#the lighting was really uneven from member to member

[likeumeanit9497]

ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ | ᴄ.ꜱ. |

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴏᴜʀᴛᴇᴇɴ

series masterlist here

summary: Eleanor moves through the world like a shadow searching for light, and Chris burns too brightly, as if trying to outshine a buried grief. When they collide on a night filled with a mutual self-loathing, something quiet but insistent begins to grow between them — a pull that they never dare speak of, yet orbit in harmony nonetheless. Their bond deepens quickly, shaped by vulnerability, near-misses, and the ache of things left unsaid. As their lives pull and blur at the edges, they learn that what they are for one another in the moment may matter more than how it ends. 

warnings (throughout the series): smut; angst; addiction; family trauma; depression; heavy drinking; mentions of death; mentions of abuse; 18+

Thanksgiving settled over the Boston suburbs like a warm wool blanket — scratchy with memory too heavy to cast aside. Beyond the bay window, trees stood stripped and skeletal, their limbs naked and waiting. Inside the house, the air smelled festive — gravy, stuffing, turkey.

Chris sat curled into the couch like a kid again, one arm thrown over a cushion, the other nursing a sweating can of ginger ale. The television screen flickered in front of him, the football game playing — grunts, whistles, cheering. All meaningless noise that barely cut through the buzz in his head.

He was still quiet. Less sullen than before, though still a little melancholic. Matt and Nick were in and out of the room, joking with their extended family members, laughing too loud. He played the part when he could — a nod, a hollow smile — but his mind, traitorously, kept returning to Los Angeles. To her.

Alone today, most likely, holed up in her apartment trying to distract herself in some way. The thought of her spending the holiday in self-imposed exile — not really by choice, but by resignation — made something hot bloom in his chest. She should have been near voices, near love. Near him.

He thought about her mother. About her selfish decision to choose her addiction over her own child. He still was far from knowing the whole story, he knew, but he had seen enough to understand what kind of damage Eleanor had inherited. And he hated it, hated how familiar it felt.

The screen erupted — a touchdown. Everyone cheered. Chris blinked back to the moment, watching the players celebrate in the end zone like nothing had ever hurt them. Then his phone rang in his pocket.

Eleanor.

He was up before he could even think, his heart in his throat. He didn’t say a word, just walked — quickly, maybe too quickly — up the stairs and into the quiet of his childhood bedroom. Closed the door. Pressed the phone back to his ear.

“Hey,” He breathed, more exhale than word.

“Chris,” She slurred, her voice loose and lush with alcohol. His name stretched out like silk between her lips.

Alarm shot through him, immediate and bright.

“It’s…one-thirty in L.A. Are you — are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” She replied, “Just…celebrating with some wine. And maybe rum. You don’t have to—” She hiccuped, “You don’t have to worry. I just wanted to call. Say Happy Thanksgiving...and sorry.”

He leaned against his door, spine stiff, phone pressed harder to his ear.

“Sorry?”

“For not texting,” She clarified, “I’ve been so busy…my thesis. I’m like…living at my desk. God. I missed your voice.”

His heart kicked. He should have told her how much he missed her too. Should have said it right then, but his mouth betrayed him — tongue thick, throat unwilling. Instead, he focused on the rest of her sentence.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“No, I do. I wanted to. I just — every time I picked up my phone, I just…didn’t know what to say.”

Chris leaned back until his spine cracked against the wooden door. “You could’ve said anything.”

There was a pause, long enough to stretch between them like a taut string. He could hear the soft murmur of her breathing — slightly uneven, as if she were weighing something, pressing her thumb against a bruise inside her chest. And then, quiet and steady, “I heard you. With Claire.”

The words landed like a knock on the door of a room he had long ago locked. He blinked, and the air left his lungs as if expelled by force. His mouth went dry. There was a new silence so complete it pressed against his eardrums.

“I — what?” He asked, though the question was more reflex than disbelief. He already knew exactly what she meant.

“Saturday night. I could hear you.”

He sat in stillness, the sound of the football game now a distant echo downstairs. It wasn’t shame, exactly, that filled him. It was something slower, sadder, like shame turned inward. Like the realization that you had taken part in something irreversible.

“I heard you too,” He said finally, the words dry as paper. Saying it out loud felt vulgar. He regretted it almost immediately.

She was quiet for a moment before asking, in a low whisper, “What did you hear?”

Chris swallowed, his throat raw.

“You were moaning.”

A breath on the other end of the line. Then, “Do you want to know something really messed up?”

He closed his eyes, “Yes,” and it came out like a surrender.

“I wasn’t moaning for Grant.”

A stillness fell across his body, as though every muscle had momentarily forgotten its function. He didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. There was a rushing sound in his ears, the blood thick in his throat.

“I was pretending,” She continued, “It was you. I wanted it to be you.”

Chris’s eyes squeezed tight. Her voice, though slurred, had acquired a tremble that was unmistakably sober in its need. There was something unpracticed in her admission. Something genuine.

“What were you imagining?” He asked, though his voice was scarcely a voice at all. It was a scrape of sound, raw and hollow.

“What do you think?” She asked, offering a nervous chuckle through the phone. He let out a breath that shook.

“Tell me,” He begged.

And she did.

Her voice was a whisper soaked in longing. She told him everything — where his hands were, what she felt when he kissed her bundle of nerves, the way she imagined his breath at her ear, the sound of him gasping her name. She painted the scene with the hesitancy of someone afraid of saying too much but unable to stop herself.

He walked on wobbly legs towards his bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress and pressing his hand into his thigh, like pressure could contain what was already unraveling within him.

“I imagined you behind me,” She said, breathless, “Sliding into me like you needed me. Slow. Deep. Like you were trying to memorize what I felt like wrapped around you,”

He inhaled, sharp and involuntary.

“I imagined you whispering things you’d never say out loud. Teeth biting into my shoulder. Telling me how good I felt, how good I tasted. Like you couldn’t help yourself.”

He made a sound then — not quite a groan, more like a sound one makes when a wound is touched before it’s ready. His hand moved on instinct, pressing over the hardness now aching in his jeans.

“I couldn’t stop picturing the shape of your mouth,” He whispered, voice gritty into the speaker, “The o-shape of it as you moaned. The way it would look wrapped around my thumb as I spread you open.”

Eleanor’s breath was slow now, deliberate — the kind of breathing that only happened when someone’s body was answering for them. There was a hush that wasn’t silence at all, but its trembling cousin — a space filled with things neither had ever been brave enough to do. She didn’t have to say a word. Chris knew. Just like he knew that if she could see him now, she’d know everything too.

He unzipped his jeans, but he didn’t rush. There was no need. Her voice was already taking him apart piece by piece. His length sprung from his boxers with vigour, and the first stroke sent a hiss between his teeth.

“You sounded so pretty,” He murmured, swallowing down a groan, “I covered her mouth so I could hear you better.”

She let out a soft moan that sent heat crashing through him. It was devastating. He closed his eyes, focused on the sound of her breathing — fast and delicate just for him. He pressed his feet to the floor like he needed the earth’s full weight to survive this. His strokes were slow, deliberate, paced by her soft moans that he followed like a metronome.

The silence swelled, but it didn’t break. He could hear her shifting, the soft sighs and subtle catches in her breathing that matched his own. She didn’t talk him through what she was doing. Didn’t have to. Every inhale, every near-silent catch at the back of her throat drew a portrait for him.

He let the image bloom behind his eyelids — knees drawn up, five fingers gripping the sheets, two others buried between her slick folds. Hair messy, skin flushed, lips parted in the dark, whispering his name for nobody but him. It didn’t matter that they were states apart. They were together now — not in time, not in space — but in sensation.

Their voices went quiet, replaced by the primal language of breath — laboured, trembling, raw. Louder now, needy gasps for air and quick grunts.

And when he came, it was with his eyes still shut, her name silent on his tongue. His other hand curled in the sheets and he imagined it was her hair, like he could anchor himself to her even from across the country.

A moment later, he heard her. That final moan, soft and broken, as if her body had given her no choice. A sound so fragile and human it made something inside him ache. She didn’t speak for a while after, and neither did he.

Then, through the static, “I miss you,” She whispered. Almost like she hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

He exhaled, grabbing a tissue and wiping off his stomach. “I miss you too, El.”

“I want us to be close again,” She added, truth laced in her voice.

He didn’t know if that was possible — not really. But the part of him that still believed in her, the part that hadn’t shut the door, answered without hesitation.

“We will,” He said, “I promise.”

There was the sound of her shifting again, like she was rolling from her back onto her side; phone pressed to her ear like she was trying to curl herself toward him across the miles.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Chris.”

His throat tightened, “Happy Thanksgiving, El.”

There was a pause, and then she hung up.

And for a long time after, Chris just sat there in the quiet, the phone still warm in his hand. Her voice echoing in him like a heartbeat he almost forgot belonged to him.

“Chris?” Nick’s voice came muffled through the door, and Chris jerked upright like he’d been caught mid-crime. In a way, maybe he had.

“Yeah — hold on.” He scrambled to pull his jeans back on, swipe a palm through his hair, smooth his face into something manageable. He cleared his throat. “What’s up?”

Nick cracked the door open, a curious look flashing across his face for half a second before it softened. “Dad’s at the door.”

Chris froze. The air in the room changed.

“He’s…what?”

“Yeah,” Nick said gently, automatically taking on the oldest-brother role as he eyed Chris cautiously, “He’s outside. Brought cards for us, apparently.”

Chris blinked. He felt the thread tethering him to the alternate dimension he and Eleanor had just made loosen, fray, then dissolve. He stood slowly, rubbing the heel of his hand into one eye like he could erase the sudden shift. “Alright.”

Downstairs, the house still smelled comforting, though somehow less so. Chris took the stairs two at a time and saw his father standing just inside the door, his coat still zipped up to his neck, a thin manila envelope in one hand. His eyes looked clear — clearer than Chris remembered. There was a tremble to the way he smiled — a tremble that Chris was used to only seeing in his hands before he had his first drink of the day.

“Hey, kid,” Jimmy said, voice low and weathered. “Didn’t mean to crash the party.”

Chris stared for a beat. His body didn’t know whether to tense or lean in.

“You look good,” Chris said finally. It wasn’t a lie. His dad looked…better. Fuller in the cheeks, colour in his skin. None of that dangerous shine in his eyes.

“I’m tryin’,” Jimmy said. He shifted his weight. “Just heard you boys were in town. Didn’t wanna miss you.”

Nick stood off to the side, arms folded, and Matt hovered in the hallway behind him. The three sons, facing the man who had once cracked their world open like the bottle he couldn’t put down.

Jimmy cleared his throat and raised the envelope. “Have these for you guys. Just letters, nothin’ weird. I’ve been writing more. Part of the steps, y’know.”

Chris took the envelope. His fingers brushed against his father’s. Jimmy’s hands were as rough and weathered as he remembered.

“Thank you,” Chris murmured, unsure of what else he could say.

Jimmy gave a small shrug. “Helps me feel like I’m doing something right. Even if it’s too late.”

Silence pooled in the foyer, awkward but not cold. Chris’s heart was still half in Los Angeles, half in Eleanor’s voice, and now part of it was in this strange reunion — his father trying, quietly, to be a presence instead of a ghost.

“I won’t stay,” Jimmy rushed out, stepping back toward the door, “Didn’t want to crowd your night. Just…wanted you to know I’m around. I’m better. Least, I’m trying to be.”

Chris nodded, swallowing something lodged hard in his throat. “Thanks for coming.”

Jimmy gave a soft, fragile smile. “I love you boys. You know that, right?”

They all nodded, in their own ways. No one said it back, not right then. It would come later, maybe.

Jimmy left, the door shutting quietly behind him. The envelope felt heavier in Chris’s hands than paper ought to.

He looked down at it, then back up at Nick and Matt. They were all assessing one another, checking to make sure they were all okay. Chris opened his mouth. Closed it. Matt’s gaze was intense, and Nick’s silence was startling. Chris dropped the envelope on the stairs and walked back to the couch, the day suddenly filled with too much for him to process.

—

The house had gone still. Thanksgiving had finally dissolved into discarded paper plates and leftovers packed into foil. Family departed, the football game long over. The night outside was brittle with cold, stars pricking through the dark sky like they were sewn there. Chris sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, thumb brushing along the edge of the screen.

He hovered for a moment, then pressed the call button. It rang twice, then three times. Her voicemail picked up — her voice warm and formal; familiar. He chewed on his bottom lip. Waited for the beep.

“Hey. Uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly unsure what he’d planned on saying, “Sorry. I didn’t…I just wanted to check in, see how you’re feeling.”

The silence that followed was not empty. It pulsed with recent memory. From the same small speaker now catching his breath, he had heard her moan his name like a secret. That sound — private, hushed, a mixture of ache and surrender — lived in his bones now. He longed to hear it again.

But just beneath that was a fuller, messier need: to tell her that his father had come by. That he looked different, didn’t smell like whiskey or sound like the echo of a childhood he and his brothers had spent hiding under their bunk beds. He wanted to tell her he felt proud of him, but also scared. Scared that he didn’t think he knew how to be a son to that man. Scared that he didn’t even know if he wanted to be.

But he couldn’t.

He thought of Eleanor’s own mother, of how the liquor still owned her, how the cruelty of that still existed in Eleanor’s world. He thought of the fact that the fear he had felt in his childhood, she had too — though even now, that fear has no place to move. He thought of her sad eyes, the dismissive way she viewed love as if it was something that came only in the form of broken promises.

Would it help her to know that there was hope? Or would it break her more — to see someone on the other side of what she was still trapped in the middle of?

He sighed, breath unsteady into the phone. “I, um. I don’t know. Just call me back when you can, okay?”

He hung up. Let the silence bloom. Then, a minute later, his phone buzzed in his hand.

Eleanor: Sorry I missef your csll. Endef up going out. Lotd of lonwly people frinking tn.

Chris stared at the message, read it twice. A knot tightened beneath his ribs. Out. No Claire, no Grant, no one else she’d mentioned.

His imagination, unwelcome and wild, stirred with images he didn’t want. Her sitting at a bar, her head against a stranger’s shoulder, smiling big at someone who may not want the best for her.

He set his phone on the nightstand and stood up, pulling his shirt over his head. The fabric felt suddenly too soft, too close to his skin. Tried to slow his thinking with a scalding hot shower. He let the steam loosen the weight behind his eyes, crumble the brick sitting in his stomach. He told himself that she could handle herself, that she knew how to be safe. She always had.

But still, he worried. Still, he cursed his mind at the thought of her choosing the wrong person to trust, of making that decision with no one else there to tell her no.

When he got into bed, he turned his phone screen over so it faced down. Closed his eyes, and tried falling asleep to the memory of her voice saying his name like it had meant something. He thrashed in his sheets, settling only when he remembered the way she had moaned in a breathless mix of vulnerability and want. The fragile promise they’d exchanged, terrifying but real, through the static of that spontaneous call.

And that. That reminder that he could very well get back to being completely wrapped up in her life, could belong there once more like a sturdy piece of furniture. That was the only lullaby strong enough to carry him to sleep.

He didn’t feel the phone vibrate on the nightstand beside him, hours after his body had given into exhaustion. Didn’t stir when the missed call flashed across the screen. Didn’t see that he, too, had received a voicemail. Delivered to him in a tiny, slurred, hopeless voice.

“Hey. It’s me. I…I can’t find my keys— Shit!— I’m sitting at my front door.

There’s no one here.

[short pause]

I’m all alone.

[longer pause]

Everyone’s gone…but I’m pretty sure I only miss you.”

͏𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 ❤︎ ͏ ͏

tags: @slvtf0rchr1s @pip4444chris @oopsiedaisydeer @switchstvrns @ellssturn @idefinitelyhateu @courta13 @b-eharrlichkeit

a/n: one of my fave chapters so far tbh, hope u all like it too!! <333

[cheolieji]

Uh, hi! Been reading ur work by a lot of time now and I really like it<3 just had never won the courage to actually come and make a request. Hm, I dunno if it's possible or if u r okay with writing it,

How about a svt x 14th member, like hm, they are in some award show or something and 14th member is way more stunning than usual on her outfit, like a real life doll. And well, svt members get like protective, a lil jealous? Like not a familyhood jealousy but like platonic? And a hyung line member(whoever u wish) from all that is happening decides to confess and kisses 14th member and well, they become real. (Dunno if you do suggestive or things like that, if you do maybe that could be part of the end?) If not that's okay!

Thank uuuu, hope u have a great day♡

Doll pt 1 - ??

wc: 1,623

pairing: read and find out👀

Idol au

genre: fluff with tension, suggestive (so mdni)

14th member fic (feat.svt)

guide for requesting on my page, check [17] (pink highlighted) for my yes and no's

PART 2 (Doll part 2)

A/N : thank so much for requesting! and dont be shy/scared to send asks guys it's there for a reason and if you're afraid of being judge (which won't happen) you can just make it anonymous :)

and I absolutely love and appreciate it when you guys send me asks, genuinely makes me so happy

A/N 2 : had hella technical difficulties with the pictures soo no pictures today lmao (I'm honestly bad at technology so deal with it)

You weren’t someone who typically turned heads at award shows. At least, not in the way you were doing tonight.

Standing at the edge of the red carpet in a sculpted satin gown that hugged your figure like it was made just for you, hair cascading down your back in soft waves, lips painted a red that could kill. You looked unreal. A living doll. Far from the baggy sweats and oversized shirts you usually wore in rehearsals.

And your members noticed.

God, did they notice.

"Is she serious right now?" Mingyu muttered, his eyes tracking your every step like you might disappear if he looked away.

"She said she was wearing something simple," Jeonghan whispered, eyes wide.

"That's simple? I need to reevaluate my standards," Seungcheol sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.

It wasn’t just them. Other idols were staring. Some of them too long. Too bold. Too obvious.

"Is he looking at her chest?" Vernon squinted across the carpet.

"Yep. Definitely." Joshua’s voice was clipped and sharp.

"She’s not even doing anything," Woozi muttered, arms crossed, clearly annoyed.

But Wonwoo said nothing.

He just watched. The kind of quiet stare that felt like heat on your skin.

You caught him once. Just a glance. You smiled.

It wrecked him.

---

Later, backstage, after the lights had dimmed and the applause faded, you walked into the waiting room barefoot. Heels in one hand. Water bottle in the other.

"You guys killed it out there," you said, dropping onto the couch beside Wonwoo. The satin of your gown brushed against his thigh. You felt the tension in his body.

"You look tired," you teased, bumping his shoulder lightly. "Stage killer mode catching up to you?"

"I'm fine," he replied, voice tight.

"You've been quiet."

He turned to you slowly, eyes scanning every detail of your face. The lipstick. The shimmer. The curve of your shoulder. His jaw tightened.

"I didn’t like the way they were looking at you."

You raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Them. Everyone. They don’t get to look at you like that."

You leaned in a little, intrigued. "Why not? You don’t usually care."

"I do."

There was a pause. One of those pauses that felt heavy with everything left unsaid.

His hand came up to your jaw. Thumb brushing over the corner of your mouth where the red had smeared. His gaze flicked to your lips.

Then he kissed you.

No warning. No hesitation. Just heat and hunger. You felt your back press against the couch as his mouth moved over yours, slow but deep.

When he finally pulled back, your chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. Lipstick ruined. Eyes locked.

"You look too damn good tonight," he said, voice low and rough. "I'm done pretending I don't want you."

A knock came at the door. Staff calling everyone for encore.

You didn’t move. You just smiled, slow and dangerous, already thinking about what came next.

"Then stop pretending," you whispered. "Show me."

The encore was a blur.

You danced, smiled, did everything expected of an idol under the lights. But your mind? It was still backstage. Still with him. With that kiss.

And Wonwoo? He didn’t stop watching you.

Even from across the stage, you felt his eyes on you like a magnet. You met his gaze once, briefly, and the smirk he gave you promised more than words ever could.

