#there will be much more about them as I slowly pull myself out of this depression

[paperbodiesamongthestars]

How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dying?

I am having feelings about that episode, so please enjoy 3k words of fic about it. I told myself yesterday I wasn't going to write anything about it because I didn't think I had much to say, and then this hit me like a truck at like midnight. Exceptional timing, brain, no notes.

Title is from You're Losing Me by Taylor Swift. (The other line I considered was "I know my pain is such an imposition," for obvious reasons, but I made a different call. Hopefully this one is pointed enough. 😂)

Tommy thinks about reaching out. Tommy thinks about reaching out a lot, but he doesn’t do it. The footage from the cameras in the tunnel plays on a loop in his mind, but Evan had been red-eyed but composed by the time he and Athena came out of there, and the last thing Tommy was going to do was blurt it out in front of everyone. That he’d seen something no one else had. That he knew, and the knowledge was lodged in his chest like a knife. 

Evan kept it together that night, but Tommy can’t imagine that persisted for long. He was subdued at the funeral—and Tommy was focused on doing his own part as respectfully as possible—but there were times when Evan had seemed…lost. Unmoored somehow. It was understandable given where they were, but it had made Tommy wonder, a little bit, who Evan was leaning on to get through this. He had banished the thought as soon as it had surfaced. The 118 was Evan’s family; of course they were seeing what was going on with him, probably more clearly than Tommy could. No doubt they had it under control. They would never let Evan suffer through a loss like this alone.

So Tommy doesn’t call after the funeral.  

He doesn’t call, and he doesn’t call, and he doesn’t call, and he falls asleep almost every night to a vivid memory of the way Evan’s legs had just given out under him. He doesn’t call and the impulse to hold Evan—just briefly, just because he couldn’t then—is almost overwhelming. But that’s not what they are anymore. He’s not sure if they're anything, honestly, and he’s not going to ask. Evan has more important things to worry about right now, and Tommy’s not going to barge in demanding anything at all. 

And then a building goes down, of course with half the 118 inside, and Tommy’s still on ground ops until Melton forgives him. Evan and Ravi are finally pulled out—dusty and scraped up, but whole—and Tommy sees them making their slow way toward the 118 engine and Gerrard.

Evan brightens a little and waves when he looks up and sees Tommy, and Tommy really hopes he’s got a handle on his expression, because Evan looks awful. His smile is brittle and the hollowness in his eyes is concerning. Tommy almost looks around for the rest of the 118 because what the fuck are they thinking? They wouldn’t let Evan walk around like this, looking like an open wound. Right? They would do something about it.

For the first time, Tommy considers the possibility that he’s made a few too many assumptions about what the 118 would and wouldn’t do. 

He jogs over to where Evan and Ravi have stopped. Ravi is chatting with a firefighter from the 133, but Evan is just…standing. His eyes are blank and unfocused, and Tommy is starting to get a little pissed at all the people who are supposed to have Evan’s back because what are they doing?

“Hey,” he says quietly, but Evan startles anyway.

“Oh! Uh, hey Tommy.” He dredges up a smile that goes nowhere near his eyes. “Ground ops, huh?”

“Yeah, Melton’s still pissed, so…”

Evan frowns. “I’m so—Tommy I’m so sorry.”

Tommy frowns back at him. “For what?”

“I shouldn’t have asked…I didn’t think,” Evan says, his shoulders slumping, and Tommy doesn’t like that reaction at all. 

“Sure you did. You thought ‘The team is in trouble; I wonder if Tommy can help,’ and the answer was yes.” 

Evan gives him a wan smile. “But you love flying.”

“I do,” Tommy says slowly, “and I’ll be doing it again in no time. It’s really not a big deal.” He catches Evan’s eye and says firmly, “Hey, I’m a grown-up. I have a mortgage and everything—I can absolutely deal with the consequences of my own actions.” 

Evan stares for a second and then starts blinking faster. His hand starts to come up, like he’s going to wipe his eyes, but stops halfway. He looks around at the clusters of firefighters around them. 

“I have to—” he says, and gestures vaguely in a direction, and then he’s gone. Tommy frowns after him, wondering where exactly he went wrong. 

He thinks maybe he should call this time. 

He doesn’t get the chance. 

The day after the building collapse, Tommy drives home from his 48—which was a bitch and a half, and not just because a building came down—and finds a very familiar jeep parked in his driveway. He stares at it for a while, failing to make sense of its presence, and then realizes he’s been sitting there for too long. He gets out of his truck and lets himself into his house. He can hear water running in the kitchen, and the house smells like red sauce, similar to the one his mom used to simmer on the stove on Sunday afternoons. It smells like home, and he buries that thought as soon as it surfaces.

Tommy drifts into the kitchen, uncertain what he’ll find there. Evan has his back to the door, rinsing a cutting board in the sink. He looks over his shoulder as Tommy comes in. 

“One sec,” he says, and Tommy nods. He takes the time to go set his bag down in his bedroom, kicking off his shoes and changing into sweatpants. When he makes it back to the kitchen, the board is in the drying rack and Evan is standing at the kitchen island, staring down at his hands on the countertop. 

“Hi,” Tommy says as he comes back in. He skirts carefully around Evan to grab a beer from the fridge and opens it, and then he goes back to the other side of the island. Whatever Evan is doing here, Tommy has no desire to spook him. His kitchen is Evan’s kitchen. Hell, if he’s being really honest with himself, his everything is Evan’s everything, to a probably concerning degree. 

Whatever. Not the point right now. 

“Hey,” Evan says, and takes a swig from the bottle of water in front of him. “Your spare key is still in the same spot.”

“Sure is,” Tommy agrees. There’s a brief silence. “What are you making?” Tommy asks. 

“Meat sauce,” Evan says. “I was going to make fresh pasta, but I wasn’t sure when you’d be home and I didn’t know if I’d have time.” 

Tommy nods. “It smells great,” he says. 

Evan glances at him, and then away. “Sorry for invading your kitchen,” he says, but it sounds likes something he thinks he should say rather than something he really means. Tommy can work with that. 

“Don’t be,” Tommy says. “You’re always welcome here.” His tone is warm and probably too fond, but there’s not much he can do about it. He’s just really happy Evan is in his kitchen, looking tentative, but maybe a little less hollow than he looked yesterday. 

Evan looks up at that, faint surprise and…something else flitting over his face before he smiles. “Yeah?” he asks, like that’s a real question. 

“Of course,” Tommy says, and he’s probably giving himself all the way away, but he’s finding it hard to care. He’s tired. Tired of pretending he didn’t see what he saw, tired of pretending he doesn’t desperately want to hug Evan, just to do it. Because he couldn’t then, but maybe he can now. 

As soon as he has the thought, the words come out without him ever deciding to say them. “Could I—do you mind if I hug you?”

Evan glances over his shoulder at the sauce, and then the kitchen timer. There’s a lot of time left on it, and Tommy briefly wonders what it means that Evan came over and let himself into his house to make a dish that has to simmer for hours. 

Evan turns back to Tommy, his expression a little rueful. He’s twisting his hands together in front of him. “I think, uh. There—there’s a solid chance I’m going to cry all over you if that happens,” he says, eyes downcast. 

“I can live with that,” Tommy says immediately.   

Evan’s head comes up, eyes huge in his face, and he drinks in Tommy’s expression. Tommy doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but he seems to find it. He moves, and then Tommy moves, and they crash into each other halfway around the island. Tommy clings because Jesus Christ, he’s been desperate to ever since he watched Evan sink to the ground, face twisted in anguish. He’s so focused on Evan, solid and real in his arms, that it takes a second for him to realize that Evan is clinging just as tightly, his face buried in Tommy’s shoulder. And—yep, there are the tears. 

Tommy feels himself tearing up too, for Bobby, for Evan, for Athena--for all of them. For this awful, overwhelming loss, and the horror of how it happened. 

Evan’s breaths start to hitch, and he slumps further into Tommy’s hold. Suddenly he’s choking out deep, gasping sobs, sorrow pulled up from so deep it sound like it it’s physically painful. Tommy just tightens his grip, trying to ignore the part of his brain that is loudly demanding to know why, exactly, Evan seems to need this so badly. He can pull on that thread later. For now, he can do this. He can stand here and be as solid as possible so Evan has something to hang onto while he falls apart.

Later, they end up on the couch. They each have a glass of that stupid passion-orange-guava juice Tommy just keeps adding to his cart at the grocery store, even though Evan hasn’t been around to drink it for a while now. Tommy keeps nudging the plate of cookies toward Evan. 

“Eddie’s crashing at my—at his—on the couch at the house,” Evan says, and his tone is all wrong. It’s stilted and a little wobbly, and Evan’s eyes stay fixed on his hands. He sighs. “He’s probably wondering where I am.” 

Tommy tries to keep the surprise off his face, but something must get through. 

Evan grimaces. “We had a disagreement the other night. I know he’s trying to make up for it, in his own way, but…I. I just wanted to be somewhere else for a while.”

Tommy’s not sure what to say to that. “Well,” he finally gets out, “like I said, you’re always welcome here.”

Evan nods a little, but it’s clear his mind is elsewhere. “Do you—” he starts, and then stops. Tommy cocks an encouraging eyebrow. “Do you think…that is…”

Tommy waits. Evan will decide how he wants to say whatever it is—or decide not to—in his own time. 

Evan looks back down at his hands. “We did everything we could to save Bobby,” he says. It’s a statement, kind of. He looks up at Tommy. “Right?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed, and his expression is full of such naked vulnerability that Tommy is tempted to look away. He doesn’t, because Evan Buckley deserves all the courage Tommy can muster, even if he’s never had quite enough. 

Tommy takes a slow breath in, and lets it out, and reminds himself that giving in to the rage igniting in his chest would be neither helpful nor productive. But what the fuck, Eddie?

“Evan,” he says firmly, “of course you did. You all did.”

Evan looks up at that. “We did,”he corrects, and shoots Tommy a tentative little smile. 

“Of course we did,” Tommy agrees, unwilling to quibble about his own minor role when there are much more important things he needs to say. “It was an impossible situation, and everyone did their absolute best.” He starts to reach out for Evan’s hand, and then stops himself, and then Evan reaches out and takes his hand anyway. “Unless there was a secret second vial we didn’t account for—which there wasn’t—there was nothing more anyone could have done.” He pauses and thinks about how he wants to say this. “It was horrible, and tragic, and I know that every single person there would have done absolutely anything to prevent it. Which is how I know no one could have.” He smiles, but it’s small and sad. “If the folks who were there that day couldn’t find a way, then there just wasn’t a way to find,” he finishes. 

Evan slumps a little in his seat. “Yeah, that’s—” he stops and swallows. “That’s what I thought too, but then Eddie said—” He cuts himself off and shakes his head. His shoulders are curled in, making him look small. Tommy hates it.

“Hey,” Tommy says, squeezing Evan’s hand, and Evan looks up at him. “I know everyone is hurting”—he was going to be diplomatic about this if it killed him—“but that is some Grade A bullshit.” Evan blinks at him. “That’s a fucked up thing to say, sweetheart, and I’m so sorry someone said it to you.” The endearment just slips out, and he doesn’t overthink it. He kept himself from saying What the fuck is wrong with your best friend? and I don’t think grief is a good enough explanation for that level of cruelty, so he gives himself a little mental high-five for his restraint.  

Evan blinks a little faster and lets go of Tommy’s hand to wipe at his eyes. He laughs a little. “God, I don’t know why I can’t stop crying.”

Tommy’s got a few hunches, but he doesn’t voice any of them. He shrugs. “Grief is a bitch like that.” He smiles at Evan and gestures at the box of Kleenex on the end table. “I buy tissues at Costco, so, you know—cry as much as you need to.” 

Evan laughs again, and relaxes back into the couch. Tears continue to slip down his face, and he periodically wipes them away. They sit there for a while, and the silence is comfortable. Tommy doesn’t take his hand back, and Evan makes no move to let it go.  

After a while, Tommy gets up to take a real shower, and Evan gets up to stir the sauce. He’s asleep on the couch when Tommy comes back, and Tommy pulls the afghan down from the back of the couch and carefully pulls it over him. He checks on the sauce and then settles into the armchair with his book. The house is quiet, and it smells amazing, and something in Tommy’s chest is settled for the first time in weeks. 

Evan wakes up when the kitchen timer goes off. He blinks a few times, and smiles a little when he sees Tommy in the armchair. Tommy smiles back.  

They eat pasta—the meat sauce is fantastic—and then Tommy serves them bowls of ice cream drizzled with caramel sauce. They eat it on the couch while while they watch some nature documentary, and Tommy follows almost none of it because he keeps glancing over at Evan’s profile. He looks soft and relaxed, and that terrible brittleness seems to be gone. He’s still marked by sorrow—he always will be, to some extent—but he doesn’t look empty anymore. 

Eventually the ice cream is gone, and the documentary is over. Evan shifts on the couch and glances at the clock in the kitchen. 

“I should get back,” he says, with visible reluctance, and Tommy doesn’t hesitate. 

“You could stay,” he says. 

“You mean for the night?” Evan asks, tentative again the way he was when Tommy first walked in to find him in his kitchen. 

“Sure,” Tommy says, “that.” He does not sell it, at all, and a slow smile starts to spread on Evan’s face. 

“Yeah?” he asks, and they both know what he’s asking. 

“Of course,” Tommy says, soft and sincere. He straightens a little. “I have a guest room,” he says, and Evan’s smile dims. “Not like that,” he says quickly. “Just—you’ve been through a lot, and if you just need a safe place to be for a while…”

Evan’s nodding as he talks, and he shifts closer to Tommy on the couch, meeting Tommy’s eyes. “I do need that,” he says. “I do need a safe place to be right now. And that’s you, Tommy.”

It sits there for a second because Tommy doesn’t know what to say, and Evan’s smile falters. Tommy reaches out for his hand. 

“Oh,” he says, and it’s soft and a little awed. “I didn’t”—he clears his throat—“I didn’t know that.”

Evan nods gravely. “I’ll do better this time. At making sure you know.”

Tommy grips his hand tighter. “I—me too. I’ll do better.”

Evan smiles at him, sweet and pleased. “We both will. We’ll do it right this time.”

Tommy can’t argue with that. God knows they have a laundry list of stuff to talk about, to figure out, but…

“We will,” he agrees, and for the first time, he lets himself truly believe it. 

[womenlovee]

Calm The Chaos

paring: ava starr x fem!reader

summary: your girlfriend finally gets to experience what it’s like to feel you

warnings: honestly none, just fluff based off of ant man and the wasp, drabble

word count: 700

author’s note: i know this wasn’t requested but it was a short idea that popped in my head

“It hurts. It always hurts.” Ava confesses, fear flickering in her eyes—not just because of what she’s done, but because of what might happen next.

