#A Spark of Enthrallment

[shannonbarczak]

A Spark of Enthrallment Released!

I cannot even begin to express to you how excited I am that A Spark of Enthrallment has been released! I feel like I wrote this book ages ago and to finally be able to share it is a glorious feeling. I had originally planned to release it in July before our big Uni trip to London for our daughter, but I suppose life happened, and it just was not ready in time. This book was so enjoyable to…

[hiddeninthe-veil]

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[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

Mydei with a reader that squirts when he rubs our clit please PLEASE

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : nsfw/smut, squirting, degradation, dumbification, overstimulation, size kink, forced orgasms, huge dubcon alert, cervix f*cking, belly bulge, mild pain kink and light sadism.

Mydei is fascinated by the way you react to his touch. The moment his fingers press against your clit, slow and deliberate, he watches as your breath catches, your thighs trembling under his firm grip. His golden eyes darken with hunger, the corners of his lips twitching into that smug little smirk you’ve come to both love and hate.

“You’re already so sensitive,” he muses, rubbing slow, teasing circles around your clit. “I barely started, and look at you—shaking.”

You whimper, hips twitching, trying to grind up into his hand, but he holds you down with his free arm, keeping you still. His pace doesn’t quicken, doesn’t change—just that steady, torturous rhythm that makes your stomach tighten with anticipation.

Then he presses down, just slightly, just enough pressure to send a spark of pleasure shooting up your spine. Your body jerks, and he chuckles.

“Oh?” His voice drips with amusement. “That was cute.”

“Mydei—” You choke out his name, barely able to breathe as he keeps working you open, his fingers slick with your arousal. It’s too much. The slow build, the relentless pressure, the way he refuses to let you squirm away.

“Shh, I want to see it.” His lips brush against your ear, voice low and coaxing. “Go on, sweetheart. Let go for me.”

And then he rubs just right—tight, precise circles, pressing down in that perfect way that makes your vision blur. The pleasure snaps, white-hot and overwhelming, and your body arches as the pressure releases all at once.

A gush of wetness spills onto his fingers, and Mydei stills for just a second. Then, a sharp inhale.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, his usual teasing lilt gone, replaced with something raw, something needy. His fingers don’t stop, rubbing you through the aftershocks as he watches, enthralled, as you shudder and whimper beneath him.

His golden eyes flick up to yours, wild with hunger. “You can do that again, can’t you?”

Mydei stares at you like you’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. His fingers are still buried between your thighs, coated in your release, and he lifts them to his lips, licking the slick from his skin with a slow, deliberate flick of his tongue.

“Tch.” He clicks his tongue, golden eyes gleaming with something cruel. “Look at this mess.”

You whimper, body still twitching from the aftershocks, but Mydei doesn’t let you rest. His hand is back on your clit in an instant, rubbing slow, lazy circles, spreading the wetness around as his touch grows firmer.

“Mydei—w-wait, I—” Your voice stumbles, breathy and wrecked. Your legs try to snap shut, but he pries them apart effortlessly, pinning them open with his knee.

“Wait?” He scoffs, pressing down harder. “And why would I do that, sweetheart?”

You shake, pleasure spilling over into something unbearable, something too much. Your nails dig into his wrist, trying to push him away, but he only grins, grabbing your hand and forcing it down against the bed.

“Aw, is it too much for you?” His voice is sweet, mockingly gentle. “Poor little thing can’t handle it?”

Tears well up in your eyes, and Mydei groans, his cock twitching in his pants at the sight.

“Oh, that’s cute.” He leans in, lips brushing against your ear. “Gonna cry for me? Go ahead, baby, cry all you want. I’ll still make you cum again.”

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow. If anything, he gets rougher, grinding tight circles against your swollen clit, watching the way you tremble, the way your body twitches under his relentless pace.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmurs, voice thick with amusement. “Bet I could make you squirt again, easy.”

Your stomach coils tight, a sharp, overwhelming wave of pleasure building again, too soon, too fast.

“Mydei—! I c-can’t—!”

“You can.” His hand snakes up to your throat, fingers wrapping around the delicate column, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. “And you will.”

The pressure is dizzying. Your mind turns foggy, pleasure crashing over you with brutal intensity. You can’t stop it—you wouldn’t be able to even if he let you. Your back arches, and with a sharp cry, you gush again, soaking his hand, soaking the sheets beneath you.

Mydei groans, his own restraint slipping.

“Fuck, you’re such a messy little thing,” he growls, voice thick with arousal. “Look at you, squirting all over my hand like a dumb, needy slut.”

You’re barely coming down before he shifts, yanking your legs up, spreading you open wider. His fingers press inside this time, thrusting deep, curling just right, pressing against that spot that has you choking on a sob.

“You like this, don’t you?” His tone is cruel, taunting. “Getting fucked dumb on my fingers, making a mess all over yourself?”

You can’t answer. Your voice is gone, mind white-hot with pleasure.

“Mydei—too much, I can’t—!”

“You can.” He leans in, lips brushing against your temple, deceptively sweet. “And you’re going to keep cumming for me, sweetheart. Until you can’t think. Until you’re nothing but my dumb little mess.”