--

Back at the hotel, things moved fast.

You barely got the door open before you felt his presence behind you, quiet but electric.

“Yours or mine?” he asked, voice low.

You didn’t even hesitate. “Mine.”

The second the door shut, his hand was on your waist, spinning you gently to face him. You didn’t get a chance to say anything before his mouth was back on yours, firmer this time, more certain. Like he’d been thinking about it all night. Like he was starving.

His hands slid down your sides, fingertips brushing over the silky fabric of your dress. It was almost reverent, the way he touched you. Careful, but greedy.

“You have no idea,” he murmured against your skin, “how hard it was not to do this the second I saw you tonight.”

You laughed softly, breathless. “You looked like you were about to murder someone on the carpet.”

“I might have,” he admitted, lips trailing along your jaw. “They all looked at you like you were for the taking.”

“And I’m not?”

“No.” He looked into your eyes, completely serious. “You’re not. You’re mine.”

The words settled low in your stomach. Hot. Sharp.

His hands moved to the zipper at your back, but stopped. Waiting.

You nodded, heart pounding.

The dress slid down your body like it was melting off, pooling at your feet. You stood in front of him in only your underthings, bare and exposed in the soft hotel lighting.

Wonwoo’s eyes darkened.

“God, look at you,” he whispered, stepping closer until there was nothing between you but heat and air. His hands found your waist again, thumbs stroking your skin like he couldn’t help himself. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

He leaned in, kissing you again, slower this time. Deep and deliberate. Like he had all the time in the world.

And tonight, he did.

Your fingers tangled in the collar of his shirt, tugging him toward the bed. He followed without a word, lips never leaving yours, hands never stopping. You fell back onto the sheets together, limbs tangled, breath shallow, hearts racing.

He kissed down your throat, across your shoulder, everywhere but where you needed him. Teasing. Taking his time.

You arched into him, whispering his name like a secret. “Wonwoo…”

He looked up at you from between kisses, lips swollen, pupils blown.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You cupped his face, smiled with lips still tingling from him.

“Don’t stop,” you breathed. “Not tonight.”

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

Imagine a reader ends up biting one of the Batfam members but it's not just any bite but a very strong bite that tears off part of the flesh, so how would the Batfamily react to that? (Bonus: and the reader ends up swallowing this piece of meat)

ᴛᴀsᴛᴇ ᴏғ ɪʀᴏɴ ♥︎

ʙᴀᴛғᴀᴍɪʟʏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ʏ!)

Ho, is y'all sharks?

More here!

Jason’s grip is iron. Too tight. A gauntleted hand wraps around your wrist, the other pressed to your shoulder, heavy with intention. There’s no struggle from him, no hesitation, just certainty—like you’re some cornered thing meant to be subdued.

And maybe you are.

The Batfamily took you. Dragged you down into the depths of Gotham’s hidden places, where light doesn’t stretch and choices don’t exist. You had fought—clawed, spat, burned through every ounce of defiance like a fire unwilling to die. But they’re patient. They wear you down. A wolf pack that never tires, circling and circling, waiting for you to make a mistake.

Jason, though? He’s different. Not a shadow like Bruce, not methodical like Tim. He meets violence with violence, and right now, he’s underestimating you.

His mistake.

Your teeth sink into his forearm with the kind of force that shatters bone if the angle is right. Jason’s sharp inhale is more surprise than pain, and for a moment, you think he’s going to shake you off like a dog with a bad habit. But then you tear—not just a bite, not a warning, but something deep, something meant to wound. Skin gives way. Muscle rips beneath your jaw. The taste of iron spills over your tongue, hot and thick, a rush of something primal tearing through you as Jason jerks back—too late, too slow.

The chunk of him stays in your mouth.

Somewhere behind Jason, someone moves. A chair scrapes. The air shifts. But you don’t look away from him, and he doesn’t look away from you. He cradles his arm, blood seeping through the ruined sleeve of his jacket, dripping in uneven patterns against the floor.

And then, without thinking, without planning—

You swallow.

Jason watches.

The room goes silent.

Tim is the first to speak, voice low, horrified. "Jesus.”

Dick stands, expression unreadable. His usual warmth, the easy charm he carries like second skin, has slipped. “They need to be restrained.” A glance at Bruce, waiting for the order.

Bruce, silent and still. You can’t see his eyes, but you feel the weight of them.

Jason flexes his injured arm, expression unreadable. He should be angry. Should be throwing you against the nearest wall, spitting curses through clenched teeth. But he just looks at you, blood slick between his fingers, and exhales something close to a laugh.

It’s not humor. Not really.

“You actually took a chunk out of me,” he says, like he’s still processing it. He rolls his shoulder, assessing the damage, before locking eyes with you again. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

You say nothing.

Your tongue sweeps over your teeth, tasting what remains.

Jason’s face shifts. The amusement—the disbelief—slips beneath something colder. He steps forward, ignoring the way Dick moves like he wants to intercept, ignoring the warning in Bruce’s silence. His good hand reaches out, fingers curling around your jaw.

You don’t flinch.

“Say it,” Jason murmurs. His voice is different now. Quieter. Interested. “Say you did that on purpose.”

Your lips part, not to speak, but to bite again.

Jason jerks back before you can sink your teeth in a second time, but the grin that stretches across his face is a dangerous thing. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“This one’s got fight,” he mutters, and there’s something in his voice that sets the others on edge. Tim watches like he’s cataloging data points, trying to piece together a reaction that makes sense. Dick’s frown deepens, a flicker of unease there now.

Bruce doesn't speak, he doesn't move.

“…You’re lucky,” Jason continues, tilting his head, gaze flicking to his arm. Blood still drips, slow but steady. “Anyone else, and you’d be missing a few teeth right now.”

His words should be a threat. Maybe they are.

But you meet his stare, unblinking, and you smile—soft, slow, just enough to show the stain of red between your teeth.

Jason laughs again.

He wipes more blood from his arm, still staring at you. “Yeah,” he mutters, voice low, almost to himself. “We’re keeping you.”

And this time, it sounds like something closer to acceptance.

[dilf-docs]

Can We Hit It Now, Low-Down And Gritty?

dieter bravo x younger fem!reader

summary: the last thing you need is world-renowed asshole slash actor dieter bravo to yell at you for doing your job. he'll pay for that.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., pwp, size kink, brat taming, degradation kink, fingering, oral (f. receiving), pussy spanking (again?! dilf-docs u horndog WE GET IT), creampie, tbh this is just pure self fullfing filth pls forgive me Lord I have sinned, dieter bravo (yes that's a warning), nicknames (doll), reader is a glorified porn writer, she can also speak spanish but no physical description/nationality is mentioned

word count: 6,324 words

side note: hello someone please take away ai bots from me thank you. won't add anything else, just enjoy this horny mess sponsored by our fluffy disaster king (did enjoy writing their banter though). i need to be on horny jail bc i'm on those days and wrote this in about 24 hours talk about desperate like i'm going to hell wow if you know me irl no you don't

The set was quiet, well, as quiet as it could be: quick footsteps, flickers of lights, turning of pages, sips of freshly bought coffee and instructions yelled to the air.

That is something you can control. Like, even. But this job isn't easy, given not only what but also who you need to handle.

And speaking about the devil, here comes the who: world-renowned asshole and actor, Dieter Bravo, storming into the place with a strenuous walk.

Just what you need: he's coming in your direction with what you recognize is the movie's script in his hands.

"Who wrote this?!" he angrily shouts, glaring at the people on the set.

"I did" you stand still, defiant even. "Is that a problem?"

Dieter scoffs when he hears your response.

"Is that a problem?" he mocks. "Look at this!"

He holds up the script but you don't even bother to look at it: you've read it so many times, you could recite it from memory.

"This crap isn't going to sell" Dieter argues. "People aren't going to be interested in this story"

There's an irritated expression on his face as he looks down on you. Does Dieter think you care? Of course you knew it was bullshit as soon as you finished the first page, but you had to pay bills, and working this shitty jobs would get you closer to the contacts you needed―the only reason you're doing this in the first place.

"Tell me" he stands before you, and he's so close, you can hear his uneven breathing. "Did you really write this garbage?"

What's the point in lying? The only reason why you did is because you wanted to make him mad. Is it childish? Yes. But you have your reasons, the biggest one being that in no way would you allow a celebrity to talk down on you like that. It's one of the worst parts of your job, and not even Dieter and his handsome face would let you take his shit.

"No, I didn't. But I approved it" you cross your arms, revealing the truth. "You know, you're being very dissmisive of people's hard work because you can't stand not being so called perfect. It's called humilty, you could try"

(You don't really care about this people's hard work that much. They did a bad job, but in the end, a job. He should respect them for that, not the result. A bad one, objectively speaking)

Dieter scoffs at your response, obviously not liking the snarky tone.

"Oh, you approved it?" his tone comes out annoyed. "Which means you know it's crap, right?"

You shrug your shoulders, making him visibly frustrated with the conversation.

"This has nothing to do with me wanting to be the spotlight, you idiot" Dieter raises his voice, "did you even stop to think about the viewers?"

Okay, so now you're the villain. Frankly, it's been a bad week, and the last thing you want is this guy thinking he can get away with harrassing and talking down a less payed crew member just because he's rich, famous and hot. Whatever. If he wanted to play with fire, you'll happily be the match.

"Listen, I approved it because I want to go home and be at peace. Don't give me crap about the viewers. Of course I know this is shit! But I don't get paid enough to care. Besides, even if I wanted, I couldn't change it. You're angry at the wrong person; I'm just following orders"

Dieter clenches his fist, clearly struggling to keep his calm.

"So you just do whatever the hell the director says?" he spits in a irritated tone.

"That's about my job"

"You do know that could mean this movie flops, right? Is that how little you care about what you do?"

Dieter stands before you, crossing his arms, the veins on them popping with annoyance.

"You don't know shit about me" you reply while trying not to look at his flexing biceps too much, hoping he doesn't notice. "And I'm sorry to break it to you, but not all of us are big names that can do whatever they please or hold that much power. If it was up to me, I wouldn't hire this stupid director, writer or you, who, by the way, are way past your prime"

It's an unnecesary offense you truly didn't mean, but you hate the way he talks to you as if you were stupid. And maybe the blow felt bigger because you are a fan. Geez. You thought working with him would be a dream, despite his reputation, yet now all the claims are becoming true in the worst way possible. The last thing you need is Dieter finding out you're a fan, and even if it's a coward way out, you'll defend what's left of your dignity however it takes.

Dieter's brown eyes widen in disbelief at your petty comment. Then, they spark with rage, as he looks quite furious.

"Excuse me?! You don't get to talk about me like that" Dieter moves his ringed hands erratically in the air, as to make his point any more clear. "Do you know how hard I've worked for my career? I won't have anyone, less a little brat, tell me I'm past my prime"

You admire his career, that's the worst of it all. But the annoyance has settled deeply in between you both, and you find yourself at loss for words or energy to keep bickering. Besides, behind you, you can hear the order to continue filming in a few.

"Yeah, you don't get to talk to me like that either. I guess we're even" you sigh, tiredly. "Anything else I can help with, Mr. Bravo?"

If you could, you would cover your mouth in horror. You didn't mean to call his name like that, as if you're allured by him. Fuck Dieter. You hope he doesn't read too much into the tone.

But of course his drug-fried brain would notice that, the actor staring at you with a puzzled look when you call his name.

"Oh, now you're calling me Mr. Bravo, eh? Trying to flirt your way out of this? I'm not a dumbass, you know"

The fact that he associates the calling with flirting rather than nerves makes your eyes twitch. He keeps staring at you, heat making it's way to your face. It's like he's trying to find out if what you said was indeed flirting, and given by the smirk he's giving you, it seems Dieter's got the wrong veredict.

"I'm not stupid either, but here you're talking to me like I am"

Great. That came out even more childish than you intended.

You think the color painting your cheeks is noticeable now, as Dieter lets out a small chuckle. He then cuts the distance even more, the irritating smirk still on his face.

"Well, then don't try and play me like I'm an idiot." Dieter pauses for a moment, then continues in a teasing tone when he sees your flushed face. "Oh, you're so red... It's cute"

"Cute?" the sound you let out is a mix of a chuckle and scoff. "Did you just call me cute? Are you too trying to flirt your way out with of this?" you repeat his same words from earlier. He chuckles amused at your behavior, his smirk turning into a cocky smile as he stares down at you.

"Me? flirt my way out? I would never." he then continues to speak in an amused tone. "I call people I find cute, cute...and you are definitely cute"

"Oh, I'm not the only one then, huh? And here I thought I was special" you feign hurt, and even if you're not an actor, you hope it sells. "And here I thought we were playing the same game. Well, I suppose we're done, and you can go back to filming or complaining, whatever suits you. Oh, the director is here: now bother someone else"

"Special? Nah, can't say you are." he says playfully at your attempt to brush him off. Then Dieter glances over in the director's direction but his gaze returns to you. "Oh, I'll deal with him later, you worry about yourself, sweet cheeks"

You know it's part of the banter, but it's no news to anyone who truly knows you the insecurity you've felt after so many projects rejected, ideas scrapped and terrible dating life. The you're not special hangs in the air, suffocating you; it feels like a slap to the face. Not to be a downer or such a mood changer, but it's hard to pretend. Yeah, you couldn't be an actor even if you tried to.

"Yeah I know" you answer, this time not pretending. Your voice may have given you away, so you turn around, hoping he doesn't get to see your face fall. "You're right, I'll take care of myself or whatever you said before. Bye, Mr. Bravo" you rush the words out, embarrased at yourself and how easily he's got you wrapped around his finger.

Really? And I called him again like that? So stupid.

But he notices that your face has changed a bit, picking up the slight change. Dieter feels a slight pang of guilt for what he said, his smirk disappearing from his face. He lets out a sigh when you bid goodbye; he was having fun.

"Hey, wait a minute"

The actor reaches out and gently grabs your arm, stopping you from leaving.

"What do you want?" you dryly ask, trying to keep a stoic façade, hoping Dieter doesn't catch the racing heartbeat by touching your wrist. "Go bother someone else"

"What I want..." he pauses for a brief moment, "...is for you to not walk away"

Dieter's grasp on your wrist loosens a bit, but he still keeps a hold on you. "I made a mistake. I was being an ass"

Was he, apologizing? For a moment, it seemed like Dieter was going to admit to what he did, which was unlike him, but his voice sounded genuine.

"D-Dieter!" you squeak his name in surprise, then blushing at the embarrassing sound. "You can't be serious, I mean- I'm the one that's sorry, I was an ass first. I think I deserve that"

It doesn't make sense and yes, you deserve his apology, yet at this point you're braindead and this is nothing but just nervous rambling at his actioms, so out of character from what you've heard and know.

A small chuckle escapes from the actor's mouth when he hears you squeak his name.

"I am serious. I mean it. You did not deserve it" his light grasp on your wrist stays as he slowly runs his thumb over your skin. Dieter stands even closer, making your breath hitch.

"W-what are you doing? You realize we're on set, right?" you laugh nervously, yanking your arm, even if you want him to still hold you.

The actor slowly loosens his grasp on you and lets go of your wrist, but the relief is short-lived as he moves his hand to your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

"Of course I know we're on set. Why? You think I'm doing something you don't like?"

Mischief glistens in his eyes, and you gulp nervously at the turn of events.

"I don't like it because it's not what I've heard from you" you confess before even stopping to think a proper answer. "You know, they warned us... to not get involved with the cast, and you? This isn't who I thought... heard- I think I'm going insane" you get very nervous, well aware you're doing a very poor job at hiding it. "Y-you have an exhibition kink or something?"

Ah, why. Yes, of course your mouth and brain had teamed up against you, the duo an expert on ruining your life.

See, it was a joke, but it comes out horribly wrong, making you cover your mouth. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I truly didn't mean-"

Dieter lets out a soft chuckle when you cover your mouth in embarrassment, clearly enjoying this.

"An exhibition kink? That's interesting. I've never been asked that before..."

His hand gently grabs your wrist, slowly moving it away from your mouth.

"Oh, don't cover your mouth. I like the things you say, although some are dumb"

"Wow, you're still hellbent on calling me dumb. I thought we were friends" you breath relieved at the way he took your stupid move, playfully nudging his side, feeling plush skin under his clothes. Fuck. You better leave before you dig this hole deeper. "So, do you or not? Answer the question. The joke may have backfired but my curiosity is still there"

"Dumb, stupid, idiot... you choose. I'm still going to call you that, doll. Can't let you off that easily" Dieter chuckles before answering your question, because of your boldness and the reappearing dark shade over your face. "Alright, I'll answer your question. Are you sure you want to know, though? You have a wild imagination"

"How do you know?" you fake gasp. "Have you read my works?"

It came out in the moment, not something you're used to saying out loud, especially when you're simply an assistant, because honestly, it's embarrassing.

Dieter gives you a small smirk when you fake gasp at his statement. He then continues to look down at you.

"I've heard some things. That some of the scenes you've written are a bit... steamy. If you know what I mean"

There is that same treacherous blush again. How could you get out of this?

"No I don't" and a tricky smile adorns your features, "enlighten me"

Great. The best way out seems to be going down.

"Is that right? You don't know what I mean? Well, you're the hand behind these love scenes, aren't you?"

The small input in this movie, by yours truly. When he received the script, he recoiled at how bad it was, almost calling his agent to call quits on the project. But then he had read the first of many scenes involving a certain type of action, and he decided to stay. Now that he stands before you, knowing it's you who's written them, he finds the discovery amusing and worth entertaining, no matter if he was initially pissed at the fact you were also part of the reasons why he wanted to quit.

A cocky smile appears on the actor's face when you get closer: he likes how, despite the embarrasing events you still find it in you to stand before him, spark behind your eyes full of mischief. It all starts to make sense, he thinks with amusement.

"Love scenes?" you taunt. "You mean the ones were they break furniture and blow off steam with the nasties sounds ever heard to human kind? Nope, doesn't sound like it; no idea what you're talking about" Then you pause, to keep suspense. You lick your lips, making sure to hold his gaze. "Unless..."

Dieter snickers when you describe the scenes; filming hadn't yet get there but he is eager. The actor's gaze is fixed on you as he lets out a low hum.

"Unless what? You can't just pause there, now that got me intrigued"

This isn't real, because he genuinely seems interested in what you'll say next.

"Unless you want to recreate them before filming, since you know, you're so damn interested. Sweeping your big nose in business you shouldn't" you called his nose big not as an offense but rather a compliment: it's literally the prettiest you've ever seen. Hell, it's not only endearment you feel towards it; you've literally wrote a scene where the female lead grinds off it, all while thinking of him. You really hope he's lying about reading your stuff. "Metiche"

Dieter lets out a surprised laugh at your comment about his nose, positive in his mind. He found it amusing that you called it big, which usually would be negative to some, but he didn't really mind. It's also funny in a way, and he finds to be enjoying this more than he should, long forgotten his complains or the movie he's supposed to be shooting as of now.

"Metiche, huh? You have quite the mouth on you"

"Do I?" are you confident, bold or stupid? "You haven't even seen anything yet, Mr. Bravo"

Dieter lets out another chuckle at your confidence. He's definitely entertained by your responses. He tilts his head while giving you a curious expression.

"Is that so? You have something more you'd like to share, doll? I'm open to see whatever you have if I haven't seen it already"

"Or read" I joke, "like I seriously need to check my friends to see who would sell me out. Did you truly read my stuff or you're just fucking with me?"

Dieter lets out another chuckle, finding your joke funny. He then gets a more serious, but still amused, expression on his face.