You stand beside Bill, your lip trembling. No matter how long you’ve known Ava—no matter how many times you’ve witnessed her pain—it never gets any easier to watch.

The two of you have grown close over the years. As Bill’s trusted assistant, you were constantly by Ava’s side while he was out chasing new research, desperate for a cure. Where he was absent, you were present—steadfast, devoted, and endlessly patient.

Eventually, feelings bloomed. You tried to fight them at first, knowing how complicated things already were. But when you finally gave in, when you both admitted how much you meant to each other, it felt worth the risk.

Still, it wasn’t easy. You rarely got to touch her—not for more than a fleeting moment—because she was always phasing. Sometimes, it made her lash out. She’d get so frustrated she’d tell you it might be easier if you weren’t together at all.

But no matter how hard it got, you never left. You stayed. You always stayed.

So now, watching Janet willingly give up her energy to ease Ava’s pain—watching Ava finally experience relief—makes something in you crack. Your throat tightens, your chest burns, and god, you’re so close to openly sobbing.

Ava pulls away from Janet’s hold, stretching out her hand and noticing the phasing has stopped. The pain, too, has subsided tremendously. She lets out a wet laugh, then a smile, and immediately turns to you.

You step forward slowly, ignoring the stares from Scott and the others, and then without hesitation, you and Ava rush into each other’s arms. Despite the suit, you can finally feel what it’s like to hug the person you love most. The warmth in your chest spreads as tears slip down your face and onto her shoulder.

“I can feel you.” Your girlfriend whispers in disbelief, pulling back just enough to cradle your face in her hands.

“Yes. Yes, you can.” You nod, smiling through your tears.

It doesn’t take long for Ava to kiss you.

You’ve always dreamed about what her lips would feel like, but nothing you imagined comes close to this. Nothing could have prepared you for how soft, how tender, how desperately wanting her kiss would be.

When she finally pulls back, her forehead rests against yours, and her hands don’t leave your cheeks. You can still feel the trembling in her fingers, like her body’s not quite convinced this is real.

“I thought I’d never get this. Not with the way things were. I thought I’d lose myself before I ever got to really touch you.” She whispers, her voice cracking.

You reach up, placing your hands over hers, grounding her. “You’re here, Ava. You’re okay. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Her lips twitch into the faintest smile, eyes glistening. “You should’ve given up on me a long time ago.”

“I never even considered it. Don’t you know by now? You’re not something I give up on.” You say, scoldingly.

Behind you, there’s still tension in the air—Scott watching with cautious relief, Hope exchanging a glance with her father, Janet still unsteady but glowing with calm strength, Bill watching with a quiet smile. But right now, none of them matter. Not really. Because Ava’s looking at you like you’re the only thing tethering her to this world.

“It’s quiet.” Ava murmurs suddenly.

You blink. “What?”

“My head. My body. It’s… quiet.” She exhales slowly, her hands sliding down your arms like she’s rediscovering how to exist in her own skin. “I haven’t felt like this since before the accident. Since before everything.”

You don’t know what to say. You just step closer, wrap your arms around her again, and hold her tighter than you ever have before.

“We will build something new. You deserve peace, Ava. Let me help you find it.” You whisper in her ear, never loosening your grip on her.

She nods against you, and for the first time since you met her, there’s no tension in her frame—just warmth. Just hope.

You finally get to hold her and you’re never letting go.

[universefcb]

hiii! could you write something angsty/fluff with pau cubarsi 😔🤧? where he comforts reader, who has some toxic friends who only look for her when they need something and even if they hurt her, she can't get away from them. thank uuu ♡

I NEVER FELT SO ALONE, PAU CUBARSÍ.

→ Summary: You have toxic friendships, and you cry in his arms.

→ Warning: Mention of Reader. Fluff/angsty. Romance.

→ Author's note: I'll try my best to write everything I need to write without overburdening myself🤡

And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

She arrived silently, as she always did when the world weighed too much on her shoulders. Her sweatshirt hid the marks of her bad day, and her lost gaze revealed that something, once again, had broken inside.

Pau opened the door before she could even knock. It was as if he sensed, from afar, that she needed him. Without asking anything, he pulled her inside and wrapped her in a tight hug, like a shield against everything that hurt.

“Them again…?” he whispered, his voice deep and soft at the same time.

She just nodded, her face hidden against his chest. The scent of fabric softener on his shirt and the warmth of his arms were the only place she felt safe. Hot tears soaked the fabric, but Pau didn't care. He just held her tighter.

“They only look for me when they need something. When it’s time to go out, they forget about me. When I need them… no one comes.” Her voice cracked, almost like an apology for being hurt.

“That’s not friendship,” he said firmly. “That’s convenience. And you don’t deserve it.”

She wanted to respond, to say that she knew, that she was aware of everything. But even though she knew, she couldn't pull away. It was like being caught in an invisible chain, made of memories good enough to keep hope alive—hope that they would change, that one day they would treat her the way she deserved.

Pau pulled away just enough to look into her eyes. His fingers lightly touched her face, wiping away a tear.

“I get angry for you. For seeing how much you give, how much you try… and no one gives back. You give your all and they give you crumbs. It’s not fair.” His voice shook slightly, and she saw in his eyes a mix of pain and deep care. “You deserve people who will stay even when it’s not convenient. Who will show up just to see you smile.”

She closed her eyes, letting his words seep into the cracks in her chest.

“What if I don’t know how to get out of this?”

Pau took a deep breath and took her hand carefully, slowly intertwining their fingers.

“So I’ll stay by your side. Until you make it. Until these bonds stop hurting. Until you realize you deserve more. I show you, every day, that you don’t have to beg for attention. Just let me stay.”

There was silence. The house was quiet, only the hearts of the two seemed to speak in exchanged rhythms.

She rested her forehead against his, letting a tear slowly run down her face.

“Thank you for seeing me when no one else does.”

He smiled lightly, kissing the top of her head tenderly.

“I will always see you. Even on the days when you can’t even see yourself properly.”

Taglist: @paucubarsisimp @nngkay @meganesanchez @htpssgavi @merinott @luvvpedri @moonvr @joaosnovia @httpsdana @ilovebarcaaaa @p4uul0vr @pedricando @barcapix @owala6789

[xechu]

Dark Requiem

pairing: deity!sukuna x fem!reader wc: 1.9k cw: 18+ mdni. please read my blog rules before interacting. dark themes, power imbalance, near-asphyxiation, implied violence, psychological tension, non-traditional intimacy, forced-kiss scenario tag: drabble-ish, short one-shot, dark fantasy, dark divinity au summary: with no other choice, you turn to a god that was only supposed to exist in bedtime stories. a/n: a tiny spur of inspiration. I've been having writer's block lately. Thank you for reading and enjoy! x

Ask and thou shall receive.

But only at the price of thy soul—willingly offered, never begged for.

He was no saint, no righteous wish granter. He only spoke in contracts and vows.

Time and time again, it had always been the same—humans were proven to be so greedy and fickle. Wanting everything. Sacrificing nothing.

Did they not know? Great things come at an even greater cost?

Sukuna was generous, unlike many other false gods. He had allowed the vowed to revel in their blessings, if only for a while—before coming to collect the price they had dared to forget.

Yet, it was always the same. When it was time to reap—they immediately wallow in regret. Some even try to outsmart their giver and defy the oath they had sworn.

But Sukuna was no fool. He had not endured the turning of millennia by being daft. In the end, he had always found a way to claim what was promised.

And for those who resisted or tried to shirk their obligations, Sukuna reserved a special place in the afterlife for them—condemned to a lifetime of glorious torture and suffering. A place where they wished they had surrendered their soul sooner. Their cries for mercy are a symphony to his ears.

At the sound of the dark cathedral doors creaking open, he watches as his next contract comes through.

A tiny and timid thing: you.

You had heard whispers of a disgraced and banished god—primordial and cruel. Supposedly, he had once dwelled in this abandoned cathedral. For his arrogance and trickery, he was sealed within these thick stones and cold shadows. They said he would pluck children from their homes and eat them, trick fair maidens into offering their purity and virtue, and prey on men for their vitality.

Ryomen Sukuna was described as disgraceful. Deceitful. Glutinous. Cruel. Sadistic.

But it mattered not.

You had not come for salvation, nor redemption.

Only condemnation.

Because it was better to be condemned than to bow beneath a crueler fate.

“I have come to offer myself to you, Ryomen Sukuna,” you said. Despite the grimness of your situation, your voice was soft—but assured.

Standing among these ruins of darkness, rubble, and dust—there was nothing. Only a deafening and oppressive silence. It was quiet, so much so that you could hear the static hum in your own ears.

You wryly scoff to yourself. What had you expected? This was nothing more than fiction. A tale spun to frighten misbehaving children into obedience. And yet, you clung to this bedtime story like scripture. Because what else did you have left?

Then, as hope was about to fade, the moonlight shifted—spilling through the shattered cathedral window like a divine message from the night goddess herself. And there, before you, it illuminated an obsidian statue. Large. Imposing. Watching.

It radiated dark allure, beckoning you to come forth.

To reach out.

Only if you dared.

It felt as though phantom tendrils had begun to snake around your body the moment you locked eyes with the statue—a towering figure, chiseled like a fallen god. Even seated upon a throne of thorns, he felt impossibly tall, impossibly vast. There was a pull. Heavy. Magnetic. Inevitable. Your feet moved toward him, slowly but surely, as if being summoned.

Above you, the long-extinguished black chandelier creaked in protest—its rusted arms swaying with a voice of their own. An eerie warning: Proceed with caution.

You were about to reach a point of no return.

But you steeled yourself, letting instinct guide you, submitting to the darkness before you—for that was what you had desired.

Nothingness. Absolution.

As you ascended, each step reforged your certainty—until at last, you stood before him.

Your mind tells you to not be afraid, but your body trembles, as if it knew you stood before a god. Every fiber instinctively knew to revere, to worship, to submit.

“Sukuna.” His name slipped from your lips, a soft whisper. “I have an offer.”

Once more, you were met with silence. Yet, if this was merely a myth—why did your nerves scream to run?

“Please.” Your voice cracked, laced with desperation. Your heart began to pound. The internal warning becoming louder by each passing moment. “I will give you all that I have to offer.”

Then, suddenly, a crack split the sky. Thunder—loud and rumbling—reverberated so close it felt as though it had struck directly above you. You flinched, instinct to flee immediately kicking in. But before you could run, a large, stony grip closed around your wrist, rooting you in place. Your breath caught in your throat.

Stone became flesh. 

And staring back into your wide, terrified eyes were his—crimson, burning with the intensity and heat of hellfire.

His touch seared into your skin, a brand scorching into you. Around you, the long-dead candles of the cathedral simultaneously blazed to life. But they did not burn with their usual amber hues.

Crimson like blood.

It was the embers of hell.

“Have you suddenly lost the tongue to speak?” His voice boomed.

“I—” The words elude you. Fear gripped at your throat, as you come face to face with Sukuna himself.

“I implore you to find your words promptly,” he hissed, his grip tightening. “Before I silence you for good.”

“I-I have an offer to make with you, Sukuna.”

“Yes, and I have heard that one too many times from you. Are you broken?”

You shook your head. But it only seemed to enrage him further.

“So then speak,” he growled. Impatience lacing his voice. “What is it that you have to offer me?”

You met his burning gaze.

“I shall give you my soul—in exchange for nothing.”

For a moment, he fell silent.

Then he released your wrist. To your surprise, he left no marks behind—no burns, no bruises, not even a trace. Around you, the flames in the cathedral calmed, flickering softly back to their usual amber glow.

A low sigh rumbled from his chest, as if completely underwhelmed and disappointed by your proposal.

“Leave,” Sukuna said coldly.

It was part of the divine restriction. A strict decree written into the very laws of his existence. He could not ask for a soul outside the bounds of a contract. He could not take without giving something in return. Death was not an acceptable clause. And above all, he was forbidden from ever mentioning the restrictions. To do so would be seen as influencing choice and corrupting the offering.

You blinked a few times, eyes wide in disbelief.

He rejected your offer.

Was that possible?

You had thought your offer would be rather appealing. But more importantly, your life had depended on him taking you. Walking away was not an option.

“N-no!” You collapsed to your knees. “Please, take me…if not my soul.”

He stared down at you, expressionless.

“You are a rather dense and insolent little thing,” he snarled.

In a flash, his hand wrapped around your throat, harshly pulling you upward until your gaze was locked with his. Dark violence surged through him—to crush, to silence, to smother the defiance trembling in your voice.

You gasped for air as his hand constricted your airway unable to speak, unable to voice your defense. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as your comparatively small hands clawed feebly at his—a silent, instinctive plea for mercy.

A chill of excitement ran down Sukuna’s spine, at the sight of your struggle. The way you callously sign away your life…only to claw at it now.

Desperate. Pathetic. Human.

That selfish desire to live. To survive. It was the very trait he had come to despise. But in you…it intrigued him.

“Do not play me a fool. No one gives up their soul for nothing,” he said lowly.

You couldn’t answer. Your throat burned, your mind slipping into static. The world around you spun, and the corners of your vision began to darken, collapsing inwards.

Just as you thought he had granted you death—his grip released. Air. He drops you onto the stone cold floor by his feet. You crumple up, as your lungs violently convulse in broken gasps for air. But no matter how you fought to breathe, it seemed your lungs had forgotten how. Your breaths shallow and irregular. Failing.

“Weak,” Sukuna muttered, irritation lacing his voice.

Without warning, he scooped you up like a ragdoll, your limbs limp in his grasp. He sat down with you sprawled across his lap, one hand tilting your chin up.

And then, he crushed his lips to yours. Not in hunger. Not in lust.

But to breathe air into you.

Life flickered back into your eyes. As your gaze met his, Sukuna felt something coil dark and low in his gut. A sick pleasure. A thrill. A hunger.

But his hubris would never allow him to beg—divine restriction or not.

So instead, he would plant the seed. Water the thought. Nurture the desire. Until you were the one to offer it. Willingly.

“You should have let me go,” you whispered. Those were the first words you managed to speak.

Sukuna tilted his head, eyes glinting.

“But that is not what your body says.”

His sharp black nails scrape across your pulse—strong, alive.

“So tell me,” he purred. “What is it you truly desire?”

You did not hesitate. “I desire the freedom of death.”

Sukuna scoffed.

“Not good enough.”

Again, for the small and insignificant thing you were, you were irritatingly persistent. Had he not been bound by the laws of the universe, he would have claimed your soul long ago and savored the ruin of it.

He would have made you scream. 

Beg. 

Break.

And just as death reached for you—when that final stillness settled in your gaze, and you thought you had earned peace—he would have taken it all away. Simply because he could.

