#the urge to write overtook me

[hp-hcs]

(i have no self control i swear)

tw: child abuse (duh)

The first memory Tom ever had was of Mrs. Cole hitting him. He had accidentally dropped his spoon during breakfast, and without any pause, Mrs. Cole backhanded him.

Tom had retreated to the safety of the overgrown and long-forgotten greenhouse in the field behind Wool’s Orphanage. He liked it there. Nobody went out there, and there was a very friendly garden snake named Sasha who liked to talk to him.

The memory, unfortunately, ends there. Likely, though, Sasha comforted him; and just as likely, he was hit again when he returned to the orphanage.

For the first eleven years of his life, Tom Riddle did not feel a single kind touch. No, every touch he was given hurt and stung and bled.

Then a man with a long white beard came and set his wardrobe on fire.

At Hogwarts, he was still avoided by everyone. He pretended to not hear the whispers of the other students, but alas. The only touch he received for the next five years were the brushes of shoulders against one another in crowded hallways.

(And a pureblood by the name of Abraxas, one Yule Ball. Tom later found out that he had been dared to ask him to dance, though.)

Then, his memories stopped again. His sixteen year old self checked out two books from the library: one from the restricted section on Dark magic, and the other a child’s book on ciphers and anagrams. He trapped himself inside of his diary, (Really, Tom, what were you thinking?) before he was forgotten again.

Well, he was forgotten. The rest of him, the rest of his soul, certainly made a name for himself.

Then, in a whirlwind of absurd coincidences, Tom was booted out of the diary by a well-meaning spell from a ginger first year and landed smack down at the feet of the boy who had killed the rest of him.

Without any hesitation, Tom hugged him.

(Whenever he was asked later, he would simply smile and respond with, “Voldemort was the product of an unloved child and a silly library book. I, however, am Thomas Marvolo Riddle. I am whatever I choose to be—not what was chosen for me.”)

((Although one time he did respond with, “Voldemort was a douchebag and I’m not him, dipshit.”))

And oh, Harry James Potter. The boy with coffee-colored skin and unruly hair, and those bright, emerald green eyes.

Harry Potter did not hug Tom back when he first emerged from the diary. He stood stock-still, as if physically holding himself back from flinching. (He was, of course, but Tom didn’t know that then.)

While Tom spent countless weeks in St. Mungo’s for observation, the cold and clinical touch of aurors and doctors made his skin crawl. So when the emerald-eyed boy arrived awkwardly with a box of chocolates and a small snake around his shoulders, who can really blame Tom for jumping up to hug him again?

And who can really blame either of them for crawling under the scratchy hospital bedsheets and holding each other close while they whispered things never before said aloud?

Harry spoke of a broom closet beneath his guardians’ staircase, (which prompted Tom to brush his fingers over that sprawling lightning scar with a whispered apology) and Tom recalled being forced to cut his own switches. (“It was never your fault, Tom. You’re not him.”)

And who could blame Arthur Weasley if he quietly shut the door after finding them asleep, wrapped up in each other? After all, they were merely two boys who deserved soft touches and gentle hands.

To all the Tomarry | Harrymort writers out there;

*slowly puts gem onto table*

Touch starved Tom / Voldemort. Anyone?

[casualtydept]

just to let you know skull face tober is 100% still happening! despite the name i always intended it to be a long term project/to be writing the fills at my own pace so i can jumpscare everyone with a bunch of skull face fics somewhere down the line. tee hee

[wonderlandwalker]

Those Who Can't Do...

𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 / 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: steve harrington x fem!reader x eddie munson 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.8k 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: It's been goddamn torture having to restrain yourself from the need clawing inside you, luckily Steve may have just found a solution 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, mdni, cursing, prolly repetitive language I might edit out later, no comprehensive plot whatsoever

𝐚/𝐧: I'm not sure where this came from either but here it is. For some reason I can't manage to write any long fics at the moment but I still enjoyed this, hopefully you will too. Oh and also enjoy my inability to write a comprehensive ending

The evening had been a slow, sweet torture.

Time dripped like syrup—thick and golden, clinging to every breath, every glance, every accidental brush of skin against skin. You sat beside Steve on the couch, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, yet somehow still too far. Your body hummed with restless energy. Maybe it was the weed, its smoke curling through your lungs like a whispered secret, honeyed and hazy. Or maybe it was the relentless pulse between your thighs, that weeks-old ache sharpening into something vicious tonight, gnawing at your patience with teeth and tongue.

Probably both.

He shifts beside you, wincing as he adjusts his weight. He bruised his ribs two weeks ago (and, you suspected, a few other things he still refused to name—stubborn as always) in some sort of heroic attempt to get Dustin’s frisbee off the roof, clearly having forgotten gravity exists.⁠ You’d been more than happy to play nurse, doting on him with soft hands and softer words, savouring every hitch in his breath when your fingers traced the mottled blues and purples blooming across his skin. He tried to play it cool, of course—leaning into the couch like he wasn’t affected, like he wasn’t starving—but his body betrayed him. The way his muscles tensed under your touch, the way his chest rose just a little faster when you leaned in, and the way his fingers twitched against the cushions, itching to pull you closer.

But the way he looked at you—those big, pleading eyes, so unused to tenderness, so fucking grateful—it was testing your resolve in ways you hadn’t expected.

At first, he’d been insistent. "We can still fuck," he’d murmured against your neck, voice rough with promise, hands already sliding under your shirt like he could will his injuries away through sheer determination. His touch was feverish, fingers mapping your skin with a possessiveness that made your breath catch. "Just ride me, baby. I can take it."

And you had. Slow and careful, hips rolling in a rhythm that made him groan, his head tipping back into the pillows. His fingers dug into your thighs, blunt nails leaving half-moon indents as he urged you on, chasing the friction, the heat. You let him lose himself in it, let him chase the high until his orgasm hit—until the sharp gasp he let out wasn’t just pleasure but pain, his ribs protesting under the movement. The way his face twisted, equal parts bliss and agony, had been the end of that experiment.

His next attempt had been simpler: "Then just let me take care of you," he’d panted, fingers already working the button of your jeans, mouth trailing hot kisses down your stomach. But Steve Harrington had never been good at restraint, and the second he got his hands on you, all bets were off. Eagerness overtook caution, his touch too rough, his kisses too desperate, his breathing strained as he pushed through the ache of his body—like he was trying to prove something, like if he could just make you cum hard enough, it would erase the fact that he couldn’t fuck you like he wanted to.

"Steve—Steve, stop," you’d gasped, catching his wrists when his grip tightened, when his teeth scraped your collarbone a little too hard. He froze instantly, chest heaving, pupils blown wide with frustration. A muscle in his jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth; his whole body coiled like a spring.

"I’m not made of glass," he gritted out, but the wince as he shifted gave him away.

"No," you agreed softly, thumb brushing over his pulse point, feeling the wild, rabbit-quick thrum beneath his skin. "But you’re not invincible either."

The fight drained out of him then, his forehead dropping to your shoulder with a shaky exhale. "Fuck," he muttered, voice raw with frustration, with surrender. "I just—I want to make you feel good."

Now the TV’s glow paints the room in flickering blues, shadows clinging to the sharp angles of Steve’s face like they’re reluctant to let him go. His thumb traces idle circles on your hip, slow and deliberate, the calloused pad of his finger catching against fabric—against skin—just enough to make your breath hitch. You can feel his gaze on you, heavy-lidded and dark with intent, like he’s already mapped every shiver he wants to pull from you, every gasp he hasn’t earned yet.

His hand slips beneath your shirt, palm warm against your ribs, his thumb sweeping in slow, maddening arcs over the dip of your waist. Normally, this lazy drag of his touch would be soothing, lulling you into that hazy, sleep-drunk space where time blurs and thoughts dissolve. But right now? It’s gasoline poured way too close to the fucking fire. 

And you’re this close to snapping.

His fingers dig in. It’s sudden and possessive, his grip tightening like he’s just now realising how thin his restraint’s been stretched. A rough noise tears from his throat as he shifts closer, his breath hot and ragged against your ear, lips grazing your jaw in a way that’s more teeth than kiss.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he growls, voice rough as gravel, “you’re going to kill me like this.”

The words punch a soft whimper out of you—raw, unbidden—your body arching into him before your brain can catch up. You grind down harder, chasing the friction, the heat, the something that’s been simmering between you all night, molten and insistent. Steve’s smirk is pure wicked amusement when he pulls back just enough to watch you unravel. His teeth catch his lower lip and his eyes—God, his eyes—dark with a hunger that sends a dizzying rush between your thighs.

Like he knows.

Like he’s been counting every shaky breath, every aborted roll of your hips, cataloguing each desperate little noise you try to swallow down. And he’s revelling in it, in how far gone you are, how easily he could tip you over the edge with just the press of his palm or the scrape of his teeth.

And maybe you are far gone. Because for one long, breathless moment, you’ve fucking forgotten Eddie is even there—frozen on the couch beside you, his usual sharp-tongued bravado stripped away like a band-aid ripped off too fast. His fingers twitch absently around the joint, the cherry burning perilously close to his skin, but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even seem to notice. His gaze is locked onto the way you move against Steve, pupils blown so wide they swallow the whisky-brown of his irises. A traitorous flush creeps up his neck, blotchy and pink, his lips parted around a breath he hasn’t remembered to exhale.

Steve’s gaze cuts sideways, slow and deliberate, and Eddie jerks his eyes back to the movie like he’s been burnt—too quick, too obvious. But it’s too late. The damage is done. You feel the shift in Steve before you see it: the way his body tenses, the quiet, possessive edge that sharpens his movements. His free hand slides up, fingers tangling in your hair, cradling the back of your neck with a grip that’s firm enough to make your breath hitch. There’s no hesitation in the way he pulls you closer, no room for protest—not that you’d give it. His lips graze the shell of your ear, the warmth of his breath fanning over your skin in a slow, deliberate tease. A shiver skitters down your spine, pooling low in your stomach as his voice curls around you:

“Wanna have some fun, baby?”

The words drip with smug satisfaction, already knowing the answer. You don’t even need to speak—your body betrays you, arching into him, pulse fluttering under his touch. You can feel his smirk against your skin before you see it, that lazy, knowing curve of his mouth that sends heat licking through your veins. A whine catches in your throat, weak and wanting, and your gaze flickers helplessly toward Eddie before you can stop yourself.

Eddie, who’s still staring. Eddie, whose fingers have gone white-knuckled around the arm of the couch. Eddie, who hasn’t taken a single fucking breath since Steve’s hand slid into your hair. ⁠His throat bobs as he swallows hard, Adam’s apple jumping under the strain, and when he shifts, the fabric of his jeans pulls taut over his thighs, denim straining where he’s already fully hard. The sight punches the air from your lungs, leaving you lightheaded.

Steve notices. Of course he fucking notices.

His thumb drags over your lower lip, calloused and insistent, tugging your mouth open just to watch the way your breath hitches, the way your tongue darts out instinctively to taste the salt of his skin. But his eyes—dark, amused, challenging—never leave Eddie.

“C'mon, Munson,” he taunts, voice rough with laughter and something lower, darker. “You really just going to sit there and watch her suffer like this?”

Eddie shifts, thighs tensing as he leans forward, elbows braced on his knees. But the movement does nothing to hide the way his cock twitches against his zipper, the outline obscenely obvious now, thick and straining. 

He’s never been the nervous type in bed—never been one to fumble, to second-guess. Confidence comes easy when you know the rules, and he’s always known the game: quick with clever comebacks, filthy promises, and that razor-edged grin. But this?

This shit is different.

Because you’re not his to take.

You’re Steve’s.

The two of you have a relationship so sickeningly sweet it makes Robin fake-gag regularly—all tangled limbs and whispered inside jokes, shared glances that speak in a language no one else deciphers. It’s the kind of intimacy that leaves Eddie equal parts fascinated and furious, a gnawing hunger in his gut that he’s never allowed himself to name. Not fully. Not when it tastes like betrayal, like greed, like wanting something so far out of bounds it might as well be signed in his own blood.

And now Steve is watching him with that lazy, taunting stare, one eyebrow arched like he’s enjoying a private quip. Like he already knows Eddie’s going to fucking unravel the second his hands are on you. Like he’s counting on it.

Eddie’s throat clicks as he swallows hard, voice caught somewhere between desire and hesitation.

"I—" he begins, but the words falter, cracking like a teenager’s voice on the verge of breaking. His eyes flicker with a mixture of longing and restraint, fighting against the urge to give in.

Steve doesn’t let him hesitate. His grip tightens around your jaw, fingers firm but gentle, tilting your face up toward Eddie. The involuntary moan that slips past your lips is soft but incendiary—a pure, raw sound that immediately hits Eddie’s cock like a lightning strike, hot and undeniable.

“You what, Munson?” Steve presses, laced with a false innocence that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His gaze darkens with amusement, a silent challenge hanging in the air. “Are you going to get your shit together? Or do I need to hold your fucking hand?”

That’s all Eddie needs. Something snaps inside him like a switch flipping. His hands, trembling at first, surge forward to grip your hips, yanking you onto his lap. His touch is tentative—like he’s afraid you’re a fragile illusion, about to shatter at the slightest touch—but that hesitation quickly dissolves. The second your nails scrape down his neck, drawing a shudder from him, he groans aloud and gives in completely, fingers digging into your hips. He looks at Steve one last time, searching his face for reassurance, for some sign that this isn’t some fever dream born from too much weed and reckless desire. That this moment is real.

Steve simply raises an eyebrow, giving a slow, deliberate nod—an unspoken command, an invitation.

Without further hesitation, Eddie pulls you closer, his lips crashing onto yours with a ferocity born of starvation. He kisses you like he’s been drowning, and you’re the first gasp of air he's tasted in days. His hands are already roaming, exploring, desperate to claim every inch of you. Your own fingers claw at his shirt, eager to rid yourselves of the barriers between you—anything to bring you closer.

Steve’s laugh is low, approving, a quiet sound that fuels the fire burning in Eddie’s gut. Eddie doesn’t quite know whether to flip him off or thank him—maybe both—but in this moment, neither matters.

His hips buck up into yours, a jarring movement that sends a jolt of friction straight to your core. The sharp gasp that escapes your lips is raw—like you’ve been waiting for this moment for ages. The contact sparks an electric current beneath your skin, each pulse of pleasure crackling through your veins, igniting every nerve ending. You instinctively arch into him, chasing the heat of his body pressed against yours, desperate to drown in the feeling.

Eddie’s mouth is molten, a fiery brand against your skin. His lips leave a trail of heat as they slide down your neck, teeth grazing just enough to make you catch your breath. Each nip is a promise—rough and teasing, a slow burn that leaves you trembling—and each kiss is a torturous whisper of sensation, a deliberate game of push and pull that keeps you on the edge.

Your gaze flickers back to Steve, half-lidded and needy, eyes dark with unspoken hunger. He lounges casually against the couch, one arm draped over the back, the other lazily tipping a bottle to his lips, but nothing about his relaxed posture feels genuine. The way his fingers curl tightly around the glass betrays his composure—white-knuckled and tense. His jaw clenches subtly, a tell that he’s fighting to keep his cool, even as his eyes—so hungry, so intense—track every movement you make.