"I'm not messing with you, I did read some of them, including the ones on this movie. I didn't lie about that, I promise" he pauses for a brief moment, letting out an amused hum. "Y no te preocupes, linda. No estoy jugando contigo"

"If you didn't lie then I suppose you'd know who I had in mind when I wrote that scene of a guy eating a girl's pussy while she sits in his face, grinding on it. I'll give you a clue" you tiptoe, until the hot of your breathe clashes against the cold of his ear's skin, "he's got a big nose"

Dieter lets out a low hum when you drop the clue. "A big nose huh? Sounds familiar"

"It does?" you ask on an overly saccharine tone, fingers carressing the bridge of his nose, softly.

How did we get here?

He leans in a bit to get closer, clearly into your little taunts.

"Yeah, it does. And you just confirmed it too, no need to try to hide it now"

"Woah, don't let the ego win over, Mr. Bravo. A lot of people got big nose, you included" you smirk, removing your fingers from his face, and he would never admit out loud he instantly misses the warmth of your touch. "It's just coincidental you got the part and matched the character's description. You know what they say: all events depicted in this movie are fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is merely coincidental" you recite.

He laughs, shyly. "I know a lot of people have big noses, but I do wonder why you chose that trait in particular"

"I wonder too" then your tone drops low, "We should try, you know, to see if it's viable before we get to filming that part... call it exploratory research"

He feels your fingers touching again his nose.

"Exploratory research, you say?" Dieter lets out a soft chuckle. "How about you be a doll and show me some of that research. I'll gladly be the test subject"

You get flustered. This went too far. Why aren't you running away, or banging your head against a wall for some common sense? This is getting ridiculous, but so is the wet spot between your legs.

"Um, I- wow, I- do you really...? No way" you become a rambling mess again, trying to steady yourself, "You want to eat my pussy?"

The words come out brash, making you cringe.

"Is that what you're saying, Mr. Bravo? You can still turn around and pretend you don't know me. Muero de pena"

Hee tilts his head to the side, looking at you with an almost wolf-like look in his eyes. He takes a step closer, so more of his body is against your own, his face closer to yours.

"Don't do that. You don't have to be embarassed, doll" his finger plays with your lower lip. "I'm saying exactly that"

"Please" voice so small it feels like you'll break, "do it"

The actor lets out a hum in response to your small voice.

"Right here...?"

"No!" you jump horrified, getting out of the horny haze for a bit. "Oh, God. Do you want to be blacklisted, Dieter?" squeaky, lowering your gaze to avoid his, resorting to playing with your fingers. "You have a room, right? They gave you one.... just for you, right?"

He nods his head in response.

"Perks of being the lead actor" he beams a bit proud with full-blown ego in display. "I have my own trailer, and it's not that far away"

"It's okay, I like walking anyways" you reply. "As a matter of fact, I like a lot of things"

The actor lets out another soft laugh in response.

"You're cheeky, you know that, baby?"

He starts to lead you towards his trailer, putting his arm around your waist. It feels big and warm, his touch making a current shoot down until it looses in between your legs. If this is what fighting and low paid terrible jobs got you, you'd do it more often.

"Cheeky? Cute? Do you want to kill me?" I laugh as we almost make it there. "Turns out, I kinda like that"

Now, where you testing your luck by keeping on running your mouth? You need to shut it up forever.

The actor chuckles when you ask if he wants to kill you, stopping in his tracks when you mention that you kind of like that. He looks down at you with a soft, yet cocky smile, but his arm still lingers around your waist.

"I've never heard a woman say that before, doll. I'm starting to believe you have some weird things you're into"

I'm a porn writer, but now you stop before saying more shit. His comment makes you flustered, getting shy all of the sudden as if you hadn't just half-admitted part of your kinks.

Whatever, what's out in the open air can't be unsaid. And Dieter seems to be just as into this as you, finally someone to match your freak after all those men whose cowardice made them leave before the fun started. I'm a porn writer, what'd you expect? It would be fun if I was into vainilla stuff.

"Weird things?" you pretend to be offended, "what do you have in mind?"

"Me? You want me to think? My head is still hurting from yesterday's hangover" he jokes, "why don't you be a doll and tell me exactly what you want?"

You smirk devilishly and he's taken back by the change of your demeanor. You were truly a little wolf disguised as a sheep.

"What I want is for you to press your weight onto me as you fuck me raw" you get red as you spill the lewd thoughts out loud, but it's what you write so it's not new. Your eyes dart to the curve of his soft belly, tight against his shirt. You look away, even redder if possible. "For the research, of course! All with purpose, to uh- See if I don't suffocate- the character, I mean!"

Your dirty words darken his brown kit-kat eyes, clearly enjoying the way you talk to him.

"Of course, for the research. Got to make sure the scene is accurate, right?"

He lets out a small hum and moves his hand on your waist, until they dig in your hips.

"Yeah, because we're professionals. Is this your trailer?" you ask, trying to deviate the conversation because your face keeps getting hotter. "This is your last chance to turn your back before this gets weirder. Hell, I might even leave the country"

The actor smiles at your comment about being professionals, finding it amusing.

"It's my trailer, doll. And I'm not turning my back after how this conversation is going. If I wanted, I would've already left. You'd have to try to get rid of me yourself"

Dieter then grabs his door handle and turns it, opening the door to his trailer. Your heart beats faster than humanely possible.

"Please don't look at me like that"

Dieter lets out a soft hum and looks down at you with a cheeky smile.

"Why not? I like to look at you"

He leads you inside the trailer. Once you're both inside, he shuts the door behind him. With lock. Hearing the click makes your heart skip a beat.

"Don't look at me like you'd do all the stupid things I've said"

The actor is clearly amused by your words.

"What makes you think I wouldn't?"

He licks his lips with anticipation, bracing himself for what's to come.

"I think you're smart. That you know what's best for you" your fingers go to his curls, and you can feel him shiver at the touch. His hungry expression goes soft for a brief moment, and you think you like that too.

"Mmm... your hands feel nice..."

You smile like the Cheshire cat. "And they feel even better when you put them to good use"

The actor lets out a low chuckle in response to your words and looks down at you with a cocky smile.

"Is that a hint, darling?"

"A hint?" you snort. "That's a whole ass answer in red, bold and capital letters"

The man lets out a loud laugh at your response.

"Damn, you're feisty with that attitude, aren't you, doll?"

"Am I?" your eyes darken, body walking in automatic, closing the distance. His soft body irradiates warmth, the section between his pants feeling hard. "Will you punish me for that?"

The actor lets out a soft hum when he feels your body against his own. Dieter's face slowly gets more lustful.

"Mmm, depends on how bad you are, doll. I could punish you if you misbehave"

"What would you count as misbeheaving, Mr. Bravo? I just want to be a good girl" you whisper, batting eyelashes.

The man smirks at your comment and the way you bat your eyelashes teasingly.

"You'll see. You wouldn't want me to spoil the surprise, doll. Being a good girl will get you a nice reward, though"

"Like" you caress his nose, "helping me on the research part?"

Dieter enjoys your teasing touch on his nose and smirks at your comment.

"Mmm, just like the research part, doll"

"Would you show me?" you ask out in a tone so sweet, he's about to come right there. He didn't think it was possible, even. So he lets out a cocky laugh as he says, tone dropping too:

"Maybe I should if you're so persistent in not believing me"

You roll you eyes. "You really think I'm that easy to convince?"

"That's not a no" Dieter smirks.

You scoff. "It's also not a yes"

His tricky ringed fingers trace until it gets in the middle of your legs, feeling your dripping arousal. He then removes the finger and licks it with his long tongue, the scene as obscene as it is but never removing his gaze from yours.

"You sure? Your words might say one thing, but your body says something else"

You get defensive, despite him cornering your frame against one of the trailers walls.

"What would you know about my body?"

Even if his eyes bear irritation, he lets out an entertained laugh.

"I see you like playing these games. Pissing me off until I shut you up myself"

"I don't care" your tongue drips in snark, and he's equally pissed and turned on.

"You're a bad liar, doll. Can't act even if your life depended on it"

You scoff, as you muster the most annoyed tone you can. "Yeah?"

"I ain't met you that long, but I can tell how your body needs me" his voice sends shivers down your spine. "Still think I'm dumb? That I can't see the way you look at me, lips almost drooling, body shaking, pleading me to touch it?" all words you could say die in your throat. "What's that? Cat got your tongue? I see you're busier getting wet"

"I-I don't know what you're talking about" but there's no confidence in your voice anymore, giving away how turned on you were. Your mind goes numb at the dangerous game you're playing, coming only to your senses when his hard cock grinds against your soaked panties.

"I think you do" Dieter bites his lip, giving your core another hard rub. "I know you'd love to feel my cock around your pretty soaked pussy. Hell, you've been begging for it"

Your mind may be backtracking, but your body definitely wasn't.

"C'mon. Stop playing hard to get, doll" Dieter chuckles, "I know you want this"

He doesn't get a word out of you, but the patch against his jeans growing wetter is enough.

"Answer me" a little moan leaves your lips as he presses himself closer, his lips devouring yours in a rough fashion. "You better talk when I tell you to. Thought you'd behave" his hand easily pulls up your knitted sweater, revealing no bra. "Damn brat. Of course you wanted this: wearin' nothing to the set and writing those scenes getting off to me like some fuckin' creep" you moan at the humiliating words coming out of his filthy mouth as he touches the rosy skin gently before giving your hardened nipple a lick and then a little bite just to hear you whine.

Dieter then grabs you by your thighs, placing you down on top of what appears to be a small kitchen's counter, his growing bulge pressed against your cunt: the hard, the cold meeting hot... it all has you incredibly turned on. You feel the cool of the rings on his hand as it starts to eagerly wander under your skirt, rubbing his middle finger in between your clothed folds.

"That's right, I wore this to have you" you moan against his lips as his fingers find your clit, making slow but steady circles, "because yes, I wrote those scenes thinking of you"

"What a bad bad girl" Dieter chuckles darkly, "wanna hear you take your well deserved punishment. And don't worry, we're far away so you can scream my name as loud as you need to, doll"

He wastes no time in giving you such, pulling down the hem of your panties until they fall down to the trailer's floor. Before him, the best sight ever revealed to men: your sticky mess of a pussy. Dieter grabs onto your thighs, spreading them slowly as he leaves a trail of kisses on the inside, his beard and fluffy hair creating tickles. He then licks the folds of your moisty entrance. When you move, you hear him tut. "Be a good girl, yeah? Stay still" and now his hands hold your thighs, keeping them in place as the rings fig in your skin. His tongue hits your sensitive folds just right, making a series of sounds leave your lips. So addicting, he thinks.

"I-I'll be a good girl" you whine, "just please. Don't stop"

Your toes curl and you begin to see stars. You're surprised he's quite compliant, adding extra pressure with his tongue, slurping on your juices with a sound so obscene, even your dirty horny mind hadn't been capable of picturing. But here he was, Dieter fucking Bravo: the reason you started writing steamy scenes and agreed to do them for this project he was starring in, him always in your mind, now eating your pussy like a starved man inside the walls of his trailer.

Your mind turns into goo and your body into a sensitive mess. Your legs start to shake, clench up and tremble, leaving you a moaning mess. You weren't going to pull away, and Dieter seemed to like that feisty side of yours, yet his hold didn't loose a bit. His index and middle finger leave your red clit and slide into your soaked nub, his thumb now doing the work on it.

"That's right, baby. Tell Dieter how much you love his fingers inside of you, you cock hungry slut"

You come all over his hand, legs tensing up as you tug his messy curls into your now tight-white fists.

"I said talk" he now grabs your hair, pulling your face closer. "Gonna be ungrateful, when I just gave you the best orgasm of your life? Say it, brat"

"Thank you, Mr. Bravo" you pant out, still recovering from the high.

That makes it two discoveries as of now:

You weren't wrong when you wrote those scenes picturing him

Dieter lived up to his reputation, because that is indeed, the best orgasm of your life

You won't stroke his ego, though. And he doesn't need it either, as he's calling you good girl while leaving love bites all over your neck. "Mine" he hisses, and you let yourself believe it for a while.

"We done, sweetheart?" you shake your head. "That's right, research has just began. Bet you want my rock hard dick inside of you now"

You whine, and he leans closer. "Why do I even ask? Gonna give you my cock for you to take like the little whore you are"

You slid your hand into his pair of briefs, giving his cock a few strokes.

"See? such a hungry girl" he seethes. "Who gave you permission, you fucking brat?"

A sting spreads across your bare clit, making you moan. That's not what you had in mind, but it's embarrassing how turned on it's making you. Well, you have some certainly interesting ideas for what to write next.

"Answer me" his tone is demanding, his large palm delivering another harsh slap to your cunt.

"N-no one"

"How do we say, then? Be a good girl and show me your manners"

"P-please!" you mewl, soon feeling his tongue soothing the pain.

"So you do know how to be a good girl" Dieter praises, pressing a light kiss to your puffy folds. "Now, where were we?"

He frees his pulsating member from the confines of the underwear, revealing his throbbing cock, ready to rub it against your folds. A little whine left your lips as he kept rocking his hips back and forth.

"Talking back to me before, where is that girl gone? All I see is a hungry slut, ready to take my cock like the little good girl she is"

Dieter pushes his tip further enough to be at the entrance of your burning hole, and you whine in frustration and need, that attitude he teases you with, long gone. All you want is him to fuck you.

"That's right, beg like the fucking whore you are"

"Just fill me up with your thick cum and fuck me until I won't be able to stand up"

"Dangerous game you playin', doll" but his expression is all hunger and no warning.

"Just fuck me" you spit. "I'm yours. Use me"

That seems to do the trick.

"Good girl" and Dieter fully pushes himself inside of you, he abuses your clit, entering him fully inside of you over and over again, not even giving you time to adjust to his girth; surprinsgly (or not), you liked it rough. His wet kisses become sloppier and rushed, landing on your lips, corners of your mouth, jaw and neck. A string of drool is on his as he pulls them out, rather prefering to hear the sounds you drowned against his lips on full volume. His hands grab you by your hips while his buck back a forth in a rough pace. Surpringsly, Dieter remembers his promise, your body caged by his bigger frame as he fucks you on the counter, feeling the swell of his belly against your lower abdomen. He pushes hard, his heavier weight making your back start to ache against the cold metal, the wall behind you digging painfully on your skin. But doesn't it feel so good?

"So fucking good" he groans, his forehead pressed against yours, breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he stares intensely into your eyes, "so tight"

You grab onto his back as he stretches you out, his pace speeding up. You moan against his ear as your nails dig further into his back with every thrust, saying his name. You come closer to your orgasm as he hits the right spot over and over again.

"Fuck... the way you beg for it, like a needy little slut. It's so fucking hot" Dieter wraps his hand around your throat, his thumb pressing lightly against your pulse point. "I'm going to ruin you, doll. Gonna fuck you so hard that you'll forget your own fucking name" his voice is a low, guttural growl, filled with a raw, animalistic desire. "All you'll know is the feeling of my cock splitting you open, claiming you"

His words and movements edge you close, sweat dripping and clinging uncomfortably to your skin due to the reduced space.

"I-I'm close again"

"But you better come with me, spoiled little girl. Ain't doin' it alone after all I've done for you" he groans, his thrusts becoming more and more aggressive.

Your walls clench against his soaked dick, his pace suddenly slowing as his cum fills your hole, coating your walls.

"F-fuck"

You try to even your breaths as he rests his head on your shoulder, bodies pressed together.

"So, was I of help?"

You chuckle at his attempt for small talk.

"You did good, Dieter. Mission accomplished"

"Right" he sounds a bit dissapointed, making the corners of your lips raise. "Well, If you ever need a helping hand" he wiggles his brows, "you know were to find me"

"I do" you press a brief kiss to his lips. "As a matter of fact, you can also tell me when you need my helping hand" said hand travels down, feeling his dick hard again. The sight alone makes you drool. "What'd you say, cowboy? Up for analyzing the collected data? We didn't even try with your nose"

"I knew it was mine!"

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas

[sweetblinginrose]

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖗,

(OS Eddie Munson x fem!reader geek)

summary: Rival Dungeons and Dragons reader who has a tournament and ends up without clothes. Oops…

word count: 6,6k +

warnings: obv +18, rivalry, unprotected sex, asphyxiation, bad language, cumming inside, female masturbation, culilingus.

a/n: hey lol, i wrote this half asleep so idk how it turned out, i'll see if it's any good or not later, so if there is something wrongly translated or that you don't find makes sense, pls let me know, hugs!

oh and don't copy my idea, it's my own huh 🦄

masterlist

part 2 !!

━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━

The Sith Order.

All the members of the Hellfire Club and your group, The Sith Order, maintained a cordial and mutually respectful relationship, with the exception of the tense rivalry between you and the opposing leader, the insufferable Eddie. You hated him so much, especially now that you had bet your grand dice, which your brother had given you as a gift.

The abandoned cabin loomed like a shadow among the trees of the forest, a forgotten refuge that now housed your group of friends and your imaginary adventures. Inside, the air was filled with a smell of dampness and earth, a constant reminder of nature reclaiming its space. The once cozy and lived-in furniture was now covered in a layer of dust and cobwebs that wove complex patterns in every corner.

The sofa, your throne, was worn out, with upholstery torn in several places, revealing the crumbling yellowed foam at the touch. Dark stains of time adorned the fabric, and every time you moved, a cloud of dust rose like a sigh from the cabin itself. Sitting there, on your stomach, with a furrowed brow and crossed arms, you couldn't help but feel the rough and cold texture of the sofa against your skin, a reminder of your recent defeat in the game.

Around you, the tables wobbled on uneven legs, their surfaces scratched and marked with circles from past glasses. The faded and torn curtains hung sadly from the windows, allowing dim light to filter in and illuminate the dust particles in the air. The floor creaked under the weight of footsteps, and each floorboard seemed to tell a story of abandonment.

In this space, time seemed to have stopped, and every object told the story of a better past now eclipsed by neglect and desolation.

You felt as if a storm was brewing inside you, a mixture of frustration and challenge that consumed you as you sat on the sofa. The defeat in the friendly game was a thorn in your pride, a small battle lost in a war that seemed to extend beyond the game of dragons and dungeons. The rivalry with the Hellfire Club and its leader, Eddie, was the real dragon to be defeated, and every thought of him fueled the flames of your resentment.

Eddie, with his arrogant smile and his ability to bring out the best in his players, had become the antagonist not only in the game, but in your mind and life. You imagined him, with his tousled hair and carefree attitude, as the perfect villain for your campaign, one who seemed to enjoy every time his group came out victorious. The idea that he might consider your defeat as a point in his favor was unbearable.

While your friends continued with the campaign, laughing, stressed, focused, and rolling dice, you immersed yourself in your thoughts, planning your next move. It was not just a matter of winning a game; it was a matter of honor, of proving that your group could overcome any challenge, even the infamous Hellfire Club. Determination began to replace frustration, and although you still felt the bitterness of defeat, there was now a new goal on the horizon: to defeat Eddie and prove that your group was the best in the fantasy game.

But... were you really prepared for tonight?

...

Eddie, with a sly smile and a spark of malice in his eyes, steps forward to greet you in the lair of the Hellfire Club, the basement of the institute, the setting of countless campaigns and now the battlefield of your latest challenge. As the girls from your club gather in the space, filled with detailed maps and meticulously painted character figures, Eddie focuses on you, his most formidable rival.

"Welcome, oh great 'Mialee!'" he exclaims with an exaggeratedly theatrical and ironic tone, making a reference to the elven mage character to underline his mockery. "I hope your spells are as sharp as your tongue this time, and that your strategies are less predictable than your expressions of defeat."

You can feel the gaze of the others on you, some with complicit smiles and others with cautious curiosity. Eddie continues, not missing the opportunity to poke at your pride: "I hope you brought your Dragon Crystal Die, because something tells me you're going to need all the luck you can get."

The lair resonates with the stifled laughter of the club members, and although you know that Eddie's words are part of the rivalry game, you also feel that each joke is a challenge to your skill and determination. With a firm gaze and unwavering resolve, you prepare to show that this battle will be different, that this time, Eddie will be the one left speechless at the end of the night.

