#time time time not enough and far too much

[bootycallin]

B(W)ETTER THAN ME !?

꩜ .ᐟ basically: vi hears from you that it's practically impossible for you to cüm without having your cłít played with, and guys never seem to find it to begin with. she takes that as a challenge.

cw: female reader with female anatomy. close friend vi. you can read this as modern au if you want, idfk. sťráp usage. dòğgý sțýlê and then into another pöşițion idk the name of. mänhándłíng. mentions of ědgîñg. petnames (doll, baby, etc.). óvërştimülátion? sqüířtíng. very self indulgent if you couldn't tell. no plot just pórn.

a/n; shoutout to my girls who are literally impossible to please without playing w they cl*t, we fightin for our lives over here. don’t expect a lot of pretty looking posts like this, i got excited. again, if any stuffs missing, pls tell me!! hope u like it…

NSFW UTC

"oh, really, doll?" it was an innocent conversation at first, you swore it was. you really don't know how it wound up with you bent over, face down ass up in your bed. your dearest friend, vi, right behind you. pounding into you. "it's frustrating," you said. "i can never cum from somebody just fucking me. no guy even knows that the clit exists either." you had been around vi enough to confide in her, even with your most intimate stories and complaints. what you didn't know is that by saying that, you inadvertantly challenged her.

"fuck, vi, wait--" you gasp, hand clumsily reaching behind you, feeling up her hipbone to her hard abs, glistened with sweat. "break. break. break." she had been plowing into you for what felt like hours now. realistically, it might only be a few minutes, but it's far longer than any other dude you had a fling with. for a second you wonder what the fuck she's eating to have this sort of stamina, because it sure as hell isn't human. "hurts?" she asked you, tone way too kind and sweet for the position she had you in. "no," you pant. "just... just gimme a sec--" it didn't hurt. quite the opposite-- it felt amazing. like nirvana except maybe ten times filthier. she was pounding you to cloud nine and back and gods, it felt good, but you still hadn't cum. right, she didn't play with your clit once. because she has to prove a point! she doesn't care how long shes gonna spend plowing into you with this goddamn strap, she wants to give you the best orgasm of your life, clit untouched. right now, for somebody that had never done this-- it was torture. a constant build-up, her tip repeatedly kissing the deepest places inside you until you felt like she was in your guts, rubbing against your slick walls, filling you up so good. it was too much, but not enough at the same time.

you didn't know, but she was being tortured too. she silently vowed to herself the moment she manhandled you onto your bed that she would not cum until you did. so, she's just sorta been edging herself for the past, like, seven minutes. may the higher lords of sex bless doggy, because were you to see her face right now, her ego would be destroyed. sweaty, red, nearly teary-eyed.

"want me to sto-"

"no," you answer just a tad too quickly. she cracks an amused huff at that, hands trailing up and down the curve of your ass, squeezing the plump flesh.

"fuck- just- gh!-"

you didn't have to finish the goddamn sentence, because when you were about to, vi has your wrists in her hands, pulling back and slamming forward into you with a guttural growl. it’s harsher, it’s meaner, and it feels so goddamn good.

you don't even realize what's happening until your back presses against her chest. she pulled you up against her, hands still wrapped tightly together as she rut into you. with the closer proximity, her face buried into the crook of your neck. you could hear her panting, groaning, growling with every smack of her hips against yours. oh, and she could hear every little cry that came from you when she rut into that little spot you always found hard to reach.

oh, vi. shit, fuck, fuck me, yes. oh, she's gonna be dreaming about you for a while after this.

"viii!--" you whine, throwing your head back. there it was again, that heat bubbling in your stomach like a boiling pot, ready to boil over. it was stronger. far stronger. your head was fuzzy with the feeling.

"shit, vi-- fuck, fuck, fuck, i think i-"

"close, doll?" she growled. she just barely gives you the time to respond, shuffling a bit so she could angle her hips up, and oh-

"vi!" found it. head first (literally) ramming into that gooey, sensitive and swollen bundle of nerves, the good old g. bet none of those guys were able to find it, huh, baby?

she growls into your shoulder when she feels your stubby little nails scratch at her lower abdomen, where she held your wrists back tight. you were close, she was close, she could feel it. perfect.

"vi, wait, shiiit!--" you cry out, but she's not stopping. it's too much to process, unlike anything you've ever felt before. you can feel the pressure building exponentially, your abused little cunt spasming around her cock, clenching so tight she nearly finds it hard to move if it weren't for the drippy slick running down your folds. it's strange, and for a second you're worried with the pressure building in your bladder, only to send shocks up to your clit.

"fuck, shit, it's weird, vi--" your head lolls back against her shoulder, jaw hanging open as you let out wanton cries and babbles.

"it's 'right, baby. jus' let go, come on..." she doesn't know if shes talking to you or herself. but she knows it works--

you finally cum with a dragged out whine of her name (that almost sounded like a scream, to be fair. she's surprised your throat isn't hoarse). you swear you black out for a second, vision going white as you feel like you explode into pleasured little pieces. and--

oh. oh.

the splashing of that milky, yet watery liquid, gushing all over her cock. damn, that's fucking hot. you should see yourself from her point of view. not only does she make you cum, she makes you squirt. vi takes that as enough victory to rut into you until she reaches her own orgasm-- which, to be fair, doesn't take too long since she's been on the edge of cumming for the past few minutes. she buries her face into your shoulder, eyes screwed shut. it still steals a few more whimpers and whines from you--and from her too, but she manages to hide them by biting your shoulder with a grunt.

too weak by both of your highs to keep upright, she ends up sitting back down onto the mattress, letting go of your arms only to wrap her own around your waist, cinching you two closer from behind. her strap has long since slipped out of you, leaving you dripping and empty, but ultimately satisfied.

"enjoy yourself?" you need a few minutes to come to and fro, blinking a few times before you see where vi is looking and look towards the direction, only to see the darkened, wet spot of your own making on you sheets. fuck.

"oh shit, that's--" you sound embarrassed, and she's quick to cut you off.

"it's fine, baby. just glad you enjoyed yourself." she chuckled. gods, she's so sweet when she wants to be. she runs her hands over your sides, kissing your nape.

"but you owe it to me, was that not the best orgasm of your life?" she whispers into your ear, her hand trailing down and down and down, until her ring and middle finger press against your twitchy clit, earning a sharp gasp from you.

"imagine what i could do playing with this pretty thing, though?"

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 © bootycallin on tumblr. do not copy, translate or cross post without permission. ᛝ

[gojosprettyprincess]

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ GRIMY STEP-DAD TOJI!

Tw - STEPCEST, cheating, age-gap(early 20s n early 40s), anal play, daddy/dad kink, oral, some really inappropriate and gross stuff. Stepcest isn’t blood related. Not proofread.

A/n - “Toji wouldn’t do th-“ I don’t give a shit, goodnight.

GRIMY STEP-DAD TOJI! who secretly rubs your little pussy through your thin cotton panties from underneath the blanket while you're having a movie night with your family in the living room.

GRIMY STEP-DAD TOJI! who tells your clueless mother that he’s taking you on a daddy-and-daughter bonding trip for a few days so the two of you can spend more time together and get to know each other more which only ends up with his hefty cock being stuffed deep into your innocent pussy— filling you up to the brim in some random hotel not too far from your house.

GRIMY STEP-DAD TOJI! who instantly gets rock hard whenever you'd call him “dad” or “daddy”. He just can’t help when a sweet young thing like you is innocently batting your eyelashes up at him and asking him for his assistance. God, you’re so helpless, you can’t do anything without the help from your dad, not even cumming. :(

Which is why he has to sneak into your bedroom dead at night and skillfully poke his stepdaughter’s g-spot with his fat tip till you can finally cum and make a big mess on his cock.

GRIMY STEP-DAD TOJI! who's obsessed with you sitting on his face, your warm dripping pussy nestled in his mouth while his eager tongue skillfully laps at the essence of your arousal from your glistening entrance. His nose presses into your rim purposefully, causing your adorable hole to wink against his nose in playful response to his inhales and breathing. He needs you on his face at least once a day :(

GRIMY STEP-DAD TOJI! who you coincidentally encounter in the bathroom, late at night while he’s pissing so that quickly escalated with his girthy cock now being shoved down your throat and he's thrusting it rhythmically in and out your mouth. Your eyes begin to well up with tears which only fuels him even more to use your mouth to his favor as he deviously grins down at you when he notices how you're helplessly playing with your drenched pussy with your fingers.

GRIMY STEP-DAD TOJI! who gets off from being risky, especially when your mom is dozing off on the couch and he has you forcefully bent over the cold marble kitchen counter with one of his muscular hands pressed firmly against your lower back so you won't escape from his hold. His fat thumb is clogging your ass and his veiny cock is stretching your little pussy apart around his shaft while his angry tip is exploring the depths of your cunt.

He'd be such a mean man and force his thumb deeper and deeper into your asshole just so he can get a cute reaction from you and hear you whine while you desperately claw at his beefy forearm for him to stop :( He only chuckles and laughs at how scared you are as if you don't love it as much as he does.

GRIMY STEP-DAD TOJI! who loves referring to himself as Daddy while he's balls deep into your slippery hole. Your trembling knees are knocking against your soft, bouncing tits and you're desperately gasping for air while your nails are sinking into his strong hand that's encircling your neck. "Shh shh c'mon be a good little step-kid f'daddy and take my cock". He whispers, trailing a thumb up to your glossy lips before inserting it into your mouth for you to suck on.

His cock is crammed into your tight pussy, and the way you keep sucking him in deeper and deeper every hazy second makes him not want to pull out anytime soon. He just can't get enough of your pussy. "That's it, that's baby, yer making daddy feel sooo good".

GRIMY STEP-DAD TOJI! who has developed a habit of sniffing your cunt and ass, he just can't help it :( he just loves your natural scent and can't get enough of you when he's bending down behind your small figure while you're engrossed in cooking dinner for the family and pulls your shorts down to bury his pointy nose in your moist pussy.

A plague of worries clouds your head when you feel his nose prodding into your tight entrance in the open. "T-toji! n-not here, she'll see!", you pleaded as you attempted to push his head away from your rear only for him to clasp both of your hands into his larger ones with just a chuckle rumbling against your cunny. soft whimpers escape your lips when you hear his loud whiffs of your pussy.

GRIMY STEP-DAD TOJI! who loves nothing more than licking his step-daughter’s little pussy at any given chance he gets :(

It's so prohibited and “taboo” and the older man is very much aware of that but he just can't help it when he's quietly slipping into your bedroom late at night to run his salivating tongue over the sapping mound— He’s been practically thinking about it the entire day.

His clothed cock immediately starts twitching uncontrollably every time his grimy thoughts clouded his vivid imagination, all he could do at work was discreetly palm his hardened bulge and give it a hard squeeze for friction and temporary relief.

He barely could wait till everyone was asleep to taste your delicious pussy again.

A deep involuntary groan leaves his lips from the taste of your creamy pussy melting on his tastebuds. The sensation of the sticky slick clinging onto his tongue stirred a desperate throbbing in his cock, yearning for more. God, every fiber of his being ached to plunge his hard cockhead into your warm, virgin pussy and ravish you until you painted his shaft with your cream but he won't... at least not yet.

Luckily for him, you were sleeping on your stomach and the tranquility of your slumber allowed him to cautiously lower your adorable panties down, gently resting it at your lower thighs, and parted your plush cheeks using his thumbs to peek at your delicate pussy. The glossy sheen veiling your folds glistened in the dim light, making his fat cock throb with urgency.

“Fuck, so pretty” he whispered breathlessly, sticking his tongue out to lap at your messy folds, his tongue flickers back and forth, licking up at your wetness and replacing it with his spit and intertwining saliva. Unfortunately for him, you weren’t a heavy sleeper so the sensation of his soft, wet tongue wiggling against your most intimate place was enough to stir you awake.

Your eyelids flutter open weakly, giving way to the heavy fog of slumber that still clung to your countenance. Sleep is evident in your features as your tummy tingles from the continuous sensation of the stimulation. Your vision was clouded with fuzziness but you could still make out the muscular silhouette of your step-father.

He was huge and muscular, he wasn’t built like some ordinary man so there was no mistake that it was him.

“Daddy?”You mumbled innocently, rubbing your eyes in hopes of having a clearer view after.

“W-hat are you doing?”

“Shh shh, go back to sleep doll. Dad’s gonna take care of ya” he lightly chuckled before caressing your ass and placing a few wet kisses on your soft cheeks.

[littlemisssilvermoon]

Rotating an idea in my head;

Imagine a neglected!Reader who did everything in an attempt to impress their family.

Who got amazing grades and got into high school at age 11.

Who was "a savant beyond their years" and "talented beyond what their age group could be taught".

Skills came easy to them. Give them a year and some encouragement and before you know it they'll have mastered whatever it was.

It wasn't like they could leave the house and hang out with friends. Bruce said that was off the table. It got quiet so often in the manor.

But it wasn't enough

Until someone saw the potential that Batman was just leaving there. Like he wanted someone to just... scoop them up and tutor them.

Their friends and allies and even a few enemies saw the potential. They all agreed to teach them their greatest skill. In a year they've mastered all of them, even surpassing some of them.

Any drug they were developing was improved beyond anything they could've imagined.

Weapons fashioned to fit them far surpassed anything, even the best on the black market.

The Rogue Gallery was beyond impressed.

And Reader was on Cloud Nine with all the attention it was earning them. Head pats, praise, treats. It was more than anything they could've asked for. And even if they didn't have a new invention at the end of the week, so many were willing to just hang out. Without prompting! No "Go bother Alfred" or "I'm busy" or "Another time, chickadee".

Harley had to be reminded that a 12 year old had no business around hyenas, even if Budsie and Louie were on their best behavior. Harley settled for watching old magical girl animes with you.

Luckily, Poison Ivy knew not to bring you around her poisonous plants. Though she did spend a concerning time teaching you exactly what plants were poisonous and how they were poisonous.

Bane taught you everything he knew, from throwing a punch, to how to scare someone off. Granted, a 12 year old, with so much of their baby fat in their cheeks, and wrists as thick as Bane's thumb, looked like a Ragdoll kitten copying a Bengal tiger. He played chess with you too, and he said that given your role in advising, a knight or a bishop would fit you best.

Bane was your favorite. He'd smush your face (gently, you were so tiny he was scared of breaking you), lift you up, even do pushups and pull ups with you on his back.

When Bane told you how he'd saved Alfred once during a collapse of Arkham Asylum, only to be incapacitated once Alfred was "done" with him, it made your blood boil.

As you learned all of their stories, learned the human in all of them, you knew that you were saved from a family with rotten blood. You'd spend your life repaying them, even if they never asked.

--------

Eventually, you decide to follow them into battle. You're kept up and away from the bulk of the battle. This time, it was Joker vs the Batfamily. Tim was unable to track what he'd been trying to do past a few errant clues. It was clear that the Rouge Gallery had a new villain.

You were given direct instructions to watch yourself; Joker wouldn't care enough to tear his eyes off Batman. You already knew that; Harley had spent 3 days trying to convince you to reschedule with someone else, but you told her you wanted Joker, not someone who'd be tempted to glance back and give away your hiding space.