He watches you and Eddie with a predatory focus, drinking in every shiver Eddie wrings from you, every tremor that rips through your body. His gaze lingers on your fingers clutching Eddie’s shoulders, on your breath coming in uneven little pants, and every little sound you make seems to feed his desire, fuelling the simmering heat that’s barely contained beneath his calm exterior.

The air between you three hangs thick with anticipation, heavy and electric—each exhale infused with unspoken longing, every breath a shared secret that crackles in the silence. The tension is palpable, almost tangible, like a living thing coiled tight and waiting to unravel. “Please,” you whimper softly, your voice trembling as you roll your hips in slow, deliberate circles. The friction of fabric against your skin only intensifies the ache between your thighs, a dull, persistent thrum that demands release. You press down harder, chasing the heat, desperate for more—more contact, more sensation, more everything.

Steve’s smirk is infuriatingly calm, his expression cool as he sets the bottle aside, the glass softly clinking against the table. His eyes linger on you, dark and unreadable, as he says, with a low, velvet rasp that only makes your pulse race, “I’m not the one you need to ask, sweetheart.” The words curl around you like smoke—smooth, dangerous, and utterly commanding.

Eddie’s nose nudges the neckline of your top lower, his breath hot and tantalising against the swell of your breast. His lips brush over your skin in a fleeting, maddening caress—tongue flicking out to taste, to tease, to torment. A soft whimper escapes you, fingers twisting into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against you, a raw sound that vibrates through your body. When you rasp his name—“Eddie, please”—his eyes flicker with a mixture of lust and hunger. He tears himself away just long enough to meet your gaze, pupils blown wide, lips slick from your skin, a raw, primal want etched into every line of his face. 

“Fuck—yeah, anything—” Eddie’s voice is wrecked already; his hands tighten on your hips, grip fierce as he grinds upward into you, the friction stealing your breath. Every movement is a craving, a hunger that can’t be contained, a relentless push toward the edge.

Your hands scramble desperately for Eddie’s belt, fingers fumbling with urgency, nails scraping against leather as you try to tear him free. Every second feels like an eternity—your need mounting, your body aching to feel him fully, to have him inside you. The moment his pants finally give way—along with yours—his cock springs free, heavy and hot against your bare stomach, sending a shiver straight through you.

Eddie’s head drops back with a guttural groan, his hips jerking upward instinctively, as if drawn by an unbreakable magnet. His muscles tense beneath your touch, the heavy desire burning in his eyes as he braces himself for what's to come.

When he finally sheaths inside you in one brutal, perfect glide, the sensation is everything. You’re soaked, clenching around him in frantic, greedy ripples before he’s even fully seated—every inch stretching you deliciously tight. The burn is exquisite, almost too much, and you can’t help but muffle a broken sob against his shoulder, overwhelmed by the sensation.

Eddie’s hands grip your hips like a lifeline, fingers digging into your flesh as if anchoring himself to you. His throat works around a silent curse, Adam’s apple bobbing wildly, desperate to hold back.

“Fuck—” His cock twitches inside you, already on the edge, trembling with the effort to hold back. You can feel it—the way his thighs quiver beneath you, the tight grip of his hands, the tension radiating off him like static. He’s fighting—trying to keep his stamina intact because cumming just moments after entering would be embarrassing, a waste, especially when he’s barely begun to savour this. Yet every second, his body betrays him, urging him closer to the edge. And you, desperate and insatiable, cling to him, feeling the heat of his desire, knowing that neither of you can hold back much longer.

Your gaze flicks to Steve, the tension in his body unmistakable—his own arousal painfully evident beneath the waistband of his trousers. Fully hard, lips parted as he watches you ride Eddie with desperate, grinding thrusts—his eyes dark with hunger and restraint. His jaw is clenched tight, resisting the urge to touch himself, every muscle taut with need, fighting the craving to give in. And when your eyes meet his, he doesn’t hesitate. He commands, low and rough, his voice thick with desire and authority as his gaze stays fixated on you.

“Rub your fingers over her clit.”

It’s not even a request—it's an order. Eddie obeys instantly, his calloused fingers finding your swollen bundle of nerves, pressing into it with greedy pressure. The sudden contact makes you cry out sharply, your hips bucking against him as if seeking more. Your moans spill into the air like a sinful melody, raw and unfiltered, echoing around the room.

Steve’s lips curl into a smirk, satisfaction flickering in his dark gaze as he watches you unravel, caught in the storm of pleasure he’s orchestrated.

“Just like that,” he murmurs, voice dripping with approval, each word laced with pride. Your ass twitches against Eddie’s pelvis as you grind down harder, taking him deeper, chasing that perfect, dizzying high. Eddie’s cock jerks inside you; the sensation of your body moving against him, so tight and wet, feels like an exquisite punishment, every ripple of your muscles designed to drown him. You’re dripping around him, slick and clenching, as if your body was made solely to decimate him. His cock moves through your soaked core, gliding through your wetness, a perfect fit—each thrust sending shockwaves through both of you. Eddie is so close to losing it—so far gone he can’t tell if the moans echoing in the room are his or yours or—  Steve’s.

“Keep going, baby,” Steve’s voice is gravel and velvet, his hand splayed possessively over the small of your back, urging you down harder, deeper. “Look at you. Taking him so fucking well.”

Eddie’s eyes roll back—literally—because, fuck, this isn’t just pleasure anymore. It’s a goddamn boss battle, and you’ve got him trapped under a status effect he can’t escape. His body shudders like a plucked guitar string, breath ragged and uneven, cock jerking inside you as your fluttering walls threaten to bring him to the brink. Every tiny movement of your hips frays his control further, every gasp and moan blurring into a tangled mess. He’s fighting—barely holding on—clinging to whatever shred of composure he can muster, even as you pull him apart with every responsive ripple of your body.

You’re a wreck above him, trembling and breathless, chanting Steve’s name like a prayer—like he’s the only god who’s ever answered. Even though it’s Eddie buried deep inside you, your voice is pure worship, trembling with raw need and surrender. Your thighs clamp around Eddie’s hips with violent spasms, milking him relentlessly—like you’re determined to extract his very soul through his cock. His body jerks beneath you, muscles taut, on the verge of losing control, his climax coiling tight and desperate in his gut.

And Steve notices.

“That’s it,” Steve murmurs, voice low and rough, leaning in close. His breath hot against Eddie’s ear, each word dripping with authority and desire. “Fuck her just like that—harder. She’s close. Want to feel her cum on you?” His hand slides up your spine, fingers tangling in your hair, tugging just enough to make you whimper, a sound of pure need.

Eddie’s senses are aflame—every nerve ending tingling as he fights to hold back, but it’s impossible. Heaven isn’t some pearly-gated choir. No, it’s this—your slick, trembling body, the wet heat surrounding him, the way you writhe and cling to him like a vice. It’s a sin so sweet it nearly baptises him in its own salvation, a divine kind of damnation that leaves him craving more. He chuckles softly to himself, cursing the irony—maybe he should start going to church, just to thank God for this wicked blessing.

Then, with a shuddering gasp, Eddie gathers his last shreds of control, driving into you harder and faster, each stroke rough and relentless. His pace remains steady, hands gripping your hips as he pushes you closer to the edge. He can feel you cumming around him—your body tightening, convulsing, writhing in helpless pleasure. You bury your face in his neck, gasping as your surrender becomes complete. And that’s all it takes—Eddie’s own body erupts, spilling inside you, his climax crashing through him like a tidal wave. His body goes on autopilot, fucking you through your orgasm with reckless abandon, veins pounding, senses overloaded. Every muscle tightens, every breath uneven as he rides the waves of pleasure that threaten to drown him. As the final tremors fade, you collapse with Eddie still buried inside you, clinging to him in the aftermath, the heat of your bodies mingling, sweat cooling on your skin in silence—only the sound of your ragged breathing and the distant echo of hearts pounding in your chests.

[pit-and-the-pen]

Please go to sleep.

Summary: your mate forces you to stop working and take some time for yourself.

Wc: 1k (short and sweet)

Written for this request: Hey, Could you do prompt no.94 for Azriel?❤️✨

Also hi, I’m alive. Just getting my butt kicked by a very busy work schedule right now. Sorry this is so short but work is slowing down again so I’ll actually have more time to write. Also I wrote this on my phone.

I sat up at the desk, the words in front of me swimming as I forced my eyes to focus on them. Hands still stained blue from the last pot of ink I had clumsily knocked over with my sleeve. I just had to get this recipe written down. The healing potion that neutralized faebane, the one thing I had been working on for months. I needed to get this test run written down because it was the closest I had been to figuring it out. I knew it was right in my grasp and I could sleep once I was done.

At the thought of sleep, I could feel my eyes growing heavier. My traitorous body demanded I crawl into my soft bed that would smell like my mate. I shook my head again, like I could displace the need. It worked for a second, a deep breath left me as I struggled to recall just how much bittergreen I added to this batch.

The creek of the door had my eyes flickering up slowly before I pulled my focus back to the book in front of me. I fought back a sigh as shadows swirled around my wrists attempting to pull me up.

“You should be in bed, sweetheart.” Azriel’s voice carried from the door.

“I will in a little bit.” Was all I responded with.

“It’s three in the morning. You woke up early to start working and I know you didn’t take a break to eat dinner.” He huffed, his shadows wrapping tighter around my arms to drive home is irritation. A wave of shock went through me at his words. Had I really been at this for that long?

“I didn’t realize…”

“You’re half asleep right now. This will still be here in the morning.” I didn’t hear him walk behind me. His hand ran lightly down my neck and over my shoulders and I couldn’t fight the urge to lean back into him. His hand went to my hair, strong fingers rubbing the tension around my temples. The careful attention made my sleepy eyes burn as I tried to blink them open.

“Az, I need to-“

“No. You need to sleep. I’ll help you with this tomorrow. After you’ve gotten enough sleep.”

I didn’t want to fight with him over this. It was like he could feel his victory. “Plus, you’re not going to be able to read that anyways.” He looked over my head at the book in front of me. I followed his eyes and saw the illegible chicken scratch my handwriting had devolved into. I fought the urge to cry as I noticed the hours of hard work I had wasted.

Azriel held out his hand and with a defeated groan, I took it. When I stood up my legs screamed in protest. Not noticing how heavy my body suddenly was. I tried to take a step and would have collapsed into a pile if it wasn’t for my mates strong arms holding me to him.

He didn’t waste a second in sweeping my body off the floor and into his arms. His shadows swirling around me, clearly concerned for me.

I closed my eyes as I nestled further into his chest. Breathing in his comforting scent as he carried us to our room. I think I fell asleep before he could put me down or maybe I lasted a little longer than that but I barley felt the warm blankets before sleep overtook me for good.

I woke up the next morning burning up. Azriel was fully laid on top of me. Still sound asleep. I wiggled slightly, trying to sneak out from underneath the furnace that was Azriel when he slept. A small huff left his lips as he wrapped and arm around my waist. I waiting for him to wake up but he still seemed to be out for the count. I sighed and decided to close my eyes again. Realizing I had no chance in moving him.

When I woke for the second time, I was noticeably cooler. Azriel was laying across from me, fingers tracing small patterns along my bare stomach. His soft touch immediately making goosebumps rise in their wake.

“Good morning.” He said as I rolled over to face him. I smiled and moved over until my face was against his chest.

“Good morning. Care to tell me why I’m not wearing any night clothes?”

“Well someone wouldn’t let me put them down long enough to get them on. But I had to get your corset off of you at least.” His eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m sure you tried very hard.” He chuckled and continued his earlier patterns along my skin. “Thank you.” I said, moving closer to press a small kiss to his lips.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I know we would both work ourselves to death if the other didn’t stop it.”

“You’re not wrong.” I gave him another, longer, kiss. His hands paused to wrap around my waist.

“I just want to see you happy.”

“And naked.” I finished for him. He shrugged and gave me a boyish smile that made me want to do anything but get up. I kicked my leg free of the thick blanket and wrapped it around his waist.

“Well I know what would make me extremely happy…”

The thought trailed off as he pulled me closer to him. His hands and lips tracing all thoughts of work far away.

[thepitlanepress]

HOME TO ANOTHER ONE –

↳ charles leclerc + reader

⌗ :: a/n: home to another one came on as i was listening to music and the overwhelming urge to write a fuckass fic overtook me. (its based on vibes guys) ALSO??? FIRST CHARLES FIC!!! warning not proofread lol

you didn't cry when charles won in monaco. you cheered, smiling loudly and proudly, your support swallowed along with the rest of the crowd's.

you could see his pure joy from where you stood. watching, as he leapt out of his car, and ran over to his team. you had smiled and clapped, beaming for him when he stood atop the podium, your pride leaking from you everywhere.

that bright, bright smile only faded slightly when he ran over to alexandra and hugged her tightly. he whispered in her ear and she broke out in laughter and you had to push down the twinge of your jealousy. because that wasn't you. you were sitting up in a grandstand, watching through a screen. a fan in the crowd, just... another ferrari supporter.

you weren't the girl charles worshipped at night, the girl he reverently looked at in the low lights of a restaurant, the girl he whispered forgotten tomorrows to. you were simply washed away in the crowd, no one could've have picked you out, a mere fan. a fan, is all you were in that moment.

hell, you had been sitting next to a full grown man who was crying like it was him who just crossed the line. how could anyone tell that you knew charles better than they did. that you knew his exact schedule, that you knew he was cheating, which you knew was wrong, but he was cheating with you. that had to mean something right? you had to mean something.

you hated yourself most days for allowing it to go so far, it was only supposed to be a friendship, friends that was it. but then he started spending more time with you, and when you asked about alex, he would brush it off and say she didn't have to know.

you knew it was wrong when he first kissed you, but some twisted part of you enjoyed it because someone was choosing you.

what started as a simple few nights a month started to become more heated, every week, every few days, whenever either of you had a free moment. and you revelled in the secrecy, it was your secret. just you and him. and you would build a fragile bubble around yourself that would be shattered every time charles had to walk out to go home to alex.

you had deluded yourself into thinking you were his first choice, that he would for some reason, choose you over her when it all came to shit.

he never would.

he would go home to alex, he would choose her.

you should've broken it off that day, sent a quick i cant do this anymore text and blocked his number. but he was high off the win and you didn't want to bring him down.

that was your first mistake.

now, you sit in the grandstand watching another race fly past in the new season - charles had flown you out for this one - your ferrari shirt hanging loosely on your torso as you cheer when he crosses the line in 3rd.

he smile is contagious and you can't help but blush when he winks directly into the camera during the podium.

tonight he was all yours.

