#sometimes unconsciously sometimes deliberately

[crowleys-bentley-and-plants]

And so now everytime i see a black lily i think of you

[rhaenin-time]

This might be my favourite line from Fire and Blood because GRRM must have known what he was doing with that one.

Sir, she's a platinum blonde.

The subtext. The text text. How do people still ignore it?

[knicks-knacks]

It's very important not to underestimate concerning behavior and thought processes just because it's presenting itself in fandom discourse. Fandom/shipping continues to be looked at as a lesser hobby, something unserious, and therefore not worth worrying about. I believe that line of thinking is exactly why it's gotten as bad as it is, at least in part.

People have been pointing out fandoms rapid decline into an obsessive (and often times destructive) purity cult for years, but it was repeatedly dismissed - because fandom is seen as petty, childish, or inconsequential. It underplays entirely how, to a lot of these younger people, fandom is a huge part of their life. It's their main form of entertainment or socialization. Their line of thinking doesn't cease to exist the moment they log off. It bleeds into other things. Being hyperaware and paranoid about what you like in fiction, because it's a 1:1 reflection of your morality, doesn't seem healthy in the slightest. It's no surprise that it's common to see these same people also having a moral panic about a 4 year age difference in real life.

Yes, fandom is fringe culture, though not as much as it used to be. At it's core it will still be a bizzaro level of passion for fictional characters. It's inherently goofy, and it's very easy to shrug off obsessive levels of puritanism in a large portion of youth when its about cartoon characters. But, however fringe fandom is, it's still a part of our culture. These are still real people thinking and behaving this way, even if it's over fictional characters. It's not something we can take lightly, especially not nowadays.

14 year olds shipping discourse is inbreeding with itself to make the discourse equivalent of a brachycephalic bulldog at this point. They're inventing new extremely vague moral purity categories at a rate nearly equivalent to the Mormon church

* For the record btw a paraphilia by definition is just any sexual desire classed as "unusual" by the dsm, which can include anything from apparently getting horny about imagining yourself as a vampire (?) to being attracted to fictional characters, to being attracted to trans people. It's not an issue unless it has the capacity to cause real harm to yourself or others, at which point it becomes a paraphilic disorder

[sophaeros]

honestly i have barely any memory of how i behaved as a child so whether or not my stims are actually like..quote unquote real stims or just me subconsciously picking shit up to be quirky is a mystery to me. if that makes sense. im jusy the imposter from amongus

[carbonfiction]

Soundless somethings

When logan comes home one day to absolute silence throughout your home, he knows something isnt right. He further cements that when he finds you tucked up in bed, struggling with a migraine attack.

This is something a little different for me; fluff not always being my strongest suit. But as a livelong chronic migraine suffering girlie, im always searching for comfort. This was completely self indulgent and i threw it at the wall (notes app) in the midst of getting over this very scenario. i figured I'd share in case theres anyone out there that needs some comfort the way i did when this came to be. <33

Warnings?: mention of migraine attacks, mentions of taking pills/medication, mentions of nausea (but no vomit), Logan being a sweet sweet man, Overall just fluff!

Pictured with origins!Logan in mind but feel free to imagine any version!

Masterlist Words: little over 1.3k

Logan could tell something was off the moment he stepped through the door. the lights are off, all the curtains drawn, enveloping the house in pitch darkness despite the earlier hour.

the sound of the tv doesn't play out, nor the usual music that would softly serenade throughout the house. Instead a deafening silence replaces it all.

His steps are quiet despite his weight; rushed yet carefull- calculated- as he treads to find you. He knows your home, the steady beat of your heart hushed in his ears as he strains to listen. He checks the kitchen and then the bathroom but he doesnt find you in either.

Instead, he finds you bundled up in your shared bed, blanket pulled up to your chin, a bag lined trashcan resting on the floor besides your bedside table.

There's a gentle sigh of relief; that your home and safe, as he pads over. A crease wedging its way between his brows as he Looks your bundled frame over. Your expression- that he can see anyway- is pained as he kneels carefully besides the bed. Slow and gentle to not jostle your body as his hands stabilize themselves on the plush mattress. Logan opens his mouth, question poised on his tongue, but you beat him to it.

"Logan?" you croak quietly, eyes squinted open, like the words hurt you to verbalize. In a way, they do.

"Yea baby s' just me." Logan keeps his voice low as he reassures you. His hand gently coming up and over your covered body to rest atop of your forehead and he smiles softly as you try to snuggle into it without much movement; his palm feeling cool and reliving from his time outside against your skin . "What's goin on hm? M' girl not feeling good?"

"Mhm" you hum back, eyelids falling shut again to block out the dimmed light. "'nother migraine attack".

Ah.. So that explains the quiet darkness filling, what is usually, your bustling home.

"Have you taken your pills baby?" Logan enquires with a sigh, voice low and careful to not hurt your head further as he stands as quiet as he can- save for the clicking of his knees that you'd usually tease him about- instead he finds himself apologizing.

Logan knows how bad these attacks can get, how they can range from a dull ache behind your eyes to a debilitating thump that pains every movement. That the trashcan besides your side of the bed often has a second purpose; for the days when you physically cannot move for the pain and nausea.

He knows how, when these attacks happen, even the quietest noise can make you unconsciously flinch in pain. That sometimes even the sound of your own heartbeat worsens the matching throb in your head. It breaks part of his heart every time, seeing you struggling so hard in your own body, but he'll do anything, often wordlessly to ensure you get through each attack supported with anything you need.

"Took em' earlier.. Didn't help much" you mumble, hushed and so sadly it makes logans heart clench in his broad chest. You hear logans steps retreat from the room, and you shift fractionally in bed. The movement deliberately slow as to not highten the nausea that floats over you in waves.

Tugging the cool side of one of logans pillows atop of your forehead, Its just enough to cover your eyes; to stop any extra brightness breaching your eyelids. The scent of him embedded in the fabric is comforting; but you find yourself thankful for the way it slightly muffles sound too as you listen to logan rooting around in the kitchen.

You know he's trying his best- he always does- his large heavy hands delicately struggling to maneuver around items much smaller. You just barley catch the muttered way he swears to himself as he grabs a glass out, accidentally clinking it next to another other, to fill with cold water.

When logan comes back he does so with his arms full. in one a condensation covered glass filled with water, crisp and cool from the fridge. The other is pressed to his chest and holds a box of crackers- simple and plain- and a packaged strip of ginger cookies to settle your stomach; your medicine carton then sitting atop of both.

You crack an eye at the sound of the packets as he places them down on the bed; apologizing for the rustling as you whimper. The idea of food not being over appetizing in your current state.

logan hides a smile, knowing and apologetic, seeing the grimace that rests on your lips.. "I know baby, i know.." he hushes gently, as he carefully sits himself beside you, dipping the bed as it groans. "but we gotta get something in your stomach before your next meds, y'know that."

You whimper again, pained and utterly miserable because you know hes right. You do need to eat before your next dose; otherwise you know it'll make the nausea worse. He sighs softly again as you whine, helping you rest up against the headboard.

The throb in your skull is louder as you sit straight, your eyes fully open now. the room is dimmed but light still filters golden through the fabric of the curtains. You make a mental note to purchase some blackouts when you feel more yourself.

Theres silence then, as logan watches your every move, occasionally handing you another cracker or cookie depending on what you mumble for. By the third cracker and second cookie a small protesting sound passes your lips, nausea flooding your bloodstream mid bite. Logan's hand finds your back, rubbing up and down softly hushing you through the wave, also ready to grab the trashcan if you need it.

"Just a couple more bites baby, you can do it.." he pushes quietly after a while of helping you steady your breath; urging you to just finish the last half of the ginger cookie sat in your hand. He grins slightly when you continue, bites small and almost sheepish as he places a kiss on your head before muttering into your hair "yea there you go. Good girl, proud of you baby."

For a while then, theres no movement; you sitting against the headboard and him resting besides you. His hand rubbing soothing shapes on your back.

Theres a panicked noise when he shifts, your fingers grasping at his shirt, but like always, Logans quick to reassure you. "Shh s' okay, just grabbing your pills, m' not goin anywhere, Promise"

You hum gingerly in understanding as his free arm reaches to the table, pulling your medicine packet into his lap before stretching again for the water.

You grimace, fingers wrapping around the glass as you bring it up to your forehead, resting it against your warm skin. Its cool and damp against you, making a sound of delight slip from your throat. Logan smiles at it, un-popping the little pills and handing you the correct dose.

He helps tip your head back, his hand resting over yours on the glass, guiding and gentle. Once swallowed he praises you again; lips pressing feather light kisses against your temple when you shift closer to his body.

"Love you lo" he just manages to hear you mumble into his neck. Your tone is still slightly sad; no doubt filled with fatigue as he helps you rest comfortable atop of him, head resting in the crook of his neck.

Usually you'd giggle at the tickle of his facial hair against your skin but for now you settle for an amused huff; too pained for laughter as you nuzzle closer to his scent with your fingers still tangled in the fabric of his shirt. akin to how a child clutches a stuffed toy.

"Love you too baby.." he replies softly, palm coming to rest under your- his- shirt. He smiles, heart stuttering in his chest at the feeling of your lashes fluttering shut. His cool hand soothing up and down your spine until he feels your breathing slow. Soft snores falling from your lips as his motions never cease. "Now, get that pretty little head to snoozin' hm?"

lemme know whatcha think? is fluff something you'd like to see more of?? bc i actually really enjoyed creating this <333

[leclerc-hs]

somebody else - cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: in which you find yourself at cross ties with an ex! OR charles just really wants you back. warnings: 18+, smut under the cut!, angst!!!!!!!!!, not proofread word count: ~2.2k author's note: sorry if this is lame?? i was feeling really angsty the other night but then never finished it so i finished it just now. maybe I can continue this or maybe I'll leave it as a one-shot only!!! idk but let me know your thoughts :) xoxo ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

THE DARKENED CLOUDS swirl ominously above you, intermittently lit by flashes of distant lightning that paints fleeting patterns across the sky. The air is cool and charged with the scent of saltwater as you pull your knees into your chest. 

“Did you ever think we would end up here?” His voice mutters beside you, the waves crashing with a muted sorrow in the background, as if echoing the ache that burned in his chest.

The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and dampness, a bittersweet reminder of your shared moments now slipping away. You turned your head to look at him, tugging the corners of your lips upwards into a weak smile.

The burn in your throat made it hard to speak.

“Jamais.” Never.

“I thought we had more time,” You spoke, your voice fragile.

-

You sit nestled on the plush couch, your favorite book lying forgotten in your lap as you emerge yourself into the soft melodies playing in the background. Charles stands by the vintage record player, carefully selecting another vinyl, his movements graceful and deliberate in the dim glow of the room.

The music fills the space. A jazz tune, perhaps, with its smooth saxophone and rhythmic piano. He turns to you eventually, with a smile that practically melts your heart, before extending a hand towards you as an invitation to dance.

“Aren’t you concerned for your toes?” You joke, slipping the book off your lap and onto the couch.

“Concerned?” His lips tug into a small smirk. “You can break all of my toes, and I’d still want to dance with you.”

It doesn’t take much more convincing. A shy grin forms as your hand slips perfectly into his, fingers intertwining effortlessly.

Outside, the city hums softly with the quiet buzz of evening life, but within the cocoon of warmth and music, time seems to stand still. 

“You’re so beautiful,” He mutters as he presses gentle kisses onto your face, one arm wrapped around your waist tightly. “Toe breaking and all.”

Your head falls back as you release a laugh of pure joy. “Je t’aime.” I love you.

“Je t’aime, mon coeur.” My heart.

-

The mornings always held a special charm for him, especially those rare occasions when he found himself awake before you. It wasn’t a common occurrence, but when it did happen, he cherished it deeply. As he woke to the gentle light filtering through the curtains, he would often find himself captivated by the sight of you sleeping peacefully beside him, almost always cocooned into the side of his body.

There was always something so mesmerizing about watching you in those quiet moments of slumber. The soft rise and fall of your chest, the way your hair fell onto the pillow, and the soft expression on your face created a montage of serenity and beauty that he could never look away from.

He sometimes would just lay there, propped up on one elbow, just taking in every detail of you. The way your eyelashes fluttered silently, the slight curve of your lips, and the way you would sometimes reach out unconsciously, seeking his warmth even in sleep. It always filled him with need for you.

Today, for instance, was one of those mornings. Charles traced the pads of his fingertips softly along the collarbone that was peeking out of his t-shirt that you always stole from him. He didn’t mind though; it was practically yours.

You stirred awake gently, a smile pulling on your lips as you felt Charles hand trail down your torso and slipping under the t-shirt, his hands instantly trailing along the skin of your stomach.

His hands squeezed your sides gently, before pushing you flat onto your back, so he could slip in between your thighs, half his body pressed on top of you.

He peppered kisses to your neck, up to your cheeks, before meeting you at your lips where you awoke with a full-blown smile. 

“Needy this morning, hm?” Your voice was soft, still full of sleep as you felt him gently rut against your core. There wasn’t much fabric between you both, just his boxers and a pair of cotton panties.

“For you?” You could feel his grin against the crevice of your neck and collarbone where he places open-mouthed kisses, sucking gently. “Always.”

It didn’t take much longer before his cock was slipped inside of you. His boxers strewn somewhere along the bedroom floor that you both shared, and your panties pushed only to the side.