Jason was the one that saw you. You were dressed in a costume that resembled a bishop chess piece with a split full face mask, perched atop a van far from the actual battle. His old scars with Joker made him hesitate, but you looked like a definite person of interest, and everyone else was indisposed.

He ran over, firing rubber bullets as you dodged, eventually tripping and falling off the van. Why were you so small? Jason picked you up, grip just loose enough so you could breathe.

You reached up, pulling your mask off. Jason blanched as he saw your face, soft around the edges and wide eyed.

Bruce told him that he'd stayed away to protect you from the vigilante life. You were the one person who hadn't pushed to join them, so he never told you about missions to avoid any ideas of joining. Jason followed suit, and so did the others. Their lives were busy enough anyways, and you had Alfred when he didn't have something more important to do.

He may have brushed you off more than absolutely necessary, but he wasn't in the right headspace then! You had already grown so much and all he'd wanted by then was vengeance on Batman. You couldn't blame him for keeping his distance at that point. He was protecting you.

But here you were, pinned by the throat by your own brother. Your protector. He released you, taking a step back. He glanced around for an opening, seeing a small alleyway. He gestured over his shoulder for you to follow. "C'mon kid. I'll get you back home and I won't even tell Bruce you snuck out, 'k?"

Suddenly, he felt a prick in his back, shortly followed by a burning itch and ice cold pain. He fell to the ground, trying to reach the spot you pricked.

"Miss Ivy said these were dangerous. Her own home blend. It's a diluted version, so you'll be fine in a few days, Todd" said the much too calm voice above him. He was struggling to breathe around the writhing mass of pain, looking up at you between blinks of tears.

He couldn't scream, he could barely breathe. He could die here and the family wouldn't know until the dust settled.

"It won't kill you, and from the looks of it, they'll be coming to pick you up soon."

"Aren't we family?" He chokes out between gasps. He felt so lost. You were his baby sibling, the tiny thing that'd wander the halls, holding an old chess board as you asked your cool big brother to play with you. The person he kept away from to protect. How could you repay him like this?

Hadn't he done so much for you?

You look at him from the boot of the van. When had you gotten so far away? Your voice is quiet, but it's heard, if barely, over the revving of the engine as Joker's minions prepare to drive away, and the screaming of his name as the rest of the family approaches.

"Were we? I never thought you wanted a baby sibling like me."

-------

The Batfamily took him home and patched him up. The new tech, like all other recent inventions brought in, were so advanced they bordered on state of the art. Even Tim was struggling to decode any of them, with all the kill-switches that seemed to recognize when it wasn't hooked up to the original computer and bricked themselves.

Jason had recovered, like you said, in a few days. Capable of breathing easily in 2 days, regularly needing to be sedated before then, and sitting up without pain by day 5.

The Batfamily had asked him by day 4 about the masked person they had seen next to him. Jason was detached from himself. That face, those eyes. They held no warmth for him, no pity for him while he was writhing in agony at their feet. Like he was less than a stranger.

Like he was less than human in their eyes.

Your name fell off his tongue like lead, slamming against the ground as everyone fell into silence.

"It was them. They gave me that injection. Their face, I-"

"Todd, did the injection give you hallucinations? There was no way that they'd accomplish something like that." Damian raised his brow, checking the chart to make sure the bulk was out of his system.

"I know what I saw. They hadn't even injected me when I saw their face."

"That's impossible, Jay! Look, I'll go to their room and get them right now. They'll probably be pretty cranky since it's, what, 4am?" Dick's footsteps disappeared down the hall.

After a few minutes, Dick came running back, looking at Jason with a mix of shock, horror, and confusion.

Two words.

Two words that finally made them look at you.

Two words that made them realized what they'd missed.

Two words that made them connect the inventions that almost got them killed to the darling child they'd convinced themselves they were protecting with cold shoulders and smothering silence.

Two words that made them refocus their sights on bringing you back.

"They're gone."

[dijayeah]

"You don’t trust me, do you? Let me show you how deeply I can care." //

– An argument after a dangerous mission leads to an intense reconciliation.

🔞NSFW CONTENT MDNI🔞 🐦‍⬛word count: 3.3k 🐦‍⬛synopsis: Sylus has had enough of your reckless decisions, but his frustration spirals into something far more heated, be it for the better or the worse. 🐦‍⬛contains: fem!reader x Sylus, rough sex, evol manipulation (energy attraction/detraction), possessive Sylus, biting/marking, praise-(soft) degradation kink, overstimulation, slight angst, masochistic reader, teasing, edging, intense orgasms, breeding kink undertones (but no pregnancy), aftercare, possessive but tender dynamic, the usual. 🐦‍⬛please consider following me for more similar content! 🐦‍⬛read on ao3.

The silence between you was suffocating, punctuated only by the low hum of the sleek car as it glided over the uneven terrain in the middle of nowhere. You were still catching your breath from the mission—the adrenaline crash, the heat of danger still clinging to your skin like a second layer.

Sylus sat rigid in the driver’s seat, one hand gripping the wheel while the other rested on his muscled thigh. His jaw was tight, the sharp line of his profile illuminated by the faint blue glow of the console. You knew he was upset—not at the mission’s success, but at you. For what felt like the hundredth time, his gaze flicked to you, smoldering, questioning, disappointed.

“You could’ve been killed back there,” he finally said, his voice low but cutting. “Do you have a death wish, or were you just trying to piss me off going after that wanderer?”

You bristled, turning to glare at him. “I knew what I was doing, Sylus. I didn’t need you swooping in like I’m some rookie hunter who can’t handle herself.”

“Handle herself?” He snorted, bitter and sharp. “You jumped into an unstable tunnel with no backup and barely made it out with that core. If I hadn’t been there—”

“But you were there,” you snapped, cutting him off, just as pissed off. “You always are. So why the hell are you so mad? You act as if you don't understand the kind of job I do, we do.”

He didn’t answer right away, the tension in the rover thickened like heavy smoke, and it made your throat scratchy. His large hand tightened on the wheel, knuckles pale.

“You don’t trust me,” he said finally, the words quiet but laced with something raw, emotional even. “That’s what it is, isn’t it? You don’t trust me to have your back, so you go and risk everything like it doesn’t matter if you make it out or not.”

“That’s not true,” you protested, though even as you said it, you heard the hesitation in your own voice.

Sylus laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Don’t lie to me, kitten. I see it every time you look at me like you’re waiting for me to let you down. Like I’m one bad call away from screwing everything up for you. Well, I’ve got news: I’ve had your back from day one, even when you didn’t want it. Do you not trust me just because I'm in charge of Onychinus?”

The heat in his words matched the fire sparking in your chest. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t see how much you care? That’s the problem, Sylus! You care too much, and one of these days, it’s going to get you killed, be it your fucking organization or whatever this is.”

The car jerked to a stop, tires grinding against the dirt. You lurched forward slightly, the sudden halt making your breath catch. When you looked at him, his crimson eyes were burning, molten with something that made your pulse quicken.

“Maybe I care too much,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “But you don’t get to use that as an excuse to push me away.”

Before you could respond, he leaned over, his big hand curling around your small chin, forcing you to meet his sharp red gaze. The air between you crackled, the thin veil of restraint he’d clung to snapping like a frayed tether.

“You don’t trust me, do you?” His thumb brushed against your jaw, rough and unyielding. “Let me show you how deeply I can care.”

The words hit you like a shockwave, stealing the air from your lungs. His lips crashed against yours, hungry, demanding, as if he were trying to pour every unsaid word, every bottled emotion, into that kiss. Your body reacted instinctively, your hands tangling in his shirt, pulling him closer.

It spiraled from there—his mouth trailing fire down your neck, his hands claiming your body like he was trying to prove a point, to you, to him, it didn't matter.

At some point, he shifted, unbuckling your belt as well as his, pulling you into his lap. The cramped space of the rover was suddenly irrelevant, every thought drowned out by the heat of him, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing anchoring him to this reality.

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice rough against your ear. “Say you trust me.”

You glared at him, defiant even as your body melted under his touch. “You’re such a smug bastard.”

“And you love it,” The silver-haired man shot back, his lips curling into a crooked smirk that was all teeth and arrogance. His hips bucked up sharply, driving a gasp from you as your nails dug into his shoulders. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed, kitten. Every time you glare at me, every time you fight me—you just want me to put you in your place.”

His words made your chest tighten, your breath catching as his hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises. He wasn’t wrong. The way he moved, the way he talked, how he always had to have the last word—it drove you insane. And yet here you were, rolling your hips against his large bulge like you couldn’t get enough of it, of him. God, you needed to fuck this man.

“You’re full of yourself,” you managed to gasp, though the edge in your voice was dulled by the pleasure building with every movement.

The leader of Onychinus chuckled, the sound dark and low as he leaned forward, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Maybe. But you’re the one writhing on top of me, sweetie.”

You wanted to retort, to say something sharp that would wipe the smug look off his face, but the words dissolved into a moan as his hand slid down, pushing your shirt up just enough to expose the curve of your waist. His fingers traced the line of your skin before gripping your hips again, guiding you as you moved on him.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” he muttered, his crimson eyes half-lidded as he watched you with a mix of hunger and frustration. “Always running off, always pushing me away—but look at you now, going nearly all pliant on me just because of my cock.”

He thrust up into you, sharp and deliberate, and you cried out, your body arching against him. His hands roamed higher, slipping beneath your shirt to splay against your arched back, pulling you closer until your chest was flush against his.

“Say it,” he murmured, his voice softer now but no less commanding. “Say you trust me.”

You bit your lip, defiance flickering in your gaze even as your body betrayed you, moving in perfect rhythm with his. “I—” Your words caught in your throat as his hand slid down, his thumb brushing against the sensitive bundle of nerves between your thighs, through your tight pants.

“Hm, what was that, kitten?” he teased, his smirk widening as he worked you with practiced ease. “Didn’t quite catch it.”

“Fuck, Sylus,” you gasped, your head falling against his shoulder as your nails raked down his muscled arms, through the dark shirt he wore. “I trust you, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Yeah,” he rasped, his voice raw with emotion now, the teasing edge giving way to something deeper. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

His lips found yours again, the kiss bruising and desperate, and you felt the tension between you snap like a tightly drawn wire. 

Sylus undressing her, teasing her with the tip of his cock, and stretching her out with his fingers first, all while keeping his sharp, in-character tone.

Sylus’s lips left yours, a string of spit still connecting you as he pulled back, crimson eyes heavy-lidded and gleaming with intent. His hands roamed your body with an almost infuriating slowness, tracing every curve, every soft dip of your skin, like he was memorizing you.

“Shirt first,” he murmured, his voice low, like gravel dragged over silk. His long fingers moved to the fabric clinging to your chest, undoing each button with painstaking precision. “It’s in the way.”

You swallowed hard, heat pooling between your thighs further as he peeled the shirt off your shoulders, his gaze darkening when the fabric fell to your waist. He let his thumb graze over the light lace of your bra, smirking when you shivered.

“Pretty,” he muttered, his tone soft but tinged with something sharper. “Bet you wore this for me, didn’t you, kitten?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could form a single word, his hands slid beneath the fragile straps, tugging the garment down until your tits spilled free. His gaze devoured you, and he let out a low hum of approval before leaning in, his mouth brushing over your collarbone.

“Better,” he murmured, his lips trailing lower. His large hands cupped your breasts, thumbs grazing over your perked-up nipples as he took one into his mouth, sucking softly. The warm, wet drag of his tongue sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your needy core, your nails scraping against his shoulders in response.

“Sylus,” you gasped, your voice breathy and strained as you rocked against him, desperate for more.

“Patience,” he drawled, releasing your nipple with a soft pop. His hands moved to your waistband, unfastening your pants with the same deliberate slowness that made you want to scream. “I’m going to take my time with you. Can’t have you breaking on me too fast.”

He tugged your pants down, dragging the fabric over your thighs with a roughness that sent a shiver through you as you helped him to get rid of them. His hands lingered on the bare skin he revealed, his fingers tracing patterns that made your breath hitch in ways only he was allowed to witness. When he finally stripped you completely, his gaze raked over you with such intensity that it felt like he was laying you bare in more ways than one.

“Fucking perfect,” he muttered, almost to himself, as he shifted beneath you. His own pants were next, the tailored fabric sliding down to reveal thick, muscular thighs and his cock—long, heavy, and already leaking at the pretty tip. You stared, glossed lips agape, and he noticed, his smirk widening as he wrapped a hand around his length.

“I take it you like what you see, hm?” he asked, his tone teasing as he stroked himself slowly, spreading the precum along his length. “Bet you’re already imagining how good it’s going to feel. But not yet.”

Before you could respond, his hand moved to your thigh, spreading you open further on his lap. His fingers trailed up your inner thigh, pausing just before they reached your slick heat over your panties. He let out a low chuckle at the way you squirmed beneath his touch.

“Needy little thing,” he murmured, his tone laced with pure amusement as he pushed your underwear aside. His rough thumb slid through your folds, gathering your arousal and circling your clit with infuriating precision. “Look at you. Pretty fat pussy so wet already. And I haven’t even started.”

You whimpered, your hips jerking against his hand, but he held you down easily with his free arm. He slid one finger inside you, his crimson gaze locked on your face as he curled it just right, making your breath hitch.

“Relax, sweetie,” he muttered, adding a second finger and stretching you with slow, deliberate thrusts. “You can take it. You’re going to have to, if you want this.”

His other hand fell away from your body, wrapping around his cock once more, this time tighter, the tip glistening as he dragged it through your messy folds, mesmerized. The teasing friction made your body ache, your thighs trembling as he tapped the head of his cock against your clit, smearing your sticky glistening arousal over himself.

“See that?” he murmured, his voice dark and low as he watched the way his cock slid against you, slick and obscene. “All of this? That’s mine now. Don’t forget it.”

You moaned, your nails digging into his forearms as he continued to tease you, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance near his fingers before sliding back up to circle your clit again. “Sylus, please—”

“Not until you’re ready,” he cut you off, his fingers thrusting deeper, stretching you until your body softened beneath him. “And when you are, you’ll beg me for it.”

His teasing smirk was still in place as he finally pulled his fingers away then, positioning himself at your entrance. He paused, his crimson gaze locking with yours. “Gonna beg, or no?”

“I want it,” you breathed, your voice trembling but certain. “I want you, Sylus. Please.”

The smirk softened into something deeper, more dangerous, as he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, the stretch making you gasp as he filled you completely. He hissed low in his throat, his head falling forward against yours as he bottomed out.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his breath hot against your lips. “You feel even better than I imagined.”

“You asked for it,” he growled, his voice rough and strained as he thrust into you, the sound of your bodies meeting filling the cramped space of the car. “Begged for it, actually. So take it.”

His hands gripped your hips with bruising intensity, guiding your movements as you writhed on top of him. Each snap of his hips forced you to take him deeper, harder, the stretch and friction igniting every nerve in your body. Your cries filled the vehicle, but the leader of Onychinus wasn’t satisfied—not yet.

“Look at you,” he rasped, his crimson gaze flicking to where you were joined. “Such a pretty little thing, grinding on me. But I can make you feel even better.”

A faint shimmer of red pulsed from his right eye, and you felt it—an invisible pull, like his hands were everywhere at once. Your body jolted as his Evol flared, the sensation of his energy manipulating the space around you adding an electrifying layer to the way he moved inside you. You gasped as you were pulled downward with more force, his cock driving even deeper, hitting spots that made your vision blur.