"you did amazing today," you murmur later on, as he enters your hotel room– in the same building as his, so there was no suspicion.

he grins at you and places a kiss on your forehead before heading to the bathroom to shower. "thank you cheri," he calls back, his tone warm and open.

you liked these moments, they made you forget about the relationship that you're knowingly ruining. you like to blame your stupid feelings, that they continue to rule you, when you decide to break things off, they would convince you to stop, you'd never find anything better than the scraps you were being given now right?

that love was going to ruin what you and charles had, so don't fall. yet the tidal wave of it didn't stop. you were washed away, falling for a man you could never truely have, because in no world would charles ever break up with alex.

he would always go home to her, and you would be left with the cold bed and a slightly broken heart.

which is why you had mentally finally stood up. got a hold of yourself. realised that whatever the fuck you were doing needs to stop, because if you don't end it now, its only going to be a shit ton worse when he eventually ends it. because he will.

this was the last time you told yourself, the last time you would ever see him like this, be with him like this. from today onwards you were strangers. you did the right thing, you saved yourself from the impending shit storm.

that was the easy part - you telling yourself that. the hard part was still to come: actually telling him what you did.

charles emerges from the shower then, barefoot and waist wrapped only in a towel, promising to get changed and he'll be right out, you do the hardest thing you think you've ever done.

you call out to him while standing up heading to the door. "charles we have to talk."

"i'll be right there!" he answers back shuffling around in the room.

"what did you want to talk about mon cheri..." he says, stopping dead when he walks into the room.

he stares at you, shock, guilt, confusion, every emotion clouding his face. then he slowly looks over to alexandra, sitting next to you on the couch, a seemingly innocent smile on her face.

"hello charles," she says, tilting her head slightly. "i've just met your good friend y/n here, it seems we have a lot in common." she looks over at you, anger and gratitude swirling in her eyes, before turning back to charles. "you."

the backtracking started then;

it was a one time thing, i promise.

it's been going on for over a year charles.

nothing bad happened.

you have been sleeping with another woman charles.

y/n tell her!

she already has, and if i wasn't extremely furious at you, i would be pissed at her too.

you have to believe me.

i don't.

for most of the night you sat there, shame covering you like a dark cloud as charles and alex argued. charles trying to ask for forgiveness and alex refusing.

what had you been thinking?

you were right in the end as well, because charles hasn't uttered a single word to you since alex arrived. all his focus has been on her.

you had made the right decision.

you had made the right decision.

you had made the right decision, right?

no matter how much you wanted to curl up and cry. not even when alex turned some of her heat on you, angered, yes, but also thankful you told her.

the anger mostly won out. you deserved it.

it was a wake up call you needed, though. so you did what you were told, you collected your stuff, picked up your shattered heart and walked out the door to find a different hotel that you could afford this late at night.

it was the right thing.

your feelings don't matter right now, because its your fault too.

"you alright there?" a english accent greets your ears as you make your way down the hallway toward the elevator, tears quietly streaming down your face.

you huff out an unconvincing laugh, "its been a night," you say looking up and seeing none other than lando norris, outside his room door.

"i'll say, you certainly look it," he says his brows furrowing. "everything okay?"

for some reason, this simple act of asking you caused floodgates to open literally and figuratively. a fresh new batch of tears fell, and so did the words, "i'm a fucking awful person." then the entire story of you and charles. in a hotel hallway. to lando norris. six doors down from charles and alex.

lando being the considerate person he is, quickly jumps to comfort you, wrapping you in a hug and trying to calm you down. "why don't you get some sleep before you go telling anymore people about your entire life story," he chuckles. "its late, what floor is your room on? i'll walk you there."

"i dont have one. well i did but i guess i can't go back there. i was going to go look for one just now."

"its too late for that," lando says, shaking his head. "i'll get you one, the hotel owes me a favour from last year anyway."

so thats how you end up in a room a floor above, watching the city lights flicker in the night as you try and piece your heart back together.

you knew it would end this way, and its your own fault.

but your stupid, stupid heart had convinced you otherwise. what had you expected other than this?

in the morning, when you wake up, you'll thank lando for his unexpected kindness, you'll fly home and reevaluate your life, your choices. maybe leave monaco for a while, travel, move on. forget about charles leclerc and hope that one day alex can forgive you (you're doubtful about that).

move on. you'll move on.

because no matter how many times you think otherwise, charles will always go home to another one.

2025 © thepitlanepress | please do not steal, use, translate or repost any of my works

– comments, likes and reblogs appreciated !

[sweetyluvs]

desperate ellie sex hcs when she gets back from soccer practice 😩

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞/𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐲 𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐡𝐜𝐬 🐱

warnings : SMUT, MDNI ; vaginal eating out, dirty talk, name callings, scissoring, finger fucking.. i don’t ever write smut so ignore how bad it it 😭not rlly hcs but whatever 🧍‍♀️I MADE IT SO SHE LOST A GAME CUZ IDK WHAT ELSE TO MAKE IT ABT. hope that’s okay<33

let’s just get it out of the way, that whenever ellie loses a game she’s angry or horny if not both.

breaks down the door when she comes home, her face so scrunched you are surprised the skin hasn’t torn.

is all grumpy and moody and upset, but eventually becomes clingy and desperate.

shoving her head in your neck and rutting her hips against your ass

turns you on from how desperate she is. a very rare occasion

“not now, ellie. I have to do my homework.” you defended, ignoring the pooling of your own pussy.

“fuck— please, baby. i need you.” she groaned, her hot breath fanning down your neck— and you gave in. pressing your lips to hers.

she devours you, her pleading whines becoming angry grunts when you two make it to your bedroom.

takes off her soccer uniform, throwing it angrily across the room before practically ripping off your clothes— nipping at your bare skin immediately

you whimper, the sudden feeling of her soft lips kissing your body never failing to make you feel crazy

ellie’s fingers drift down, fiddling with the hem of your panties before teasing you from the outside. her boney fingers lightly running over the underwear, your soaking cunt leaking through the fabric

whines and begs slipping from your mouth, pleas for her to touch you. but, she stops her touching, looking you dead in the eyes “what do you want? say it, use your words.” she demands, watching you so closely you could come just from her gaze. “please, ellie.. i want you to touch me.”

the satisfied smirk on her face made you want to punch her, but your desperation overtook your urges.

“where, baby? here? or…” she slides her hand from your boobs down to your cunt again, once again teasing

“here?” you whine at her words, nodding. “why are you nodding? i said to use your words.” she growled, her brows furrowing. “i wan’t you to touch my pussy, ellie.” you moaned out, enough to satisfy her.

She slowly slipped your undies off, watching as the wet material stuck to your cunt before sliding off completely. she moved herself down, proving her head between your thighs.

She kissed your puffy clit, causing an erotic moan to leap from your swollen lips. Ellie’s tongue worked its usual magic; sucking, kissing, rolling— your eyes began to water, the feeling of her inside you causing your build up to come much faster than usual

the way she moved had you crying like a little girl; red faced and sobbing, begging her to let you cum. “what do you want, again?”

“please, please ellie please let me cum. I’ll be good, i promise.”

“sluts usually don’t keep their promises.” the insult had your tummy flipping and cunt clenching, and of course ellie noticed. She took no time slipping her middle finger inside you, your walls sucking her in desperately.

lets just say, you’d came way more than you’d expected.

“ahh.. ellie.. i can’t.” you cried out, the feeling of her clit rubbing against yours had you choking on your spit, the way she gripped your thigh in such a controlling way.

“j-js’ shut it, ‘kay? f-fuck.” she grunted out, her hips increasing their pace. your hands gripped your pink sheets,

“yeah.. js like that. fuck, look at you, already about to cum again. what a fuckin��� whore.” ellie gritted out, watching as you shut your eyes.

your hips were cramping up, unable to keep up with ellie’s speedy pace— earning your name to be called.

“fucking move it— i.. fuck— move your hips.” she demanded, moving her grip on your thigh to grab your hip and harshly shove it forward— earning a moan from you both.

“o-oh, shit..”

your began to move your hips, clits rubbing together quickly.

“ellie.. els.. i’m gonna..”

she huffed, clenching her jaw. “go ahead, cum again you fucking slut.” her words put you over the edge, a cry leap from your throat as you came for the nth time that night, legs trembling as ellie continued to rub herself against you.

her moans and grunts became more high pitched, her brows furrowing and grip tightening.

“fuckin’.. fuck, oh shit, oh shit..” she groaned out, her lips hitching their movements temporarily as she met her own orgasm. you moved your hips with her, trying to assist her.

she released her grip on you upon her finish, panting in sync with you.

“fuck.”

you bent over, kissing her cheek softly. she didn’t look at you, clearly still upset about her loss. You had an idea, removing your legs from the entanglement of your sex to get off the bed, ignoring her eyes trailing on you.

“what are you doing?”

“you’ll see.” you replied, going to the bathroom and pulling out a drawer. you closed the door, putting on the secret lingerie you’d bought for a secret.

after a while you walked out, suddenly feeling small under ellie’s intense gaze. her eyes scanned your body, hunger filling her eyes.

“I hope you have more in you for a few more rounds because that shit is coming right off.”

[misaerabl]

Could you please write about sevika comforting reader after the read has just found out some important in her life has died (Idc who u pick as dead but Ik I would love to read it!)

Steady as the Storm

WARNINGS/content: just death i guess, sweet sweet sevika

A/N: wrote this like in one seating very quickly, lmk if you want more hehe loved this!

The news arrived like a punch to the gut, leaving you hollow and gasping. The phone call ended, but its weight lingered, the words etched into the fragile quiet of your apartment: She’s gone.

Your legs buckled as you stumbled inside, the door swinging shut behind you with a dull click. The air felt too thin, the walls too close. You barely made it to the middle of the room before grief caught up with you, crashing over you like a tidal wave.

The sound of boots on the hardwood pulled you from your spiral. Sevika stood there, her broad frame filling the doorway, her sharp gaze softening the instant she saw you. She didn’t ask right away. Instead, she crossed the room with quiet determination and reached for you, her metal hand resting against your shoulder like an anchor.

“Hey,” she said, her voice low and steady, like the hum of distant thunder. “What’s going on?”

Your throat tightened as you tried to answer, but the words refused to come. A single sob broke free, and before you knew it, Sevika’s arms were around you, pulling you into her chest.

“It was my grandmother,” you choked out finally, your voice cracking under the weight of it. “She’s gone. This morning. I didn’t even—” A fresh wave of tears overtook you. “I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

Sevika didn’t flinch, didn’t tell you to pull it together. She just held you tighter, her chin resting lightly against the top of your head. Her silence spoke louder than words—I’m here. Let it out.

“I should’ve done more,” you whispered, guilt laced through every syllable. “I should’ve called her more often. Should’ve visited. She—she probably thought I didn’t care.”

Her grip on you tightened just slightly, a wordless reassurance. Finally, she pulled back enough to look you in the eyes, her face steady but soft in a way you’d rarely seen. “Don’t do that,” she said quietly, her voice rough but not unkind. “Don’t punish yourself. You loved her, right? She knew that.”

You nodded, but the tears kept falling. Sevika brushed a strand of hair from your face, her metal hand surprisingly gentle. “Love like that doesn’t go unnoticed. I promise you, she knew.”

She guided you to the couch and sat beside you, keeping close, her arm draped protectively around your shoulders. You curled into her side, her warmth grounding you in a way you desperately needed.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “How do I just… keep going without her?”

Sevika sighed, a heavy sound that rumbled through her chest. “You take it one day at a time. And when it gets too heavy, you let someone help carry it. You let me help carry it.”

Her words settled over you, quiet but unyielding. You closed your eyes, her heartbeat steady beneath your ear. For a while, the two of you sat like that, the silence broken only by the occasional sniffle. Sevika didn’t rush you, didn’t fill the quiet with hollow reassurances. She simply stayed, an unwavering presence in the storm.

When your tears slowed, she reached for a tissue, pressing it into your hand. “You want to tell me about her?” she asked softly, as though the words might shatter the fragile stillness between you.

You hesitated, then nodded. “She had the best laugh,” you began, your voice trembling but steadying as you spoke. “And she used to sneak me sweets when my parents weren’t looking. She told these ridiculous stories—half of them weren’t even true—but I loved them anyway.”

Sevika listened without interrupting, her hand resting on yours. When you faltered, she gave your fingers a reassuring squeeze, silently urging you to continue.

“She sounds like she was something else,” Sevika said when you finished, her voice low and warm.

“She was,” you whispered. “I just… I thought I had more time. I always thought there’d be more time.”

Sevika leaned back slightly, her eyes meeting yours, firm and unflinching. “It’s never enough, is it? But listen to me—you loved her the way you knew how. That’s what she’d hold on to. Not the missed calls or the visits you didn’t make. She’d hold onto you.”

Her words hit something deep inside you, loosening the tight knot of guilt that had wrapped itself around your chest. You nodded, tears slipping silently down your cheeks.

“Lean on me,” Sevika said, her voice barely above a whisper. “As long as you need to. I’m not going anywhere.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning against her once more, the solid weight of her beside you a balm for the ache inside. The storm still raged, but for the first time since the call, you felt like you weren’t weathering it alone.

[thebearer]

just thinking about brat tamer!lip, like he would literally fuck you until you can’t even think or do anything but whining and he'd be so mean about it, i love hiiiim <3 could u write something like that?

brat tamer! lip is so special to me bc he's so real for that lol.

minors dni 18+

"Why you gotta be so fuckin' mean, huh?" Lip grunted, one hand on the headboard to steady himself, the other tangled in your hair, yanking until your scalp screamed.

"Just gotta run that fuckin' mouth, huh? That's all you do? Just fuckin' run that mouth." A particularly hard thrust annunciated his irritation, leaving you gasping, a gut punch of a feeling to your cervix that had you breathless.

He was being mean, so mean, you'd made a point to tell him that too. You supposed you deserved it, for how mean you'd been earlier.

"What? You got nothin' to say now? No mean ass comments? C'mon, baby, let me hear you. You were so fuckin' loud and obnoxious earlier." Lip sneered, pulling back on your hair so you whined, pulling you into his chest. His hips didn't stop, hands moving to hold you lightly by your neck, just enough pressure to have you clenching and whimpering.

"You gonna say you're sorry t'me?" Lip rasped, nose pressed to your temple, hands snaking up your throat to grab your jaw, pull your face towards his. "Say you're sorry."

"'m n-not, sorry." You whined, legs wobbling when his hips snapped into you, sending you reeling all over again. "You were the one ignoring me-oh!"

"I was working, you fuckin' brat." Lip sneered, fingers curling and pressing into your jaw. "How about I come to your fuckin' job and start actin' all horny and desperate? See how you like it, huh?"

You pouted, satisfied that you'd gotten him so flustered and furious. "You'd like that though. I know you would. You'd like it if I came in and-and distracted you like this? Desperate." Lip growled.

"N-No, 'm not." You whined, your voice lilting and nasally, that pitch that had his abs clenching, waves of pleasure shooting through his own body.

"You are." Lip huffed, his breath hot on the shell of your ear, the ghosting of a whine trailing. "Say you are."

"No." You whimpered, hips grinding down to meet his thrusts, desperate for friction. You were already so close.

"Say it, or you don't get to cum." Lip commanded, yanking your jaw towards him so you faced him, noses brushing. "Say you were actin' desperate or I stop. I'll cum either way, but you... fuck, you won't get to cum."

You knew he was being serious. He'd jack himself in front of you, probably tie you up and make you watch while he told you what a bad girl you were. You huffed, bratty and petulant, making Lip suck his teeth.