His fingers speed up, his grip tightening on your throat. And when he finally undoes his belt, pressing the thick length of his cock against your dripping entrance, he groans, voice thick with hunger.

“Gonna fuck you full, sweetheart. Gonna make sure you’re dripping with me inside you.”

And from the way he’s looking at you, ravenous and obsessed, you know he means it.

Mydei drags the thick head of his cock through your slick folds, smearing the mess you’ve made all over himself. He groans at the sheer wetness of it, his grip tightening on your trembling thighs as he spreads them wider, keeping you open for him.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” His voice is rough, low, like he’s barely holding himself together. “You’re shaking so much. Did I ruin you already?”

You barely hear him past the haze of overstimulation clouding your mind. Your body is still twitching from the last orgasm, legs weak and useless where they’re hooked over his shoulders. But Mydei doesn’t give you a moment to recover.

He presses in, the swollen head of his cock stretching you open with a slow, unrelenting push. Your walls clamp down hard, still fluttering from the aftershocks, and Mydei groans at the tightness, golden eyes narrowing.

“Shit—relax, baby,” he murmurs, but his smirk is wicked. He loves how you struggle to take him, how you’re already squeezing around just the tip. “You’re so tiny, fuck. Can you even handle me?”

Your head shakes, a sob slipping from your lips as the sheer stretch burns. He’s too big, too thick—your body can’t take him, can’t adjust fast enough.

“Mydei—it’s too much, nghh—!”

You gasp, a choked moan tearing from your throat as he forces his cock deeper. The stretch is overwhelming, almost painful, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down.

“You’re sucking me in,” he groans, eyes dark with hunger. “Your pretty little pussy’s squeezing so tight—fuck, I can see it.”

His hand drifts down, pressing against your lower belly, right where his cock is stretching you open. He smirks when you whimper, pushing down just enough to make you feel it even more.

“Look at that.” His golden eyes flick up to yours, dark and teasing. “I’m so deep, baby. I can feel myself inside you.”

You cry out, overwhelmed, pleasure and pain blurring together as he pulls back only to slam forward again, the thick head of his cock pressing against your cervix. Your walls clench around him, and Mydei grits his teeth, groaning.

“Fuck—you like that, don’t you?” His grip tightens on your waist, nails digging in as he picks up the pace, each thrust brutal, each drag of his cock stretching you impossibly wide. “Taking my cock like a good girl—so fucking tight, so fucking messy.”

You can’t speak. Your mouth falls open, but nothing comes out except broken moans, your body shuddering under him. Your brain is mush, thoughts slipping away with every thrust that forces your body to take more than it should.

“That’s it,” Mydei breathes, watching the way your eyes go hazy, your tongue lolling slightly. “Fuck, you’re getting stupid on my cock, aren’t you?”

He laughs, breathless, his thumb pressing against your overstimulated clit again. You sob at the touch, legs kicking weakly against his shoulders, but he doesn’t care.

“Mydei—! Fuck—‘s too much!”

“Shh, sweetheart.” His hand slides back up to your throat, squeezing just enough to make you feel lightheaded, his cock pulsing deep inside you. “Just let me use you a little more. You can do that, right?”

His pace turns brutal, fucking you deep, forcing your body to mold to his size. The lewd squelch of your cunt, the wet slap of skin against skin, fills the air as he pounds into you, chasing his high.

“Gonna fill you up,” he groans, his voice strained, desperate. “Gonna stuff you so full, baby. You’ll be dripping with me for days.”

Your orgasm crashes over you with brutal force, your walls clamping down so hard around him that he chokes on a groan, his pace faltering for just a second. Then, with a deep growl, he slams into you one last time, spilling deep inside, filling you with thick ropes of cum.

He stays there for a moment, buried to the hilt, watching the way your body twitches, completely spent and ruined beneath him. Then, a wicked smirk tugs at his lips.

“… You can take another round, can’t you, sweetheart?”

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[strmpt]

i love davepeta because by becoming them, davesprite was set free in a way. dude was miserable for years and to see him become davepeta, someone so geniune and stoked about being who they are was so sweet and wholesome. to me.

[radioconstructed]

⌖ HELLO! I am WORKING ON SOMETHING! 🎶

[gardens-light]

Opposites Attract

Unlike his friend, D16 often kept his head down and followed protocol. Going through his usual routine one cycle after another, only stepping out of his normality whenever Orion Pax needed to be pulled out of trouble. Yet... he'd be lying, if he ever said his optics never occasionally drifted towards the one thing he's wanted. You. The High Guard that had stolen his spark, who's beauty could only be compared to the sparkling towers of Iacon. Something he could never touch and never to keep. For he accepted the fact you both were from different worlds. Something that not even one of the 'great plans' of Orion Pax could change... right...?

Content: D16/Megatron TFO x F/Cybertronian Reader. Fluff.

Toiling away under the flickering lights and constant hum of machinery. The cavernous walls of the mine glittered with the veins of energon, their iridescent glow faintly illuminating the surroundings.

As the others grinded away at the seams of energon, Orion Pax's gaze flickered up at D16, noticing the distracted expression upon his faceplate.