“Fuck,” you choked out, your hands bracing against his chest, your nails raking over the taut muscle there. “Sylus—what the hell are you—”

“Shh,” he interrupted, a wicked grin spreading across his face. His right eye glowed brighter, the crimson shimmer swirling like molten fire. “Just making it easier for you to bounce on my cock, sweetie. Thought you wanted it rough? Or do you want it soft? Are you trying to be hard to please?”

The pull of his Evol guided your hips, lifting and dropping you in perfect rhythm with his own thrusts. It was relentless, merciless, and utterly intoxicating. Each time you were forced down, his cock filled you completely, the pressure making your head spin. Your walls clenched around him, and his growl deepened, low and feral. The car was filled with obscene squelching sounds as you both listened to them.

“You feel that?” he murmured, his voice laced with dark amusement. “That’s all me, kitten. Every inch of you is mine right now.”

Your thighs trembled as his energy pulsed again, the invisible force amplifying the intensity of every movement. It was overwhelming in the best way, your body arching against his as your cries turned into desperate moans. You clawed at his crumpled black shirt, yanking it open further to expose more of his pale skin.

“God, Sylus,” you gasped, leaning forward to kiss along his neck, your teeth grazing the sharp line of his jaw. “S-so close—”

The crimson shimmer flickered across your body now, the heat of his energy wrapping around you like an extension of him. Every nerve in your body felt alive, hyper-sensitive to his touch, the drag of his cock, the sharp edge of his teeth as he bit down on your shoulder in response.

The bite sent a jolt of pain that melted into goosebumps, your nails digging deeper into his chest as your body instinctively arched into his even more, if that was possible. Sylus growled against your skin, his teeth leaving faint indentations before he soothed the mark with his tongue softly, a possessive gesture that made your breath catch.

“Fuck, I can feel you trembling,” he muttered, his voice thick and gravelly, the faint glow in his eye flaring brighter. His hips snapped up harder, the relentless rhythm of his Evol working with him, pushing you closer to the edge. “You gonna break for me, kitten? Let me feel you fall apart around my cock.”

You whimpered in response, your mind hazy with the overwhelming sensations coursing through you. The heat of his energy, the rough drag of his girthy dick, the way his voice curled around your ears like a command—it was too much and not enough all at once.

“Say it,” The leader of the Onychinus demanded, his hands gripping your plush ass now, the force of his thrusts slamming you down onto him as his Evol guided the motion. The shimmering red energy flickered along your skin where the two of you were connected, a physical manifestation of his control, and the sight of it made your walls flutter around him. “Say who’s fucking you this good.”

“You,” you gasped, your voice breaking as the coil in your core tightened to the point of snapping. “It’s you, Sylus. Only you.”

“Good,” he growled, his grin sharp and dangerous. “And this pretty little pussy? Mine. All mine.”

His words sent you over the edge, your body tightening around him in a vicious grip as your orgasm hit like a tidal wave. Your vision blurred, and you cried out his name, your nails leaving deep scratches on his chest as you rode out the waves of pleasure. Sylus groaned at the way you clenched around him, his thrusts turning erratic as he chased his own release.

“Fuck,” he snarled, his head falling back against the seat as he drove into you one last time, his cock buried to the hilt as he came. His warmth filled you, hot, thick, and overwhelming, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he spilled his cum into you.

For a moment, the world seemed to still, the only sounds the ragged breaths you both struggled to catch. Sylus’s hands softened their hold on you, sliding up to your waist as the crimson shimmer of his Evol faded into nothingness. His other hand brushed the sweat off your brow, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re a goddamn mess,” he muttered, though his tone was softer now, almost fond. His fingers traced lazy circles against your skin as he leaned back to look at you, his smirk returning as his crimson eyes met yours. “A pretty one, though. I’ll give you that.”

You let out a breathless laugh, leaning forward to press a peck to his jaw. “You’re one to talk,” you murmured, your voice still shaky as you settled against his chest. “Look at you. All smug and yet ruined just as much. I wonder what Luke and Kieran would have to say if they saw their boss like this?”

His smirk widened, his arms wrapping around you to pull you closer. “Ruined, huh?” he repeated, his voice low and teasing. “Sweetie, from what I believe we’re just getting started.”

[angelltheninth]

Do you think the Arcane lesbians tie their hair back when eating out?

Ya'll really trying to make me go feral with these eh?

Pairing: Vi, Caitlyn, Maddie, Sevika, Ambessa x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, cunnilingus, hair-pulling, teasing, biting, being pinned down, praise, clit slapping

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: As far as I know Ambessa is a bisexual queen so I'm putting her in here.

Vi ran her hand through her buzzcut and sighed. "I mean, I can tie my hair back but I don't really see the point. It's just on the one side of my face, and my back." She shrugged as she leaned further down between your legs. "It doesn't bother me. What about you?"

"Not really. I thought you might wanna do it so I can see your eyes more clearly. Your hair has been getting a bit longer lately. Might need a haircut some time soon." You hooked your legs around Vi's shoulders and sighed heavily as her tongue prodded against your entrance.

As she licked into you your hands ran through her hair, seeing her point as your hands were enough to hold her hair back. She didn't need a hair tie. She looked perfect just like this, between your legs, about to eat you out like you were her last meal.

"If you wanna keep looking at me better keep those hands in place, sweet stuff." Her teasing words made you moan and tighten your grip. You didn't want her to stop, so you would do as you were told.

With your hands and your legs keeping her in pace Vi moved her tongue through your wet folds, savoring your sweet taste and the ever present tug you gave against her scalp every time her tongue played with your clit. The real reason why she enjoyed it is because she didn't mind the pain, when it mixed with pleasure.

If Caitlyn ties her hair back when you two have sex then you know she feels like giving rather than receiving that night. As soon as you saw her do it you knew you were for a really long night. "What are you smiling like that for darling?" Caitlyn asked as she leaned in for a kiss.

With a smirk and not breaking the kiss you pulled her on top of you and cupper her cheeks. "You know why. You tied your hair back. Just seeing you do that gets me wet." Caitlyn's eyebrows furrowed and she tilted her head. Her hands cupped over yours before she pushed them to your sides and kissed down your body. It seemed to make her conflicted that you knew what she was gonna do.

"Am I that predictable? Should I do something to spice things up?" There was something dangerous in her eyes as she asked. "Since you can see what I do, perhaps a nice blindfold, to keep you guessing."

"I-I wouldn't be opposed to that." You spread your legs open further and moved your panties to the side. "What else do you wanna do to me?"

Caitlyn looked up at you right as her tongue pressed against your clit and stayed there. She pulled away after a few seconds. "I'm sure I can think of a few things. After I make you come." You couldn't think of anything either as Caitlyn started mercilessly licking at your clit.

Maddie always wore her hair tied back except for when she was sleeping or taking a shower. It was no different when she was between your legs. Other might argue she's silly when she ties her hair back like that but they don't know how much easier it makes it to please her favorite girl.

"Do you not like it? You always said my ponytail was pretty cute. What changed?" The look on her face was an almost rejected pout.

"Nothing." You laughed at the idea that she thought you were rejecting her sense of style. "I love how you look with your hair tied up. Makes you look so damn cute. when you're under me like this."

In retaliation of you calling her cute Maddie bit your inner thigh, pretty hard too, which made you exhale sharply and brace yourself against the headboard of the bed. "Don't go calling me cute while I'm making you come all over my face." The fact that you were above her, pussy dripping on her wasn't enough to make her blush, but your praise sure did.

"Aww, but you are cute. My cute, sweet girl. Being so good for me right now yeah?" As if it could help her Maddie pressed her face between your legs again, her tongue licking at double speed. "See, you're going so good. Of course you are, using your tongue just the way I want you to."

"Sweetheart, fuck, hold on, stop for a moment." Sevika moved away from you, her chin dripping with your pussy juices. You groaned, tried to pull her back but she pushed you back. "I said hold on. I'm just getting something real quick. I'll be right back."

You licked your lips as you watched her make her way to one of the drawers. To your disappointment it wasn't the one where she kept her strap, but she did pull out a hair tie. The disappointment may have been on your face for a split second but Sevika saw it and it made her grin even wider.

"Don't look so let down. I'm about to eat your sweet cunt until you pass out. Now lay back and wait until I get this thing on." It was a bit of a challenge to do with one hand. You saw her struggle with it before.

You sighed and gave her a bit of encouragement. "I can do that for you. I'm really good with my fingers." You waived at her with one hand while cupping your pussy with the other. "So I've been told anyway."

Sevika's eyes widened when she saw your slick dripping onto the sheets. "Hey, hands off what's mine. You're being a real brat right now." She fumbled with the hair tie a few more times before she managed to get it on. Her hand grabbed your wrist. "Mine." She growled possessively as she pushed her tongue into your pussyhole.

Ambessa never ties her hair back unless she's on the battlefield. She has no reason to tie her hair when she's in bed with you, pinning you down by the hips and absolutely feasting, licking and sucking on your clit and keeping your pussy lips parted so she can see your hole clench around nothing.

"More, please, please, I want you inside." You begged, your voice strained as you tried to push her face further down.

"Hm, brave tonight. Aren't you, pet? Thinking you can order me around, grabbing my hair like that. Was I away for too long that you forgot yourself?" She pulled away, her rough palm delivering a hard slap on your clit. Then another, and another until you were a crying, drooling mess. "Behave yourself."

Unfortunately, or fortunately, you couldn't do that. Your nails dug into her hair further and you saw her roll her eyes. "I'm sorry. I missed you so much, I promise I'll behave next time. Just... please..."

"Fine, fine." Ambessa reached over to the nightstand and pulled her hair back into a bun. It wasn't nearly as neat as she usually wore it but she was in a hurry. "I'll spend all night reminding your body of who it belongs to." The look she gave you then was similar to how you saw her look at her targets across the battlefield, dark, cocky, a little amused, and very determined.

[cursingtoji]

the cardio machine i want is on the cardio machine

cw: gym rat toji x loser!gf - size kink, sweat kink (?), toji is a big old meanie. loser!gf series: geto gojo nanami.

loser!reader who, like a million other sedentary people on new year’s eve, said “new year new me” and proceeded to enroll at the local gym.

gym rat!toji who knew how things are in the beginning of the year, so the first week he arrives one hour earlier than usual to avoid all the lazy fucks that won’t last two months.

of course he makes a few mental bets on the ones that would quit and how long it would take, you included.

it’s easy to spot the “i don’t want lift weights cause i don’t want look jacked” type of girl.

at the breaks between one set and the other he looked around, not surprised to see you slowing down the treadmill after running not even two whole minutes.

sometimes he caught you staring at him through the mirror, not an uncommon occurrence amonst the women there, though you surprised him one day by tapping his shoulder after he finishing his weighted squats.

“can you… give me a few tips?” he looked so intimidated, from up close his shoulders looked like a wall, he stared at you from above, dark green eyes seemed to be heavily judging you, “never mind this was a bad idea, sorry” you turned around, grabbing you bottle and running off the gym.

by the time you managed to gather the courage to show your face back there two whole weeks had passed.

“consistency is the key you know” you were distracted looking down your phone while slowly walking the treadmill when the handsome man appeared beside you, the sudden presence destabilized you.

before you could become the viral video of the week when inevitably a gym employee decides to post the security footage of your ass rolling off the active treadmill, toji wrapped one big arm around your waist and pulled you to the stable floor.

“you caught me off guard the other day” he said completely unfazed by saving you from a life of embarrassment, “then you disappeared.”

“yeah i didn’t know if i wanted to come back anyways, i haven’t see any results so far” you pulled the hem of your shirt down.

toji snorted, “‘course you ain’t seeing results, sweetheart, you don’t lift.”

“well, it’s hard…” toji rolled his eyes, there was always an excuse.

though he also did a new year’s resolution of being more patient, for his kids primarily but teaching a cute thing like you could be a good exercise too.

soon enough, toji was correcting your form, texting you asking why you haven’t showed up to the gym and ringing your bell incessantly when you complained about muscle pain and said you wouldn't go that day.

“it’ll feel better once you start to move” he explained, resting on your door frame when you opened the door on your pajamas.

“let me alone, just today” you whined.

“you asked for my help now go put on something without cartoons on it” he waited for you to turn around and slapped your butt. it had been only one week he was coaching you but there was already a weird intimacy due to the fact he was pretty much always looking at your body and touching you.

to correct your form. obviously.

"what do i have to do today, coach fushiguro?" you asked from your bedroom through an ajar door which allowed toji to get a peek at your pink underwear and cute ass.

"cardio, bicycle first. get some blood flowing on those sore muscles" he tilted his head and raised his eyebrows watching you bend over to grab a biker shorts at the lowest drawer then holding back a laughter at the grunt of pain coming from you.

"once it gets better i can teach you other types of cardio" he walked around your kitchen examining your cabinets and stuff you kept in your fridge. needless to say it was all junk.

"can't wait" you replied sarcastically, failing to understand the meaning.

it took a few more days till you got used to toji's training, then he decided to focus on your upper body.

"such a simple movement, how do you manage to get that wrong?" he raised from the bench he was sitting behind you watching your form through the mirror. you almost dropped the weights at your feet when he came close. it was almost scary how much bigger than you he was especially seeing it throght the mirror. his right hand wrapped around yours on the dumbell and his bicep touched your arm as he pushed your arm closer to your body, "tuck your elbows in, straight your back" his free hand pushed your shoulders till they were touching his chest.

how come he smelled so good, so... musky and...

"are you even making any force?" he lowered his head, his reflection looking annoyed. so you decided to ignore the sudden heat between your thighs and flex your arm the way he taught you.

and just like he promised, when you were consistent enough and handling a good 5 minute run he decided to show you a more pleasing cardio.

"toji please~" you whined, thighs burning from riding him, you were using his rock hard abdomen as a support, but still.

"one more minute, come on" he looked at the watch on his wrist and slapped your ass, "haven't i prep-ed you good enough?" his thumb rubbed your bottom lip then pushed in meeting your tongue, where you tasted yourself in his digits one hour after he ringed your bell and said he was going to reward your good discipline, but he had to strech you first.

"good girl" you felt his abdomn flex when he raised from his laying position on your bed, "now leave it to daddy" he pecked your lips and quickly changed positions, putting a pillow under your ass and rolling his neck to start his cardio of the day.

[zorilleerrant]

What they didn't tell you, when you made that bargain, was that it changed from person to person how much you had to sacrifice. There have been complete strangers you've been able to resurrect for the price of a hank of hair, all the way on the other side of the world. Someone you never knew by anything but reputation might cost nothing but a palmful of blood or the skin from hands rubbed raw. The costs aren't hidden. For every potential resurrection, you know just exactly what you have to give to ignite it, and it depends on how much you care.

There are people you hate that you've managed to resurrect with a mouthful of spit. Even with your mouth gone dry from terror, you can bring back your enemies. Just because you hate them doesn't mean no one needs them back. Their families can tell how you feel, you're pretty sure, but they still hug you as they thank you for bringing someone back. They meet your eyes, afterwards, most of them. Some of them even thank you themselves. None of them bother to get in your way again, not after they're back.