"I-I was..." You leaned against his chest, head lolling back in pleasure when his free hand rolled your nipples. "I was desperate." You muttered, eyes closed, refusing to look at him when you grumbled the phrase.

"Look at me." Lip growled. "You know better, look at me."

You blinked, looking at him through hazy, blurred vision, lust drunk and so close to your own orgasm it was painful. "I-I was desperate, Lip, please." You whined, lip jutting out in the perfect pout.

His eyes flickered down to your lip, teeth baring and resisting the urge to bite your lip. Roll it between his teeth, pull it so he could hear you whine and cry. His cock twitched at the thought, hammering into you.

"Say you were a bad girl." Lip commanded, his free hand gliding down to your mound, fingers ghosting over your puffy lips, purposely avoiding your clit when he knew you were so desperate for him to touch you there- knew it would send you over the edge. "Say it."

"I-I was... Iwasabadgirl." You sobbed, his pointer finger pressing on your clit, rubbing just enough to have you bucking in his arms, legs shaking and flooding his cock, overtook by your own orgasm.

Lip held you while you shook, slow rocks of his hips until your eyes were glassy, body still shuddering with aftershocks. "There she is. There's my bad fuckin' girl." Lip grinned, lying you against the pillows, sprawled out and whimpering.

His hips ground slow against you, feeling your spasming clenches, hearing the wet squelch that filled the room. "Can you be good f'me? Lay there and let me finish?" Lip tilted his head to the side, tapping your cheek lightly to look at him, hovered above you with piercing eyes and flushed cheeks.

You nodded brainlessly, muttering some sort of agreed nonsense. Lip snorted lightly. "Good girl. 'm close, alright? Just give me a sec."

[urcoolgf]

APARTMENT 7B

this is just something i wrote for my creative writing class, && i wanted to share because the plot lowkey ate (&& yes, i named the main character drew—it’s obviously fiction) but, since i wrote it for a class it’s in third person, && i gave ‘the girl’ a name... also this is literally 9 pages in google docs, so the fact it’s not even that long when it’s in this format is so funny to me

he had never seen her. the only evidence of her existence was the soft voice he could hear coming from the other side of his studio apartment’s paper-thin walls. he had never seen anyone enter, or leave, apartment 7B, and there was never a second voice. she talked the most at night, murmuring one-sided conversations, or singing soft melodies to herself. he listened… every single night. he never heard her door close, never heard her old floorboards creak in the eerie way his would, the sink never ran, the refrigerator never hummed.

he had been living in 7C for the past six months, and had never acknowledged what came from the other side of the wall. he figured she didn’t know he could hear her yet, she continued talking—some of it random lists of groceries, or chores, other times it was more poetic, almost like lyrics. it was weird hearing her talk about groceries when he was pretty certain she never left her apartment. he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about knocking—on the wall, on the door. today at 10:47pm, his impulse screamed at him until he couldn't hear her voice anymore—drowned out by the urge to know, so he knocked against the pale wall. it was light, gentle, like he didn’t want to startle her into going quiet. her voice cut off abruptly, but there was no return knock.

“i didn’t mean to scare you,” he said softly. he knew she could hear him… because he could hear her uneven breaths. he waited for her to speak, but she gave him no response. she waited a few minutes before eventually continuing to talk, ignoring his advance completely. He leaned against the wall, defeated until she began talking about him in short, broken up sentences. 

“drew comes home every monday through thursday at 4:00pm, and every friday at 2:00pm—must have a corporate job. never goes grocery shopping on a specific day, but i like that. last night he had a few friends over, two other distinct male voices—enzo and matthew. they’re funny. they make him laugh,” her voice faded as she moved to the other side of the apartment. he should have been freaked out, should have stormed over there, pounded on the door, and demanded answers. was she watching him? why was this not more concerning to him? shamefully enough, he was intrigued. he knocked against the cold wall once more, a little louder this time. 

“hey, who are you? you watchin’ me?,” his brows furrowed in confusion, but he couldn’t stifle the short, breathless laugh and curious smirk that accompanied his words. instead of an answer, he was met with a new melody; she began humming a familiar tune. it didn’t take long for him to realize it was one of the songs he had been playing quietly through his speakers last night. humming turned into quiet singing, and—while he was confused, and curious—he moved to lay in bed, listening intently to her rhythmic tone. sleep overtook him unwillingly as his eyes lulled shut to the sound of her voice. 

somehow, he startled himself awake, turning to check his phone—3:29am. the other side of the wall was silent, so she must have been asleep. without thinking, he made his way over to the small kitchen counter. he grabbed a piece of paper and a pen from the drawer.

You know everything about me. I think I at least deserve a name. 

he didn’t sign it. there was no need. she knew his name, knew his friends’ names, knew his schedule. unless she was keeping tabs on everyone on the floor, she would know it was him. slipping outside of his apartment as quietly as possible, he found himself staring at the ‘7B’ plate that was plastered on her wooden door. he quickly slipped the note through the crack at the bottom of the door, and shuffled back into his apartment, closing the door softly.

it was hard to go back to sleep that night. his thoughts were running wild, and—even though he would never admit it—he missed her voice. it was soft, but certain, like the filth of the world had never touched it—never heard it, or had the chance to taint it, or make her doubt it. so, he waited. he waited until exhaustion eventually got the best of him and lured him into sleep…

and he waited for her.

days passed with no response. no note back, no recognition that he had even slid something under her door at all. she still talked like nothing had changed—like he hadn’t acknowledged her presence, or tried talking to her—like he hadn’t tried getting answers. he found himself rushing home just to see if she had written back, or maybe he just rushed home to hear her voice. he began staking out the peephole like it was his full-time job. she never had any mail, or packages delivered. he had knocked on her door a couple times when he walked by just to see if she would look through her peephole. he poked his head around the corner of his door every time he heard a noise in the hallway like he was trying to catch her in the act. nothing. 

he tried to forget, tried to move on with his life. he invited his friends over more often just to drown out her voice, drown out the thought of her. he turned his music up louder, and stayed out later. anything to keep him out of that building was good enough for him, but even when he was nowhere near her, the familiar voice rang through his ears, and infiltrated his head. he was going insane, in the way that incapacitated him from his everyday life. no matter how much he tried to distract himself—she was always there, even when she wasn’t. 

he was hopeless. he had to turn to the last idea he had—the landlord. he made his way to the landlord’s office, knocking on the door before being told to ‘come in’. 

“can i help you?,” the monotone voice echoed in the basically empty room. the man didn’t take his eyes off the computer sat on his desk, expressionless face anything but inviting. 

“yes. i– well, i don’t have a complaint per say…,” drew trailed off, trying to find a way to say this without sounding like a creep (it was impossible). “can you tell me who lives in apartment 7B? i’m in 7C, and–”

“let me stop you right there,” the man said abruptly. “i can’t disclose any information about any tenants without their permission,” he explained it like he was reading off of a script, finally pulling his eyes from the computer to look at drew in a condescending way. 

“okay. i understand that, but what if… what if i said i was worried about their well-being? like—what if i was seriously concerned that she was in danger?,” he didn’t think she was in danger—if he didn’t find out who this girl was, his mental state was the only thing in actual danger. he was grasping at straws at this point; his tone was desperate, and pleading. 

“it doesn’t matte– wait… did you say apartment 7B?,” he almost laughed as the words left his mouth. 

“yeah,” drew answered bluntly, getting frustrated with the man’s attitude. 

“buddy, that apartment’s been vacant for years. whatever you’re hearing—it’s all in your head,” he answered him like he didn’t have a care in the world. 

“what—what do you mean it’s vacant? there is definitely someone in there–,”

“listen, i have work to do. go tell your stories to someone else, kid,” he shrugged drew off like an annoying gnat, turning back to his computer. 

drew walked out of the office, aggravated, and totally defeated. he didn’t know what else to do. she wouldn’t answer back, wouldn’t open the door, and she never left. it was impossible to get to her unless he broke the door down, which honestly seemed like a tempting option right now. he muddled his way back up to his apartment, racking his brain—maybe he should just move? that idea was looking pretty tempting, too, but he knew no matter how far away he was, he would never get the sound of her voice out of his head. he had never known how it felt to be addicted to anything until her, and—no matter how much he wanted to—he couldn’t just move on. 

he sat in bed, facing toward the wall, staring at it like it had betrayed him—no one living there? it was impossible. he watched the wall like it would reveal the answers. the afternoon quickly turned to night, and he was hit with the reality that he hadn’t heard the girl. he checked the time—11:18pm. the silence was suffocating. he could hear himself breathe, hear himself think, and the hum of his refrigerator was agitating. in his semi-delirious state, he made a decision tomorrow-him would not be happy following through with. he blamed his lack of sanity (and sleep) on the crazy idea, but even the slightly-rested version of himself was contemplating it earlier that day. 

drew called off sick from work the following day. he knew how insane this was, but he was desperate. he waited until the building was quietest—around noon—before grabbing a lock pick kit he had bought when he first moved in just in case he got locked out of his apartment. ‘7B’ stared him in the face once more. he took a deep breath before pushing the lock pick into the keyhole. after a few seconds he heard a click from the other side of the door. he pressed the door open slightly, testing the waters before jumping in. screw it—he was jumping. he slipped into the room, gently closing the door behind him. it was dark—too dark—he pulled his phone out, flicking on his flashlight.

he took in his surroundings. everything was covered in a fine layer of dust, but it wasn’t untouched. this apartment didn’t have a window like his did; it looked sealed off from the world in a way, but it had the same setup as his studio. it was eerily quiet. he had grown to hate the quiet—it drove him even crazier than the voice that usually came from this side of the wall. he moved about the place until he came to the bed. a tousled blanket, a small cassette player, and a notebook sat atop the unweathered mattress. there was a single tape in the player, begging to be heard. his breath was caught in his throat as his shaky hand reached out to press play. 

it was her. soft, certain, poetic, distinctive.

“the boy in 7C plays music when he can’t sleep. sometimes i pretend it’s for me. sometimes, i believe it.”

the grocery list rang through his ears, a list of chores, several minutes of monologue with realistic pauses that made it seem like she was reacting to the world around her—like she was getting distracted while talking—but he could hear her breaths, waiting. 

“drew comes home every monday through thursday at 4:00pm, and every friday at 2:00pm—must have a corporate job. never goes grocery shopping on a specific day, but i like that. last night he had a few friends over, two other distinct male voices—enzo and matthew. they’re funny. they make him laugh.”

his jaw was slack, unable to think, unable to speak, unable to comprehend what was going on. while the tape continues to play—looping back through once it ended—he gently opens the worn notebook. the faded brown leather cover was soft beneath his rough fingers. 

His name is Drew. I heard his friends say it last night. 

Drew fell asleep at 12:52am.

He knocked on the wall today. It caught me by surprise.

Drew slipped a note under my door. I didn’t know how to answer it.

Hhe started knocking on my door. He does it everyday coming home from work.

I wanted to answer today, but I wasn’t ready.

pages upon pages of him; what he did, when he left, when he slept, who he had over, random things she must have seen by watching him through her peephole. there were drawings of him scattered across some of the pages, and random groups of lyrics or poems scratched throughout. he shuffled through the sheets like they were calling to him, like he wouldn’t be able to put down the book even if he wanted. the last page had only one entry on it, right in the middle of the page. 

I was supposed to be watching him, but he’s watching me too.

drew’s breath hitched. his head snapped up, and looked around as if she would appear. where was she? who was she? his mind was moving at a million miles an hour trying to understand what he was seeing—what all of it meant. he looked around the apartment like it would have the answers. it was the only thing that could have the answers. he rummaged through the drawer of the dusty nightstand, finding another single cassette tape amongst pages that seemed to be ripped from the notebook he just read. 

he pulled it out, quickly replacing the previous tape in the cassette player with it. there was a long moment of silence, he thought it might have been empty, but he let it play—hopeful for something… anything. he brought his nail to his mouth, biting down as a sort of anxious reaction. he didn’t know why he was anxious, he just knew his breath felt 2,000 pounds heavier right now, and every inhale-exhale was draining him. the soft sound of her clearing her throat played through the machine, drew physically moved closer to it—he couldn’t risk missing anything. her voice was so soft, so graceful. he closed his eyes to listen.

“hi drew. i knew you would find this. you were always an inquisitive person. you deserved answers i didn’t have—answers i still don’t have. i wish there was a way to explain this, but there isn’t. i liked to think you thought about me the same way i thought about you. but, when i found out you did—i realized there would be no way to explain myself. you might be really confused right now. you should be. you might be wondering: is she even real? there’s no easy answer. there never is. it felt real to me, but you got too close. we were doomed from the beginning. you’re inquisitive, and everyone knows curiosity kills. i was just supposed to be watching you, but you were watching me too. i do have one answer for you though—you’ve earned it, drew—my name is maeve.”

the tape clicks off, and drew’s left alone. the silent darkness surrounding him, the air thick with desire. desire of what? he isn’t quite sure.

an: if you read all the way thru this—first of all, thank you :) && second, please please please comment your thoughts about this. this was a legit assignment i turned in for a grade && i really wanna know how it’s perceived.ᐟ

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[nikipuff]

Hi! I heard you needed requests, so I was wondering how you would/if your able to write Casper dealing with an MC who has crippling thanaphobia (the Fear of Death.) And how he could maybe help them deal with it?

Hope this is what you wanted! Slowly making my way through the requests, sorry that they're taking so long!

Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, panicking reader

-------——--——--——--——--——☠——--——--——--——--——--------

-------——--——--——--——--——☠——--——--——--——--——--------

Casper stared at you through the screen, a smug expression on his face as he spoke.

“One week. One week for me to reap your soul.”

Since his declaration, you’ve been alert. No, that’s not it. You’ve been paranoid. Every step or noise in your apartment terrified you, even if it was just your pet. 

Casper was the Grim Reaper, a hunter of souls, a . . . . a killer. 

And you were next on his list.

The thought sent you crashing down onto the bathroom floor, gasping for air as your breathing grew faster. An overwhelming sense of dread started to creep through you, leaving you nauseous and trembling. You tried to stand, to grab onto something, but you couldn't. 

Were you really this pathetic?

Managing to get up, you reached for the stall lock, quickly unlatching it and making your way to the sink in time to vomit up what little you had for breakfast that day. You urged your trembling hand forward to turn on the sink, watching as it disappeared. 

”Sunshine?”

How was he here?

Panic overtook you, getting rid of any rational thought left in your mind. Grabbing your bag, you forcefully opened the emergency exit, only to run into someone.

“Sunshine.”

Casper spoke more firmly, quickly grabbing your arms to keep you steady. His expression was a mix of disgust and . . . concern. Why was this . . . this monster concerned for you?

You thrashed in his grip, desperate to get away. “No!! I’m not ready!! I don’t want to-”

“I’m not here for that,” he sighed, gentling his harsh grip. “Are you alright?”

You tried to keep yourself from giving in, from leaning on him for support. Yet, you couldn’t resist. You leaned against his chest, crying quietly as his eyes widened. You thought that he would push you away, that he would grab his scythe and slash through you right here and now.

Instead, he hugged you.