"You are living proof that not everything that glitters in a treasure is gold, and in your case, it's not even copper," you say, challenging him as you look him in the eyes. With a confidence that resonates in every word, you confront Eddie, your eyes shining with the reflection of the candles that illuminate the basement. "I hope you haven't forgotten your part of the bet, Eddie," you say with a firm and clear voice that cuts through the tension in the room. "That Orb of Entwined Destinies you so proudly show off will be mine before the moon reaches its zenith."

The Orb of Entwined Destinies was a perfect sphere of dark crystal, with a core that seemed to contain a miniature nebula, ever-changing and slowly rotating. It was more than just an object for Eddie; it was a symbol of his ability to manipulate probabilities and destiny within the game.

The mention of the orb makes Eddie's smile falter for a moment, a crack in his facade of confidence. You know you have hit a sensitive point, reminding him that you are not the only one with something valuable at stake. "Get ready, Eddie," you continue, "because when I'm done with you and the Hellfire Club, that orb will be the trophy of The Sith Order, and your luck will change forever," you spit, leaving the boys dumbfounded, unlike his group of friends, as they were used to this kind of speech.

Lucas, with a carefree smile and a tone bordering on disbelief, tries to lighten the atmosphere that has built up in the room. "Come on, guys, don't you realize? It's just a dumb bet, right? There's no need to turn this into an epic battle or something..." he comments, his voice a thread of sanity in the tapestry of rivalry unfolding before him.

However, his attempt to lighten the mood is quickly quashed by a severe look from both leaders, who in a rare moment of unity gesture to him with a stern gesture and an almost synchronized "Shh!" The seriousness of their bet is not something they are willing to downplay, even with Lucas' playful interjection.

The battle between The Sith Order and the Hellfire Club unfolds in a fantasy world woven with the magic of dragons and dungeons, but the tension is as real as the beating hearts of the players. The room, illuminated by the flickering light of the candles, has transformed into an epic battlefield where each roll of the dice resonates like the clash of swords.

The Sith Order bravely faces the challenges posed by Eddie and his Hellfire Club. The dice roll on the table like distant thunder, dictating the fate of heroes and villains alike. You, The Sith Order, with characters ranging from cunning rogues to powerful sorceresses, maneuver through traps and puzzles that Eddie has crafted with malicious skill. The battle intensifies, with each strategic move and each spell cast adding layers to the unfolding narrative. Your characters fight hordes of infernal creatures, cross dark abysses, and decipher ancient codices to unravel the secrets that will lead them to victory.

As the night progresses, a tie seems imminent. The Hellfire Club has countered every attack, every plan, with a precision bordering on the supernatural. But you, with your leading character, are not willing to give up. With a mix of cunning and a bit of luck, you roll the dice for one last masterful play. Silence fills the room as the dice roll, dancing on the edge of the abyss between victory and defeat. Finally, they settle, and the numbers they show are the harbinger of a tide change. Your play has been successful, overcoming the defenses of the Hellfire Club and securing an unexpected triumph.

Eddie, with a look of genuine astonishment, acknowledges the victory of The Sith Order, albeit reluctantly. You, with a smile of satisfaction, accept the Orb of Entwined Destinies, now rightfully yours.

Amidst the euphoria of victory, one of the girls from your group, with a contagious smile and an overflowing energy, suggests an idea that captures everyone's attention. "How about we celebrate with some pizzas? It would be great to relax and enjoy the moment," she says enthusiastically.

The idea is met with a mix of nods and smiles. It is a comfortable and familiar proposition, a perfect way to lower the intensity of the night and simply enjoy each other's company. Everyone, except you and Eddie, seems to agree. The tension of the battle still clings to you, and the idea of sharing a table with Eddie and his club, even in a neutral and friendly environment, is something that you find hard to accept, just like Eddie.

However, aware that rejecting the offer could be seen as poor sportsmanship, both of you reluctantly agree with a gesture of resignation. "Fine, but only because I'm hungry," you murmur, trying to hide your reluctance behind a practical excuse. Eddie nods silently, his serious expression revealing his reluctant agreement.

And so, with victory still fresh and emotions running high, the group sets off to share a meal that promises to be as full of flavor as it is of interesting dynamics.

The night has slipped into a soft twilight when everyone, now relieved of the tension of the game, finds themselves in Eddie's van. The space is filled with laughter and the sound of bottles clinking together. "Cheers!" the group shouts for the sixth time, raising their beers in the air in a toast that has become a ritual.

Eddie's van, with its worn seats, stickers, dirt, and windows displaying the world passing by at high speed, has become a temporary sanctuary of camaraderie. With each new "Cheers!", the barriers between The Sith Order and the Hellfire Club seem to dissolve a little more, erased by the alcohol and the shared joy. Or so it seems...

Eddie's van snakes along the road, a lonely path flanked by the silhouette of trees gently swaying under the starry sky. In the front seats, silence between Eddie and you is a marked contrast to the bustle that reigns in the back, where the rest of the group sings enthusiastically game anthems, interspersed with laughter and the sound of opening beers.

You, with crossed legs and a beer can resting in your hands, get lost in contemplation of the nature that unfolds before your eyes. The moonlight bathes the landscape, transforming each tree and bush into dancing shadows that play hide and seek with each turn of the road.

Eddie, with his attention focused on the road, drives with a slowness that seems to respect the shared silence. His profile stands out against the occasional glow of distant street lamps, and although you are together in the cabin, an abyss of unspoken words stretches between you.

"Hey..." Eddie's voice breaks the silence, a word hanging in the air that seems to wait for permission to continue. He does not look away from the road, as if fearing that a moment of distraction could reveal more than he intends.

You turn your head towards him, an eyebrow arched in a mixture of surprise and curiosity. It is strange, this attempt at conversation. Outside the game, words between you have been as scarce as leaves in winter. You have never crossed more than strategies and challenges, and now, this attempt at dialogue seems as out of place as a barbarian in a library.

The tension between you is palpable, a taut thread that is woven with each kilometer the van devours. What words will follow that "hey"? Will it be an attempt at a truce, or perhaps the prelude to another challenge? Time seems to stand still as you wait for Eddie to continue, and in that moment, the van is not just a moving vehicle, but a space where two rivals might, just maybe, begin to see each other as something more.

"No... no, nothing. Forget it..." he murmurs softly, not taking his eyes off the road, but now looking more tense, sighing.

You decide not to insist, but this time not averting your gaze from those long locks, but discreetly examining them for some kind of response.

Eddie's van glides to a smooth stop in front of a caravan. As he turns off the engine, Eddie's expression transforms. The seriousness that marked his face during the journey gives way to a genuine smile, an open invitation to continue the night in a space that is as much a part of him as the game they both love. "Come on, guys! The party continues at my place!" he exclaims with enthusiasm, his voice resonating with the promise of more laughter and memories to be created. "We can drink as much as we want, and if anyone's interested, there's weed too. My uncle works nights, so we have the place to ourselves."

Friends and friends respond with a chorus of approval, their stumbling steps and complicit smiles sealing the tacit agreement to extend the celebration. One by one, they enter the caravan, a cozy space illuminated by dim lights and adorned with mementos from trips and caps. A bit messy, but cozy.

You, with a mix of caution and curiosity, are the last to cross the threshold. Your eyes meet Eddie's, and for a moment, the outside world fades away. Eddie closes the door behind you, a simple gesture but loaded with meaning. You stand there, still, remembering the unfinished conversation, the words that Eddie left hanging in the air.

Feeling the weight of the night and the looks charged with unanswered questions, you decide to join the group that has settled in the caravan. You grab a few more beers, your hand brushing against the cold surface of the can, and sit at one end of the narrow sofa from where you can observe the scene. Eddie, on the other hand, seems different tonight. The usual arrogance that characterizes him has given way to an unusual stillness, almost reflective. Was defeat the cause of this change? Or was there something deeper behind his silence?

With each passing minute, glances between you meet like swords in a silent duel, full of questions that neither of you dares to voice aloud. After an hour of this game of looks, you feel the need to escape, if only for a moment, from the intensity of the atmosphere.

"Where is the bathroom?" you ask, your voice strangely formal in the relaxed atmosphere. Eddie points to a small hallway at the back, and you get up, navigating the space filled with laughter and conversations until you reach the bathroom.

Inside, you find yourself facing the mirror, your reflection returning an image of someone who seems to be on the border between two worlds. You wet the back of your neck, not wanting to ruin your makeup, and step out, feeling refreshed but still restless.

As you pass through the narrow exit of the bathroom, you collide with the partially open door of Eddie's room, and curiosity gets the better of you. You discreetly peek inside, your eyes scanning the space that is so intimately his. The room is adorned with posters of rock bands, metal, clothes everywhere, magazines scattered on the floor, and action figures of fantasy heroes, a mix of passions that reveal facets of Eddie that you had never considered. On the bed lies an open diary with scribbles and handwritten notes.

Eddie, with his carefree smile, leans against the doorframe, watching you with curiosity as you try to process the mess. "What are you doing here?" he repeats, his voice gentle but clearly amused by your confused expression. The scent of marijuana is evident, and his eyes, although red, gleam with a mischievous spark. He seems not to mind in the least your presence in his personal sanctuary. You feel like an intruder in an unknown world, every object in the room telling a story that only Eddie knows. However, he, with that calm bordering on indifference, gestures for you to enter. "Come, I'll show you my collection," he says casually, and suddenly, the place transforms. What was chaos before now seems like an art gallery, each hanging T-shirt, each vinyl, and each magazine clipping is a piece of his identity. He guides you through his space, narrating anecdotes of concerts and trips, his voice a thread weaving a tapestry of lived experiences.

The initial embarrassment fades away, replaced by fascination at discovering the depth of Eddie's personality. And as he shares his world with you, the messy room becomes a map of his personal universe, a place that, despite the disorder, now makes sense.

As you survey the room with your gaze, something catches your attention and takes your breath away: a proudly displayed B.C. Rich guitar hanging on the wall.

It is a red and shiny beauty, with its aggressive shapes and air of mystery, a piece that any metal lover would desire. Your heart beats with excitement, not only because of the surprise of finding such a treasure in Eddie's room, but because metal is your passion, one of the many things you have in common with Eddie without even knowing it, a detail he is unaware of.

He notices your excitement and, with a mischievous smile, takes down the guitar and hands it to you. "It's all yours, at least for now," he says with a wink. You hold it in your hands with reverence, feeling the weight of the wood and the coldness of the metal.

With shyness but moved by the emotion, you ask Eddie to play something. He shrugs, regretting the lack of an amplifier, but he is not discouraged. With a mischievous smile, he starts "playing" the guitar silently, mimicking the sounds with his mouth. It's a parody, but there is something about his attitude that invites you to play along.

"Come on, guess which song this is," he challenges you, as he moves his fingers in the air and imaginary sounds of a song fill the room. You concentrate, trying to follow the rhythm and melody that Eddie creates. The silent notes seem to come to life, and suddenly, you recognize it. It's 'Time Is Right' by Whitesnake.

Laughter fills the room as you guess it, and Eddie nods approvingly. "I knew you were one of mine, babe," he says, and in that moment, the guitar is not just an instrument, but a bridge between two souls who share a hidden passion for metal and many other things.

A blush creeps up your cheeks, an unexpected warmth that takes you by surprise. The word "babe" resonates in your ears, a term so casual and yet, loaded with an intimacy you did not expect. It feels as if you are inside the pages of one of those erotic books your mother used to read in secret, where the protagonists, initially at odds, end up wrapped in a story of love and rough sex.

Eddie's gaze has become more intense, his eyes no longer just reflecting the reddish glow of a pot smoker, but also a different glow, deeper, provoked by your presence. There is something about the way he looks at you that makes you feel like you are the only person in the world at that moment, but at the same time, as if he is undressing you.

You find yourself returning his gaze, unable to look away from his eyes. There is a connection, an unspoken understanding that seems to transcend words. And while a part of you wants to laugh at the situation, at how absurd it is to feel like a character in a pornographic novel, you cannot deny the electricity in the air, that spicy tension that hangs between the two of you.

Eddie takes a step towards you, his proximity overwhelming, and although he does not say anything more, he doesn't need to. Words are unnecessary when the looks speak for themselves. And in that instant, in that messy room that smells of marijuana and freedom, you understand that sometimes, real life can be as surprising and exciting as the stories hidden within the pages of a book.

After that moment, the room seems smaller, as if the walls had closed in to witness the silence shared between you. You decide to break the tension with a nervous smile and a change of subject. "Hey... what did you want to ask me before, you know, in the van?" you ask, stuttering slightly as you feel Eddie's scent filling your nostrils.

Eddie leaned against the threshold of the door, just inches away, watching your lips adorned with an intense crimson and your lined eyes attentively. "Ah, that..." he wondered, feigning forgetfulness. "I think I wanted to say something about Dungeons and Dragons, right?" he inquired with irony, biting his lip as he laughed and crossed his arms.

None of this compared to the fantasies you had with Eddie. Let's admit it, you had imagined countless similar scenarios, all related to the game and its protagonist, Eddie. You had wished for him to touch you in the same way he caresses his guitar. You wanted to be that fucking guitar.

"I don't think I want to talk about that right now..." you whispered, slowly moving closer to Eddie, who raised an eyebrow and smiled widely, catching your hint.

"Well then, if you don't want to listen to me, why don't you shut me up?" he whispered near your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. He grabbed your belt, holding your short denim skirt, forcing you to be pressed against him. "I said, why don't you shut me up..."

Eddie played dirty even outside of his character. He wanted you to take the initiative, perhaps to mock you or further feed his ego, but you wouldn't allow that to happen. With confidence, you ran your tongue over your lips and approached his neck, whispering, "I don't plan on silencing you. I enjoy listening to you and narrating each campaign..." This excited him, caressing your shoulder and getting closer, causing your breasts to press against him, eliciting a reaction in his groin. "Then, shut me up. I know you've wanted to since you met me," you whispered, trying to provoke him, with some success.

He responded by pushing you against the wall, trapping you between it and his body, placing his thigh between yours and gripping your waist tightly, feeling the coldness of his rings against your bare skin. "What I've wanted since I met you is to fuck you on the Harken map, so that your screams scare away the undead lurking there..." he muttered with a deep voice, softly kissing your collarbone, causing a sigh to escape your lips. With captivating slowness, Eddie guides his lips to yours, each movement deliberate and filled with anticipation. When they finally meet, the kiss is like an explosion of fire, burning and passionate. His lips sink into yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless, and his tongue boldly slides in to explore every corner of your mouth from the very first moment.

As your lips entwine in a sensual dance, his hands find your breasts with a firmness that surprises and excites you at the same time. The pressure of his hands cupping your breasts sends a wave of pleasure through your body, making you involuntarily shudder at the intense and unfamiliar sensation. You never expected this reaction, but you find yourself completely captivated by the desire that Eddie awakens in you, leaving you craving more of his passionate touch.

Eddie suddenly stops, his fingers noticing the absence of the bra he expected to find. A mischievous spark shines in his eyes as he looks at you with a mixture of surprise and desire. With a naughty smile on his lips, he whispers in your ear in a seductive tone, "Wow, looks like the girl comes with nothing...," murmuring with a hoarse voice, his warm breath sending shivers down your naked skin. His comment, though bold, is imbued with an irresistible sensuality that makes you blush and feel even more drawn to him. It feels like you're in a scene taken straight from one of those forbidden novels your mother used to find in the library, but this time, you're the protagonist, enveloped in the heat of shared desire with Eddie.

With expert dexterity, Eddie deepens the kiss, intensifying each brush of his lips against yours. As his tongue explores yours with unrestrained passion, his thigh slides and exerts pressure between yours, finding its way under your denim skirt, lifting it almost completely, hitting just that sensitive spot that makes your whole body react instantly.

"Mhmmm..." an involuntary moan escapes your lips as you feel the perfectly placed pressure of his thigh against you, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You feel the need to ride that leg. You were very wet at that moment, so the touch was making you even wetter.

He moves it with precision between yours, creating a delicious friction that awakens sensations that make you gasp against his lips. Each movement is calculated, designed to provoke maximum pleasure, as his thigh finds that sensitive spot on your body, sending waves of excitement through you.

"You've got me so hard..." with a throaty whisper, he makes you aware of the effect you have on him, sending a thrill of excitement down your spine. His warm breath against your lips only increases the intensity of the moment. You feel your heart pounding hard as you let yourself be carried away by the passion swirling around you. Then, with seductive skill, he leans slightly down, his strong hands gripping the bottom of your thighs to open you up and wrap around his waist. The change in position allows his bulge to press directly against your underwear, which is exposed by the previous lifting of your skirt. A wave of desire surges through your being as you feel his prominence brushing directly against your sensitive and swollen clit, sending sparks of pleasure that seem to electrify every fiber of your being.

The movements of his hips are precise and deliberate, each delicious brush torturous while engulfing you deeper into the abyss of pleasure. The sounds of your ragged breathing blend with the seductive whispers and soft moans escaping between hot kisses. You are completely at the mercy of the passion Eddie unleashes in you, lost in the whirlwind of overwhelming sensations that threaten to consume you completely.

The barely contained moan escapes your lips between kisses as you feel Eddie's gentle hip movement, a movement that sends you soaring to the heights of pleasure. Still with your thighs tightly wrapped around his hips, you give in to a wild and passionate kiss, with an intensity that defies any limit.

The kiss becomes a whirlwind of unabated passion, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly as you let yourself be carried away by the overwhelming sensations. Amidst the heat of the moment, you feel Eddie release one of your legs, changing the dynamics of the position and making you feel his bulge even more. Now, in this new position, the contact with his clothed cock is even more evident, causing you to instinctively arch your hips towards him, seeking more contact, more friction. You feel his hands grip your buttocks firmly, aggressively pressing you against his jeans, as if he is eager to feel you even closer.

The brushes and hip movements become increasingly intense, a symphony of pleasure that seems to have no end. You are completely immersed in the moment.

"Mmhm... fuck..." Between moans escaping your lips, accompanied by the sensual movements of your hips, Eddie suddenly stops, only to turn off the bedroom light and then guides you, still with your body on top of his, to his disheveled bed. He places you on your back on the tousled sheets, and positions himself above you, burning desire reflected in his gaze as he begins to explore your neck with hot kisses and licks. Each touch of his tongue against your skin awakens an electric sensation that makes you tremble with pleasure. His expert hands play with your nipples from inside your top, squeezing and teasing them while his thighs continue to exert delicious pressure on your intimate area, making you gasp with each movement, holding onto his back.

Slowly, your rival moves down your body with controlled impatience, licking and kissing your abdomen eagerly before quickly lifting your top and leaving you exposed before him. His lips find your breasts, and he kisses and licks them with devotion, as if they are the most delicious thing he has ever tasted. His long hair sometimes gets tangled in his face, but when you start gently tugging on it for pleasure, he moves away, leaving behind an incredibly enticing scene that makes you arch your hips forward instinctively.

While Eddie continues to lavish attention on your breasts, his hands begin to explore above your underwear with his ring finger, stroking gently from top to bottom. "Do you like it like this?" he asks between kisses and licks, asking you with a husky voice if you're enjoying yourself, establishing an intimate and desire-filled dialogue that only increases the sexual tension between you. "Or is it better like this?" he increases the speed of his touch.

Your silence prompts Eddie to grab your chin firmly, his fingers exerting a dominant and sexual pressure as he forces you to look into his eyes. When you finally respond to his question with an intense gaze, he slowly releases you, going back down to give attention to your body. His lips find your panties, and he kisses and licks them eagerly, soaking them with his saliva mixed with your own excited wetness.

