built on everything that came before him, upheld it, protected it. He never saw himself as a sidekick—Bruce never treated him like one. And neither did Dick.
But then, the moment Bruce was gone—
The second he was gone—
Dick had replaced him.
He had given Robin to someone who didn’t understand it. Someone who didn’t earn it. Someone who treated it like it was his by default.
Someone who had killed.
And that—
That was something Tim couldn’t forgive.
“He didn’t replace you.”
Tim can feel your gaze on him. Studying him. Assessing him. You’re quiet, like you’re deciding what to say to him—what not to say, as if he was a bomb ticking. He hates that.
“You don’t get it.”
“Then help me understand.”
That makes his stomach twist, because you actually mean it. There’s no pity in your voice, no condescension. Just quiet sincerity.
Tim exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. His thoughts are spiraling again, overlapping, contradicting. He doesn’t know how to say what he’s feeling, how to put it into words without it sounding pathetic.
But you’re still watching him. Still waiting.
So he just—
He lets it out.
“Robin was mine,” he mutters, voice tight. “I—I earned it. I worked for it. I built on it. It wasn’t just a name, it was—” His breath shudders slightly. “It was a legacy. And Dick—he just handed it over to him like it didn’t mean anything. After everything. He didn’t even—” His voice catches for half a second before he forces it steady again.
He hears the shift in your breathing. Feels your hesitation.
“Tim… with Dick as Batman now… you and him can never have a Batman and Robin dynamic. Not really.”
Tim stills.
You hold his gaze. “You were partners. He respects you and your judgement. He trusts you to call the shots, the same way Bruce did.”
Tim’s chest feels tight. His hands twitch slightly against his knees.
“He doesn’t see you as a kid anymore,” you continue. “That’s why he couldn’t make you Robin. Not because he doesn’t want you by his side. But because he doesn’t see you as someone who needs to be Robin.”
Tim’s throat feels tight.
“You don’t need Robin, Tim.” Your voice is gentle but firm. “And Dick knows that.”
His jaw tightens.
“He believes in you, Tim. He always has, and he always will.”
Tim lets out a slow breath, his fingers twitching against the fabric of his jeans. His thoughts are spiraling again, analyzing every interaction, every choice, every word. He doesn’t know how to respond to that.
Doesn’t know what to say.
Had he really—?
Had Dick really—?
It’s stupid. It’s so stupid, but for some reason, the words hit something deep in him, something fragile and unspoken.
Dick trusted him.
He always had.
But Tim—he had been so focused on what he lost that he hadn’t seen what was still there. It was hard not to. His mom, his dad, Conner—
Tim exhales sharply through his nose, looking away. His hands curl into fists against his knees before slowly unclenching.
You shift beside him, your voice softer now. “You’ve already made your place in this family, Tim. Nothing can ever change that.”
Tim presses his lips together, staring at the floor.
He doesn’t know what to say to that.
Because the anger is still there, the frustration, the bitterness. But underneath it—buried so deep he almost missed it—there’s something else.
Something that makes his breath come a little easier.
He knows you’re right.
But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
His fingers tighten against the fabric of his jeans. He stares at the floor, at the pieces of his broken lamp, at the mess he made in a moment of pure frustration.
You don’t push him to respond. You just sit there, quiet, patient, letting him process, letting him breathe.
Eventually, after what feels like forever, Tim exhales, voice barely above a whisper.
“…It still hurts.”
You shift slightly beside him. When you speak, your voice is just as quiet.
“I know.”
“Where does this leave me?”
You hesitate. Tim feels the way your breath hitch, feels your gaze on him once more.
“Still here.”
And somehow—somehow, that’s enough.
His hands aren’t shaking anymore.
He barely notices. His pulse is pounding in his ears, his mind buzzing with too many thoughts at once, overlapping, colliding, turning over and over until he feels like he’s going to short-circuit.
His mind is spinning too fast, circling around the same thought, the same certainty that he knows—he knows—what he’s saying is real.
He lifts his head, forces himself to look at you. His voice comes out strained, barely above a whisper.
“Bruce is alive.”
The words are heavy, pressed between his teeth like something sacred. Something unshakable.
You shift beside him. He feels it before he even looks.
A pause.
Then—
“Tim—”
“I can’t tell you how,” he cuts in, sharper than he means to, his chest rising and falling too quickly. “I can’t tell you why.” He turns to you fully now, his hands gripping his knees, his eyes burning. “But I know.” His breath shudders slightly. “He’s still alive.”
You’re looking at him now. Tim watches every movement, every flicker of hesitation in your expression, every breath you take before responding. He can already feel the doubt coming.
You hold his gaze, steady but cautious. Then you sigh, exhaling through your nose as you place a hand on his arm.
“Tim…” Your voice is gentle. Too gentle. It makes something inside him twist, makes his throat go tight, because he knows what that tone means. You’re trying to ease him into something. Trying to let him down gently.
It makes his stomach sink.
“We saw Bruce’s body,” you say, fingers tightening slightly against his sleeve. “We can’t change what happened during Final Crisis. Bruce… he—”
“He’s alive.” His voice rises, strained, cracking on the edges. His pulse is too fast, his breathing shallow. His skin feels too tight, his own body suffocating him. “He’s still alive. I can feel it.”
You still.
You freeze.
Tim sees the way your lips part slightly, the way your shoulders subtly tense, the way your fingers twitch before curling against your lap. He sees it, and it sets something uneasy, something cold, deep in his chest.
You hesitate.
He can feel your hesitation.
You hesitate, and suddenly, Tim can’t breathe.
“We always base things off facts, Tim,” you say slowly, carefully. “You always base things off facts.” Your brows furrow. “But now… you’re trying to tell me Bruce is still alive because you can just… feel it?”
Tim’s stomach twists.
It hurts.
It actually fucking hurts, and he wasn’t prepared for that.
Because—because you were different.
You had always been different.
You were the one he could always turn to, the one who listened, who never brushed him off or made him feel like a stupid, reckless kid. You never doubted him. You never judged him. You never looked at him like he was losing it.
That’s why he told you first.
That’s why he needed you to be the first one to hear it.
And now—
Now, you’re hesitating.
Now, you’re doubting.
Now, you’re looking at him exactly how everyone else has.
He clenches his jaw, his hands curling into fists. His throat works around something thick, something unbearable, something raw and ugly that he can’t let out.
He doesn’t have an answer to that.
Because you’re right.
You’re right.
And yet—
He clenches his fists against his knees. His mind is racing again, replaying everything, twisting the words over and over, trying to find the logic, trying to find the missing piece, trying to prove it.
You don’t believe him.
You think he’s lost it.
Just like everyone else.
His breath hitches slightly, his body tense, his muscles coiling. He can’t tell if his chest feels tight from anger or something worse.
Finally, his voice comes out hoarse, strained, desperate.
“I know—I know it sounds fucking stupid.” He swallows hard, his heart slamming against his ribs. “That I don’t sound sane right now.” His chest is too tight. His vision is too sharp, too focused on the way you’re watching him, on the doubt in your eyes. His jaw clenches as he looks at you again, searching, pleading. He forces the words out, desperate.
“But you’ve got to trust me.”
Silence.
Heavy. Suffocating.
Tim watches you. Scrutinizes every tiny shift in your expression, every flicker in your eyes, every breath you take.
You aren’t responding.
You aren’t saying anything.
Your eyes dart slightly downward, like you’re processing, debating, deciding. The way your fingers slowly uncurl from his sleeve before settling against your own lap.
And suddenly, Tim knows.
He knows you think he’s lost it.
Just like Dick.
Just like everyone else.
His breathing hitches slightly, panic creeping up his throat. He tries to fight it down, tries to swallow it back, but he can feel his pulse racing, his hands trembling slightly where they’re clenched into fists.
He doesn’t know what he’ll do if you—
“…Okay.”
Tim stills.
“I believe you.”
His stomach drops.
His mind goes blank.
“What?”
You hold his gaze, expression unreadable. “You’ve proven to me so many times that nothing is really what it seems. That there’s always more to a truth. More to a fact.” You exhale. “And if you say that Bruce… somehow… is still alive?” Your voice softens. “If you really believe that, then maybe—just maybe—you’re right.”
Tim doesn’t move.
Doesn’t breathe.
He can’t.
His mind is blank, wiped clean, like he just walked into an ambush he should’ve seen coming but somehow didn’t.
He doesn’t know what to say.
Doesn’t know how to say anything at all.
He can’t process what just happened, can’t process what you just said, can’t process the fact that—
You believe him.
You actually believe him.
And suddenly, before he can stop himself, before he can even think—
He’s pulling you into a hug.
You barely have time to react before his arms wrap tightly around you, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, his grip desperate, almost painful, his fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt like you might disappear if he lets go.
His voice is rough, barely more than a whisper.
“Thank you.”
It’s not enough.
It’s not enough to convey what this means to him, what you mean to him, but it’s all he can manage.
You don’t hesitate this time.
You just return the hug, solid and grounding and warm, and the feeling of it—the reality of it—hits Tim all at once, makes his chest feel too full, makes his eyes burn slightly, makes his throat ache with something he doesn’t know how to name. His heart is still hammering, but for the first time in weeks, it doesn’t feel like it’s suffocating him.
After a long moment, your voice murmurs against his ear.
“So… what are you going to do now?”
Tim swallows, pulling back slightly. He meets your eyes, searching for something—he doesn’t even know what.
“I’m not sure.”
You watch him, knowing. “I can tell you’re planning to leave.”
Tim lets out a breathy, humorless laugh. “Hah. Maybe…” He smirks faintly, something bitter in the curve of his lips. “But you know I’ll always come back, though, right?”
You sigh, shaking your head.
“You better,” you mutter. Then, softer, “And take care of yourself.”
Tim holds your gaze, memorizing every detail, every flicker of warmth, every ounce of trust.
He nods.
And this time—
He doesn’t feel like he’s drowning.
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lowkey self indulged with this lol 😅🫣 tim was really going through it in the comics during this period but hey! at least it gave us Red Robin Tim Drake 🤭
taglist (open): @k1arar3 @kingshitonly @rainnyydaysworld @ceridwyn3 @darkfaethedestroyer @blueiones @strwberryglass @lithiumval @thephantomdanny @eli-mayhaveatencats @rockyeatrock @dreaming-of-the-reality @shirp-collector-of-fixations @gneepgnorpsneepsnorp @skerbablo @dind1n | ask to be added <3
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yandere-sins · 2 days ago
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Yan-Poll #31
[Continuation of Poll #24]
"I'm home!"
Your captor's voice sounded unusually chipper after a long day at work. Taking a sip from your cup of tea, you barely hummed in acknowledgment, despite knowing that the peace and quiet you had enjoyed reading your book would be over now. Now, it was time for the usual song and dance, where they'd do their best to make you show them any kind of affection and attention while you simply tried to ignore them without pushing your luck.
The shuffling in the hallway went on for a while as they took off their coat, but instead of coming to see you right away, you heard their footsteps reach an abrupt stop—and you could guess why. You had left everything like it was before for them to find. The computer on standby, the lights in your captor's office out, and the door slightly ajar. It was only a question of who-staged-it-better, and whose suspicions would be confirmed in the end.
"Have you been to my office?" they asked, standing in the doorway to the living room. You barely looked up from your book despite already having lost the sentences you read last and just pretending to be busy.
"Hm? Oh, I saw you left the door open, but I thought you just forgot to lock it, so I left it that way."
Feeling their body move behind you, you tried your best to stay nonchalant and uninterested. However, the tension affected you, causing your pulse to rise and your body to cramp up. You took another sip of your cup, watching their expressionless face in the reflection of your drink. Your captor's weight leaned onto the backrest, shifting you slightly backward, but even so, you pretended not to care. Not even their hand brushing through your hair, playing with the ends, and rubbing them between their fingers made you falter.
"So you didn't go in?"
"Nope," you replied, popping the p deliberately. "What's for dinner?"
"Weren't you curious at all?"
"Should I? I thought it was an office. The last thing I want to waste time on is papers and documents. How about we order some of those fried vegetables we had last week? I am craving the garlic dip they came with."
"If I go up to the computer, I won't find any signs of you tampering with it?"
Taking a deep breath, you let it out slowly, trying to sound annoyed and disappointed in your captor that he'd keep accusing you. The truth was, you needed a few extra seconds to think carefully about what you were about to say. Because you had gone there. You unlocked the computer, even though you decided not to continue using it at the last second, and locked it again immediately.
Technically, there should be no evidence that you were on it. Unless your captor burst out his detective set to find your fingerprints, they wouldn't know you touched the PC. You only barely listened when they told you about their job. Still, you knew they didn't work in a tech-savvy field. You doubted they had much experience with which they could detect you logging in and out of their computer very quickly.
Still, telling the truth before they found out what you did could grant you some mercy... or it would result in punishment regardless of whether they found out or not. But not telling them, only to fall for the trap, seemed just as dangerous. You contemplated, seconds passing by. There was not much you could do other than decide right there and then.
(Reasoning and discussions welcome! ♥)
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reveriebae · 22 hours ago
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Mamacita
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pairing(s) : Choi San x reader
word count : 2551
summary : After a reckless night out, you return home to find San waiting—possessive, dominant, and unwilling to let you go. The tension between you explodes into rough, desperate passion, leaving no room for resistance. By the end, you're breathless, ruined, and undeniably his.
genre : smut
warning(s) : explicit sexual content, rough sex, dominance and submission dynamics, choking, degradation, spit play, possessiveness, jealousy, slight emotional manipulation, alcohol consumption, and intense themes of control and obsession. Let me know if I missed anything!
part of Songfic
Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!