"Hey D. You ok?"

Startled and snapping out of his daze, D16 briefly looked over his shoulder. "Huh? Oh- yeah, yeah. I'm fine." he replied dismissively, casually returning his blank gaze back to the task at hand.

"You know I've got your back. Right...?"

"I know, I know you do, Orion. It's just... it's nothing. Really."

Orion lowered his tools, placing a hand on D16's shoulder as his movements became a bit more forceful, as if he was trying to take out his frustration on the cave walls.

Stiffening under his friend's touch, finally taking a moment of pause as he met Orion's concerned gaze.

"It's just... it's stupid. I honestly don't know why I'm even bothered by it." A heavy sigh escaped D16's lips, dropping his tools and leaning against the rocky wall behind him. "I... bumped into someone this morning before shift. It was a little thing really, but the simple shock of it... the shock of realizing who it was... I-I've never seen her in person before, only from the holos, but... Primus, Orion. She was... perfect!"

"Don't give me that look." He groaned, seeing the faint smile tugging on Orion's faceplate. "It's not like I have a chance with her. There's no universe where she'd be slightest bit of interested in some lowly mech like me-"

"C'mon D... don't be like that-"

"Why shouldn't I? It's the truth and you know it." D16 pushed himself off the wall and resumed his work. Wielding his tools with more force than necessary. The sharp ringing of metal against stone echoed throughout the cavern.

"Because there's gotta be more to life than just... this!" Orion protested, gesturing to their surroundings. "Don't you want to try and be more than what we're 'supposed' to be?-"

"What else are we supposed to be, then?!" D16 scowled, swinging his tool once more, causing a shower of sparks to fly up. The glow of the energon-flecked rock reflected off the planes of his face, casting deep shadows under his optics. For a brief moment, the harsh environment seemed to aged his otherwise youthful features. "We're miners! Built for this! Just because you have grand dreams and aspirations, doesn't mean the rest of us do!"

Orion flinched, pausing for moment before finding his voice again. "You're... not seriously gonna just admire this femme from afar...? I-I've seen the way you look at her. You adore her!-"

"It doesn't matter, Orion. She's far beyond me. I'm... just a simple miner, and she's a High Guard. There's no point in even entertaining the thought that I could ever... be with her."

"Why not? Who says you couldn't? You're just as good as any mech!-"

"Oh yeah! I'm sure she'd be enthralled by my rugged charm and the coal dust that's constantly clinging to my frame!" D16 bitterly laughed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I bet she'd swoon over the grease stains on my servos. And of course, the highlight! My endless stories of energon extraction- it just gets the femmes going every time! Clearly!"

Grinding away at the cavern wall, using the repetitive motion of his tools against the stone to distract him from the thoughts spinning through his processor. The dull ache in D16's servos felt like a welcomed relief compared to the turmoil in his spark. A small thorn of guilt pricked at his circuits, as he caught Orion's somber expression within the corner of his optic.

Both fell into a tense silence, the only sound of steady rhythmic clang of metal on stone dragging out till the end of their long shift.

---

Eventually the twelfth hour came to an end, D16 and Orion headed to the nearest exit along with their fellow miners. Grimy from the day's work, their servos stained and joins sore from exertion. D16 stretches lazily, trying to work out the kinks in his wiring, rolling his neck and shoulders as he walked beside Orion.

Raising an optic ridge, following his friend's gaze. D16's spark practically stutters when he spots you not far in the distance. A sweet smile framing your lips, as you spoke to another High Guard, your polished form standing out against the dingy backdrop of the mining station. D16's spark pulsed within it's chamber, sending zaps of electricity throughout his circuits, as if you're a magnet drawing him in. As you turned away from your fellow High Guard, the silver miner quickly avoided eye contact, secretly hoping you didn't notice him as he stared at the floor.

Hiding his mischievous smile, Orion slowed his pace a little. His gaze stubley peering up at you every so often, as the gap between you and his friend gradually closes. Secretly positioning himself slightly behind you, Orion quickly pushed you into D16.

His optics widen as you came crashing down on top of him, your sudden weight causing him to lose balance and fall onto his back with a surprised 'oof.'

"H-Hey! Watch where you're..." oh... Primus...

Subtle warmth slowly raised beneath his faceplates, as passers by raised an optic ridge at your... rather compromising position. Your tall yet slender frame caging D16 beneath you, while his servos hovered awkwardly above your waist.

"Ow..."

A jolt of electricity shot through him, a gasp slipping past his lips as your weight shifted onto his legs, straddling his lap. His servos itched towards your thighs, his amber optics watching the grime and dirt rub off onto your otherwise flawless paintwork. Quickly glancing up at you with an apologetic expression, as your optics flickered open.

"By the AllSpark! Are you ok?" your melody tone was filled with concern, as your soft gaze met his. "I-I honestly don't know what happened."

Taking a moment to collect himself, D16's servos involuntary slowly slid up and down your thighs. "I'm... I'm fine. No harm done... are you alright?"

A subtle heat rose to your faceplates, making them warm to the touch, as your optics flickered down at your thighs. Feeling the miner's calloused servos subconsciously caress your sooth metal.