With precise and deliberate movements, Eddie slowly pulls down your panties, placing soft kisses on your inner thigh as he slides them down your legs. Once he has removed your panties, his eyes meet your exposed, naked, and wet pussy, and he can't help but feel his cock throbbing with an unprecedented intensity, eager to satisfy the burning desire between them. You feel incredibly exposed under his heated gaze, but Eddie sees you as a work of art, a sight that excites him to the limit. Without wasting time, Eddie gives you a generic lick to your wet pussy, spreading your lips with his fingers to access your exposed clit directly. An overwhelming moan escapes your lips at the wave of pleasure that courses through your body, but Eddie quickly covers your mouth, whispering that you can't moan to avoid being heard in the common area where the others are.

With a mischievous smile on his face, Eddie realizes that the loud music has concealed any sound that would have revealed their activities in the bedroom. With your mouth still covered, he delves into the task with renewed eagerness, licking and sucking your clit with an intensity that makes your body arch in response. Each suck and each lick sends waves of pleasure through you, taking you to the edge of ecstasy over and over again. Your hips move instinctively in response to the overwhelming pleasure, but Eddie firmly controls them, maintaining a rhythm that takes you closer and closer to the precipice of pleasure. With an expert hand, he begins caressing your abdomen, slowly descending until reaching your clit, parting his mouth for a moment to touch it with his fingers before inserting two of them without any prior preparation.

The sudden stimulus causes your eyes to roll back, and your thighs tighten with force from the pleasure that overwhelms you, arching your back and moving your hips towards the direction of the long-haired person. In a short time, Eddie goes back to action, losing himself between your thighs as he continues moving his fingers with unwavering determination.

He continues like this for a few minutes, not stopping for a moment, until you feel that you're about to reach climax. You grab his hair with incredible strength, almost burying your fingers in its roots, urging him to continue, feeling like you're about to burst in his mouth. But just as you're on the edge of orgasm, he pulls away from you, leaving a thread of saliva mixed with your wetness as a separation between his mouth and your pussy, leaving you in a state of uncontrollable anticipation and desire.

Eddie, eager to satisfy his burning desire, hastily fumbles with his zipper and unleashes his erect cock, ready for action. Eddie's cock, although of average size, has a peculiarity that sets it apart: a curved shape that gives it a unique and distinctive appearance. Its thickness is notable, and the veins that run along its length add texture to its look. The skin that covers it has a pink tone, with a reddish hue indicating the excitement that engulfs it. A slightly glistening liquid adorns its tip. It is an image that reflects virility and desire, a promise of intense pleasure about to be unleashed.

"How does this look, huh?" he moves it, noticeably sensitive, gently rubbing it against your clit, giving you a mischievous look as if he's playing a game with you. Without warning, after lightly masturbating it, he quickly and decisively inserts it into you, completely surprising you and leaving you breathless. "Mhmmm..." he sighs deeply, as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, arching his head backward. From the very first second, he begins to thrust into you with a dizzying rhythm, penetrating you deeply over and over again. You are overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure that engulfs you, unable to articulate a single word as you completely surrender to the wild thrusts of the guy. Each thrust hits your insides with overpowering force, sending waves of ecstasy through your body.

Despite the initial discomfort from the lack of preparation, you find yourself immersed in a whirlwind of sensations that make you lose track of time and space.

You writhe under him, unable to hold back the moans that escape your lips as you completely surrender to the frenzied pleasure that consumes you. Although it hurts, you can't help but enjoy every thrust, every touch of his skin against yours ignites a burning fire inside you.

He grabs you by the neck with a firm but dominant hand, stopping any sound that could escape your lips. His warm breath brushes against your ear as he whispers with a husky and authoritative voice, "Shut up." The words, loaded with desire and determination, send a shiver down your spine, leaving you breathless and obedient to his command. You are completely surrendered to him, unable to do anything but obey his orders as you let yourself be carried away by the frenzied passion that burns between you. The orgasm that you had almost experienced less than a minute ago begins to resonate through your body again, but the intensity of Eddie's thrusts makes you feel like you're on the verge of a great climax. You are completely overwhelmed by the avalanche of sensations that envelop you, unable to resist the tide of pleasure that drags you into an endless abyss of ecstasy. Your increasingly intense and uncontrolled moans blend with the background music, creating a symphony of pleasure and ecstasy that fills the room. Eddie, releasing his hand from your neck, begins to hit your thigh and butt with a mixture of desire and unbridled passion. As he continues to thrust into you with force, his lascivious words fill the air, whispering in your ear with a deep and seductive voice.

He tells you how much he has wanted to fuck that pussy of yours, expressing his most intimate desires with an exciting crudeness that makes you shiver with pleasure. He calls you a slut with a tone of desire and adoration, celebrating your sexuality and the way you grip his cock with every thrust. Those words, charged with lust and desire, only increase the intensity of the moment, pushing you closer to climax with each word that comes out of his mouth.

You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge, every thrust of Eddie sending waves of pleasure through your body. He perceives it too, thanks to the way your pussy grips his cock, and he lets out a guttural grunt of satisfaction. You're on the edge of the abyss, about to let the ecstasy completely envelop you, while Eddie's lascivious moans and words push you towards the most glorious climax you've ever experienced

You feel the ecstasy completely enveloping you, a overwhelming wave of pleasure that shakes you to your core. Your walls contract tightly around Eddie's cock, squeezing with an intensity that makes him moan with pleasure. "Damn, you're so tight..."

Your body trembles uncontrollably, your eyes rolling back in your head as a guttural groan escapes from your lips, louder and more heartbreaking than ever before.

However, before you can fully recover from your orgasm, Eddie aggressively grabs you by the throat again, his expression a wild mix of concentration, excitement, and a hint of anger. With notable abruptness, he continues fucking with a renewed ferocity, as if taking revenge for something, but this time he has absolute control. The sensation of being taken with such force awakens a wild fire inside you, a overflowing passion that mixes with pain and pleasure in a symphony of indescribable sensations. You are completely immersed in the erotic game between you and Eddie, each thrust taking you further into the abyss of shared desire.

Thegame is now tied, each one taking the lead at different moments. You feel Eddie moaning with an unusual intensity, sensing that he's about to reach climax. You want to warn him not to come inside, but your throat is blocked by Eddie's firm hand, keeping you from articulating any words. A slight shiver runs through his body when he perceives your attempt to communicate your desire, but it's too late.

With a few final shaky thrusts, Eddie gives in to the avalanche of pleasure, releasing his hot and trembling liquid inside you. You accept his release without reserve, watching Eddie's expression as he does so. His face shows an unusual vulnerability, with arched eyebrows and a lost look somewhere in the room. His slightly parted lips release his moans of pleasure, and his hands grip your hips tightly, as if clinging to you for support.

After Eddie releases his liquid inside you, he slowly retreats and lies down by your side. Both of you remain staring at the ceiling, and suddenly, a nervous and uncontrollable laughter overwhelms you. Eddie looks at you strangely and asks what's happening. Between laughs, you respond that you just imagined that all of this was one of his campaigns, a kind of joke or experiment designed to test your limits and reactions. The surprise on Eddie's face turns into a knowing smile when he realizes that you have disarmed the tension of the moment with your humorous comment. Both of you give in to laughter, releasing the accumulated tension and sharing a moment of complicity after the unrestrained passion you just experienced together. It's an unexpected and light ending to an intimate and passionate encounter.

[suunani]

pieces of myself ( hwang intak )

▍ intak reminds you that you’re enough as you are.

content: 1600 words, male reader, added member!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, boyfriend!intak, reader is having a breakdown, intak is the biggest sweetheart.

the dressing room was colder than usual.

the harsh overhead lights flickered softly, casting long, silent shadows across the space.

it felt like time was moving in slow motion. your breath coming out in shallow, uneven gasps as you sat at the vanity, staring at your reflection in the mirror.

you had just finished another successful concert with the boys, another night of applause, screams, and flashing cameras. but all you could hear now, in the quiet aftermath, was the pounding in your chest.

the image staring back at you wasn't really you anymore.

the stage lights had dimmed, but the hollow feeling in your chest hadn't. you had spent hours perfecting that flawless image — perfect hair, perfect makeup, perfect posture. the boy the fans adored, the boy the company demanded you be.

but who was the real you?

who were you when the lights were off?

you had been suffocating for so long. the constant pressure, the weight of expectations from the fans, the industry, and — perhaps most of all — the pressure you put on yourself to meet them.

there were days when the smile you wore in front of the cameras felt like it was carved into your face, like a mask you couldn't remove. and every day, the weight of the mask felt heavier.

but today? today, it felt unbearable.

the knock on the door broke the silence, but you didn't move.

you didn't want to face anyone, least of all the one person who always made you feel like you were more than just the idol everyone expected you to be.

"y/n? are you in there?" it was intak, his voice low but filled with concern.

you swallowed, trying to steady your breath, trying to put on a face for him.

"yeah, i'm fine," you said quickly, the lie tasting bitter in your mouth.

you hadn't been fine for a while now, but saying it out loud made it feel real.

the door creaked open, and in he walked.

his eyes instantly fell on you. you hadn't even turned your face toward him, but the way he stood there, so still, so patient, told you everything you needed to know.

he had known something was wrong the moment you'd entered the building, and he hadn't stopped looking for you since. he'd noticed the way you'd withdrawn into yourself during the performance, the way your usual spark seemed dulled.

but intak wasn't the type to push when you weren't ready, so he waited. but now, seeing the emptiness in your eyes, he couldn't stand the silence anymore.

"y/n..." his voice was so soft, so full of empathy. "what's going on?"

you hated the way your throat closed at his words, how they made everything inside you feel more fragile, more exposed.

you had tried so hard to keep everything locked inside, but in front of him, it felt like it was all coming apart.

"i'm fine," you repeated, your voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

"no, you're not," intak stepped closer, his voice gentle but firm. "you don't have to keep pretending with me, y/n. please, talk to me. what's going on?"

you could feel your chest tightening, the familiar sensation of a breakdown creeping up.

but you held it back, like you always did.

you couldn't let him see you like this. you couldn't show him the weakness, the cracks in the perfect image you were supposed to embody.

"i just need a minute," you said, your voice strained, desperate to push him away so you wouldn't have to face the pain.

but intak wasn't backing off.

he knelt beside you, his expression softening as he reached out to touch your arm.

"it's okay. you don't have to do this alone. you're not weak, y/n. you're allowed to break sometimes. but you don't have to carry all of this on your own."

the words were like a bomb going off inside of you. the dam you had spent so long building finally cracked.

you didn't want to cry. you didn't want to fall apart in front of him, but the moment intak touched you, his warmth, his concern, the tears flooded out.

you couldn't stop them.

"i... i don't know what's wrong with me, intak," you whispered, voice breaking with the weight of all the fear you'd been holding in. "i'm supposed to be perfect. i'm supposed to be this idol that everyone looks up to, but i can't keep doing it anymore. i'm so tired. i'm just so... tired."

your body shook with the force of your sobs, the overwhelming exhaustion finally spilling over. you felt like you were suffocating under the pressure.

the company, the fans, the endless expectations. it all felt so far removed from who you were as a person. you had always done your best to keep up the image. smiling, laughing, always giving more than you thought you had.

but now? now you didn't even know who you were.

intak didn't say anything for a moment. he just sat there, quietly watching you, as if giving you the space to let it all out. his hand remained on your shoulder, his touch reassuring but gentle.

"you don't have to be perfect, y/n."

he finally whispered, his voice filled with such tenderness that it almost felt like he was trying to heal the broken pieces of you.

"you don't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. it's okay to be tired. it's okay to need a break. you're allowed to be human."

"i'm not perfect," you gasped through your sobs, shaking your head as though the words themselves physically hurt. "i'm so scared that one day i'm going to wake up and everything will come crashing down. what if they hate me? what if they don't love me for who i really am?"

intak's hand tightened on your shoulder, and you could feel the ache in his chest, too, as if hearing the depth of your pain hurt him just as much as it hurt you.

it was breaking him, but he wasn't going anywhere. he couldn't leave you like this.

"y/n, listen to me," he said softly, lifting your chin so that you had to look at him.

his eyes were filled with so much emotion that it made your heart ache.

"i don't care if you're perfect. i don't care about the image the company created for you or what anyone expects. you're enough. just as you are."

you shook your head, unable to accept his words. you didn't believe them.

not when you felt so far removed from the person everyone thought you were. the real you. the person that had been buried under layers of expectation. the person who didn't even know if they could go on pretending anymore.

"i'm not enough," you whispered, broken. "i'm not good enough for you. i'm not good enough for anyone."

you could feel your chest constricting again, the weight of your self-doubt pressing down on you like a vice.

intak's eyes filled with anguish, his face scrunching up with the emotion he couldn't hide. it physically hurt him to see you like this, to see the person he loved so much torn apart by invisible forces.

"y/n," he said, his voice shaking now. "you are more than enough. don't you get it? i'm not with you because of your image. i'm not with you because of the fans. i'm with you because i love you. the real you. the person who cares so much for others, the person who makes me laugh when i'm down, the person who gets frustrated with the smallest mistakes and pushes himself to do better. you're perfect in the way that matters. you're perfect to me."

his words, raw and sincere, were like a balm to the wound in your heart. but even as he spoke them, you couldn't fully believe them.

the weight of everything you were carrying felt too heavy. the fear that you weren't worthy of his love, the fear that one day everything would come crashing down, clouded your mind.

the pressure was suffocating.

"i don't know how to be that person anymore," you admitted, your voice barely audible. "i don't know who i am without all of this. without the image, the expectations. i don't even recognize myself anymore. i just feel so... lost."

intak's heart broke even further, and before you could say anything else, he pulled you into his arms.

it was a tight, protective hug, the kind that wrapped around you like a shield, like he would never let go. he buried his face in your hair, holding you as if he could absorb all of your pain and exhaustion into himself.

"i'm so sorry, y/n," he whispered, his voice breaking. "i never wanted you to feel like this. i just want you to be happy. i just want you to be okay."

and in that moment, all the walls you'd built around yourself, all the lies you'd told, started to crumble.

you felt his love, steady and unwavering, surrounding you. his warmth was the only thing that made the fear and exhaustion bearable.

"i'll help you," he said softly, pulling back just enough to kiss your forehead. "we'll figure this out together. you don't have to carry this weight alone. i'm here. i'm always here."

for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself lean into him completely.

the overwhelming flood of emotions left you raw and vulnerable, but with intak beside you, it didn't feel like the end. it felt like the beginning of something new.

maybe it wouldn't be easy. maybe you'd still have moments where the weight of everything felt unbearable. but for now, you didn't have to pretend anymore.

you weren't alone. and that was enough.

[chaosandcandies]

UNPLUGGED

CHAPTER XVIII: Anddd Cut!

trope: fem!9th skz member warnings: angst, drama, insecure oc, cyber bullying, slow burn pairings: hyunjinxfem!oc prev|next

EVERYONE AROUND ISEUL BUSTLED with an energy she couldn’t bring herself to match. Styling tools buzzed. Coats rustled. Staff whispered through headsets, voices sharp and clipped. But all Iseul could hear was the steady thud of her own heartbeat, loud and uneven, pulsing beneath her ribs.

She sat motionless, hands folded neatly in her lap. Her reflection stared back at her from the makeup mirror — flawless foundation, styled-but-casual updo, pink lips that didn’t feel like hers. Not a single crack showing.

Except for the flicker in her eyes.

“Three minutes, everyone,” someone called out.

Chan gave a quick nod without looking up from the iPad he’d been glued to for the last twenty minutes. His foot tapped nonstop against the floor — a steady, nervous rhythm that never seemed to break.

On the couch beside her, Felix was hunched over his phone, quietly scrolling through memes. Han talked too fast about absolutely nothing, his hands moving as if to fill the space his words couldn’t. Minho lay half-curled at the other end, a hand over his head like a blanket against the room’s static. Changbin bit into a granola bar with a loud crunch and wordlessly offered her the second half.

She shook her head.

“You’re going to do fine,” he mumbled through the bite, like it was fact — not reassurance.

Iseul didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

Hyunjin sat on the arm of the couch, sketching something with a focus Iseul envied. At some point, he looked up.

Their eyes met.

He smiled — small, quiet. Something between comforting and encouraging. It only made her chest tighten as her pulse picked up like a warning drumbeat.

There was a time, not long ago, when just making eye contact with Hyunjin made her want to scream.

Not from nerves — not at first. From frustration. From the sharp sting of how easily he’d kept his distance. The way he flinched around her in those early days like guilt was something contagious. How coldness had settled between them not like frost, but like silence — and silence always hurt more when it came from someone who knew how to speak.

But then came that night. His apology. Quiet. Unpolished. Real.

Something shifted after that.

It wasn’t forgiveness — not entirely. But it broke something open. The tension between them wasn’t pure frostbite anymore. It became something she couldn’t name. He stopped avoiding her gaze. She stopped flinching at his presence. They weren’t friends, not really. Not yet. But sometimes she caught him looking at her like he was trying to read a page he’d already memorized — hoping it had changed since last time.

And that look, the one he gave her now — soft, subtle, careful — that look messed with her more than the silence ever did.

She turned away first.

The nerves returned immediately, curling cold fingers around her spine.

This wasn’t a normal shoot. It was their first group interview since she’d debuted — since she’d been made official. The company had been careful with the wording. ‘Part of the family.’ ‘New chapter.’ ‘Stronger than ever.’ She’d been told what would be asked. Coached on what to say. Again and again.

Her eyes landed on the iPad resting on Chan’s lap, the notes still pulled up. She knew what they said. Had read them again and again until the words blurred. She’d practiced in front of the mirror. Soft tone. Smile on this beat. Inflect here. Laugh, if it fits.

A script disguised as sincerity.

She hadn’t realized how heavy it would feel until now — the weight of being prepared. Of being positioned.

No one had told her exactly what to say. Not in so many words. But the meaning was clear. Say the right things. The clean things. The kind that fit the story everyone was trying so hard to sell.

She blinked back at her reflection.

No cracks showing.

Just the flicker.

The set was deceptively warm.

Soft lights glowed from overhead panels, carefully arranged banners with the group’s logo fluttered in the gentle breeze of the studio’s air conditioning. There were two rows of chairs arranged in a soft semi-circle. Casual, friendly. Cozy, even.

It felt like a trap.

“Alright, everyone,” the PD clapped gently. “We’re going with a seated layout today — natural vibes, playful energy. Just take your spots and we’ll mic you up.”

It wasn’t surprising when the boys moved easily, like they’d done this a hundred times before.

Felix and Seungmin headed straight for the far right, settling into their usual seats with quiet familiarity. Jeongin lingered left, eventually flopping down beside Changbin, who claimed his spot like his name was etched into the cushion. Han and Minho drifted to the curve, heads already tipped together in a private joke that didn’t need words.

Hyunjin hovered.

His gaze flicked toward the centre chair — the only one untouched — then to Iseul.

And took the seat just off to the left.

One space away. Close. But not centre.

They’d left it for her. Not out of malice — obviously. It wasn’t intentional, probably. Just habit. Just… unspoken awareness.

Still, it made her stomach clench.

The centre meant spotlight. It was where PR had said she needed to be. “She’s part of this now.” “Equal.” “Right in the middle of it all.”

Except she didn’t feel like she was in the middle of anything. She felt like the fragile thread stitching two torn halves together — stretched tight. Barely holding.

One of the assistant PDs glanced at her, then at the empty chair. Expectant.

So she moved.

Crossed the floor like it was a ledge. Sat in the seat that felt too bright, too exposed, every light aimed straight through her skin.

Her hands folded in her lap again, gripping tighter now, like white-knuckled stillness could count as composure.

Chan took the seat to her right last. He was the only one who hadn’t chosen his spot immediately — the only one who waited.

As he sat down, she heard his whisper, low and barely audible under the buzz of last-minute camera checks:

“You’ve got this.”

She didn’t nod. Didn’t blink.

Just breathed, hoping it wouldn’t shake as the cameras started to roll.