🪐smut under the cut 🪐
The sound of your heels echoed down the hallway as you made your way back to your apartment, the alcohol still buzzing in your veins. It had been one of those nights—tequila shots, loud music, and no real care for consequences. You hadn’t planned on coming back this early, but something about tonight had you feeling reckless.
As you reached the door, you found it slightly ajar. The living room light flickered in the dim hallway. You didn’t need to knock—you knew who it was.
San. Your roommate. Your chaos.
You slid inside, your body moving instinctively towards the kitchen. You needed something stronger than water—tequila, preferably. You grabbed the bottle, pouring it into a glass, ignoring the fact that your head was already spinning from the last round.
Behind you, the sound of a door creaking open made you freeze. You didn’t even have to look to know who it was. His presence was enough to make your pulse race. San was like a storm—you never saw it coming, but when it hit, you were left breathless, unable to escape.
He leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, his lips curling into a half-smirk. You could already tell from the look in his eyes that tonight wasn’t going to be any different. He was hungry. And for some reason, you knew you were the one he was after.
“Tequila again?” San’s voice was smooth, but there was a sharp edge to it. “Thought you were done with that shit.”
You smirked, turning to face him. “What’s it to you? I like the burn.” You took a slow sip, meeting his gaze without flinching. There was something dangerous in the way his eyes darkened, something primal, like he was trying to figure out your next move.
His gaze dropped to your lips, the tension in the air thickening with every passing second. He pushed off the doorframe and slowly walked toward you, his movements deliberate, controlled. When he stopped in front of you, you could feel the heat radiating off of him. His presence was suffocating—an intoxicating mix of power and desire.
You didn’t move, didn’t back away. It wasn’t the first time you felt this pull between you two—this unspoken, undeniable attraction. But tonight, something felt different. Maybe it was the alcohol coursing through your body, maybe it was the way his gaze felt like it was stripping you bare. Whatever it was, you couldn’t ignore it.
“You’ve been out there, fucking around with everyone else again,” he murmured, his voice rougher than usual. “You know that’s not gonna keep me away, right?”
You scoffed, setting your glass down. “And why would you care?” You knew what he was getting at. The unspoken agreement between the two of you had never been clear-cut—no feelings, no attachments. Just physical. Just need.
San leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “Because I’m the only one who can handle you.” He pulled back just enough to look you dead in the eye. “And you’re the only one who can make me lose control.”
His words sent a jolt of heat straight to your core. You felt your breath catch, the familiar fire igniting in your stomach, pulling you toward him, making your body ache with a need you couldn’t quite satisfy.
Before you could even react, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you towards the couch. The force of his grip was enough to send a shiver down your spine. He didn’t care about your personal space—he never did.
San sat down first, tugging you onto his lap. You straddled him, the pressure between your thighs already unbearable. The air between you and San thickened the moment you sat down on his lap, your body already aching for him. He wasn’t the type to wait for permission. His hands moved with hunger, and his lips crashed into yours with such force that it left no room for anything else.
His fingers slid roughly under your shirt, pulling it over your head in one fluid motion. You gasped, the cool air hitting your bare skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from his body. His chest pressed against yours, and you could feel the rapid beat of his heart as his hands gripped your waist with bruising force, pulling you impossibly closer.
You weren’t sure when it happened, but suddenly, you were on your back, San’s body hovering over yours. His eyes darkened, pupils blown wide with need, and his lips twisted into a devilish grin.
"You want it this bad, huh?" he growled, his voice rough and full of dark promise. He was already pulling your legs apart with force, his fingers gliding down your body, tracing your curves before finally stopping between your thighs.
You bucked against him, the pressure almost unbearable, but he didn't give you what you needed. Not yet.
He leaned down, lips trailing over your throat, leaving hot, wet kisses along your sensitive skin. His mouth moved lower, his hands gripping the edge of your panties before tearing them off in one swift motion, not giving a single fuck about being gentle.
Your breath hitched as his lips found their way between your legs. You were so wet already, your body reacting to him in ways you couldn’t control. But he wasn’t going to let you have the release you needed. Not yet.
"Beg for it," he whispered against your skin, the words sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, the intensity in his gaze making your insides clench.
You shook your head, feeling a burst of frustration mixed with need. You didn’t want to beg, but the way his fingers were toying with you, teasing you, made it impossible to think straight.
San’s smile was predatory as he finally gave in, his mouth moving back up to meet yours. His lips were hungry, demanding, and as he kissed you, his hand found your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath catch. You gasped into his mouth, and that was when he spit into it.
The feeling was filthy, unexpected, but it sent a wave of heat through your entire body. You moaned softly, your fingers digging into his back as you kissed him harder, tasting the salt of his spit on your tongue.
San chuckled darkly, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes. "You like that, don’t you?" His voice was low, rough, and full of arrogance.
You couldn’t even respond. All you could do was nod, your lips swollen and your body burning with the need for more. You hated how much you craved it, hated how much you needed him to take control, but it was undeniable.
Before you could speak, his hands were gripping your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the couch, his mouth descending once again, this time with more urgency. You could feel his breath against your skin, hot and hungry, as he finally pressed his tongue into you, taking you in with brutal precision.
Your body reacted immediately, hips bucking in response to his every move, but you still couldn’t get enough. San was relentless, his grip on you tight as he continued, his tongue working faster, harder, until you were gasping, shuddering beneath him.
"Tell me," he growled, voice thick with lust. "Tell me you need it, need me."
"I need you," you choked out, the words coming out in a desperate gasp. "Please, San, make me come."
He pulled away just enough to meet your eyes, that twisted smirk playing at his lips. "You begged for it," he muttered, and then he was up, his body positioning itself above you, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he slid into you in one swift, punishing thrust.
You screamed, the sudden stretch making your body tense before relaxing into him. San’s hands tightened on your hips as he began to fuck you harder, faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.
But you weren’t going to let him dominate you completely. Not this time.
You shifted beneath him, rolling your hips to match his rhythm, pushing him deeper inside of you. He groaned, his hand moving to grip your throat again, choking you just enough to send a burst of heat through your body.
You responded by grabbing his face, pulling him down into another desperate kiss, tongues tangling together as you fought for control. But he wasn’t having it. Not tonight.
San pulled back again, his eyes dark and burning with that familiar intensity. He spat down onto your chest, the saliva trailing down your skin in thick, warm rivulets. It was filthy, it was wrong, but it made you want him more. You moaned loudly, your body tightening in response to the overwhelming sensation.
"You like that, don’t you?" he hissed, his fingers digging into your skin as he thrust harder, deeper.
"Yes, fuck—yes!" you screamed, the heat building in your core until you couldn’t hold it anymore.
San didn’t stop. He only went harder, faster, making you lose yourself in the feeling of him. Your world was nothing but the pressure, the friction, the heat. He was everything you needed, everything you wanted.
When you finally came, it was like a tidal wave crashing over you—violent, messy, and completely overwhelming. You cried out his name as you clenched around him, your body shaking uncontrollably beneath him.
San wasn’t far behind. He came with a loud groan, his body freezing above you as he released deep inside. His hands remained gripping your body, holding you in place as he rode out his high.
Both of you were panting, sweat-slicked bodies tangled together in the aftermath. The room smelled of sex, tequila, and something darker. Something you both couldn’t ignore.
He pulled away slowly, eyes still dark with desire as he looked down at you. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, and his lips were curled into a satisfied grin.
“That’s my mamacita,” he murmured, voice hoarse.
You lay there beneath him, too exhausted to even speak. You knew you were his, in every twisted, fucked-up way.
And deep down, you hated it. But tonight, you needed him. More than you wanted to admit.
San’s breath was still hot against your skin, and you could feel the remnants of his release dripping down your thighs, mixing with the sweat that clung to both of you. You were panting, completely undone, but that wasn’t enough for him—no, not tonight.
With a predatory gleam in his eyes, he leaned down, his lips brushing over your neck before they traveled lower, tracing the sensitive skin of your collarbone. You squirmed beneath him, your body still on fire, but you knew he wasn’t done with you. Not yet.
"You’re not getting away that easily," San growled, his voice thick with need as he moved his hands to your wrists, pinning them above your head. His lips met yours in a deep, possessive kiss, tongue pushing past your lips in a desperate, greedy exploration.
You moaned into his mouth, but before you could fully respond, he was dragging you up against him, his body pushing yours back into the couch, his cock still hard and ready. His hand moved between your legs, fingers slipping between your folds, and he groaned when he felt how soaked you still were.
“Look at you,” he said darkly, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’re fucking insatiable.”
You didn’t even have the chance to respond before his fingers pushed inside of you again, his thumb rubbing over your clit in rough circles. You gasped, your hips involuntarily bucking against his hand, wanting to feel him inside of you again.
San smirked, watching you squirm beneath him as he slowly pushed two fingers deeper, making you arch your back. You bit your lip, trying to hold back the desperate sounds bubbling in your chest, but he wasn’t going to let you stay quiet.
He pulled his fingers out and immediately replaced them with his cock, his pace rough and unrelenting. You cried out as he filled you once again, stretching you, making you feel every inch of him.
“Tell me you need me,” he demanded, voice raspy with lust. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you onto him as he fucked you harder. “Tell me you fucking need me.”
"I need you," you gasped, the words slipping out between moans. "Please, San... don’t stop."
San chuckled darkly, his hips snapping into yours faster now, each thrust deep and punishing. He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, "You want it like this, don’t you? Rough. Messy. Filthy."
"Yes," you whimpered, your body trembling with the force of his thrusts. "I need you. Fuck, yes."
San's grip on your hips tightened, his nails digging into your skin as he fucked you harder, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you that made your body tremble uncontrollably. His mouth found your throat, sucking and biting, leaving bruises that would remind you of tonight for days to come.
You could feel the tension building again, that familiar pressure coiling tight in your core. San's hand moved between your legs, his thumb flicking over your clit as he fucked you even harder, making everything in your body go wild.
“I’m gonna make you come again,” he growled against your skin, his voice laced with arrogance. “You fucking love it, don’t you?”
"Yes, San, I fucking love it!" you screamed, your body jerking beneath him as the tension in your body finally snapped, waves of pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave. You could barely catch your breath, your nails digging into his back as you came undone around him.
But San wasn’t done. Not yet.
He fucked you through your orgasm, his thrusts still brutal, unrelenting, as he chased his own release. His pace never slowed, never faltered, as he fucked you harder and harder, until finally, with a low, guttural groan, he came deep inside of you.
You could feel the heat of him filling you, his cock twitching as he collapsed on top of you, both of you covered in sweat, panting in the aftermath.
But even then, he didn’t let go of you. He kept his body pressed against yours, his chest rising and falling with every breath, as though he was marking you, claiming you completely.
For a moment, neither of you moved, your bodies tangled together in the aftermath, but the room was still thick with the heavy scent of sex, the tension between you two still palpable.
Finally, San pulled back, his fingers gently brushing through your hair as he gazed down at you, his eyes still dark with desire. His lips curled into a satisfied smile as he whispered, “You’re mine, you know that?”
You could only nod, exhausted, but wanting more. You were his, in every way that mattered.
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theotherrookie · 2 hours ago
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"So, less vivisections and more existential dread. Sounds exciting." Willow said, shooting Ratchet a fanged grin, before she retrieved some ziplock ties from her coat.
"Oh, that's enough! I know nothing about Five, he just pays me to build things for him!"
"That's not what our sources say. So, sit down and stop whining, Christopher. We're going to take a short trip into the depths of your mind."
There was a moment of silence as an invisible influence forced Ratchet to shut up and sit still. Lucien allowed himself to close his eyes, letting his magic take ahold of the man. He then looked up, motioning with his hand to come closer so that he could share what he was seeing.
Willow deliberately stepped back. She didn't actually care to become that acquainted with Ratchet. Lucien worked silently, so she took that moment to go shut the door, though not before Lucien's disappointment at what he was witnessing could be heard.
"That is not how Gaia intended you to do that."
"Street soup. Tasty." Erica reached to give Smokey a little poke. There was no response whatsoever. "It's okay, he saw a new thing so he's locked in."
She didn't mind. Smokey would come back once it was time for a nap.
"Yeah, it's annoying stuff and some of it is designed to tighten up the more you try to get away."
"Five knows how they work, though. He was working with Ratchet to make deadlier stuff before you caught him."
Something that perhaps they could be grateful for. There was no need to grant that little freak that much power, especially if Five was the one giving him ideas.
The brothers moved just a bit closer when Travis did. The most they were willing to do was pointing at the ones they had seen Ratchet use. Rook watched and used her magic to separate the gadgets from the rest of the pile. There was no need to risk touching them.
"Ratchet likes getting up close. Him being a freak makes him take a lot of stupid risks."
"But some of these can be tossed a good distance. He just sucks at it."
"Didn't he fall on one of his gizmos when you guys were fighting him?" Erica asked. Something about the gadgets had caught her attention, though she couldn't quite tell what it was. "This stuff is kinda weird."
"Back to being spooky! My favorite hobby." At least the situation didn't seem to be wearing down Erica. She really didn't care what happened to those who hurt her friends.
"I don't want to do that– What's this Clockwork Orange shit? Let me go already!"
Of course, there was little that Ratchet could do while Willow was holding him down.