You lost your smallest finger to a childhood friend. The two of you hadn't spoken in years, but still, there was that love that lingered, there were those memories like treacle making it so hard to tug a person back. When you heard, when they reached out to you on a long shot, you rushed back home.

It wasn't the first body part you lost, of course. You'd had to try. The first you lost was to the young prince, not because he was so beloved by you, but because the people wanted it badly enough it infected you with greed, delusions of grandeur, some certainty that you'd be held in estimation far above your peers. It cost you an ear, because ears are cosmetic, but it's enough to remind you, every time. How much you care is often personal, but not always.

It caught you in the mirror, right after. You hated the sight of yourself, then, staring at the brand new scar that looked years old. You wished you'd had the years to think about it. Instead, all you could do was practice until you were sure you knew how.

That was when you discovered it. Planning to dig divots into your arms and legs, you were confronted with a pit of unmourned dead, each one asking no more than a fingernail. A strand of hair. The brush of your eye against a single tear shed. You perfected your technique, that night. You practiced until you knew every shift and shimmer of the magic, and it cost you nothing at all.

You're known as a healer. You're known as a healer because you travel the land every day, in a cycle that's roughly predictable, and people can always apply for your aid. You rarely turn them down. You don't have the werewithal to care about other people's dead, anymore, which means you can care for all of them, with a sympathetic smile you barely feel on your face. Most of your kind have lost at least a leg, somewhere along the way, scarred more obtrusively than what you bear: only one whole hand, only one whole ear. There's a scar on the back of your shoulder where you were too shocked to wait for calm to bring a child back, and you think that's the last time it hit you, even if you sometimes still cry.

There was only one reason you undertook this quest, one person important enough to risk all of that, and you have to wait until you couldn't possibly care anymore, because a life that's important enough to take your life will ask it. Eventually this knowledge will wear you out. When it does, you know it will be safe to try again.

You can bring dead people to live again, but for every person you bring back, you have to sacrifice one body part

[cherrysweets-world]

Eyes of the Gods IV

series masterlist - part III

Pairing - Geta x fem!reader x Caracalla

Summary - Geta and Caracalla force you further into their world.

Warnings - 18+, unedited, forced proximity, power imbalances, future dub-con, period typical sexism, mentions of domestic violence, masturbation, lonliness, dondus is a girly

Word Count - 2.5k

The majority of your morning passed in a similar fashion. You'd stand against the wall, leaving it on occasion to fetch Geta wine or do whatever else he bid you, which wasn't much. In the light of day and alone he seemed glaringly human. He flipped through the papers on his desk, offering the occasional scoff or scowl, and sometimes even appeared bored.

That was, of course, when he wasn't staring at you. You felt his eyes burning into the side of your face for minutes at a time but stood still, unwilling to meet his gaze. Geta would look down and then quickly up again as if determined to catch you in the middle of something. It would have been amusing if he was not the Emperor.

After several hours of this game, he sat back in his chair and let his pen fall to the table. "Tell the guards outside the door that they are to bring some food."

You bowed your head dutifully but stopped several paces from the door.

"Is there an issue?" he said mockingly.

"I. . .believe that would be my job," you said slowly, turning to face him. "I should fetch whatever it is you request."

Geta seemed to think about this for several seconds. He picked his pen back up and began tapping it against his desk. Tap tap tap.

"Ask them for whatever you want as well," he finally said. "I suppose you have not eaten?"

Your cheeks turned hot. True, you had not. You had been in such a rush this morning that you hadn't had time to stop by the kitchens for your usual morning meal. Geta had kept you so distracted that you had hardly even registered your own hunger.

"I do not believe it is appropriate for me to eat with you," you tried, tapping your nails against your palms.

"Is it appropriate to ignore the orders of the Emperor?"

"No - "

"Well, then."

His eyes dared you to argue further. Swallowing your words, you went to the door and spoke with the guard. You requested fruits and bread for Geta and a bowl of porridge for yourself. The guard's brows raised at the porridge and you shrugged, gesturing behind you as thought that was enough explanation. The guard seemed to think so and you watched as he disappeared down the corridor.

Your purpose here was a mystery to you. It was unusual to have a cupbearer who did only that. You had assumed you would fetch his meals, perhaps tidy up after him too. Instead you had stood at the wall for almost the entire morning. The biggest task was avoiding the Emperor's wandering gaze and it was by far the most exhausting.

"What would you usually be doing at this time?" he asked.

"Uh," you stammered, confused by the question, "I would be in the kitchen, I suppose, Emperor."

Geta tilted his head. You allowed yourself to look up and meet his eyes, desperate to read his mood. Every question felt like he was trying to slip you up, though for what purpose you did not know. Like that night in the entertainment hall, his tongue traced along his top and bottom lip. You found yourself watching the movement and forced yourself to look away.

"I am sure this is preferable, then," he seemed to decide to himself.

You blinked and couldn't help but ask, "My apologies, Emperor, but what is my purpose here?"

It was the most you dared ask but you wanted to know. If you did not then it was more likely you would make a mistake, take a wrong step in this dance he was forcing you through, and the consequences could be deadly. You had assumed you would take up all the responsibilities of a cup-bearer or maid but you were wrong. Now you were left floundering, wondering what to do next. You could not leave yourself any more vulnerable than you already were.

At that moment there was a knock at the door. Grateful for the interruption you rushed over, gladly relieving the guard of the tray of food and whispering a quiet thank you before letting the door fall closed.

Geta still had not answered your question but you carried the tray over to him, sliding it gently onto his desk. You pushed some of his papers aside to make more room and then stepped back, clasping your hands in front of you so as not to look so clueless.

Geta picked out your porridge from the rest of the food and scowled as if it was a personal offence. He pushed it toward you. "Take it. Sit. Eat."

Cautiously you walked away, picking out a chair furthest away from Geta's desk. You pressed your lips together and stared down at it, put off by the elegant craftmanship. You had never sat on something so expensive before.

"Sit,'" he ordered again, popping a grape into his mouth. He was watching you closely as though curious about what you might do. As if you had any other chance but to obey his commands.

You did as he bid, angling your body so that you would not have to face the full force of his stare. Never had you had such a little appetite but you spooned up a mouthful of porridge anyway. It clung to your teeth and was near impossible to swallow. You ate it mechanically, one spoon after another.

It was odd; you felt perhaps more bare now than when you had been forced to dress in front of Geta. Powerful people could demand anything in this world but there were a few things you had been able to rely on with your work in the palace. Food and sleep were two of them.

Caracalla had slipped into your room last night like it was nothing. The Praetorians had not questioned it. They could not and would not have stopped him. Now Geta insisted upon you eating in front of him and you could do nothing but force the food down and pretend that you were in the kitchen, alone, planning the rest of your afternoon.

The door opened once more and you paused. Caracalla shuffled in, Dondus perched upon his shoulders. The monkey spotted you before Caracalla did. She clambered down from his clothes and towards you, using your skirts to pull herself up onto your lap.

You offered her your fingers like before and she greeted you, chattering noisily. Perhaps you and her were not so different; both of you were there for the amusement of the Emperors and not much else. All the wine serving was a pretence but for what, you did not know.

This was the first time you had gotten a good look at Caracalla in the light of day. He seemed much brighter, more awake. The shadow of his illness lingered around his shoulders like a shrugged-off cloak.

Caracalla approached you, swiping his fingers along your bare shoulders as he passed. You almost squeaked as he forced himself beside you, giggling at your tense reaction.

"You should eat something, brother," Geta picked up a bowl of fruits and came over to hand them to his brother. The room felt unbearably hot with both of them in such close proximity. Geta spoke much more softly to his brother than he had you.

Caracalla accepted the bowl with little interest. He picked up a single berry and rolled it between his fingers. A smile tugged on the corners of his lips and he held it up.

"Open up," he demanded.

Flickers of mirth danced around Caracalla's face but his eyes were deadly serious. Last night you had been able to sway him into doing your bidding but you could see that was not possible now.

Geta lingered in front of you, waiting to see how the situation would play out. It felt like a test.

You parted your lips and Caracalla pushed the berry past them, swiping his fingers across your lips as you chewed. There was no humor now. This was something heavier, warmer.

Caracalla pulled his hand away from your face. He absentmindedly traced those same fingers across his own lips, eyes fixated on your mouth.

You tried to focus on your porridge. It was now stone cold. Caracalla let out a whine and demanded your attention back on him, pressing another grape to your mouth and watching hotly as you ate them.

"Good girl," he praised.

It felt like your blood was vibrating. The berries varied between sour and sweet, not unlike the man in front of you. Nonetheless you chewed them and swallowed them down. Your eyes danced across Caracalla's chest, unsure on where to settle.

You were not entirely prudish. You knew the contours and folds of your own body well and had even fumbled around with several boys in your time at the palace. You tended to find more satisfaction with your own hand.

This, though, was unlike any of your previous experiences. Bells were sounding in your mind. There was something oddly erotic about it. Part of you wanted to lean away, divert Caracalla's attention to something else, yet you found yourself leaning in, tilting your chin and letting Caracalla feed you.

It wasn't until Caracalla's hand began to slip between the folds of his own gold-embroidered toga that Geta stepped in. You averted your gaze and coughed, wiping the purple-pink smears from your mouth.

You could not read Geta. He pulled his brother from the chair and lead him to his own desk, away from you. Flustered, you poked your spoon around in the remains of your porridge. There was little point in eating anymore. You were full.

The afternoon trickled by. Snatches of conversation caught your attention but you made yourself turn away. They were not for your ears.

"Acacius has returned, victorious of course," Geta said. "He does not seem to enjoy it."

Caracalla cackled. "I know someone else who does not enjoy bloodshed."  

You looked up. Both stared at you expectantly. "I. . . I am sure the general and I could not be more different."

"Hmm," Geta's mouth twisted in thought. "He has requested time to spend with his family."

"You have granted him this?"

"No."

You could not hide the disapproval on your face quick enough. Geta barked a laugh, surprised. "What are you thinking?" he leaned forward in his chair. "Really, I must know."

"I am thinking I am not fit to advise an emp -"

"Not advice, then," Geta dismissed your concern. "Amuse us."

This could get me killed, you thought. Then again, was there anything that couldn't? They could have you taken out and thrown to your death if they felt the slightest inclination. Your mind wouldn't let you forget it.

"I think," you said slowly, "that the general would appreciate the rest. His lady wife, too. Perhaps if you let him have this  he would be more amenable in the future?"

The brothers shared a look and you clenched your teeth. Was this it? Your death? Your palms were sweaty as you slid them together and rocked on your feet.

"I do not see why we should let him have anything," Caracalla's face twisted. "He and his wife have been given privileges that no-one else has. They have been honored!"

"It wouldn't be for them," you said quickly, "it would be for you. Both of you. You are young; there is plenty of time for conquering. Some rest now means nothing. But it might get you things you want in the future - and rather than having to take them, they would be given."

You stopped, too nervous to continue. You were no advisor. You did, however, have an understanding of most people. Everyone except them.

If you gave something you were likely to get something in return. That, you understood. You had heard things about the general and his feelings towards the conquering he did for the emperors. Rome was already delicate enough. An uprising would shatter whatever fragile ground you stood on and, perhaps selfishly, you did not want that.

"Given," Caracalla echoed, fingers tracing the edge of some papers. "I like to be given things. Sometimes I take them too."

You thought back to the berries, his fingers on your face. He had taken something from you then but you were not sure what.

They did not address you again for the rest of the afternoon. They were entirely focused on their work. This time their voices were lowered enough that you could not quite hear them. It was better that way. You let your mind drift.

You took your meals with the emperors, wolfing them down and avoiding their leers. It could have been your imagination but the food tasted better than what you were used to.

The room had darkened considerably by the time you were dismissed.

"One of the guards will escort you to your new room," Geta tapped his fingers on the desk, "I expect you ready tomorrow morning."

There was an implication in the way that he spoke; you were to go to your room and remain there. No visiting friends in the kitchen or wandering about. They would know if you did.

Geta held out his hand expectantly. You took it in your own, tilting it up to your mouth and pressing a kiss to the back. These were hands that had never seen a hard days work. Hands that were gradually squeezing you tighter and tighter into a position that you did not want to be in. You cleared your throat and stepped back.

Caracalla stuck out his and you did the same. When you tried to pull away Caracalla tightened his grip on your hand. It took several tries to pull away.

As Geta had said, there was a guard waiting to take you to your own room. It still sounded strange in your head. Your own room. You’d never had your own space but you had never needed it more.

The room was distressingly close to the quarters of the emperors. In was just a nook in the wall, really, but more room than you'd ever had before. There was no windows; only a small wooden side table and a straw mattress atop a wooden frame. The guard let you in and then left you.

Your fingers traced the frame. It was simply crafted but unlike anything you had had before. It was sturdy. You sat on the mattress. Comfortable, too.

You stuffed your old tunics and the carving into the side table. Then you noticed a wooden peg jutting from the wall. A place for your new clothes. You hung them up reluctantly, wishing there was somewhere you could shove them out of sight.

This was it, then. You lay back on the bed and smoothed your hands over the sheet. You had thought you might be glad for the privacy. Instead, you were lonely. You longed for Alba and the faces of familiar servants. She was probably somewhere below you, settling down for her own night.

You gritted your teeth and pushed your face into the mattress. There was no telling what tomorrow would bring. You could feel yourself being propelled towards it and braced.

Authors Note - please leave likes, asks, comments & reblogs if you enjoyed, they keep me going!!

As you can probably tell, the emperors will not be getting assasinated in this one. They're still shitty leaders but the events that lead up to their deaths in the movie will be different.

taglist - @only4thefics @doodle-with-rhy @lover-rep-fanfic @claraisme23 @sashaphantomhive @multifandombtch @t6gse370 @merrymunsons @europixie @prestinalove @malfoycassimalfoy @jovial-cowboy

[gf2bellamy]

enough — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: you don't think you're enough for spencer content warnings: mention of working on a case, feelings of insecurity / not feeling good enough, spencer and reader argue , alot of angst ( pretty much all of it) a/n: currently sick in bed :( hope you guys like this <3

part 2

You knew Spencer Reid had feelings for you. It wasn’t exactly a well-kept secret. In fact, everyone on the team seemed to know—how could they not?

The way his gaze lingered on you just a fraction longer than anyone else, the way his words stumbled over themselves when you caught him off guard, the subtle softness in his voice when he said your name.

Spencer was careful, meticulous in everything he did, but when it came to you, his emotions were a little too obvious. 

There were the small, thoughtful gestures—the extra cup of coffee waiting on your desk when you’d been up late on a case, or the way he always seemed to know exactly when you needed a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

Then there were the bigger things, like how he always volunteered to partner with you in the field, or how he fiercely defended your theories in meetings, even when they weren't perfect. 

But maybe the most telling sign of all was the way Spencer looked at you.

Like you were the only thing in the room worth noticing.

It was like he was memorizing every detail of your face, committing you to the library of his mind. And every time he looked at you like that, a warmth bloomed in your chest—a warmth you weren’t quite ready to name, but one that you felt more often than you cared to admit. 

Penelope had asked you multiple times about the situation, her curiosity impossible to suppress. “So, when are you and Boy Genius making it official?” she’d tease, wiggling her eyebrows and leaning across your desk.