The lights dimmed for a beat, then flared back up in a soft glow and just like that, the room changed.

Smiles surfaced. Postures straightened. Someone behind the camera gave a thumbs-up as a red light blinked to life above the lens.

The host, a bright-faced MC with an easy smile and clipboard in hand, leaned forward. “Annyeonghaseyo! Welcome back to another special sit-down with StarZone! Today we’ve got the one and only Stray Kids with us — and not just eight, but nine!”

A round of cheers and polite applause followed, most of it from the staff as the group did their usual greeting with Chan leading.

The host continued, “So! This is your first full-group variety shoot since Iseul’s official debut. How’s OT9 feeling?”

“Like we never left,” Chan replied smoothly, flashing his dimple.

Minho snorted. “Speak for yourself. I had more personal space before.”

Laughter rippled through the room, and Minho didn’t even bother to hide the smirk tugging at his mouth. Han threw a betrayed hand over his chest.

“Hyung, that’s rude. Are you saying you don’t love us?”

“I love silence,” Minho deadpanned.

More laughter. Even the host chuckled. “I see nothing’s changed with Lee Know-ssi.”

“It really hasn’t,” Chan added, leaning forward. “He still ignores 80% of my existence unless I bring snacks.”

“Stop spreading rumours,” Minho said calmly. “I ignore 100%.”

Seungmin nodded solemnly beside him. “Confirmed.”

It was playful, the way they all knew how to be. Familiar rhythms, teasing layered with affection. Even the staff in the back were smiling.

Behind Iseul, Felix tilted his mic toward his chin. “But really, it’s been good. The energy feels fresh, but also… like home, you know?”

The host hummed, glancing at her clipboard. “And what about you, Iseul-ssi? You’re the newest piece to this chaotic puzzle. How’s life as a Stray Kid treating you?”

Iseul blinked at the sudden spotlight but gave the answer she’d practiced, voice clear and even. “It’s been a challenge — a good one. I’m still learning, but the members have been incredibly supportive.”

A few of the boys nodded politely, Changbin offering a quick “You’re doing great,” while Jeongin smiled at her — soft, earnest.

But there was a shift. Slight. Quick. Like someone took a breath at the wrong time.

Iseul felt it more than saw it — a tightening in the air. A glance that didn’t linger. A silence that wasn’t quite empty.

Before it could settle, the MC spoke again. “Well, I think everyone agrees you’ve brought something special to the group. Especially after that viral moment last week — talk about a debut!”

Before Iseul could respond, Han leaned forward dramatically, cutting in with a grin. “Right? First performance and she’s already got fan edits with slow-mo zoom-ins and sparkles. I’ve never been so jealous.”

“You were already jealous when Chan hyung gave her your lines,” Seungmin deadpanned.

Han waved him off. “That’s unrelated and deeply personal.”

Laughter spread through the room, easy and familiar.

The MC laughed, clearly enjoying the dynamic. “Well, it’s safe to say your fans are loving the new energy! That moment when you—” she mimed yanking out an earpiece, “—just ripped it? So fierce. What was going through your head?”

Iseul hesitated. This wasn’t one of the pre-approved questions.

Next to her, Chan tensed just slightly — a shift in his posture only she could’ve noticed.

She smiled, polite. “Honestly… I couldn’t hear myself at all. It was either that or crack a high note on live TV. So… survival instincts kicked in.”

A round of laughs broke out — from the boys, the crew, even a cameraman off to the side.

Pride flickered in Chan’s expression, quiet and proud.

And just like that, something eased. A little.

She hadn’t messed it up.

Not yet.

The MC nodded brightly as she glanced down at her cue cards. “Actually, that ties perfectly into a fan-submitted question for Iseul-ssi. How was preparing for your first live stage? I think a lot of fans were curious — what was going through your mind leading up to that performance?”

Iseul blinked once, caught off guard by how gently the question was phrased.

And how everyone was waiting.

Not just the MC. The boys, too — looking at her now. Some openly, like Felix with his ever-present encouragement shining clear in his eyes, and some more guarded, like Hyunjin, whose gaze flickered to her and then back down.

She let out a quiet breath, her voice steadier this time. “Honestly… terrifying.”

A small chuckle escaped her, surprising even herself.

“I mean, it wasn’t just the nerves. It was everything — pressure, expectations, trying not to let anyone down. After all it was my debut performance. I knew people would compare me to what came before, or question if I deserved to be on that stage. But the members helped a lot. They didn’t let me spiral too far. And honestly, I couldn’t have done this without them.”

For a moment, no one said anything.

Not because they didn’t have words — but because none of them wanted to ruin the weight of hers.

The usual impulse to joke, to tease, to deflect with laughter… it didn’t come.

Instead, the silence settled like a soft exhale across the group.

Smiles grew wider and they all nodded eagerly, eyes gleaming with pride and appreciation.

Then Minho clapped once, loudly. “Okay, that was way too heartfelt for this early in the interview.”

“That’s because you have no heart,” Hyunjin said, without looking up.

“I have three,” Minho shot back. “Two for drama, one for snacks.”

The MC laughed, turning to the rest of the group. “It’s really clear how much support there is between you all. That actually leads into another question — who helped Iseul the most backstage before her debut?”

“Oh,” Iseul said, eyes widening slightly, “That’s hard.”

Immediately, a chorus of fake coughs erupted.

“Say my name,” Han whispered dramatically.

“Don’t lie on camera,” Minho advised her flatly.

Felix grinned, leaning forward. “I feel like we all took turns.”

“She’s just afraid to say it was me,” Changbin muttered.

Iseul glanced around at the teasing smiles, a small laugh slipping out despite herself. “Honestly, it felt like everyone was helping in their own way. I just can’t choose one.”

The MC chuckled, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Fair enough — teamwork makes the dream work, right? Let’s move on to next question.”

From then onwards, Iseul felt herself settling into a rhythm with others. The interview didn’t feel as daunting now – not when it was filled with laughter, teasing, and shared glances that made everything feel just a little lighter.

So, when the host asked the next question, it didn’t really faze Iseul.

“One thing fans have been wondering a lot — and forgive me if this is too direct — but joining a group as established as Stray Kids must have been intense. Especially considering the… circumstances.” A pause. “Was there any resentment? And how did the members react?”

It was the kind of question that sliced right through the fluff.

But by now, Iseul had found her footing.

Her back didn’t straighten. Her smile didn’t falter. If anything, her shoulders relaxed just slightly — like she welcomed the honesty. Like she’d been waiting to say it.

She met the MC’s gaze and answered, calm and clear.

“I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t hard. Stray Kids had a very defined dynamic before I came in. There were expectations, habits — a whole rhythm that existed without me. And yeah, I knew fans were skeptical. Some still are. That’s fair.”

She glanced around the circle. Not challenging. Not accusing. Just… truthful.

“And I think… in some ways, even the members needed time. Not because they weren’t kind — they were. But because I hadn’t earned my place yet. I was just someone filling a gap at first. And no one wants to feel like a replacement.”

The silence that followed wasn’t the good kind this time.

Not warm. Not contemplative.

Tense.

Behind the cameras, something shifted — movement. Quiet whispers. The PD stood up, one hand already in the air.

“Alright,” he called out, his voice cutting through the moment. “Let’s pause there. Quick five. Makeup check, camera reset — we had a flicker on Cam B.”

Everyone blinked.

The boys relaxed in their chairs, stretching, murmuring to each other. A stylist appeared beside Iseul almost immediately, dabbing under her eyes, brushing through her fringe.

She didn’t think much of it. Her mind was still lingering in that last answer, wondering if she’d gone too deep — but it didn’t feel wrong. It felt real. And for the first time, she hadn’t felt like she was pretending.

That was, until Chan leaned over.

Quiet. Careful.

But his words felt heavier than anything the cameras had captured.

“Hey,” he said, too gently. “You were just being honest, I know. But the way it came out — it hinted at tension. Like we weren’t welcoming. And that’s not what we’re going for right now.”

Iseul froze.

It wasn’t harsh. Not cruel. Not even cold.

But it stung.

Because it was Chan. The one person she thought would always back her when she told the truth. The one who said, “You’ve got this.” The one who waited for her to take her seat.

Her throat closed up before she could respond. No words. Just a nod. Small. Stiff. Her pulse roared in her ears.

By the time the PD called “back to one,” she still hadn’t moved.

The MC adjusted her mic. The boys reset themselves with familiar ease. Everyone knew their places. The red light blinked again.

“We will pick up from the previous question again,” the PD explained, “There was some glitch in the footage.”

The MC nodded, all smooth professionalism. When the camera rolled, she asked the question again.

And this time, Iseul smiled.

It didn’t reach her eyes.

But her voice was smooth, not a waver in it — the voice of someone who’d learned exactly what the world wanted to hear.

“The members made me feel like family from the beginning. I was scared, but they never once made me feel like I didn’t belong.”

A beat of silence followed.

It wasn’t long — barely a second — but it was too long for something so neat. Too long for something so obviously edited for comfort.

Felix, ever the glue, jumped in first. He smiled warmly, nodding like her words had settled something inside him. “She really did fit right in.”

Jeongin followed, eyes flicking dutifully to the camera. “We were excited. Still are.”

Changbin leaned back in his chair, arms crossed with casual ease. “Honestly, she was better at adjusting than some of us were at welcoming.”

It was smooth. Controlled. A group used to covering cracks without a trace.

But Chan didn’t speak.

He didn’t nod. Didn’t smile.

His jaw locked — not in frustration, not in annoyance. In guilt.

He stared straight ahead, lips pressed into a line too firm to be neutral. His fingers curled slightly on his thigh, as if physically holding himself back from doing something — saying something.

Beside Iseul, Hyunjin’s reaction was quieter but no less revealing.

He hadn’t taken his eyes off her since she began speaking.

His brows had drawn together, just slightly, the way they did when something didn’t sit right. When something didn’t match. And now, his head turned — just a little — to look at her more directly.

She looked perfect. Poised. Media-trained.

And she looked wrong.

Hyunjin’s gaze dropped to her hands in her lap — still clasped tightly together, knuckles white. Then back to her face. The smile that didn’t touch her eyes. The faint tremble in her breath when she finished the sentence.

He didn’t say anything.

The host carried on, breezy and bright, either unaware of the tension or unwilling to poke at the seams that had just been stitched shut.

“That’s so lovely to hear,” she said brightly. “It really shows how strong your bond is already. Stray Kids, fighting!”

More forced smiles. The camera panned to Han, who — ever the lifesaver — jumped in with a dramatic cheer and flailed into a clumsy high-five with Felix that ended in mutual slapping.

Laughter bubbled up. Scattered. Just enough.

Iseul smiled, too.

She even laughed, lightly.

But something in her had gone still. Frozen behind the mask she hadn’t realized she’d worn so well.

Chan glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

She didn’t meet it.

She didn’t move.

And suddenly, the studio felt cold. Artificial.

The host she’d begun to feel comfortable with was just another performance. The crew behind the cameras — their eyes, their murmurs, the way they scribbled down notes — were not documenting her story. They were dissecting it. Shaping it. Flattening it to fit their own narrative.

And for the first time in her life, Iseul had the overwhelming urge to throw up.

TAGLIST: @leewritesstuff, @athens-09xx, @allenajade-ite, @idjdndjzbsdm, @idjdndjzbsdm, @hyuneskkami, @geni-627, @valkirymin, @miminbin, @tillaboo, @dreamerwasfound, @youthsquaredd, @skzstannie, @nchhuhi, @rtyuy1346, @necrozica, @aemondsrhaenyra, @skzfangirl143, @eridanuswave

STORY HINT: One rare day off, when the whole dorm was lazily sprawled around, Iseul suddenly felt the unmistakable cramps of her period. Too tired to get up and too honest to hide it, she called out to Chan without hesitation and asked him to grab some pads for her from the convenience store. Without a second thought or an ounce of embarrassment, Chan immediately got up and went straight to help her, a small smile on his face. In that simple, quiet moment, he realized just how much Iseul trusted him—not just as a fellow member, but like a caring older brother she could rely on anytime, no matter what.

Hey yall! How r we feeling ahaha Personally, I'm freaking out BECAUSE WE JUST HIT 200 FOLLOWERS HBVDSHDBSHJBHD omg thank you so so so much, yall r the true ones 😭 i truly, honestly love each one of yall and i just cant put it in words how happy i am rn i also very sorry that i havent been able to post so frequently (ur girl just took on an internship so yea life's happening) but i hope u enjoyed this chapter! also i have this another ff brewing in my mind which i may pen down soon so cheers to that bahah and did yall see the knew SKZCODE? its so hilarious like seungmin is such a big of a cheater that skz had to dedicate whole 2 episodes for him openly cheating - like they r so done with him 😭 and idk why but im OBSESSED with svt's thunder like if u hadnt streamed it yet what r u doing here shoo! stay safee!! ~candy \(￣︶￣*\)) (yes i'll start using the hug emoticons again now)

[miffy-00]

this was a rq by anon

i saw ur artist!jean hcs OMGGG imagine a little pottery/ceramic painting date w jean im gonna cry esp w someone who doesnt do art and they think their art is lwk shit but he ADORES IT SM and swears he’ll keep it till the day he dies goodbye 😢

i just want to say i’m sososssooo sorry about this being answered so late :((

“cmon angel, don’t hide it from me.”

“it’s embarrassing, jean. especially for someone like you.”

“now what’s that meant to mean?”

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

he knew exactly what it meant. certified art lover since coming out the womb. half his camera roll could be dedicated to the numerous galleries he’s visited. the other half ? candids of you ofc!small and intricate tattoos hidden on his body, tributes to his favourite artists. his loft apartment looks like the inside of a interior design magazine.

so it was only natural that jean was a pro at the couples pottery class he signed you two up for. you, on the other hand… well, you were learning. he paraded his mug around with such childlike pride, yes, it was annoying, but it was tolerable when you saw your 6ft 2 bf look so adorable. “here, i want you to have it.” he ushered the mug towards you. his toothy grin stretching from ear to ear.

“really? baby..” a downward smile curled your lips and you felt the warmth of his gaze on you. “does that mean you want mine too…?” your fingers brushed the slightly uneven surface of his mug, its imperfections being comforting. your own mug would offer no comfort. it was a disaster: horrifically asymmetrical, with strange indentations and a handle that looked ready to break at any given moment. the only redeeming feature was the faint scratch of both your initials carved into the bottom. hidden, but intimate.

“i mean it would be cool, no pressure though.” he answers calmly, but there’s no denying the bubbling excitement in his eyes. he shifts closer, “you good, angel ?”

“mhm” you replied almost too fast. your words float out like they aren’t even yours. unlike jean, you weren’t passionate about art or anything tbh. you simply floated through life, picking up gardening to drop it after a week. have a a hundred acquaintances but struggling to maintain any further. sure, it was lonely but things were just easier that way. jean somehow slipped through the cracks and became a permanent member of your life.

you stared at your mug again. it was worse than you thought. you could feel the rough texture against your palm, the weight unevenly distributed, how aware you’ve now become of how untalented you are. your bf noticed how your gaze was fixated on the cracks running along the handle. “cmon angel, don’t hide it from me.” a teasing tone mixed with genuine curiosity and reassurance.

“it’s embarrassing jean, especially for someone like you.”

“now what’s that meant to mean?” his voice dropped, a little teasing, but you could feel the warmth of his hands wrapping around your hips. fingers lightly interlinked in front of your stomach. his stubbled chin rested against your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck.

you rolled your eyes attempting to wriggle out of his grasp, proving futile. the seconds that followed were uncomfortably long and quiet, forcing you to reluctantly show jean the mug. you turned your head to the side, far too embarrassed to maintain eye contact.

“i love it angel.”

you blinked, confused. you were expecting his usual sarcasm or even a teasing smirk. there was nothing. just soft sincerity you weren’t prepared for. “you’re lying, right? there’s no way you–“

“is that our initials?” he interjected, practically finishing your thought. his tone was light but there was something underneath it. something warm, something real.

“huh? oh yeah..” you glance down at the mug, surprised at your hearts tightening. “why do you ask?”

jean looks down at you, fingers tightening ever so slightly, “another reason for me to keep it.” he looks down at you with so much love and

“jean its–”

“if i throw it away,” his voice quieter, softer, teasing but something genuine hiding beneath. “its like throwing us away, you want that for us? ” you shook your head slowly, the weight of his words settling between the two of you. yes, the mug was a mess, but it had your initials. your names permanently etched onto the bottom, it had to count for something, right?“well then i have to keep it forever, don’t i ?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

“you’re so cringy.” you muttered, rolling your eyes. even as you said it, you tilted your head back and pressed a kiss to his lips, smiling between each and every kiss.

andddd scene !

miffy speaks- i don’t even know what to say 😭😭i’m so sorry i’ve been away for sooo long i’ve literally had no motivation + everything i wrote felt awful + school but this had me me want to start again so pls pls plssss any rqs or ideas or asks lmk it will force me to eventually write bc of the guilt lol (divider by @toastray!!)

hope you enjoyed !! reblogs + comments are appreciated !!

[ninthskzmember]

Sharing is Caring. Part III

Lee Know x reader x Bang Chan (Pt 1.) (Pt 2.)

warnings: smut. smut. smut. and more smut. petnames too. and unprotected sex. word count: 3,2k (I got carried away) an: and with that... the Sharing is Caring season comes to an end... Goodnight. (please don't forget to reblog and like <3). Not proofread

Requests are open! :)

You were so used to your boyfriend's lips that kissing Bang Chan was a whole new experience.

His big lips, soft as feathers, made you feel like you were in heaven. His gentle tongue was playing with yours as his hands threw you further against him and his growing bludge.

"You sure about this?" He whispered in your ear, making you get goosebumps.

"Of course I am." You tried to devour his lips again, but he pulled away abit.t

"Once we're into it, I don't think I'll be able to stop, doll face."

"It's okay, Chris; my partner is Minho, if you don't recall."

"I'm not Minho," an almost scary grin came out of his face.

"Hyung, she said she didn't think she could handle Kim Seungmin," Minho informed funny from the couch in the room.

"Oh, so, Kim Seungmin?" He looked at you.

"She said that, and she chose him at first."

"Owh," he said, making a sarcastic face. "Was I not your first choice?"

"She squirted for the first time ever when I told her about you fucking her deep inside." Your boyfriend was setting up the fire between the two of you.

"Baby girl squirted from the thought of me inside her?" Your breath started to be uneven. He barely even touched you, and you could already feel your panties soaked.

"Lee Minho, I told you. You can't interfere." You looked at your boyfriend sprawled on the couch with his gray sweats and white shirt.

"Oh?" Chan looked surprised. "So it's just you and me?"

"Baby, what did you tell him?"

"I think I said something about a threesome." He looked everywhere but at you.

"So, Oppa, great news to you: We're not having a threesome. Minho just thinks he'd like to see me getting fucked," you smiled at the older one. "So it's just your dick and my pussy… and our mouths too."

"And your hands," your boyfriend added.

"Yeah, and our hands." You nodded.

"No, not hands." Chan took your wrists above your head and pinned you up against the wall.

"Say please?" You joked, but you were actually flustered by his sudden movements.

Chan started working on your neck. Again, it felt different, but you didn't dislike it. It was like changing the routine a bit. Maybe you'd do this with a few other members.

"Chris," you let out a moan the moment you felt his hard cock touch your drenched core.

"You like it?" He let out a cocky smile while looking at you for a few seconds. "I certainly like the hickeys your boyfriend left on your neck. I might leave my own."

"Yes, please," you said, moving your hips, looking for some friction and pleasure.

He kissed you again. A wet, messy kiss. Not like the ones before, this one actually made you realize what you were about to do.

You looked at your boyfriend, scanning the scene carefully. Yes, he had lust in his eyes, but you could also perceive a light amount of jealousy.

"Baby," you called Minho. "You okay?"