"What's the subject of this class? Biology?" the cyborg asked.
"It might as well be." Lucien replied, "Is there anything specific you'd like me to dig up? Perhaps his most inner fears that not even he is aware of?"
Rook quietly promised herself to later show the others what Willow had been referencing. In the meantime, she decided to go retrieve Ratchet's belongings so that they could go through them with the help of the Twins.
She had a feeling the two were going to make the job much easier, even if between all of them they would have the skills to weed out the more dangerous gadgets from the rest.
"I'm really good at that game, though." Erica shrugged and went ahead to retrieve Smokey, "Thanks, Leofric!"
She gently scooped up the kitten, but let him be when he phased through her hand and hopped on the counter. Smokey apparently wasn't done yet and curled up next to Leofric's grimoire, staring very intently at it.
The Twins didn't seem about to come up with more excuses and made their way over as Rook caught up with the rest of the group.
"Yes, he carries a fuckton of those."
"And he was always messing with something when he wasn't bothering Frosty or kissing Five's ass."
They didn't understand how half of that stuff worked, but they could probably point out some of it.
"Most of the stuff around his wrists is for restraining. They all open up and stretch like a freaking facehugger."
"Some of his rings do the same thing, but I think Five used one as a tourniquet once."
The two watched Rook empty a bucket on an empty on the counter, before motioning at them to go ahead. They weren't about to stick their hands in there for sure.
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myloveer0 · 16 hours ago
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''Dream at first lust''
(Ambessa x reader NsFw)😭🥵❤️
(Part III hehehe)
18+ Read it at your own risk!
Warning: Intense smut🔥🔥🔥
---Imagine waking up in the middle of the night, only to find Ambessa standing before you. What would you do?---
Note: Forgive me… it took longer to update this time. I was debating whether to post a next chapter or make this the last one for a while since I still have some pending school projects. But oh well… this chapter is extra smutty. Hope you enjoy it!
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You jerked upright, barely biting back a moan. Your breath was uneven, chest rising and falling as heat coursed through you. You didn't waste a second. Slowly, deliberately, you stepped down at the bed toward Ambessa, not caring that you were half-naked.
In fact, you wanted her to look.
You wanted her to see every inch of you—the way your skin was flushed, the way your thighs trembled, how your wetness slickened the soft curve of your legs. You felt it, the warmth trailing down. This was all the power that Ambessa can do to you.
Such a good liar.
Lying to yourself, pretending you hadn’t wanted her offer—hadn’t craved this. Every inch of Ambessa Medarda was everything you wanted. Even the single strands of her hair, the curve of her smirk, the effortless dominance in her stance. She was intoxicating, and you were helpless against the pull. You would gladly accept any offer she can give as long as it was her. But you were just too prideful to admit.
Your eyes rolled in your eyelids as you slowly sat down on her thigh, felt your clit touched of her cold skin. It doesn’t change the fact that your nearly already panting. It doesn’t change the fact that Ambessa watching you this only makes it a thousand times hotter.
Your eyes fluttered shut, head tilting back as you lost yourself in the sensation. Ambessa was watching you—studying you, indulging in your unraveling with a smirk while you use her thigh for your pressure.
“Yess...” The word slipped past your lips, barely more than a breath.
Then you moved.
Slowly at first, pressing forward, grinding against her strong muscular thigh, each motion sending sharp sparks of pleasure through your clit. It wasn’t enough—but oh, it felt devastatingly good. The pressure, the friction, the way Ambessa didn’t even need to touch you to make you tremble.
This feels like a heavenly dream come true. Ambessa was someone you never thought and was impossible to get into. You had only fantasized about her, but now you were here, panting as you as you ride her deliciously.
It was a dream come to life, a fantasy made real. And you never wanted to wake up.
Ambessa watched you for a moment, her gaze dark and unreadable—except for the unmistakable hunger simmering beneath it. Then, without warning, she move, her large hand reaching out rasping against your increasingly sensitive nipples through the thin fabric of your tube top.
A sharp gasp tore from your lips as she rolled the sensitive peak between her fingers. She tugged—hard. A strangled cry escaped you, your back arching instinctively. You can't help but hold to the armrest for support.
Then, she looked up, “Take it off, little one.”
You were only too happy to comply. Fingers trembling with anticipation, you peeled the last fabric from your body, letting it slip from your shoulders and fall away. The cool air kissed your exposed skin, but nothing compared to the heat in Ambessa’s gaze as she took you in.
The way she watches you—God,You can’t breathe. Your orgasm is bearing down on you. You lean back and prop your hands on her knee, giving her full view of the long line of you body as you straddle her thigh. Ambessa jaw goes tight. “ I must admit, child. You have a beauty that demands attention.. ”
You bite your lip for keep from begging for more, to praise you more, but you can’t stop yourself from rolling your hips harder, grinding against her harder and faster. Your almost there. It was too soon but who can you blame? It was Ambessa you were riding.
Ambessa must felt it. She releases your breast before her large hand starting creep down to your inner thigh. So near but so far. She hisses out a breath against your neck. “Your so wet I can feel your wetness dripping”
 You draw in a shaking breath. “My lady If you don’t start touching her, she’s going to touch herself.”
  Ambessa laughs against your neck. “Impatient.”
Without warning, Ambessa plunged one strong finger in your pussy. A gasp escaped your lips as you felt the sudden fullness. You grabbed her arm with the shockness. It was nothing compare to your delicate hands. Even after days of stretching it wasn't as half as Ambessa's. It's like one finger of her was already three in your. She shove it as deep as she could making your body squirm.
You reached up, feeling reckless—bold, even—your mind clouded by pleasure. Your fingers trembled as they traced over her broad shoulder, down the planes of her stomach. The silk robe did little to hide the hardness of her body beneath your touch. She was ripped and powerful. You wanted to look under this silk every inch of her but you were not brave enough. Afraid it will upset her more.
Touching her meant surrendering to something dangerous, something you couldn’t take back. And Ambessa? She was the kind of woman who took whatever she wanted.
"Fuck! Fuck, yes..." Oh god, what am you saying? you don’t know, but you can’t stop. As if your mind stop functioning due to the overwelming pleasure. The words spilled from you before you could stop them, your voice raw, desperate. A flash of panic surged through you as you slapped a hand over your mouth. Too loud. Too loud. What if your neighbors heard? what would they think about you..
But Ambessa didn’t care. If anything, your muffled cries only seemed to fuel her. Then a hot warm sensation covered your nipple. You look down at her and both of your eyes met only to find her mouth covered your nipple. She suck on it, tugged it with her mouth as she circled it with her tongue. You cried. Feeling the cold lip cuff in your skin. It was intense. She was so hot sucking your nipples.
Ambessa's finger didn’t stop. She didn’t slow. Her fingers plunged deeper, relentless, as if searching for something inside you.
And God, she was finding it.
"Look at how greedy your pussy is. You’re practically pulling me in. Don’t you dare come until I say so..'' Ambessa’s commanded. You looked at her with wide eye, disbelieve. Was she serious?!
With pleading eyes, you shake your head, your body trembling with need. "I—I can't! It's impossible… I'm too close—I’m going to come, Ambessa!" you cried out, your voice breaking between gasping breaths.
Ambessa’s grip tightened around your hips, "Not yet," she warned, her tone laced with dark amusement. But your body can't take it any longer.
Then a sharp, all-consuming pleasure surged through you, ripping a scream from your throat. Your toe curled upward as you orgasm. Your entire body convulsed, helpless against the overwhelming release, your whimpers swallowed as you collapsed against her chest, spent, shaking, completely undone.
You were beat. Completely wrecked. That was, without a doubt, the most intense orgasm of your life—and all from just grinding against her. With just one finger. The thought made your body shudder. How much more could you take?
Before you could even catch your breath, Ambessa's strong fingers gripped your jaw, lifting your face from where it had rested against her chest. Her eyes burned into yours.
"Didn't I tell you not to come?"
Your lips parted, a weak, breathless sound. "F-forgive me… I—I was just so lost… I couldn’t think straight anymore…"
Her gaze darkened. "Excuses."
You barely had time to react before Ambessa shifted, standing up with ease—carrying you as if you weighed nothing. A startled squeak escaped your lips, and your arms instinctively wrapped around her neck, clinging to her afraid to fall down.
She moved, each step slow and deliberate, until she stopped at the other side of the bed.
Your breath hitched as you realized where she had taken you.
The two of you stood in front of a full-sized mirror.
Your reflection stared back—disheveled, breathless, your skin flushed still lingering from your orgasm. The moonlight entering from the open window was the only thing that light up the room. It made it a thousand times better that way. There you can see things properly.
Ambessa carried you effortlessly in her arms, cradling you like a bride. You were completely bare beneath her, while she remained dressed in that flowing red silk robe. Against her massive build, you were so small—like she could snap you in half with just a flick of her strength.
You noticed the furrow in Ambessa’s brow. She must’ve been upset that you didn’t listen to her. But how could you? You were overwhelmed by her—the way her mere presence unraveled you, leaving you powerless to control yourself.
God, Ambessa was beautiful, even when she was upset.
You had no idea what was going through Abessa's mind, what thoughts lurked beneath her head. But the thought where all of this all leading makes you shudder.
You swallowed hard. "W-what is this, my lady?" you whispered, you look up at her. While Ambessa eyes was straight infront of the mirror.
Ambessa smirked, her fingers trailing down your spine, igniting every nerve in their path. She leaned in, her breath hot against your ear.
"This…" she murmured, her tone both wicked and possessive, "is where you learn not to disobey me again."
Out of nowhere, Ambessa sat down at your mattress still facing the mirror. She shifted you as if you were weightless, making you squeal as she effortlessly maneuvered your body. You hold both of her arms in support. In a second, both of your foot rested over her powerful knee, your back pressed firmly against her chest. And in front of you—the mirror.
Your legs were spread wide, leaving nothing hidden, every inch of your pussy lips fully exposed stretch wide open. You can see the detail you haven't seen before. God! Hold on? what is she doing!
You gasped at the sight, heat flooding your face as embarrassment crashed over you. You tried to close your legs but Ambessa was holding your leg too strong for you to fight against. The position was so naughty and scandalous made your pulse race, and as your libido stirred once again. And Ambessa was there smirked as she take her time she get to examine every part of you.
All of this so downright scandalous. But It’s so fucking hot.
''Put me down My lady..!'' You gasped..
You tried to cover yourself with your hands, but she stopped you, her grip firm and unyielding. “Don’t you dare cover it,” Ambessa whispered, her voice low and husky. “Didn’t I tell you? You have a beautiful body. It’s meant to be rejoiced.”
She leaned in closer, her breath hot against your ear. She bit it making you moan “But too bad… this is your punishment for disobeying my orders.”
''But th-'' You were cut short when a finger suddenly slip inside your core. No warning. No care. But this time two of her. You bit your lip, trying to suppress a loud moan. You covered your mouth because of the intense. There you see at the reflection, as your watch at your own aroused expression. Your lips parted and cheeks painted red. You can't recognized yourself anymore.
With ambessa other hand stopping your legs from closing while her other arm was stroking your labia up to your clit. You bite your bottom lip.
“This is too much..! .” Except you sound like your asking her more instead of telling her otherwise. Like your hoping she’ll ignore you and pave the way for us to be oh so bad. Reckless. So fucking reckless.
Ambessa ignored you she keeps grinding into, her fingers stroking your clit in the way you need. It was different this time too fast, too intense. Like it was her new favourite thing to do. It’s almost too much, but you don’t want to stop. You don’t ever want to stop.
''A-ambessa! Yes!'' You move your hips as much as you can and moan.
She leaned down, her lips brushing dangerously close to your ear. “This is what you like, little one, isn’t it?” she murmured, her voice low and smooth, sending shivers down your spine.
You swallowed hard, unable to speak.
Ambessa chuckled softly. “Look what at your expression. You look so breedable, completely under the spell of my fingers ” she whispered, her dark eyes locking onto yours in the reflection. “In your strange little object. The things you wrote… the things you wanted.”
Your eyes widened in disbelief, mortification washing over you in a tidal wave. She read it.That far?!
“I read it all,” she continued, like just read your mind. Her smirk deepening. “You wanted me to use you. To break you. Discard you” She let the words hang in the air, heavy and undeniable. “Such improper words, little one.”
Your mind was a whirlwind of emotions—embarrassment, desire, fear—all blending.
You clawed at Ambessa's arm instinctively, but she didn’t even flinch. If anything, her grip only tightened slightly, just slightly, as her fingers began to sank deeper inside. You watched, breath hitching, as both of her fingers disappeared in and out of you—your body fully accepting her, no matter how big she was.
Your so close, but you can’t get there. Your sobbing and trying to move to met her trust, but Ambessa have you too effectively wrapped up. You helpless to do anything but take it.
So this is what it’s like to taste your own medicine, you thought, the realization sending a shiver down your spine. And despite the embarrassment, despite the vulnerability, you loved every second of it.
Your breathing grew ragged, your body trembling with the effort to hold yourself together.
"Y-yes! I'm coming, Ambessa!" You grabbed her arm as she moved her fingers faster, your body trembling under her touch.
Your throat felt raw from the sounds that had escaped you, and Ambessa's firm hold around your waist kept you grounded. The intensity was overwhelming, but your arousal hadn't waned even a little bit. You found your hand drifting to your own clit, desperate for more even as your body trembled. Your legs still spread open while your foot was still on her knee, like it was glued there. You were so close.