He wanted your pain. Your desperation. Your submission to your own hypocrisy.

He wanted to see you unravel. To witness the exact moment you realized you had betrayed your morals, your body, your heart, your dignity.

Even now—barely breathing—you wore that pathetic mask of defiance.

“If you cannot take my soul…then allow me to stay here. That is all I ask,” you said softly.

“That is all you ask?” he repeated, voice curling into a mockery.

“Please,” you breathed. “I have nowhere else to go.”

Sukuna regarded you in silence for a moment, his expression apathetic.

“I am no charitable god,” he said. “What will you offer me?”

Your eyes narrowed. If he did not want your soul, what else did you have to offer?

You felt pathetic. Your dignity shattered. You had walked through the doors thinking your offer would be enticing. That Sukuna, of all beings, would accept it without question.

Alas, your wretched soul was not even worthy of condemnation.

“Then tell me—what is it that you want?”

“What will you offer?” He asked again, voice low, quiet, and insistent. Yet, you still could not understand why.

“Please,” you whispered. “Reconsider it, Sukuna.”

You swallowed hard. Your body screamed to run—a final warning that you were treading dangerous waters. But you did not listen.

“My soul…for your shelter and protection.” Your trembling hands rose to his chest, fingers barely brushing the stone-cold flesh. “Please.”

His eyes darkened.

“Then let this vow be binding,” he said.

And then—he crushed his lips onto yours once more. Not to save. Not to silence. 

But to bind.

Writing �� xechu - please do not redistribute, translate, or repost any of my works.

Graphic divider source: here via @/troublesomesnitch

[thirteenheavens]

I made a request back when you got to 400 followers but not sure if you got it or not. I asked for a threesome with Yunho and Seonghwa (in a loving established relationship, don’t think I added that part originally) with a possibility of Hongjoong walking in on them at the end. It’s cool if you don’t do threesome requests.

Midnight Activities|| JYH X Y/N x PSH

Notes: first time I’ve wrote some of these in a while hehe enjoy!!!

Word count: 1.4k

You're curled up in bed between your two boyfriends when you notice Yunho fidgeting restlessly. His large hand starts to wander across your stomach, his touch gentle but possessive.

"Seonghwa's asleep," he whispers, nuzzling your neck. "I can't help myself when you look this tempting." His lips trace down your neck as his hand slips under your pajamas, his fingers teasing your sensitive skin. "You belong to us, but I need to have you right now." His dominant nature takes over as he carefully maneuvers you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up against his. His hard length presses against you through his boxers as he grinds against you slowly.

"Let me have my way with you," he murmurs against your ear, sliding your pants down just enough to expose yourself to him. "I promise I'll make you feel good too."

"Wait, Yunho..." you whisper hesitantly, aware of Seonghwa sleeping beside you. "What about him?" Yunho chuckles softly, his large hands continuing to explore your body. "He'll just have to deal with it," he says with a smirk. "Besides, I know how much he loves watching us together." His fingers slide between your legs, making you moan softly despite your concerns. "Just let me make you feel good," he purrs, spreading your thighs wider. "You know you want it too."

Yunho's fingers work skillfully against your clit, his touch both teasing and insistent. "You're already so wet for me," he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. You bite your lip to stifle your moans, glancing nervously at Seonghwa who remains asleep. The thought of waking him excites you more than you care to admit.

"I want to hear you," Yunho growls, sliding two fingers inside you. "Stop holding back." His other hand grips your hip firmly as he begins thrusting his fingers deeper, his movements getting more urgent.

"Please..." you whimper, caught between wanting to obey Yunho and being mindful of Seonghwa's presence. The conflict only adds to your arousal. Yunho pulls his fingers out and positions himself behind you, his chest pressing against your back. "I'll take care of both of you," he promises darkly, guiding his cock to your entrance.

"Baby..." Seonghwa's voice suddenly rasps from beside you, having woken up to the scene. "What are you two doing?" His tone is stern but carries an unmistakable hint of desire. Yunho pauses momentarily, looking at Seonghwa with a mischievous grin. "She's been too much of a tease tonight," he explains. "And I couldn't wait anymore."

Seonghwa's stern expression softens into a knowing smile as he props himself up on one elbow. "Is that so?" Yunho resumes his position, teasing your entrance with the head of his cock. "She's been tempting us both," he says to Seonghwa, sliding one hand up your back. "Want to join?"

Seonghwa's eyes darken with desire as he watches you and Yunho, his hand moving to stroke your thigh. "I'd be disappointed if I didn't get to play too," he says, his voice low and husky. As Seonghwa's lips capture yours in a passionate kiss, Yunho begins pushing into you slowly from behind. His large hands grip your hips as he fills you completely.

"Mmm..." Seonghwa moans against your mouth, his tongue tangling with yours as he watches you take Yunho's cock. "So beautiful together." Yunho's thrusts start to become more rhythmic, each one pushing deeper while Seonghwa continues to kiss you hungrily. The dual sensations make your head spin with pleasure. You wrap your hand around Seonghwa's hard length as he deepens the kiss, his hips rocking against your palm. His skin is hot and silky against your fingers.

"That's it," he groans, breaking the kiss to watch you stroke him. "Get us both ready for you." Yunho leans forward to bite your shoulder gently, his pace increasing as he feels Seonghwa's growing arousal. "She's so perfect like this," he rasps, his hands squeezing your breasts possessively. The wet sounds of your body being filled and your hand working Seonghwa's cock fill the room, driving all three of you wild.

Yunho grunts with each thrust, his grip on your hips becoming almost bruising. "She's so tight and wet for us," he growls. Seonghwa's breathing becomes ragged as he watches your hand move faster on him. "I can't wait to be inside you too," he pants, precum leaking from his tip.

Yunho suddenly pulls out, guiding you onto your back while Seonghwa moves between your legs. "My turn to watch you both," he says huskily, spreading your legs wide. Seonghwa enters you slowly, his cock stretching you even further than Yunho's did. "You feel amazing," he moans, thrusting deep while Yunho positions himself at your head.

"Open your mouth," Yunho commands, his large cock throbbing in front of your face. "Show us how good you can take us." You eagerly obey, opening your mouth to take Yunho's cock while Seonghwa continues thrusting into you. The dual sensations overwhelm your senses.

"Such a good girl," Yunho praises, threading his fingers through your hair as he guides his cock deeper. "Taking both of us so well." Seonghwa picks up his pace, hitting that perfect spot inside you that makes your walls flutter around him. The bed creaks beneath the force of their movements.

"I'm getting close," Yunho warns, his thighs trembling slightly as he thrusts into your mouth. "Are you ready to taste me, baby?"

"Mmm!" is all you can manage with your mouth full of Yunho's cock, causing him to groan deeply.

"She's trying to talk," Seonghwa chuckles breathlessly, pounding into you harder. "But we're not letting her." Yunho holds your head steady, his grip tightening as he nears his peak. "I'm gonna come," he growls, his cock twitching against your tongue.

Warmth floods your mouth as Yunho releases, his salty taste mixing with your own pleasure. Some of it escapes down your chin as he pulls out. Seonghwa watches intently, clearly enjoying the sight of you being marked by both of them. "Look at you, covered in our cum," he groans, his thrusts becoming erratic.

"I'm going to fill you up next," he promises, reaching down to rub your clit roughly. "Make you scream for us." The combined stimulation sends you hurtling toward your climax, your walls clenching tightly around Seonghwa's cock. "Please... cum inside me," you manage to gasp out. Seonghwa lets out a deep moan as he empties himself inside you, his hips stuttering against yours as he fills you with his hot release. The feeling pushes you over the edge.

"Yes! Fuck!" you cry out, trembling through your orgasm while Yunho and Seonghwa hold you steady. The room spins as waves of pleasure crash over you. Yunho and Seonghwa gently lay beside you, their bodies warm and sated as they cuddle close.

"That was amazing," Seonghwa murmurs, pressing kisses to your neck. "You always know how to drive us wild." Yunho strokes your hair softly, a satisfied smirk on his face. "You took us both so perfectly. Our perfect little cumdump."

Suddenly a knock at door happens and before anyone can answer it flings open obviously worried about the pained noises that came from the room a few minutes ago. Hongjoong steps into the room, his expression turning surprised and slightly flushed as he takes in the scene. "Oh, um..." Yunho and Seonghwa immediately pull the sheets up to cover you while maintaining their protective positions on either side of you.

"We're fine," Seonghwa says calmly, though there's a hint of annoyance in his voice. "Just a late-night... activity." Hongjoong coughs awkwardly, clearly trying to maintain his composure. "I heard some noise and wanted to check on you. Sorry for the intrusion." Yunho shoots him a knowing grin. "No worries, hyung. Just having some fun with our girl."

Hongjoong's cheeks redden even more as he nods quickly. "Right, well... I'll just leave you three alone then. Enjoy your night." He backs out of the room quickly. Seonghwa chuckles softly as the door closes. "I think we scarred him a bit."

[ritosparty]

"I see you..."

Black Wolf part 1

(Bob Reynolds x Male reader!)

Things you have to know 🫵🏻: The oc is called Dimitri, he is Yelena's twin and his nickname is Dima although only Yelena and Natasha call him that.

He was trained in parallel with the Black Widow program Black Wolf program.

Volk means Wolf in russian

------

You walked out of the training room with a towel over your shoulder, exhausted after three hours of keeping in shape. There were no missions, and the only things you could do to stay occupied were either train or bother the others—and training was already done.

Heading straight to the lounge in search of your next distraction, you couldn’t help but recognize a certain brown-haired head sticking out over the back of the couch.

—“What are you doing, Bob?” —you said, walking up behind him.

Bob jumped at the sound of your unexpected voice, and you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.

—“Dimitri! I’m sorry, I-I didn’t see you coming,” —Bob said as he adjusted himself to look at you.

—“Of course you didn’t! I’m trained to move like a ghost, honey,” —you said as you sat beside him, trying not to draw too much attention to the way he blushed at the nickname. Bob simply kept his eyes on the book in his hands.

—“Come on, Bob, why so nervous? I don’t bite… unless you want me to do it.”

—“Yeah. Well, sort of. I just... I’m bad at this. With people. With you.”

—“Me?” —you smiled, tilting your head— “What is it about this humble, charming Russian that makes you so nervous sweetheart?”

Bob swallowed, avoiding your gaze. You smiled without looking away from him for a second. How could you? You loved reading every little reaction his body gave to your teasing, your flirtations. Every time you called him "honey", "sweetheart", or "darling", his face would turn red and he’d look anywhere but at you.

For you, it was beautiful and fun. But for him? It was terrifying.

Every time he heard those words come from your lips, his heart stopped—and the fact that he didn’t understand why your presence made him so nervous only made it worse.

He kept wondering how you and Yelena could be twins. Physically, sure, there was a resemblance—but mentally? You were completely different. She was more reserved, sometimes aggressive. You? You treated everything like a joke, like nothing really bothered you.

—“You talk so easily. You move with so much confidence. I… I usually go unnoticed. And when people do notice me, it’s usually with fear.”

—“Fear is for those who don’t dare to look deeper,” —you said, leaning a little closer— “But I see you, Bob. I’ve seen you from the very beginning. And as long as I’m here, you’re never going to be ignored.”

Bob slowly lifted his gaze, like those words had given him permission to breathe. His blue eyes met yours—doubtful, but also grateful.

—“And if one day… I lose myself again?” —he asked in a whisper.

—“Then I’ll find you,” —you answered without hesitation— “No matter how many times it happens. That’s what people who stay do.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was warm. Charged. Bob leaned in slightly, like he was searching for something but didn’t know how to ask.

You did it for him.

You leaned in slowly, giving him time to pull away if he wanted. He didn’t. When your lips touched his, it was soft, brief, careful… but so honest it left him breathless.

When you pulled away, his cheeks were burning—but for the first time, he didn’t look away.

—“Thank you,” —he murmured.

—“For the kiss or for staying?” —you asked with a tilted smile.

—“Both,” —he answered, smiling back.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel alone.

They remained seated on the couch together. The room was quiet, only the low hum of the base’s systems filling the space. After the kiss, the silence between them felt different. Warm. Peaceful.

Bob fidgeted with his hands, visibly nervous. Dima glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, not pressuring him.

—“Dimitri…” —Bob began, not looking directly at him— “I’ve never… I’ve never felt like this about a man before.”

Dima blinked once, then smiled gently.

—“Does that scare you?”

—“I don’t know. Maybe a little. It’s more than that. It’s strange, I… I didn’t expect to feel this way about you. About anyone, really.”

—“What do you feel?” —Dima asked, not teasing now. No playful tone. Just genuine interest.

Bob sighed, like he was letting go of a weight.

—“You make me feel… seen. And that scares me. Because if you see me, then you can see how broken I am. How unstable.”

Dimitri reached out and placed a hand over Bob’s, firm but gentle.

—“I’m broken too, Bob. I’ve just learned to carry it with style,” —he added with a wink, trying to coax a small laugh out of him—and he did, lightening the mood.

“And if what you’re feeling for me is new... that’s okay. You don’t have to understand it all right now.

Just… don’t hide from it.”

Bob nodded slowly, his eyes still uncertain—but he didn’t pull his hand away.

—“And you?” —he finally asked— “What do you feel?”

Dimitri smiled again, that signature blend of mischief and tenderness.

—“I feel that if I kiss you again right now… I might not want to stop,” —you said, brushing your thumb along Bob’s lip, still red from the kiss— “And that, for the first time in a long while, I actually want to stay somewhere… with you.”

Bob let out a soft laugh—for the first time that day.

—“You’re amazing.”

—“I know,” —Dima said, winking again— “But I like how it sounds coming from you.”

They leaned into another kiss, longer, firmer. This time, Bob returned it with more certainty.

The kiss lasted a few seconds longer before they pulled apart, sharing a quiet smile. Bob looked more relaxed, and Dima watched him like he’d found something worth protecting.

From the hallway, a figure watched from the shadows, leaning against the wall. It was Yelena. Arms crossed, she smiled to herself with a mix of pride and tenderness.

—“About time,” —she muttered in Russian, barely audible.

With a near-maternal gesture, she turned and walked away in silence, leaving the two men alone in the room, uninterrupted.

Dima gently ran his thumb across Bob’s hand.

—“Did you know we were being watched?”

—“What?”

—“Nothing, nothing. Just… when the others find out, I won’t let anyone make fun of you.

Except me.”

Bob laughed, finally at ease.

—“That sounds… fair.”

_______________________________

Tag list: @i-shall-abide @firedupauthor

Holaaaa Let me know if you like it 'cus I have MORE ideas for this two lovebirds!