“Feel this, mon amour?” He groans softly into your ear, his breath warm against your skin as you let your head fall back into the pillows completely. “It’s just for you.”

It starts out slow and lazy. Until you both just can’t take it anymore and he’s flipping you over, pulling you to your knees. 

“Arch your back for me.” He says, the pace of his hips unrelenting as his fingers grip the sides of your hips. “That’s it, mon amour.” 

You can’t help but moan, your knuckles turning white from the harsh grip you claim on the bedsheets. It’s sogood.

His hands find their way to your hair, fisting it tightly as he pulls you up so that your back is pressed to his chest.

“Please,” You beg, in need of a release.

“How bad do you want it?” He clicks his tongue, his fingers trailing along your neck, pressing gently into your soft skin. “C’mon, work for it.”

You begin feverishly rutting your hips, meeting him in the middle. It doesn’t take much longer before your both sent over the edge of your orgasms, collapsing on top of one another in the warm confines of the bed.

“I think we should stay here for the rest of the day.”

-

The tension in the air was palpable, thick with anger that seemed to swirl around the both of you like a storm. You both stood in the middle of the kitchen, a place that usually consists of shared laughter and comfort, now transformed into a battleground.

“How was I supposed to know that she would be there?” His voice was lethal, the veins in his neck protruding from the clench of his jaw.

You were in complete disarray as your fingers continuously ran through the roots of your hair. It’s as if he was listening but wasn’t really listening.

“It’s not about that!” You half-shout back, your voice dwindling towards the end. You were tired. So tired of this. “It’s the fact that you practically forgot I was even there!”

“You always do this.”

“Do what?”

“Pick fights over nothing.”

“So now it’s my fault that you practically spent the entire night talking to your ex-girlfriend as if I wasn’t in the room?”

You felt your temper wearing thin. All you needed was an apology. A sign that he didn’t mean to spend half the night talking to his ex-girlfriend.

“I hate when you do this.”

“I’m so done letting you hurt me like this every time we see her around.” You felt your voice crack. 

“So that’s it? You’re just giving up?” His voice was void of any emotion, but the heavy rise and fall of his chest gave way to just how much this was hurting him to hear.

-

“Can you just stay a little longer?” His voice was raw and full of emotion as he stared at you from the archway of the kitchen. You stood only a few feet away with swollen eyes from crying, and a single suitcase by your side.

You could slowly see the unwavering emotions form across Charles’ face as he stood, staring at you. Sadness, hurt, and anger.

You began to shake your head no, but Charles absolutely refused for that to be your response. He took a small step towards you, which had you immediately holding your hand up, begging for him to stop.

“Please,” Your voice shook. “Don’t make this harder.”

“I love you.” He emphasizes. He runs his hands through his hair like he’s in distraught. Because he is. How did it get to this point?

When you couldn’t even say the words back, was Charles’ final undoing. He knew you still did. But he neededto hear you say it. He knew it was selfish. Considering, this was all his doing. His actions.

“You keep hurting me every time we come across her.” You void your sentence of any emotion. Trying your best to hold it together, at least exteriorly. “I can’t be with you when it seems like you want her.”

“I only want you!” He can feel the panic forming in his chest as he sees you make your way to grab the handle of your suitcase.

“It’s too late.” 

-

It’s been seven months since then. Most would say that’s not much, but to Charles it felt like eternity. It would be a lie if you said it didn’t too. But still you moved on. Or at least tried to.

You and Charles regardless of the break-up we’re always still involved in some way. You both knew it was impossible to shut each other out completely. Especially when you both live in the same small city, have the same childhood friends, and live not even a mile away from each other.

So, when you arrive to one of your best friend’s birthday party, hand in hand with another man, you could imagine the burn of nerves that flood your stomach as you spot Charles across the room.

“Mon dieu!” Your friend erupts in a raised voice. “We finally get to meet Andrew!” She pushes the door open widely, allowing room for you and Andrew to step through the threshold.

A short silk dress adorns your body, the perfect shade of blue that embellishes your summer tan. You avoid looking in Charles’ direction as you gather your belongings onto a designated table, where everyone’s belongings also lie. 

You’ve been seeing Andrew for a few weeks, it’s all still relatively new. But he was sweet and caring, and so thoughtful.

You feel your cheeks redden in embarrassment as your friend announces Andrew as ‘your new boyfriend’ because he isn’t your boyfriend. But, you can’t find it in your heart to correct her.

It takes a mere thirty seconds for you to drop your belongings down onto the table, before you turn around to meet the eyes of Charles from across the room. 

It feels as if time has stood still as he sends you a small tug of his lips, unsure of how he should act. It’s not that you haven’t seen each other since the break-up, but he hasn’t ever seen you with another man.

You felt in a complete trance, unable to remove your eyes from Charles, until you feel a hand rest on the small of your back. Andrew.

You break eye contact almost instantly, turning your head to smile up at Andrew. He sends you a quick wink, before bringing his lips down to your ear. “Tu veux un verre?” Do you want a drink?

You nod, a soft smile pulled on your lips as you turn towards the direction of the kitchen, pulling Andrew’s hand in yours.

-

“Is it serious?” His smooth voice elicits a quiet shriek and jump as you hand wash the used wine glasses in the kitchen sink, an eruption of goosebumps forming across your skin.

“Excuse me?” You turn to him. Soapy water dripping from your fingertips before you wiped them with a hand towel nearby. 

“Is it serious?” He repeats, his voice unwavering as he steps closer that you need to crane your neck to look at him.

“I know what you said.” You could feel the anger begin to swirl in you like a storm. “What makes you think you deserve to know?”

For a tiny instant, you swore you saw the smirk on his face waver. But, it was so fast that he pulled it back up again.

“I miss you.” He whispers softly, his hand reaches to touch a strand of fallen hair from your face before he tucks it behind your ear.

“You’re not being fair.”

His face falls to a solemn look, letting only you see the actual hurt that he’s been feeling every day since you walked out that apartment door.

“I want you back, mon amour.” He states. “I’ll risk being unfair if it gives me any chance to get you back.”

Your heart was beating rapidly. It’s everything you’ve wanted to hear. But you can’t do this. Not again. Not to Andrew.

“Charles, please don’t do this. Not here.” 

“I know that you love me.” He states. “I know that you do, and you know that I love you. That I’m in love with you and always will be.” His words begin pouring out of him, like a waterfall. 

“We’re broken.” You shrug your shoulders. “We always were.”

You didn’t give him a chance to speak again before you pushed past the confines of his body and back into the living room where all of your friends and Andrew celebrate.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Loving Suffocation.

A Continuation Of This Piece.

Written for a very lovely, very indulgent anonymous commissioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Loid x Reader x Yandere!Yor (SxF).

Word Count: 4k.

TW: Non/Con, AFAB!Reader, Slight Somnophilia, Spanking, Sex Toys, Breeding, Mentions of Pregnancy, Medical Malpractice, Oral Sex, Obsessive Behavior, Slight Gaslighting, Bruising/Marking, and Overstimulation.

You never did get to see your opera. A lack of oxygen turned your cramped world blurry and abstract, and you faded in and out of consciousness while Yor fussed over your ruined dress and gathered you up in her arms, the strip of fabric she’d tied around your neck and stuffed in your mouth – not quite a gag, but enough to convince your uncooperative vocal cords that calling for help wouldn’t be worth the effort. Sometime between being pulled against Yor’s chest and slipping out of that sex-saturated storage closet, you blinked and by the time you could find the strength to open your eyes again, you were in your apartment, in your own bed, your makeshift gag gone and your wrists bound  behind your back with a generous amount of duct tape. You briefly considered calling for help, but you were past the point of screaming. Even if you tried, the Forgers were your only neighbors close enough to hear, and you’d seen enough of enough of that family for a lifetime.

Just as exhaustion began to overwhelm your better judgement, you caught stifled footsteps in the near distance, heard the door to your bedroom creak open and shut with enough force to shake the drywall. This time, when you closed your eyes, it was in a deliberate effort to will yourself to sleep. An effort that was, of course, rendered futile by Yor’s hand on your forehead, a soft hum too tender to be purposefully deceptive. “I think they might be asleep. The poor thing could barely hold their eyes open.”

“That’s fine.” Instantly, your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach. He spoke quietly, keeping his voice low and airy, but even in worst dreams, Loid seemed to be able to carve out a place for himself. It made sense for him to make an appearance in this nightmare, too. “Can you show me where the damage is?”

You held your breath as Yor’s hand drifted from your face to your thigh. After a moment of hesitation, she nudged you onto your back, pulling the ragged remains of your skirt up to your waist. You fought not to bolt up as cold air washed over your exposed, abused cunt – not to ball your fists as you felt Loid’s narrowed eyes pry into you the way they always seemed to when you passed each other in the hall, when he got home before you could find a reason to get out of the Forgers’ suffocating apartment. You managed to hold yourself still as he clicked his tongue, edging that much closer to the foot of your bed. You could picture him leaning over you, perfectly styled blonde hair falling ever so slightly out of place as he took long, agonizing seconds to evaluate the bruises lining the inside of your thighs, the crescent-shaped marks Yor’s nails had left pressed in your hips, your waist. Calloused fingertips brushed over your ankle, but further restraint was deemed unnecessary as his attention shifted back to his wife. “And you said you found them…?”

“Unconscious,” she filled in. You could hear her shifting her weight, feigning concern as her husband evaluated you. “In front of our building. I tried to wake them up, but they panicked, and I remembered the treatment you told me about for—for hysteria.” She paused, swallowed. “I thought I could help, but I’m afraid I might’ve just made things worse…”

Loid’s response was delayed, put off in favor of inching that much closer to you. The mattress dipped as he rested a knee on the foot of your bed. Don’t move, you repeated to yourself, despite the ever-growing urge to get up and run gnawing violently at the back of your mind. If you pretended to be asleep, you’d only have to tolerate a few minutes of his attention before he got tired of leering at your conscious body. If you pretended to be asleep, they’d leave and you could start to forget this ever happened.

It got harder to be so rational as he reached out, running two fingers over your slit and splitting apart the lips of your pussy, giving himself a better view of your abused clit, your entrance – still pitifully drooling slick. You tried to remember what kind of doctor he was, but any specialties that might’ve come to mind were immediately forgotten as his gloved fingers slipped inside of you. You had to bite back a quiet hiss as he scissored open the sore walls of your cunt, his touch probing and experimental. At least Yor had the decency not to draw it out. “You reacted swiftly and efficiently. Even trained paramedics leave residual damage.” He drew back suddenly, and you fought not to jolt at his callousness. “Can you show me what exactly your…” He trailed off. You could practically hear the curiosity in his voice. “…your treatment entailed?”

Yor made a noise you couldn’t decipher. Loid moved away from you entirely, but Yor was quick to take his place. She settled into the space between your legs, her hands – shaking ever so slightly – taking up your hips, her fingertips near-perfectly aligned with the dark bruises pressed into your skin. You felt her breath ghost over the inside of your thighs, the flat of her tongue run gingerly over your slit, and you bolted upward on instinct, mouth open and ready to—

—ready to have your scream stifled and suffocated by Loid’s palm as he forced his hand over your mouth and shoved you back into the mattress. Unable to claw at his arm, to pry him off of you, you thrashed under his steadfast hold, but he didn’t seem to pay you any mind. Rather, his eyes met yours for all of half a second before flickering to his wife, sparing her a slight nod. “Patients usually react with some level of resistance. You can go on.”

Yor’s eyes widened, but any shock she might’ve felt seemed to melt away at her husband’s assurance. She was more nervous, now that she was performing for an audience rather than assaulting you in the privacy of her chosen hideaway, but the little, tentative movements of her tongue got braver over time, her eyes closing as her hands drifted from your waist to your thighs. She nudged your legs onto her shoulders and latched onto your clit, suckling with just enough force to draw a reaction out of your burnt-out nerves, to leave you trembling and struggling to swallow back pained moans and pathetic whimpers. It hurt – more than anything, it hurt – but she had your body trained, knew just what points to hit to get what she wanted out of you. More than that, your body knew that it wasn’t going to end until she reached her goal, until she had you cumming on her tongue for the— god, how many times would this make? You’d lost track after the first dozen, but even if you hadn’t, it would’ve been impossible to tell, impossible to know what she’d accomplished the first time reality started to blur and consciousness was rendered more of revokable privilege than something you’d ever be capable of holding on to without help. In less than a minute, you were grinding against her tongue involuntarily, the movement of your hips stilted and jerky. You couldn’t have called it a real orgasm, not when any pleasure you could’ve felt was so overshadowed by a searing sort of ache, but Yor seemed satisfied – drawing the back of her hand over her chin as she lifted her head, sending Loid a sheepish smile.

“I just, uh,” she started, drumming her fingers over your thigh. “I just did that until they calmed down. I’m not sure if it helped.”

“I see.” Loid, for his part, failed to let his air of stoic professionalism so much as waver.  “And how many times did the patient reach climax?”

“…thirty?” Yor let out an airy, nervous laugh. “Maybe more. It… It was a little hard to keep track, in the moment.”

“And they’re still so unruly.” He was kind enough to feign concern, to let his tone soften and purse his lips into a thin frown. For a second, you let yourself believe that you’d just stumbled into a bad situation – that he and his wife were under some shared delusion and genuinely thought they might’ve been helping you, but then you caught a spec of crimson on the collar of Yor’s dress out of the corner of your eye and thought better of trying to humanize them. “Would you mind if I took a closer look?”