It was messy and so fucking good that you whimpered. Or maybe you were whimpering because Ambessa was watching you like it was her own personal porno—something you didn’t even know you wanted. It was so beyond hot. So beyond anything you’d ever thought to ask for.
Your eyes rolled back; you wanted to fight your own orgasm, fight not to close your eyes. But it didn’t seem to matter what you wanted. Your body took over, pleasure washing over you in waves. God, it was so good. Too good. Can a person die from too much pleasure?
"Ambessa!" you gasped again, unable to take it any longer, clutching her arm as the waves of pleasure continued to ripple through you. Your voice was hoarse but the heat between you both refused to fade. Your head rolled back, and the next thing you knew, your release was making a mess on the floor.
Your body immediatly slumped down, every ounce of energy drained from you. You couldn’t feel your legs anymore—numb from the overwhelming intensity of everything that had just happened. You were on the verge of sliding in her body when Ambessa’s strong arm shot out, steadying you with ease, refusing to let you fall.
Your chest heaved, breaths coming in ragged gasps, your legs trembling beneath you. It was all too much, too fast. The heat still simmered under your skin, leaving you dizzy and barely grounded. There’s been too much pleasure in too short a time and your in danger of having an out of body experience. It was intense and hot and so good. God! Ambessa was so good at this. Like she was made to make a woman suspend on it's own pleasure.
Like she was born to do this. Like she was a goddess, not of war, but of sheer, unrelenting lust.
“I… I can’t anymore…” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you raised your head to meet her gaze in the mirror. And the sight that greeted you made your breath catch in your throat.
Ambessa’s reflection was calm, composed. That smug, knowing smirk curved on her lips told you everything. She wasn’t done. Not a little bit.
“You think you’re finished?” she murmured, her voice a low, velvety whisper that sent shivers down your spine. Her eyes locked onto yours through the mirror, dark and unyielding. “No. I decide when you’re done.”
Her words sank deep. She held you there, her grip firm but not cruel. Holding you afraid you'll escape.
“Look at you,” she murmured, her tone soft but laced with that ruthless edge. “You’re already falling apart. But too bad, little one… we still have so much to do. And you’re not going anywhere.”
Your jaw dropped. Oh god… she really wasn’t joking when she said it would last as long as you could keep up with her energy. At this rate, you were sure you’d die tonight just to keep up with her.
..
Your eyes snapped open.
The morning sun poured through your window, spilling across every inch of the room, its harsh brightness a jarring contrast and was painful against your tired eyes. For a moment, you just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, your mind sluggish and unwilling to catch up with reality.
Was it a dream?
You blinked several times, your heart still pounding as if you had just woken from a nightmare—or something far more complicated. You shifted under the covers, feeling the coolness of the sheets against your skin. The bed was cold, undisturbed, like no one had ever been there beside you.
A sharp ache settled in your chest. So it was all a dream?
You sighed heavily, pressing your arm against the mattress to push yourself up. The room around you was a mess—pillows scattered across the floor, the sheets tangled and twisted like you’d been fighting off invisible demons in your sleep. You ran a hand over your face, trying to shake off the lingering haze as the sunlight made your head throb. Trying to process everything.
Then, a dry chuckle escaped your lips, humorless and a little bitter. Just a dream, you told yourself, but the memory of it clung to you like a second skin.
Flashes of the night flooded your mind—Ambessa’s imposing figure, her piercing gaze, how she didn't let you rest for hours. She really used and made you come multiple times you felt dying every second if it, the overwhelming heat of her touch—it all felt too real. So real, it made your cheeks flush with warmth even now.
Who cared if it was a dream. It was the best fucking dream you ever had. You can't help but grin in excitement. God! That was so intense. I hope it will happen again.
You glanced at the clock on your bedside table. 7:00 AM.
A groan escaped your lips as the reality of your day hit you like a brick. Work. You flopped back onto the mattress. The last thing you wanted was to face the world after a night like that. Your body felt heavy, drained, like you’d actually been through hours of… well, whatever that was.
You released a deep sigh, the weight of exhaustion sinking into your bones. Slowly, you shifted in the bed, attempting to swing your legs over the edge—but the moment your feet touched the floor, a sharp, overwhelming soreness radiated through your core.
What the heck…?
But it wasn’t just the ache that stopped you. Your eyes widened as they drifted down to your body. Your chest was a canvas of deep, dark bruises and love bites, some already turning a faint purple. The marks trailed down your torso, a chaotic map etched into your skin. Your nipples were red and sensitive, even the slightest brush of the cool air making you flinch. The trail of marks continued down your stomach.
With shaky hands, you threw back the blanket, your breath catching in your throat at what you saw next.
Goodness…
The soreness wasn’t just internal—your pussy was red like it was ravaged. Even the smallest shift sent a jolt of discomfort through you, making you squirm in both pain and disbelief.
But then, as it all began to settle in, realization struck like a lightning bolt. The memories flooded back, vivid and undeniable.
A delighted scream burst from your lips, echoing through the room. You weren’t dreaming. Ambessa had been here, had touched you, had left her mark on you in more ways than one. The sheer absurdity and excitement of it all washed over you, leaving you breathless. You almost forgot to breath.
You leaned back against the headboard, your heart pounding in your chest, trying to process everything. You grin so hard that it hurts. The soreness, the marks, the memories—it all felt surreal. But the evidence was right there on your skin, impossible to deny.
She was real!
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moonmaiden1996 · 3 days ago
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The interview
Could you imagine Rupert giving an interview and the interviewer gets stuck on the subject of how Rupert romanced and married his own personal Goddess. I sort of feel like this could be a little series. What do you think?
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The laughter died down as the interviewer leaned forward, adjusting his notecards with deliberate care. The transition was subtle, but the shift in tone was palpable. The studio lights above cast a soft, golden glow, bathing the set in a comforting warmth, while the audience, now quieter, leaned forward in anticipation. The mood had gone from the easy, playful banter of the earlier portion of the interview to something a little more serious, a little more probing. It was a subtle change, but one that both Rupert and the audience could feel.
"Now, let’s get into something a little more serious," the interviewer said, his tone shifting as he folded the notecards carefully in his hands. "You’re widely regarded as the best Minister of Sport this country has ever seen, so why did you never go for Prime Minister? You must have been tempted, right? I mean, it seems like it would be the logical next step for someone with your… profile."
Rupert Campbell-Black gave a slow, almost lazy smile. He leaned back into his chair, exuding the kind of effortless confidence that had made him a household name—not just in politics, but in sports, in business, and in the social circles that buzzed around them all. His dark eyes gleamed with an almost mischievous amusement as he considered the question, his fingers tapping idly on the armrest of the chair. His posture was perfect, his presence commanding yet relaxed.
"No," he said, drawing the word out slowly. "Not really. You see, sport was always my dream. It was the job I was born to do. I was damn good at it, and I loved every minute of it. Running the Ministry of Sport, overseeing the nation’s athletic legacy—it was everything I ever wanted." He paused, letting his words hang in the air. "And, now that it’s coming to an end, I’m content. I get to focus more on running Venturer, my business, and more importantly... my family."
There was a softness in his voice as he spoke of his family, a hint of something deeper that caught the interviewer off guard. The audience, too, seemed to react to it—a quiet murmur running through the crowd.
The interviewer arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "See, that surprises me. You’ve built quite a legacy in sport, Rupert. But I thought that politics—especially the role of Prime Minister—would have been an inevitable next step for someone like you. But it seems that... family has become your focus now? I mean, you know what they say. There have been quite a few rumors about your marriage. Some say it wasn’t entirely... conventional."
Rupert chuckled, the sound deep and rich. It was the same laugh he used when he found something particularly amusing, the kind that made you feel like you were in on the joke. The laughter seemed to hang in the air for a moment longer than usual before he responded, tapping his fingers on the chair’s armrest with a casual precision.
"Ah yes," he said, with mock sincerity. "The endless speculation. It’s always good for a laugh, isn't it? People seem to think they know everything about my life, but of course, they don’t. They never do."
The interviewer leaned in slightly, sensing an opening. "Many of your critics saw your marriage as a strategic move—a way to clean up your image. Your past… well, it’s been colorful, to say the least. Before you married your current wife, there were plenty of rumors, plenty of… indiscretions. Some would say your reputation was, how shall I put this, somewhat tarnished."
Rupert gave another laugh, this time with a hint of self-deprecation. "Tarnished? That’s putting it lightly, don’t you think? I’ve never been one to shy away from my mistakes. I was a cad, a true villain of the tabloids. But who I was... isn’t who I am now. People can judge me all they want, but I know who I am, and I’m at peace with that."
The interviewer sat back slightly, taken aback by Rupert’s frankness. But he wasn’t done.
"Then what changed, Rupert? How did the nation's most notorious playboy end up married to the woman who seems to have... tamed you?" he asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.
Rupert’s smile softened, just for a moment. It wasn’t the cocky, world-weary grin that the audience had come to associate with him. This one was different—genuine, almost tender, as his dark eyes flickered with something more personal.
"I fell in love," he said quietly, his voice taking on a reverent tone. "And when I say love, I mean real, honest-to-God love. It hit me like a freight train. I didn’t expect it. Hell, I didn’t even see it coming. I was blind-sided." He paused, his gaze drifting momentarily, as though caught in the memory of a moment long past. The audience was silent now, completely riveted.
The interviewer, too, seemed caught by the sincerity in Rupert’s voice. "As simple as that? You fell in love just like that? The man who was feared and adored, suddenly, completely devoted to one woman?"
Rupert smiled again, but this time it was more wistful, as though he were holding something precious just beneath the surface of his usual bravado. "It’s never that simple, is it? But yes, in a way, it was. It was just one of those things, you know? When it happens, you realize it. She was everything. She still is."
The audience reacted almost audibly, some of them exchanging quiet whispers among themselves. The interviewer was clearly fascinated, his next question practically spilling out. "How did it happen, Rupert? How did the great Rupert Campbell-Black, the man who is Thatcher notorious dog, find himself so... hopelessly devoted to one woman?"
Rupert chuckled softly, the sound almost bittersweet. "It wasn’t easy," he said, his eyes twinkling as he remembered the first time he truly saw her. "I had seen her flittering around, but I’d never really seen her. Not like that. It was in a garden, Charles Fairburn’s garden, to be specific. I didn’t think anyone saw me, but I was there, and she was there to help dear Charles, looking so perfect, so unassuming. Caring. Gentle. She was like a vision, and that was it for me. I was done."
He shook his head, a slight, almost imperceptible smile playing at the corner of his lips. "It took me a while to get it right. But once I saw her for who she really was, I knew I had to win her over. And, trust me, she didn’t make it easy."
The interviewer’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "You? Rupert Campbell-Black? You, the man who never had to work for anything, actually had to—what?—earn her affections?"
Rupert smirked, the slightest hint of pride in his voice. "You’d be surprised what love makes a man do. She had high standards. And I had to prove I could live up to them. I had to work for her trust. Work for her love. It wasn’t just about charm anymore. I had to show her who I could be, not just who I was."
The interviewer leaned forward, clearly intrigued by this side of Rupert Campbell-Black that no one had really seen before. "So what did you do? How did you finally win her over?"
Rupert sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, an uncharacteristic flicker of vulnerability crossing his features for a brief second. "I begged," he admitted, his voice laced with a hint of amusement, but also sincerity. "I got down on my knees, and I begged her. I asked her to forgive me for being the man I had been and to let me prove I could be the man she deserved."
The audience gasped, some audibly laughing at the thought of Rupert Campbell-Black—so self-assured, so larger-than-life—getting down on his knees. Even the interviewer seemed stunned for a moment.
"You begged?" the interviewer asked incredulously.
Rupert just shrugged, his trademark grin returning in full force. "What can I say? She had standards. And, thankfully, she was merciful."
The laughter that followed was warm, genuine, and filled the studio. The audience was utterly charmed by the idea of this notorious playboy admitting to something so rare for a man like him—humility.
"Well, clearly, it worked," the interviewer said, smiling as he glanced at Rupert. "But what made her finally say yes?"
Rupert leaned forward again, his face taking on that signature confident glint. "It wasn’t about me changing. It was about me finding something worth fighting for, something worth being better for. And trust me, there’s only one person in this world who can tame me. And I’m more than happy to let her."
The audience erupted in applause, their approval ringing loud and clear. The interviewer shook his head with a chuckle, clearly amused. "Rupert Campbell-Black, you never fail to entertain."
Rupert winked, his usual mischievous charm back in full force. "I do my best."
The interviewer smiled, leaning in for the final words. "Well, there you have it, folks. The one, the only, Rupert Campbell-Black—politician, businessman, sports mogul... and the man who met his match in love. Stay tuned for more about Rupert Campbell-Black’s mysterious goddess."
The audience cheered again, their applause echoing in the studio as the lights began to dim
Please let me know what you think!!!!
Like. Comment. Request- Especially for Rupert!
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kingmlem · 3 days ago
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Crooked, Penciled, Perfect
Submission for Day 7 of @bucktommyfluffebruary: Love Notes/Love Letters Also readable here
Summary: Evan draws his hearts crooked, Tommy draws his like sketches. Each one is kept, a small hoard of papers and receipts that radiate affection and care.
Evan draws his hearts crooked.
It’s one of the little tidbits of information that Tommy has stashed away, tucked neatly in a ‘Reasons to Love Evan Buckley’ folder in his brain, followed by every instance of lopsided doodled hearts he can remember. It’s adorable, the way that he’ll try so hard for them to come out perfectly even, only for one side to be bigger or cocked at an angle. The resulting pout usually earns him a rain of playful kisses that Tommy is powerless to stop himself from giving.