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 96: The Maestro's Ultimatum

Previous > Masterlist

tw: mind control, body control, abuse, violence

December 1925

This was it! Oliver was certain he'd found the very passage his master had been searching for. He was so pleased to be useful for his learned skills, and not merely for his blood and warmth.

With the page number noted and the book safely tucked under one shoulder, Oliver picked up his crutch and stood up as carefully as he could. Even with his crutch, and even with his master dulling the pain, his injured leg was still weak and didn't respond as it should. Still, Oliver had been determined to walk again, even if it was with a cane. He slowly made his way over to the other end of the library, where Alexander was pulling book after book from a shelf, skimming them and putting them in piles.

"Master, I've found the passage."

To his disappointment, his master scowled. "You needn't exert yourself like that, Oliver. All you have to do is call for me, and I can walk to you."

"I only wanted to practice walking, sir. It's no trouble," said Oliver, a bit deflated as he sat on a bench. He only wished that his master would praise him for his attempts, instead of seeming so upset. "And I think you should look at page 243 of this tome."

"So you did find it?" Alexander softened as he took the book from Oliver. "Let's see, page 243… aha!" His eyes darted back and forth as he quickly read the page. "Yes. Yes! Oh, good work!"

"That's the right one, sir?"

"Indeed. It's rare to find texts describing defensive or beneficial spells being placed on vampires, given how witches and vampires are so often at each other's throats, but this -- yes, I think this will hold some important clues." He ran a hand through Oliver's hair fondly. "And I am sorry I snapped at you. I've only been frustrated over the lack of progress. The book you've just found will certainly help, though."

"I only want to be useful to you, sir."

"And you are, most certainly. You're useful to me in many ways. That's why it worries me to see you strain yourself needlessly."

Oliver looked down at his knees. "Perhaps it is selfish of me, but… I wish to walk again, sir. I do very much appreciate all the help you've provided to me, but… I just…"

His master was gathering him into his lap. He'd become far more eager to hold Oliver close ever since Oliver's capture. "I know you don't mean anything by it. And I would like to see you walk. I just can't help but worry. It's my fault that you were injured."

"I don't blame you for it, sir," said Oliver. "I could've… I shouldn't have…"

"Shh, none of that. You're fine." Alexander hummed a few soothing bars, but even that didn't fully quiet Oliver's mind. "Something is troubling you, isn't it? Something other than your leg."

"Well, yes, sir. I can't stop myself from being worried about this plan," said Oliver, fidgeting. "I know you've put a lot of thought into it, and that you're going to take precautions, but will it truly work? What if something happens to you, sir?"

"I wish I could tell you that it was certain to work… but I can't. I have to try anyway," said Alexander. "If I do nothing, if I give up on trying to rid myself of my sire, as I've done in the past, then he'll no doubt rule me forever. I'd have to allow him to do as he pleases with you, and that's the last thing I want."

"I don't want that either, sir." And truthfully, that was his biggest fear about this entire endeavor. Despite all of his master's reassurances, he knew that if Alexander failed at his attempt to kill his sire, then Oliver would end up at his mercy.

"It will be all right, Oliver." His master pulled him closer. "We'll get through my sire's awful ball, and soon, Fitz will arrive. He'll help me try out my theories. If none of them work out, then I won't risk it. I'll find another way."

"I hope they do work, sir." It was almost too much to hope for, a future where Alexander's plan had succeeded, where they were all free of the doom hanging over their heads. Mr. Fitz and Roger would come live with them, and his master would finally be happy and satisfied, and Oliver could make a good life here.

"As do I." Alexander looked thoughtful. "My sire once told me that hope is the worst punishment of all. But I don't think I believe that, not truly. If it weren't for hope, I would have given up long ago, and I would never have met you."

His master began to sing in earnest then, a song of safety and comfort to help Oliver relax. He was counting on Alexander to keep him safe, and that scared him, but at times like this, in his master's arms, he could believe that it would all work out. He wanted to feel safe, and that helped his master's song take root in his mind, soothing him almost to sleep, drifting off as the clock struck the hour.

On the twelfth chime, there was a sharp, rhythmic knock at the door.

All safety and comfort was lost as his master tensed. "No, it can't be."

"Sir, is it --?"

"He has no reason to --"

Another sharp knock.

"Damn it to hell," said Alexander. He picked up Oliver and placed him in his wheelchair. "Oh, we both look a mess. God damn it, why tonight…"

"Sir, is it truly your sire?"

"It's all right. I'm sure he only wants me to run some errand for his party, fetching humans for him or such. I'll agree to it and he'll be on his way," said his master, his shaky tone indicating his fear despite his confident words. He pushed Oliver out of the library and into the entrance.

"Can't I hide, sir?"

"He won't abide by that. No, better to have you out in the open." Alexander ran a hand through his messy hair and tried to smooth down his rumpled shirt as a third knock echoed through the entrance. He opened the door, and Oliver felt sick to see Alexander's sire standing there in the shadows, illuminated only by the weak gas lamp in the hall. Perhaps it was Oliver's terrified imagination, but he seemed to simmer with fury.

"It took an excessive amount of time for you to let me in." Despite his clear anger, his voice was still strangely musical. "Did you suppose that last minute preparations would disguise your glaring flaws?"

"No, sire." Alexander stood up straight. "I have nothing to say to excuse the fact that I wasn't prepared for your visit tonight."

The Maestro's sneer turned to Oliver. "I see that your thrall didn't answer the door."

"He's recovering from his injury, sire."

"You coddle him excessively, of course."

"If I don't allow his leg to properly heal, then he'll never be able to walk, sire," said Alexander evenly.

"Hmph." The Maestro handed Alexander an envelope. "I will require refreshments for the upcoming ball. You will provide me with at least a dozen humans of adequate blood and docility, as is customary. Your requirements are further outlined in these instructions."

"Yes, sire," said Alexander meekly. Oliver couldn't conceal the horror on his face as he looked back at Alexander. Was he truly going to kidnap that many people for his sire? To protect Oliver?

"In the meantime, since your thrall is too weak and feeble to be left to care for himself, I will most graciously take him into my care for the next few days. I expect you to be grateful for this."

Oliver's heart clenched. The thought of staying with his master's sire for even a few days was unbearable. He could, and would, inflict so many unspeakable torments on Oliver in that time. Alexander thought that the time he had blinded Oliver was going easy on him -- what would happen to him if he committed some worse transgression than defending his master? He looked back to his master, hoping for some reprieve.

"That won't be necessary, sire," said Alexander.

The fury threatened to boil over. "I will decide what is and isn't necessary."

For a moment, Alexander was cowed, his face like a kicked puppy, and Oliver was filled with dread that he might not be protected after all.

"No, sire."

"No?" The Maestro imbued the single word with an ocean's worth of contempt.

"I will obtain your refreshments, sire, but there is no need to leave Oliver to stay with you. If I decide that my thrall needs additional care, Lily would be happy to take him in."

Alexander hit the wall with force, the sound of his sire's backhand ringing in Oliver's ears, the violent action so quick that Oliver barely had time to react.

"You still defy me," he said, punctuating every word with rage. "I have given you every, every chance to make up for your myriad shortcomings and you still see fit to try my patience."

"I promised Oliver that I would protect him, sire," said Alexander, struggling to his feet.

"Promise. What do you know about promise?" Grabbing Alexander by the shirt, his sire threw me to the floor. "I have suffered for too long under the delusion that you have promise, infected by the disease of hope ever since I made the poor decision to sire you. Hope that you would rise to your station, that you would make something worthwhile of yourself, that you would use your innate talents to command and subjugate humanity. Instead, I find myself in possession of a vampire so feeble that a mere hunter bested him. I've realized that hope has left me blind."

"Have you finally realized that I'm never going to be what you want me to be?" asked Alexander with a mix of fear and relief.

"Yes, perhaps I finally have. And that means I have little use of you."

"Are you finally going to stake me, sire?" His tone was resigned, as though he knew this day would always come.

Oliver wanted to cry out, but terror stifled his voice into no more than a whimper.

"Stake you, and afford you the release of death? No, I think not."

The Maestro picked up Alexander once more. He struggled and kicked out, but it was to no avail, despite his sire's frail appearance. Alexander was backed into one of his bookcases as his sire grasped his face, forcing him to look into his eyes.

"Sire, what are you…"

"Silence."

Oliver watched helplessly as Alexander's struggles ceased, his sharp eyes growing wide and dull. He was being mesmerized, Oliver realized with a shock, falling under his sire's power just as Oliver once had. The thought of his master's mind being so compromised was terrifying beyond reason. He tried calling out, and realized that he was being kept still by the Maestro's power. He'd been so focused on his master's dire straits that he hadn't fully noticed the control wrapping around him.

Alexander fell into a deep daze, his lips parting slightly as his face and body went slack. Oliver could all too easily recall the bleak and empty hell of the Maestro's mind, where his master was now trapped.

"Lose yourself."

"Yes, sire." Alexander's voice sounded strange and unnatural, stripped of its power and its music.

"You will fetch the humans I need. You will attend the ball with your thrall, both of you appropriate in dress and behavior. You will not humiliate me."

"Yes, sire."

"And if you do humiliate me, you will never leave my manor again," said the Maestro, pressing Alexander into the bookcase. "Perhaps I will wipe your mind, as I should have done years ago. As I should have done even before siring you."

"S-sire…" One of Alexander's hands came up to grasp at his sire's arms, a feeble spark of defiance.

"If I so choose, I will wipe you clean of every memory, every emotion, every scrap of resistance and disobedience, every vestige of personality. You will be the docile spawn you were always meant to be. Agree."

Alexander made a pained choking sound.

"You will obey. You will be my docile spawn. You will agree."

"Yes, sire," said Alexander, the words pulled from his throat.

"This situation is my fault for expecting you to be something more. If I had recognized your worthlessness earlier, it would have spared us both a great deal of pain. However, now that I have recognized this mistake, I will swiftly move to correct it."

Oliver felt himself tilting forward, caught in the Maestro's power even if it wasn't directed at him. Darkness was closing in on his mind, the ticking of a metronome growing louder and more insistent. He needed to obey. His master was obedient, and so Oliver would also fall in line.

"You will never be able to defy my commands again."

"Yes, sir," Oliver mumbled in tandem with his master.

"You will obey my every order without question or hesitation."

"Yes, sire."

"You will cease to hold unauthorized thoughts and beliefs."

"Yes, sir."

The Maestro snapped and released his grip, allowing Alexander to crumple to the floor. He blinked, trying to shake off the trance, as he struggled to his feet. Oliver came to as well, the darkness in his vision receding, the metronome ticking fading but still present.

"I have one more thing for you, child," said Alexander's sire. "Fitzwilliam's invitation."

Even through his daze, there was fear in Alexander's eyes. "He won't be here, sire."

"Yes, he will be." The Maestro advanced on Alexander again, who was once more backed into the bookcase. "Do you think I don't know of Fitzwilliam's comings and goings? I unwisely tolerated it because I thought it would provide incentive for you to behave properly. Perhaps the worst of my unfortunate mistakes -- giving you enough freedom to create a failure of a spawn. It's time to rectify that as well. He will be taken into my fold and wiped clean, taught to mind his place at the feet of his betters, redoing all of his training."

Alexander trembled. "Sire --"

"Perhaps if I am pleased with your behavior at my gala, I will spare you your mind and your memories," said his sire. "But your worthless spawn will have no such reprieve."

"He won't come to you, sire," said Alexander meekly.

"He will, because you can compel it. I will compel you to compel him. There has never been any escape for either of you."

"Sire, if you do this, if you erase both of our minds…" Alexander flinched. "I think you will regret it."

For a moment, the Maestro looked as if he were going to backhand Alexander once more. "I hold uncountable regrets. What's one more?" He spun on his heel and grabbed the handles of Oliver's wheelchair, pushing him towards the door.

"Master!" Oliver called out, turning towards Alexander. "Master, please!"

Alexander took one step towards Oliver before crumpling to his knees.

The Maestro looked back at him. "I will return in five nights for my refreshments, and will temporarily return Oliver so that he can be prepared for the gala. If I detect even the smallest hint of insubordination, I will be forced to revoke even this small leniency and will take possession of you immediately. Is that clear?"

His master's voice was so small and hollow. "Yes, sire."

As Oliver was pushed out into the night, he thought desperately of anything he could do. Attempting to struggle out of the wheelchair would be futile -- even if he were fully able-bodied, the Maestro could so easily put a stop to that by taking control of his body. He thought of the rune, of how he'd trained with Vivian, the scar sore on his arm. But he had no knife, and no way of creating the rune without the Maestro's attention, and any real attempt at struggle would no doubt seal his fate and his master's.

He would have the Maestro's full attention on him now, without even his master to try and defend him, or offer him instruction. There would be nothing, nothing at all, to prevent him from inflicting torment as he pleased.

Previous > Masterlist

Thanks for reading! Next week, Oliver is a guest in the Maestro's manor.

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[astarioffsimpmain]

Late Night Thoughts wt. Lenore

♡

"How are you feeling?" He pulled the towel up around your shoulders as you adjusted to lay against him.

"Much better. Thank you for helping me." You nestled into the crook of his arm and turned over, not satisfied until you laid your cheek against his bare torso.

"Of course, my love. A nice bath can remedy some of the lesser aches and pains that plague the body. That way, it's a bit more manageable, dealing with those more vexatious ailments that cannot be chased away so easily."

"Indeed," you chuckled, wrapping your arm around his waist.

"Was that a playful jab at my manner of speaking that I just detected?" He tittered as his fingertips traced a path up and down your spine.

"Me? No, I would never." You placed your hand over Gale’s heart and glanced up at him coquettishly. "Especially not since I become somewhat of a Shakespeare myself when the spirit takes me."

He barked out a sudden laugh, and you descended into giggles once more. "Right you are, my love, you have little room to talk. I so distinctly remember you waxing poetic about my hair the other night."

"Your locks are pure poetry, I can't help that." You reached up to tuck a still-wet, slowly curling lock behind his ear for emphasis.

"Well, I'm glad you think so highly of my genetics. I think rather highly of yours as well." His voice dropped ever so slightly, and he laid his palms flat against your curves as they skated up your sides, still damp from your shared bath. Your eyes fell closed, and you hummed contentedly, his touch sending waves of heat and comfort rolling through you as he explored your body.

"You're such a charmer, Gale Dekarios," you murmured, eyes remaining closed.

"I live to please." His voice in your ear startled you, and your eyes snapped open to find him much closer than he had been. His beautiful brown eyes sparkled as he smiled at you, and you sunk into them, allowing yourself to be swept away by his adoration for you.

"You fulfill that quest quite well," you muttered, bumping your nose against his.

"Oh, my little love," he teased, pulling you closer. "You've seen nothing yet."