The question was posed to Yor, not you. “Please do, you’re the doctor here,” she spouted, hurrying to get out of Loid’s way. Loid was more hesitant, his palm lingering over your mouth as his eyes found yours. He was cold at the best of times – his expression often hollow when he thought your attention was elsewhere, his touch enough to send a chill down your spine on the rare occasion he found an excuse to put his hands on you – but the look he sent you as he uncovered your mouth was nothing short of frigid. The threat was clear, albeit ambiguous. You had no idea what Loid was capable of, let alone what extremes he was willing to go to.

But, you knew what Yor could do – you’d caught her in the act.

And you weren’t eager to find out what’d she’d do to you at her husband’s request.

When his hand finally fell away from your mouth, you didn’t make a sound. Rather, you dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek as Loid wrapped an arm around your waist and hauled you onto his lap – his thighs cutting harshly into your stomach. The position was enough to leave your cheeks burning and humiliation tying knots in the back of your throat, but whatever embarrassment you might’ve felt was multiplied ten-fold as his hand ghosted over the buttons lining the back of your dress and your only remaining protective barrier fell away – mutilated fabric now limp and useless beneath you. You started to writhe, but the heel of Loid’s palm found the small of your back, pressing into the base of your spine with just enough force a pained whimper past your lips. Reflectively, Yor moved to reach towards you, but Loid shook his head. “It’s important to test for reactiveness,” he explained, tone flat and steely. “I can take care of bruises and cuts, but lasting nerve damage will make things—” He paused, clicked his tongue. “—difficult.”

“Oh!” Yor clapped her hands together. At least she seemed to sincerely believe that, even if she wasn’t helping you, her husband might be. You couldn’t tell what Loid was thinking, but it couldn’t have been so benevolent. “Is that what you’re doing now? Testing for reactiveness?”

“Exactly.” Loid flashed her a smile. You felt him shift, fish something out of the pocket of his suit jacket. Aching numbness had put you at a distance from his invasive touch before, but Yor’s mouth had done away with that – resurrecting the buzzing sort of hyper-sensitivity that meant you weren’t able to hide the way your hips bucked against his thigh as he slid something sleek and metallic into your drenched pussy. It was oddly shaped – one end tapered and the other flat, small enough to fit in the palm of your hand but still big enough to leave you squirming uncomfortably as Loid pulled back. “Normally, I’d use more intricate equipment, but there are a few experiments I can run on my own.”

You heard nails against metal, a soft click muffled by stiff machinery. After a second of delay, the object inside of you let out an abrupt pulse of pure vibration – harsh and sudden and awful. Your reaction was reflexive, undisguisable. You threw your head forward as you bit back a bubbling, broken moan; waves of intense reverberation beating at the walls of your cunt. There was no time to brace yourself, to grow into the piercing sting – it was already too much. The walls of your pussy clenched around the source of your agony, and before you could think to stifle your reactions, to give them as little as you possibly could, tears were blurring your vision, dripping down your cheeks. Yor cooed, kneeling in front of you and cupping your cheeks. “Poor thing…” she mumbled, before looking up towards Loid. “I don’t think they’re enjoying it.”

Another wave of pulsing reverberation, a jagged cry forced past your lips. “P-please, turn it off, take it out, I can’t—”

It took you a second to process the sound of a palm against flesh, how it might’ve been connected to the bright flash of pain just below the curve of your ass. When you could bring yourself to glance over your shoulder, his hand was raised, his expression stern. The sight was enough to make your heart ache in your chest – a sensitivity which surprised you. You hadn’t thought there was anything the Forgers could do to hurt you more than they already had.

“We’re going out of our way to help you.” It was the same tone he used with Anya when she refused to do her homework or threatened to drop out of her upper-crust academy. Whatever genuine sympathy he might’ve had for you was buried beneath a heavy layer of practiced stoicism and nearly totalitarian authority, turning the words cold where they should’ve been comforting. “It’s unfair to be so ungrateful when Yor’s already sacrificed so much of her time for the sake of your health. Why don’t you apologize to her?”

Again, you heard that same soft click, and the vibrations pulsing out of the object in your cunt doubled in intensity. You let your head fall forward, clenching your eyes shut as you struggled to spit something out. “I… I’m sorry, Yor, I didn’t mean to—”

You were cut off by a sharp moan, the feeling of Loid’s fingers tracing over your slit. Soon, the pad of his thumb found your clit, pushing dull circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves. He let out an airy chuckle as you withered into yourself, your legs spreading involuntarily as your feet struggled to find purchase on carpeting that seemed to be just an inch too far, to ground yourself on something that Loid didn’t even have to try to keep just out of your grasp. “Don’t strain yourself,” he muttered, your unwanted reward for your easy compliance. “How does this—” He pushed a rough pattern into your clit, drawing out a wavering cry. “—feel?”

Miserable. Torturous. The worst thing that��d ever been inflected onto your poor, spent body. You deflated, your chest flattening against Loid’s thighs. “…it hurts.”

This time, he let you finish before pulling back, his palm striking your ass with twice the force he’d used before. You cried out, the noise uneven and anguished, but your pain didn’t seem to rank very high on his nebulous list of concerns. “I’ve already told you not to be so ungrateful,” he said, shaking his head. “Do you know what would’ve happened if we weren’t here to help you?” Another strike, another ragged sob. “You’d be suffering on your own, in excruciating pain and spiraling into your own delusions. If we hadn’t been there to correct you so quickly, you would’ve been unrecoverable.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You were babbling, now, your apologies clumped together and nearly unintelligible. Loid cut in, pointed as ever.

“You’ve already apologized.” Two digits slipped into you, splitting your pussy open. Somehow, the added stimulation only seemed to make his device’s vibration more unbearable. “Now, it’s time to tell Yor how thankful you are.”

“Thank you—” There was no hesitation, no resistance. If you’d been able to, if you hands hadn’t been bound, you would’ve clung to her, dug your nails into her shoulder and your teeth into Loid’s thigh, anything to feel like you weren’t about to fall apart altogether. “Thank you, I’m so— I can’t— Thank you—”

It was Yor, this time – her mouth crashing against yours as her hand found the back of your head. Her tongue slipped past your lips, raking over yours with a ginger sort of tenderness and raking her fingers through your hair, drinking down every little moan and whimper her husband forced out of you with enthusiasm. She lingered there, lips moving gently against yours, as you reached your next climax – the number completely lost on you, now. When she pulled away, eyes glazed over and a dark blush painted over her cheeks, Loid hummed approvingly, fishing his bullet-shaped device out of your pussy and switching it off. Slick dripped down the inside of your thighs, your chest heaving stiltedly against his lap, and you noticed, for the first time, something large and stiff pressing into your stomach. For your own sake, you decided you weren’t going to think about it.

But, like always, Loid was quick to tear even the comfort you found in your own mind away from you.

“You did what you could,” Loid started, with heavy sigh. “But their condition is worse than I thought. It might take more than the usual treatment to set them back on the right path.” A lengthy pause, an arm looped underneath you. With more care than he’d seen fit to show you all night, Loid repositioned you on your back in the center of your bed. You were too exhausted to so much as try to protest. “For cases like this, insemination is the only known cure.”

Yor blinked up at him, more curious than confused. “Insemination?”

“Pregnancy,” Loid filled in. “It can be done artificially, but for cases this severe…”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. Weakly, you tried to sit up, but it was Yor that stopped you, this time, pressing her hand flat against your shoulder and pinning you down effortlessly. “If that’s what’s best,” she chimed, her smile wide and brilliant. “Can I help?”

For the first time, Loid’s expression seemed to warm. “Of course.”

Less than a full minute later, you were slotted against Yor, your head resting on her chest and her arms loosely wrapped around your midriff. Loid had reclaimed his position in the space between your open legs, one hand on your hip and the other toying with his clothes, shifting the waist of his now-wrinkled dress pants down just far enough to free his flush cock – already hard, already leaking pearls of arousal. The sight, paired with the breathy sigh he let out as he wrapped his fist around his shaft, was enough to dash any hopes you might’ve had of a last-minute change of heart.

You squirmed in Yor’s hold, your fists balling around your own near ruined sheets as Loid aligned himself with your entrance. You didn’t realize you were talking until you heard your own voice, fragile and desperate, nearly too broken to be comprehensible. “Please don’t, I—I’m not sick, please don’t—”

It was Yor who hushed you, this time, smiling as she pressed a fleeting kiss into your cheek. “He’s going to help you,” she whispered, tone simpering where you wished it would be sterile. “You can just sit back and relax while we—” She paused, squeezed you against her playfully. “—make sure you’re alright.”

There was a beat of silence, of stillness. Eventually, you managed to stutter out, “I don’t want your help.”

Loid let out an airy chuckle, tracing the flushed tipped of his cock over your slit. “You don’t have to want anything.” He bowed his head, leaning down far enough to rest his lips against the top of your head. “You’ll need all the help you can get, in a few weeks.”

You didn’t have time to protest, not before he thrust into you – sheathing himself to the hilt in a single stroke.

You tried to scream, but Yor’s mouth found yours in a moment, swallowing any fractured noises you might’ve been able to make. Loid didn’t seem interested in giving you time to adjust; immediately falling into a rhythm just as forceful and just as cruel as anything else he’d done to you. It wasn’t a question of if it would hurt, anymore, but how badly. The feeling of his not inconsiderably length splitting open your aching pussy alone was enough to bring tears to your eyes, and his rough thrusts, his shattering pace – all of it only working to agitate the few parts of you that hadn’t already gone numb to his assult. You clenched your eyes shut, willing yourself to go completely numb, but Yor cooed, one of her hands falling away from you only to find its way to the curve of your stomach, her palm soon pressed flat against your skin. “Miss Anya did mention wanting a younger sister,” she muttered, nuzzling into the dip of your shoulder. “It’ll be difficult to hide, ‘till it’s over with. There used to be a single mother working at city hall, but the State Security Service paid her a visit and…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “But I’m sure that won’t be an issue for you!”

“Of course not.” Loid’s voice was breathy, his attention mostly elsewhere. He did his best to stay composed, to maintain that painstakingly professionally air, but you could feel him twitch inside of you, feel his hips stutter as his pace grew that much more brutal. “We’ll be taking care of you. When you start to show, you’ll move in with us, and—” A groan, a pair of tired eyes allowed to close. “—and if you cooperate, we’ll make it so you don’t have to worry about anything aside from the baby. Any added stress will only make the pregnancy more difficult.”

Loid’s hips pressed against yours, Yor’s mouth on the curve of your neck. “Our little family is growing so quickly.” You could feel her grin against your throat, fangs ready to clamp down at the first sign of resistance. “I can’t wait until you’re better. You’ll be so happy, when you’re in your right mind again.”

Your mouth fell open, but anything you might’ve said died in your throat long before it could ever reach your tongue. There was no pleasure to it, no stimulation other than the same grating sensation and the pinpoints of pressure where Loid’s fingertips dug into your waist, but if your comfort mattered to Loid, he would’ve stopped as soon as he saw what his wife did to you. He cursed under his breath, throwing his hand forward and hauling your rigid body that much closer to his. You didn’t have a chance to brace yourself, to trick your pain-addled mind into believing there was anything you could possibly do to get away from him before he went still, something thick and searing flooding into your unprotected cunt. He lingered there, his cum leaking out of you despite your pussy’s futile attempts to cling to his cock, and for the first time, you let yourself think about what they were taking about – insemination, pregnancy, growing families and new siblings. You let yourself acknowledge the weight of Yor’s hand against your stomach, Loid’s hips against yours. You let yourself breath in, holding the air in your lungs for a moment before exhaling and going limp against Yor.

Fuck.

If you never saw the Forgers again, it’d still be a day too soon.

Yor started to pull away from you, but Loid stopped her. “Conception can be fickle,” he started, fighting not to pant audibly. “It’d be for the best if we were…” His eyes dropped to you. “…thorough.”

“Do you hear that?” Her hold grew that much tighter, her smile that much brighter. Her lips ghosted over the shell of your ear. The feeling might’ve sent a chill down your spine, if you still had the strength to be afraid of them.

“Loid’s going to take very good care of you.”