Following your shy gaze, embarrassment flushed across D16's features. Quickly pulling his servos away and scrambling to sit up properly, his chassis brushing against yours. His optics nervously darting around, attempting to avoid your gaze while his spark wildly pulsed within its chamber.

Both raising onto your peds, and after a brief moment of hesitation. The miner's gaze slowly trailed up your form, as you brushed off the coal dust and grime.

"Primus... s-sorry about that." A pang of guilt struck his inner-circuits, while D16 fussed over you. His spark skipping a beat as you gave him a sweet smile. The warmth of your body made his processor go all fuzzy, not being able to string a single thought.

"Thank you-"

"D! There you are! I've been looking for you." Orion's cheerful voice interrupted. Pulling his usual warm smile, ignoring his friend's annoyed glare as Orion wrapped an arm around D16's shoulders. "Please forgive my clumsy friend, ma'am. If you'll allow it, he'd would like to properly apologize for this whole inconvenience. Perhaps over some energon? His treat, of course."

What?! D16's optics widened, as his glare narrowed onto his friend. For sparks sake, Orion! Now isn't the time to conjure up one of your 'master plans!'

You held up your servos. "Oh... that's very sweet. But he doesn't-"

"Nonsense. He insists. Right, buddy?"

Not wanting to bring anymore attention, than Orion already did. D16 slowly nodded, as an irritated huff escaped him.

His optics flickered towards you, as your sweet chuckles came to his audio receivers. Clearly finding somewhat some form of amusement, as the miner obviously looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

"Very well... if he insists. U-Um... when?"

"How about this evening?" Orion's smile widened, clapping a hand upon D16's shoulder, who subtly cringed under his friend's touch. "D knows a great energon bar down the way, The Cranked Gear. Very laid-back atmosphere, perfect for a casual... meeting."

The warmth beneath D16's plates rose, as he caught a glimpse of your sweet smile. Your soft gaze roaming over his frame, "sounds great. See you later... D."

"What. The. Fragg was that?!" the silver miner snapped once you were out of earshot. A mixture of disbelief and frustration etched into his faceplates, "you set me up!"

"Hey... I was just trying to help." Orion held up his servos in surrender. "Plus, it proves you have a chance with her-"

"Are you kidding me? There's no chance!" D16 threw his servos up in exasperation, his inner-circuits coiling with tension. "She's a High Guard. I'm a cogless miner-bot. We're practically from different worlds! What am I supposed to do? Just sit there and make a fool of myself?"

A weak smile came to Orion, shrugging as he tried to give D16 some form of reassurance. "From... what I've heard. You kinda just... sit there and talk when you're on a date."

"Gee, thanks for the helpful advice." D16 frowned, his tone dripping in sarcasm. "I'll just sit there and chat about the weather and my thrilling work in energon extraction." A low groan escaped his lips, while pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't know why or how I let you talk me into things, y'know..." This is gonna be a disaster.

Later That Evening

Rocking upon his heels, shifting nervously from pede to pede. A subtle hopeful expression etched upon his features, as D16 glanced around for you.

No sign of her yet...

Taking a deep breath, trying to steady his spark and nerves. While his processor ran through potential conversation topics, attempting to prepare something interesting to say. A sigh escaping his lips, as D16 looked down at himself, suddenly hyper-aware of his frame. His rough, dull plating starkly stood out against the sleek finish of the other mechs in the vicinity.

Hopefully... she's not too put off by my rough exterior-

"Good evening... hopefully you haven't been waiting long."

Your soft tone snapped him out of his thoughts, his wide eyed stare roaming over your newly polished figure. "No! Uh, I mean... no. I just got here... you look..."

"What...?" you quickly looked down at yourself. Examining particular spots over your frame, "do I still have coal dust on me or something?"

"No! No! You look good. Great, even. Better than great!" fragging idiot. "Um... shall we...?"

Giving him a brief smile, you followed D16's lead into the bar. Sunken ceiling lights lit the area with a warm, gentle hue. The atmosphere bustling with chatter and laughter. Making your way through the clutter of tables and chairs, D16 could practically feel the surprised and confused expressions of the patrons, as they took in your presence.

He knew that the pair of you must make quite the duo, a miner and a High Guard. While guiding the way through the bar, his optics narrowed onto the nearest bots, silently daring them to say something. Leading you to a more secluded booth in the far corner, the lights became slightly more dim, creating more intimate feel. While the patrons chatter reduced to lulled muffle.

Your smile slightly widened, as D16 pulled out a seat for you. Politely waiting til you were settled before taking a seat opposite you.

"So... uh... how was your day?" his voice was uncharacteristically low, while his digits anxiously fidgeted wit the edge of the table. Seriously? That's the best you can come up with? Come on!

"Um... alright. Nothing out of the ordinary."

The awkward tension slowly eased into the space between you, as D16's processor scrambled for a new topic.

"That's good... My shift down in the mines was pretty normal. Just the... usual amount of ore. No issues with the equipment- well, one drill malfunctioned. But we fixed it quick enough."