Each time, you laughed it off or deflected with a joke. “What are you talking about, Pen? Spencer and I are just friends,” you’d insist, even though the words felt more and more like a lie with every passing day. 

Pretending to be oblivious to Spencer’s feelings had once been easy. A flick of the wrist, a casual smile—it had been enough to convince everyone, including yourself, that you were completely unaware. But lately, it was getting harder.

Much harder. 

Because now, every time you caught him staring at you, every time his fingers brushed yours while passing a file, every time he leaned in just a little too close when he explained something in that excited, rambling way of his, you felt it. That same warmth in your chest, that same ache you’d been trying so hard to ignore. 

The truth was, you weren’t just aware of Spencer’s feelings for you.

You also felt the same way. 

Your fingers tapped absently against your desk, a sound that seemed to echo in the quiet bullpen. Your eyes were unfocused, fixed on nothing in particular, as your thoughts wandered far from the case files scattered in front of you. 

Across from your desk, Spencer was watching you. He tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing in concern as he debated whether or not to say something. 

“Are you okay?” His soft voice cut through the quiet, pulling you back to the present. 

“Huh?” You jumped slightly, your hand pausing mid-tap as your head whipped around to face him. Your wide eyes met his, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” you added quickly, your words rushing out. 

Spencer didn’t look convinced. He leaned forward just a little, resting his elbows on the edge of his desk as his gaze searched yours. ���You seemed... distracted,” he said carefully. 

You laughed nervously, waving a hand as if to brush off his concern. “Just zoning out. It’s been a long day.” 

Spencer didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stared at you for a while, his hazel eyes soft but searching, like he could see through the thin veil of your words.

The weight of his gaze made your pulse quicken, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. 

“I’ll be right back,” you blurted suddenly, pushing your chair back. Without waiting for a response, you rushed out of the bullpen, your footsteps echoing down the hallway until you reached the bathroom. 

Inside, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding and stepped into the nearest stall, closing the door behind you. Sitting down on the closed toilet lid, you leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees and your head in your hands. 

It wasn’t the first time you’d run away like this. You weren’t proud of it, but sometimes it felt easier to escape than to face the thoughts that clawed their way to the surface when Spencer was near. 

People might call you stupid.

Stupid for ignoring the feelings of someone so gentle and sweet.

Stupid for pretending not to notice how much he cared for you, how much he had done for you.

Stupid for not taking the first step when it was obvious to everyone, including you, that Spencer Reid had feelings for you. 

But it wasn’t just Spencer’s feelings, was it? No, the truth was much harder to ignore now: you had feelings for him, too.

And yet, here you were, hiding in a bathroom stall, running away from everything. 

The reason felt silly—childish, even—but it was there, and it was real.

You were scared.

Scared that if you took that step, if you let yourself fall into the warmth of what Spencer was offering, you’d ruin him.

Spencer, who was so sweet and intelligent, so thoughtful and patient. He was everything good in this world, and you couldn’t help but feel like you’d taint him with your flaws, your insecurities. 

You didn’t think you were enough for him. 

The thought sat heavy in your chest, and no matter how much you tried to push it down, it always came back.

Spencer deserved someone extraordinary, someone brilliant and perfect—someone who wasn’t you. 

Before you could stop it, a tear slipped down your cheek. 

You were so lost in your thoughts that you almost didn’t hear the bathroom door creak open. 

A familiar, soft voice called out your name.

You quickly straightened up, dabbing at your cheeks with trembling fingers, but it was no use. The tears had already left their mark. 

You opened the stall door cautiously, revealing Penelope standing there in all her vibrant glory. Her floral skirt swirled around her knees, and her cardigan was adorned with her signature pins and patches.

Her warm, concerned eyes locked onto yours the moment the door swung open. 

“There you are,” she said gently, a small smile playing on her lips as she tilted her head. “Spence sent me to check on you. He’s worried.” 

Of course he did. The thought made your chest tighten. 

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, waving a hand as if to dismiss the obvious evidence of tears. But Penelope wasn’t one to be fooled, especially not by you. 

She raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Sweetheart, you’re standing in a bathroom stall looking like you just had a tearful heart-to-heart with yourself, so forgive me if I don’t take ‘I’m fine’ at face value.” 

You tried to laugh, but it came out shaky and weak. “It’s just... been a long day.” 

Penelope crossed her arms, giving you that patient, knowing look that only she could manage. “I know there’s more to it than that. Spence wasn’t just worried about you zoning out—he was worried about you. And judging by those red eyes, I’m guessing he’s not wrong for being worried.” 

You sighed, leaning against the stall door for support. “It’s nothing, Pen. Really.” 

Penelope softened, she placed a comforting hand on your arm. “If it’s nothing, why were you crying?” 

For a moment, you considered brushing her off again, but something about her warmth, her openness, made you pause.

Maybe it was because she was Penelope, the team’s heart and soul, or maybe it was because a part of you was tired of holding it all in. 

“It’s... about Spencer,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Penelope’s eyes lit up in understanding, and a soft smile crept across her face. “Oh, honey. Tell me everything.” 

You let out a shaky breath, walking over to the sink and staring at your reflection. The person looking back at you seemed fragile, her emotions etched plainly on her face.

Penelope followed, standing beside you, her vibrant presence grounding you as she waited patiently for you to speak. 

“I have feelings for Spencer,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the hum of the bathroom’s fluorescent lights. 

Penelope didn’t gasp or exclaim. She simply tilted her head and nodded, her soft smile growing into something more knowing, like she’d been waiting for you to admit it. 

“I figured as much,” she said gently, her tone free of judgment. “But what’s got you hiding out in here instead of doing something about it?” 

You met her eyes in the mirror, hesitating for a moment before answering. “Because I’m scared, Penelope.” Your fingers gripped the edge of the sink tightly. “I mean, he’s Spencer. He’s brilliant and kind. He deserves someone amazing, someone who can keep up with him. I just—I don’t think I’m enough for him.” 

Penelope frowned, her brows knitting together as she turned to face you fully. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up. First of all, I am going to stop you right there, missy. You are more than enough for anyone, especially Spencer Reid. Don’t even try to argue with me on that.” 

You opened your mouth to protest, but she held up a finger to silence you. 

“Second,” she continued, her voice firm but still warm, “have you met Spencer? That man practically worships the ground you walk on. Do you know how rare that is? To have someone like Spencer look at you the way he does? Trust me, sweetie, he doesn’t see anyone else but you.” 

You blinked, Penelope’s words hitting you harder than you expected. “But what if I mess it up? What if I ruin everything?” 

“Sweetheart,” Penelope said, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder, “life is messy. Love is messy. But if you keep letting that fear hold you back, you’re going to miss out on something incredible. Spencer wants you. Not someone perfect, not someone else. You.” 

Her words hung in the air, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. For a moment, all you could do was stare at her, overwhelmed by her kindness and sincerity. 

“Thank you, Penelope,” you whispered, your voice soft and earnest. 

She gave you a bright, reassuring smile, squeezing your arm gently. “Don’t stay here too long, okay? Boy Genius is worried about you, and you know how he gets when he’s worried.” 

You managed a small smile, nodding as she opened the bathroom door. “I’ll be out soon.” 

“Good,” she said with a wink, stepping out into the hallway. The door swung shut behind her, leaving you alone once again. 

You turned back to the mirror, your reflection staring back at you with the same doubts you’d walked in with. Penelope’s words were honest, comforting, and so full of truth that they made your chest ache. And yet... the doubts didn’t leave. 

They stayed. 

What if Penelope was wrong? What if you tried, and it all came crashing down, leaving your friendship in ruins? 

You pressed your lips together, inhaling a shaky breath. There was a part of you—a small, fragile part—that wanted to believe Penelope.

But the larger, louder part of you couldn’t let go of the fear. 

“Get it together,” you muttered to yourself, gripping the sink tightly. 

You couldn’t stay in this bathroom forever, hiding from the man waiting for you outside.

The man who cared enough to send someone after you when you disappeared.

The man who had always been there, quietly offering you the kind of unconditional support you never thought you deserved. 

And yet, your feet felt like they were cemented to the floor. 

The days that followed felt heavier, even after Penelope’s heartfelt pep talk. Her words lingered in your mind like an echo, but they weren’t enough to silence the whirlwind of emotions.

Everything seemed harder now that you’d acknowledged your feelings—now that you couldn’t hide from the truth. 

Sometimes, it felt like your heart was about to burst with how much love you held for Spencer.

You’d catch yourself staring at him across the bullpen, watching the way his lips moved as he explained something in that fast, excitable way of his, or the way his fingers traced invisible patterns on the edge of a file when he was deep in thought. 

And then there were the moments when you were near him—too near. Your hands would tremble when they brushed his by accident, or your breath would hitch when his cologne lingered in the air between you.

But you didn’t do anything about it. 

You convinced yourself it was for the best, that keeping things the way they were was safer. You couldn’t risk crossing that line and ruining the friendship you’d come to treasure so much. 

Still, there were cracks in your resolve. 

You weren’t sure how long you could keep this up—pretending you didn’t feel what you felt, pretending you didn’t want to close the gap between you and let yourself fall. 

One day, the tension came to a head while you and Spencer were working on the geographic profile to catch an unsub. The bullpen was unusually quiet, the rest of the team out gathering leads.

It was just the two of you, standing side by side in front of the board, the scent of coffee and marker ink filling the air. 

You reached for the same photo pinned to the board—a shot of a potential target area—and your fingers brushed his.

It was barely a touch, but it sent a jolt up your arm, and you immediately pulled back as if burned. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. You avoided his gaze, letting him take the picture as you stepped back. Not just one step—several, putting unnecessary distance between the two of you. 

Spencer hesitated, holding the picture in his hand as his eyes flicked to you. His brows furrowed slightly, concern shadowing his expression as he noticed how much space you’d suddenly created between you. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft and careful, like he was afraid of startling you. 

Your throat tightened. “I’m fine,” you said, the words automatic and unconvincing. 

Spencer wasn’t buying it. He tilted his head, his gaze searching yours in that way that always made you feel like he could see right through you.

“You’ve been... distant,” he said, his tone gentle. “Not just today, but for a while now.” 

You froze, your heartbeat quickening. “I don’t know what you mean,” you said, even though the words felt hollow in your mouth. 

He stepped closer, closing some of the space you’d put between you, his eyes never leaving yours. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked, his voice laced with uncertainty. “If I did, I—I’m sorry. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t be around me.” 

Your chest tightened painfully at the vulnerability in his voice. The idea that he thought he had done something wrong, that he might blame himself for the distance you’d created, made your stomach twist with guilt. 

“No, Spencer,” you said quickly, shaking your head. "It's just work has been getting to me.”

You turned away quickly, pretending to focus on the map pinned to the board. Your heart hammered in your chest as you felt Spencer’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer before he finally turned back to his own work. 

He let it go—for now. 

Later that evening, you were back in your hotel room, sprawled on the bed with the TV remote in hand. The case was successfully closed, the unsub in custody, but the team had decided to stay one more night before flying home.

You flipped aimlessly through the channels, barely registering the images flashing on the screen. Nothing held your attention for more than a few seconds, and the quiet hum of the TV did little to drown out your thoughts. 

With a loud yawn, you tossed the remote aside, letting it land on the bed. You leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling.  

Then came a knock at your door. 

Slowly, you got up, smoothing down your clothes as you walked to the door. 

When you opened it, your breath caught. 

Spencer stood there, hands in his pockets, his expression a mix of nervousness and determination. He was still in his dress shirt and slacks, his tie loosened just enough to suggest he’d been pacing or thinking too much, as he often did.

His hazel eyes met yours, and you saw a flicker of hesitation before he finally spoke. 

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice gentle but steady. 

“Spencer?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “What are you doing here?” 

“I—I need to talk to you,” he said, his voice laced with hesitation. He shifted his weight nervously, his hands fidgeting in his pockets. “Can I come in?” 

You stared at him, your heart racing as you tried to decipher the look in his eyes. Finally, you nodded, stepping aside to let him in.

As the door clicked shut behind him, you took a couple of deep breaths, trying to prepare yourself for whatever he wanted to talk about.

Turning back around, you walked a few steps toward him, stopping just a short distance away. You were close enough to notice the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, the tension in his posture as he stood there, clearly working through whatever thoughts were racing in his mind. 

You found yourself fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, your fingers twisting and untwisting the fabric as you waited for him to speak.

Finally, Spencer cleared his throat, his eyes meeting yours. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this,” he began, his voice soft but steady. “And I know I’ve been overthinking it, probably more than I should. But I—I couldn’t keep waiting.” 

Your fingers stilled, your breath catching as his words hung in the air. 

“I’ve noticed you pulling away,” he continued, his brows furrowing slightly. “And I’ve been trying to tell myself that maybe I was imagining it, but... I don’t think I am.” He paused, his gaze searching yours. “Are you sure I didn't do something wrong? Because if I did, I’ll fix it—I want to fix it.” 

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten, guilt and affection warring within you. “No, Spencer,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

He looked relieved for a moment, but the tension didn’t fully leave his face. “Then what is it? Because I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.” 

His honesty was disarming, his vulnerability leaving you with nowhere to hide. You opened your mouth, then closed it again, the words caught in your throat. 

“It’s... complicated,” you finally managed, your voice barely audible. 

Silence stretched out between you, thick and heavy. Spencer stood still, watching you intently, as if trying to piece together a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. His gaze flicked to your hands, noticing how they still fidgeted nervously with your clothes. 

And then he spoke. 

“I’m in love with you,” he said, the words falling from his lips so suddenly and so earnestly that they cut through the air like a blade. 

Your hands stilled immediately, your breath hitching as you raised your head to meet his eyes. The room seemed to shrink around you, everything else fading into the background as his words echoed in your ears. 

You hadn’t expected him to say it. Not like that. Not so bluntly, with no preamble or hesitation. And now, faced with the weight of his confession, you found yourself frozen, unsure of what to do or say. 

Spencer’s eyes darted nervously, meeting yours and then flicking away before returning.

He was waiting—for your answer, your reaction, anything. 

But you couldn’t bring yourself to speak, your mind racing too fast to form a coherent response. 

The silence stretched on, and you saw something shift in his expression. Disappointment. 

“I’m sorry,” he began, his voice tight, the hurt evident as he took a small step back. “I shouldn’t have—” 

“Stop,” you said, shaking your head, cutting him off mid-sentence. 

Spencer froze, his eyes wide and uncertain as he looked at you. 

“Don’t apologize,” you said softly, your voice trembling but resolute. You took a shaky breath.

You weren’t sure what to say to him, honestly. It was like your heart was trying to escape from your chest, but the words just wouldn’t come out. 

You looked at Spencer, his hair falling into his face just the way it always did when he was anxious or lost in thought. You had this overwhelming urge to reach out, to gently push his hair back behind his ear, but you didn’t.

Instead, you just stood there, staring at him, feeling more unsure than ever. 

"Spence, look, I—" you started, your voice faltering as you tried to gather your thoughts. 

His eyes were fixed on yours, waiting. He was so patient, so willing, and it made your chest tighten even more. You tried again, your words tumbling out as you fought to explain. 