"Yes love. Keep on," he said, moving a bit, still giving his full attention to the moment in front of him.

Your body wanted to keep going, but your mind was still wrapped around Lee Know's sight.

You started to get a little clumsy with your movements, and Chris looked at you for a brief second, seeing you eyeing your partner. He turned around and looked at him too, calling him with his eyes as he let go of your wrists.

With no words spoken, Minho stood up and walked towards you both.

"Kitten, it's okay, really." He caressed your shoulder. "I was the one who brought this up; I'm okay with it. I know what's going on in your mind."

"I just… feel guilty," you said as Chan moved a bit away from you.

"Baby, don't be." He took you by your waist and wrapped you in a wild embrace. "If you don't want to do it, it's okay; I'm sure Hyung will understand."

Chan just nodded in silence—kind of uncomfortable, actually—and it's understandable since his dick was fucking strangling in his clothes.

"I want to," you nodded along, looking at both men in front of you. "I just want you by my side," you directed your world towards Minho, and he agreed, letting out a sassy smile.

Chan took position again right in front of you and kissed your cheek softly, making a road down towards your neck and then up again to end kissing your lips.

Minho moved you away from the wall, placing himself behind you and reassuring you by placing kisses on your neck.

"You like how Hyung is kissing you?" He whispered in your ear, "Think about how you'd feel when he eats you up."

By inertia, your butt pressed against his—of course, already hard—dick, and you heard him chuckle. “You said I'd have to beg, yet here you are, pressing your ass on my cock, kitten."

You moaned quietly in between kissing Chris, whom you took by his big biceps and pushed to the mattress.

You climbed onto him, your legs at each side of his hips, and took a seat right on top of his now semi-hard penis. You smiled at the older man and bitted your own lower lip a bit, taking an imaginary picture of him in that position, in that moment.

"You can guide me, sweetheart. I love giving pleasure," you whispered close to Chan's face. "Tell me what you like; tell me what you don't." You moved your hips a bit, experimentally, and he let out a small groan.

Minho pleased himself behind you again, standing. He took your hips and pressed you downward while you moved just a little bit faster, making your arousal stain not only your leggins but also Chan's pants.

"Fuck" the three of you cursed at the same time.

"It's so hot when you do that," said your boyfriend from behind, where it was easy to see the wet patch on his hyung's pants.

"When I do what, baby?" You let out the sluttiest voice you ever heard from yourself, looking at him with your fuck-me eyes.

"You just" he took a breath "You just stained Hyung's pants."

Chris looked down, and his grip became tighter on your thighs.

"That's it" Chan groaned and sat up, taking you by your back to lay you on the mattress. "You go there and sit," Chris demanded to Minho, who did what was told.

"You're so wet, and I barely touched you, baby girl." He pecked you and practically ripped your shirt out, kissing your chest above your bra and your belly.

Started playing with the elastic on your leggings, kissing and biting right above it.

"Chris, please," you moaned.

"Look at you, being all disrespectful just because you're horny," he smiled up at you. "We're not that close for you to call me Chris," he slapped your thigh, and another groan left your body. "Try again."

"Chan, please, I need you." You let out a whine, and he chuckled.

"Nicer, but still not what I'm looking for," he said, pressing a soft kiss on your clothed core.

"Please, please, please." You tried to keep his face in your pussy with your thighs, to which he laughed and stopped you with his hands.

"What do you want, sweety?"

"I want you to touch me, taste me, fuck me," you whined again, moving your hips in the air. He pushed you against the mattress.

"That sounds amazing," he said, taking the elastic of your leggings and pulling them off with a smirk.

You were left with just your black lingerie, and you swore Chris could make his own lip bleed from the force he was biting it with.

"Like what you see?" You smiled. "Wish you could have me anytime you want, huh?" You pressed your arms together, squishing your boobs, and he was practically drooling and nodding.

"Too bad" Your boyfriend made a silly remark, and you smiled at his voice but didn't look at him.

You took the older boy from his shirt, pulling him closer into a kiss. He took it off, and you could feel yourself getting breathless at the view of this man from where you were. You clenched around nothing, watching him flex his muscles to make the movement.

Your legs are wrapped around his waist now, making him closer, and then turning him around. Wasting no time, you took his stained pants off.

All that he was wearing now were his black boxers, and damn did he look hot in those. His dickens were twitching under your hand, and the fabric was practically screaming to be relased.

You got on your knees, taking the last piece of clothing from his body, leaving Chris with nothing but his lust on the bed.

It was the prettiest dick you've ever seen—after Minho's, obviously. His tip was leaking just for you to taste, and you just did what you've not ironically done way too many times before.

The second you tasted his fluid and sucked on him, a loud moan was heard in the room. You made eye contact with the culprit with his dick still in your mouth, and he took you by your hair and nodded.

You sucked his dick like it was the most delicious thing you've ever tasted, and he was frightened not to cum so soon.

"Fuck, y/n," he breathed loudly. "I don't want to cum yet."

"Cum, babe, I want to fully taste you," you answered while still bombing his member. "Your dick is so pretty."

You took him as deep as you could in your throat, gagging around him to trigger his orgasm.

"Oh my fucking god" he sounded desesperated. All the moaning coming from his mouth only made you still clench around air, rubbing your clitoral against your heel. "I'm coming, I'm coming, babe, I'm coming." He whined again and held your head against him as he relaxed his cum inside your throat, letting you suck and taste every little drop.

Once you felt his grip loose, you smiled and looked at him with a smile on your face.

"What?" he asked, smiling the same way you did.

You didn't even say a word; you just took out your tongue and showed almost all his cum there. You could literally see how his eyes sparkled and then got dark the second you swallowed it all without even a flinch.

"Come here," he ordered, and you laid on the bed. He took out your bra as if he had a master in that.

He knew you had sensitive boobs; he talked about it with Minho when this topic came up. His member told him how much you love getting your nipples sucked and played with, so that's just what Chan did. He was sucking so sweetly and gently on your boobs that you forgot about everything.

Again, you wrapped your legs around him and brought him closer. His now flacid dick is rubbing against your completely wet pussy.

"Oh, god," you heard him moan in your boob, making you let out a cheeky smile. "Mate, is she always so hot?" the man asked your boyfriend, and after a while, you looked at him.

Minho was all messed up. In his eyes was pure lust, completely dark. He was all sweaty, and his hair was glued to his forehead. His shirt lifted just enough to see a wet spot in his gray pants.

"Babe, did you cum in your pants?" You smiled while looking at his crotch.

"In my defense, I was pretty good until you started deepthroating him," he excused himself, and you laughed out loud.

"Imagine when he's got me in all fours and fucking me deep inside from behind." You winked at your man but, actually, turned both of them on again.

"You liked that thought, huh?" Chan captured your attention again. "You clenched, baby girl. I felt it," he said, and he started kissing you again after a while.

He reached down with one hand and started circling your clit delicately.

"Oh shit," you groaned at the touch.

"You like that?"

"Yes," you breathed out.

"You like that, huh?" he smiled at you knowingly.

"Yes, daddy," you quoted Felix, and a loud scream from Minho took place in the room.

"Un-fucking-believable" He gasped, "She doesn't even call me daddy."

"Because, mate, that's me." As soon as he said the last word, not only did he slide one finger inside you, but two.

You were obviously wet enough to take it, but the loud moan you let out left both men in silence. "Chan, please." You started pleading again.

"Wrong again, princess," he said, taking one out.

"Daddy, please," you said, moving your hips towards him and your head against the pillow.

"That's more like it," he smiled, taking off your pants with his other hand. He reached down and started eating you up.

If his kisses on your upper lips made you feel like you were in heaven, the feeling of him eating your pussy sent you through heaven, hell, space, and beyond.

You weren't able to hear, see, or feel anything else than the pleasure he was making you feel right now. In your ears, there was only white noise, and you couldn't bring yourself to anything.

He was eating your cunt like it was his last meal, while his nose kept rubbing your clit. The next thing you know, you're shaking with his face in between your thighs. He introduced two fingers again, touching your sweet spot from inside, and there it was, squirting all over the bed once again.

"Oh my fucking god, babe," Minho said in a high-pitched voice.

"That's so fucking hot, y/n," he said as he kept fingering you through the last of your high.

Once it was done, you just laid there, catching your breath for a minute.

"You're perfect" Chan said by your side, moving the hairs that were glued to your face, "You're so yummy, I'd eat you anytime."

"Too bad," Lee Know repeated, and you laughed again while looking at him.

"What is your dick doing out?" You asked him, raising your eyebrow, "That was not part of the deal." You weakly got up and walked towards him.

"I just, babe, I…"

"No, Lee Minho," you said, sitting right on top of him, moving your hips delicately since you were still sensitive from the orgasm. "You're in so much trouble now," you said, rubbing your lips together.

Chris was looking at both of you and analyzing whether watching instead of participating was as interesting for him as it was for Minho.

"How many times did you come?" you asked.

"Two," he answered, "once in my pants, and then when you got all high-pitchy and moany."

"And that's not fair for me or for your Hyung; you know that, right?" You asked and started kissing his neck, at the exact points where you know it drives him insane.

"You're making me hard again," he said, avoiding the question.

"I know that," you answered quickly.

"I'm not begging."

"Then don't" You kissed him passionately as he grabbed your waist and guided you through your ride.

While your man was busy with your kiss, you called Christopher with your hand to walk over to you both.

You took Minho's dick and placed it in your entrance, almost sliding in, and moved like that a few times. He looked at you with the most deadly look he ever gave you.

"Oh, I'm sorry, babe," you smiled and slided him inside you, but just the tip and then got him out again.

"Don't make me pin you down, kitten," he said, grabbing his own dick and aligning it with your pussycat.

You smiled and got up, taking Lee's wrists on top of his head and leaning over to him, letting Chris have you all for himself.

He did not doubt himself once and slid himself inside you.

A brand new feeling, a brand new stretch.

"Oh my god, you're huge," you moaned as your boy's friend Dick was getting inside.

"I've been told," he said, a bit out of breath. "You're so tight."

"I've been told," you said this time.

"Wait a minute; she stretches really well."

"You shut your mouth," you said between teeth. "Move; you feel so nice inside, Daddy."

Minho flexed his muscles, looking you straight in the eye. You really never called him that.

"Oh god, babe, he's making me feel so good," you said while Chris started pounding you from behind, making your boobs jump in front of Minho's face.

You started letting out every single sound you wanted to make, knowing that your boyfriend gets turned on by them.

Soon, between nasty words, moans, and a bit of 'accidentally' rubbing Minho's dick with your legs, you could hear him moaning with you two.

"Chris, daddy, I'm close. Don't stop," you whined, and he kept doing exactly what he was doing.

"Jagi," your boyfriend called you, and you hardly opened your eyes to look at him with a pleading look.

"I can't, Lee Know, he's making me feel so good; it's going to take way more from you to let him go."

Chris slid his hand on your throat and pressed just enough for you to feel an electric wave through your body. And you did the same thing to the one who was sitting, hearing a groan from him and feeling a buzz in the palm of your hand.

"We need to be even," you said out of nowhere. "Just let me cum once more, babe." It was your sub-side talking shit; you were so used to being under Minho's control that you were asking permission to come again.

"I'm going to cum," Chan said, moaning, breathless.

"Come inside," you said, pulling your hips backwards.

"Y/n, I don't think… I…" he stuttered.

"Please, daddy, please, please." You kept repeating it and pulling your hips

"Fuck," he let out a big groan, and you felt it. You felt his warm cum fill you up, and you felt how it was so much more than what you swallowed.

"Oh my god." You rolled your eyes. "A bit more, please," you whined, and he kept moving inside you and touching your clit just to make you explode again.

You slid Chan's cock out of you just to penetrate yourself with your boyfriend, making him feel how hard and tight you were clenching.

"Do it, babe, please," you whined at your boyfriend this time, and he started thrusting at you, touching your g-spot repeatedly.

"I love you so much," he said in your ear, and it was enough for you to let out all that liquid again, squirting around your boyfriend, who just kept going in and out, looking for his own release.

It only took a few seconds because your twitches were so hard and stimulative.

"I love you too," you said while he let out his cum inside you too.

The three of you lay in bed in silence for a few minutes.

"So… Kim Seungmin?" You said it quietly.

"You're NOT calling him daddy," your boyfriend said quickly, and Chan let out a laugh.

This is definitely not the last time this is going to happen.

Bonus

taglist: @httpswilloww

[moonlittenmelodies]

Just Michael

Pairing: Bad era Michael x fem!reader

Synopsis: After the roar of the crowd fades, Michael sheds the spotlight, exhausted, glowing, and searching for the only peace he knows: you. In the quiet of dressing rooms and hotel suites, you reconnect after each performance, reminding him that in a world that always wants more—you’re enough.

Tags: fluff, established relationship, bad era, boyfriend material michael….

Word Count: 776

Author’s notes: I’m active on ao3, but this is my first tumblr post! So hello moonwalkers, ily all. Additionally, the fact reader is a girl is only mentioned once, so gender neutral/male readers are welcome :)

—-

The show’s over. The final note has echoed into silence, swallowed by the vastness of the arena. The lights, once a constellation of movement, have dimmed one by one. The roar of the crowd has faded.

This is always the hardest part. Not the show or the spotlight, but the wait after- the long, quiet space between who he has to be and who he is.

You never wait near the stage. That would draw too much attention. Too many eyes, too many questions. Instead, it’s routine that you slip away early, disappearing into the winding back corridors of the venue, finding his dressing room and settling down. You know the drill. The fans still scream somewhere outside, the crew shuffles around with headsets and clipboards, but here is always where he’ll find you.

He offers quick nods and murmured ‘thank you, thank-you’ s to the backup singers, dancers and crew members that pass him on their way out, a brief smile flickering to acknowledge them. He’d often go to his manager to pick up notes or feedback, (ever the perfectionist!), but tonight he seems set on finding one thing.

Tonight as you wait, you’re curled up on the small couch tucked into the far corner, legs pulled under yourself, wearing his worn red tour jacket. You’ve got a bottle of cold water in your hand, the condensation running slowly down your fingers, waiting for the moment he’ll need it. You absentmindedly play with it in your hand.

The door swings open fast, no knock, and Michael steps inside. He’s glowing, radiating exhaustion, (an endorphin induced one nonetheless), he’s sweating, curls damp and unruly, his chest still rising and falling in uneven rhythm. The lights backstage have tinted his skin like a painting still wet with movement.

The second his eyes land on you, something in him melts. The stage presence fades piece by piece, a costume he’s finally allowed to shed.

“There’s my girl,” he says, voice low and raspy.

He crosses the room in a few steps, and without a word more, collapses beside you. His body folds into yours, head falling against your shoulder, arms winding instinctively around your waist- he’s warm, and humming from the adrenaline. “They were crazy loud tonight,” he mumbles into your neck. “It’s not real until I see you.”

You smile into his hair, letting it reach your eyes as he pulls back from the embrace. You brush damp curls back from his forehead. “You were amazing, Mike. They went crazy for Smooth Criminal.”

He chuckles, light and rich, then shifts so he can see your face better, his fingers lacing with yours, thumb tracing gentle circles on your palm. “You know what I was thinking about during the last song?”

You raise an eyebrow. “What?”

“Coming back here. You. Me. No stage. No pressure. Just, yeah… peace.”

Hours pass gently and the dressing room empties, arena goes dark, and the two of you return to the quiet anonymity of the hotel suite. It’s another routine now, familiar but never boring. Room service sits untouched on the silver tray, he barely notices it. He never really eats after a show. He, right now, just want to be near you, press his body against yours and remember that there’s a world outside the spotlight.

In the low golden light of the room, you lie together on the bed, legs tangled, limbs a comfortable mess. This time, he’s got his head resting against your chest, cheek pressed right over your heart.

Michael starts to hum something, a tune you don’t recognise . A melody, unfinished. “What’s that?”

His voice is even quieter now. “Don’t know yet. Saving it for us.”

Outside, people still talk about him and light up when his name is spoken. The world watches, always. Still, in this room, in this bed, wrapped around each other, right here he’s just Michael.

[leftoverpages]

Underneath the Steel

Pairing 𓅪 Benjicot "Davos" Blackwood × Targaryen!reader

Tags 𓅪 angst, brief character death mention, sleep paralysis, fluff at the end, reader uses she/her but no physical description, romance if you squint really hard

Notes: request by @ithilwen-aranel !

I need a fic where reader is a Targ princess and dragon rider and a known fierce warrior, like Visenya reincarnated level warrior but nobody knows that she has sleep paralysis. So she's marching with House Blackwood to Harrenhal and it's nighttime so they're in tents and her and Benji's tents happen to be next to each other. So that night she gets an attack/episode and he hears her muffled cries and sobs and he helps her get out of it and he finally sees the girl inside the warrior and he comforts her by showing that he has vulnerable sides too and stuff. (sorry if it's messy and chaotic haha but l WANT MORE FLUFF)

Wordcount 𓅪 1.4k

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

The cold wind swept through the camp as the soldiers of House Blackwood settled for the night. Tents dotted the landscape, bathed in the pale light of a crescent moon. Among them was a tent marked with the sigil of House Targaryen, on it, a dragon standing tall.

Inside, the Targaryen princess sharpened her blade, her mind a battlefield of its own. Known to many as a fierce warrior, she was often compared to Visenya Targaryen, a legend reborn. She had led her dragon into countless battles, her swordsmanship and ferocity unmatched.

But, as night fell and the camp quieted, a darker struggle loomed. Under her strong exterior, she had a secret as old as her lineage, a shadow that haunted her dreams-sleep paralysis. She had fought countless ennemies on the battlefield, but none of them were as terrifying as the darkness that gripped her in the night.

Benjicot Blackwood, the young lord of House Blackwood, laid restless in his tent. The march to Harrenhal stayed heavily on his mind. His thoughts drifted to the princess, their tents stood side by side. Her reputation preceded her, but Benjicot had seen glimpses of something beyond the warrior facade—a quiet sadness in her eyes.

As he drifted to sleep, muffled cries were heard in the night. Benjicot sat up, his senses sharp. The sounds were coming from the Targaryen tent. Frowning, he woke, moving silently.

Inside her tent, the princess was trapped. Her body laid motionless, her eyes open, her breath uneven. Shadows stood at the corner of her eyes, mocking her. She struggled, her heart pounding in her chest. The nightmare always started the same: she was in a big and empty field. Her dragon was nowhere to be seen. Panic rose up inside her as she realized she was alone.

Suddenly, the ground beneath her feet began to tremble. Shadowy figures emerged, their forms indistinct, as if they were made of smoke.

"You're weak," they hissed, with their chilling voices. "You will fail them all."

She tried to take her sword, but her body refused to move. Her limbs were turned to stone. She was desperate as the figures approached her, their cold fingers brushing against her skin, leaving trails of ice behind.

Her breath became faster. She could feel her heart pounding. The shadows wrapped around her, tightening their grip, almost suffocating her. She wanted to scream, to fight back, but she was unable to move, a silent plea for help left her lips.

As the nightmare continued, the shadows began to transform into faces she knew - friends, comrades, and family members, with twisted expressions.

"Why didn't you save us?" they cried, their voices full with anger. "You are supposed to be our protector!"

The guilt crashed over her as she could feel herself slipping, the line between reality and nightmare blurring. The faces closer, their features more distinct, their voices louder.

"Help," she managed to whisper, the word barely audible.

Benjicot pushed aside the tent flap. He saw her, tears streaming down her face.

Instinctively, he knelt beside her, his voice soft yet urgent.

"Princess, can you hear me?"

She did not respond, her eyes locked in a terror. Benjicot hesitated, then gently touched her shoulder. "Princess? You need to wake up."

The warmth of his touch broke through her. Slowly, she regained control, her body shaking as the paralysis faded. Her sobs flowing freely now.

She looked at Benjicot, her fierce demeanor shattered. "You saw..." He nodded, his eyes filled with understanding.