[rambite6]

Astrology Observations pt 2: Ketu Nakshatra

Ketu natives struggle with attaching and relating to others from a young age. They are more observers than willing participants, showing little interest in faking emotions to make others feel comfortable or match the energy in a room. People tend to notice the detached behavior of Ketuvians and may judge them for it. Consequently, Ketu individuals may feel pressured to fake emotions. For Ashwini, there is a greater effort to fit into societal norms than for Magha and Mula. Ashwini is a Deva Gana (divine) nakshatra, making them appear more grounded and approachable. In fact, they often possess a mystic aura that leaves people astonished rather than intimidated—unlike Magha and Mula, both of which belong to the Rakshasa Gana (demonic). Magha and Mula can come across as aggressive, potentially alienating others they have more of an intimidating but pulling energy. However, Ashwini’s efforts to “fit in” are often unsuccessful. Striving to meet societal expectations can cause more harm to the Ashwini native, leading them to suppress their feelings. This suppression sometimes results in self-destructive behaviors, as Ashwini individuals feel like they are constantly hiding their true selves. All three Ketu nakshatras—Ashwini, Magha, and Mula—are quite rebellious, refusing to conform to expectations. In fact, they may deliberately disappoint others to challenge the emotional attachment to success or failure. I recall a memory of myself competing in a local festival competition, where I was winning. My family was cheering and hyping me up, but for some reason, this made me uncomfortable as it felt egoistic. So, I gave up on purpose and let the other child win, feeling happier doing so. My family was disappointed, but I didn’t care. I use to also walk away during social gatherings not to purposely be rude or anything but I felt the need to return to myself and when I would flash a smile people seemed to be uncomfortable. (I’ve read somewhere that ashwini smile can be creepy because it’s falsely exaggerated)

• Ketuvians have a natural inclination towards spirituality due to their detachment from material matters. This detachment allows them to deeply face and sit with their inner selves, often leading to a sense of emotional distance from their surroundings. For Ketu natives, expecting anything in return is rarely a priority. However, this sense of detachment creates a void within them, leading them to unconsciously drain both material and spiritual energy from others in an attempt to fill it. In the end, this process provides little fulfillment for them, yet the act of draining itself brings them a sense of pleasure, rather than the material rewards they seek. I would recommend that people with Ketu influence engage in a creative hobby. Creativity comes naturally to them, as it is not influenced by expectations of rewards or fear of judgment. Ketuvians thrive when they create because it serves as the most authentic form of self-expression.

• A physical trait I’ve observed among people with Ketu nakshatra is not just their sleepy, penetrating gaze but also their very thick, dark, wild hair. Among all the 3 naks, their hair stands out—thick, long, and bushy, often seeming to have a mind of its own. Their hair is typically on the darker side, very full, almost as if you could get lost in it. It often appears unkempt, as though they haven’t brushed it or just rolled out of bed. However, there are moments when their hair is styled, and that specific hairstyle becomes synonymous with the Ketu native. For example, Mula ☽—Amy Winehouse—is well-known for her messy, vintage updo. Ashwini ☉,—Magha ↑—Conan O’Brien has a signature hairstyle, his wild, iconic hair often referenced as a significant part of his brand, with people constantly mentioning it. Ashwini ☽—Pamela Anderson—popularized her famous messy bun, which many struggle to recreate. Lastly, Magha ☽—Aaliyah—with her signature side-swoop that covered her right eye became so popular and mysterious that false rumors spread, suggesting she was concealing a glass eye.

• You’ll find that many Ketu natives are involved in niche forms of media and alternative subcultures such as goth, punk, and grunge. They are drawn to styles that often include silver chains, black clothing, distressed fabrics, and DIY fashion pieces they design themselves, reflecting anti-establishment attitudes. In fact, you can observe a strong presence of musicians within these subcultures who have Ketu nakshatras. Notable examples include Lydia Lunch (Ashwini ☽), Robert Smith of The Cure (Ashwini ☉,), Nick Cave (Magha ☽), Joe Strummer (Magha ☉, and ☽), and Paul Simonon (Mula ☽) of The Clash. Other influential figures include Layne Staley of Alice In Chains (Magha ☉,), Jim Reid (Mula ☉,) of The Jesus and Mary Chain, Iggy Pop (Ashwini ☉,), Lou Reed (Magha ☽), and Penelope Houston (Mula ☉,) of The Avengers, as well as Tom Waits (Mula ↑).

(In my research, I also noted the presence of Mercury nakshatras within these subcultures, along with Krittika nakshatra. This tracks well, in my opinion, as these nakshatras are often rebellious, individualistic, and intensely creative.)

• A consistent romantic or close platonic pairing I’ve noticed among Ketu nakshatras is with Mercury nakshatras. Mercury and Ketu nakshatras sit at the Gandanta point, where the water signs transition into fire signs a point of spiritual transformation and awakening. These nakshatras seem naturally drawn to each other, but their interactions are often karmic and toxic. However, both individuals learn significant lessons from these relationships. Interestingly, it’s typically the Mercury nakshatra that initiates and drives the relationship. The Mercury native teases and provokes the Ketu native to get a reaction, but the Ketu person doesn’t give in easily. A personal anecdotal of mine, I was friends with an Ashlesha woman when I was outpatient at a mental institute, she was dating a Magha man She would do risky things, like experimenting with taboo drugs or even stealing from him, just to push his boundaries. At first, he didn’t react much, but over time he started to secretly enjoy her rebellion. Eventually, he joined her in taking drugs, and they even engaged in ménage à trois. Things escalated until she became pregnant, and both developed a drug addiction. Interestingly, their relationship grew stronger before it began to deteriorate. She made efforts to get clean, but he continued using. Despite this, he remained an active and supportive father. However, every time he returned to her life, she would relapse, so they eventually broke up. Both went to rehab, and their lives took different yet positive turns. She pursued higher education and earned a bachelor’s degree, while he began doing voluntary counseling for kids struggling with addiction. They are now great co-parents. Ketu nakshatras are also frequently seen dating Venus nakshatras or moving within their social circles. Typically, Venus nakshatras stick to other Venus nakshatras because of their elitism, but they occasionally connect with Ketu nakshatras and sometimes even Sun nakshatras. Ketu is the most raw primal self and Venus is the refined accumulation, @venusiastro has a great post about it in much depth here.

Notes on ashwini native

Taylour Paige - Ashwini ☽

Jaime King - Ashwini ☉

• Ashwini Nakshatra’s deities, the Ashvini Kumaras, are described in Vedic texts as twin gods who ride a golden chariot. They are the Physicians of the Gods, renowned for their powerful healing abilities, including rejuvenation, making the old young again, and even bringing the dead back to life. It is said that the Ashvini Kumaras were highly skilled in Ayurveda, the original system of healing, and that they revived Sage Dadhichi. Because of this connection, natives of this nakshatra often possess a youthful appearance that carries into old age. Their faces tend to retain a childlike quality, even with wrinkles, giving them an ageless charm. This childlike quality, however, can lead others to judge them as naïve. In fact, the Ashvini Kumaras themselves were not taken seriously because of their youthful demeanor, and many assumed they were incapable due to their playful attitude. Similarly, Ashwini natives often feel the need to prove themselves to others despite their incredible talents and capabilities.

•Ashwini is always on the go and dislikes staying in one place for too long. They are the type to embark on road trips or even live without a permanent home, as they have a deep fear of feeling trapped. This restless nature is connected to their affinity with transportation and traveling, not only in the material sense but also between different realms or planes of existence. In the material world, Ashwini natives are often drawn to motorcycles or horses—like cowboys or members of motor gangs—because these symbolize freedom and movement. They prefer to be freeloaders on their own journey but often enjoy traveling with a companion, as their deity is a pair of twin brothers. Ashwini’s primary symbol is the “horse’s head,” representing strength, movement, freedom, and endurance. This nakshatra is driven by a constant urge for movement, both physically and spiritually.

•Ashwini natives struggle to stay still or be patient. Because of their restless nature, they often leave tasks or projects unfinished, constantly seeking excitement in something new—until that excitement burns out. They are highly independent and confident in their skills and abilities, which makes them resistant to being told what to do. Their stubbornness often leads them to ignore others, even pretending those people don’t exist. This is an inherently rebellious nakshatra. As children, Ashwini natives were purposefully defiant—sneaking out or running away, sometimes with no apparent reason other than to experience the thrill of it. Personally, I’ve found myself in situations, like sitting in class or walking home, imagining what it would be like to leave my life behind—and nearly acting on it. When Ashwini natives mature, they become more intuitive and insightful about the correct path to follow. However, those who haven’t evolved yet often act recklessly, doing whatever they please without truly understanding their actions. While Ashwini natives may not always finish tasks, they never give up easily. This nakshatra is incredibly resourceful. Despite a lack of discipline, Ashwini natives possess endurance and resilience. Once they master discipline, they can achieve anything they set their minds to.

• Ashwini natives are highly sensitive and easily overstimulated, with minds that are constantly racing. The symbol of the horse’s head conveys sensitivity, alertness, and an ever-present readiness. Ashwini is the first nakshatra within Aries, which, in Vedic texts, represents the head of Kala Purusha (the eternal being). The head is central to all bodily functions as it houses the brain—a concept made somewhat ironic by Ketu’s association with being headless. This connection emphasizes Ashwini’s mental impulses, making it a highly impulsive nakshatra. Ashwini natives also make excellent leaders. The Sun (Surya), associated with leadership, is exalted at its highest point in this nakshatra. In numerology, the Sun is represented by the number 1, while Ashwini is the first nakshatra. Vedic texts describe Surya as constantly moving and rising on a chariot drawn by seven horses. This ties directly to Ashwini’s symbol of a chariot and the number 7, which is ruled by Ketu. Horses, an animal associated with Ashwini, are emotionally intelligent yet fidgety and restless—traits reflected in Ashwini natives. Horses are also known for their stamina, abilities, and speed, which connect to Ashwini’s shakti or power: “to attain things quickly.” This nakshatra is the fastest among all nakshatras, and as a result, Ashwini natives are often blunt, direct, and quick to get to the point. They dislike long-winded conversations and can become irritated when others fail to communicate efficiently. Ashwini individuals are fast thinkers, quick talkers, and even quick runners. For instance, I remember racing all the boys in my elementary school during recess—and winning.

•Ashwini natives are deeply compassionate towards animals. Many individuals with this nakshatra (myself included) have a natural affinity for caring for animals, especially strays. They often take in sick or injured strays and nurse them back to health, Even the most aggressive animals eventually warm up to their kindness and care.

•You cannot tame Ashwini. They are like wild horses—sensitive yet aggressive and cautious. As I mentioned before, they deeply value their independence, which is one of the driving forces behind their highly individualistic nature. Ashwini natives often feel as though they stand out from others, and they sometimes sense that they possess unique talents. This is true, as Ashwini tends to have a pioneering attitude and spirit. This nakshatra is strongly connected to the original creative spark, as Vedic texts associate it with Ketu’s primordial creative potential. However, this creative energy is so intense and overwhelming that it can be difficult to harness and control—much like Ashwini natives themselves. One of the weaknesses of this nakshatra is its tendency to act on impulse, attempting extraordinary things without proper evaluation. However, when Ashwini natives learn to slow down and approach their ideas with more consideration, they become true pioneers. Ashwini natives often emerge as inventors or “the first” to achieve something, and people frequently look to them for answers. However, their journey is not without challenges, as they often have to prove themselves. Others may feel the need to humble Ashwini natives, perhaps because of their boldness and confidence.

•Ashwini natives lifestyle choices often resemble those of hippies. They may live in a van or other transport vehicles, no stable job, embracing a free-spirited, go-with-the-flow attitude (often accompanied by a love for marijuana).They tend to eat vegan, have an interest in herbs, and maintain a very laid-back demeanor. Ashwini natives can also be deeply involved in activism and politics, often emerging as powerful political leaders. However, their intensity can lead to making a significant social impact, whether for better or worse, as they are willing to go to any lengths to achieve their goals. (For example, consider Malcolm X, who had an Ashwini ☽, or Hitler, who had an Ashwini ☉.)

•Ashwini natives can be tricksters, often playing with illusions. This trait ties to their deities’ story, where ancient texts recount how Indra warned Dadhichi not to teach the Kumaras Brahma-Vidya (the knowledge of creation), as their occupation placed them outside that realm. Indra threatened to cut off Dadhichi’s head if he disobeyed. When Dadhichi shared this with the Kumaras, they devised a clever plan. Using their incredible skill, they removed Dadhichi’s head and replaced it with a horse’s head. After Indra eventually cut off the horse head, the Kumaras restored Dadhichi’s original human head.

•I’ve observed that Ashwini natives have bright, radiant eyes, regardless of their color. It’s as if the sun is reflecting in its most powerful and raw form. This nakshatra is associated with the Ashvins, the gods of the dawn, and their eyes resemble the striking ambience of the dawn sky.

• Red and black are Ashwini’s theme colors (the nakshatra color is blood red). Whether it’s red lipstick or clothing paired with dark hair and darker garments or red, this color palette complements them beautifully.

•Ashwini natives, with their strong Ketu influence, have the innate ability to detach from the physical world, which allows them to transcend boundaries and connect with higher spiritual realms. This detachment gives them the ability to enter and exit their body at will, a key trait that allows them to access profound healing abilities, both spiritual and medical. Their intuitive healing is often centered around a deep connection to the etheric and energetic bodies, allowing them to sense and manipulate energy in ways that others cannot. This spiritual detachment also grants them heightened clairsentient (feeling) and clairaudient (hearing) abilities. They may receive intuitive messages or insights through their senses, such as hearing things others do not or feeling the emotions and energies of those around them. These abilities make Ashwini natives highly sensitive to their surroundings, but they must learn how to refine and discipline these gifts to fully harness their potential. Without proper self-control, their sensitivity can become overwhelming or scattered. In order to master their abilities, Ashwini natives need to engage in spiritual practice, which helps them ground themselves and refine their intuition. Through meditation, self-reflection, and healing practices, they can learn to navigate their advanced perceptive skills. This discipline will also enhance their capacity for self-healing, as they can better understand their own energetic blockages and clear them.