“I didn’t want to mess things up with you. I’ve been scared that if I told you how I feel, it would ruin everything. Because... you deserve someone better than me, Spencer. You deserve someone who can give you the world, who can keep up with you... not someone like me.”

You caught yourself, blinking rapidly as the words tumbled out of you, not sure if you were even making sense anymore.

But it was like you couldn’t stop.

“I’ll ruin you, Spencer. I’ll drag you into my mess, and you’ll wake up one day and realize you could’ve had someone better. Someone who doesn’t second-guess every little thing or put up walls because they’re too scared to let anyone in.”

“That’s not how I see you,” Spencer said, his voice soft as he took a step closer to you. “You’re not a mess. You’re not some burden I’d have to carry. You’re—”

“Stop,” you cut him off, shaking your head as tears pricked at your eyes. “You don’t get it. You think I’m this... this version of me that you’ve built up in your head, but I’m not that person. I’m not perfect. I’m not enough.”

“Stop saying that!” His voice rose slightly, the frustration finally breaking through. You looked at him, startled, as he ran a hand through his hair. “You keep telling me what I should feel, what I deserve, like you get to decide that for me. But you don’t. I know what I want, and it’s you.”

“Spencer—”

“No, let me finish,” he said, stepping closer. “I don’t care about perfect, okay? I don’t care about whatever doubts you have about yourself, because none of that changes the fact that I love you. I love you for you, not some idealized version. And if you think for one second that I’m going to stand here and let you push me away because of some fear that you’re not ‘enough,’ then you don’t know me as well as I thought.”

His words hit you like a wave, but instead of feeling comforted, you felt overwhelmed. The emotions swirling between you both—the love, the fear, the frustration—felt like too much all at once.

“You’re not listening to me,” you said, your voice rising. “You think this is just me being insecure, but it’s not. This is me being realistic. You deserve someone who doesn’t bring you down, someone who doesn’t doubt themselves every time they look in the mirror.”

Spencer’s jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You’re the one bringing yourself down, not me. You’re the one who thinks you’re not good enough, but that’s not the truth. It’s your fear talking, not reality.”

“And maybe my fear is right,” you shot back, your voice cracking. “Maybe it’s telling me what I already know—that you’re too good for me, and I can’t be what you need.”

He stared at you, his jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling as he took a deep breath. “You think you’re protecting me by pushing me away, but you’re not. You’re just hurting both of us,” he said, his voice quiet but sharp. “You’re the only one who’s ever made me feel like this—like I’m not alone. Like I’m more than just... me. And I’m not going to let you stand there and tell me you’re not enough.”

The room felt suffocating, the tension between you crackling like a live wire.

But still, the doubt clung to you, thick and unrelenting. “Spencer, I just... I can’t,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His shoulders slumped slightly, the frustration in his eyes giving way to something softer—something sad. “I don’t know how to convince you,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with defeat. “But I can’t force you to believe me.”

For a moment, he just stood there, silent and still, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“I don’t know what else to say,” he finally murmured, his voice low and filled with a quiet hurt that made your chest ache.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. You felt paralyzed, the fear and doubt swirling inside you.

Spencer looked back up at you, his hazel eyes searching yours one last time, as if hoping to find something—anything—that might give him a reason to stay.

When he didn’t, a faint, bittersweet smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Goodnight,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

And then he turned, walking toward the door with a heaviness in his steps that you’d never seen before.

Your heart twisted as you watched him reach for the handle, every fiber of your being screaming at you to stop him, to say something, to fix this.

But the words refused to come.

Spencer paused for a fraction of a second as he opened the door, his back to you. It felt like time stood still. Then he stepped out, quietly closing the door behind him.

The sound of the latch clicking into place was deafening.

You stood there for what felt like an eternity, staring at the closed door, your chest tight and your head spinning. The room felt unbearably empty without him.

And yet, you didn’t move. You couldn’t.

Instead, you sank onto the edge of the bed, burying your face in your hands as the tears you’d been holding back finally broke free.

You didn’t know what hurt more—the fear that you’d pushed him away for good or the possibility that you’d been wrong about everything.

[bbyseok]

the final conclusion of this post, where your boyfriend gojo satoru always starts floating because of his powers whenever you kiss him…

some time in your second or third year, satoru got ahold of his powers and no longer floats up into the air after you bestow him a kiss on the lips. it’s a funny endeavor that you’ll miss, but it did make your make out sessions a whole lot easier.

it’s years later.

he’s older now—you both are; your seemingly carefree high school days are long behind you now, but the two of you still find yourselves at jujutsu high as teachers.

gojo satoru couldn’t ask for a better partner than you to help him navigate his dream in supporting a new generation of sorcerers, and he gets along with his students very well (so he says).

your life is far from perfect… plagued by dangerous curses, riddled with the higher ups’ stupidity, getting through every day not knowing what could happen next—but it’s enough for you, especially with satoru at your side.

but it seems like it’s not quite enough for satoru.

it’s some time past midnight.

even after all this time, gojo still craves those stupid, overly sweet candies and late night snack runs. old habits die hard apparently.

he claims that it keeps your love life spontaneous, and who are you to deny him?

“‘toru…” you groan, rubbing at your eyes groggily as he tugs you along.

you’re clad in one of gojo’s hoodies that thrown over you in his haste, and it’s much too big on you with your hands that are drowning in the arm sleeves. (but for the record, you look like the epitome of perfection in your boyfriend’s eyes like this.)

but the snowy-haired man pays little attention to your weak protests, his boyish laugh being carried on the evening breeze.

it’s a fond sound you’ll never tire of as he says, “come on, sweetheart! i promise i’ll get you whatever you want.”

he always does.

and after you’ve secured snacks and whatever gojo had been craving for, you’re back outside. but you only take a few steps when it strikes you that this place seems somewhat… familiar.

the artificial light glows strongly from the convenience store, paired with the glistening moonlight pouring down from the night sky. it’s simple and pretty, but you’re distracted by the way it highlights satoru’s eyes.

this is the very same place where you and satoru had your first kiss.

it’s been a while since you’ve both been here—life is like that. the lights and windows have been altered in appearance, and the building itself has aged… but it’s obvious that it’s still the same place.

“satoru?” you sputter out, surprised.

he merely grins at you, his head tilting to the side bashfully with his snowy bangs falling over his eyes. “i never forgot about this store,” he confesses, glancing at it briefly.

your gaze softens, following his gaze. “me either.”

gojo grabs ahold of one of your hands, his thumb gently tracing over the lines of your knuckles as he meets your stare again. “you know, i think i fell in love with you that night you kissed me here,” he tells you, followed by a quiet chuckle.

his words cause a flurry of butterflies to erupt in your stomach. he always manages to do that, even after all this time. “yeah?” you hum softly.

satoru nods. “mhm.” after a moment, he continues. “so i… i think it’s rather fitting that i do this here too.”

you blink at him. “..do what?”

with his free hand, gojo digs into his jacket pocket for something. there’s a permanent smile sketched onto his lips as he finds it, and then—

he slowly sinks down on to one knee.

there’s a ring held delicately in his fingers, glistening in the dark. your breath catches.

you hadn’t expected for him to propose to you like this—way past your bedtime next to the convenience store with a grocery bag full of candies in your hands but now that you think about it… it’s very gojo satoru for you.

at the look of bewilderment painted over your face, satoru laughs.

“well…” and he utters your name with a tenderness that you and only you know, “will you marry me?”

a wobbly laugh leaves you then, your heart caught in your throat. “—!? yes! yes, satoru, i’ll marry you.”

gojo slips the ring onto your finger with ease, like it had always belonged there. you immediately pull him up to his feet as the two of you eye how the gemstone glimmers against your skin.

when your eyes meet his crystalline blue ones, it feels like the stars are under your feet, meeting him halfway in a passionate kiss.

you’ve kissed him probably more than millions of times in this lifetime—through the good and the bad; some are somber, some are silly.

and tonight?

you’re— oh, you’re floating.

sure enough, satoru’s feet are off the floor due to his powers for old times’ sake, dragging you up with him in his arms, and it makes you giggle against his lips.

“‘toru?!!”

but gojo seems just as surprised and amused by this circumstance just as you are. you can feel the puff of his laughter, the kind of laughter that makes his shoulders shake.

“guess you still sweep me off my feet,” satoru cheekily remarks.

to which you only respond with a fond roll of your eyes—and another kiss that steals his breath away and keeps you both in the air.

oh, well—soon, he’ll be your husband that occasionally floats when you kiss him.

[dwaekkicidal]

cw» fem!reader, kitty hybrid reader x puppy hybrid!channie, mentions of p in v, manhandling, there’s a few more but nothing too crazy/out of the blue

cw» not really proofread, but this is for that one anon who asked for kitty reader a few months ago <3 sorry it took so long

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

pup!channie who was very against his owner adopting another hybrid, let a lone a cat of all species. but it's not like he has much of a say in it- it's supposed to be his new "friend" so he's not alone while his owner is at work all day!

pup!channie who scares you shitless before you two even meet. your new owner warned you and told you all kinds of scary things about the dog you'll be living with from now on

but queue faces of surprise, from all 3 of you, when chan's face burns red and his tail starts wagging aggressively the second he sees you

pup!channie who gets addicted to your scent from day 1. he just loooves the way you smell. that and your endearingly cute demeanor only leads to him quickly growing a little crush on you~

pup!channie who surprises you and your owner when he opens his space to you right off the bat- with little to no aggressiveness coming from the boy.

pup!channie who welcomes you with open arms, even going far enough to allow you to lay (and sleep with him) in his bed. your owner was scared at first but quickly grew to trust chan enough that he didn't bother getting you your own bed- simply allowing you to sleep with chan

pup!channie who stares daggers into every person, human or hybrid, who even glances your way. your pretty head is never worried about anything enough to notice the stares, but chan has eyes of a hawk when it comes to you.

pup!channie who scents you unbeknownst to you. sneakily scenting you and your clothes to the point where it's just a natural smell to you- you don't question where it comes from anymore now that you're conditioned to live in the smell- but the smell follows you everywhere enough to scare other hybrids away

pup!channie who is SO easily jealous and refuses to let anybody near you. your owner has to muzzle HIM when you go to the doctor because the mere thought of strangers being so close to you, maybe even touching you makes him seethe.

^ and this is even worse when your owner brings their friends around. the onslaught of questions like "ohh how did you get that mutt to tolerate your new, pretty kitty" was already enough to piss him off, but when the friends try to touch you, he sees red. he actually loses all sense of rationality and will bite the person if they don't back away within his first growl.

and all of this is innocent at first! until its not.

it loses all innocence when mating season comes around, and you both discover your owner wasn't responsible enough to account for the clash of hormones. they thought about the possibility of you getting pregnant and put you on birth control "just in case", but they didn't take into account that the hormones would still be there in full force.

and that leads to what happened at the beginning of the week. your owner is out on a business trip that just so happens to be 2 weeks long, and channie has begun to feel the first signs of his heat. but it wasn't until he came home from a short grocery outing, and smelt your scent for the first time in hours, that he realized his heat was hitting him.

it wasn't until he was standing the doorway of your shared room, groceries long forgotten on the kitchen floor, that he felt the heat start coursing through his veins.

it wasn't until he had your face shoved into the sheet, balls deep in your cunt, that the emotions started to hit him.

"C-Channie! Slow down, p-please-" He shushes you and thrusts harder, his balls slapping against your clit each time he bottoms out. "Pretty kitty- MY pretty kitty."

"Chan~" Your whines only made him growl and push into you harder. He was using both hands to hold you down, one in your hair and the other on your shoulder, but he trailed the lower of the two down to your ass after some time.

His hand comes down on your ass suddenly, making you yelp out of surprise. The yelp turns into a moan when his hand wraps around the base of your tail and tugs.

"A-Ah!?" He doesn't release it. Instead, he tightens his hold on your tail and continues to lightly tug on it as leverage to pull you back onto his cock. Your hand that's not tangled in the sheets goes behind to push his hand away and Chan growls again, releasing your hair to dig his hands into your wrist and hold it above your head in order to get you to stop resisting him.

"You're gonna take it, right baby? Gonna let me fuck you full of my pups?" You attempt to push yourself up with your free hand, only to fall back down when his canines dig into the side of your neck. "Answer my fucking question before I lose my patience, kitty."

"Yes! I'll take it all. Anything for you, Channie…” You could feel the smirk break out against your neck, and it seems like your promise was enough to scratch an itch in his stupid dog brain.

now, days into his heat, you feel your own heat starting up- no doubt thanks to the restless hound that was adamant about rearranging your insides and trying to get you pregnant.

the two of you had barely left the room by the mid point of the next week. your owner had to call in a friend to bring you guys food every night- at first they weren't really aware of what was going on thanks to the vague texts chan sent (in the middle of you riding him, might i add), but boy could his friend smell the sex from the front door.

and channie had absolutely no plan to stop fucking you, even as your owner's friend poked their head in to check on you two for your owner. he simply gave them the nastiest side eye and tightened his grip around your neck, seemingly fucking into you even harder as he held eye contact and growled at the person to leave.

and then once they did leave, he continued fucking you as if the world was ending and the two of your would never see each other again.

“Attagirl, baby. Take this knot and Channie’ll breed your pains away.”

Taglist (red=can’t be tagged):

@valkyriexo @lunearta @jabmastersupriseee @rylea08

@yaorzu-blog @amararosesblog @jiminssluttyminx @clemissleepy

@miss-daisy04 @kittyxnoa @dwaekkiiracha @honeyybbuubblleess

@mariteez @fun-fanfics @honeyybbuubblleess @kittycatkrissa

@nicora04 @chuuyaobsessed @moonlightndaydreams @velvetmoonlght

@aeri-skzver

[katakaluptastrophy]

This is your semi-regular reminder that for all that he very much leans into being 'just a guy', John Gaius is a horribly unsettling and disturbing eldritch entity who has not been entirely human for 10,000 years:

As the world went up I remade us both. I hid me in you... I hid you in me. And when we were together... I became God..

We're repeatedly told how uncanny Alecto was. And how terribly ordinary-looking John is...but how deeply, deeply upsetting his eyes are to behold. They're repeatedly described as "monstrous" (on one occasion, directly before John jokes "I'm not a monster"), as well as "terrible", "like dead planets", "primordial", "chthonic", "inconceivable", and "deeply fucked up".

There are multiple descriptions of how his down to earth persona suddenly falls away and he can be seen as something infinitely more awful:

"terrible divinity clung to his skin"

"It was the first time that he had seemed at all mortal. Humanity touched him briefly, like a passing shadow"

"He was no longer human. He was immortal again"

"He was always somehow more alive than everyone else around him, and yet dislocated from what you considered living. A man-shaped eclipse."

"The Emperor of the Nine Houses - the Resurrection - the First Reborn - sat at the end of the table, his plain face splattered with gore, and his eyes were the death of light."

There's one moment in particular where Harrow perceives him as something vastly beyond human:

his great immortal age - of an enormous distance between you, of an ignition too bright for you to conceive. You were an insect standing before a forest fire. You were a cell holding a heart.

(Though of course Harrow herself is far from metaphysically straightforward - in the River, Gideon says "You were a sigil: you were an intermingled fire...you were a hunger without a stomach...")