The feeling of warmth spread through you, leaving you to snuggle closer to him, your breathing slowly growing more steady as you listened to the sound of his heartbeat.

Bump.

Bump.

Bump.

“ . . . no.”

Casper listened as you answered his previous question, silently urging you to continue as he lowered both of you to the ground, still hugging you tightly.

“I’m scared. I don’t want to die, Grim. Not . . . not yet.”

Your voice was quiet and small, yet Casper listened to every word as closely as he could. He nodded, a small smile coming upon his face.

“It’s alright, sunshine. I . . . I’m not going to.”

You froze, slowly looking up at him. “You . . . you aren’t going to take my soul?”

He shook his head, gently starting to pat your own. You leaned into his touch, welcoming the comfort it provided. 

“I’m . . . I’m going to be selfish. Just this once.”

“You aren’t going to die, sunshine.

(Extra!)

Since then, Casper had been paying more attention. After learning about your phobia, he doubled down on his efforts to keep the details of his job away. He would always get rid of his scythe before entering, never yelling or being cruel towards you.

Seeing how even a single glance could set you off, he worked to gain your trust. With whispered comforts, with small gestures like cooking your favorite foods, or making sure that you got enough sleep.

Now he would cuddle with you, whispering about how he would never kill you, that you don’t have to be scared of death, of him.

And you would always respond the same way- 

With gratitude, with trust.

With love.

[bunji-enthusiast]

Hello! Can I request a 4kota romantic Lancelot, and/or Tristan x sleepy/always tired! reader? Like no matter how much rest they get, they still feel tired, and they want to take naps, but don't because they know it would mess up their sleep schedule. (I feel like that at times and it's a mess) also they like cuddling or sleeping next to them? Thanks! Have a good day/afternoon/night!

𝐔𝐩 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

Summary || A sleepy yet affectionate person, that is a wild combination he’s yet to deal with. But he understands far more than you think.

A/N: this is genuinely me if I’m being honest… anyway this was so cute to write so I hope you like it :))

Tristan

It had been a long day—another one filled with endless responsibilities and obligations that made your eyes feel heavier with each passing minute. No matter how many hours you spent sleeping or how many naps you took, it never felt like enough. The tiredness lingered, and while everyone else seemed to power through, you could never shake that constant exhaustion.

Laying beside Tristan in his quarters that night, you struggled to keep your eyelids from drooping. You knew you should rest, but there was one thing stopping you: Tristan. You didn’t want to disturb his sleep schedule. He had a habit of staying up late to work on his responsibilities, sometimes for hours, and you hated the thought of disrupting that.

The cool air in the room brushed against your skin as Tristan sat up from his position by the bed, quietly pulling off his armor, his movements calm and methodical. His long, silver hair brushed against his shoulder as he turned to you, eyes scanning your face with that gentle, concerned expression you were so familiar with.

“You’re still awake?” His voice was soft, his concern for you always evident. He knew you were tired, but it seemed like no amount of sleep ever did the trick. He placed a hand gently on your shoulder, his emerald and blue eyes flickering between the two hues, matching the dual nature of his being.

“I don’t want to keep you up,” you mumbled, feeling your words almost slurring as you struggled to keep yourself awake. “I’ll be fine, just a bit... tired.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “You say that every night, but I can tell when you’re pushing yourself. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

You smiled weakly, trying to shift your focus away from the pull of sleep. “I don’t want to disturb you. You need your rest for tomorrow. I’ll just... rest my eyes for a bit.”

Tristan tilted his head, the soft light from the candle flickering on his face. “You’re not disturbing me. Come here.”

Without waiting for you to respond, he gently pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you as you rested your head on his chest. The warmth of his body against yours was comforting, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothing. Despite your exhaustion, you fought the urge to fall asleep so quickly—after all, you didn't want to mess up his sleep schedule.

“I’m not going to let you stay awake just to avoid cuddling me, you know,” he murmured, his fingers running through your hair in slow, deliberate motions. “Rest, [Y/N]. I’ll be here to make sure you’re not disturbed.”

His words were gentle, but they held a command you couldn��t resist. Slowly, your eyelids grew heavier, and the temptation to sink into his warmth overtook you. It was so easy, so peaceful, just to let yourself go and fall asleep against him.

“I just... don’t want to mess up your schedule,” you whispered, barely able to keep your voice steady.

Tristan chuckled softly, his chin resting on the top of your head. “Don’t worry about me. You’re the one who needs to rest. If I need to adjust my schedule to make sure you’re taken care of, I will.”

You felt his words settle deep within you, and with the pressure of his soft embrace, the exhaustion you’d been holding back finally gave in. As the minutes passed, you relaxed more and more, the warmth of his presence making everything feel safe and secure. You could feel his steady breathing, his body close enough to ensure you were never alone in your tiredness.

His voice came again, a gentle hum as he adjusted his position so that you were even more comfortably nestled against him. “Sleep, [Name]. I’ll take care of everything. You’re not alone.”

And with that, you finally allowed yourself to drift into sleep, Tristan’s steady, reassuring presence the last thing you felt before the world faded away.

---

When you woke up, it was to the softest of sounds—the rhythmic sound of Tristan’s voice as he quietly spoke to someone in the hallway, but still, it was the warmth of his body against yours that kept you anchored. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but in his arms, it was so easy to just forget everything else.

You blinked up at him as his eyes softened, sensing your awakening. “Good morning,” he said, his tone teasing, yet filled with that quiet affection you adored. “You finally got some rest.”

You sighed happily, the weight of your tiredness still lingering but now slightly lessened. “Thank you for letting me sleep. I always feel better when I’m with you.”

Tristan gave a rare, warm smile, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Anything for you. Now, how about we make sure you get a proper rest every night, yeah?”

You nodded, the smile tugging at your lips. With Tristan by your side, sleep didn’t seem so daunting.

Lancelot

Lancelot's arms wrapped gently around you as you rested your head against his chest. Despite having just woken up from a long night's sleep, you still felt the weight of exhaustion pressing down on you. No matter how much rest you tried to get, it was never quite enough. Yet, you never wanted to disturb him by taking naps during the day—it was something about his sleep schedule, his routine, that you didn’t want to mess with. You were content being in his arms, just the two of you, even if you were constantly tired.

"You should get some rest," Lancelot murmured softly, his voice laced with concern. His fingers ran lazily through your hair, the warmth of his touch easing the tension in your body. "I know you don’t feel tired, but I can tell… you’re always exhausted, even after you sleep."

You sighed, shifting slightly to nestle closer to him. "I’m fine. I just don't want to disrupt your sleep, Lance." You’d always been a little too considerate about his schedule, the idea of bothering him with your own needs lingering in your mind.

Lancelot’s magenta eyes softened as he looked down at you, the usual serious expression on his face replaced with something far gentler. "You can’t keep going like this," he said firmly, his hand gently cupping your cheek. "You deserve to rest as much as I do. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine."

You could feel the sincerity in his words, but you still hesitated. "I don’t know… I just get so tired, no matter what. If I nap now, I’ll be up all night and I don’t want to keep you up."

Lancelot chuckled, a quiet sound that resonated deep in his chest. "You’re always thinking about me, huh?" He tilted his head slightly, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. "Well, I don’t mind if you sleep next to me. We could both nap together. It wouldn’t hurt."

You blinked up at him, not quite believing your ears. "Are you sure?" you asked cautiously.

"Of course," he said, his voice light yet reassuring. "I want you to be well-rested, not always worn out."

You could feel your heart warm at his words. It was rare for him to show such vulnerability, but there was something about this moment that felt incredibly intimate, as if he was letting down his guard just for you.

Reluctantly, you allowed your eyes to flutter closed, your body leaning even further into his warmth. He didn’t seem to mind, instead pulling you even closer as if you were exactly where you belonged.

His hand slid gently over your back, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns as you finally gave in to the fatigue that had been weighing on you. "Just for a little while," you mumbled, already half asleep.

Lancelot didn’t respond right away, his own breathing slowing as he adjusted his position to make you more comfortable. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he too began to drift off. "Just rest, and when you wake up, I’ll be right here."

In that moment, it didn’t matter how tired you were. All that mattered was that you were with him, and for the first time in a long while, you felt at ease.

[autumnywinter]

Under His Thumb - Yandere!Pantalone x Reader

The urge to write this bastard man overtook me. Kinda modern au? It's hard for me to write in Genshin's universe. Reader is gender neutral, but does wear skirts/dresses.

This is NSFW. MDNI!

Tags: NSFW, dehumanization, pet kink, yandere, gender neutral reader, AFAB reader, abusive power dynamics

Working for Pantalone was the worst. It was one thing to be another Fatui member or an accountant at Northland Bank, but you were much more intimate on the daily with your boss, all because you were his personal assistant. The role meant you were always around, and often, Pantalone would take you along on his meetings, business trips and trips overseas.

As creepy as your boss was, you did feel a little lucky. There were always worse options after all, like being Dottore's personal assistant. Just the thought made you shudder. At least Pantalone, in some regards, could be kind... somewhat.

Pantalone liked to be in charge, and so he kept you on a very tight leash. He wouldn't even let you walk more than a few feet away from him at any given time when out in public, and was usually glued to your side, his hand holding your waist, or guiding you with a hand on the small of your back. You supposed it was mostly to keep others away, and as possessive as it was, at least it meant Pantalone didn't try anything funny with you.

The man was unbearably wealthy, and looked the part. He had his own tailor and stylists, so you were often shopping with him when he needed new clothing. He'd always get you outfits that ranged from sophisticated to revealing. 

"My dear, come out and let me see you," Pantalone said.

You were in a private room of the store, getting changed into new clothes. You took a deep breath, and walked out. It was long and doused in jewels, accentuating your curves. A long slit ran up one leg, giving a nice view of your thigh. 

"Perfect. Come here."

You walked over to where your boss was sitting. He didn't hesitate to put his hands on you, feeling up your body. You closed your eyes and grit your teeth. Pantalone was your boss, and although he didn't force you, it wasn't as if you could refuse him either. You couldn't complain.

"You're so beautiful, my dear. This color really compliments you," Pantalone said. Despite his words constantly switching from nonchalant, to threatening, to flirtatious, he always had his same calm expression and tone. Now was no exception. Pantalone dragged his fingers down the slit on the dress, watching his hand slowly reach up your thigh.

You tried your best to not react to his touch, but Pantalone's hand soon reached the apex of your thighs, and he felt you through the dress.

"Oh?" He sounded surprised. "Were you excited by dressing up for me? That's very unprofessional, Y/n." His tone bordered on teasing. It had to be, since he'd be the biggest hypocrite to scold you on professionalism.

"Sorry, sir," was all you could mumble. Pantalone removed his hand, and you took a step back.

"That's enough, we'll be taking this one. Have it wrapped for me," Pantalone told the shop assistant.

You breathed a sigh of relief as the shop assistant helped you change back into your clothes. When you left the room, Pantalone had already paid for the dress, and was waiting for you at the entrance. You trailed behind him as you always did, trying to keep your distance, but not too far where he'd need to reel you back in.

Pantalone walked you both to the limo, and a Fatui guard helped pack up the few other items he purchased today. When you got into the car, Pantalone's hand was immediately on your thigh, and you tensed.

"Sir, not in the car, please," you whispered.

"Then keep quiet."

And you did just that. Pantalone slipped his hand up your skirt, feeling his way to your panties. He pushed them aside, and his fingers started exploring your folds, prodding around for your clit. He didn't have much room to work with, and yet you felt him run circles around your clit. You closed your eyes, trying to find comfort in the leather seat beneath you.

"Spread your legs a little for me," Pantalone whispered. You complied, and you felt him slowly insert a finger inside of you. The position was uncomfortable, but Pantalone's fingers were long and boney, and were able to hit your sensitive spots like nothing else.

Pantalone did not try to be gentle either, and was thrusting his fingers inside of you, curling them and fucking you with them. His other hand was still on your thigh, occasionally gripping it whenever you'd accidentally buck your hips from pleasure. You felt shameful as you continued to allow him to touch you.

You came embarrassingly fast. Your boss tutted. "That didn't take very long, Y/n." He pulled his fingers out of you, and looked at the juices dripping from them. He held his fingers up to your lips. "Open." You took his fingers into your mouth, closing your lips around them and sucking. You tasted yourself, and Pantalone hummed in approval. "Good job." He removed his fingers from your mouth, and put them in his own, cleaning off any traces of your fluids.

The limo finally arrived back at his office in Snezhnaya. Pantalone stepped out first, and you followed. You couldn't help but feel a bit self-conscious. Although it was discreet, there was still a wet spot on your skirt.

When you both entered his office, he closed the door behind you.

"On the desk," Pantalone said.

You shivered at his tone. You made your way to his desk, and hopped up on top of it, spreading your legs and hiking up your skirt to give him full access. Pantalone walked towards you, his demeanor cold as ice, yet the lust in his eyes was unmistakable. He rubbed his clothed crotch against you. You felt his hard cock straining against the fabric of his pants.

"Undress me."

Of course you were quick to oblige, reaching down and undoing his belt, then his pants. You pulled out his cock, and gave it a few pumps. Pantalone grabbed your wrist.

"Patience, dear, we have plenty of time." He bent you over his desk, pushing some paperwork out of the way, and spreading your legs further apart. You heard him fumbling around in his drawer, then the familiar pop of a bottle of lube opening. Soon his cock was lining up with your hole, and he rubbed it up and down, teasing you. Then he pushed inside you.

Pantalone started with a slow rhythm, but before long he was fucking into you relentlessly. His grip on your waist was bruising, and every few thrusts he would slam inside of you.

"Archons, you're always so tight, Y/n."

His cock brushed your cervix with every thrust, and you were reduced to a moaning mess. You gripped the edge of the desk for support, and he leaned over you, his chest pressed against your back. Pantalone was breathing heavily, and was mumbling things under his breath. You could make out the words 'perfect' and 'mine'. It was his usual spiel, something you never questioned.

Pantalone moved a hand to your breast, and groped it through the fabric of your shirt. You moaned, and he started nipping at the back of your neck, leaving a trail of bite marks that would definitely show tomorrow. His thrusts were starting to grow sloppy, and you knew he was close. You were too.

You came first, a high-pitched moan escaping your lips. Pantalone cursed, and shortly after you felt his hot cum fill you up. He stopped thrusting, but didn't pull out. You felt him still pulsing inside of you, and he was breathing heavily. You allowed yourself to relax underneath him, and you could feel his heart beating through his chest, pressed against your back.

"My darling Y/n," he mumbled. "So good for me." Pantalone was rubbing his hands all over you, almost as if he was trying to calm himself. You were nearly drifting off, but suddenly he was pulling out of you, and you could feel his seed dripping from your hole and down your thighs. 

Pantalone quickly fumbled with his pants, zipping them up, then turned you around and laid you on your back on his desk. You looked up at him, dazed.

"So pretty," he muttered. He pursed his lips together. "Every day it gets a little harder to resist." Pantalone was running his fingers up and down your sides. You watched him curiously as he seemed to be deliberating something. Then he dipped down, and caught your lips in a kiss.