~

Late Night Thoughts Series 💤 | Buy Me a Coffee ☕️

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

boys like you

Frankie Morales x Benny Miller | wc ~1.3k | explicit, mdni | ao3

summary: a movie night gets steamy, Stallone means making out, basically no plot

warnings: mlm, homophobes might feel a slight tingle in their panties, established relationship, dry humping, finger sucking, cumshot, oral, petnames (baby, pretty boy), a dash of dirty talk and praise, Spanish (guapo=handsome, mírame=look at me)

a/n: my follower milestone drabble for @qunariagenda, thank you so much for asking for some FishBen!! I chose the movie nights prompt (but the guys are pretty good with their hands, so I'm giving myself a half point for that). I hope you like it! and special thanks, as always, to @guiltyasdave for the beta and hype ����

songspiration: boys like you - tanerélle (i LOVE her, check her out)

With Benny it has always been about his hands and fingers. Plucking the strings of his guitar, at night when they were deployed in some sandy hole or wet ditch. Punching some opponent straight in the face during a fight. Holding a gun. Pulling a trigger. Fighting for his life with his hands trying to crush a windpipe of someone who's been declared as their enemy. Cutting up herbs and meat for a legendary BBQ. Pulling women onto the dancefloor and feeling them up with a boyish grin that lets him get away with almost anything. Pulling Frankie in for a kiss, fingers splayed on his nape.

Like right now.

Both of them haven’t paid much attention to the movie they wanted to watch. Something with Sylvester Stallone, which always means making out. Because they know all of Stallone’s movies, like the back of their–

“–hand,” Benny mutters, not even completely breaking away from the kiss. “Give me your hand.”

Something about this big guy and his low voice make Frankie cave, always. Especially when Benny sounds so sweet, needy, already sucking Frankie’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugging on it. Like he can’t get enough. Maybe he really can’t get enough.

Frankie holds out his hand, the one he reluctantly pulled away from Benny’s hair, and a dazed smile spreads on his face when Benny rubs his cheek into his palm.

The smile turns into a bitten lip when Benny starts guiding their intertwined hands down, along his neck and the rumpled tshirt, slow, so damn slow over his stomach, flexing his muscles because he knows it makes Frankie twitch in his shorts, and then down the front his sweats. 

Rubbing. Pressing, making Frankie’s fingers wrap around the thick outline of his hard cock.

“You feel this? Feel how hard I am for you?”

Benny tightens his grip around himself and Frankie's hand, tentatively palming himself, groaning when he gets back on top of Frankie. Slotting so perfectly between the thighs of the older man and trapping his hand between their bodies, between their straining cocks.

“Say it, Morales,” Benny murmurs, his voice honeyed and scraping before he gently nips on Frankie’s earlobe.

“Dios, I feel it.”

He gasps, the air knocked out of his lungs when Benny cages him in between his arms and starts grinding against him, against his hand, against his own hard-on. Frankie can’t move his hand, all he can do is feel how Benny rolls his hips back and forth, pushing the whole length of his clothed cock over Frankie’s palm and further until he feels Frankie’s finger curl over his balls.

Benny grunts with his face hidden in the crook of the other man's neck, then pulls his hips back and slowly pushes forward again. The same pace Frankie likes to set to feel Benny writhe and plead. Faster, oh god, baby, please, just a lil’ faster. He never goes faster. Nice and slow ‘till the end.

Frankie knows that there will be no faster for him tonight. It’s just this. Torturously slow. High friction. Back. And forth. Back again. Until one of them starts cussing and begging. 

He gives in. Pinned down under Benny’s body he surrenders. Next time it will be his turn again. 

“Guapo,” Frankie moans softly, answering Benny’s movements with his own, canting to feel more. “So pretty for me.”

Benny chuckles, breathlessly, burrowing his flushing cheeks deeper into Frankie’s shoulder. Perhaps there’s a stutter in the ebb and flood, his back and forth. 

Back and forth.

“Mírame.” An order, a loving one. Frankie’s free hand tugs on Benny’s hair until their eyes meet. Blue framed with strawberry blonde, flecks of gold littered over his skin, all over his body; Frankie knows this, familiar with every freckle his love has.

“Pretty boy,” he says, tongue and lids heavy, weighted down by the heat and longing between them.

Benny’s hips stutter again, every praise making him lose his rhythm. Flustered that Frankie can still make him blush like he makes the girls blush.

“Stop it,” he mutters but soon is silenced by Frankie thumbing his bottom lip. Hips snap forward, eyes widen, Frankie’s thumb pushes between Benny’s lips.

The muffled moan resembles the one that fills their four walls whenever Benny is nestled between Frankie’s legs to make them both forget about their day. Lips puckered, tongue lapping, hollowed cheeks. The same praise.

“So good for me. Just like that, baby…”

Frankie sets the pace now, pushing his finger deeper into Benny’s hot mouth and pulling back out. Benny’s movements mirror Frankie's, the back and forth, faster now because he can’t tell his needs apart. His mouth is needy, his cock is, too. Both messy, both leaking.

Frankie knows the look on Benny’s face, he’s gone, chasing release, grinding himself against the heel of Frankie’s palm, moaning around his finger, drunk on the man beneath him.

“Gonna come for me?” Frankie purrs, just as close but not ready yet. “Gonna let me feel how desperate you are, hm?”

Benny whines, spit sticking to his beard when Frankie replaces his thumb with his index and middle finger instead. Nodding his head and ignoring the tingle in the back of his throat when he sucks the fingers deeper into his mouth.

“Already making a mess for me…” Frankie tuts, relishing in Benny’s rutting growing sloppy. It’s not even back and forth anymore, just desperately canting into Frankie’s hand, now that he found the exact spot that will send him over the edge.

“That's it. That's my pretty boy. Show me, I wanna see you.”

He hooks his thumb behind the waistband of Benny’s sweats and with the next movement they are getting tugged down enough for him to understand. Frankie’s fingers slip from his mouth when Benny sits back on his heels, pushing his sweats and boxers down just enough.

It doesn't take much for Benny. Just a few hasty and hard strokes and the sight of Frankie licking his lips and pulling his shirt up to bare his stomach, and he is spilling all over his fist and Frankie’s exposed skin. 

His whole body jerks when he pulls his hand away, a shaky laugh escaping him when he hears Frankie mutter a gorgeous.

“You always get me with those damn praises,” Benny huffs softly and unceremoniously pulls down the other man’s shorts. 

Frankie's cock springs free, leaking, sensitive from the grinding and humping, his balls, heavy and full, already tight and tucked high. With that boyish smirk of his, Benny slots between Frankie’s thighs again.

The flat of his tongue moves up, from Frankie’s balls over his cock and through the sticky happy trail, relishing the moans and the hand in his hair and the taste of his cum mixing with Frankie’s. Benny grins, like a cat that got cream, and licks up his own spent before he finally, fucking finally, wraps his lips around Frankie’s sensitive tip.

The fingers in his hair tighten when Benny starts bobbing his head and hollows his cheeks again. And before Frankie can start uttering out his praise, Benny reaches up and offers his still sticky fingers to him.

Two, then three fingers get sucked into Frankie’s mouth with a low moan. Hips snapping in the same rhythm as the fingers get pushed between his lips. A steady back and forth.

It has always been about Benny's hands and fingers. Plucking on Frankie’s heartstrings or the drawstrings of his shorts, curling around his cock, carding through his hair at night.

Or holding hands while he makes Frankie come in his mouth. Cupping the man’s jaw with licked clean fingers. Caressing his cheek when he pushes himself up so they can share a kiss and their flavors.

“That was nice,” Benny whispers, sucking the last bit of salty taste from Frankie’s lips.

“Yeah, it was.” Frankie smirks, wiping the corner of Benny’s mouth with his fingertip. “Should we start the movie over?”

every time someone likes queer content a homophob gets horny in public. help them out, support queer artists!

also: let me know how I did with my first ever attempt at FishBen, preferably with words, thanks! 🫶✌️

follower milestone drabble masterlist here

general masterlist here

dividers: @saradika-graphics

[ln4norris]

Hot take: George will not be dropped by Mercedes even if Max becomes available. Yes, Toto has praised Max relentlessly before, but the truth of the matter is, Toto is not the sole person to call all the shots at Mercedes. Ineos and Mercedes-Benz each own a third of the team also. It would be unwise for them to drop a driver who drives well, doesn't complain to the media every time something within the team goes wrong, doesn't cost an exhorbitant amount, isn't used to the car, and doesn't have a loud-mouthed entourage who tattles to the press constantly. Unless everybody loses their collective minds overnight.

And please do not say "Ohhh but what about Lewis Hamilton and Carlos Sainz", from the surface, these two situations look similar, but they really are not. Fred was scheming for a Lewis for a long time before the swap, we could see their interactions on camera as well as Lewis's slowly cooling relationship with Mercedes. In contrast, Toto this year has been incredibly firm that he no longer wants Max. I know Toto is a two-faced asshole but it has been multiple interviews now where he has firmly locked down the driver line-up. And yes, Lewis is incredibly expensive, even more than Max, but also remember, Ferrari has far too much money than they know what to do with.

P/s: Kimi being prioritized over George is nonsense. Siri pull up the clip of Toto standing on the barriers giggling and smiling at George on the podium

Certainly! George is a great driver, I think Mercedes would be losing a big asset to the team if they were to drop him.

I don't think that George will be dropped by Mercedes, but controversially I think if anything drives (ironically) George out of the team, it could be a case of him being unhappy with not getting the prioritisation that he may feel he deserves. I don't think it would be a massive thing, but rather a quieter ordeal where maybe he doesn't extend his contract and signs with a team that will give him what he wants - though this is all theoretical and I don't think it would happen for a few seasons at least because I definitely see an extension coming soon

Sometimes I think Toto wanted Max more than he let on and Max just let him down, and now there's this sort of tension around it all - I could be reading that completely wrong, of course, but I find myself thinking who wouldn't want Max on their team?

Lewis' move to Ferrari was shocking to me, tbh. I remember around the time it was announced I had gotten a taxi back from a night out and spoke to the driver about it when we heard it on the radio, I wasn't the only one to be flabberghasted 😅

Obviously, when you look back at it, you can sort of match up the puzzle pieces and see the bigger picture. Like you say, Ferrari are loaded! If any team can buy out Lewis, it's them (which I know they didn't, it was an exit clause in the contract, etc)

Ahhh I don't think I ever said that Kimi is getting prioritised now, but I can definitely see it happening in the future! I am certainly not doubting Toto's love for George, either. But maybe I'm biased because I am sooo jumping aboard the Kimi hype train, I am right there with all the other fans

Kimi WDC 25? I'm kidding, I'm sorry

send me your most outrageous, controversial and unpopular thoughts/confessions about F1!

[anythinggoesbutme]

Everything She’ll Ever Be

Grayson Hawthorne x Lyra Kane

Warnings: Emotional parenting themes, mild depiction of parental anxiety, pregnancy hormones.

Synopsis: Bee’s first day of “kinegarden” arrives too soon for Grayson and Lyra, but their daughter couldn’t be more excited.

Word Count: 1,099

The sun wasn’t even up yet.

But Deborah—Bee to everyone was.

She stood at the side of her parents’ bed, hair a mess of soft brown curls and pajamas covered in little cartoon bees—ones Lyra had picked out, of course. The hallway nightlight glowed behind her like a stage spotlight as she bounced from foot to foot, clutching her backpack to her chest with a wide, gap-toothed grin.

“Mama. Daddy. Wake up. It’s kinegarden day.”

Grayson grunted into the pillow.

Lyra didn’t even move. She’d spent the night rolling from one side to the other with a pregnancy pillow shoved under her knees and another between her ankles, the bump beneath her sleep shirt making it nearly impossible to get comfortable. She finally stirred when Bee poked her softly in the shoulder.

“Mama,” Bee whispered. “I waked up all by myself. I put on socks. One is mine and one is from the sock monster.”

Lyra cracked one eye open.

“Bug,” Grayson mumbled, voice thick and low from sleep, “it’s barely six.”

“Nooooo,” Bee said, scandalized. “It’s kinegarden time. I got my bag. I gots crayons. Miss Clary said I could bring a stuffie. I picked the unicorn. The purple one. With the glitter horn. You said today is today, Daddy.”

Grayson groaned and rolled over, rubbing a hand over his face. “I did, didn’t I?”

Lyra turned toward them, her hair a halo of frizz around her head, eyes soft and bleary. “We still have another hour before we have to get up, baby.”

Bee’s eyes went wide. “But what if the sun forgets?”

Grayson blinked. “What?”

“The sun, Daddy. What if it forgets to wake up and I’m late and I miss coloring and I never make no friends and I have to sit all alone all day and nobodys knows I brought glitter crayons and they never ask me to play house ever—”

Lyra sat up slowly, biting back a laugh. “Sweetheart, no one’s going to forget you. Especially not the sun.”

“I’m very small,” Bee whispered gravely, holding her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Very, very small.”

That did it. Grayson let out a snort and reached out to pull her onto the bed between them, grumbling halfheartedly. “C’mere, Bug. If you’re gonna drag us outta bed at the crack of dawn, at least let me snuggle you first.”

Bee scrambled in happily, flopping against her father’s chest while Lyra leaned over and kissed the top of her daughter’s head.

Grayson wrapped both arms around her tiny frame, pressing his cheek to her curls.

“You still smell like baby shampoo,” he mumbled.

“I’m five now, Daddy.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Bee nestled deeper into his arms. “Are you crying?”

“No,” he lied.

Lyra watched him with a knowing look.

She wasn’t doing much better herself. She blamed hormones. And nostalgia. And the aching little flutter in her heart when she remembered the first time she ever held Bee, blinking and wailing in the bright lights of the hospital room, tiny fists waving at the world.

Now she was five. Now she was strapping on a backpack that looked too big for her, brushing her hair into lopsided pigtails, and insisting she could zip her lunchbox by herself.

Lyra blinked fast.

“Okay,” she said, voice wobbling just a bit. “Who wants pancakes?”

“I DO,” Bee yelled into her father’s chest.

Grayson winced. “Ow. Bug, my eardrums.”

“Sorry, Daddy. Can I have chocolate chips?”

“You can have whatever you want today.”

“Even sprinkles?”

Grayson sighed dramatically. “Why not. First day of… what is it again?”

“KINEGARDEN!”

“Right. That.”

By 7:30, the house smelled like syrup and eggs.

Bee sat at the table swinging her legs, chocolate smeared on her chin, sprinkles clinging to her cheeks. She was chattering nonstop about Miss Clary, her future best friends, and how she was going to be a big kid now and use real scissors.

“Not the baby ones,” she said proudly. “The sharp kind. I pinky-promised not to cut my hair again.”

Grayson choked on his coffee. “Again?”

Lyra patted his back with a grin. “Last month. Remember? The crooked bangs?”