Evan’s bright laughter is also filed in that same ‘Reasons to Love Evan Buckley’ folder.
It’s something he doesn’t take notice of at first, paying no mind to the little motif penned onto the back of the picture Maddie had kindly printed out after the medal ceremony.
Tommy and Evan
Medal Ceremony ’24
Simple, written in black ink, with a cock-eyed heart next to their names, the left side bigger and more angular than the right. He’d almost thought it was intentional, before the pattern truly revealed itself.
Each scribbled note on the tiny whiteboard magnetized to Tommy’s fridge is signed with one, some nicer than others, some lost to the heavily smudged surface where Evan would erase one and try again. There’s a folder on Tommy’s phone dedicated solely to pictures of the small illustrations, acting as his own little museum of silly little lopsided hearts. He looks forward to each and every one, hoards them like precious gems.
The sticky notes get added into the mix the day after Evan ‘officially’ moves into the house. Tommy’s almost sure someone had given Evan a literal zoo of the things, because each day he finds one it ends up being a different animal, each one carries its own cheesy- but thematically relevant- pick-up line.
His favorite is tacked to the fridge with a simple black magnet, right next to the stained whiteboard.
That’s one fine ass!!!
~Ev
It’s written, predictably, on a cartoon, sunglasses wearing donkey head. He’d found it, also predictably, in the back pocket of his jeans, right before getting ready for work. Evan’s warped doodle heart sits right above his signature, bleeding into the ‘v’ so much it looks like there are two bottom halves right on top of each other.
Most of the other notes end up taped up in his locker at Harbor, small reminders that bring a smile to his face whenever he opens the door.
Tommy’s hearts are stylized.
Usually doodled in times of boredom or anxiety, all serving the same purpose.
Each one seems like its own little sketch, some pulled from the graffiti that litters train cars, some pulled from the most museum-worthy paintings.
They end up on Evan’s windshield, tucked neatly under the wipers like a ticket, or posted to the bathroom mirror so he sees it while he brushes his teeth. They show up on the coffee pot, the lamp on his side of the bed, his coat pocket- anywhere and everywhere.
There’s one in the Jeep’s glovebox, drawn in geometric shapes on a cocktail napkin while they were waiting for their drinks in an overcrowded bar. One’s tucked into the back of his phone case, a flowing piece drawn absently on the back of a grocery receipt. Evan’s trapped so many against his locker, either by magnet or tape, he can’t see the metal anymore.
They all scream a level of detail- attention, adoration- that Evan can almost feel the emotion behind every line. Each one radiates the amount of love poured into it, no matter how small, no matter how absently drawn they were. They were drawn for Evan, deliberate in their creation and dedication.
There’s a colored version of one tacked up on the fridge, something that Tommy had sketched out while Jee had him cornered, coloring. It’s bright, marker-thick lines over pencil shaded cells, interspersed with shaky wiggles where his niece had tried to help. Jee’s additions aren’t colored over, but simply added in among the more deliberate ones, highlighted as the focus in some areas, even. It’s Evan’s favorite piece, by both artists involved, and he’s made it the focus of their fridge, right next to the stupid donkey sticky note he'd jokingly put in Tommy's pocket. 
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yingsfirst · 2 days ago
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Missing License — Kim Gyuvin!!
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PAIRING: kim gyuvin x reader (can be read as an established relationship or pining one!) GENRE: fluff, crack WARNINGS: unsafe driving practices & profanity WORD COUNT: 573 NOTES: please drive safely, with a license, and with your eyes on the road! I don’t support whatever gyuvin’s doing here, it’s for comedic purposes!
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Today would’ve been normal if it wasn’t for Gyuvin. You would’ve been in your room, relaxing, not anxiously pacing back and forth in front of your place while waiting for that bastard. 
Speaking of which, you decide to check your texts again. Maybe this time, the godforsaken texts won’t be there, and while it would mean you were hallucinating them earlier, that outcome would be preferable. 
kim gwaja!!: im coming to pick u up in 10
you: oh? ure driving?
you: when did u get your license??
kim gwaja!!: i didnt
you: ???
you: gyuvin what
you: kim gyuvin
…okay, so maybe you’re too sane to hallucinate all of that. No matter. The bastard will text you soon, saying that it was all a prank. You’ll then tell him off and complain about having to get ready. Then you can go right back to bed. 
Putting your phone away, you realise a sports car has pulled over. It’s a nice one, and while it doesn’t look too new, that’s to be expected. The new ones aren’t very good. It’s also red, in a shade that freak would like. Wait a minute… 
No, no way. You’re insane enough to think that he wasn’t pranking you, but life isn’t strange enough to make that true. 
Though you were quickly disproven when the windows rolled down to reveal the Kim Gyuvin as the driver, looking at you expectantly. 
“Well?” he asks, hands tapping the steering wheel. “Are you going to get in, or?”
And you do. Stiffly. Silently.
To your chagrin, the interior isn’t any less impressive than the exterior. The leather seats are unbelievably nice, and based on the colours, you can tell that he extensively customized his car. 
There’s even a… floating centre console? You’re sure that it’s hardly practical, but it’s a good distraction from an even bigger problem: how that guy drives. And oh god, he’s one of those drivers—one hand on the wheel, another resting on the window. Being able to see every flex of his muscles might be doing wonders for your eyes, but it was not doing wonders for your heart. Was this a deliberate move?
Upon noticing your expression, the bastard has the audacity to grin and says “McLaren 570,” as if that explains anything. “It was a recommendation from Taerae.”
Okay, so he needs some help to find a good model. That’s slightly reassuring. 
But of course, not a single one of your thoughts can last without him interrupting. “Though if I could have any car, I would’ve picked the McLaren F1. Shame it’s like, what? Thirty million dollars now?”
“That thirty million will go down the drain if you keep driving like… that, Gyuvin,” you say, giving him a look of what you hope is disgust. 
“Hey!” He exclaims, giving you a cursory glance and a light laugh. “One-handed driving isn’t as dangerous as you think. Or well, it’s not dangerous if it’s me doing it.”
You scoff, frustrated with yourself for believing him. 
“Alright, alright… will you stop frowning if I let you choose the music?” He sighs, acting like it’s causing him physical pain to defer to you. “I promise it’ll be a safe drive.”
And… it was. Surprisingly. With your music in the background and your combined laughter in the forefront, it was. A safe and fun ride.
“By the way, I’m surprised you have nothing to say about the license thing.”
Oh. Shit.
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rindreamery · 3 months ago
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it's just instinct, all i want is you.
how long it takes for the blue lock men to realize you’re the one. featuring: itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, michael kaiser, oliver aiku ─ content: fluff, suggestive
note. desperate and yearning hcs next??? who knows
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it takes itoshi rin 6 months.
rin likes to think that he’s slow and deliberate with his relationships— that he’s not the type to have such decisive thoughts about someone so early on. he’s spent years building up a wall to protect his feelings, and he’s not about to let a (potentially fleeting) person ruin what he's worked so hard to maintain. he's only been with you for 6 months, and he has his doubts about whether you would want to stick around. but all it takes is, “i’m so proud of you, rin,” and his world is completely tilted off its axis.
he tries to tell himself that it's nothing; he's been complimented by other people before.
you probably didn't even think much of it when you told him. it’s just a simple phrase, one of many that people say without thinking. but it's different, it's special, when it's coming from you. your words repeat in his head, like some mantra. it's like his senses are overwhelmed by you. he finds himself focusing solely on your voice, the way you look at him with such gentle eyes, the sincerity behind your words— you. it’s scary how much it affects him. it rattles something deep inside of him, and it shakes him to his core.
he doesn't want to hear it from anyone else, he quickly realizes. those praises don't mean much when it's not coming from you. they don't make him feel unstoppable, like he’s on some high that he’ll never be able to get down from. and he's hit with a jarring realization—
“say it again,” he's standing in front of you, ignoring the incessant flashing of cameras that surrounds him and the deafening cheers of the crowd. he's only looking at you.
“i’m so proud of you,” your voice is quiet, but all he can hear is you, “rin.”
—he's fallen for you, much deeper than he thought he would. he’d be damned if he let you slip away.
it takes itoshi sae 1 year and 3 months.
sae had no intention of falling in love with you. needless to say, his affection for you wasn’t some calculated move. the thought of liking you hadn’t even crossed his mind, and he’s not even sure if he’d ever considered you as a friend. you’ve just been around for long enough that he’s stopped questioning it, that he’s grown to tolerate your presence. at least, that’s what he tells himself. he lets you come over when you want, eat all the snacks in his pantry, use his netflix account— to everyone else, you’re basically a couple. before he knows it, you’ve settled into his life the way a familiar song gets stuck in his head without him noticing.
it’s hard to deny the noticeable shift in sae’s behavior whenever he’s around you.
the way the frown on sae’s face vanishes to a more passive state whenever he’s talking to you, and he's much less irritated at the aspect of having to answer your random (but stupid, in his opinion) questions. he’s not aware, but a part of him subconsciously looks forward to it. “would you still love me if i was a worm?” comes another one of your stupid questions, and he answers without thinking.
“yeah.” the expression on his face remains the same, he’s as indifferent as he always is. but his answer takes both of you by surprise. under his cool facade, his mind is scrambling to make sense of his answer, as if he hadn’t expected himself to say such a thing.
you’re flustered, and it’s evident in the way you stumble over your words. a part of you begins to wonder if that was simply a figment of your imagination, like some hallucination from sleep deprivation. “what— huh?”
so he plays it off, he acts as if he meant to say it. “you heard what i said.” he realizes his heart had decided on you longer than he’d ever been aware of.
it takes nagi seishiro 3 months.
nagi’s used to being alone— he’s used to neglecting himself and every aspect of his life because no one is there to tell him not to do so. he’s not used to having someone be a constant in his life, to have someone who isn’t thrown off by his apathetic and lazy attitude. sometimes he wonders if he acts this way to keep people out, and he wonders why you choose to stay despite. but slowly, you color your way into his bleak routine.
at first, it’s subtle. you linger around him, but your presence isn’t demanding for his attention. you’re there, but you let him be.
and then your presence becomes something a little more prominent. he starts to notice the little post-it notes you leave in his locker, and how you remember to sneak in his favorite snacks. or how his pillows start to smell like your shampoo, and the way he becomes used to having you there in his living room as he plays video games. or even the fact that he finds himself waiting by the gate when classes end, and how he doesn’t mind being pushed around by the crowd as he searches for you in the endless sea of students so he could walk with you. so he could be with you.
he starts to feel like he’s truly living, like there’s something to look forward to every day.
when you say, “see you tomorrow,” he deflates at your words. it’s a weird feeling— he feels weird at the thought that he doesn’t like being alone anymore. that he misses you in the way he misses his phone. he feels bored without you there, and a part of him feels so empty when he doesn’t have you beside him.
when he drops you off at home that day, he realizes it feels strange to be alone again— “can you stay with me?”— he needs to be with you.
it takes michael kaiser 7 months.
kaiser lets his ego get in the way of his relationships. he thinks he can have anyone he wants, and that's why he wholeheartedly believes that he's above the idea of yearning for someone. the idea of wanting someone so much that his thoughts would be consumed by them, and only them? it’s unimaginable. he’s used to being admired, worshipped even, by others. he doesn’t need anyone— he doesn’t need you.
so the prick of irritation he feels, when he sees you laughing at another man’s jokes, catches him off-guard.
it shatters his pride, and he tries to ignore the heat that bubbles under his skin. but he can’t ignore the feeling of possessiveness that washes over him at the sight. you’ve always been his— the heated touches, the way you wear his cologne on your skin, the way you linger around him like it’s natural. you're mine, he always thinks to himself, but he never says it out loud. he’s above yearning— but the idea of you being with someone else makes him feel sick. and he’s not about to let another man take you away.
“come with me.” his voice is sharp and demanding, his mere presence filling the space with an unspoken challenge. but before you can speak, kaiser’s gripping your wrist, pulling you into him without another word of explanation. you don’t fight him, you don’t fight the excitement that it brings you. there’s something in his gaze, something so possessive and raw, that makes you follow him wordlessly. you’re mine, the thought echoes in his mind and for the first time in months, he can’t deny the feeling that has been brewing under the surface.
he yearns for you, and he’ll never let anyone strip this feeling away from him.
it takes oliver aiku 4 years and 2 months.
oliver would never deny the fact that he enjoys having you around. but you’re simply his friend— nothing less, and definitely nothing more than that. you’ve been in his life for years now, lingering in his orbit in a way that keeps you both close, but so far. you’re a constant in his life because he doesn’t need to act around you. he never needs to impress you, never needs to win you over with sugary words. you’ve never given him the typical attention he’s used to, the type of attention that he naturally demands. and that bothers him in a way he won’t admit. yet, it’s this disinterest that pulls at him like gravity. it keeps him coming back, keeps him by your side.
but he doesn’t want anything more from you— he doesn’t need it. it’s these words that keeps him from tainting you.
he doesn't like the dangerous and greedy feeling of wanting to have more of you, wanting to see you in ways that no one else has, and that dangerous feeling that makes him want to devote himself to you wholly. and that’s what gets to him. he’s used to being the one in control, the one who dictates the terms.
it's a futile attempt, he realizes. it's always been you who's had the upper hand.
he can no longer deny that he wants you, more than he’s ever wanted anyone. no one else has his heart racing ‘til he can hear his heartbeat in his ears, no one else has him hooked in the way you’ve been stringing him along. and suddenly, all those meaningless flings feel like distractions, like he’s been wasting time when what he really wants is right in front of him.
it’s not about lust, not about the chase—he just wants you. and this time, he’s not about to let fear or pride hold him back.