Notes on Magha natives

Eva Green - Ashwini ☽ Magha ↑

Wyntor Gordon - Magha ☉, Mula ☽

• Magha is deeply connected to Pitra Loka, the realm of ancestors, which ties the nakshatra to the afterlife and ancestral guidance. This connection imbues Magha natives with a sense of respect for their heritage, tradition, and the spiritual wisdom passed down from generations before them. The symbolism of Magha often revolves around endings, death, and mourning, reflecting the process of transformation that occurs after death, both in the physical world and spiritually. Magha natives are not only influenced by the idea of death but are also tasked with channeling the energy of their Pitris (ancestors), who are seen in Vedic texts as protectors and nurturers of humanity. The elder energy associated with Magha comes from this ancestral connection, giving natives a wisdom that feels ancient and timeless. This is reflected in their aesthetic choices—vintage clothing, gothic aesthetics, and worn-out pieces, often oversized, especially suits. This style can reflect the idea of both embracing the past and holding onto something that endures beyond time. Their look may carry a sense of nostalgia or reverence for history, much like their reverence for their ancestors. Additionally, sunglasses are an intriguing detail in the styling of Magha natives. Since the eyes are ruled by the Sun, Magha’s co-ruler, and Ketu deals with what’s hidden, sunglasses serve as a way to shield the eyes from direct visibility. This style element not only creates a sense of intrigue but also connects to their desire to maintain a sense of privacy or inner world Interestingly, I’ve also noticed Ashwini natives embracing sunglasses, which might be due to their own connection to Ketu , Sun and the desire for some form of distance or protection.

•Magha natives are indeed eccentric,(it is a nodal nakshatra after all) The Ketu rulership and Their connection to the Sun imbues them with a strong sense of purpose, often manifesting in a unique and unconventional personality. They are deeply drawn to exploring and expressing their individuality, sometimes in ways that challenge or defy societal expectations. This can make them appear mysterious or intriguing to others, as they seem to balance their rebelliousness with a deep respect for tradition and responsibility. Their ability to maintain a strong sense of duty, while also pursuing their own path, creates a dynamic where they seem both grounded and unpredictable, operating outside the conventional norms.

• Magha natives are also psychically sensitive, often experiencing prophetic dreams or gaining insight from the deep unconscious. Their ability to tap into these deeper realms allows them to perceive information that others may miss, sometimes giving them glimpses of the future or hidden truths. They are aware of their sensitivity and may even cultivate it, allowing their intuition to guide them in their life decisions. In contrast, Mula and Ashwini natives may not always be as aware of their own psychic abilities.

•While Magha is a Ketu nakshatra, and Ketu is inherently separative—disassociating from the material world—Magha itself is quite active in the material realm. This paradox exists because Magha is a dutiful nakshatra, deeply tied to social responsibilities, status, and the preservation of tradition. Magha natives often feel a sense of duty towards their community or heritage, and they take their responsibilities seriously, striving to uphold their legacy and make their mark in the material world. However, Magha’s rebellious streak—inherited from Ketu—emerges in its challenge to authority and conventional structures. While they engage in the material world, they are not easily controlled by external forces or expectations. Their rebellious nature often manifests in their refusal to conform to authority, whether it’s societal norms, hierarchical systems, or traditional rules. This makes Magha both deeply connected to the world around them and simultaneously disconnected from its oppressive forces.

• Magha natives often feel a deep connection to the past, and this is reflected in their affinity for older, nostalgic items like typewriters, record players, and handwritten letters rather than modern conveniences like text messages. They value tradition and often hold onto physical objects that evoke a sense of history, reflecting their respect for ancestral legacies. Their love for the past is tied to their desire to remain rooted in something timeless, rather than being swept away by fleeting trends.They also pride themselves on being independent and introspective, often cultivating a deep sense of self-awareness and self-reliance. This introspection extends to their interest in the occult sciences and psychology, fields that allow them to explore the deeper workings of the mind and the mysteries of the unseen. Magha natives are not only drawn to uncover hidden truths about the world but are also fascinated by the complexities of human nature and the psyche. Their connection to both the past and the unseen realms makes them uniquely equipped to navigate the spiritual and material worlds.

•Magha natives often have voices that are deep, haunting, and gritty—like they’ve smoked a pack a day. These voices carry a raw, almost preachy quality that can feel intense and captivating. The haunting tone can linger with you. Magha natives like Nick Cave and King Krule exemplify this with their powerful, commanding voices that have authority and emotional depth. Their sound is evocative, drawing you in with a sense of vulnerability and intensity. A similar voice can be found in Mula ↑ Tom Waits, whose gravelly, weathered voice carries a unique rawness. Other Gandanta nakshatras, like Ashlesha ☉, Revati ☽, and ↑ Louis Armstrong, also share this gritty, haunting vocal quality. Anja Plaschg (with Revati ☉ and Ashlesha ☽) and Bill Skarsgård (with Ashlesha ☉) in Nosferatu similarly possess voices that carry a dark, magnetic energy—intense yet strangely mesmerizing. These voices feel untamed and primal.

•Magha’s shakti, “the power to leave the body,” reflects its unique ability to access deep states of consciousness, sometimes akin to a trance or temporary death. This capacity for profound detachment is referenced in some old Vedic tales, where the nakshatra is described as the heat generated by the speed of a shift in the field of consciousness. It implies that Magha natives can experience altered states of awareness that transcend the physical realm. A great example of this influence can be seen in Magha ☽ native David Lynch, who embraced Transcendental Meditation (and has his own program that teaches this method) This practice is said to allow individuals to effortlessly tap into unlimited reserves of energy and creativity—qualities that are also central to Magha’s essence. Magha natives are often able to access deep, limitless wells of inspiration, channeling them into their work and life. This transcendental quality is characteristic of the nakshatra’s connection to ancestral wisdom and the ability to harness spiritual and creative energy.

•Magha natives naturally attract attention with their regal and commanding appearance. The symbol of Magha is a royal chamber containing a throne, signifying dignity, authority, and a connection to ancestral pride. Interestingly, many Magha natives are often photographed sitting in chairs or thrones, exuding a majestic aura that aligns with this symbolism. Take Magha ↑ Eva Green, in the photo above for example.

Notes on Mula natives

Beatrice Dalle - Mula ☉ Magha ↑

Anjelica Houston - Mula ↑

•Mula is deeply connected to the concept of the root, as its name and symbol both relate to the foundation or the deep core of something. Just as roots lie hidden beneath the surface of the forest, this nakshatra embodies the idea of digging deep to uncover what is concealed or not immediately apparent. Mula natives have an innate drive to get to the very essence of things, whether that involves unraveling mysteries, exposing hidden truths, or understanding the underlying structure of existence. This relentless pursuit of the core reflects Mula’s connection to transformation, as true growth and rebirth can only occur by addressing and understanding the roots.

•Mula has a profound interest in deep knowledge, often delving into the occult and exploring the unknown or unseen. They possess an innate understanding of hidden truths and are drawn to unraveling mysteries that others might overlook. You’ll often find Mula natives in private or niche libraries, completely immersed in studying various topics, from complex theories to alternative ideologies—anything that challenges or contradicts material reality. Their thirst for knowledge goes beyond surface-level understanding, as they are committed to uncovering the roots of existence and the deeper workings of the universe.

• The deity of Mula is Nritti, the goddess of dissolution and destruction. Her name translates to “calamity,” reflecting her association with chaos, endings, and dismantling illusions. In some Vedic texts, Nritti is described as a destructive demon, while in others, she is referred to as Alakshmi, the opposite of Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth, abundance, and prosperity. However, it’s important to note that while Nritti embodies destruction, it is not without purpose. Her nakshatra represents the highest point of material accumulation, which acts as a foundation for the beginning of spiritual awakening. Mula’s energy dismantles attachment to the material world, paving the way for transformation and the pursuit of higher consciousness. This duality of material success and spiritual liberation is a defining characteristic of Mula, making it a nakshatra of profound growth and evolution through intense trials.

•Mula natives often come across as apathetic, showing a disinterest in certain moralities or societal norms. However, this seemingly “depraved” outlook can be strangely liberating—they lack self-doubt, and their sharp wisdom, whether conscious or subconscious, often helps others reach higher states of awareness. Mula natives are known to underplay even the most intense life events with sarcasm or dry humor, a coping mechanism that can put others off. Their approach to situations, coupled with their intense and impulsive nature, may result in behaviors that shock or intimidate people. Mula is a nakshatra of extremes—hard, sharp, and dreadful—reflecting the destructive aspects of Ketu. This sharpness, while harsh, is often necessary to trigger awakenings and spiritual transformations. Mula’s intensity, combined with its raw, unapologetic energy, can intimidate others even when no harm is intended.Take Keith Richards, for example, a Mula☉ native. Many people find him intimidating because of his dark, shaggy hair, deep eyes, and brooding presence. Despite his appearance and history of addiction, he defies the typical rock star stereotype. Unlike many of his peers who chased the party lifestyle and fleeting relationships, Keith has been married to the same woman since the ’80s and showed deep care for the mother of his first two children until her passing. While other rock stars indulged in reckless pursuits, Keith’s grounded loyalty and respect for the people in his life set him apart. Those who know him often describe him as surprisingly sweet, proving that Mula’s sharpness hides a deeper, more sincere core.

•Mula has a tendency to cut off anything—or anyone—they don’t deem useful. Being part of the butcher caste, they embody the energy of severing ties and eliminating what no longer serves a purpose. This reminds me of their alternative deity, Kali, who is often depicted with her tongue out, holding a decapitated head. Mula is deeply tied to destruction, but this destruction is not without purpose; it paves the way for regeneration and transformation, even if the process feels harsh or ruthless. I’ve found that Mula natives naturally crave the deconstruction of the superficial. There’s a deep yearning within them to annihilate illusions, driven by an intrinsic feeling of emptiness. This emptiness motivates them to break through falsehoods, either to experience their own rebirth or to guide others through karmic transformations. Their shakti lies in the power to ruin, destroy, and break things, paving the way for profound change and renewal.

•Mula is also associated with intoxication and smoking, a trait I’ve noticed with other Ketu nakshatras as well. I believe this connection stems from Ketu being headless, leading to an oral fixation as a way to seek stability or stimulation. Additionally, there’s something mystifying about smoke clouding your face, giving the impression of being “not there,” which aligns perfectly with Ketu’s inherent sense of detachment and otherworldliness.

•As I mentioned before, natives with Ketu nakshatras often have notable hair. Mula natives, in particular, tend to have smooth, silky black hair that is almost reflective. Mula is associated with Sage Pulasthya, whose name translates to “having smooth hair,”. Another notable physical trait among Mulas is gap teeth.

• Mula natives possess a peculiar magnetism that can completely consume you. No matter how intimidating they may seem, you can’t help but feel drawn to them. Mula is associated with being surrounded by the galactic center of the universe, often referred to as a black hole. Like a black hole, Mula natives have an irresistible pull that draws you in.

Thank you for reading, a reminder that these are my observations from both personal experiences and what I’ve read from vedic text. sources: The Book of Nakshatras by Prash Trivedi & Barbara Pijan Lama Jyotisha site.

[yua0ra]

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟, 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨

WARNINGS: mattheo x ravenclaw!fem!reader, breaking the rules, reader is brutally hit by an angry bludger (lol), established relationship. SFW. not proofread.

fluff ☏

SUMMARY: After a brutal bludger hit leaves you unconscious and in the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey bans all visitors to ensure your recovery. However, just as you’re grappling with the “no more flying for a while” rule, Mattheo sneaks in, grinning like he owns the place. He’s armed with stolen sweets and endless teasing, and espite your protests, his playful banter, plotting and expected charm, makes recovery far less boring.

WC: +1.2K AN: ENJOY! <3

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

The damage was done. The bludger collided with your head, its impact sharp and unrelenting. You hadn’t even seen it coming, and before you had time to brace yourself, your body was thrown off your broom, spiraling uncontrollably through the air. The ground rushed up to meet you far too quickly, and everything went black as you hit the dirt.

When you awoke, you found yourself lying in the cool, sterile bed of the hospital wing. The soft rustling of Madam Pomfrey’s robes filled the air as she hovered over you, fussing with her potions and muttering to herself in a language you couldn’t quite follow. Pain pulsed in your head, making it hard to concentrate, but you could still feel the weight of her magic working to heal you.

“You’re lucky,” Madam Pomfrey said with a tone that was a mix of relief and reprimand. “That was a nasty knock to the head, but you’ll be fine. No flying for a while, though.”

You barely heard her, your mind too foggy from the injury. Still, as the haze began to clear, one thought nagged at you: Mattheo. You hadn’t seen him since the incident, and despite the fact that he was on the opposing Slytherin team, you couldn’t shake the worry that he might be concerned. After all, Mattheo, sometimes was far from the usual Slytherin arrogance believe it or not. He had a unique, unpredictable way of showing he cared, a way that more often than not, got him in trouble.

But it wasn’t just him you had to worry about; it was Madam Pomfrey’s strict rules. She had already made it clear that no one was allowed to visit you while you recovered. And most importantly, what did she mean by “no flying”? The season was just starting and you couldn’t afford losing too much practice.

As time passed, you began to drift in and out of consciousness, the pain in your head still throbbing, though less intense. That was until you heard a soft, familiar voice break through the silence.

“You look terrible.”

Mattheo’s voice was low, full of that signature smirk of his, even though you could tell he was trying to suppress it. You didn’t even need to open your eyes to know who it was. You could hear the unmistakable sound of his footsteps, deliberate and quiet, obviously trying not to alert Madam Pomfrey. Your eyes flickered open slowly, surprised but somehow not surprised at all. There, leaning casually against the curtain that separated your bed from the rest of the wing, was Mattheo, his mischievous grin plastered on his face.