When John describes Resurrection Beasts to Harrow - although we do not yet know that this is a confession of murder and of a sort of cannibalism by a part man, part planet - he is "lit from beneath by electric lighting, the gleam in his eyes black and wet. You caught him moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue."

Even when he's not obviously being an eldritch thing, his very normal crown of foetal bones moves on its own, and the white rings in his eyes are described as flickering. Even blithely sitting in a Cohort Admiralty meeting munching peanuts, John is in constant, unsettling motion.

As if that doesn't already sound unpleasant enough, it seems rather like there is something physically discomforting about making eye contact with John. Looking on those white rings is likened to "dying" and "a migraine", and described as "scalding".

It still hurt you a little, to look into his terrible eyes... You had never become used to it.

Making eye contact with John doesn't just cause physical pain. It also seems to open you up to some degree of suggestion or compulsion. Here's Gideon's description of making eye contact with John:

God looked at me...and held my gaze. It was this that pinned us in place. When those white rings hovered on someone else, the blood rushed back to your brain; when they flickered back to me, I went white and blank again, mute and stupid, a floating outline... Those white-ringed eyes closed, and your heart almost relaxed in your chest.

Which seems to place two incidents that otherwise might be explained as Harrow's difficulty refusing the man she has been raised to worship as god in a different light:

It still hurt you in an undefinable way, to see him lowered so: as though he offered a compliance test where you ought to flatten yourself in front of him as low as you could go. The white ring around his pupil was so white.

He looked at you as though he were glad to see you... some nameless softening in his face and those white-tinged, primordial eyes. He reached out for your hands. You could not refuse him, and in any case had no choice of doing so; your body reacted long before your mind did, and the meat of your meat and the flesh of your flesh belonged to God

I don't think we're nearly frightened enough of John... Or of the prospect of John and Alecto - the man who became god and the god who became man - reunited (even if at odds) in ATN...

[stealingpotatoes]

EVERYONE GREAT NEWS REWRITE ANON RETURNED AND BLESSED US W MORE! i'll copy & paste the rest of the asks under the cut ⬇️ it's pretty long but worth the read (ive left my own notes in pink)

[continued from screenshot] We didn’t come up with a new name for Kylo Ren/Ben Solo but we did come up with a new arc and I put him in a traditional Alderaanian cape in the concept art sketches because he deserves to be an Organa (potes notes: YES!!!). I also gave him a lightning scar instead of a lightsaber scar because it made a bit more sense.

Our general plan was that yes, he’s still evil, at least a bit. His parents and uncle are awe-inspiring war heroes as well as being incredibly busy making sure the entire Galaxy doesn’t collapse in on itself in the power vacuum left behind by the Empire. Luke is part of a humanitarian aid/Geneva Convention type wing of the New Republic and Kylo finds himself both feeling like he lacks the means to prove himself and like they’re not doing enough to squash the threat of insurgence - which is still a clear threat and there have been multiple attempts on his mother’s life that have left the family scared. He absorbs certain parts of his mother and father’s political conduct; Leia’s willingness to fight for what’s right and Han’s general impulsiveness.

Anyway keep that in mind. He makes a stupid bid to try and prove himself by trying to fight off a whole imperial remnant cell alone “Just like the Jedi used to do.” and ends up going completely missing. Tl/dr: he’s super close to death and the big bad of the movie steps in to save him, teaching him what he always wanted to learn - how to fight and defend the people you love rather than focusing on connection to the force. Kylo doesn’t see the significance of that side of things, both because his parents don’t have an interest in it and because he’s grown up with tales of the daring exploits of Master Luke taking on ten people at once and chopping robots to bits. He just wants to make people proud of him. (OHHH THIS IS SO GOOD SO SO MUCH BETTER)

He’s pretty young when this happens too, and eventually his mind is twisted to believe that the only way to keep everyone safe is dictatorship. He’s grown up in a long, slow, difficult democracy with constant political unrest and everyone’s described how powerful and stable the Empire was his whole life - doesn’t matter that they were talking about how cool it was that they beat it. He still absorbed all that. (THIS IS SUCH A GOOD CHARACTER MOTIVATION and also great setup for themes/discussions on radicalisation and its like poetry it rhymes w anakin's fall omg)

Anyway, flash forward to the time of the films. He’s not a Sith, he can’t manage to push himself that far into the dark side. But he wants to be. He’s got a complex about it, he’s obsessed with getting stronger because then maybe they’ll be proud of me. He loses his first fight with Rey, not because she’s strong in the force at this point, but because he’s trained himself to the point of exhaustion after being reprimanded for a minor failure in interrogating Poe. He can barely move and he’s on the verge of fainting when they corner him in fact. He’s practically addicted to the pain of overtraining himself because that pain is what connects him to the dark side. (GOOD FIX!! 10/10 writing omg)

When Rey actually becomes a more formidable opponent in the force, he asks her “Who trained you?” and she tells him it was Han, not knowing the blow this is going to strike. This gets in his head. Badly. Han never understood the force when he was a kid, and was still not the best at being emotionally vulnerable (he was a great dad! But he was still the man who said “I know.” to “I love you.” (oop yep ok see ur point LOL)). Kylo isn’t to know that Han was FORCED to overcome this stuff through a brief stay in absolute hell. He asks what she can possibly have that he doesn’t, how is she better than him? And when he lashes out at Rey, telling her about the Han he knew, she doesn’t believe him and calls him a liar and a terrible son. This fight (which takes place on water) ends up with Rey almost drowning as Kylo throws a massive force tantrum, and Kylo having a breakdown under the sea in a force air bubble after the fight is over.

I think I’ll do a couple more asks because this one has been super long! I’m sorry if this was a chore to read I just thought I’d share if you liked the last one hah.

--------------------------------------------------

Rewrite anon again! I’m sorry if this is getting tedious!

We had a general plan for Kylo Ren’s redemption where Rey would be in danger of falling to the dark side by the end of the second film (IM LISTENING), and Kylo would already be on the path to questioning things after some hard hitting blows

Death of Luke (his master) (;-;)

Rey was trained by and kind of adopted by Han and has become the galaxy’s beacon of hope. Maybe it is all on him. And she loves Han so much that it’s hard for his new master to twist the facts on him anymore.

The third film would be a fucked up family reunion type bit where Kylo begs for forgiveness and him and Han set off to try and save Rey together. (YESSSSSSS!!! omg this is everything to me holy shit)

Thanks for the listen! I hope these aren’t too annoying. (IM LOVING IT)

---------------------------------------

Rewrite anon again (sorry). Wanted to mention Leia, Poe and Finn.

Leia is dealing with a massive insurgence threat which is why she sends Rey (galaxy’s last hope) away with Han (good at hiding. Also the only person she could both trust and spare).

Finn and Poe both comment a lot on how Rey’s galactic significance makes her blind to people’s lives. The New Order might keep her alive because she’s valuable, and Kylo might listen to her, but Finn and Poe are both canon fodder to both Kylo and the New Order. Hierarchy of lives and all that. (oooo yes that'd be such a fun like... counterpoint to the whole Skywalker Saga & fate-destiny-soap-opera)

Poe used to be a fighter pilot but is now more of a political leader and provides a necessary voice in the senate to backwater outer rim planets. He’s Leia’s political mentor (i assume you meant mentee/student?) with none of her royal manners and all of her intensity.

Finn isn’t exactly a clone, but he is grown in a lab. He’s more of a super-soldier than a clone, designed at the genetic level to be basically eugenics’ perfect man. (puts on my CATWS stan hat im listening) He becomes a field agent/espionage/sabotage type guy after defecting from the New Order because he doesn’t want to be involved in active combat any more, even though it’s hardwired into him and he has to fight it the whole way. Luke takes a liking to Finn before his death and teaches him about the importance of forging your own identity first before you start to think about where you’ve come from.

Hope you like the ideas lol we had a lot.

------------------------------------------------

Final (?) ask from rewrite anon maybe. It’s about Han because we did kinda just make the Han movies I realise.

Han saves Rey from pirates after she finally cheats herself offworld for the first time and finds herself overwhelmed. After losing Kylo to the New Order he has long since realised his shortcomings in parenting and while he works up the courage to reach out to his son, he uses Rey kind of like a do-over child. (...healthy!)

Han ends up stuck with Rey after Luke’s death and with Leia pinned down on all sides, and as well as trying to give her super DIY teaching, he realises she can talk to Luke. Understandably this hits him like a truck while he’s grieving his friend, and him and Luke have a kind of Haymitch and Katniss communicating-without-communicating relationship. Han can’t see or hear Luke, but he knows when Luke’s trying to use timing to tell him something. (AGH I LOVE THISSSSSSSSSSS YES using a THG comparison makes me love it even more)

Han also survives until the end of the films. Harrison Ford would hate me for this he wants that guy to die so bad but no the smuggler from the fuck end of nowhere with no cosmic significance, no nothing, just the power of love and a gun makes it to the end. The survivor’s guilt is insane. (ohh LOVE THATTT!!! ESPECIALLY W UR EARLIER THING OF FINN N POE SEEING THEMSELVES AS CANON FODDER WITHOUT A GALACTIC DESTINY)

Hope you enjoyed reading these and that they weren’t too much of a bore. Maybe I’ll write some of this stuff down if people like it. (EVERYONE TELL ANON HOW MUCH YOU LIKE THIS RIGHT NOW)

---------------------------------------------------------

Rewrite anon again (sorry)

Rey does of course lose her hand (fair, as is tradition) and she replaces it with a shitload of gadgets massively egged on by Han and Chewie. I think she’d have a special glove for it kind of like the equalist gloves in LOK. (SICK!)

Would also be great to have a ‘jedi’ protagonist who is even less aware of standard practice than Luke and will try definitely illegal moves like changing the length of the blade mid fight or kicking sand in your opponent’s eyes. (LMAO amazing omg)

---------------------------------------- (that was the last ask)

Me and my friend had some fun trying to rewrite the sequel trilogy a while ago and I think the best idea we had was Luke dies and Han and Rey get stranded on some nowhere planet where he has to haphazardly attempt to teach her years of jedi training in like a week entirely by reading out of Luke’s notes (somehow even worse than Luke’s extremely DIY training in the OT).

This isn’t at all based on the ‘Han has the force’ theory it’s literally just crabby atheist old man Han Solo and his dead best friend’s religious texts that are totally useless to him vs the world.

i LOVE that, disney needs to get you two rewriting the sequels STAT

(commission info // tip jar!)

[euthymiya]

if you hold me without hurting me (you’ll be the first who ever did) — ft. sylus

synopsis: sylus is too causal with accepting pain. you don’t like seeing him hurt, so the best solution you can come up with is seeing him in pleasure

— word count: 2.4k words — it’s a miracle i kept it this short

— before you read: female hunter reader ; mature content. not suitable for minors ; not exactly established relationship but implied romantic connection. idk it’s complicated LOL ; injured sylus ; described blood and injuries ; evol inhibitors to make his injuries a bit more serious ; not proof read : hand jobs ; banter ; that’s it pretty much i just wanted to write him cumming

— comments: i am posting this 3 mins before i need to leave for work this man has me hustling before my hustle rip

The safe house is quiet. Not including the sounds of Sylus’s low, pained grunts as you dress his wounds, it’s quiet. You’re quiet, and it’s unsettling—on a typical day, you’re more than half the noise.

(In a good way, of course. Sylus is not a liar by any means, and saying he doesn’t like the constant sound of your voice as you talk would be a ridiculously big lie. He values the truth in things.)

It means you’re brooding. Sulky, petulant brooding. He’ll just have to fix that, he thinks—and soon, too.

“I’ll have to trouble you a bit longer, sweetheart,” he murmurs, breaking the silence as he glances at his arm.

You glance up and stare at the damage: a stab wound to his abdomen, a gash on his arm, and ugly, unwelcome bruises littering across soft, slightly tanned skin.

You frown. It borders on a scowl. He watches as you carefully stitch the wound closed on his lower belly with precise fingers. (Faintly, his mind registers that you’re good at this. Too good at this. He doesn’t like the implications of that—not for his own case and especially not for yours.)

“Does it hurt?” You mumble, finally.

Sylus is not a liar by any means, so he hums, titling your chin up and forcing you to pause. “Yes,” he says truthfully. You’d never guess he was in pain just by the look on his face—but there are always signs if you look close enough.

Sticky, sweaty skin. Deep, labored breaths. Slumped posture that’s so far from his usual tall, towering stance. He looks just a bit tired, too. Like sleeping (something he rarely does to be considered healthy) would be his ideal course of action right now.

You frown at his admission. “I told you not to get so close,” you huff, “you never wait for me.”

He chuckles. Deep, slow. Every time Sylus laughs, you’re reminded how powerful he is. How even through the sound of his amusement alone, he sounds important. Wealthy, too, if you’re being honest—he laughs like the rich. But that’s always amused you more than it’s impressed.

“You seem rather distraught, love. Dare I say….you’re concerned?”

“You’re too smart to act this stupid,” you spit.

He grins. It’s large, wide, and all too smug for someone who’s under your hands as you mend back torn skin. Gently, he hums, “so the kitten bares her fangs. How cute.”

Your mood is getting increasingly worse. Sylus knows that—but sometimes, he’s a little selfish. Pushing you harder, cornering you against the wall with smart words and sly teasing is the only way to make you open up sometimes.

And, well, Sylus is no liar. He likes your attention. And more than that, he likes knowing you care.

“You don’t think I’m capable,” you accuse, narrowing your eyes.

“And when did I say that, Miss Hunter?”

“You don’t have to say it, I know. Otherwise, you’d listen when I tell you to wait,” comes your agitated reply.

Sylus does not wait for you. He jumps into a fight without letting you step foot onto the battlefield. Most times, it’s a minor form of irritation on your end when you’re itching to get in a good few hits. Sometimes, like now, it makes your emotions saturated in every form of distress.

Anger. Sadness. Regret. Panic. All of it simmers and simmers until you feel you’re overflowing with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

He pays the price today—one sloppy dodge of a blade, and it impales his lower abdomen with precision, lacing him with something. Something that evidently is rather good at repressing his evol—he can’t fight nearly as well let alone heal.

You can’t help but feel useless. More than anything, under appreciated. Maybe, if he’d waited just a moment so you could have covered him, then maybe your night would end with less blood on your hands and less pain on his.

“You’re also too bright to act this dim,” he says lowly, voice just a bit tight with pain. You tighten his stitches, and he doesn’t even grimace despite the clearly unpleasant sensation.

“Do tell me,” you glare, “just what am I being dim about?”

“If you think I don’t recognize your capabilities,” he drawls, studying the knife that once tore through his flesh slowly. It’ll be analyzed at the base. You’re certain he’ll figure out just what the blade was laced with and trace it back to its origins soon enough. He sets it down and meets your gaze—deep, rich crimson bleeding into your gaze. “Then maybe you’re not as good at seeing the bigger picture as I thought.”

“That you’re a smug bastard who likes to prove you’re better on your own?”

“That I care about you,” he says plainly. “I can handle it. It’s better you than me.”

“You could have died,” you hiss, “if I wasn’t there—”

“I’d have lived either way,” he says smugly. “Killing me is a rather difficult thing to do. Inflicting pain, on the other hand….well, at least it keeps things interesting.”