D16's spark nervously pulsed through his wires, as you flashed him a weak smile. Replying with a simple nod, "oh... um, sounds... eventful? Would you... like to order some energon?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sure. I, uh, should probably warn you though. The stuff they serve here isn't exactly the most refined. It's... got a kind of a bite to it."

After answering with shrug, D16 took the cue to approach the nearby bar. The bartender passed him the drinks with a knowing glance, only to be greeted with the miner's glare in return. Knowing full well that the whole bar was undoubtedly watching him, make his way back to you.

Settling himself back into his seat, carefully sliding your drink towards you. As he took a sip from his own, the smooth taste a momentary distraction from the awkward tension.

Noticing your half-hearted smile, a pang of guilt thumped within his spark. This a complete fragging diseater! Why can't I say anything? I can practically feel this whole thing already crashing and burning in front of me!-

"What's... that on your shoulder?"

"Huh?" D16 followed your gaze, briefly noticing you pausing from your drink. A subtle warmth radiated beneath his faceplates as embarrassment swept through his frame. "Oh, uh, that's just... a sticker. My friend, Orion put it there a while ago, and I... forgot to remove it-"

"Oh no. Don't remove it." The tone of your voice peaked a little, as your gaze softened. Admiring the sticker's holographic shine. "It looks good on you. You should see my stasis pod in my private quarters."

A shy smile lit up his features, as D16's spark fluttered within it's chamber. "Y-You... you think so? I, uh... I appreciate that. And... what's on your stasis pod?"

"My favorite, Solus Prime. But I promise it's only a small sticker."

"Ah, a Solus fan, eh?" a small chuckle escaped his lips. Optics shining with a glimmer of amusement. "Not too shabby. Can't blame you, she was a badass warrior. And... only a small sticker, you say?"

Holding up your servo, almost pinching the air between your thumb and index digit. "This small. Nothing too crazy."

"Oh, phew." A light laugh escaped his lips, as D16 mockly wiped an invisible bead of condensation upon his forehelm. "I was worried you had her face on a full sized wall mural. But just a little sticker? That's much more reasonable."

Your sweet chuckles rung through the air between the pair of you, like a sweet melody. Lifting the awkwardness that lingered before, finally giving him the chance to actually feel connected with you.

Feeling a bit more emboldened, D16 continued. "Seriously. Solus is a solid choice. But I'd have to go with Megatronus, personally."

Raising an optic ridge, while tilting your helm to the side. "What draws to you him?"

Leaning back in his seat, a look of admiration sparkled within his optics. "Well, apart from being the most fearsome warrior in Cybertron's history. He was also a brilliant strategist! He could take on any opponent and come out on top! Plus, he's just... so incredibly powerful. Unstoppable really! I guess I've... always looked up to him for that kind of strength."

A small smile teased the corner of your lips, trying to hide it behind your cup. "That's very true. I gotta admit that he's a total badass."

"Oh. He's definitely a badass! I remember reading tales about his battles against the Quintessons, and let me tell you. They're the stuff of legend! He could take on an entire army by himself and come out with nothing but a scratch."

"Careful." Your teasing tone purred. "Your fanboy is showing."

The warmth beneath his faceplates grow even more, as embarrassment crept back into his frame. Clearing his vocal processor, attempting to return to his usual demeanor while his spark skipped a beat. "What? I'm just stating facts."

Taking the last sip from your drink, your soft gaze trailed down his chassis. D16 subconsciously shifts his body, covering his cogless chamber. His spark pulsing more, avoiding your gaze while taking another mouthful of his drink.

A lull ache pulsed throughout your frame, guilt jabbing your at your spark. "Forgive me... I-I shouldn't have starred-"

"It's... It's fine." The lull ache within you begun to painfully prick at your spark, as D16's words held a more rougher edge than he intended. "You were just curious. I don't blame you."

A subtle blanket of awkward silence slowly crept back into the air, as hesitation temporarily stole your words. A flicker of surprise flashed within D16's optics, as his soft gaze noticed your servo edging closer to him across the table. Breath almost got stuck in his vents as he met your optics, the colour shining with genuine curiosity and a hint of compassion.

The question swirling within your processor, softly escaped your lips in just above a whisper. "Can I...?"

Answering with a simple nod. D16 flinched slightly as you touched his cogless chamber, as if bracing himself for judgement or ridicule. Yet your expression remained soft, a hint of... affection? Flickering within your optics. As your digits gently traced the otter rim of his circular chamber, a strange sense of comfort washed over him. The gesture surprisingly tender, as he found himself relaxing under your touch.

"It's... It's a pretty pathetic sight... isn't it?"

Another prang of guilt pulsed throughout your inner-circuits, as you picked up the subtle shame hiding within D16's words. "What? No! No, of course not. Just... different..."

"Different? That's one way to put it." D16's tone held a bitter edge, while a scoff escaped him. "I mean... look at me. A cogless miner bot. I'm a pathetic excuse for a Cybertronian."

Great... Hanging his head low, a heavy sigh escaped him. Why did you steer the conversation in that direction? You idiot!-

Crunch!

Snap!

D16's optics widened as he witnessed you tear away a small section of your forearm. His puzzled gaze flickering to the soft smile upon your lips, your optics shining with kindness as an idea crossed your processor.