“I feel terrible, and you’re not supposed to be here,” you muttered, the words thick and sluggish as you tried to sit up. “Never stopped me before,” he said with a wink.

“Besides, I’m just checking on my favorite girl.” He looked down at you with concern, his gaze softening as he caught sight of the bandages wrapped around your head.

You tried to shoot him a glare, but the effort only made your head pound more. “Madam Pomfrey will catch you.”

“She can’t catch me if she doesn’t know I’m here,” Mattheo said, his voice low and conspiratorial. “And I’ve got my ways. Don’t worry.” His eyes twinkled with that spark of mischief that always seemed to follow him like a shadow.

Despite yourself, you smiled faintly. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible to resist, you mean,” he quipped, his grin widening.

“Merlin’s tits Matty”

“I couldn’t leave you alone in here,” Mattheo ignored your comment, his voice quieter now. “Besides, I think I might have a little surprise for you.”

You raised an eyebrow, curious despite the exhaustion weighing you down. “A surprise?”

He reached into his robe and pulled out a small package of Fizzing Whizzbees “don’t worry, it’s not illegal… well, mostly not illegal, I stole them from Honeydukes,” he laughed. “Just a little something to make you feel better.”

“Aw… thank you baby!” You could have sworn you saw a pretty red hue decorating his cheeks but before you could comment on it, he cleared his throat “don’t get too comfortable, though. You’ll be back on that broom before you know it.”

“Madam Pomfrey said “no flying”, so… how am I supposed to do that?” you asked, the sarcasm in your voice evident as you glanced at the bandages still wrapped tightly around your head.

Mattheo’s grin grew wider. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You’re a Ravenclaw, after all. You’ve got that whole ‘brains over brawn’ thing going for you, right?”

You shot him an unimpressed look. “Yeah, well, brains don’t exactly help when your head feels like it’s about to explode. But thanks for the encouragement, I guess.”

“Ah, well, if anyone can figure out how to get back on a broom while half-dead, it’s you.” He leaned against the bedframe, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Maybe you could borrow my broom. I’ll give you a head start and all.” You chuckled despite yourself. “I’m pretty sure the last time you let me ride your broom with you, we ended up in a tree.”

“That wasn’t my fault!” he protested, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “It was the wind, or maybe some stray magic. Who can say? Anyway, I’m positive that wasn’t my broom’s fault. Just a… little accident.”

“A little accident?” you laughed. “Mattheo, you flew me straight into a tree while trying to ‘show off’ your skills.”

“Well, you can’t deny that my skills are impressive.” He shot you a cocky grin before straightening up. “Besides, I was just trying to make it exciting. Who wants a boring, uneventful flight, anyway?”

“You’re lucky I’m even talking to you after that stunt,” you said, shaking your head with a smirk. “I should’ve gotten you expelled for that, you know.”

“Oh, come on, love, you know I’ve got a face that gets me out of trouble.” He waggled his eyebrows at you, clearly proud of himself. “It’s my best weapon. Don’t act like you’re not impressed.” You rolled your eyes, but despite the teasing, a laugh bubbled up. “Well, you certainly make trouble look entertaining.”

“That’s the goal, obviously,” he said with a wink. “But seriously, once you’re back in shape, I’ll be there to make sure you don’t take any more unplanned naps on the ground. You’ve got a reputation to uphold, you know?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine,” you said, though there was a hint of a smile on your lips. “But I can’t promise I won’t need a little bit of help staying out of trees next time.” Mattheo grinned, his tone turning playful again. “I’ll keep that in mind. You never know when a tree might decide to attack you.” He gave you a dramatic look of concern. “You might need a bodyguard for that. I volunteer as tribute.”

“Oh, please. You’d probably end up trying to fly into the tree again to impress me,” you teased, raising an eyebrow. He shrugged nonchalantly. “What can I say? It’s a gift. But don’t worry, I’ve got a much more foolproof plan for next time.”

“And what would that be?” you asked, intrigued despite yourself.

“Easy,” he said, putting his hands behind his back like a magician preparing for a big reveal. “I’ll just get you a helmet. We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself on those crazy tree branches, would we?”

“Not sure if you’re insulting me or trying to protect my dignity, but thanks,” you replied dryly, though you couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

“Well, I’m just saying, we can’t have you falling off the broom again,” he said, his grin widening at the sight of you trying not to laugh. “You never know what could happen on your next ‘adventure.’”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said, finally letting out a small chuckle. “Just make sure to stay out of my way when I get back on that broom. I’m aiming for no more tree incidents, thanks to your ‘help.’”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be there to catch you—whether you like it or not,” Mattheo said, giving you a kiss on the forehead as he headed for the door.

You shook your head as he disappeared down the hallway, already planning his next ridiculous idea to “help” you back on your broom. For all his teasing and mischievous ways, you had to admit, it was nice to know you wouldn’t be alone in recovering from this latest incident.

Maybe mischievous Mattheo wasn’t as bad as you’d thought. Even if he still had a penchant for getting into trouble, you’d be lying if you didn’t admit that you secretly enjoyed every second of it.

[ohithankyou]

there was a poll that went around last week asking who's better at flirting between buck and tommy and it got me thinking how different they are on that front and so i did sort of an analysis on their flirting styles and compatibility because why not, i guess? it is kind of long because brevity? i don’t know her. i’m not sure if anyone will find this interesting but nonetheless:

so, when it comes to buck, he’s natural flirt. he’s not a “fuck-boy” but flirting is an almost natural way of communicating for him. it's not always about attraction, romantic or sexual, and arguably, majority of the time it's an unconscious practice. buck would flirt with the sweet old cashier at the grocery store, his next door neighbour, or the bartender at the club in simple conversation and not realize he's doing so because it's just the way he talks. it’s second nature to him, you know? (note some of buck’s interactions with different characters and you’ll find the presence of a flirty energy.)

and this is because buck’s got a flirty personality. flirty body language. he's a sweet talker. he's playful. and sometimes he can even be a little awkward but it’s endearing. however, while buck is a natural flirt, it doesn’t mean that his flirting with the people he’s attracted to is meaningless or lacking in sincerity.

and when it comes to the physical nature of his flirting, when he's attracted to someone, buck flirts with his entire body—not just with his twinkly eyes and bright smile. he has big physical gestures. he sways into their space. he tilts his head. bats his eyelashes. follows their eyes. he moves around. he talks with his hands, with his arms. and sometimes it’s deliberate but other times, it’s his body’s natural response to attraction. overall, buck is not subtle when he flirts and it really works beautifully for him (most of the time).

tommy — albeit we've only gotten to see him interact with buck in this context — is completely different. he's charming, but he's not a natural flirt in the way buck is, and possibly, his charm may be an acquired taste for some. tommy is also more reserved (sometimes awkward), more contained, and more conscious of/with his flirting. he's not going to be "flirty" with anyone and everyone. however, although he's reserved, he can still flirt well and his flirting is not contrived by any means—he's just very deliberate and pointed with it; particularly in the early moments of his and buck's relationship, and especially before tommy knew for certain that buck was interested in him.

and like buck, there's also a playfulness to tommy's flirting but it's more subtle and something that's grown overtime in their relationship. and when it comes to his body language, tommy's more contained and subtle on that front as well. he largely flirts with his face—his eyes (insane, pointed eye contact), his eyebrows, his smile—and through his voice (shift in tone, volume). and tommy does enter buck's space when he flirts (ex: when he adjusts buck’s shirt after their first kiss) but in less "big" and "bold" ways than buck enters his (ex: buck reaching out and grabbing tommy’s shoulder after the cruise ship rescue). again, tommy's approach to flirting is more subtle but the impact it has is not subtle.

and the most important and beautiful part of this is that their flirting styles complement each other so well. buck's bold and naturally flirty nature gave tommy the ultimate sign and confidence to make The Big Move (kiss buck for the first time) and that’s a chance that i imagine tommy wouldn’t normally take. and for buck, tommy's deliberate flirting has been a grounding force in the moments he's become overwhelmed, nervous, or been in a state where he was trying to process and understand his feelings. for instance, when buck was word vomiting on their first date, tommy's, “so i guess it's just me that makes you nervous," not only made buck blush, but it refocused him, getting him to slow down and pause. it was earnest but deliberate flirting.

and beyond that, buck's cheeky playfulness when he flirts blends perfectly with the more piercing, and sometimes, old-school romantic energy, tommy brings; see the "you're a vision in a cone," moment. they ping-pong off each other in such a seamless way during that scene — with buck being a little cheeky and playful and tommy being dorky and intense. this scene also serves as a great example of buck's big and bold body language movements when he's flirting vs. tommy's more subtle ones. tommy gently knocks his shoulder against buck's to get his attention and keeps it there, where as buck spreads one side of himself—arms, shoulders, legs—into tommy's space, almost pinning tommy with his body.

and of course, these things change depending on time and place. concerning time, from season seven to season eight we saw buck and tommy become more comfortable and domestic with each other so their flirting developed an almost casual-ness to it (ex: “my own boyfriend won’t even kiss me”/ “well that’s not true” and “my spumoni,” / “no, not your spumoni”). and concerning place, there’s a greater forwardness to their flirting when they’re alone, especially with tommy who’s more reserved (ex: “god i hope so” in 710 and the ‘down to fuck’, “what’s up” in 806). and specifically, i think we see a more bubbly flirty side of tommy when it’s just him and buck together (ex; them in 805 and 806 pre-breakup, the “what’s up” mentioned above is one example of this).

overall, the way they both flirt has clear (positive) effects on the other and it's a big reason as to why their chemistry and connection is always so palpable.

and tldr; i think in a general sense, others may find buck to be the better flirt because of his outward bubbly personality versus tommy’s more reserved nature—but when it comes to the context of their relationship, i wouldn’t say one is better than the other. tommy’s definitely making buck blush and giggle in a way buck hasn’t before but buck is also making tommy feel things he hasn’t before. and they were both definitely flirting each other up on the daily when they were together.

[devotion-disorder]

ok but i feel the bailey brainrot... when i first got into the game they annoyed me bc bitch why they hell do you need so much damn money from orphans but now i fear i've fallen for all the sexy bailey propaganda 😔

like the devlog said seducing them will need to involve a lot more so they're definitely not immune to PC but that just made my brainrot worse thinking about all the various scenarios of bailey being extremely horny for the PC but refusing the cave in and PC just keeps pushing their buttons....

(that being said they still piss me off sometimes like wdym you want £4,000 right after i get discharged from the hospital)

SAME.........I am not immune to sexy old man propaganda.........

iirc they are still planning to implement a bailey seduction scene in the future that is more properly in-character...!!! so im v v excited for that. I loooooveee the idea of PC and bailey having a super messy and toxic relationship that is not necessarily even romantic. From Vrel's QnA it seems Bailey does have a slight fixation on PC, probably because PC is the best moneymaker, but there are points that are like???👀??? wdym bailey has had possibly plot-spoilery dreams about PC. wdym bailey would not let PC go even if they've paid all their debts. explain yourself old man!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!1!!!!!!!

Maybe this is the terminal stage brainrot delulu speaking but, sometimes i wonder if Bailey is the way he is only because he knows PC can handle it (eg. Bailey sends PC to Eden betting that PC can and will escape, according to the QnA). I wonder if he's deliberately or unconsciously trying to pass down his intensely mercenary mindset onto PC (and ostensibly all the orphans) because he understands first hand that's the only way you can survive in rapechestershire? I like that he's principled and holds a certain degree of respect for PC - cause if he really wanted to extort PC to the fullest he could've been a lot crueler, like not allowing PC to defend themselves when people pay to fuck PC at night. ok the real answer probably is still just so he can make more money but RAGUUUGJHHHHGHGH LET ME HAVE MY SECRETLY-KIND-OF-A-SOFTIE BAILEY DELUSIONS

also i just wanna put this here

Higher than Whitney? the dude licking PC's face in public at 10 am every school day?

[fel-09]

10 psychological pressures on you which he likes to use on you

Words 1,300

Reader x hannibal

1. Watching you look away when his gaze lingers too long

Hannibal loves to catch your eyes, only to watch you shyly look away. For him, this moment is like a hunt. He knows his piercing gaze unsettles you, makes your heart race.

Every time you try to hide your embarrassment or fear, he sees the fragility in you—something he longs to hold and… break. But instead of frightening you, he lets his gaze soften, adding a playful hint of tenderness to this game. It keeps drawing you back to him, again and again.

2. Trying to catch your scent among thousands of others

Your scent is his drug. He can pick it out in a crowd, faint and mingled with other aromas. Sometimes, he moves closer under the pretense of a casual gesture, just to take in a deeper breath.

He doesn’t need to say it—you can feel it in the way his breath lingers near your neck when he stands too close. For you, it might be unsettling, but that delicate balance between comfort and unease keeps you both locked in a strange, unbreakable dance.

3. Giving you small gifts that remind you of his control

Hannibal loves giving you things—books, gloves, rings. But every gift carries a message. You know he doesn’t give them without intent. It’s his way of showing he sees right through you, that every detail of your life is no mystery to him.

You find a ring that perfectly matches the dress he once casually complimented, or a book you’ve been searching for but never mentioned. It’s both enchanting and unsettling—he knows you as if he’s reading an invisible map etched into your soul.