“Oh.” He looked at Bee with mock seriousness. “You promise no more haircut experiments?”

Bee raised her hand solemnly. “Swear on the purple unicorn.”

“Well,” Lyra said, brushing a crumb from Bee’s chin. “That’s legally binding.”

Bee nodded like a judge passing sentence. “Unicorn law is forever.”

By 8:15, Bee was dressed in a navy jumper and shiny new sneakers that lit up when she walked. Her backpack was stuffed to the brim, unicorn poking out of the side pocket.

Grayson stood by the front door, car keys in hand, while Bee ran back to the living room for the fourth time to make sure her lunchbox was zipped.

Lyra was holding herself together with a thread. Her eyes were pink, mascara barely on, bump stretching the soft sweater she’d thrown on over her leggings. She had one hand resting against her belly, the other pressed gently over her heart.

“She’s not a baby anymore,” she said softly.

Grayson walked over, wrapping an arm around her. “She’s still our baby.”

“Don’t say that. You’ll make me cry again.”

“I’m just saying,” he said, kissing her temple. “Even if she grows up and moves out and becomes President of the Moon, she’s still gonna be our Bug.”

“I don’t want her to move to the Moon.”

“I hear the school lunches are terrible.”

Lyra let out a watery laugh. “God, I’m a mess.”

“I love you.”

Bee barreled into the room again. “I’m ready!”

Grayson turned, beaming. “Alright, Bug. Let’s do this.”

Lyra took a photo on her phone. Then another. And one more just for good measure. She made them pose by the door. Then again by the car. Then again with Bee’s backpack on.

Bee rolled her eyes. “Mamaaaa. That’s too many.”

“There’s no such thing,” Lyra sniffed.

“Can we go now? I got kinegarden things to do.”

Grayson lifted her into the car seat and clicked the buckle, lingering a second longer than usual. “I love you, Bug.”

Bee smiled at him, wide and gap-toothed. “I love you too, Daddy.”

“Be brave today, okay?”

“I’m always brave.”

Lyra slid into the passenger seat, already swiping at her eyes again.

Grayson started the car, glanced at her, and reached over to squeeze her hand.

“Ready?” he asked.

“No,” she said honestly.

But they drove anyway.

Because Bee was five.

Because time didn’t stop for aching hearts or messy mascara.

Because everything she’d ever be started today.

[gromlyn]

the kiss (details below cut)

ooooooh my god these two make me feel so many things. I love them sm <3

[nanaslutt]

At your mercy

ʚ pairing: sylus x reader

ʚ cont: fem reader, switch!sylus & reader, “good boy” kink, dirty talk, teasing, restraints, riding, masturbation, finger sucking, nipple play

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

“So…” You drawl, prowling around Sylus like a predator. He’s strapped to a chair, his arms bound behind his back while his legs are secured around the legs of the chair, spread wide. “How does it feel to be the one tied up and at my mercy?” Your foot presses between his spread legs, and his hips leave the chair as he scoots down, giving you more access between them.

Tilting his head back, his crimson gaze rakes down the length of your leg hungrily. “I’m at your mercy now?” He hums a thoughtful sound, gaze laser focused on your heel clad foot that slowly inches towards the bulge between his thighs. “Have you thought to consider I’m allowing myself to be at your mercy?”

Narrowing your eyes, you place your foot back on the ground and stand between his legs. You reach out to touch his chest, finger trailing from the column of his pale neck to where the first button of his shirt is undone. He gasps. “You do look like someone who is awfully willing to submit, right now.”

He laughs, but it sounds breathy when you teasing undo the buttons down his torso. Each scrape of your nails against sensitive skin makes his breath hitch. “Perhaps I’m being so still because the look on your face is too sweet to ruin. You look awfully confident right now, kitten.” 

You hum, peeling open his shirt and pulling it out from where it’s tucked into his pants. It flares out, exposing his impossibly defined abs, and a chest that is rising and falling too quickly, betraying his calm demeanor. But you could tell his impatience from the bulge in his pants as well–and from how he was spreading his legs wider, he wasn’t ashamed of his reaction. “Having the leader of Onychinus like this…”

A half sigh half grumble vibrates in his throat when you undo the belt around his hips, clanking noisily in his quiet room, save for the soft music playing on vinyl in the background. “Heady? Your cheeks are flushed.”

His hips raise when you slide the belt through the loops, gathering it in your hands before discarding it to the floor. “You should see yourself.” He watches with rapt attention as you lean in and brush a finger over his pert nipple. He gasps at the featherlight touch, abdomen clenching. “You’re even red here.”

Sylus grunts, and the excitement in his pants twitches hard enough to be shown through his dark pants. With each touch, his eyes grow more lidded, until he almost looks tired, but you know he’s anything but. 

Flicking your finger over his nipple for the last time, he grunts and jerks against his restraints when you pull away. “Sensitive?” You ask.

His smirk is dizzying. “I enjoy everything you do to me.”

With a mischievous look on your face, you wrap your arms around his waist and settle into his lap. His reaction is immediate. His deep groan finds its way to your core, making you clench around nothing. You can feel him so clearly under you, throbbing and twitching like crazy.

Lust filled eyes meet yours. “Getting excited? I thought this was supposed to be torturous for me?” He gasps, lips parting when you roll your hips against his bulge, trying not to show how much it affects you.

“So this isn’t? Me grinding on you like this, knowing we're so close, yet so far…” You lean in and lower your voice, speaking against the shell of his ear. “Knowing I’m dripping for you and you can do nothing about it, because I am in control… That isn’t torturous?”

When he doesn’t respond, you pull back and smile at the drunk look on his face. All teasing is gone, the look he gives you is almost scary, intimidating, and if he wasn’t restrained, you might have lost confidence. But you were in charge, so he could stare at you with pleading looks filled with dark promises all he wanted.

He parts his lips when you lean in, expecting a kiss, but you divert to his neck instead, laying kiss after kiss in his most sensitive points. He groans, and you can feel the vibrations pressed against you. His hips thrust upwards, and it feels too good to reprimand him verbally, so you instead sink your teeth into his skin. 

His reaction is immediate. He laughs through a groan, biceps straining when he struggles. “So rough, kitten.” He thrusts his hip upwards again, and you respond with another bite. He grunts, gasping heavily. “So that’s it, this is my punishment for being greedy.”

Pulling away, your lips feel swollen when you look down at him. “And you’re not being a very good boy.” He groans at the name, and something inside your head clicks open and malfunctions. 

Sylus. The leader of Onychinus, just moaned at being called a good boy.

“You moved on purpose because you wanted me to bite you, didn’t you?” You ignored the feeling of losing control in your mind, pretending to have composure and not give away that you had probably soaked through your panties.

Sylus cocks his head to the side, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Pinching his chin, you tilt his head upwards, fingers finding his neglected nipple at the same time. His stuttered, deep groan and half eye roll nearly makes you cum. “Good boy’s don't lie, Sylus.”

He smiles, and he looks ruined. “Then punish me. I’ve been bad.”

It took an insurmountable amount of strength not to whip his dick out and sit on it in one go. He had to be punished first.

He groaned when you slid off his lap, purposefully pressing down on him while you did. Then, you dropped to your knees and parted his thighs. “Careful kitten, you don’t look like you’re getting ready to punish me down there.”

You smiled, not diverting your eyes away even while your fingers found his fly and unzipped it. His legs twitched. You pulled his slacks down a few inches, with his help of him raising his hips. They sat low on his ass, giving you just enough room to pull him out. But not before a little teasing.

You ran your fingers along the soft white hairs on his pelvis, dangerously closed to the half slack-half boxer covered monster in his pants. He thrust upwards, and you retaliated by pinching what little fat he had on the side of his hips, making his cock twitch.

“Pinching now?” He gasped, the deep baritone of his voice growing more gravely with his arousal.

You ran your hands up and down his muscled thighs, occasionally teasing his pelvis with your nails. “Down here didn’t seem to hate it so much.” Pressing the points of your nails against his naval, you scratched down his skin with little force, enough to leave red marks on his pale skin. His gasp was loud, followed by smaller grunts and heavy breathing. “Yeah, I don’t think you hate pain at all.”

He laughed at that, the sound expensive and rich. “I told you once before, kitten, I like everything you do to me. Scratch me, bite me, tease me, do whatever you want with me.”

Eyes on his, you dipped your fingers under the band of his boxers and grabbed the base of his cock. He inhaled sharply, like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs fast enough. “Even if I don’t put this inside me tonight?”

His eyes flickered to your hand that pulled him out of his boxers, pants still on his waist. He looked good like this, half dressed and disheveled, with a drunk expression. “I’m not worried about that.” He replied confidently.

When you released him, he throbbed repeatedly, pearls of pre-cum beading on his tip before dripping onto his pants, leaving a sticky mess. “So confident.” Laying your head on his thigh just inches from his length. You caress his cock starting from the underside with a single finger, drawing it upwards until you reach the wet tip.

Sylus is breathing noisily now, chest rising quickly with his suppressed moans. His bottom lip gets pulled between his teeth when you rub his wetness around the head. “Does this feel good, Sylus?”

He smiles, and it’s a beautiful thing. “Very good, kitten. Your fingers are so soft.” His heavy arousal bobs in front of you when you continue to collect his wetness on your fingers. 

Pulling away, you sit back on your ass and spread your thighs, rubbing his pre together on the tips of your fingers. Sylus continues to spill on his pants, breathing heavily as he watches you. “What are you doing, sweetie?”

“You said my fingers were soft, I wanted to see for myself.” His lips part when you lift your dress and expose your panty-clad pussy to him, which is of course, soaked. You lift the band and slide your fingers in, not moving the fabric so he can see.

You groan in unison when you rub his mess around on your clit. Sylus struggles more now, looking pained to watch you touch yourself in front of him. 

You gasp, running your fingers through your folds, spreading your legs to give him no real view. “You were right, s–so soft.”

His eyes are glued to your cunt, biceps bulge with his incessant pulling at his restraints, and the pool of cum on his pants is now so big it looks like he already came all over himself. “I have much, much more where that came from, sweetie.” He purrs.

You dip your fingers inside, and he moans watching you, even if his view is muted through the fabric. “Fuck.”

“I could fill you with me.” He says, groaning though you don’t miss the plea in his tone. “Anything you want.” He says, before shaking his head. “I know it wants to feel me, such a hot little thing, begging for me to fill it.”

You gasp, plunging two fingers in and out of yourself. “Sylus.”

Sylus’s gasps are stuttered. “Yes, kitten, let me help you. Use me. Sit on me and take everything I have to give.”

You open your eyes and meet his gaze, realizing you probably look as needy as him now. 

He doesn’t look cocky when you pull your fingers out, though his fingers do lock onto them. He doesn’t even look triumphant when you spread your thighs around his hips and grip his base, pressing his soaked tip against your equally soaked entrance.

“What do you want?” You ask, gripping his cheeks with the hand you were masterbating with.

He grunts as you rub his tip through your folds, using him to rub your clit. “I want you to use me.”

You notch his head at your hole. “That’s it? Even if I finish before you and decide I don’t want your release? You'll take it?”

He nods, throat bobbing as he stares at your lips like a man starved. “Yes.” His voice is all gravel. “Use me.”

So you do.

Sliding onto him is bliss and agony, blending and swirling into pure relief in your gut. Sylus groans with you as you take him all at once, until you're seated on the mess of his pants. You don't spare a second before you hook your ankles on his thighs and start bouncing.

“Good boy,” you sigh, mess covered fingers slipping into his mouth. Sylus smiles around them before sucking, cleaning your fingers.

You impale yourself onto him over and over again, loving how good it hurts, loving how deep he fills you in his position. Your eyes roll back in your head and your head falls back. One hand steadies on his shoulder while the other pushes deeper into his mouth. He doesn’t even gag when you hit the back of his throat, but his eyes do water.

Yanking your fingers out, they’re sloppier than they were before, but Sylus has a big stupid grin on his face that wasn’t there before. “I could drown in you while you devour me.” Crimson eyes caress your face the way his hands would. “You look so beautiful taking what you need, what you deserve.”

“And what’s that?” You gasp, fingers finding your clit and rubbing hastily when his cock repeatedly thrusts into that sweet spot in your inner walls.

He leans in and whispers against your lips. “Everything.” Then, his mouth is on yours, and you devour each other. It’s a battle for dominance, one neither is winning nor losing, but its so aggressive and feral and needy, and you fucking love it.

His and your sounds slip from the cracks of your kiss, and the wetness on his thighs only makes you get there even faster.

Blindly reaching behind you, you dip your hand into his boxers and find his balls, pulling them out with his cock you cradle them in your hand. Sylus breaks from the kiss to hiss through his teeth.

You grab his jaw. “Bad boy, did I say you could stop kissing me?” He shakes his head, a proud expression on his face, lips curling up at the sides. “You said you would give me everything.” You whisper against him, rocking your hips in a wavelike motion, stoking that fire low in your stomach. “And you’re going to give it to me.”

Sylus nods, “Yes ma’am.” He huskily grunts, before taking your lips once more. The kiss is louder and more urgent than before, and saliva spills from your lips.

Rolling his balls in your hand, they quickly become wet with the two of you dripping from where you’re connected. With your finger between you and your hand on his neck, it doesn’t take much longer before you're tipping over the edge.

“Sylus!” You gasp, “H-help me.” 

You start to shake, orgasming around his cock, and he grunts, balls falling from your hands as you wrap your arms around his neck and let him fuck you through your orgasm.

“Can I cum?” He groans, hips losing their rhythm. “I need to stop now if I can’t cum.”

You shake your head, twitching and writhing from the prolonged high as his thrusts get rougher and rougher. “Give me it. Give me everything you have.”

His moans hitch, and a loud snapping sound makes you flinch. His arms are around you then, and hes using the leverage to lift you up and down as he fucks his cum inside you. His thrusts are sloppy and mean as he jerks and twitches wildly, fucking his orgasm as deep as he can inside you.

The two of you are holding each other tightly when he comes down. His thighs shake violently under you, and you can feel his cock throb inside you, softening with his released load.

“Are you alright, sweetie?” He whispers into your hair. You nod, nails digging into his back, and he grunts. “I hope you’re satisfied, because I think I really did give you everything just then.”

You laugh before pulling back, locking your legs around his waist. You both gasp when his cock jolts inside you. “Maybe I should, after all, you did break your restraints.” You raise an eyebrow at him with mock irritation.

He simply smiles, caressing stray hair from your face before tucking it behind your ear. “Do what you want with me, but don’t be surprised when you ring me out again and I’m dry.”

That makes you snort. “Would it hurt? To cum like that?” He goes to answer and you press your fingers to his lips. “I almost forgot about your fondness for pain.”