Your face drops. Not because he’s wrong, but because he’s so right. You can injure him all you want, but he heals fast enough that he’s here to stay. Like an annoying thorn that keeps pricking you as you pick roses. Like a weed that just keeps growing back the more you tear them from the ground. He comes back. Annoying as he is, he comes back. And you don’t mind that so much—you think you might even need it that way.

But it always hurts. He bleeds red just like any other person. Grimaces here and there despite how accustomed he is to the agony. Somewhere along the line, his pain became yours.

And you can’t help but be hyper aware of how much you despise it.

“I hate when you’re hurt,” you whisper.

“I’ll live,” he soothes, cupping your cheek and swiping a stray tear with a large, callused thumb. You shiver, pouting slightly at the words. “I’ve had worse.”

“But you still feel the pain.”

“Can anyone really avoid that, sweetie?” He raises an amused brow.

Before he can open his mouth to add more, you lean closer, careful not to hurt his wound as you press against his chest and bury your head into his neck, pressing a light kiss to the skin.

His breath hitches, and you think you’ve finally gotten through that thick, stubborn shell of front of his.

“If it hurts,” you murmur, “then I can make it feel good.”

He shivers—barely, of course. But he shivers. It’s a small win. “Oh?” He asks carefully, his good arm curling around your waist to keep you in place. “And how so?”

You press a lingering kiss to his jaw. Your lips are not strangers to Sylus. They know him as well as he knows them too, but you’ve always danced along the edge of more than friends and less than lovers. One second, you think you’ve stepped over the line with graceful steps, the next you fall ten steps back.

Right now, you think you don’t care. Line be damned and whether you’re just friends or lovers, you couldn’t be more unbothered.

“I don’t like when people touch you,” you admit, “not at all. But especially not so….rough.”

“Mmh, jealous are we? Don’t worry, you’re the only one I willingly let touch me,” he grins. You roll your eyes, watching as he shuffles back to lean against the couch and relax.

“I should be the only one who touches you,” you say with an air of petulance.

“Yes, yes,” he agrees, placating your mood, “then show me something more gentle,” he whispers.

You smile. It’s the first one of the night, lips curling against the shell of his ear as you breathe, “oh I intend to.”

Just like that, your hand trails up his thigh, carefully tracing along the inner edge of his leg before your palm roams over his crotch. There’s a bulge forming as if on command. Your ego boosts just a little—for all his strength and endurance, one brief, mere little touch from you forces his body to react against his will.

“Is this really where you should be putting in all your effort?” His breath hitches, and the tips of his ears flush a pretty, soft little pink, “my arm still has an open wound, you know.”

“You’ve had worse,” you repeat his words back to him, “but let me show you better.”

It’s quick work, unblocking his belt and unzipping him just enough to gently pull out his half-hard cock. You glance down, smiling at the small bead of pre cum that leaks from the tip, forming a small little opportunity for you to watch him squirm as your thumb grazes his cockhead to collect it.

You smear it along his length as you slowly stroke him to full hardness, and he offers you a shaky little huffed out, “fuck,” under his breath.

“Does that hurt, too?” You hum, nose pressing into his jaw as you kiss his neck.

“No,” he sighs, melting into you, “no it feels so good. Don’t stop.”

“Do you see how nice it is when you just trust me?” You scold, “now apply this to the battlefield, too.”

He chuckles deeply at that, closing his eyes and fighting the urge to fuck his hips into your fist—his stitches are still fragile enough that he doesn’t want to risk tearing them. Instead, he has to trust that you’ll give him what he needs, all on your own.

“I’d rather get hurt and be spoiled like this,” he mumbles, “than risk anything happing to you. Seems like a better option if you ask me.”

“So stubborn,” you click your teeth.

Sylus is not a liar. You know that. If he says you’re capable, then you believe him—and if he says that he’d rather take the brunt of injuries and the pain that comes with them just to finish a fight before you can be involved, you know it’s not a lie. But you don’t always like the truth. You don’t like knowing he uses himself as a shield of sorts for you, as some wall between you and pain or maybe even death just because he can. Just because he heals. Just because he thinks he should.

You don’t always like the truth. Sometimes, you’d rather live in a lie.

So you tell yourself he thinks you’re less than him. That you’re lacking and beneath his approval and you have something to prove—so your hand tightens around his thick, reddened cock and you stroke fast. Quick and to the point.

Enough to have him groaning with an arm instinctively moving to cover his eyes as he throws his head back—only he hisses, feeling the stinging tug on his gash as he moves.

You hum, guiding his arm back down as you cup his cheek and murmur, “careful now. You’re hurt—I wonder whose fault that is.”

He rolls his eyes at the comment—but one swipe of your thumb through his slit has them rolling back in pleasure before he can glare at you. “You’re rather smug today,” he huffs, “do you like seeing me defenseless, sweetheart?”

“Not for the reasons you might think,” you say sweetly, grinning as you peck his cheek. Right where you cut him the first time you met. Right where you think you’ll always have to soothe so he knows you didn’t mean it.

Not anymore, at least.

“You’re far from the innocent kitten you seem to be,” he grins, huffing out a soft laugh as it tapers off into a light, breathy moan.

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes.”

“Enough to make you forget the pain?”

“Oh yes,” he grins. Suddenly, a wave of red wraps around your hand and forces your grip to tighten. “I’ve forgotten I was injured at all.”

His evol, you realize—it’s back.

You stare at the gash on his arm—crimson on crimson as the flurry of his power replaced the blood, leaving behind soft, healthy skin. Not a scar left behind. Not a trace of pain. Not even a faint line of where torn flesh mended together and became new.

He’s had worse, you remember. And he comes back from it every damn time.

Still, you think—you’re going to give him better.

“I don’t want you hurting because of me,” you breathe, leaning into his chest and pressing your weight against him without worry, now. Your hand fists his shirt as his arms wrap around you and keep you close.

Your hand glides along his girth between your bodies, working him up slowly, slowly, slowly until it all feels like it’ll come crashing down all at once. His breath hitches as he lets out a light groan of your name.

It sounds pretty on his tongue. You’re more determined to pull nicer sounds from him, too, so you kiss under his ear lobe, sucking gently on the skin and feeling him let out a soft, labored gasp.

“Will you spoil me like this every time I’m hurt?” He breathes.

You scowl and hiss, “no. Absolutely not. Then you’ll just hurt more.”

He smiles smugly at the retort, biting his lip as you squeeze your fist around him tighter. “A smart little kitten, aren’t you? Sharpening your claws.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You like me enough to worry. I think that says enough.”

“Asshole,” you glare.

He’s shameless, you think. Because the insult brings him to the edge, his mouth falling open to a beautiful face of bliss, body quivering under you in soft tremors of pleasure. Sylus is beautiful. Dark, rough around the edges, and uncut stone with sharp corners. Beautiful enough to want, dangerous enough to slice your fingers if you don’t know how to touch him properly.

You admire him as he spills into your hands, his lips desperately searching yours as he leans closer and pulls you into a kiss, heavy breaths pouring into your mouth as he gives himself to you.

“Good,” he pants, “you…you make me feel so good.”

“That’s what I’m supposed to be here for,” you murmur, “do you don’t have to feel pain.”

You stroke him through his orgasm, until he’s soft and pliant and limp under your touch. Gently, you stroke his cheek with a thumb as you cup his face. He leans into your touch and closes his eyes.

“As capable as you are,” he says quietly, “I like the idea of you spending your energy in other fields of expertise. Sue me.”

“I should,” you purse your lips. “Sue you for all you’re worth.”

“It’ll be worth the troubles,” he says smugly, “you’ll get quite the sum if you manage.”

And he’s not a liar, either—so you scoff at his smug, truth-telling grin before giving his curved lips a small peck.

Girl . Idk

[sinofwriting]

Faking It - Max Verstappen

Words: 850 Summary: Max finds out his girlfriend faked an orgasm. Note(s): NSFW, Talks of Sex, Mention of Semi-Public Sex. Part of a kind series where drivers find out reader faked an orgasm.

Max pauses just before the entryway to the living room. “Have you ever y’know?” His brows furrow at the vague question from his girlfriend’s best friend.

“Have I ever what?”

“Faked it. Have you ever faked an orgasm?”

She scoffs, “Before Max, yes.”

His cheeks turn a bit pink at the conversation he was overhearing, but he also stands a bit taller.

He knew that their sex life was good, that she was getting orgasms, they had of course talked about it, but it was different hearing her talk to someone else about it with no idea he was there.

His brows furrowed in confusion when she speaks again, “well, I don’t really know if it counts as faking it.”

“What?”

“I mean, there’s been a few times when we’ve had sex where I didn’t orgasm.”

His mind starts screaming at him, because what? He always made sure she came, usually before he did.

“Not because it wasn’t good or because I didn’t want to. I just couldn’t.” He can practically see the shrug she gives. “The sex was still good though.”

“Y/N!” Her friend screeches and it breaks up a little through the phone.

The words replay in his head as he goes back to their bedroom, lying down on the bed. He tries to think of when she would have faked it but nothing comes to mind. He’s so wrapped up in his head he doesn’t hear her call his name or get onto the bed until she’s laying down on top of him, his arms instinctively wrapping themselves around her.

“What you thinking about?” She asks, pressing kisses to his jaw.

It normally relaxes the feeling of her lips pressed against his skin but not quite where he wants them, a lovely prelude to before she kisses him, but he can’t get past what he heard and he’s never been practically shy.

“When did you fake it? Having an orgasm with me?”

Her fingers pause where they had begun to lift his shirt to slide under. “Max, it’s not a big deal.”

His frown deepens and he’s pushing her upwards so they can look at each other. “Yes, it is. I always thought that I made you orgasm, usually first. And now I’ve found that isn’t true.”

She shakes her head. “You do! I promise you do.”

He doesn’t say anything and she sighs.

“It’s only happened twice.”

He doesn’t know if he’s relieved that it only happened twice or pissed that he failed twice. It should have never happened but twice was far too much.

“The first time was after the FIA gala last year.”

His eyebrows furrow, “But you talk about that night a lot.”

“It was a good night. I felt good, amazing. I loved everything we did, I just wasn’t able to orgasm. I didn’t feel unsatisfied or anything. Especially not with my wake-up call.”

He smirks at the reminder of the next morning. He had woken up just as the sun was rising and had ducked under the covers and ate her out until she was begging for him to stop. His jaw and tongue had ached for hours after, but it was worth it for the taste of her stayed just as long.

“The second time was in China. I just couldn’t stop thinking about what if someone walked in.”

“So, I didn’t fuck you good enough.”

She slaps his chest lightly, sending him a disbelieving look. “I was limping a little after. And you're lucky I was wearing those heels and everyone believed me when I said I twisted my ankle.”

“I’m sorry.” Max apologizes again, picking up her hand and kissing it. He still felt a little bad that their first foray into semi-public sex had been so rough. “Why didn’t you tell me though? That I didn’t make you come?”

“It wasn’t that big of a deal to me.” She tells him. “I love having sex with you, it always feels good regardless of me orgasming or not. And in those two instances I was just happy to be that close to you.”

He stares at her, looking deep into her eyes. He still feels like he’s failed but the way she’s looking at him, all gentle wide eyes filled with truth. “I’ll let it go.”

She snorts and he covers her mouth with his hand.

“But only if you tell me next time. Just so I can immediately make it up to you.” He says, removing his hand as he says the last word.

“Okay, I’ll tell you next time.”

“Thank you.” He murmurs, pressing their lips together.

She hums into the kiss, her one hand slipping out of his and returning to the hem of shirt, drawing it up so she can slip her hands underneath and his stomach flexes at the feeling of her fingertips and he’s rolling them over. Easily putting himself in between her legs.

“Feel like making a mess for me?”

She lets out a happy little sigh, teeth lightly sinking into her bottom lip as she nods. “Please?”

“Of course.”

[cugzarui]

initial worldbuilding

alternate history where humans went a bit more overboard with fossil fuels (and started with them a lot earlier) and global warming covered the world in oceans. society divided into three main categories:

landlobers: clinging to life on the few small islands that are left. even if they figured out fossil fuels were the problem they decided the world is already fucked so might as well keep using them. the technology of this group varies wildly from wild savages using sticks and stones to a technologically advanced society with like androids and stuff. the only limitation for them is they dont have enough land to develop too big or too quickly. plus the weathers kinda awful which makes things difficult. oh and the sea peoples

the sea peoples (pirates): most people couldnt evacuate to the islands but some managed to survive on boats. the islands eventually stopped accepting refugees and even started violently expelling them as there just wasnt enough land to support everyone. as a consequence, the sea peoples became much better at surviving on the water. and, at stealing from the landlubbers. eventually they became pretty self sustaining and don't really need to steal so much anymore but they still have animosity to the landlubbers over past grievances and so harass and steal from them as a way of life. there are also a few things they legitimately cant make on their own since they live on the ocean surface. specifically, metal. which requires mining ores to manufacture.

the sea peoples have a much more consistent level of technology; both because they need to maintain a minimum level of tech for their lifestyle, and because they have access to all the islands and their technology (though unreliable access).

mermaids/sirens/etc: some humans survived through rapid mutation and evolution, becoming semi-aquatic. these people had a rough road and barely survived, but now they are by far the largest group and are a major threat to the sea peoples. some were also genetically engineered by the more advanced islands.

these people generally become more like animals in their way of life as human technology doesnt work well underwater, and is difficult to make there. they do have impressive natural abilities though, including sonar, the ability to hold their breath for an hour at a time, excellent swimming, the ability to swim while sleeping, the ability to sleep with one hemisphere at a time and sleep for only four hours a night, resistance to cold, resistance to pressure changes, tough smooth skin (except the palms which are incredibly rough even when wet, giving them great grip underwater), and more. they do still need to go on land to breed and raise their young, and this is where the landlubbers get control over them.

the three groups eventually reached a sort of peace with each other. an uneasy peace with frequent bloodshed but peace nonetheless. pirates get to dock at land once in a while, maybe even move in and start a family (the landlubbers dont exactly have big genepools). the mermaids get to spend time on land to raise their young while being almost revered by the locals. the landlubbers get to enforce some demands on the pirates and mermaids. and pirates arnt mauled by mermaids whenever they fall overboard. oh and mermaids arnt hunted for sport by pirates (mostly).

There are certain very specific, unsustainable periods of history.

The Golden Age of Piracy lasted from the 1650s to the 1730s, and was really three different waves of piracy that all had their own specific causes and characters. My personal favorite has always been the post-Spanish Succession period, when a bunch of sailors and privateers were left unemployed and turned en masse to piracy since those were the skills they'd picked up during the war. This supply of pirates was obviously non-renewable.

The Wild West lasted between 1865 and 1895, depending on who you ask, not even a full human lifetime. It's a very narrow band of time, and of course it wasn't sustainable, there was only so much land to colonize.

There are lots of these times of change, conquest, colonization, and war, particularly in the last three hundred years. I always think they're interesting, mostly in how quickly the course of history moves on to some other relatively more steady state.

There's a thing that speculative fiction does where it stretches specific periods out to extremes, most notably with Medieval Stasis, but I think it's far funnier when applied to these tiny slices of history that have ballooned in the public consciousness. Either it takes heroic feats of worldbuilding to make it make sense, or everyone is just sort of okay with the idea of a Golden Age of Piracy that's implied to have lasted for a millennia.