"Wait! What are you doing?-"

Your soft smile, sweetened as you leaned back in your seat. Purposely positioning yourself just out of his reach, while you worked on the scrap piece of metal. Only taking a few moments to flatten it, using the table's edge to smooth and round off the edges, before holding up the now makeshift disk for inspection.

"I... know it's not real." D16's spark fluttered within his chassis, as his wide optics met your loving gaze. His breath hitching as you reached across the table, placing the makeshift disk into his empty cog chamber. "But maybe... a part of me could be... your 'cog?'"

Staring down at the makeshift 'cog' which now rested in the chamber, a hopeful pulse beat through your inner circuits as your spark skipped.

For a moment, he couldn't find the words to express the swirling emotions within his spark. Surprise, gratitude, affection... They all crashed together in a wonderful mess.

"I-I... I don't know what to say. This is..." D16 slowly placed a servo over his cog chamber, feeling the shape of his new 'cog' inside.

The act itself wasn't just incredibly kind but... surprisingly intimate. The fact that you would willingly give up a part of yourself for him. To make him feel more... complete.

I-I... would never believed... never have imagined...

H-Have I... overstepped somehow? You nervously swallowed a lump in your vocal processor. Was it too much?

But the invisible tug upon the corners of his lips, was enough to slowly calm your racing spark. For he couldn't help but stare at you in quiet awe, as D16's processor still reel from your act. He gently reached a servo across the table, resting it atop your own. A silent gesture of gratitude and affection, while his optics met yours.

"Th-This... was unexpected- wonderful! Thoughtful! But just... unexpected..." he lowly spoke. "How could I ever thank you?"

"Well..." your sweet smile turned slightly flirty, as your thumb caressed D16's knuckles. "Maybe... you could demonstrate your strength to me? I... heard miners are strong."

D16's faceplates heats up at your flirtatious tone, a rush of nervous excitement tingles pulsed throughout his frame.

"O-Oh..." his amber optics glanced around the bar, making sure nobody was eavesdropping as he returned your smile. "And... how would you like me to demonstrate that? Perhaps somewhere more... private?"

Butterflies entangled your wires, as D16's servo took yours in a slightly tighter grip. "Where did you have in mind?"

His breath hitched a little, feeling you checking him out. The touch of your servo beneath his sent a shiver through his circuits. Gradual confidence filled his spark, as he leaned in a bit further, his voice dropping to a low, sultry tone. "I know a secluded spot not too far from here. It'll give us all the privacy we need for a... rigorous demonstration."

"Sounds perfect."

D16 gives you a sly smile, his frame buzzing with anticipation as you softly bit your bottom lip. Sliding out of the booth, his optics meeting yours. Extending a servo out to you, a silent offer to follow him. "This way gorgeous."

[hedwig221b]

hey do you have any werewolf courting fic recs for like sterek or any mlm pairing? i love those. 🥺🥺

Hi! I only do recs for sterek fics, so here you go

The Baddest Motherfucker In the Valley by ShieldOfIron

It had started weeks ago. At first, they’d thought it was a dog or a cat. Stiles just helped his dad clean the rabbits off the porch. Next came the deer. That wasn’t so bad, though Stiles still refused to eat the meat that his dad had brought back from the butcher. Then came a mountain lion. A grizzly fucking bear.

The Courting Dilemmas of a Spark and a Werewolf Prince by greenleaf

Talia smiled calmly. “I am well aware that you are not a werewolf, my darling, but I thought this would be the best reading material for you to use as reference. After all, how would you know how to act during a courting ritual if you do not study it?” “But I don’t… I’m not…” Stiles narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you setting me up with someone?” Talia rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t be obtuse, my darling. Why would I set you up with someone –” “Oh, well, that’s good, because–” “–when I have a son who is already perfectly enamored with you?”

Camping & Bonding by Takara_Phoenix

Stiles thinks the pack should go camping, as a bonding exercise. Much to his surprise, Derek agrees with his plan. So the pack goes off into the mountains to camp together. Only after assigning the tents does Stiles question if it really was that good of an idea to share a tent with his Alpha, considering the giant crush he has on Derek…

All I Do (Is Sit And Think About You) by Noname109

The three times Stiles was oblivious, and the one time he figured it out. Or how Stiles figures out how to court a werewolf unintentionally.

be everything that you need by EvanesDust

[excerpt] Stiles could feel Derek's gaze on him. It was like a physical touch, and when he looked over his shoulder, he smirked. Derek's eyes were dark, flared with heat. "See something you like?" Stiles asked, a teasing lilt to his voice. Derek pressed against his back, kissing his shoulder before turning Stiles in his arms. "You know I do."