His laugh is deep, and it warms not only your heart but your entire body. Then, he leans back and gestures to his body. “As you wish.”

You laugh, falling into his chest as his humor blends with yours. You hold each other like that until the ache between your legs from him is too much, and he lifts you off.

[shyoko]

✧ Making his silent girlfriend loud ✦༺⊹

This writing is my own; no copies, adaptations, or translations are allowed. I hope you like it. (English is not my first language.) 

✦ 2.8K words * Masterlist˚ Taglist✧ Requests “Open”₊‧ ✦𓂃 

enhypen x fem!reader ⚠️ cw: nsfw / +18, overstimulation, rough sex, oral (f), impact play, light bondage, dom!vibes, multiple orgasms, crying, degradation + praise, toys, etc. minors dni. read responsibly.

✧ Heeseung ----------

Heeseung had you naked, lying on your back, your body glistening with sweat, your legs spread wide and trembling. You’d already cum. Twice. But he wasn’t planning to stop.

"Shhh, I know, I know..." He whispered as his tongue slowly slid across your clit, once again. "But you said you were enjoying it… so why are you biting your lip now?"

His fingers kept you open, exposed, completely vulnerable, while his tongue moved in slow, precise circles—so exact that your body jolted with every pass.

"Still trying to hold back? Really?" His voice dropped, darker. "I’m wrecking myself just to make you feel everything… and you're still so fucking quiet."

He sucked on your clit harder, making your hips jerk off the mattress. A high, broken moan tore from your lips.

"That." "That’s what I wanted from the beginning."

Then… he intensified everything.

Two fingers slipped inside you, wet, expert. He started thrusting them in rhythm with his tongue, which never slowed, never eased, never gave you a second of rest.

Your body couldn’t take it.

You were panting, moaning loud, eyes brimming with tears, your legs trying to close on instinct.

But Heeseung held you open firmly. "No. None of that. Stay wide for me." "You’re gonna cum all over me, baby. You’re gonna give it to me, even if I leave you shaking for days."

He grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head, pressing you down into the mattress as he kept sucking your clit hungrily, his fingers fucking you faster, deeper.

Your moans turned into screams. Your body arched, broke apart—you came hard, a brutal orgasm shaking you to your core… and it didn’t stop there.

Because he didn’t stop.

"Again. I’m not done with you." "You're gonna scream until your voice gives out."

You kept dripping, your body twitching, his mouth chasing every wave of pleasure, giving you more, forcing another orgasm. And another. And another.

Your voice was nothing but his name, repeated between sobs and whimpers. Your skin burned, your legs refused to move, and still, he kept going like it was the first time he touched you.

"That’s it. Fall apart for me, baby." "I want every part of your body to remember my name."

✧ Jay ----------

You were in his lap, completely naked on top of his clothed thigh, his pants still buttoned—fabric pressing rough against your burning skin. His thigh beneath you, solid, flexed, ready.

Jay had one hand on your lower back, guiding you in slow, lazy movements.

"You know what drives me crazy about you?" His deep voice brushed against your ear, warm and dark. "You’re always so quiet. So… contained."

His other hand slid up to your throat—not squeezing, just resting there, heavy, commanding.

"You’re grinding on my thigh, naked, dripping wet… and not a single fucking sound has come out of you."

Your hips kept moving, seeking friction. Your lips parted, but no sound dared escape. The heat in your core was rising too fast to handle.

"Look at how much you’re soaking my pants." His tone was teasing, but full of lust. "And you’re still trying to keep it in. What do I have to do to make you give me everything, baby?"

He tightened his grip on your waist, pulling you down harder onto his thigh, making the fabric rub directly against your clit. You trembled.

"You wanna cum like this, pretty girl?"

You nodded desperately, eyes pleading, your nails digging into his shoulders.

But he shook his head, a dark smile spreading on his face.

"Then moan." "Moan for me. Tell me with your voice. I’m not letting you cum until I hear it."

Your entire body trembled. You were burning inside, but still, your throat refused to betray you.

Jay clicked his tongue. "Alright then." "None of this."

He slowly lifted his leg, pulling away the only thing you needed. The moan that left your mouth was raw, involuntary, broken.

"There it is." His smile widened. "So cute when you finally sound like what you are… a desperate little baby for me."

He slammed his leg back down under you, and the sudden contact made you cry out, loud, raw, your body giving in to the overwhelming pleasure.

"That’s it, baby. Now we’re talking." "Fall apart. Soak my thigh. Scream my name if you need to."

Your voice could no longer be contained. Each movement against his thigh tore out moans, whimpers, cries—his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

You came hard, thighs shaking, body arched in ecstasy.

Jay held you tight, murmuring into your ear:

"That’s what I like." "That voice is mine… and I want all of it tonight."

✧ Jake ----------

You were on top of him, riding him slow, his cock buried deep inside you. Your moans were barely audible, just soft breaths every now and then.

Jake’s hands were on your hips, guiding your rhythm gently, his bright gaze locked on yours.

"You okay, baby?" His voice was soft, sincere, brushing over your skin like a caress.

You nodded, biting your lip to hold in the sound that burned inside your throat. And he saw it. He knew.

"Oh… now I get it."

He sat up, your chests pressing together, his mouth brushing your ear.

"You’re trying to stay quiet." His tone shifted—lower, darker, filthy. "Why? Don’t you want me to hear how good I’m making you feel?"

His hand slid down your back, and suddenly—a sharp slap to your ass, firm, loud, precise.

Your body jolted. A soft moan slipped out before you could catch it.

Jake smiled.

"There it is. That sound… so fucking sexy."

He grabbed the back of your neck, pressing your forehead to his.

"Don’t hide it from me, yeah?" "I want every sound. Every moan. Every scream you’ve been swallowing."

His hips started moving under you. Now he was fucking up into you from below, deep, hard, relentless. His cock hit every spot that shattered you from the inside.

"C’mon, pretty girl. Make noise for me. Be good and let go."

Your nails dug into his shoulders. Your breath came in shaky pants. Moans started spilling from your lips, breaking the air.

"That’s it." "That’s what I want. For you to forget all your control."

He held you tighter, fucking up into you faster, until you could barely stay upright on him.

"You know what happens if you don’t moan, right?" "I’ll make you cum so many times, you’ll have no choice but to scream."

And he did.

You came uncontrollably, your voice shattered, body shaking, screaming his name like it was the only thing you knew.

Jake didn’t stop. He wrapped his arms around you, kissed your neck, and whispered:

"You’re my quiet girl… but only until I touch you."

✧ Sunghoon ----------

Your legs were trembling with every thrust, your body slick with sweat against the sheets as Sunghoon buried himself inside you with a precision that bordered on insanity.

The sound of sex filled the room—skin on skin, breathless panting… but your lips stayed closed.

And he noticed.

"Again?" His voice came low, laced with disappointment. "You’re really gonna keep hiding those moans from me?"

You couldn’t answer. You just clung to the sheets, jaw clenched, swallowing every sound threatening to break free.

"No."

He pulled out suddenly, leaving you empty and gasping from the abrupt loss. Before you could process it, his hand came down hard, straight to your clit—sharp, loud, deliberate. The shock was electric, a jolt that made you scream instantly.

"That’s what I want." His voice was dry. Dominant. "That trembling mouth. That body twisting. Don’t ever hide that from me again."

And without giving you time to breathe, he slammed back into you, harder, faster, like he was trying to break the silence with sheer, brutal pleasure.

Every thrust was full of purpose. Contained rage. Wild need.

"Your body begs me with every fucking moan you try to bury." "Don’t you get it? This doesn’t end until you stop thinking and start screaming."

His hips pounded into yours relentlessly, pelvis crashing right against your clit, his hand coming down again—another slap, sharp, filthy, cruel—and this time, the moan that escaped your lips was a desperate cry, shattered and loud.

"That’s it, baby. You’re starting to give in." "Your silence is gone. Now you’re mine with every sound you make."

Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation—but he spread them again, gripping them tight, thrusting even deeper.

"Don’t close them. I want to see you break for me."

And you did.

You came with a scream, your name turned into a silent cry, your body arching, trembling, sweating, and crying from sheer pleasure.

Sunghoon looked down at you, panting, eyes blazing.

"That’s what I like." "And if you ever try to stay quiet again… I’ll make you scream so hard you won’t be able to talk the next day."

✧ Sunoo ----------

You were naked on the bed, your back against soft sheets while Sunoo settled between your legs, still fully clothed. His eyes trailed down your body with adoration… and a dangerously sharp hunger.

His fingers traced slow paths along your abdomen, climbing up to your chest, stopping right at your nipples.

"You know what drives me insane about you?"

He brushed them with his fingertips, barely grazing, and still, a shiver rushed down your spine.

"You’re so fucking quiet… but your nipples give it all away." His voice was like sweet poison—gentle, smooth… lethal. "So hard for me. So sensitive. And you’re still pretending you’re in control."

Without warning, his mouth dropped to one nipple, warm tongue circling the exact spot that made your vision blur. He sucked slow and deep, while his other hand pinched the other one—firm, precise.

A stifled moan escaped you, but you still fought to keep it down.

"Still resisting?" He looked up at you from below, his mouth wet with sinful devotion. "You really think you can stay quiet while I ruin you from right here?"

He kept going—licking, sucking, lightly biting, playing with your nipples like they were his personal obsession. Meanwhile, his other hand traveled down between your legs.

One finger slid inside. Then two. Slow, steady. The rhythm was exact. Destructive. Addictive.

"You’re dripping, baby. All of this… just from how I suck your tits."

He bit down gently on one nipple, then harder, just enough to make you moan, your body jolting as his fingers picked up speed.

"There it is." "That voice. That sound that drives me crazy."

He returned to your chest, rougher now, tongue swirling, lips sucking until your skin was red and throbbing. Then he switched to the other side, not giving you a second to breathe.

"You’re gonna cum just from this, aren’t you?"

And you knew it. Your legs trembled, your stomach tightened, your moans came free and wild. Your nipples burned, overstimulated, lit up with every flick of his tongue.

"Scream my name." "Do it while your body breaks for me."

And you did.

You came with a raw cry, back arched, nipples aching, his fingers still buried inside you, his mouth still worshiping your chest.

Sunoo crawled up to kiss you, his tongue just as sweet and deep as the way he broke you, and whispered against your lips:

"My quiet little baby… not so quiet now, huh?"

✧ Jungwon ----------

You were sitting on his desk, the lights in his room off except for the soft glow of his lamp. Your underwear already on the floor, your legs spread apart by his steady hands, and him standing between them, unbuttoning his pants with a desperate calmness.

Jungwon still had his shirt on, open, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His eyes, dark, devoured you without touching you yet.

"Why do you always hold on, mm?"

His voice was a whisper laden with sweet menace as he stroked your thigh with his thumb.

“So pretty, so good...but so quiet.”

He slid the head of his cock across your pussy , gathering the wetness that awaited him. The contact made you let out a low, almost muted moan.

"This is for me, isn't it? All this dripping sweetness..."

He pushed you gently against the wood of the desk, your back arching reflexively.

“No, no, no.”

"Today you're not going to be quiet. Today you're going to scream."

And then, he buried himself in you. All at once. Slow, deep, without pause.

A choked gasp escaped you, but you still clung to the silence.

"Are you going to make me work for every fucking sound of yours?"

He grabbed your neck with gentle pressure, lifting your face to his.

"Perfect. I will."

His hips began to move. Rhythmic. Steady. Precise.

Each lunge went in deeper than the last, her eyes locked on you as your body began to surrender.

"That's it. You're starting to break, can you feel it?"

"Your body can no longer hide what it wants."

He squeezed your waist tighter, picking up the pace. Your mouth opened instinctively, letting out moans you didn't even know you could make.

"Like this. That's how I want you. I want you to let it all out. Every little noise, every gasp, every scream."

Your nails dug into his shoulders. Your legs trembled, your chest rose and fell hard.

"That's it, baby. Give it to me."

"Don't stop. Let go. I want to hear you beg me without words."

Your body exploded without warning. Your orgasm broke you with a choked cry, your name and his mingled in moans as you clung to him as if he was the only thing holding you.

But Jungwon didn't stop.

"See?"

"You're not so quiet when you're being well taken care of."

He pushed harder, deeper, faster. He was fucking you with a rhythm that no longer sought only pleasure-he sought to leave you scarred, toneless, broken with love and desire.

“And we're not done yet, beautiful.”

"I'm going to get every sound out of you that you've hidden since we met...and more."

✧ Ni-ki ----------

Your wrists were tied to the headboard with his belt, the firm leather biting into your skin every time you moved. Ni-ki was kneeling between your legs, still clothed, with that dangerous smile you knew so well.

“We can stay here all day, baby,” he murmured, his voice husky and his tone so low it made your skin bristle.

“This isn't over until you let out every sound you've been hiding.”

He picked up the small vibrator and turned it on. The buzz was like a promise in the air, and when he positioned it directly over your clit, a shuddering gasp escaped your lips.

But it wasn't enough. Not for him.

"That's it?"

He let out a soft laugh, laden with mockery, as his dark gaze bore into yours.

"Come on, baby. I know you can do better. Much better."

And then he lowered his head, and without giving you time to beg, his tongue came down on you with searing intensity.

Two fingers plunged inside you, precise, impatient, at the same pace as his mouth devoured your center with obsession. Every suction, every swirl of her tongue, every lunge of his fingers... everything was designed to break you.

And it did.

He was shaking you. He'd drag you to the edge.

And he wouldn't take his eyes off your face.

“Look at you...” he murmured between licks.

“You're a beautiful mess.”

You pulled at his belt hard, the leather straining tighter against your wrists. Your legs trembled, your voice threatening to come out, and he knew it. He wanted it. He demanded it.

His fingers found that exact spot that made you look white. A long moan escaped your throat before you could stop it.

“You're shaking, wet, moaning...”

“And you still dare to say you're not loud?”

He dropped the vibrator to the mattress carelessly, and brought one hand up to squeeze your cheeks, parting your lips with his fingers, forcing your mouth open.

“You're not going to hide another fucking sound.”

“I want to hear the whole of you.”

And you did.

The moans came out uncontrolled, raw, desperate. Your body arched, your hips sought more, your eyes rolled back as you cum on his fingers and tongue unable to stop yourself.

“Ni-ki... it's too much... Fuck!”

His name came out of you like a dirty prayer, repeated through tears of pleasure.

“You're so fucking beautiful when you can't stop screaming.”

Your voice sounded satisfied, lustful, as if you'd found your drug of choice.

You came hard, your body undone, dripping, still trapped in his fingers as he watched you from below as if worshipping you.

And when at last your muscles stopped trembling, he slowly climbed up, cupped your face with both hands, and left a soft kiss on your forehead, like a sweet punishment after so much destruction.