4. Leaving traces of his presence so you remember him

He leaves his scent on your coat, his book on your desk, his shadow in your thoughts. Hannibal loves to ensure you feel his presence even when he’s not around.

You notice how his handkerchief somehow ends up in your bag, though you’re certain you didn’t take it. It’s no coincidence. It’s his way of saying, “I’m always here, even when you don’t see me.”

5. Noticing how you unconsciously try to please him

Hannibal notices everything—the way you adjust your hair when talking to him, how you choose your words more carefully than with others. He knows you’re trying to anticipate what might please him but never mentions it aloud.

He delights in your attempts to understand him without words. For him, it’s a game: how far will you go to earn the approval of someone who plays your emotions like a violinist plays their instrument?

6. Listening to the sound of your voice until it falters

Hannibal listens with unnerving intensity, as though dissecting each syllable you speak. His questions come gently at first, coaxing you into comfort, but his gaze—too still, too knowing—turns the conversation into something else. It feels like he’s searching for a crack in your tone, the faintest quiver of unease.

When he finds it, the air thickens. He speaks then, not of the surface-level topics you’ve brought to the table, but of you—your fears, your contradictions, the things you try so hard to bury. His voice is velvet, but the precision of his words feels surgical, as if he’s peeling back your skin without ever touching you.

7. Leaving marks that are invisible to the untrained eye

His touch lingers longer than necessary, but never enough to be obvious. Later, when you’re alone, you notice faint impressions: the trace of his hand pressing into your wrist, a sharp scent clinging to your collar. These remnants seem almost accidental—until they happen again.

You begin to realize they’re deliberate. The marks he leaves aren’t wounds; they’re whispers, subtle reminders that you’ve been claimed in ways no one else can see. And as much as you try to brush it off, the weight of his presence doesn’t fade—it sinks deeper, like ink spilled beneath your skin.

8. Turning your habits into pieces of himself

He watches you so closely that your habits—those small, thoughtless gestures—become his. You see it in the way he stirs his coffee exactly as you do or pauses mid-conversation to tilt his head in a way that feels eerily familiar. It’s not mimicry, not flattery. It’s possession.

Over time, these reflections of you in him grow sharper, more deliberate. It’s as if he’s absorbing you, rewriting himself with fragments of your existence. And when you catch these echoes in him, the sensation is disorienting, like staring into a mirror that’s begun to think for itself.

9. Placing you in situations where escape is an illusion

Hannibal doesn’t trap you with chains or bars; he constructs prisons out of circumstance. A dinner party filled with strangers who speak in riddles, a moment where you realize too late that every choice you make has been anticipated. He orchestrates these moments as if composing a symphony, and you’re the instrument in his hands.

You sense the layers too late. The compliments that felt genuine now taste of manipulation. The seemingly innocuous conversations twist back on themselves, revealing a web you never saw being spun. It’s not that you can’t leave; it’s that you no longer know how.

10. Planting his presence in your sanctuary

Objects begin to appear in your home—subtle at first, easily dismissed. A knife in your kitchen drawer, heavier and sharper than the rest. A book resting on your nightstand, open to a page that feels too specific, too intimate. These things feel wrong not because they don’t belong, but because they do.

You never see him place them there, but they carry the unmistakable weight of him. Each item whispers that he knows where you are, what you need, what you fear. And no matter how you try to rationalize their presence, they remain, weaving his shadow tighter into the fabric of your life.

[honey-bitch]

ASTRO OBSERVATIONS

3rd house STELLIUM- is a lovey placement and can make a person very active socially (going out etc etc), however it can be difficult of that 3rd house is in a Saturn ruled sign (like Capricorn,Aquarius), as these signs find it difficult to build relationships, and socialise.

Your 8th house sign is what you unconsciously fear. Like Virgo is in my 8th house and I kinda hate the mundane very day things sometimes I just want to escape. Lolololol.

If u want to get ur money up check where your Rockafella and part of fortune asteroids are in your chart. My part of fortune is in Pisces conjunct my north node, which basically means that if I follow my north node I’ll be very lucky, I suppose this also means that I’m good at reading astro charts. Lololol

Moon in positive aspect to Venus can indicate that you have a loving relationship with your mother. Even if your moon is in a deliberated sign/house. It can indicate that she wasn’t all bad

Sun sign conjunct Midheaven is an extremely lucky placement. As what you want to be known is what your known as.

Aries placements will run you over with their car, while Scorpios will remember and plot. Like they’re the type to go to your work and put nails under their tire. EVERY SINGLE NIGHT. Mark my words do not mess with a person with heavy Scorpio placements.

On the other hand scorpio ascendants are more awkward than scary. Yes they have an intimidating presence but that pales in comparison to who they really are. Like they’re not that scary.

Families have patterns in their birth charts. Me and my mum have Neptune in the 1st and moon on the 12th. My friend and her sister have luminaries as their moon, she’s a cancer moon and her sister is a Leo moon. My other friend and her brother both have Virgo moons.

DM me for personal readings

[revelboo]

Would you do something for Sunstreaker and Sideswipe with a human reader? Maybe Sides and the Reader get along but Sunny is worried the human will steal Sides from him?

(P.S. Sides and Sunny are not shipped together btw)

Lambo twins!

Can't Finish What You Started

Sideswipe x Reader, Sunstreaker x Reader

Warnings: 18+ storyline 🌶️

• Sometimes Optimus Prime misses those days of innocence before he’d had the mantle of Prime forced upon him. Along with the responsibility. Like now as he stares at the limp human dangling from Sideswipe’s servos. The other twin, Sunstreaker scowling at the world, but most of his hostility focused on the unconscious human. He’d made rules to protect his Autobots and the helpless, little natives of this world. It hasn’t occurred to him that anyone would go out trying to find a human all alone, then deliberately transform out of alt mode just for the excuse of claiming their own human. There’s a few of them already about the Ark, a problem he’s aware of, but unsure how to solve. Let them go and hope they don’t run to their military or government screaming about aliens? Keeping them trapped hadn’t been ideal, but the humans had been well taken care of. Mostly.

• As annoyed as Prime is with him, Sideswipe knows he’s not going to take the human away. If he does, he’ll have to give it to someone else and that’s going to cause more problems. And no one can actually prove he revealed himself on purpose. That he’d been curious about the little creatures after consuming human media and he’d always wanted a pet, anyway. This one hadn’t even tried to fight or run. Just stared up at him as he towered over it and keeling over without a sound before he could pick it up. And he has to fight a grin as Prime just vents heavily and tells him to have Ratchet check the little organic out for injuries.

• Walking back toward Sideswipe’s quarters, Sunstreaker glances at the squishy, little thing his twin is carrying, optics narrowing as Sideswipe runs a servo over the human’s head, the touch almost affectionate. “You know you’re going to have to feed it, clean up after it,” he grumbles. He’s seen Wheeljack worrying over his, heard that Prowl and Bluestreak both have one, too. He just can’t understand it. “All the time.”

• Sunny’s annoyed, but what else is new. His twin has been perpetually irritated since they came online on Earth. That anger of his even hotter than it had been before, a seething hate that Sideswipe tries to ignore since it’s never directed at him and he understands it. Sunny’s always been the stronger of them, the one looking out for them both before they’d found the Autobots. Now everything is uncertain and there are threats everywhere. “We can share it,” he says, using the tip of a servo to nudge its head to the side. Its eyes are still closed, heart beat and breathing still slow. Its skin is so much cooler than his, soft. “You don’t think it’s kind of cute?”

• The minute he holds out the human in offering, Sunstreaker bares his denta and recoils. “No and I’m not touching that nasty, little thing. You don’t even know where it’s been.” Venting, Sideswipe studies that little face, not at all put off by Sunny’s hostility. It is cute, a little thing he can carry around. Talk to openly, because talking to Sunny can be uncomfortable, his every choice being weighed and judged.

• No matter Sunny’s vehemence, he’ll keep pestering. Wear him down. Suspects Sunny might miss having to look after him. Take care of him. Something soft to care for might be just what his twin needs even if he’ll complain like a little glitch the whole time. Because, honestly? He suspects a lot of that sullen anger might be from feeling useless, because he doesn’t need Sunny to take care of him anymore. He’s gotten stronger, more sure of himself. This isn’t Kaon. He’s not the same mech clinging to Sunny’s servos for safety, afraid and hungry.

• Rumbling softly, Sideswipe absently strokes his servo over the human and Sunny growls to himself. That thing needs to go. Humans don’t belong among Cybertronians and Sideswipe can barely take care of himself. The last thing he needs is something dependent on him, because how long until Sides gets bored with it? Forgets to feed it or tries to pawn it off on him because it’s too much work. Or worse, becomes obsessed with the thing. Maybe forgets him completely. Lip curling, he glares at the little organic. It only looks harmless, but that thing is a threat and needs to be treated as such.

Next

[sanakimohara]

I saw the ddlg for channie and Hyunjin……was wondering if you could do one for Binnie and Lee Know 🥺 my bias and bias wrecker.

[ DDLG ] S. C. + L. M.

pairings: changbin + minho x fem! reader

summary: DDLG (Daddy Dom / Little) Dynamic things.

playlist:

warnings: MDNI + SMUT + DDLG + DADDY KINK

type: semi-plot / headcannons

a/n: I’m actaully so tired rn but I couldn’t go another day without fulfilling this request! Hope you like it, love!

Dom Changbin loves to watch you talk -about anything. You could talk his ear off all day, and he’d nod while randomly planting kisses on your lips and cheek to see you pout and try to swat him away. “Daddy, please…listen to me…it’s important!” You whine and gently slap his shoulders to make your point, and he’ll raise his hands in defeat. “Alright, baby. I’ll stop. Go on…keep talking to me..” Changbin smiles, eyes slowly lowering from your brightened ones to trail your body as he relaxes with you, still happily bouncing his lap, rambling about whatever’s on your mind! He’s halfway listening, nodding, and humming when you spout rhetorical questions, but he’s watching your lips and nothing else. How soft they are. Counting how many times you unconsciously lick them while talking. Imagining how warm they'll feel wrapped around his cock only a few moments after you run out of things to tell him. Sure, he's listening to you, but that doesn't mean he can't get hard to the sound of your voice and the thought of eventually shutting you up…

Dom Changbin handles you like his own personal doll. He picks you up just for the fun of it, always ready for cuddling to have complete and undisputed access to grope you, whether it's running a hand through your hair when you’re nestled between his legs, playing on his phone or kneading your hips while you lay beside him. You feel his hands on you quite often, a mindless reach under your skirts, a swift but steady knead of your breasts in both his hands when no one’s looking. Changbin adores the feel of you, how you melt into him and cling to him like he’s your favorite teddy bear…it fuels his sense of strength and mild ego. Want to lay on top of him? Go for it. Want him to pick you up or husk you over his shoulder? Just ask. Changbin will do it with a knowing smile, proud that you trust so much and aren't afraid to suffer a little taunting in the process. “Sweet thing…can’t even handle yourself when I’m not around, can you?..” You shake your head. ‘No,’ face a light red, feeling his hands massageyour waist and backside as he carries you down the hall to his room. Your legs lock tighter around his waist, urging a grunt from him as the bulge in his sweats presses flush against your cotton-covered pelvis.

Dom Changbin isn’t particularly into leaving noticeable marks on you. He sees no point in making your life harder by leaving hickeys on your neck that'll be covered with makeup later. Instead, you are reminded of his hold on you with slow, deliberate, and sometimes sloppy kisses when no one is looking. “Come here,” Changbin mutters when you pass by him, bringing you around a corner and backing you into a wall so you have no way out. “Thought I told you to come see me first,” his eyes searched your face, warm but narrowed as you mumbled out an excuse. “I know, but …I was in a rush.” You momentarily look away, affirming you are alone with him before saying anything else. “I have to go-“‘you start, shifting to slip away from him but abruptly pressed back into the wall by his broad chest and heavy kiss to your parted lips. Changbin is careful with you, swallowing every little noise you let out as your mouth submits to his. Your tongue falls into a pace to mirror his own, lazily lapping at the wet muscle as it searches past your lips. He smiles the minute you start to drool, your hands scrambling to cup his face as you try to hold still against him. The messier you get, the more he kisses you, hands seizing your hips, lowering to shamelessly cup handfuls of your ass before he lands one solid slap against it as a warning. “Binnie!” You groan quietly, squirming in his hold, mind numb from the suffocating kisses and his relentless touches. Changbin exhales a laugh, lips damp with your shared spit as he trails them across your skin to stop at your ear. “When I tell you to do something, do it, baby.” “M-mhm…” You nod ina stupor, still trying to catch your breath while savoring his taste on your tongue.

Dom Changbin loves it when you leave your lipstick prints on him -especially on his biceps, chest, and face. Paint him like a canvas in every shade of lip tint you have, and he’ll happily let you do it. “One more, right…there....” Changbin breathes out between soft groans, head lulling back as you press another kiss to his thick shaft. You smile, hearing him falling apart, happy to be making him feel so good just by placing little lipstick prints from his face down to the base of his cock. “Feel good, Daddy?..” you mutter, eyes bright and wandering over him as he nods slowly, “Feels better than good…babydoll.” He grunts, jaw tight, and an arm raised to cover his flushed face as you giggle and dive back in to press your plump lips on every sensitive nerve he has. Changbin would walk around with your pretty lipstick prints all over him if he could. Once, he did forget to wipe away a mark you left on his neck, and while he was working out, Chan happened to spot it with a knowing smirk on his face. “She does that to you often, Bin?” He tips his head to the evident lipstick smudge, and Changbin smiles, making no move to wipe it off as he sets up for another set of deadlifts, “More often than you think..”