"Aye, I saw. And I see you, the real you. It's all right."

She wiped her tears, frustrated. "I hate this. I'm supposed to be strong."

Benjicot sat beside her. "Strength isn't just about physical strength or riding a dragon. It's about facing your fears." She looked at him.

"Do you ever feel like you're drowning in expectations?"

A bitter smile touched his lips. "Every day. The burden of leadership, the pressure to protect my people... it's overwhelming."

He reached out, encircling her in a gentle embrace. He held her close, offering his presence. "But in moments like these, you have to remember that we are not alone. We have allies who will stand by us, who will fight beside us."

She let herself breathe deeply, the tension slowly fading away. A reminder that vulnerability did not equate to weakness.

Their eyes met, a silent understanding between them. In that moment, they were no longer just a Targaryen and a Blackwood. They were two souls, each bearing their own scars. She took a deep breath as she sat there.

"I've fought battles, slain men twice my size, and ridden my dragon through storms of arrows. But this... this is different."

Benjicot nodded, his gaze steady. "It's the battles we fight within ourselves that are often the hardest. But you don't have to fight them alone."

She hesitated, vulnerability warring with her warrior's pride. "It's... it's been like this since I was a child. The shadows, the paralysis. I've learned to mask it, to be strong. But some nights..."

"Some nights, it's too much," Benjicot finished for her, his voice gentle. She nodded, grateful for his understanding.

"Yes. I fear that one day it might break me."

He squeezed her gently, his embrace a shield against her fears. He reached out, his hand covering hers.

"It won't. Because you're stronger than you know. And because you have allies who will stand by you, even in the darkest of nights."

She squeezed his hand, finding solace in his words. "Thank you, Benjicot."

"Always," he replied, his smile reassuring. "And if you ever need someone to sit with you through the night, you know where to find me."

"Thank you," she whispered.

He smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes. She looked up at him, a silent plea in her eyes.

"Will you... stay with me?" Benjicot nodded without hesitation.

"Of course."

He settled beside her, his presence a calming presence. She lied closer to him, finding comfort in the rhythm of his breathing. In the safety of his arms, she finally allowed herself to drift into slumber, the weight of her fears lifted for the night.

As the first rays of sunlight broke over the camp, the princess took a deep breath, the remnants of her nightmare dissipating with the morning mist. Benjicot remained by her side, his presence a steady anchor.

As the camp stirred awake with the dawn, they lay intertwined. They were warriors, yes, but in each other's embrace, they found a refuge from the shadows that haunted them both.

As they walked under the dawn's embrace, they stood united, ready to conquer both the battles ahead and the shadows within.

[httpsserene]

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝟑𝐊 𝐕-𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐂𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐑𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

welcome to the table of contents for my three-thousand followers celebration !!!

i’m amazed that we’ve reached this milestone, and so quickly at that! in under three months there were one thousand more of y'all !!! in that short period, i did succeed in staying active on tumblr and interacting with many of you—i got so many requests that i’m STILL working my way through, i’ve chatted to some of you through my inbox, and dm’s or replies, and i will forever be grateful for the endless support, laughs, and encouragement y’all have offered me.  sending love to my moots: ilysm. thank you for any bit of chatting you’ve had with me—i really do cherish every one of you, no matter how small or large our interaction has been. extremely happy to call you my moots < 3. @biancathecool @barnestatic @ashiekins @saintslewis @lorarri @ham1lton @loomiscorpse @vetteltea @hookhausenschips @shurisasthmaticgf @mauvecherie-writes @omgsuperstarg @justaf1girl @emjayewrites (i'm sorry if i've forgotten someone, i love you dearly, i promise x) and, of course, a huge ily & tysm to the members of the taglists! i would tag you here but there are too many of you (pls i love y'all down < 3) and it would break the post :) i can’t promise that i will be able to answer every ask, but i will try my hardest to do as many as i can. i love you all and thank you so much, loves. xoxox

i mainly write fem!black/poc!readers so if you would like another race/ethnicity for the !reader please send that in your request! please feel free to send a faceclaim too! i accept male! & gn!reader requests as well!

before sending your request check for: an approved driver(s) from the mechanic list below, you've specified which prompt list and number you are selecting, and that you've adhered to the blog guidelines !!!

THIS EVENT HAS ENDED. READ THE COMPLETED 3k vday celly fics here.

posts tagged as # httpss :/ 3k vday celly. | status: completed | table of contents.

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© httpsserene — photos used in header are from pinterest. mdni divider from @cafekitsune.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

🎃 That's my darlin'..

Reward CW: Abduction, blackmail, dub-con, humiliation, oral (giving)

The basement was suddenly filled with light, illuminating first on the staircase from the opened door then blinding (Reader) when their kidnapper flipped on the light switch. They shuffled back into the furthest corner of their cage. The cage was wide enough to lay down in and tall enough to sit up on their knees.

"Good morning, darlin'!" Billy joyfully called out as he hit the bottom step. "Did you sleep well?" Nothing good ever came from trying to reason with the bastard, so (Reader) was nervous to play along. Black boots clomped against cement as he approached the cage.

"I'm.. I'm really hungry, Billy." (Reader) tried not to cry, knowing that by responding they were entering whatever sick game Billy had prepared for them. It was always something new, some disturbing way to humiliate them and break them down. They didn't want to, but the hunger pains were too extreme to ignore.

"Well, you know what you have to do to get what you want.."

"You want me to beg?!"

"Heavens no! I'm your future husband, not your God. I don't want you to beg.. but.." Billy smiled wide, revealing all his sharp, uneven teeth. "if you play real nice, I'll reward ya. What do you say?"

"Okay." Hoping Billy meant complimenting him or sweet talking him (Reader) agreed far too quickly, scooting over to the bars he stood at. "What do you want me to do?"

"Pretend like we're newlyweds." The bastard said matter-of-factly.

Blushing not with cute embarrassment, but shame, (Reader) smiled as sweetly as they could. They knew it was a trap, but they needed to eat. "We-Welcome home, baby! How w-was work?"

His shoulders relaxed, releasing tension as his sinister smile turned loving. "It was a rough one, but I'm glad to be home now! I missed you."

"I... missed you too."

The warm and tender look on his face darkened again, revealing the twist that (Reader) had been waiting for. Billy unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants to his knees, standing in only his boxers in front of (Reader), his hips level with their face. (Reader) flinched away, crying out "What are you doing?!"

"Ah ah ah, newlyweds, remember? Madly in love, still in our honeymoon phase, newlyweds. What does my little darlin' want to do, seeing the man they love like this?"

Tears stuck to (Reader's) lashes like dew drops on spider webs. "What do you want me to do?"

"Well.. you're already on your knees."

Sobbing silently, (Reader) reached through the bars, rubbing Billy's flaccid penis through his underwear. His body was pressed against the cage, giving (Reader) complete access to his body. They kissed him through the musty cloth, feeling his cock harden against their lips. Trembling fingers continued playing with Billy's member until he sighed

"You know, I'm starting to think you don't want it.."

"No!"

(Reader) hastily pulled down his boxers, eagerly kissing and licking the growing member. They sucked on his dick, feeling as it swelled to fill their mouth. Their hands continued frantically petting him, caressing his heavy testicles tenderly as they swirled their tongue across his slit.

Billy groaned in approval, encouraging (Reader) to continue. Hearing his heavy breathing and feeling his subtle bucking into their mouth warmed (Reader) down to their core. They kept telling themselves that they were only acting desperate for his dick because they wanted to be let out of their cage, but the uncomfortable feeling in their own under garments continued increasing as the hungrily devoured Billy's dripping precum.

"That's my darlin'.." Billy praised, making (Reader) whimper sweetly with their bruised lips still wrapped around his shaft. "Fuck, you're doing such a good job playing house.."

Grabbing their head through the bars, Billy pulled (Reader) off his dick with a wet pop, releasing his load onto their face, painting their flushed cheeks and tired eyes with his thick semen.

"What do you say?"

(Reader) smiled dopily, knowing that they did a good job. "Thank you, sweetheart!"

"Very good." Billy cooed, reaching down to his back pocket and pulling out (Reader's) reward: the key.

[ceareon]

"Salvation"

Yan! Angel x Apostate! GN! Reader

You find yourself surviving the end of the world. Yet now you're stuck with the angelic creature that tore your world apart. content warning: end of the world, gore, male yandere, religious themes, obsessive behavior. ALSO NOT PROOF READ

Part 2: "Repentance"

Artwork: "Death on a Pale Horse, ver. 1" By Benjamin West

The air was still, barely anything made noise. The soft cackles of the burning buildings in front of you slowly stifled into silence, leaving you alone with your thoughts as well as the smell of burning weed and flesh. Oh that burning smell of flesh reeked. Its been engraved in your mind since the start of all of this.

—

Your mother had gone missing. As well as thousands of humans on the same day without a trace. This of course brought mass destruction to the cities, humans suddenly disappearing without a trace was unheard of. Especially in broad daylight with witnesses. Despite your best efforts. In mud, you kneeled at sunset on the day of your birthday, dread filling you from the fact you couldn't find where your mother had gone to. You hadn't even been able to blow out your candle, now your dearest mother was gone, almost like she ceased to exist.

It was the day after your birthday when the first seal was broken, the white horse with its horseman grasping a bow, galloped forward in a quest to conquer. You couldn't forget that day, where the crown the horseman bared on it's head was soaked soaked in blood. In front of your eyes, your brother was taken from you.

Not long after you ran, tears pouring from your eyes as you feel your breath start to become uneven. You clutched your ears tightly, not listening when you hear your father calling out to you. Your heart was erratically beating. What the hell had just happened?

Hours go by, hiding in the small meadow near your home. Barely any people there yet you could still see the destruction being caused on the cities just far from where you sat. In your hand was your phone tightly clutched in your hand, you could see the countless posts on people lasts goodbyes, last smiles, last sorry's, last moments. Tears drip down, once you see the last post your father had posted. You were tagged in it.

"I love you @/darling"

posted on XX/XX/XXXX, a few minutes ago

You couldn't control the tears from pouring down, tears staining the screen of your phone before you threw it on the ground from sheer anger and disdain for yourself. How could you abandon your last family member? Dread started to fill you. You couldn't even breathe anymore.

—

You collapsed on the ground, choking blood as you barely had a will to live. Yet despite everything, you were never killed. You couldn't even take your own life despite having tried it so many times. This end of times had lasted for at least 7 days. Yet you felt as though you've been surviving for a decade.

"Human."

The air had suddenly gone cold. No longer did you feel that comfort of knowing your end was near. No. All you felt was dread. Like every little moment you had made to soothe yourself for your end was going to be ripped out of your stomach. You felt like you were about to vomit. You couldn't even bring yourself to look at the holy creature that burned it's thousands of eyes into you.

"Fear not... I'm here to bring you your salvation..."

Beside you it kneels down, gently, it wraps an arm around your waist, trying to make you sit up, yet you don't comply, causing it to huff in annoyance.

"Must you really be so stubborn?"

It forcefully grabs into your hair, pulling down to make you look up at it, yet your eyes only haze once you see the blinding light of it's halo. Fear stricken you as you see the adoring affection it shows through it's in humans face. You absolutely detest it.

"Oh... You are more enchanting than I would have thought."

Burning anger and sorrow reeks through your skin, yet you were too weak, too tired to show it. All you could do was spill the tears you've forced down for so long. It's inhuman face contorts, you could see it's makeshift eyebrows furrowing, while the thousands of eyes that were on it's skin squints, almost in a confused manner. Yet in all honesty you didn't know what emotion it was actually showing.

"Oh, human... My human. You must be so confused. I'm here to take you where you belong. To the kingdom above."

It's disgustingly human lips turn upward into an odd smile. Causing you to recoil back from uncanny disgust. No where in your pathetic life were you about to trust an Angel. Not after the calamities they've brought to the earth in the name of salvation. Just thinking about it made you heart clench as you were reminded by what you've witnessed for the past 168 hours. No amount of holy water will make you forget what these vile creatures had done to the planet you called home.

"Human."

The Angelic creature immediately apprehends you to the ground using it's four hands. You couldn't even squirm under it's grip. It wouldn't let you go. Not after having you under it's grasps now.

"I had never given you the option to say no."

[heauxvibez]

Warning: Smut (18+)

Downtown

My desire is begging for the healing Let me guide you down to the place to be..

Roman let out a shaky breath, every soft kiss you placed upon his bare torso making him slowly lose himself. The blankets became hostage to his grip as the feeling in the pit of his belly engulfed him. Each kiss felt like a tiny spark and he savored the sensation as it spread through his body.

The sweat acted as an adhesive as his strands of hair caressed his beautiful face, highlighting the contours of his features in the dim light of the room. His chest rose and fell with each uneven breath, a testament to the intensity of his arousal.

There was nothing you loved more than seeing the love of your life unravel in front of you. To know that he was the one being submissive this time stirred a different type of feeling within you—a mixture of power and adoration that fueled your desire to please him even more.

Watching him moan and squirm as he leisurely became vulnerable to your touch was a delight. It was enough to send you into a frenzy, your own heart racing in sync with his.

Nibbling and licking along his waist, you left your own little love bites to make sure he remembered who he belonged to. Each touch provoked light thrusts from him, a silent plea for more.

"Please.." he pleaded, his voice filled with longing, his eyes gazing down at you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. His vulnerability only served to fuel your wants and needs to please him.

You were slightly surprised by his submission, different from his usual demeanor. He had never been so submissive for this long, and you couldn't help but wonder what had prompted this change. Maybe he was working on his patience, or maybe he simply craved the intimacy of this moment.

Roman's hand grazed the top of your head, urging you to go further down, his touch a silent invitation to explore every inch of his body.

"Relax, baby.." you assured him, your voice seemed to soothe his restless soul.

"I'll take care of you real nice.." you promised. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips; you sounded just like him.

Roman's hand moved from your hair to your face, his touch tender yet possessive. His thumb softly pulled down on your bottom lip, a silent reminder of who was really in control.

For a minute, his demeanor shifted from vulnerability to dominance. But that control was soon lost when you took hold of his hand and slipped two of his fingers into your mouth, your tongue wrapping around them in a slow and seductive dance.

"Fuck," Roman threw his head back, his mouth agape, his breath hitching in his throat at the unexpected sensation. You hadn't even touched him yet, and already he was at your mercy, his desire laid bare for you to see.

You withdrew his fingers from your mouth, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you teased him with a promise of what was to come. Each movement was deliberate, each touch proved to him how much you wanted him.

You placed wet kisses on his thighs, and you savored every moment of this intimacy. His muscles contracted with each movement he made, his breath coming in short gasps as he surrendered himself to the pleasure of your touch.

The moans that escaped his lips made you shudder, the sight of him writhing beneath you was something you wish you could've captured on film. Little did he know, even with all his control, you felt as submissive as ever especially under his gaze.

Though you wanted him to be patient, you knew you had teased him enough. So, you decided to give him what he wanted, to satisfy the craving that burned within him.

Grabbing his erect member, you peppered it with kisses. You could hear his breath quicken, his anticipation building with each passing moment.

"Is it mine, baby?" you questioned, your voice a husky whisper that sent shivers down his spine. You savored the taste of him on your tongue.

"Mhm," he answered, his voice a low groan of pleasure as he felt himself at the back of your throat..

You pulled your mouth away from him, each movement intended to drive him wild.

"Use your words, baby," you whispered, your voice a gentle reminder of the power you held over him.

Roman let out a breathy chuckle while his fingers tangled in his hair.

"Yes, baby girl...it's..yours," he moaned between words as he succumbed to the feeling.

"Mmm, that's what I like to hear," you murmured, satisfied with his answer.

You took him back into your throat. His fingers tangled in your hair, guiding your head up and down, his hips working in sync with yours.

"Oh, Fuck," he moaned softly.

You slurped, devouring him whole. His back arched away from the bed, the feeling of your lips wrapped around him overwhelming him completely.

Roman was beginning to get closer and closer to reaching his peak.

"Fuck..fuck..fuck," he groaned, his voice strained with pleasure as he thrust into your throat with each curse that left his lips, his body trembling with ecstasy as he climaxed.

You swallowed every single drop, the taste of him on your tongue fueling your arousal. You sucked him dry, your lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to coax every last drop of pleasure from him.

He used his thumb to wipe the cum that threatened to fall from your lips.

"How was I?" you asked, kissing your way back up his exhausted body.

"Amazing," he said, before placing sweet kisses on your lips.

"But now, I think I should return the favor," he whispered, the kisses traveling along your neck and making their way downtown...

-----------

Omg that took forreeevvveeeeerrrr. Excuse me if there are any mistakes lmao I did my besstttt, don't come for me

This man would be a great pornstar because whhyyyy do we know what this man's love faces look like..

like sir we don't even have to imagine what it's like to see you moan, there's 1 million gifs of what that looks like

Tags: @harmshake @southerngirl41 @spritelucozade @empressdede

[xxlady-lunaxx]

it felt unnatural. sitting here, beside giyuu, and nobody else. giyuu seemed equally uneasy, glancing around as if waiting for something—someone. the room was empty with only the two of them. usually, giyuu was one of the last hashira to arrive. so him being here now, despite the fact that there stood no one else was unnerving. sanemi fidgeted, his bandages itchy against his skin. they continued to wait.

a moment later, they were joined with a company of three. three children, really. but just as much, their leader. if sanemi and giyuu were the pillars, the ubuyashiki's were the foundation; the walls and the ceiling and the floors. where, without them, the corps wouldn't have existed.

yet the rooms were empty now, except for the lone figures of the surviving hashira. they bowed their heads as kiriya, kuina, and kanata entered. they were so young, so full of potential for a life that the corps had been built to give. to allow themselves to let go of the idea of such life in the hopes that they could gift it to someone else. at least now, they could rest easy. knowing their hopes had finally become concrete and real.

kiriya sat and his sisters followed suit. they were young yet held themselves with the knowledge and experience of people much older than them. sanemi and giyuu remained silent, giving room to speak.

the children spoke simultaneously, as if it had been rehearsed many times before. kiriya's voice trembled ever so slightly, tense under the realization that he must deliver the words. but he managed to continue, thanking giyuu, and sanemi, and all of the members of the corps from the beginning to the end. it was finally the end.

the final hashira meeting, forever. and only sanemi and giyuu were there to attend. their victory remained unspoken, instead shown through gratitude and shaky smiles, bowing. but then—the thank you should've been directed towards the ubuyashiki's. kiriya, kagaya, and every leader that tracked a thousand years back. because pillars weren't anything without something to hold up, and the ubuyashiki clan had done its best and done perfectly in doing everything they could for centuries.

now, at least, giyuu found it in himself to speak up. sanemi could agree with giyuu, could stand on the same ground because they had to let them know. show them that they had grown with the corps and they had the ubuyashiki's to thank.

and then—kiriya and kuina and kanata. all three of them. they were still children. with so much ahead of them.

they cried, softly, full of hiccups and stuttered words. sanemi and giyuu exchanged a smile—something bittersweet and theirs. the children would be alright. they would see to that, finally repaying everything the ubuyashiki's had done for them by doing their best to build a world where kiriya, and his sisters, and everyone to come, could live in the life they hoped would continue on forever.

it would just be them, for now. and the following years wouldn't be easy, despite everything. but, at least, they vowed to make the best of them. for everyone they had lost and for everyone who would follow.

the meeting ended, quietly, and the final hashira left. a few minutes later, the ubuyashiki children followed, leaving the room empty. the light filtered through the trees outside, projecting uneven ovals of golden warmth onto the tatami mats. at first glance, nothing stood inside the room. but, throughout the months and years and decades before, there was nostalgia and laughter and tears and blood tucked into the crevices of the walls, the floor and the doors. and then, finally, everybody before them for miles and miles huddled together. it was nice to relax, to allow themselves to rest. because they would be alright. everything would finally be alright.