"You did so well for me, my pretty girl."

✦N/a: Sorry for leaving you for so long!! 😭 I love you all so much, I hope you liked it.

✦Taglist : @lezleeferguson-120 @nuki-riki @ijustwannareadstuff20 @vvenusoncasual @miellette @enhacolor @xxkatsusjinsux @somieverse @ourshin @han-to-my-minho @douqhnxtss

[tsuyalovebot]

watch you entertain.

pairing: xia yi zhou / caleb x reader (love and deepspace)

synopsis: caleb comes to a few conclusions when you give him a blowjob for the first time.

cw: NSFW and explicit sexual content, mdni. established relationship. mentions of intercourse. oral sex (blowjob). mentions of reader receiving oral sex. hair pulling. imaginative violence (not to reader). petnames (pretty, pipsqueak). mention of oral sex (receiving). he slaps his dick on your face (not sorry). mention of spanking and watching porn. caleb-typical warnings.

wc: 1.7k (drabble....ish????)

author's note: i can't defend myself since 90% of this is word vomit. i'm working on another caleb piece right now, but i needed to get this out of my system. think of it as a precursor piece, like an hors d'oeuvres. also, please disregard any typos. (— - —)|||

The first time Caleb felt your lips on his was magical. The second, third, fourth, and succeeding times were all but surreal.

He had all but convinced himself that your mouth, pressed to his in a flurry of tender touches or desirous cravings, was something he conjured up in the blurry moments of his delusions. You always manage to kiss them away, though.

Later on, you admitted that he was your first kiss.

"When I visited you after you moved out," you said. Hands wrung, your gaze averted downward as you were perched on his lap one evening.

He knows what you're talking about. Remembers its vividness with a startling clarity that would have embarrassed him otherwise, if you didn't share the same sentiments.

By now, you've already kissed and made out in the intimacy of his place beyond finite counting. Had sex with him on whatever surface the two of you could get your hands on. You've long since spoiled him with your presence, both physical and mental. There's a key tucked away in his headspace with your name engraved into the metal. Magnetic and the signification of a special place for you in his heart.

He spoiled you, and now, you spoil him. Neither of you complain about this mutually beneficial arrangement. Why would you?

Though, he can't say he's exactly pleased at the current moment.

"That's it, mmm. You're being so sweet today."

He's watching you, as he always is. You're on your knees before him—you insisted, said it added to the atmosphere despite his crows of indignance at the possibility of them bruising—and your mouth impossibly full of his cock.

You're bare before him, towel discarded on the coffee table with your body damp and he's barely presentable in his uniform. Disheveled and pants undone, he wasn't sure if he was exactly living up to the honorable nature of the clothes he donned. He tried to undress, but you'd been pawing at him the second he walked through the doorstep in nothing but one of the towels he bought you, so his resistance was doomed from the start.

His arms spread on the top of the couch, he tilts his head back and sighs slowly. Hot breath escapes him in time with his Adam's apple bobbing, swallowing a heavy moan that threatens to break free. It takes him a few moments before he peers at your kneeling form once more.

One of his hands cups your cheek, the cool leather swiping over your cheekbone and pushing some of your hair back. Rapt attention on you, whispering soft words of, "that's how you do it" and "a biiit wider, pipsqueak— yeah, like that" with so much appreciation in his tone. Because that's what he feels toward you right now; so much appreciation in his heart belongs to you.

Your tongue was doing sinful licks along the underside of his cock's curve, the girth hefty in your two hands, and your eyes stayed closed in a quiet pleasure. It's expertly done, and the creation of human response as you wrap those pretty pink lips around the tip of him and suckle on it, strings of your saliva leaving sticky wefts along the shaft.

Alternating between peppering his length in kisses and taking a couple inches into your mouth, he's fighting for his fucking life trying to not bust a nut. He's sort of ashamed to have dreamt of this moment for years. You would never let him live it down.

As if the deities couldn't get enough of his suffering, his mind had made the fatal mistake of noting the visible difference of the size of him and your hands and your mouth. It gets him going, that stark contrast and how gently you were treating him.

It's a sight reserved for his eyes alone. Something he wants to pocket and immortalize because it's his and only his. That's the only reason for the powerful plethora of emotions boiling over in his gut. Truly, the only reason.

That's what he tells himself as he observes you with a progressively darkening, clinical, dead-eyed stare that you weren't aware of. A little voice in him nagging at his conscience, spitting words of venom that feeds into the slowly, slowly expanding green-eyed monster rising onto its feet.

"I got a question for you, pretty," he says calmly, deceptively so. Making sure to sound as casual as possible, his gloved hand coming to stroke over your damp, silky hair. You really just couldn't wait to please him, immediately pawing at him when he arrived home and you were fresh out the bath.

You murmur something in reply, lips suctioned to his shaft. Those gorgeous eyes, ones that beheld him with such reverence and adoration in round shape flicker up to his. The vibrations and sight hit him like a freight train and he groans, low and deep. He lets the pleasure settle into his bones.

"You have to answer honestly, 'kay?" He croons down at you, assuring. His facial expression had finally relaxed from its initial, contemplative one. You're happy with this, he notes as you eagerly bob your head, careful to remain quiet.

Good. It'll make hearing your voice all the more worth it. When you said he was your first kiss, he was beyond ecstatic.

Hopefully, you can echo the same thing now.

With an easygoing air betraying that of his positively threatening smile, he asks, "Where'd you learn how to do this?"

There's a sick sense of pleasure in watching you process his words a second too lats. Because you're such an open book with him, aren't you? The way your eyes widen and your lips halt, as if your heart stopped even beating. Even if makes his own blackened heart speed up, its thudding resembling a rabbit's stomping.

Your blinks were a linguistic of their own, and he was the expert in unraveling the lexicology of your existence.

You don't answer fast enough. Or, you don't answer at all. Because now, you're staring him like a child chastised for having their hand in a candy jar—where they weren't supposed to be.

Unfortunately for you, that was more than telling for him.

Caleb doesn't speak. The air is several degrees colder now, like the air circulation was suddenlt cut off, and he drinks in the way anticipation tenses your muscles and your uneven breaths smooth over his skin when you pop your lips off his cock. Those sinful lips that he stole away as his were now glistening in a mix of your spittle and his pre-cum.

He could almost forgive you right now. But, you make the crucial mistake of looking away from him.

"Oh?" It's inquisitive—his tone, yet it has the power of a knife being drawn.

The hand on your head loses its comforting, encouraging air and instead becomes a weight.

A threat.

The visual that's formulating in his head isn't a pleasant one. An image of stained glass shards, blurry yet clear in the vision of you on your knees for another guy. The scattered light capturing your mouth wrapped around the faceless stranger, servicing him the same way you're handling Caleb, seeking that same, sickly sweet tang of validation.

Could it have been that Xavier guy he sees on your phone notifications from time to time? Or is it someone closer to you, from your Association? There's a chance someone else from your childhood reached out to you, maybe after his disappearance. Did they hold you in ways he's been craving to hold you for years?

That's not fair, now, is it? He's worn your hairtie around his wrist for years, disregarded countless scribbled love letters from bystanders, based his little trinkets around those apples you love so much, and spoiled you countless times in his misplaced desire for playing the role of your protector. It simply isn't fair that you sought gratification from a source that wasn't him—because for him, it was always you.

Is it too selfish of him to want your everything?

You don't say anything even as your mouth opens and closes. You're either searching for an excuse, weighing the costs of lying to him at the moment, or you're genuinely floundering for words at the sudden blankness in your head.

He hums again, and it's lower than before. Full of thought and contemplation as his amethyst eyes bore holes into your speechless state. It's full of disappointment and he sees the worry creep into your eyes like a leaking faucet.

Threading his gloved fingers into the tresses of your hair, its smooth leather massaging your scalp, his face softens.

"I guess I did say you should be honest, not fast," he murmurs, laughing to himself quietly.

His lips tilt into a boyish sort of grin, and it's so full of mirth and entertainment that it's easy to process as him diffusing the situation. It works like so, and you're soon tilting your head into his palm and seeking his touch.

In the distance, the kettle in the kitchen screeches like an alarm of what's to come.

Disconcertingly relaxed, his smile seems absolutely sarcastic. A bit sharp at the edges.

"I should make it easier to understand. Let me rephrase it, then."

He pulls your hair. It's one harsh motion and it jerks your head up. A gasp torn from your lips as they fall open, the slight sting shooting through your body with an charged breeze.

"Who did you learn this from?"

He's so used to tasting you before fucking; your sex and his tongue are practically best friends in his eyes. It never once occurred to him to have you suck him off.

He should've been suspicious the second you offered to begin with.

The blood drains from your face some more and he relishes the blank yet alert state your eyes reflect. He's sure your mind is in disarray right now. The feeling is mutual, though you're aware of that too, most likely.

"I have a right to know. I always said that you could come to me if you needed help with anything, right?" It's a rhetorical question. You both know that. You're doomed either way.

You make another breathless noise, and he wants to explore your vocality. Now, how would you sound gagging on him?

"Caleb—"

He shushes you softly and you quiet down in an instant.

"I don't need an answer that isn't related to my question, don't you agree?"

Another rhetorical question as he cocks his head, the gesture mocking.

"You're always tellin' me to be honest and share my thoughts with you. I'm bein' honest now. Everything should be mutual, so, answer my question. I might even go easy on you."

You're totally panicking now, aren't you?

His other hand wraps around the base of his cock and he slaps the shaft onto your cheek, then smearing his leaking tip over your glistening lips, a thoughtful smile playing on his own as if he were offering you candy.

"And depending on how you answer, I'm either taking you over my knee while you spell their name out, or you'll be showing me exactly what pornos you've been watching without my knowledge. So, what's it gonna be?"

[nereidprinc3ss]

kiss it better

in which spencer notices your bruised knees and tries to make it up to you

18+ (fluff, allusions to past intimacy) warnings/tags: gn!reader i believe, reader has bruised knees lol, guess why, implied intimacy, hurt/comfort, sorta implied d/s dynamics maybe?? spencer is so smart and not very smart, but forever my no. 1 cutie pie a/n: why do i love writing about smut like before and after smut way more than i actually like writing smut LOL anyways here is this cause i haven't been posting very much!!! (also ik I said I don't like babe as a pet name but shhh) and GIF :D

“Hey,” you grunt as you flop on the bed in your pajamas, rumpling the neat covers. “Pay attention to me.”

Spencer holds his Sudoku off to the side and watches, eyebrows raised, as you scoot closer, tossing your leg over him. Soon he’s abandoning the book and pen on the bedside table in favor of hooking his fingers under your knee and stroking your leg, much to your delight. 

“Okay. What kind of attention would you like?”

You allow him to put his other arm around you and settle your cheek on his shoulder. 

“This is pretty good.”

“Oh, good,” he says with only a hint of teasing, leaning down slightly to kiss your lips and then the tip of your nose. 

When he pulls away you can’t help smiling up at him like a lovestruck idiot. Obviously he’s perfect all the time, but in his glasses, with his hair messy, wearing a navy crewneck instead of a button up and tie… he’s just… he’s just so…

He’s just so alarmed?

“Honey, your knee.”

“My knee?” Your own brows furrow and you track his eye line, craning your neck to look down to the blotchy sprawl of purple and red marring your skin. “Oh.”

The pillow is soft under your head where it falls, unconcerned even as Spencer gawps at you, baffled by your nonchalance. 

“What did you do?”

You snort. 

“What did you do, Spencer?”

It’s cute, the way his lips move as he silently repeats the sentence, trying to discern the meaning of your words. 

“What do you mean? I did something?”

“Babe.”

The knot between his brows has not loosened any—in fact you’re worried he’s going to give himself a headache. Or at least make himself dizzy, with the way his eyes cycle between your own. You try again, covering his anxious hand on the bend of your leg with your own. 

“When we got back from Penelope’s thing, the other night?”

Slowly the understanding seeps into his expression—soft guilt in his eyes, and a deep red stain in his cheeks. At least his face relaxes. 

“Oh.”

God, he’s so cute. He can’t hold eye contact, looking down once the shock of embarrassment has faded and swallowing, a little frown twisting his features once more. You reach up, brushing his cheek with a thumb and adjusting his glasses. 

“What’s wrong?”

The question comes out too smiley, but you can’t help it. 

“I hurt you,” he says, quietly, utterly ashamed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“I kinda think you did,” you tease, and Spencer says your name with a serious edge. You try to quit grinning so much. “Baby, it’s fine. You didn’t hurt me. Don’t you ever get mysterious bruises?”

His eyes are wide and honest on yours when he meets them again. 

“No. My iron levels are optimal.”

Naturally. 

“Okay, well, lots of people do. Sometimes I get a bruise and I have no idea what it’s from because it never hurt. These,” you look down, gesturing to your knee, “never hurt. It’s just what happens when your knees hit the floor.”

“Well you shouldn’t have been on the floor,” he scolds, countering with a sweet touch on your cheek. “I’m never letting you touch the floor ever again.”

Your shit-eating grin is back and better than ever. “Oh, so you’re going to carry me everywhere we go?”

“If that’s what it takes. I don’t like seeing you bruised up.”

“It’s okay. I bruised myself doing something I love.”

At this Spencer rolls his eyes and kisses you once more before gently pushing your leg away and getting out of bed. 

“Where are you going?” You ask, all smugness gone and more concerned than you ought to be as he flicks the bathroom light on. For a moment you receive no answer, but then he reappears bearing a white tube. 

“Give me your legs,” he says, sitting next to you on the bed. You swing your legs over his lap and watch on in mild interest as he dispenses lotion from the bottle and tosses it aside, carefully rubbing it into the bruised skin. Every few seconds he glances up to gauge your reaction, and though it’s definitely tender, you avoid wincing. “You don’t have to do that. I can tell it hurts.”

You laugh. 

“Yeah, well, it didn’t until you started trying to fix it.” The ointment is pungent and you make a face. “What are you rubbing all over me?”

“This is vitamin K and Arnica. It will make the bruises go away faster.”

“Aw. You don’t think they’re pretty on me?”

He sets the bottle on the nightstand and retrieves the pen he’d been doing Sudoku with earlier, uncapping it. Your heart swells as he draws tiny sad faces by the bruises on your knees, glasses slipping down his nose as he focuses intently. 

“I always think you’re pretty. I just never want you to be hurt, ever.”

“Are you done taking care of me now?” You ask, reaching out for him. The pen joins the bottle and suddenly he has no concern for your bodily health, practically crushing you with a hug. When he speaks it’s muffled by your shoulder. 

“Never.”

You hum, nose tickled in his hair and forming a dastardly plan. 

“You could kiss them better.”

Spencer laughs and presses his lips briefly to your neck. 

“I might just do that.”