It wasn't the first time Pantalone had kissed you, but it wasn't as possessive as it usually was. It was gentle, and almost loving. Your lips moved against his slowly, and you could feel him running a hand through your hair. When he pulled away, you stared at him in shock. Pantalone tilted his head, staring back at you with the same gaze as always.

"I think it's time."

You blinked. "Time for what?"

He smiled softly, and pushed a strand of hair away from your face. "Do you know how frustrating it is to have you so close yet so far from me? To have you be mine in all but name?"

You frowned, your mind slowly piecing things together. "Are you referring to... marriage?"

Pantalone's smile widened. "I want that, yes, but that wasn't exactly what I meant. I want you to simply be more than my personal assistant. I want you to live with me, I want to wake up to you by my side. I wouldn't rush you into marriage right away. You still need to adapt to my lifestyle before anything of that sort is necessary."

The way he brought up the conversation sounded like he was miraculously asking for your consent, but you were quick to realize his kindness was just a show. You heard a click around your neck. It was hard to look down and see what it was, but it felt padded and too large to be one of the many necklaces he had bought you before.

It was a collar.

Your breath hitched in your throat and you were suddenly filled with panic. "Sir... Pantalone..." you stammered. "This is--"

"Dottore helped me make this, although I designed it myself." Pantalone dragged his thumb over the elegant engravings of the collar. "You look quite lovely in it. There's a tracker in here at all times, and if you try to take it off, or step out of range of the tracker, it will send a high voltage electric shock. I'm not cruel, so the shock won't seriously hurt you. But it's enough to incapacitate you. I'd be willing to give you freedom if you wore this at all times."

"Why?" you choked out.

Pantalone raised a brow. "Why? Don't ask such silly questions. I want you to stay safe, and with me." He stepped in closer to you, his eyes wide and the edge of his lips twitching. "It's already taking all my self-control not to drag you to my bedroom and lock you in there. And you'd be able to live out the rest of your days in comfort, surrounded by luxury. But I doubt that's what you want, is it?"

"No," you rasped. You didn't notice how your whole body was shaking.

"As expected. So this is the next best option," Pantalone responded. "But if you'd prefer a third option, I have a lovely cage I can put in my office. It has plenty of room for you to stretch your legs." You looked horrified. "What's with that expression, hm? You're already my pet. You've been my pet for a while now."

His words made your skin crawl. You had overheard a few people referring to you as "Regrator's prized pet". You always dismissed the comments, since they were untrue in your mind. You were Pantalone's personal assistant, and if he got his kicks from using you in an intimate way, that was part of the job too. But this was different. This was dehumanzing in the worst way.

"Of course," Pantalone said, interrupting your thoughts, "it doesn't need to be this way forever. I just need to ensure your loyalty to me." 

"How can I be loyal if you're forcing me to?" you snapped.

"Forcing?" Pantalone feigned offense. "Am I not giving you a choice? I believe I've given you multiple. Would you prefer if I passed you down to Dottore? I'm sure he'd love a new experiment. He could make you much more willing, I'm sure."

You tried your best not to grimace. Dottore had the reputation of being the most sadistic Harbinger, and the thought of having to work for him was mortifying.

Pantalone watched as your expression twisted. He smiled again, a ghost of one, and his eyes crinkled slightly. "My dear Y/n, it doesn't need to be so negative. You are mine, yes, but I take care of what is mine. I only want to keep you safe. Nothing will hurt you if you're by my side." He gently rubbed your cheek with his gloved fingers, and you closed your eyes. You tried not to let yourself be fooled by his gentle demeanor.

There was no escaping a man with his power and wealth. It didn't matter what you chose. Pantalone was always going to find a way to get you under his thumb, one way or another. But at least you had some say in this.

"I'll wear the collar."

"I'm glad that's been settled. I'd be more than happy to house you in my room, but I'm patient." He bent down to kiss you again. "I love you, Y/n." I own you.

[minnielvrr]

hi💓 i saw that you wanted a scenario. maybe a challenge, or a competition, with lee skz ler skz, the one who can hold on the longest while being tickled, will win. like BTS did in this video👇🏻 https://youtu.be/IWD-9hUnLAI?si=KQoDCVywyIagiu9R

i hope you like it🎀

Composure

Lees: Skz Lers: Skz Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: Hii~ Thank you for the request and I'm so sorry it took this long 😖 I honestly have no idea how I ended up writing so much 😅 I hope you guys like it! (hope it's not too long🥺)

Skz were filming a special episode, a little gift for Stays on their birthday. The staff had proposed a challenge of composure, where each member would go through a series of different challenges to see who in Skz had the best composure.

It seemed like an easy win for elegant Felix or Chan at first…but the chick didn’t feel as certain when the first game was announced.

“Each player will take a sip of water and try to hold it for as long as they can while the other members tickle them. You can only use the tools you’ve been given and be creative. Everyone will get 1 chance each. Good luck!” The staff giggled as they announced the final rule: “Only 4 members can tickle the player at a time to keep it fair.”

Everyone got flustered at that. Were they all so ticklish that only four were allowed? The rosy tints on the member’s faces only made the staff laugh harder at them. They played a round of rock, paper, scissors to decide the order.

Chan:

Chan giggled at the excited faces of his kids. Minho and Han were cracking their knuckles in a cute attempt at intimidation.

Seungmin drew a line across his neck as he looked at the leader with unfiltered glee. And oh boy, Chan was so in for it.

He sat down, suddenly acutely aware of every inch of skin that was exposed from the outfit he was given.

“Jacket off, hyung!” The kids called as Chan took a seat in the center. He already felt vulnerable, like he was surrounded by a pack of hungry hyenas.

Chan slowly took his jacket off, stalling as much as he could. That wasn’t such a smart idea though, as the kids only grew more feral the longer he took.

A sneaky hand wiggled down the cut in the back of his shirt and Chan squealed, jumping out of the chair with a shiver.

“Yah that’s cheating!” He spun around to face a giggly Minho who hopped away when Chan reached for his sides. “Just wait till it’s your turn you little menace.”

“You’re not exactly in a position to threaten me right now hyung,” Minho waggled his eyebrows at him, fingers wiggling in his direction.

Channie blushed, trying to keep still when he could swear that those stupid motions set his nerves on fire.

As soon as Chan had taken his sip of water, the kids dived in. A second later the timer started. Felix, Minho, Changbin and Hyunjin were chosen to tickle him and boy oh boy was it bad.

So what the staff had failed to specify was if the other three could help and Seungmin being the smarty pants he was, urged Han and Jeongin to each grab one of the leader’s arms and hold them away.

Chan almost spat his water when his arms were ripped away from where they were glued to his sides. Staring wide eyed at a smirking Seungmin for only a moment before the tickles overtook his body.

The four tickling him cheered at the newly exposed spots and fingers quickly wiggled into Channie’s most sensitive spots.

Minho went straight for his armpits hollering, “One shot one kill,” as he dug into the center with his thumbs, vibrating the fingers in.

Poor Chan squeezed his eyes shut, his back arching off the chair as muffled laughter escaped his throat.

Then Hyunjin and Changbin went for his sides, pressing their fingers in through the tattered edges of his crop top.

And just to add the cherry on top, Felix grabbed at his thighs, squeezing the solid flesh in a way that just shouldn’t feel so damn ticklish.

Channie’s breath hitched in his throat, his lips curling as he tried to hold back. But when Changbin leaned down to blow a raspberry, he gave in, squirting the water straight in poor Lixie’s face.

The chick squawked in surprise, scrambling away, sputtering and begging for a tissue. Chan giggled, both at the younger’s adorable reaction and Minho’s hand that still hadn’t left his pits.

He pushed them away, this time successfully managing to land a poke at the kitten’s side.

“46 seconds….” The staff announced, looking amazed. Chan himself was stunned that he’d lasted that long. He passed on round two when Minho tried to sit him back on the chair.

“Seungmin’s next!!” The puppy shifted his weight nervously, putting on a brave face when Han and Jeongin brought their faces close, looking cocky af. “Are you ready? Are you Seungminie?”

Seungmin:

“Time for revenge puppy.” Chan called, eyes glinting with an excitement that had Seungmin gulping nervously, trying to muster his bravado. He planned to spit the water out the moment the timer started. “Whatever old man.”

“Oh you are SO getting it for that.” Chan fake glared at him, imitating Seungmin by drawing a line across his throat. The puppy just poked his tongue out mockingly at him.

“We’re gonna absolutely wreck you pup. Aren’t you excited?” Minho taunted, a challenging expression on his face that Seungmin met head on.

“Do your worst, grandpa.” He retorted, but the slight quiver in his voice betrayed his nerves. Minho levelled him with a death glare that Seungmin couldn’t help but grin at despite the looming consequences.

“You have to last at least 10 seconds, or you’ll have to go a second time for a minute with everyone.” The staff couldn’t have announced this at a worse time.

Seungmin stared blanky at them for a moment before his attention snapped back to the blatantly over excited faces of his hyungs and maknae.

Maybe it wasn’t his finest idea to taunt and tease them earlier. “W-wait, hyungs, Innie! I’m sohorry— please go easy on me?”

He gave them his best puppy eyes just to be met with scoffs and smirks. Felix pushed him into the chair, presenting the cup of water with impatient eyes.

“We’ll go soooo easy on you Seungminie, don’t you worry about a thing~” Han crooned from somewhere behind him, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Sighing, Minnie took a slow sip of water, accepting his fate.

“Get ready to laugh for us babyy~” As expected Chan, Han, Felix and Minho volunteered to tickle him, while Binnie and Innie caught his hands and held them away.

When the timer started, Han went straight for Seungmin’s stomach, determined to make the younger lose. Chan and Felix went for his sides and Minho clasped his hands over the puppy’s thighs, just above his knees and squeezed.

Seungmin made a strangely warbled noise, throwing his head back and clenching his eyes shut.

But that only exposed another weak spot to Chan, who scribbled eagerly at the sides of his neck, laughing when the puppy hurried to scrunch his shoulders.

Hyunjin and Felix cackled at the pup’s predicament, loving how his eyes glared even as his body writhed from the hands toying with his worst spots.

“What’s wrong Minnie? Why aren’t you laughing for us pup? Are we not tickling you enough?” Oh, Han was evil, taunting Seungmin, who for once couldn’t say anything back.

The quokka squeezed Minnie’s side with one hand, using the other to simultaneously wiggle a finger in his navel.

Seungmin gave up immediately, spraying a targeted stream of water at Minho who gasped and froze in shock at his spot near the pup’s thighs.

Seungmin was busy laughing his head off, almost toppling off his chair at the force of his laughter.

Then rough hands were dragging him to the floor and he found a furious Minho looming over him.

He could barely get a word out to plead his case when a finger was pressed right back into his navel and a thumb dug into his upper ribs.

Seungmin howled with laughter, two of his worst spots being exploited at the same time. “Are you having fun now pup? I’m certainly enjoying this.”

“STAHA-STAHAHAP!! MINHO HYUNG PLEAHEHEASE,” but nothing he said could save him from the older’s wrath.

The others watched fondly at the pair as Minho wrecked the puppy with a straight face and twinkling boba eyes.

Seungmin squirmed and kicked his feet and screamed when Minho bent down to press a raspberry on his lower stomach, bucking up with a hysterical shriek just to come crashing back down again.

“SOHO—SOHOHORRY, I’M SORRY!! HYUNG PLEHEHEASE!” But Minho’s hands on him remained merciless.

Finally, the leader took pity on the ticklish pup and pulled Minho off him. Seungmin panted loudly, lying star fished on the floor until his breathing evened out, tears slipping down the sides of his face.

He vaguely heard the staff calling out ‘17 seconds’ and smiled in relief. He didn’t think he could take a round two after how hard he’d just been wrecked.

Hyunjin felt a chill run down his spine when their collective attention slowly diverted to their new target. This game seemed like it was designed to make him suffer.

Hyunjin:

It was going to be so easy. All it ever took were a few well-placed fingers to get the ferret to surrender. With how ticklish Hyunjin was, this was hardly a fair game.

“You got me real good didn’t you Jinnie?” Chan’s voice promised nothing good.

“Cha-Channie hyung, it’s just a game, there’s no need for revenge…” The leader smiled devilishly at that.

“Yes Jinnie, it’s all in good. fun.” The menacing tone underlying those words pretty much sealed his fate.

Felix, Seungmin, Chan and Changbin stepped forward and Hyunjin shuddered.

The timer sounded and with it began his torture. “Hold him still Innie, Hannie. I got an idea.”

Chan whispered something in Changbin’s ear and with a smirk, the dwaekki hopped over to close his hands over Hyunjin’s eyes.

Great, now he would have to deal with everything feeling ten times worse. That was just what he needed.

He was so caught up in his head when a sudden scratchy sensation began at his ribs that he very nearly shrieked.

It took everything he had to keep his lips sealed when the strange sensation only grew more insistent and started to tickle him insanely bad.

Chan wielded the backscratchers with practiced ease, digging it lightly into Jinnie’s ribs while Felix scribbled lightly at his sides. Seungmin brushed his fingers along Hyunjin’s neck and Changbin blew in his ears.

“Guys aim for his worst spots, let’s make him lose!” Seungmin chirped from the audience. “Yeah then we can all get him back in round 2!!” Han finished excitedly.

Hyunjin tried to wrench himself free from the offending touches but the hands restraining him held fast. He could barely even move around in his chair, let alone anywhere out of it.

Hyunjin wanted to hide his face. He knew he looked funny with the pained expression he probably had on, so he tugged furiously at his arms…but it didn't so much as budge.

He let out a high pitched whine, his body contorting into the strangest positions, almost making it look like he was possessed.

That earned hysterical laughter from Felix and Han, who almost let go of Hyunjin’s arm. As expected, the sensitive ferret couldn’t take much.

When one final pair grabbed at his thighs, Hyunjin gave in, spewing the water out in a warm, albeit gross stream…..straight at Chan.

The leader scrambled away with a screech as everyone laughed after him.

“Oooh 8 seconds Jinnie. So close….well you know what this means hm?” Minho’s teasing voice sent shivers down his spine. Why couldn’t he have held on for 2 more seconds?!

The poor ferret couldn’t even process what he heard, too dazed from trying to hold back his laughter even when it had tickled so bad.

Unfortunately for him, everyone else heard the announcement loud and clear. 8 seconds. So close and yet so far away. He looked pleadingly at the rest.

“It’s just two seconds! You don’t have to do this…” He tried to talk his way out of it, changing tactics when no one seemed to buy it.

“This isn’t fair! You guys cheated. You went for a death spot, what was I supposed to do?!” Hyunjin complained, a bratty tone to his voice.

“Aww, it's not our fault you’re so ticklish. Every spot is a death spot for you~” Felix teased, confirming with the staff that Hyunjin wouldn’t need to use water for this round.

The artist was promptly pulled to the floor by Seungmin, blabbing on and on about how hard he was going to wreck him.

Nervous giggles bubbled up in Hyunjin’s throat but there was no running from them. Innie’s eyes glinted with malice as he watched the older get pinned down.

“Wait! Wait! I didn’t have enough time to prepare!”

“Nuh uh, no waiting.” Minho cut off his weak protests and the seven took their places around Hyunjin, Minho sitting on his hands, Lix straddling his hips and Han sitting on his calves.