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© rindreamery, 2024
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wild-at-mind · 1 year ago
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Seeing some posts on my dash that are kind of in the wheelhouse of the stuff I was just posting about. I really like their posts normally and I don't want to unfollow but :/.
#it's a certian kind of rhetoric#like honestly i don't talk about this but i got kind of a bit...radicalised into some antisemitic beliefs at one point in about 2016#because i didn't know what i was talking about or understand how antisemitism works#a lot of this makes me think of a horrible murder case in the uk that caused an outpourting of right wing radicalisation#lee rigby was a white soldier who was off-duty when he was attacked and killed by two British Nigerians who claimed#to be avenging Muslims kill by the British army.#i mention this because it's long enough ago to not be super fresh and raw in people's minds#and because it makes me think many things at once and none of them contradict each other.#1. this murder was from day 1 basically tailor-made to incite far right hatred and that is terrifying to all Muslims in Britain#and all black Brits too.#2. Lee was a human being and did not deserve to die#3. a lot of the valorising of Lee as a person focuses on his position in the army fighting for queen and country and help for our heroes#and as someone who does not like the armed forces and is anti-war i find this rhetoric troubling and likely to become very jingoistic#4. Lee's mother had to go to the press MULTIPLE TIMES asking people to please please PLEASE not taint the memory of her beloved son#by using what happened to him to incite hatred of Muslims even more than what was already happening in the UK at that time#Ok list over now with all of that do you think that anyone at all who claimed that Lee's attack was some kind of justified revenge#would have been helping the cause of Muslims at all? ESPECIALLY if it came from a white British non-Muslim lefty type??#If you said this do you think a Muslim terrified of being attacked in 'revenge' for Lee would have cheered you on?#Or would they have wanted you to stop deliberately making tensions worse??#ETA i realised i never returned to the point about me being radicalised- i had to do better and i hope i have fully moved away from that.#the thing is saying that it's wrong for you to be asked to mourn for the terrorism victims in Israel is kinda right#for the same reason no one should have been forced to perform grief for lee rigby to seem virtuous#but also it's your duty especially if you are someone without any ties to Israel or Palestine#to not make tensions worse at a time when they are incredibly inflamed already
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starcurtain · 3 months ago
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Teyvat's "Most Down Bad" Award Goes to Alhaitham for a Second Year Running
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Seeing everyone making fun of Alhaitham for his "stalkerish" tendencies in this event is funny, because I feel like a lot of people missed that "Be literally everywhere Kaveh is" has been Alhaitham's MO from the day Kaveh appeared in the game.
From only grabbing his house keys after Kaveh returned from the desert (he couldn't have had both sets of keys at the end of the Archon Quest unless he went home and got Kaveh's copy) to ditching conversations to get back to his house only after Kaveh came home, to showing up without any warning or explanation in Kaveh's hangout with some ridiculous excuse about hearing his voice through noise-cancelling headphones... Refusing to offer any help in the Temple of Silence story quest other than staying in the library with Kaveh...
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Since when does Alhaitham willingly cover anyone else's duties?
But this trend of "Be everywhere Kaveh is" didn't start when they were adults. It was already in place when they were still Akademiya students--and it's a trend that didn't end even when they had their fight.
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Even when they weren't speaking, Alhaitham dogged Kaveh's every step through published responses to Kaveh's research articles in academic journals. He insisted on keeping a line of communication between himself and Kaveh open, even if the only way to do that was through very public ideological clashes. Pulling Kaveh's pigtails to get his attention lolol. It's implied that, for at least the few years between their fight and Kaveh moving in, this was the only communication between them--Alhaitham's refusal to allow their connection to entirely fade away. (And the fact that this is revealed in Kaveh's character stories--through his precious journal that records the moments of his life that had the most impact on him--shows just how deeply he values the fact that Alhaitham didn't give up.)
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Another relevant side note: Alhaitham never asked Kaveh to give up his half of their house. Knowing half of it belonged to Kaveh, knowing that Kaveh may one day want to reclaim his part of it, knowing that it was listed as theirs, Alhaitham moved into the house and made zero effort to change its ownership. He was completely fine with living in "his and Kaveh's house." The stories suggest it was only months later (or even longer) that Kaveh even noticed he had the house, and he transferred away ownership of his portion without Alhaitham ever asking him (or even seemingly wanting him) to do so.
Please, let that sink in. Alhaitham actively left his grandmother's (presumably comfortable) house to move into "his and Kaveh's house," with no apparent explanation for why, and after doing so, he made no attempt to change that "his and Kaveh's" label. He moved into the house with no promise that Kaveh wouldn't show up on the doorstep the very next day and move in too. It almost feels like another deliberate provocation--I've moved into our house, are you going to come stop me? LBR, if Alhaitham had had his way, Kaveh would have been living there with him from Day 1...
There's also the fact that Kaveh literally can't write on a single message board anywhere in the entire nation of Sumeru without Alhaitham hunting his messages down and responding to them (which absolutely no one else does, by the way).
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"NUH-UH!" "UH-HUH." "NUH-UH!"
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Alhaitham's own character stories tell us explicitly that one of Alhaitham's defining character traits is "He is never where you need him to be," yet somehow...
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Shot, and chaser:
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Any time Kaveh is in the slightest bit of need or danger or just wants Alhaitham near, Alhaitham is "coincidentally" exactly where Kaveh needs him to be, whenever Kaveh needs him to be there.
Alhaitham didn't just "happen" to run into Kaveh in Port Ormos, an entirely different city from where he was supposed to be working. He didn't just "happen" to read the same terrible book as Kaveh when we know he otherwise would not waste a moment of his time on poorly-written literature...
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He didn't just "happen" to appear when Kaveh was upset and needed a distraction in the House of Daena during Kaveh's hangout. He didn't just "happen" to be sitting around waiting when Kaveh needed answers after the Archon Quest. He didn't just "happen" to find Kaveh's academic publications and every single message board posting and respond to them at length and in public.
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Which is exactly what Kaveh's mother told Kaveh he needed.
What level of down bad is "Abusing your powers as an Akademiya employee to keep tabs on your crush's library loans"? Just asking for a friend.
The only person for whom Alhaitham just "happens" to be available is Kaveh, over and over and over again--because he is very deliberately making himself a constant presence in Kaveh's life.
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(Like, out of all things, I think people really underestimate the devs deliberately paralleling the romantic relationship between Kaveh's mother and father with Kaveh and Alhaitham's relationship. If you want to point to one thing that says "These two characters are intentionally queer-coded," it doesn't get any more obvious than this.)
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Alhaitham, are you not embarrassed to be this transparent??? 🫣
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tfwbluu · 2 months ago
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what do u think riki’s kinks are
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PAIRING — ni-ki + f!reader
WARNINGS — dom riki mostly, it’s just descriptive with some lines here and there, we’re talking about kinks so there’s that.
WORDCOUNT — 0.8K
NOTE — i don’t want to be repeating myself from my previous works so let’s do with the ones i haven’t done yet. it’s ok if yall don’t agree with me, these are just my personal opinions !
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Toys. He’d love the idea of teasing you with them, maybe fucking a dildo into you or pressing a vibrator against your clit until you were trembling. And if he caught you using them while he was gone? Oh, he’d make sure to turn it into some sort of punishment.
“C’mon, angel,” he taunted, his voice low and teasing as he pressed the vibrator against your clit just enough to make you squirm. His other hand worked the dildo in and out of you at a slow, deliberate pace. “You were fucking yourself on this earlier, couldn’t even wait for me. So now, this is all you get.”
Bondage. He’d definitely be the type to tie you up, relishing the control it gave him. Whether it was your hands bound behind your back or stretched upright, or your legs tied open to keep you completely exposed, he didn’t care as long as you couldn’t stop him from doing exactly what he wanted. He loved the sight of you spread out, helpless to his every touch, unable to hide from the pleasure he gave or the punishment he delivered.
“You’re sensitive?” he’d murmur, a sly grin spreading across his face as he pounded into you relentlessly. “I never imagined you’d be this sensitive, but I love it.”
Size kink. Have you seen his build? He’d absolutely use it to his advantage. His massive hands would engulf yours, his broad frame could easily cover you completely, and no matter your height or build, he’d always make you feel small. Especially when it came to the size of his cock—he’d relish the way it stretched you, the slight bulge it created against your stomach, or how easily he could manhandle you into positions you never thought possible. Greedy and insatiable, he’d do whatever it took to have you just the way he wanted.
“You’re so tiny beneath me, baby,” he groaned, his voice thick with satisfaction. His hand drifted down, caressing the visible bulge in your stomach. “Look at you,” he murmured, his tone low and teasing, “taking my cock so perfectly.”
“Too much?” he’d tease, thrusting in slowly, his grin widening. “But I’m not even fully in yet. Just wrap your legs around me, angel. I know you can take all of me. Wanna be a good girl for me, right?”
Dacryphilia. He probably didn’t even realize it until he saw you like this—your lips stretched around his cock, tears and drool spilling down your face as you took him deeper. The sight drove him wild, something about you spurring him on, sending a rush of heat straight through him. He’d wipe away your tears with his thumb, the motion surprisingly tender, even as his hips kept moving, his voice low and strained.
“F-Fuck, you’re so pretty like this,” he’d groan, his head falling back for a moment before his eyes met yours again. “Feels so good, angel. You’re the only one who can make me feel like this, y’know?”
Choking. He loved using his big hands to grip your neck, especially when he was wearing rings. The cold metal pressing against your flushed skin made your head spin. His grip was firm, just enough to leave you breathless, or sometimes he’d use it to hold you up from behind.
Neck grabs, deep grunts, the desperate roll of his hips against yours. “You wanna cum, yeah? Then cum for me, baby,” he growled, his voice heavy with need.
“Haa, tired already?” he mocked, his tongue clicking in feigned disapproval. “Tsk, tsk, tsk... always leaving me to do all the work.” His hand tightened around your neck as he pulled you up, continuing to thrust into you without missing a beat.
Missionary. He’d absolutely thrive on seeing the raw effect he had on you. With his cock buried deep inside you, he’d watch every flicker of pleasure on your face, loving the way your lips parted for soft moans or how your body twitches when he teased your sensitive nipples.
“Look at me, pretty,” he’d murmur, his voice deep and commanding. “I wanna see how good I make you feel.”
Eye contact would be non-negotiable. He needed to see the way your gaze melted with desire, and if you wanted to cum, you’d have to look right at him.
“You’re close?” he’d ask, smirking as he slowed to a torturous pace, drawing a whine from you. You begged him, finally locking your eyes with his.
If you didn’t? He’d slow down, torturously edging you, leaving you trembling, desperate, and on the brink of tears. Only when you finally obeyed, locking your eyes with his, would he give in, pounding into you relentlessly until you were completely undone.
“Eyes open, sweetheart,” he cooed, his thrusts picking up again. “Yeah, that’s my girl. Gonna cum for me now, mhm?”
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lexcys · 3 months ago
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★ crimson tension rafe cameron x reader
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summary: who knew rafe getting beat up and being vulnerable would end up giving him what he needed most - comfort
warnings: blood, wound description
a/n: ughh this took so long to write but it was worth it cuz I made myself giggle and kick my feet a few times. maybe this is a little cliche but I’m a sucker for these so sorry not sorry
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loud music blasted over the speakers, laughter and unfamiliar voices rang around the manor, people spilled out from every room, clutching red plastic cups. the air was thick with the smell of beer and something sweet mixed with a faint undertone of sweat, the wide open doors leading to the cameron garden offered little relief, serving more as a passage to the outdoors than a true escape from the stifling atmosphere of tannyhill
the kitchen was a maze of half-empty bottles, red solo cups, and a few glasses perched on the edge of every counter. it was hard to believe none had shattered, considering the steady flow of people jostling past each other
right as you are about to take yet another shot you hear some barely audible shouting
curiosity overtaking your body faster than your mind and your legs start moving on their own accord, shot getting lost on the counter. making your way through the crowd but merely getting to the hallway as a mass of people block off the way and view to the living room, you hear a loud voice that undoubtedly belongs to rafe
whispers and 'oohs' pass through the crowd, before you notice rafe pushing past people with practiced ease, not bothering to acknowledge anyone as he moves forward. his focus unwavering, his movements deliberate as he makes his way toward you, a destination in mind
you catch a glimpse of the huge gash right above his eybrow - your eyes widen and you move towards him
after seeing his look and eyes you realize why he doesn’t react to you calling out his name - whatever substance he had taken prior was showing on his face, the haze clouding his expression, a disheveled look, glassy eyes with dilated pupils, fluoride stare as well as furrowed brows were noticeable as he brushes right past you
you glance around the room and the absence of attention on rafe doesn’t go unnoticed. you realise whoever had been on the other end of his rage must look worse - a chill runs down your spine imagining the ugly sight
being sarahs friends, tannyhill was not a foreign place for you so you knew where he was headed as he moved up the stairs
you hesitate but decide to follow him, once you’ve reached his room you rethink whether or not to knock, uncertainty creeping in but the worry gnaws at you too strongly - after calling out to him and getting no answer you enter the dimly lit room
the music dampens as you close his door. you pay no attention to his room, a already familiar space, your eyes immediately noticing him right ahead
the weight of the silence between you both grows heavier as you step closer, torn between reaching out and giving him space
he’s standing on his balcony, slumped onto the railing all though theres so much tension present in his shoulders that you can see it from a few meters away. his eyes are fixed on the ocean, the smoke lingering in the air making it evident that there was a cigarette resting between his fingers
he merely spares you a glance when you say his name again, turning around without muttering a single word
carefully you make your way toward him, situating yourself onto his right in complete silence, taking in the scene before you - the music has gotten louder and you look down at the people dancing below you, they payed absolutely no mind to rafe above them and in comparison to the loud laughs and voices the ocean before you was calm - the steady motion of the water, the endless horizon, seeming to soothe him
analysing his face you conclude that whatever fight had just occured - it was a heavy one - rafe had a busted lip, bruised knuckles, a bruise was already forming on his nose and the eybrow gash that was bleeding rather harshly. your face twists imagining how much his head must be throbbing
right now was not the time - but you also couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that he has never looked hotter
the moonlight hit his face just right, highlighting his tired eyes, making the blood adorning his face less unsettling, cigarette held between blood covered fingers, his knuckles bruised and bleeding, yet there’s something almost striking about the way his hands look, the way they’re still so perfectly shaped, even in their damaged state - his pain and his beauty so closely intertwined. even in this state, even with blood streaked across his face, there’s something undeniably captivating about him.