Enamor Me by crossroadswrite

In which Derek sneakily woos Stiles and doesn't expect him to notice. He keeps catching himself doing these little things and he doesn’t know why. Except that’s a complete lie. He knows exactly what he’s doing and why he’s doing it. He likes Stiles. For whatever reason he likes him. Like, wants to be the best version of himself he possibly can because that’s what Stiles deserves likes him.

how to court a werewolf by graveltotempo

Stiles accidentally begins a courtship with Derek. Wary at first, the werewolf accepts, and Stiles ticks off all the boxes of a traditional Hale werewolf courting - oblivious to the whole thing. Because of course he is. Peter thinks the entire thing is hilarious. Cora thinks that they deserve each other. (spoiler alert: they do)

you are an obsession (i am your possession) by EvanesDust

Once Derek catches that tantalizing scent, he can’t stay away. Stiles. Derek’s completely enthralled by him. Obsessed. But all he can do is stand in the shadows, watching and waiting. Until he can make Stiles his, that is. And when that happens, Derek will never let him go.

Hung The Moon by BurnItAllClean (nrnyx)

Slowly Stiles got control of himself again. His heart calmed. His breathing evened out. The anger was gone. In its place, a bone-deep weariness settled. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t survive this.

Like any other day by Gotta_seduce_the_Rainbow

Everything’s a bit shit. Not only couldn’t Stiles afford to go to college right after high school, he also lost his best friend to the cool kids. Him and Scotty hadn’t been talking for a while, and now Scott had left Beacon Hills with the rest of those lucky bastards. With all their savings spent on his dead mother’s medical bills, Stiles is forced to stay behind and work in a shitty store by a shitty gas station. Life crawls by, so does the first summer fresh out of high school, when none other turns up at the gas station than Derek Hale. Derek Hale, who had been gone for about 15 years after his family died in that fire, only manages to ask Stiles for a book recommendation, before he is already arrested for murder. After that spectacular homecoming he is sure to be the talk of the town. This story is set in a canon divergence alternative universe, where Stiles never found out about werewolves. Now that Derek is back in town, he plans on courting clueless Stiles since they are mates. The way it turned out, it's mostly fluff and smut and slice of life, because I wanted to give these characters some peace (and write in some kinks of mine).

How (Not) to Court a Spark by Michicant123, wanderingeyre

Derek spent the past three months planning, agonizing, and coming to a conclusion. His mom was progressive about many things but she was a traditionalist about courting. She drilled it into all of her children that finding someone you could imagine standing beside in a dangerous world was a precious discovery, especially for an Alpha. Derek wants to make choices that would make his mother proud. It took him a long time to become an Alpha that was even a quarter of what his mother had been. So much of that was because Stiles never gave up on him. It was time Derek courted Stiles Stilinski.

Deer For My Dear by TheSleepyOne

Stiles was not mad at Derek per say. It was hard to be mad at the wolf now that he was getting the help he needed. Derek really does try his best these days. No, Stiles wasn't mad. He was just disappointed.

It's Called Courting by AMatchInWater

Stiles has a crush on Derek and refuses to believe it could be reciprocated….meanwhile Derek has been courting him this whole time.

5 times Derek gave Stiles a dead animal + 1 time Derek gave Stiles a normal gift by Warlock_Nerd

Stiles has been finding dead animals all around his house and is so confused. It isn't until later does he realise why this is happening and who is doing it.

Resistance

How dare the wolf taste those lips, hold him, panting and soft, trembling and eager, so close to his chest? How dare he? Jordan could not move, even if he wanted to. The slick sounds of their kiss, of tongues sliding softly against one another, bitten-off moans, and muffled mewls interspersed with crackling fire — it was hell for him. Stiles was everything Jordan dreamed he would be in a moment like this — he moved just right, arched so beautifully, bared his throat, and grabbed the hand that pressed to his stomach, keeping it there. His smell seeped across the tent, sweeter than ever before and deadly because of it. Jordan’s eyes stung, his fists clenching the cold sheets. Yet, he could not even take a proper breath, for everything smelled of him. For three years, Jordan told himself to resist. Three years of catching Stiles only for the omega to seep from his fingers. Years without ever holding his waist like Jordan wanted to. A month was all it took for Stiles to give it to the wolf.

Treasure

"I know you don’t trust me,” Derek grunted. When Stiles inhaled to retort, Derek caught his chin and pressed a finger against his lips, making the boy freeze in place, eyes impossibly wide. “Don’t argue. I expected it. Wolves don’t trust easily, too. I just wanted you to know that… I’m sorry. I was selfish and didn’t see what was in front of me. You don’t need to worry. I’ll take care of everything.” It was a thought that grew in his mind, spread to his heart and took root there, reincorporating into a deep desire and a vital need. Derek will take care of him and his little pup, he’ll bring the hearts of his enemies and put them at the boy’s feet. He’ll court and he’ll conquer.

your fangs against my skin (the sound of your bones)

This was it, then, huh? It was that easy for Derek to invite someone to his den. Someone other than Stiles. He healed the wolf. Stiles killed his tormentor, mended his blood and bones, and let him sleep beside him. But none of it was enough. He wasn’t a spark, after all, but a witch — evil and alone, locked up in his tower. Witches didn’t get happy endings.