Hyunjin couldn’t move a single limb as the quokka slipped his shoes off and Lix pushed his shirt up all the way to his chest, leaving his tummy and sides gloriously bare and just waiting to be tormented.

“Pl-please be nice,” the ferret begged as a last resort, flinching when a single finger swiped up the length of his socked sole.

The moment those awful, mean hands reached his stomach, Hyunjin bucked up, his own hands trying to move to protect the weak spot but Minho’s weight held them tight.

Giggles and laughter bubbled up in his chest, the artist’s face turning pink at the relentless sensation. It was a somewhat new spot for him.

Despite being in plain sight, he wasn’t tickled there as often but it already seemed like it was going to be one of his bad spots.

“Ahahahaha, Lihixie nohoho…” He giggled cutely up at the ball of sunshine.

His attention was diverted when Hannie began scribbling up and down his feet, randomly digging in to hear the ferret squeal loudly.

“Ahah! HANNIE FAHAHAHA- NOT THERE!! PLEHEHEASE I CAHAN’T TAKE IT GODS! ” The poor artist sounded so winded, overcome by a fit of laughter as his worst spot was exploited freely.

Then Seungmin, Felix and Chan aimed at his torso, their hands all varying in technique and roughness, making Hyunjin feel light headed.

Binnie and Lix each grabbed at his thighs, squeezing and scribbling the life out of them and the artist screamed.

“NAHAHAHAHA, nohohot there! I gihive, I give!” he shrieked, desperately writhing in their grasp.

Hysterical cackles and shrieks were the only sound Hyunjin seemed able to produce in his place, somehow managing to make it to the 1 minute mark without dying.

Although in all honesty he knew that everyone had switched to softer tickles midway, not wanting to overwhelm him.

Hyunjin felt like a mess when they let him go. He was pretty certain he looked the part too, with his clothes ruffled beyond help and hair tousled crazily.

But he knew the undeniable smile and tears of mirth streaking his face would be something Stay would like so he let it go.

Han:

“Your turn Hannie~ Get ready for death!” Felix declared with a clap, leading the jittery quokka to the dreaded chair.

Of course. He had helped in wrecking everyone else before him. Karma really was a bitch. He broke free from Lix, only to be cornered by the maknae who reached over to grab at his side.

“Ah NO! You cahahan’t do thihis to mee!!” He protested feebly, trying to back away from Jeongin.

A strong arm around his waist, however, sat him easily back on the chair.

When had their little baby bread gotten so strong? The cup of water was thrust in his face and Hannie shakily took a sip.

This time Jeongin was going to keep Hannie’s hands occupied while 2racha and Seungmin stepped up, armed with feathers and 3 backscratchers.

“We’re gonna wreck you Hannie~” Chan teased, his characteristic dimpled smile blooming on his face when Han giggled sweetly up at him. He pretended to melt off the chair, dramatically reaching a hand out to an amused Minho.

But for all his enthusiastic demeanor, all he got was a soft caress over his sides. It still tickled but it wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy the mood he’d gotten just from watching Channie, Seungminie and Jinnie get tickled.

He whined, sounding distressed and Minho couldn’t help but pinch his cheeks. “Fine fine, we’ll do it for real this time.”

His words heralded chaos. Hands flitted everywhere that Hannie could imagine and it took everything in him to not burst out laughing that instant.

He didn’t want this to end just when it had gotten good! So he sat there squirming, with Innie holding his arms over and behind his head.

Hands attached to Han’s sides, another pair coming up to dig into the hollows of his armpits and Han shot up in his chair. He twisted and squirmed fruitlessly in Innie’s grip but there was no escape.

Muffled giggles flowed like a melody from his closed lips and Hannie’s cheeks puffed up, making him look more like a squirrel than ever.

The two eldest couldn’t help but coo at the adorable sight, even while Han was fighting for his life on that chair.

Then the fingers were replaced with the feathers and backscratchers, Binnie twirling and flicking at his sensitive neck and ears and cheeks, cackling away when Hannie let out frantic but subdued laughter.

Minho and Chan scraped at his thighs, sides, tummy and ribs with the tools. Basically any place they could reach at, switching between spots so fast, the poor lee malfunctioned.

His thighs were a death spot and the fact that his skin tight jeans allowed for the tools to glide easily all over the ticklish flesh only amplified the sensation that much more.

Minho leaned forwards, his breath ghosting over the quokka’s ear, making him shiver with how even that felt unbearable. “C’mon, you can last 30 seconds right Han-ah?” Lino asked hopefully.

But all the ace could do was shake his head and chant “I can’t, I can’t’ over and over in his mind, hoping that the words he couldn’t speak would somehow be conveyed to them.

So he did the next best thing, twisting away, muffled protests and pleas falling from his lips until Minho’s voice had him pausing every thought.

“I’ll tickle you so well when we get back if you get to 30 seconds,” he promised, pulling away to grin at the flustered baby. Hannie huffed through his nose but nodded slightly.

He didn’t know how he managed it but Hannie squirmed and thrashed and giggled his way through half a minute of this relentless torment.

But eventually, a sudden attack on his waist made him spray the water out. “Good boy.”

The kitten patted his head and rubbed his back as he heaved for breath, folded over the chair while his brain kept replaying the dizzying series of events that had just taken place.

He was going to get wrecked later…. Minho was going to tickle him to his heart’s content, and as much as Hannie wanted and in any way he wanted.

It was safe to say that Han.exe stopped working for a couple minutes till his brain processed that information.

And then the brightest of smiles lightened up his face, lips curving into the beautiful heart shape the members simply adored.

Next in line was a certain tsundere kitten, who glared pointedly at Hyunjin, daring him to so much as take a step in his direction.

Chan swatted at him for that, plopping him down on the chair and scolding him playfully to get ready. Minho was determined ot not give them the satisfaction of seeing him so much as cracking a smile.

Minho:

The moment the time started, the Aussie duo and Han lunged for him. With Binnie and Innie holding his arms away, Minho felt helpless.

Channie’s fingers danced all over his upper body and thighs, squeezing, scribbling, kneading and jabbing at random spots to have poor Lino squirming and kicking in his seat. His resolve crumbled almost immediately; tickles were his Achilles heel. The one thing he couldn’t stand.

“So cute~” Chan cooed, watching with growing amusement at how flustered the younger was.

He almost toppled over from all his thrashing, little squeaks and whines escaping, much to his horror.

Minho was mortally embarrassed.

All his frantic thrashing was being recorded. He just knew they weren’t going to let him live this down.

“So shy aren’t you little baby? You try to act so nonchalant, but you’re just a soft, ticklish little kitten, aren’t you?” Chan’s relentless teases had Minho’s brain short circuiting.

Even innocent Hannie and Minnie were affected, blushing red, even as their fingers still continued to run all over the older’s sensitive torso.

Chan laughed, delighted by the reaction he got. “Guys aim for his sides; he can’t take it there!”

The announcement had poor Lino is shambles. His shirt and hair were a mess and tears welled up at the corners of his squinted eyes.

More and more hands joined in at his waist, sides and tummy. Han pinched gently at his waist while Felix clawed at his belly.

At this point Minho wasn’t sure he could tell up from down, trying his best to keep in his desperate laughter. His ears shone crimson, little whimpers and held back giggles escaping now and then.

That was when Felix whipped out a backscratcher, teasingly waving it in the older’s face before moving it down and dragging it all over Minho’s thighs.

If he didn’t want to win this stupid competition, Minho knew he’d be screaming and begging now.

His thighs were a death spot and the fact that his skin tight jeans allowed for it to basically glide easily all over the ticklish flesh only amplified the sensation that much more.

For everything he handed out, Minho simply couldn’t take it.

Counting down to ten in his head, his mind just barely holding onto the numbers, he loudly gulped down the water.

Laughter rang throughout the room until he reigned in his reactions enough to yelp out a giggly, “STAHAHAP!!”

The hands lingered for a few more seconds before lifting off his now hypersensitive body, Chan offering him some water that he grudgingly accepted.

There was a smug murmur of how he couldn’t take what he dished out, Minho blushing furiously as he glared at Han, the squirrel withering away with a giggly apology.

“30 seconds!” The staff called and Minho wasn’t certain if that was right, it had felt like an eternity. He had no idea how he’d lasted so long without laughing.

Innie was next. The cute maknae, inched away from everyone until he was dragged back to the torture chair by a laughing Felix.

“Hyunjin and I will go! He’s too ticklish to handle four of us anyway.” Seungmin snickered at the red faced maknae, who threw him a dirty look for that last remark. Oh no. These two were merciless lers….. And so, it began.

Jeongin:

“Aww, always so ticklish, aren’t you little one? Does this tickle? How about here? It’s really too bad you’re going to have to take this hmm?”

Seungmin’s gloved hands were at his sides, drilling into the toned muscles with precise, torturous presses, making Innie buck up in his seat. The teases felt way worse than the tickling itself.

Jeongin really wanted the ground to swallow his whole right now. He just knew his face was so red right now.

However, he had little time to linger on his embarrassment when Hyunjin’s nails dragged over the taut skin of his collarbones, skittering left and right then up and down.

Innie threw his head back, shoes skidding and squeaking on the white floor, leaving dark marks all over. But he couldn’t care less about that.

Seungmin’s hands snuck under his shirt, running along his bare ribs and sides, lazily tracing the spots as if he had all the time in the world.

Oh that little demon puppy knew exactly how to get him. Innie shook his head, eyes shut tight as he tried his best to hold on just a little longer.

The moment he counted down from 10, Innie spewed the water all over a flabbergasted pup who pressed his fingers in in revenge, vibrating them to hear Jeongin howl with laughter.

Innie just barely managed to push him away with his weakened arms, dashing away and slumping in Hyunjin’s hold.

The older was more than happy to cuddle him. “12 seconds!” Innie sighed in relief, he’d just barely passed.

Changbin, cleared his throat loudly, eyes flitting about nervously when everyone turned to him. “Actually…I think I left the stove on. I’ll be right back!”

He tried to make a dash for the door but Chan and Innie were quicker, tackling the squirming rapper to the floor and tickling him to bits there.

“You thought you’d get away that easily after wrecking us all? Nuh uh hyung.”

Binnie squealed and pleaded, wriggling around on the floor when Chan held him down and Innie squeezed at his sides.

They let him go when the staff gestured at them, laughing at their antics.

Changbin:

Changbin sat down with a smile he didn’t care to suppress, taking a sip of water slowly at Hyunjin’s knowing look. Han and Chan volunteered to keep his arms away.

Hyunjin, Chan, Felix and Minho eagerly claimed their spots, circling Binnie like sharks. Then the timer started.

Felix targeted Binnie’s ribs with relentless pokes, Minho focusing on light, teasing strokes under his arms.

Chan and Hyunjin alternated between squeezing his knees and scribbling on his neck, leaving the poor rapper in stitches. He felt so helpless and exposed like this, with Innie and Han holding his weakened arms away.

“Is this bad Binnie? Oh, are you trying to say something?” Chan called in a sing song voice, fingers tracing all over his sensitive neck and broad shoulders.

“What! You can’t take this? That’s really too bad, isn’t it?” Hyunjin mocked from his spot at Binnie’s legs. They were ruthless.

Even the ones on the sidelines, were throwing teases and taunts his way. Felix’s fingers hovered over his torso, quickly moving over spots but not touching him yet.

And just when Changbin had thought he’d be able to handle this much… Minho and Hyunjin grabbed feathers and paintbrushes.

The artist skillfully ran the paintbrush over his upper ribs, twisting and curling the soft hair around the ridges and crevices of Binnie’s bulky body. Binnie squeaked, a cute sound that had everyone cooing at him.

He was about to explode from the sensations when Minho sunk his fingers into the pudge of his tummy.

He shut his eyes tight, shaking his head side to side but nothing he did seemed to alleviate the tingles running up his spine.

And then Felix started with the feathers, tracing them over his neck and setting every nerve it went over, tingling like a live wire.

Binnie’s body lurched to the side, away from them, his arm wrenching free from Han’s grip and clamping tightly to his side.

Giggly words sounded vaguely from his vocal cords but no matter which way he turned, the feathers and paintbrushes followed him.

And just to make it worse, Hyunjin added his fingers to the mix, digging and clawing at his sides.

The rapper gave in, spurting water everywhere as he hopped out of his seat and ran a safe distance away from the duo, folding over and rubbing at his hyper charged skin.

Residual giggles bubbled from his lips and Felix couldn’t resist sneaking behind the dwaekki and stuffing his hands up Binnie’s pits.

Changbin yelped out a laugh, once again hopping away from the smug Aussie. ”Hyung’s just like a bunny~ Aren’t you hyungie?” He teased fondly.

His timing came upto 15 seconds and Binnie’s face felt like it was on fire when everyone started to taunt him for it.

And for the final contestant… Felix couldn’t deny that anxiety had been simmering in his belly.

Felix:

“You really had a lot of fun with us…..didn’t you Lix?” Hyunjin scribbled his nails under the chick’s chin, watching adoringly when it made the younger smile brightly.

“You guys liked it~” He teased lightly, yelping when that earned him a jab to the side from a flustered Changbin.

“Aww feeling shy hyungie? You looked so cute when you were squirming around earlier. Hannie too, being all squeaky and adorable. You wanted more didn’t you, ticklish baby?”

His deep voice and the teasing lilt to it were a deadly combination. Binnie and Hannie didn’t stand a chance, the tips of their ears bleeding crimson.

“Drink.” Seungmin ordered stiffly, shoving the water in Lixie’s face before he could get everyone else. “You’re so cute puppy. Don’t worry, stays know allll about your little ‘secret’,” he taunted, laughing when Seungmin sputtered at his words.

Having had his fun, Lix took a big sip of the water, leaning back and holding his arms out without a care in the world. He knew he’d get the tickles he’d been craving all day.

Being the last had really riled up his lee mood and now he was willing to do and say just about anything if it got him the ‘punishment’ he wanted.

And with his comments earlier, he’d left quite a few of them raring to get their revenge.

The timer beeped, signaling Han, Changbin, Seungmin and Hyunjin to lunge at the chick. Han’s fingers alternated between feather-light grazes on Lixie’s sides and firm digs into his ribs.

“Still feeling brave Lix?” Felix’s initial enthusiasm vanished as fingers danced over his ribs and sides.

Hyunjin’s light touches contrasted with Seungmin’s firmer squeezes, the fusion leaving the little Aussie squealing through his zipped mouth.

Felix’s reactions were quite entertaining, the little chick trying to twist away, tugging wildly at his arms but they stayed firm, stretched up over his head and held together by one of Channie’s hands.

Lix shivered when his shirt was pulled up, giggling sweetly when Binnie ran a single finger up the curve of his spine.

Calloused fingers began skittering all over his back, digging in once they found his shoulder blades.

The chick let out a muffled scream, jerking forwards. He hadn’t expected it to tickle so much but that reaction only got Channie to pull him back by his wrists…right back into Changbin’s waiting fingers.

Felix kicked his feet, that being the only way he could relieve the tingly sensations taking over his body and threw his head back into Chan’s chest as giggles formed in his throat.