quickly pushing those thoughts aside you catch rafe looking at you for a second with a seemingly emotionless look, tension still present in his eybrows
you know he probably wanted to be left alone, his body language said it all. the desire to comfort him tugs at you, wanting to step forward and reach out, to brush your fingers along his jaw, to caress the sharpness of his stern yet tender face
''why are you here?'', he bites in a monotone tone, ripping you out of your thoughts
you clear your throat, ''I just wanted to see if you’re alright... maybe help you,” you say, the words feel awkward, out of place, like you’re intruding
his eyes snap to you, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something sharp, almost like a reflex. then, it morphs into a cold, bitter look of disgust. “I don’t need any help,” he mutters
''rafe you’re bleeding - badly'', you utter throwing a glance toward the gash which, even in bad lightning, was clearly deeper than he realized as it had oozed so much blood that it had almost covered the right side of his face. ''I just-'' you falter before sighing, ''I didn’t know what happened and I was concerned''
you weren’t entirely sure why you were confessing your concern - it wasn’t exactly something that came naturally with rafe cameron. the alcohol in your system seemed to loosen the edge
seemingly bother by you answer, not even sparing you a look he replies, ''I don’t need your pity, run back to sarah or something'' he motions you away with his hand
you bite your lip, clearly fighting a mental battle whether or not to leave him alone. you notice his hands shaking, not sure whether it was from anger pain or something else
slightly tipsy you gather the courage to ask once again, pushing his annoyance aside because you so desperately want to help him, feeling your heart hurt seeing him like this
you try one last time, ''your hands are shaking, you sure you can patch yourslef up? I really just wanna help you rafe. but if you really want me to go say it - then Ill leave'', finishing you realize how pathetic you sounded, internally cringing but hoping it would convince him and make him see that you really did care about him
silence
rafe looks at you quickly noticing your concerned face filled with worry, even though his look was quick you notice that it changed, something changed, but before you can even get close to figuring out what he turns back around and takes a long drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling up in the cool air, his gaze fixed straight ahead, not meeting yours again
he exhales slowly, the smoke drifting up in a haze, but the tension in the air thickens instead of easing
defeated, you turn away, the weight of the silence too much to bear. you don’t say anything, no last attempt to reach him
suddenly you hear a quiet ''wait'' from rafe, so faint it wouldn’t have been audible if you had taken two more steps
you turn your head around quickly, trying to figure out if he really just said that but when you catch him putting out his cigarette into the ashtray you realise that he did
he turns around as you take a few steps towards him. his face barely visible from his dark room - only illuminated lightly by the moonlight and the soft glow from the party below - holds a stern and tense look, his jaw clenched with tension, vulnerability present in his eyes
rafe still hasn’t said another word but you’re easily able to read his expression and figure out what he wants you to do
relief washing over you you exhale a big breath, ''okay where’s the med kit?''
''bathroom'', is the only thing he says, voice low, eyes still focused on you - unwavering
you turn around and step into the bathroom, the small space a contrast to the size of his bedroom. quickly you begin searching the cabinets, your mind already running through the steps you’d need to take. already thinking about where would be the best place to clean and dress his wound, somewhere where he can sit down, somewhere you can work without too much trouble - before finding the med kit under his sink
a subtle warmth creeps up your neck, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched. you turn around noticing him standing in the doorway, leaning against the door - watching you with those empty yet pleading eyes before his gaze flickers over to the mirror - he’s lost in his reflection for a moment, studying himself
rafe stands there for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. then, with a quiet click, he closes the door behind him, fully stepping into the bathroom. the music muffles and the air between you tightens. you swallow, heart racing - you try to focus on the medkit in your hands. he moves past you slowly, sitting down on the toilet lid
right now, in the bright light of the bathroom, you’re finally able to see the full extent of his wounds as he holds his head up, avoiding your gaze. examining his wounds you settle on tending to his eyebrow first
you can tell that he’s not ready to talk about the fight or whatever happened. the air is heavy and something in his silence tells you not to push. so, you don’t, you stay quiet. setting the med kit down on the counter searching for the right tools, you feel suffocated by the silence, so awfully aware of every, rigid and nervous, breath you took
ready you turn back to rafe whose gaze is set onto the ground, still lost in thought - you try to clear your throat to catch his attention, to notify him that you’re ready and willing to tend to his wounds
he looks at you with a look, a look so vulnerable and hurt that it pulled at your heart. whatever he was just thinking must’ve hit him hard - the weight of it is there, written across his face, and you feel it in your chest. rafe’s eyes still carry that glassy, fluorid stare, as if he's still not fully aware of everything around him, making you wonder if he even realizes how much he’s letting slip
you figure that however you were to approach this - it would be awkward either way
you looked at him with a nervous look, alcohol-soaked cotton pad in hand - standing right in front of him, you hesitated as your eyes met his. he lifts his head a little farther up for you to get better access to his wounds. rafe is leaning forward, legs spread with his forearms resting on his knees, crossing his hands slightly in front of him infront - still at an awkward length until he fully uncrosses his hands, resting them on his knees. you waited, unsure if you’re allowed to enter the space, looking for a look of approval in his distant eyes. he nods - the faintest movement of his head, barely visible
his eyes carry a look that’s hard to read, an expression that makes you wonder if there’s a storm raging inside his mind or if he’s drifting into an unsettling emptiness
settling in between his knees - still trying to keep some sort of distance, unsure what was or wasn’t crossing the line, you bring the cotton pad up to his face. you gently start cleaning off the, mostly already, dried blood before moving on to his gash. the second it hits his skin again his eyes - which have been avoiding yours from the second he nodded - close, his jaw clenching pain evident although he tried not to show it, putting up some sort of barrier to, even in this vulnerable state, seem unbothered - strong
while cleaning you notice his hands, resting on his knees, and fingers lightly grazing against the fabric of your shorts, the lightest of touches—almost like a subconscious gesture. it’s a small movement, barely noticeable, but the tension it creates fills the space between you
you focus on your task, but it’s harder now, your hand faltering slightly with each light graze of his fingers
the delicate movement of his fingers almost like a distraction from the physical discomfort he’s trying to hide so well. it makes you wonder if he’s trying to ground himself, or if he’s just too lost in the moment to notice what he’s doing
after cleaning everything off in the best way you could you apply some zip stitches to at least momentarily close the wound. his breath hitches as you press the last stitch into place, but he doesn’t move or make a sound, the mask of stoic restraint still firmly in place
you couldn’t figure out if rafe was actually aware that he was pulling you closer to himself
by the time you were ready to clean his lip the distance between you was so minimal that you could barely clean it properly. the closeness making every slight movement feel amplified now, the soft brush of his breath, the faint tension in his jaw, the way his eyes flicker between avoiding yours and briefly meeting your gaze
you gently press the cotton to his lip, your fingers grazing his skin in the process. the way his gaze flicks up to meet yours for a split second makes your heart skip, throwing off your rhythm.
you hesitate for a moment, your heart racing in the silence between you. the closeness is overwhelming, and you know you need to steady yourself, to find a way to regain control. your fingers tremble slightly as you lift your hand, almost instinctively, and you gently place it on the side of his face. the warmth of his skin is a shock, he lets out a soft exhale which you wouldn’t have noticed if you werent holding his face with your hand - but he doesn’t pull away.
you angle his face just enough to get a better view, but the movement feels more like an anchor for yourself, the subtle pressure of your hand on his skin keeps you tethered, even as the air between you thickens with something unsaid
you press the pad to his lip slowly, careful and deliberate, but your fingers linger on his skin longer than necessary, your thumb lightly brushing the edge of his jaw. his breath brushes against you, warm and shallow
it’s hard to focus with the way his gaze lingers on you, the way your hand feels on his face
his lips part quickly as you tend his wound - the area lightly swollen, thankfully not comparable to his eyebrow gash
you finish tending to his face, placing a last small plaster, hurting at the loss of contact. you take a look back and admire your work and him. the quiet stillness between you both feels oddly heavy, but the comfort of knowing he’s patched up - protected for now - settles in
you dread saying the words a loud, not wanting to lose this moment, not wanting to end it - not sure what it even was
''done''
the hands behind you tighten their grip, slowly pulling you even closer, eliminating the space between you. your body freezes for a second - caught off guard. his head reasts on your upper body, sending a wave of warmth through you, and for a moment, you're aware of every breath, every beat of your heart
his breath is steady, slow, but there’s an unmistakable force in the way he holds you, a quiet urgency that makes your mind go blank
his grip, though firm, isn't forceful - more like an unspoken invitation, urging you, pleading you, to stay within the space he's created. he held on with such a purpose - it made it seem like you would evaporate the second he let go
you place one hand gently in his hair, testing the waters, seeing if he'd be comfortable with you running your fingers through it. the other one rests on his back
rafe flinches when you tryto pull him closer, putting pressure on his back
you let the moment linger for a few seconds more before speaking up, breaking the comforting silence which rested between you, ''rafe let me see your back''
he pulls back and looks at you for a second, his look completely unreadable. this time he complied. he stands up with a slow, deliberate motion and turns around. he lifts his shirt as far up as he could, pain clearly holding him back. gently taking hold of the shirt from his hand, you ease the fabric upward, careful to avoid causing him any more pain as you lift it higher
his back is painted with all sorts of colours - some bruises worse than others. you flinch at the sight, although you’re a little relieved to see no cuts
seeing there is nothing you can do you let his shirt fall back down, very carefully smoothing it on his back - hoping to provide some comfort with the soft touch
as you move next to him to rest a hand on his bicep, you ask him with a hushed voice, ''can I get you a new shirt'', meeting his gaze, ''yours is full of blood''
fully aware that the line that was not to be crossed has now become blurred
rafe nodded
you leave his side, moving to his drawer - your fingers fumble slightly as you sift through the clothes, searching for a shirt. you pick out a loose one, one that would not press against his back too much or that would be a struggle to put on
he now sat on his bed, patiently waiting for you, watching you
you turn back to him, seeing his eyes, his expression. a storm of thoughts no longer visible, only exhaustion
''is this one okay?'' you questioned. he nodded before clearing his throat and lowering his gaze, ''can you help me put it on'', clearly exhausted
you pull hisshirt up slowly, carefully and for a moment you’re stunned, staring in silence. the sight that greets you is just as shocking as it is heartbreaking - his chest is as bruised as his back
rafe is clearly avoiding your eyes, looking to his left with a tense jaw
without saying another word you pull the other shirt over his head, standing before him, ''are you gonna go back down?''
he replies with a shake of his head, ''no''
you quietly stars at him for a few seconds more, debating how to continue then letting your legs carry you towards the bathroom to clean up. but just as you turn to leave, you feel his hand snap out, gripping your wrist with a force that sent a jolt through your body. the touch was immediate, urgent, as though he couldn’t let you go. but then, as quickly as it had come, his grip softened, the tension draining away as he loosened his hold
your eyes flicker back to him
“stay”
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hoshigray · 10 months ago
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reader flirting with some random guy for toji to fuck her senseless 🙏🙏🙏😭😭 really mean and sadistic toji with a really submissive reader
sorry for tbe filth im ltierally dying i want that man so bad
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𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: fuck yessssssss!! lmao not me writing this in a day
⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: hard dom! Toji x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - rough sex - Daddy kink - choking - spitting - impact play; spanking - degradation (bitch, cumslut, fuckhole, slut, whore) - minimal praise - missionary + backshots/leapfrog positions - dumbification - pinching - pet names (baby, good girl, mama) - Toji is a bit mean here - mention of blood and drool.
⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1k
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Toji didn’t like what he was seeing. 
You knew better, yet you still misbehaved. 
Your boyfriend sees you from across the pub, mingling with some random guy at the bar top. You were smiling and laughing at the dude’s jokes, prompting the man to treat you to some drinks. To say that the display left a sour taste in Toji’s mouth would be an understatement, especially with how you would place your hands on the chump’s arm or lean into him to rest your head. How brazen of you. 