Dom Changbin doesn’t entirely realize how thick he is. You find it a little more than cute that he gets so caught up in wanting to be inside you he forgets to ease his cock in or risk startling you. No matter how often you remind him to “be a little gentle..” Changbin lets those words fly over his head when your cunt is glistening and creaming right in front of him. You try your very best to slow him down, making an effort to pace him and help you adjust to the girth of his shaft as your cunt strains to take all of him at once, “B-Bin..nie!…Hah! Mngh…ah slo-“ you tumble over words, nails digging hard into his shoulders, legs shaking as he presses them closer to your chest with his weight. “Fu…fuck please baby…take a little more for me,” he moans above you, gaze floating between your blissful expressions and the sight of your wet folds parting to accommodate the last few inches of his cock before he fully settles into your pulsing core. A familiar slick sound of him bottoming out in you fills the room, numbing your senses from the pleasure that follows and bringing a dazed smile to your face, “Always s’rough..” you whine playfully, not meaning a word you say, getting lost in the steady strokes his cock engraves into you. Changbin stares down at you, forehead pressed to yours, voice muffling your rising moans while he fucks you into complacency, “You know I can't help it…not my fault you're always so tight for me too…”

Dom Minho takes care of you in the most minor ways. Ordering your food when you go out because, let’s face it, he knows you’ll be indecisive and need him to do it for you anyway. There are moments when he watches over you, checking your surroundings to ensure you’re alright, and quickly moves you closer to him if that changes. He’s particularly fond of setting rules he knows you’ll break without thinking. Minho is keenly aware you curse when overwhelmed, startled, or generally immersed in frustration, so he gives you a boundary bound to be broken. “What was that, baby?” He speaks to you from the hallway, catching you off guard from his oncoming presence. Now, it wasn’t your fault that your charger had gone missing for the second time that day, but you were guilty of hissing out “fuck my life” while searching the living room for it. Little did you know Minho had it, not needing it but accomplishing his goal of annoying you to a point. Your face paled as you turned to face him, glad to be halfway across the room in the midst of being caught red-handed. Minho eyed you from his spot, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He heard you. That much was evident, and though you wanted to act as if he hadn’t, his direct stare weakened your tongue. “What’d I tell you about swearing?..” Minho rests his head against the wall, counting the seconds it takes for your face to flush and your head to lower. Five. Only five seconds into being caught, and you’re cowering from him. Minho loves it, hiding his smile as he pushes off the wall, crossing the room in three strides before reaching out to get a hold of you. An immediate apology flies past your lips, feeling his hands trail over the sides of your hips and waist. “It was an accident!” You whine and try to step away but have no room to when he shoves you to sit on the couch with a solid push against your hips. “Accidentally or not, sweetheart…You broke a rule.” His face is stoic, but his pleasure in cornering you is evident, and you swallow hard in response. “But I-“ you start, but he cuts you short in a heartbeat, “Turn around. On your hands and knees…then I'll hear what you have to say..” You know the last part of his statement is a lie, doing as he asks and bracing yourself to have a pattern of his handprints left across your ass. “This is for your own good…” he sighs, lips curled into a smirk as you tremble from the warmth of his right hand smoothing over your backside before it is replaced with a sudden surge of stinging pain a second later. Breaking a few of his rules isn't always your intention, but god, don't you love it when he enforces them like this!

Dom Minho will edge you to the brink of near insanity, holding you still against him in a leisurely chokehold, daring you to close your legs while they shake from the ecstasy you feel as his free hand gently caresses your cunt. You can beg him all you want to, throw a fit, and struggle to try and get more friction, but Minho is never willing to compromise when it comes to toying with you. “Moremoremore give me more please..!” You ramble quietly in desperation, eyes shut tight, and breaths coming quicker, but his touch remains idle and controlled. “Why should I do that,” Minho hums, purposefully pressing the pad of his thumb against your swollen and wet clit hidden by the thin fabric. You groan loudly, jolting as he draws tight circles around the bundle of nerves for a second or so before he stops and cups his whole hand over your entrance. You can’t think straight with him teasing you, lace panties soaked past usefulness when he’d barely begun to touch you, and head emptying of any thought besides convincing him you deserved to cum. Minho is incredibly vain about his ability to make you beg, wanting to see you tear up for the simple pleasure of feeling his fingers sink into your cunt, and you’ll cry for him every time because it’s worth every moment of weakness to have him stuff your cunt full.

Dom Minho sleeps/spoons with you often. He’s particularly fond of having you curled up against him. Your back to his chest and your hands wrapped around the arm he tucks underneath your head. Minho is delicate when he cuddles you, peppering kisses along your ear, against your temple, and on your lips before he pecks your nose. “Daddy…that’s enough,” you whine tiredly, blushing when he smiles, his eyes fixed on you while his fingers gently run through the hair at the crown of your head. “It’s never enough for me…” he whispers, slipping his free hand past your hip to nestle underneath the hem of your shirt and lightly trace the warm skin there. You shiver and press back into his body, mewling quietly as he tucks his head into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent as if he hadn’t just showered with you. “My pretty girl…” he mumbled in a daze, reveling in the soft hum of agreement you let out in response.

Dom Minho likes to test his limits from time to time. He’ll make out with you for as long as he can until feeling your lips against his just won’t do anymore. Past the point of patience and satisfied with the amount of time he's spent exploring your mouth with his tongue, Minho pushes your head straight down to his crotch when he can't take it anymore. Making you leave sloppy kisses and tender kicks wherever you please but refusing to let you fully taste him right away. “There you go, baby…. just like….that…mmm…” he groans and buffs with every pass of your lips, and you soak up his praise like a greedy sponge. Seeing Minho so flustered from simply smothering you with kisses is one thing. Still, the abundance of serotonin you get watching his expressions shift from pregnant to pure satisfaction when your bent over, face down in his crotch, and given no choice but to let him grind his clothed cock against your eager mouth is another thing. Minho won’t stop until you’re whining to feel him shoving his throbbing cock past your drooly lips, pouting when he hesitates to give in, biting his lip at the sight of your salvia coating the fabric of his pants. “C’mon, Daddy, just for a little bit…” you beg, planting a ginger kiss on the noticeable rise in his jeans, kitten licking the tip of his cock when it twitches from the subtle feeling. That’s all it takes for Minho not to stop you from lowering the zipper with your teeth after he gives you a curt nod of approval.

a/n: had an idea for best friends dad perv Chan but idk how yall would feel about that….

other links: n/a yet..

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

This is like the only and best edit I could find of these two fruit loops being mildly platonically hot in one clip without actually looking like they’re on the verge of making out for the camera so please accept it 😭 Credits to creator 🖤

[mommyownsmee]

TW // Stalking; blood; slight gore; obsession; murder.

You don’t know how long I have watched you. How long I have traced the curve of your shadow, followed the delicate rhythm of your breath as it rises and falls, memorized the scent of your skin in the stillness of the night. I have been so patient, my love, moving just beyond the edges of your sight, a whisper in your periphery, a shiver down your spine when you think you are alone. You never are. You never were.

I have seen you through windows, through doorways left slightly ajar. I have followed your footsteps through empty streets, felt the heat of your body linger in the spaces you’ve left behind. I know the way your fingers tremble when you fumble for your keys, the way your breath catches when you hear something—a sound too soft, too distant to be real. But it is real, my love. I am real. And I am closer than you think.

I know the way your heart beats when you think no one is listening. I know the way your pulse flutters beneath the fragile skin of your throat, the way it quickens when fear brushes its lips against your ear. I wonder, sometimes, if you sense me there. If, deep down, your body already knows what your mind refuses to admit—that I have already claimed you, that I have always been inside you, waiting for the right moment to press deeper.

In the beginning I was gentle. Subtle. A soft weight in your chest, a whisper of pressure behind your ribs, a hunger curling low in your belly that no feast, no touch, no pleasure could satisfy. You thought it was nothing. Stress, exhaustion, the simple ache of being alive. But, my love, that was me.

I have watched you sleep, your body curled, vulnerable, unaware. I have listened to the murmurs of your unconscious, the words your lips shape in the dark. Do you dream of me, I wonder? Does your body call for me in ways your mind does not yet understand? Perhaps you have felt it—the way the room seems smaller when I am near, the way the air thickens with something unseen, something inevitable.

I have spent so long studying you, memorizing you, wanting you. And now, the time has come. I will slip deeper beneath your skin, weave myself into your flesh, bind myself to you in the most intimate way imaginable. I will press against the fragile boundaries of your body, stretching them, teasing them, testing just how much you can take before you come undone.

I‘m the slow, deliberate shift beneath your skin, a creeping warmth slithering through your veins, coiling around your spine. You are trying to ignore it at first. You tell yourself it is nothing, that it is just your mind playing tricks on you. But I promise you, my love, I am real. I am inside you, and I am not leaving.

You feel it, don’t you? That subtle pressure, the weight of something unseen pressing against your ribs, threading itself through your muscles like a parasite that has found its perfect host. You tell yourself it’s anxiety, a trick of the light, a stray thought that lingers too long in the dark corners of your mind. But that shiver down your spine, the prickle of sweat at the nape of your neck—that is me.

I am burrowing deeper, threading myself into the marrow of you, slow and insidious. My presence is no longer an external thing, something you can lock out or escape. No, my love, I have already slipped past the gates, past your flesh, past your walls. I am part of you now, filling the hollow spaces you didn’t know were empty, whispering to your bones, teaching your body to crave what it should fear.

I wonder when you will finally understand—when you will stop pretending this is something outside of you. Because it isn’t. I am already underneath your skin, breathing with your lungs, pulsing with your heartbeat, dragging my fingers along the insides of your ribs.

And when I do—when I finally open you—I will not be cruel. No, my love, I will be precise. I will be deliberate.

I want to hunt you down—not with rage, not with haste, but with the kind of patience that makes the air feel thick, suffocating. I won’t chase you in the open. I won’t let you see it coming. I will slip into the spaces between your thoughts, nestling into the quiet, feeding on the moments when you think you’re safe. I will coil around your bones, settle deep in your gut, growing, waiting, whispering to the parts of you that don’t want to listen.

I will press against your ribs, testing them, mapping out the most efficient way to split you apart. Your flesh will tighten, strain, stretch to accommodate my growth, but there will come a moment when you won’t be able to contain it anymore.

My first touch will be the deepest—just beneath your sternum, an incision as intimate as a whispered confession.

I will not be cruel. Cruelty is careless, mindless, the act of someone who does not understand what they hold in their hands. No, my love. I will be reverent. Devoted. Worshipful. My hands will tremble as I carve you open, not with hesitation, but with unbearable anticipation, with the kind of desperate, aching hunger that has festered beneath my skin for too long. The way a starving man touches his first meal, the way a drowning man inhales his first breath.

I will not tear you apart in a frenzy—I will unwrap you, piece by delicate piece, as if peeling away the layers of something sacred. I will trace the edge of every incision with the same tenderness one might use to caress a lover’s spine, my fingers slick with the proof of my devotion. You will not simply feel me—you will understand me, in the deepest, most primal way possible. This is not destruction, my love.

This is revelation.

And when I press deeper—when I slip inside that trembling, glistening warmth—you will know what it is to be truly known. I will spread you open with meticulous care, my touch a whisper, a prayer, a promise. Your body will resist at first, instinct tightening muscles, tensing fibers, but I will be patient. I will coax you apart, unraveling the sinew of you with methodical precision, feeling the moment you give in, the second your flesh stops fighting and starts yielding.

I wonder how you will sound then. When resistance melts into inevitability, when the last of your strength drains into my hands, when your body ceases to be yours and becomes wholly, irrevocably mine.

You will bloom open like a flower, petals of flesh unfurling as I pull myself free. You’ll feel every inch of it. Every sinew snapping. Every tendon peeling away. I will drag yourself out of you, slow, savoring the way your body shudders, the way your nerves fire off useless warnings that there is no escaping this.

Your flesh will part for me, trembling, welcoming. You will feel me—every slow, savoring motion as I slide through your insides, exploring, carving, claiming.

You will tremble for me, your body taut, nerves alive with the ecstasy of pain and pleasure, of surrender and inevitability. You will hear the wet, shuddering sound of your own unraveling, feel the warmth of yourself spilling over my hands, soaking my skin, marking me with your essence. Every shudder, every gasp, every strangled whimper will be a hymn in my ears, a song meant only for me.

And I will revel in it. I will drink in the scent of you, taste the salt of your suffering on my tongue, let your crimson devotion paint my lips.

I wonder how much you can give me before there is nothing left of you. I wonder how much you can take before your body breaks open beneath me, before you are no longer something separate, but something that belongs to me entirely.

And through it all, I will remain. Watching. Listening. Learning you from the inside out, the way you should have learned to fear me long ago.

By the time I am finished, you will not simply be broken. You will not merely be ruined. You will be open. Hollowed, yes—but not empty. No, my love, never empty.

You will be mine.

This was never about ending you. That would be far too simple, too crude. Death is fleeting, but this—this—is something more. This is devotion. This is love. This is forever.