Then Seungmin lifted a hand to his torso, fingers drawing a tickly path from Lixie’s sides to his abs, then up to his ribs and right into his hollows.

A second pair of hands joined in, this time slipping under the bunched up fabric at the front and a finger circled the rim of his navel.

Lixie’s eyes snapped frantically to a smirking Hyunjin. “You seem to be enjoying this way more than any of us Lix. Got anything to say for yourself?”

Hyunjin dipped his finger in, giggling when Lix jolted in place, swirling around in his belly button as the little Aussie shook his head, giving him his best puppy eyes.

More fingers dipped into the ticklish skin of his lower ribs, and Felix couldn’t hold back as water dribbled down his chin in little rivulets, pulling with it an embarrassed squeak.

His laughter was set free. Happy, bubbly squeals of joy filled the space and the hands didn’t stop, even though the timer had.

They slowed to a stop when Chan noticed how blissed out yet tired his baby looked. Hyunjin helped him to his feet, catching the chick when his jelly legs almost gave out.

Round one concluded, Chan leading with a wide margin. They had to shift their schedules to later, everyone too exhausted to jump into the next part.

Luckily for them, their manager had already predicted as much, leading the sleepy kids back to the waiting room for some much needed rest.

[kepchupprabbit]

@makezkey @puggnugget @banaynaybread

COME GET YALL ANGST JUICE 😅

Please lmk you're thoughts. I haven't written anything in a really long time, and I was never really confident in my writing to begin with, but I was listening to music, and the muses overtook me, I guess

(I'm also on mobile so sorry if the format is weird)

++++++

Gale,

I miss you.

I keep telling myself I'll see you soon. I keep hoping for a letter or a knock on my door. I keep waking up expecting you by my side. We both know that won't happen. You aren't here. I want to be mad at you, I want to scream and cry. I want to act out and break things, but I just can't bring myself to do any of it.

They keep telling me to trust it will be okay. To trust in the universe and the will of the gods. I think we both know better than that. I think we both know not to trust in the will of the gods. Even La'zell said something about fate, but to be honest, I wasn't really able to listen. They keep telling me to visit the temple. That prayer will help. That even if I get no response at the very least, I will get it off my chest. I know you'd agree to the futility of that scenario.

Elminster came to visit me, if you'd believe it. Explained that Mystra wanted an audience with me. Can you believe it? MYSTRA? Of all the people in the universe, she wanted to speak with me. At Astarion's urging, I went. She brought me to her, opened up a channel of Weave, much like she did for you when we visited her temple so long ago. Can you believe it? Mystra and I having a conversation. It didn't last long of course. After pleasantries, all she really said was what they've all been saying. To visit the temple and pray. Thay praying would bring me relief. RELEIF! Can you believe her?

I left.

I went home.

There is really no relief to be had anyway. You're gone.

Besides, what is the use of praying to the God of ambition when his ambition is the reason you can't go on anymore.

I always loved you Gale.

I was always yours.

- Tav

++++++++

Thank you for reading everyone!

I really like writing things out with pen and paper so I had to type this out specifically to post lol.

Please be gentle with your input but please still be honest

Much love ❤️

Kepp

(Ps I really like stationary and physically writing things, so if anyone wants to know what my tav's handwriting/this letter/journal entry would actually look like, I will 1000% make that happen)

[jiniret-writings]

With You

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Bangchan x Reader

Warnings: Reader calls Chan Chris (is that a warning?)

The metal felt cool and heavy on your wrist, but not obnoxiously so. It was a welcome weight, like someone held it. Chris finished the clasp and moved it around your wrist, making sure it wasn't too tight.

"Good?"

"Good," you said, lifting your arm above your head before letting it drop dramatically as though you had weights attached to them. Chris took your hand and kissed it before kissing your forehead.

"Be safe, yeah? And call me if you need company."

"I will. Bye, love," you said, giving him one last kiss on the lips before heading out.

This had become a little routine between the two of you. With comeback approaching and Stray Kids being busier than ever, time with your boyfriend was precious and rare. You had taken to staying at his studio with him to keep him company and spend time with him. The only drawback being that he worked long hours and hunger was inevitable to strike, so you made it a habit to go out to get the two of you food while he worked so you didn't break him out of his "zone".

Chris loved you, but he couldn't fight the bouts of worry that overtook him when you left alone late at night. Especially in the winter when the sun set so early, by the time it was time for dinner, it was pitch black outside. He had tried to get you to order delivery for meals and snacks, but you had insisted on going out yourself, saying it was good to stretch your legs. He couldn't argue with that, but it didn't help the pit in his stomach when he saw you walk out into the dark.

It was during one of these moments of eerie quiet and loneliness that the idea hit him. He was tapping away at his desk, unable to get any work done. His friends had told him about how random guys seemed to be getting bolder in the streets with girls who were alone. They told him in good faith so he could warn you--which he did--but it also made him worry more. As he was drumming his fingers, resisting the urge to text you for the fifth time in as many minutes, he looked down at the bracelet on his wrist.

It was one of his first purchases on his idol paycheck when he started making a substantial amount of money. It was a welcome weight, always serving to ground him when he felt stressed.

It was a almost useless gesture. Realistically, if someone really wanted to be a prick, they wouldn't care about a heavy bracalet on your wrist, but it brought him some peace of mind. The next day, before you could go out, he grabbed your waist and pulled you to him. Placing a small kiss on the inside of your wrist, he removed his bracelet and put it on you.

"What's this for?" you asked, confused on the gesture.

"So that I'm with you," he said, still holding your waist. "Whenever you go out, just take it off my wrist."

You looked down at it, eyes shining with love and appreciation. You understood what he had left unsaid. It looks out of place enough with the rest of your jewelry that it could only mean you got it from your boyfriend. From him.

"And," he continued, moving you so you were sitting in his lap. "If someone tried anything, it's heavy enough to be a weapon."

The smirk on his lips was mischievous, but you knew he was dead serious.

"Got it," you said softly, kissing his cheek.

And so your routine was established. Even when going out with friends, he would give you a piece of his jewelry to wear with your own. More often than not, it was a ring he wore whenever he was in the mood for one. He rationed that it was just a placeholder until he got you something more permanent and more yours.

This semester kicked my ass like no other oml. MY mistake for thinking I could keep writing in between assignments, but my professors seemed hell bent on making sure we were drowning busy. That means I have like 30 unfinished works and a need to write something fun until my fingers fall off ♡

This is an idea that's been spinning around my head for a while. It's finals week so starting next week I have all the time in the world to write! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! And as always, have a great morning, afternoon, evening, and night!

-Jini

[vixensbrainrotts]

Committed to you - Manjiro >Mikey< Sano

(part two)

Idea/ prompt: Mikey from the last timeline who wants to propose to us but has no idea how to ask so he ask advices from draken and emma

Vixen's two cents: Hi. I know ive been gone for like 2 weeks, I dont know why but it's been hard writing lately. anyway, thanks a million to @anahryal for giving me this idea whilst I was in the pits of my writers block!!! thanks girl, I can't tell you how much this helped. anyway, REQUESTS ARE OPEN and I advise you to use them! now please enjoy my revival piece!

Mikey has thought every possible thought he could have. He had run through every possible situation, every possible outcome, every possible setting, but damnit why was this so hard? He couldn’t do it. Not for the life of him.

He had browsed millions of travel blogs, pondering about every possible spot on earth to take you for the occasion. He had woken in and out of more jewelry stores in the past month than he had ever in his entire life. He had specifically stood in corner stores, reading the wedding catalogues in the magazine section trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do.

None of it helped.

Manjiro wanted it so bad. So so very bad. Every white dress he walked by, he envisioned you in it. Every bakery shop he passed, his eyes flitted up and down the fancy display cakes, pondering whether or not it would be good enough. Any time he woke up next to you, every time he joined you in the shower, every time he watched you cook, the urge to sink to one knee overtook him.

He knew he couldn’t make it that simple though. It was too domestic for him, so little of a gesture. He wanted you to know that he loved you, that he would bring you the moon if you wanted it. He needed you to see just how much he appreciates you for sticking with him through everything, and for that he needs a grand gesture.

However it seemed that nothing he could think of was quite big enough, quite meaningful enough, quite heartfelt enough. He was at the end of his wits. For one and a half months- seven weeks he had been fighting this battle alone.

He had made some progress in that time, having picked the ring because when he picked it up he just felt that this was the one. It was a niche store, and he was initially appalled by the average price of the rings, but decided, ah what the fuck? and entered the store for mostly shits and giggles. He was greeted by an expensive looking elderly gentleman who donned a monocle and silk gloves, clearly the clerk, and clearly an expert. He had the longest, most engaging talk with the man, explaining his situation and his frustrations, to which the man nodded understandingly and told of his own story and experience with marigge.

Seven long weeks he had kept it a secret from everyone, and now he couldn’t take it anymore.

He was just about to throw the towel on this whole thing and say fuck it and give up on this whole marriage thing and just accept that he would never make it, when he remembered that he didnt have to be alone in this. Not at all matter of fact. His best friend married his sister after all. If Ken could do it with the pressure of Shinichiro, Izana AND Mikey breathing down his neck, then surely he could do it too, right?

You were out on a girls night with Hinata, Senju and Yuzuha. Emma would have tagged along normally too, but with the addition of a new-born baby, she decided that it would be best to sit out this time. Either way you were out of the house for the night, and Mikey was left to his own devices. You had left him with a kiss and a home-cooked meal (which he felt bad about leaving behind so he completely stuffed himself before coming here) before he gave Ken a quick heads up over the phone that he was coming over with a VERY important problem.

Thats how he found himself here. Standing in the Kitchen of Emma and Ken‘s flat, hands perched on the counter, looking down at the surface, face in a deep frown. „What’s goin on? What’s the problem?“ Ken asks roughly, leaned on the refrigerator as he eyed his friend. Mikey didnt really respond though.

„What problem?“ Emma‘s voice was hushed as she entered through the kitchen door, pulling the door shut behind her, probably for the sake of the baby. „I dont know.“ Ken responded, rubbing his eyebrows „Ask your brother.“ he sighed as he gestured to Mikey who was still staring down the counter.

“Mikey?!” Emma sounded confused and a little concerned as she turned to look at him, eyes flitting between her brother and her husband. “Did you know he was coming over?”

Ken nodded wordlessly. “Said he needs our help about something.” Emma’s head tilted in question but accepted the fact. “What’s up Mikey?” She asked, approaching him and joining Draken at the other side of the counter.

Mikey didn’t say anything though, instead reaching into his pocket and producing a small, black, silk-encased box. He dropped it onto the table and looked up at the couple in desperation. “How do I do it?”

Ken gasped and felt his lips tug into a smile, happy that finally, finally Mikey was wiping you up (he had told him to do so since they were teens).

Emma slapped her hands over her mouth to muffle a silent scream, beginning to voice up and down on excitement as she realized- her brother was marrying you! She thanked the gods that Mikey fell in love with you because there was no better in-law than her Soulsister.

“Ahhhhh! Oh my goodness Mikey! I’m so happy for you! Can I see? Wow! Oh my god Ken are you seeing this!? He’s proposing! Ah I’m so glad!” Mikey nodded in response and let Emma pick up the box and crack it open, revealing the beautiful white-gold wedding band, encrusted with more diamonds than she could count. Notably, one large diamond sat in the middle of the ring, flanked by two smaller diamonds on each side.

“Oh.” Emma breathed. “Ken why didn’t you ask Manjiro for help when picking my ring?” Emma sounded slightly offended as she spoke, glaring down at the ring.

“Nah nah, don’t get it twisted girl. You told me what ring you wanted, I didn’t have much picking liberty other than the price.” Ken waved his hands in dismissal, brushing off her accusations with a grin still wide on his face. He made his way over to Mikey and clapped a hand on his shoulder, congratulating him for the occasion.

“Good on you man! Finally givin it the push, hah?” Ken was smiling as he searched for Mikey’s eyes, but he didn’t look up. “What’s up with the long face? You’re about to propose dude, you should be over the moon!”

Mikey sighed and shook his head. “I’ve been trying to propose to her for months. Months Ken. I can’t do it. It’s never right.”

The couple halted their celebrations and turned to look at Mikey again, Emma putting down the dainty box as her looks turns to one of concern. “What do you mean?” She fingered at the box as she leaned across the counter.

“It’s… i don’t know. Ken made it look so easy when he proposed to you, and Pah-chin was even more mindless about it! I really want to. I really do, but every time I get close, I chicken out because I get scared or because something isn’t right, and I’m starting to think that it’s better if I just… don’t.” Mikey sighed and cradled his head in his hands, his elbows resting on the counter.

Emma and Ken shared a look, a wordless exchange of worry and empathy. "What kind of proposal were you thinking of? Big? Small? Public? Private?" Emma started, hand rubbing soothingly across her brother's back.

"Big." Mikey mumbled into his hands, remaining hunched over the counter. "Big and public. I wanna make sure that everyone knows, everyone sees, I want them all to know. want them to know how much I love her."

Emma's eyes softened and she suppressed a smile, because all in all, it was cute. She had always known her brother to be big and strong, undefeatable, and most of all unwaverable. Mikey always put up the strong front when really, he was hurt. Vulnerability wasn't something that she was used to seeing from him, which made this moment all the more special.

"Do you want to go somewhere with her?" Ken steps in and asks, an idea arising. Mikey only grunts, a noise of agreement sounding through the room. "Do you know what kind of places she likes?" Ken continues.

Mikey's head slowly raises from the position on the table and he stares forward at the refrigerator. "Europe."

Emma and Ken looked at one another again, sensing that they were getting somewhere. "Then take her on Vacation. You both have that long shared break coming up, don't you? Travel through Europe and when it feels right, ask!" Ken said.

"How do I know when it feels right, though? What if it's not the moment?" Mikey asks, still not entirely convinced. "You'll know. I promise you, you'll know. I knew too and I didn't think I had the stuff to ever get married." Ken reassures again, and this time the two share eye contact, and it takes Draken a lot not to tear up.

Draken took a moment in his mind to look at Mikey. He had stuck by his side since they were kids, through thick and thin it's always been the two if them against the world. And now as he looked at Manjiro he no longer saw the unmatchable delinquent he saw ten years ago, but rather a distinguished person with complex thoughts and emotions. He saw a man that felt, a man that cared and a man that loved in front of him, and he couldn't be prouder.

Ken nodded at Mikey, and Mikey nodded back at him. "Yeah. She'll love it! Thanks, I'll do that! Gosh I don't know what id do without you two.."

"Oh, please propose to her in front of the Eifel Tower! Or the Coliseum! Or on some romantic Bridge in Venice!" Emma swooned and held her hands over her chest, hearts in her eyes.

Mikey smiled at her and nodded again. "I'll try and film it if I can."

-

The rest of the evening was spent with the three of them checking about a thousand booking sites, mapping travel routes and destinations, and the occasional cacophony of laughter which led to a grumpy Ryuguji-baby. Manjiro couldn't wait to go with you, he thought as he sat on one of the armchairs, gently running a thumb over the silk box that sat pretty in his hand.