Oh, but what really sealed the deal for him would be the occasional glances you’d throw his way. Your eyes honed on him briefly with a mischievous smile to complete the look before you went to your business — you knew what you were doing. And it made the older man’s brow twitch, rich green eyes observing your every move.
Just wait til’ we get home, brat. That’s all he can think of as you deliberately flaunt your autonomy. Because the moment you have your purposeful fun and return to Toji’s side, ready to go home, he takes you without a word. He doesn’t have to say anything, letting what will happen once you step inside the house speak for itself. 
“—Ahhch!! Fuhucck!! Harder, Daddy, harder…!”
Have you ever been choked while being fucked into like a toy? That’s the treatment you’re receiving as you lie on the bed, Toji’s tough, calloused hands wrapped around your throat to restrict your breathing while he pistons his cock into you with inhumane force. 
“Harder, they say,” he chuckles. “Who told you can boss me ‘round, huh?” His hold on your throat gets tighter, and the limitation of air becomes hard to avoid while turning you on even more with the clamp of your walls around his fat dick. “You got some nerve, actin’ like a real fuckin’ slut tonight, huh?”
The snap of his hips makes it difficult to respond to him appropriately, his girth stretching your insides so euphorically, and the scrape of your g-spot has you shaking. Fuck, it felt so fucking good, so rewarding to be used like this!
“Hahh…To’jii—Ehhck!!”
“Wrong name, whore.” His eyes narrowed, hands getting tighter and tighter that his fingernails pierced your skin, the pain adding to the suffocation.
Your watery orbs roll to the top of your head as dizziness creeps in. “Dad–dyy, I…can’t brea…” your lips agape, trying to gather whatever air you can. 
Toji sees your open mouth, and with a wicked snicker, he spits into it. Your eyes widen instantly, but Toji uses one hand to squeeze your cheeks roughly. “Swallow,” he demands with a dark glint in his eyes. There’s a bit of a struggle, yet he senses you gulp his saliva down from the bob of your throat, and a shiver crawls down his spine when you show your clean mouth. “That’s a good girl…”
Don’t get blinded easily because he is not finished with you yet. 
He’ll have your back faced to him, face down to the sheets, and butt up for him to plow. His hands keep your lower half to him at all times, rutting his pelvis so hard to your wet cunt that it rocks you against the mattress. Your asscheeks rebound with every smack of his hips, taking your breath away. 
“Ooooh, hoooh, mmaahhh!” There is no way you could even make out a proper sentence, Toji grinding into your soapy slit has you shrieking from his cockhead grazing those sweet spots your could never reach. 
Unbeknownst to you, the older man surprises you with a hard slap to your ass. The action pulls you out of your daze for a split second to scream, and your vagina inherently contracts onto his length. He hisses, “Hssshhiit, baby, fuckin’ grippin’ on me and making so much damn noise like a bitch in heat...Hey, I’m talkin’ to you.” Another smack to your butt for not responding to him, prompting a rushed wail to leave your lips. “Heh, damn slut, can’t even talk to me; all you’re thinking about is my dick, right?” He slowly pulls his cock back to hear your whining, a salacious grin grows by the inch when he snaps the limb back inside your warmth, and you grip the sheets. “Mmmph, fuck, this pussy is too crazy…”
Another slap to your butt makes you tremble and twitch, peering over your shoulder to look at the man behind you. Jesus, he looked so hot the way he was drilling his dick into you. The sounds of skin slapping against each other brings the room to life. “—Fuuahh, haahnn, Daddyyy…!”
The raven-haired man notices you observing him, chuckling before placing a hand on your head to smoosh it back down to the sheets. “Who the fuck told ya to look over here?” He strikes your ass once more, his fingertips stinging crescents into your hot skin. He's so rough with you that you know there will be blood from those scratches.
The weight of his hand on your head feels so strong, unable to move as his entire brawny frame has you submit to his bow. “Daddyyyy, ohh fuuuck,” you mewl for him to hear. “It shfeels sho g’ood…!” God, you sound so fucking stupid. Your brain dissolves into mush, and your body corrupted by his powerful dominance. “God, it sh’o gooood! Give me more, pleaseee!!” 
“There they go asking for more, fuckin’ fuckhole,” he groans under his breath, grinding his pelvis to your chasm to listen to your sweet begs for pleasure. “Easy there, mama; I’ll give ya what ya want...Hgghh…You wanna cum for Daddy again, right?”
Drool streams down from your lips to stain the sheets beneath. “Yesshhh, yes pleaseee…! Ohhh!” He slaps and pinches your asscheeks again; Good Lord, his strikes were not meant for the weak. 
“Then stay still, look all pretty, and keep wringin’ me out like the cumslut you are, got it?” You babble more sounds of agreement, thoughtless on whether they are actual words. You amuse him to remove his hand from your head and back to your hips, propelling you to stick to him again as his hips strike your ass with a hungry vigor.
“That’s my girl…”
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requests/thirsts are open hehe~ 🧸
© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/benkeibear.
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nottswitch · 2 months ago
Text
— if you’ve been nice, you get…
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────────────────── 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫. ──
summary: your boyfriend’s return from one of the meetings with his father is always a gamble, a shot it the dark. this time, he simply needs you close.
pairing: mattheo riddle x reader
cw: 18+ smut, established relationship, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, body worship, cockwarming, praise, cursing
wc: 1.8k
a/n: soft smut with mattheo always has a place in my heart <3 enjoy!
⟡ navigation ; m.lists ; mattheo m.list ; kinkmas 2024
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A knock on the door of your dorm in the middle of the night was not a surprise – ever since Mattheo left a few hours ago, you’d been waiting, waiting and waiting. He did tell you to get some sleep, as usual, and as usual, you didn’t listen; not that you deliberately tried to go against him, you just couldn’t sleep at all. You never could – not when he was possibly being hurt by his maniac of a father while you were comfortable in a warm but very lonely bed. So, when a quiet thump echoed through the room from the other side of the door, you felt your heart fluttering and dropping to your stomach at the same time.
Mattheo was back. But you didn’t know if he was back in one piece.
You nearly bolted out of the bed, hurrying to open the door – the last thing you wanted was making Mattheo wait. As soon as you turned the handle, he stumbled into the room, his arms wrapping tightly around you. You could almost feel the anxiety radiating off him, evident in the slight tremble of his hands caressing your back, in the shaky exhales fanning the crook of your neck, in the way his foot punched the door close behind him with way more force than needed.
“Baby,” you murmured, your own arms sliding up to embrace him as well. You felt up his back and sides, unconsciously searching for any signs of wounds or bruises, your ears tuned to hear the faintest hiss that could potentially escape his mouth. When you, thankfully, didn’t hear anything like that, you allowed yourself to pull away a bit, searching his face with a relieved yet still worried look in your eyes. “How–”
Mattheo didn’t let you finish, crashing your lips together in a kiss filled with nothing but pure desperation, as if he was trying to reassure himself that you were real, that you were physically there, in front of him, in his arms. You closed your eyes, letting him feel your presence and enjoying his, your hands soothingly moving up and down his back and shoulders. His right hand cupped your cheek as the kiss started losing its intensity, the movements of his lips mellowing out into tenderness.
“Need you close, princess. Please,” Mattheo whispered into your mouth, continuing to kiss you right after. You didn’t need words to understand him at the moment, but his pleading voice painfully tugged at your heartstrings, and you immediately understood everything he was trying to say.
“You have me, baby. I promise,” you whispered back, keeping the tremble out of your voice as best as you possibly could. Mattheo couldn’t do that, letting out a shaky breath through his parted lips. His hands moved down your body, a firm touch remembering each and every single inch of it, before he lifted you up, squeezing the back of your thighs. He carried you towards the bed, his steps urgent yet soft at the same time, gently lowering you onto the sheets.
His fingers hooked under the edge of your sleeping shirt, pulling it up to bare your skin – the contact Mattheo craved like a starved man would crave a crumb of bread after years of famine. His lips moved from yours down your jawline, latching onto your neck in a second, his tongue flicking out to taste the sweetness of it. He wasn’t leaving marks this time, like he usually did, as if he didn’t have enough strength to do it – he simply needed to know that your skin was still there, available for him to taste, that no one had taken away the privilege of being this close to you yet. His hands caressed your stomach, your waist, your chest, kneading the soft flesh of your breasts as if it was the last time he would be able to touch them. He was constantly afraid that it would be, especially right now, which made him savour each moment spent doing what he loved most in this world.
“My beautiful girl,” he whispered, lavishing your collarbones with wet, sloppy kisses. His eyes flicked up to your face for a moment, and you saw desperation still written all over his features, manifesting in the time he took to make sure not a single millimeter of you remained unloved. “The sweetest little thing in this entire fucking world.”
The trail he left all over your body, down your torso, to the waistband of your pajama pants made you shiver from anticipation. You wanted him in more ways than one, but you knew that he needed to feel all of you, which made you hold back on begging him to take you already. Although you couldn’t suppress the moans and whines that left your lips in a delightful string, the sound being angel’s music to Mattheo’s ears. He needed to hear you, to have proof that he was the one making you feel good, giving you pleasure – the only state he wanted to see you in that moment, lost in him and his touch.
Your pants were pulled down and discarded in a gentle yet somewhat hurried manner, Mattheo’s lips instantly attaching to your inner thighs. He kissed his way up, nuzzling his nose into your already dripping pussy before diving in. He had no intention to tease you right now, his aching heart screaming for him to be buried between your legs, the place he was sure he belonged in; and you were letting him, your needy sighs and pretty moans filling the quietness of the dimly lit dorm. It was all he asked for, and he got even more than that – your fingers tangled into his curls, your nails lightly scratching his head, making him moan right into you. Mattheo felt your wetness dripping down his chin and onto the silky sheets, but it didn’t matter – nothing mattered other than being completely and utterly consumed by you.
His fingers eagerly slipped into your entrance, curling and pressing into the spot he knew made you moan louder, relishing the feeling of your walls squeezing him – a sign that you were close, close to coming undone because of him.
“Need you to cum for me, sweet girl,” he murmured against your folds, his voice muffled, desperate, wanting. He felt a burning need to make you his, even though you already were, in every sense of the word – but he needed to reaffirm that.
“God, Matty, I-” Your words died down, turning into a whimper when he started pumping his fingers faster, his tongue swirling around your throbbing clit. Your release was accompanied by a tug at his hair, which nearly made him sob – he lapped everything up, slurping sounds riling you up all over again.
The path of Mattheo’s lips up your body, straight to your lips, was marked by your juices trickling out of the corners of his mouth that he made no effort to wipe away. You tasted yourself when he kissed you once more, one of your hands wrapping around his shoulders to pull him close. Mattheo pulled away the tiniest bit, just enough to take off his sweatshirt and pull down his jeans and boxers, tightly pressing against your right after. The skin-to-skin burned into both of you, your body still warm from lying in bed before he came, and his being the flaming heater it usually was.
“Please, love,” he muttered, his voice hoarse after everything he was doing just a minute ago. You felt his cock pressing between your thighs, the slight overstimulation of your sensitive pussy making them clench around his hips and lift up, searching for the friction you never had enough of. “I need you so bad.” His voice cracked at the last word as he felt your heat against him, his length twitching at the contact.
“You have me,” you whispered, reassuring him once again that you were his, and he could get what he so fiercely wanted. He took in a sharp breath as you shifted beneath him again, urging him to finally take you – and he was more than willing to show you how important you were to him, how he’d give you everything he had and then some.
Mattheo’s cock slid inside of you in a slow and gentle way, filling you up inch by inch until his crotch was firmly pressed against you. You gasped, pulling him down for another kiss, and he easily obliged, his lips moving against yours in a gentle but eager way. He started thrusting his hips back and forth, your walls squeezing him in a way that made him groan into your mouth, the satisfaction of being buried in you making its way to his brain and heart.
“Love you so fucking much, baby,” he nearly whimpered out, the air growing hot between your faces as both of you panted, the pleasure enveloping you in a warm, tingly blanket. “I can’t lose you. Ever. You hear me, sweet thing?”
“You won’t– Ah, fuck…! You won’t lose me,” you replied in an equally wanton voice, your words breaking up as the tip of his cock hit the spots that sent your mind into the kind of overdrive that chased all thoughts away, leaving the feeling of him, just him. Mattheo cupped your cheek, gazing at you with that intense affection that only he was capable of, his deeply brown eyes vulnerable, unable, unwilling to hide the entirety of his emotions, the love he felt just for you.
“Never letting you go, baby. Never in my goddamn life.”
You came together, the moment a manifestation of the connection you shared, the climax bringing you closer than ever, which was barely possible. Mattheo lowered himself onto the bed next to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and bringing you to him, his hands mindlessly tracing circles on your back. You felt his cock softening inside of you, but he made no effort to pull out, drops of his release seeping out and onto your inner thighs.
“Can I stay inside? Please?” he asked, his eyes pleading as he looked at you, searching your face for, hopefully, an agreement. “I’ll wash the sheets tomorrow, just… please, love?”
You smiled, not entirely surprised by his request – it wasn’t the first time he needed to be as close to you as possible, which meant being inside of you in the most literal sense.
“Of course, baby,” you replied, giving him a small kiss on the lips. How could you deny him anything when he was looking at you like that?
Mattheo let out a satisfied hum and snuggled up to you, burying his face in your hair. As you dozed off, he felt his anxiety melting away just a bit – it never truly left, but at least in that moment, he could feel your warm body next to him and know that he got to love you and keep you.
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