[masterlist link]

[lorelune]

some quarry

|| mydeimos x reader || E/18+ || dark content || yan mydei & self destructive reader || wc: 12.5k || ao3 ||

You are very familiar with dancing and its many forms. It's unfortunate that Mydei has taken note of your fondness for flames and their consequences.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

notes: helloooo!! this fic is a trade with beloved oz (@owlespresso)!! they asked for yan mydei and dears i delivered. mydeimos is a character i find narratively so fascinating and i hope that was injected at least a lil into this fic :3c thank you to mao (@yinyuedijun) for beta reading this piece as well!!! getting a second set of eyes on mydei and his character in this form was so vital truly

please mind the tags on this one!! this fic does include explicit noncon/dubcon near its end. in additional, yandere themes like stalking and mydei being QUITE overprotective. read if you'd like, don't if it's not your cup of tea!! that being said, enjoy! 🩷

CWs: dark content, yandere mydei, gender neutral reader with afab anatomy, noncon/dubcon, stalking, protective mydei that goes too far, self destructive reader, avoidant reader, almost bath sex, a single non-verbal threat of ankle breaking, fingering, piv sex (pronebone), reader is a dancer, a few references to phainon/mydeimos, author-brewed kremnoan lore

It is difficult to dance with flame when daylight lays eternal, endlessly. It’s hardly as fun, as enthralling and mystifying, to dance with light while it's so light. 

The tradition of bibasis was created long before you were born, back when the Titans were sane and Castrum Kremnos had yet to fall to Strife driven mad. There used to be a dark sky then— night— where the scholars of the Grove say that balls of light, hearths hung in the heavens, dotted the sky, weaving fate.

You like to imagine what the Era Chrysea could have been like. What it would have been like to live forever and dance with your flames under a starry night sky. It feels romantic and nostalgic despite you never having experienced it before. Perhaps it’s a collective memory, etched into the soul in a way that the Grove has yet to understand. You know you’re not the only one who yearns for bygone days that you didn’t live. 

You, thankfully, have enough of your wits about you to recognize that the only way is forward. There is no night sky for you to perform your bibasis. Only dark enclaves, carved in the stone cliffs below Okhema. They are no Castrum Kremnos, it’s a relatively polar living situation, but you have found you don’t mind it all that much.

Especially since you can dance your bibasis as your ancestor’s intended— as a shining light in the deep dark.

The cave is nearly perfect circle cut deep into the rock face. Along the sides of it, a Kremnoan crowd jeers. You can hear how impatient they are, hungry for a show and the camaraderie that will follow. The room is pitch black, the torches haven’t been extinguished, so you can slip into the center of the room unnoticed. 

With a spark of flint, the bracelets around your wrists and ankles ignite. 

The flames throw light across the room, casting shadows over the faces of your audience as you walk a wide, sweeping circle over the space. The aulos sound, trilling as your dance truly begins.

You know the steps by heart.

It’s as easy as breathing. You kick off the ground, jump, and kick your leg as far back as they’ll allow. The licking flames around your ankle streak through the dark, and a chorus of cheers follows. Your arms crest above your head, lowering down as you fall from your leap. You follow inertia. Falling low, throwing your legs out, and dragging the licking flame slowly over the ground.

The heat of the flame doesn’t burn you yet. 

It only hastens you.

...

You dance like this until it hurts to breathe. Until your muscles ache and the flame threatens to brand you with its mark. It eats through the wound, slow-burning cloth enough that you feel it singeing hairs on your arms and legs. 

It’s not until the end of the dance that you notice the crown prince idling near one of the crudely arched entryways.

Your breath catches when you notice him. You nearly stumble and fall on your ass, which would be very embarrassing considering you do this dance once a week and haven’t had any notable stumbles since the Kremnoans’ earliest days in Okhema. Most of your missteps simply get integrated into your routine, your leaps and low lunges. Losing your track record of improvisation and finesse over the crown prince would be understandable, but a blunder nonetheless. 

You can’t help yourself; you spin on the tips of your toes over the crown prince. He’s easy to spot. Even among your people, he towers over them. His shoulders are broad, his chest ample. The shadow he strikes is mouthwatering.

You’re brazen in the way you stride up to him, a flourish in your steps. There are a few cheers from the drunkest members of your audience. Mydei looks unaffected, despite the way you stalk him like a large, predatory cat. You do see his gaze flick up and down your body. It’s brief, a hardly there glance. It would be easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it. 

You’re a bit hurt he doesn’t ogle you or at least look at you a bit longer. 

Half the fun of these things is twirling around the desire of your onlookers. Being ogled by near-strangers is another part of the dance you’ve become so familiar with. You would figure that Mydei, despite his title, would show a wisp of want at the very least. The crown prince is a man— he can’t be immune to your curves, steps, and dress. He comes to your dances often enough to actually indicate that he wants to be here.

But he never shows desire, really. No matter your provocations, no matter the way that you curve your spine and leap, streaking with flame, Mydei stays stone-faced. 

It’s your own personal game to attempt to get some reaction from him. It’s too entertaining.

You sidle up to him, wearing a sly smile. His shoulders square. In time with the aulos, you spin closer, bracing on one foot, pivoting with a sweeping gesture. The flame licks your skin; your dance is almost over. 

Your back presses to Mydei’s front.

He’s hotter than the flames on your extremities. He’s a furnace, a forge, smelting something far more dangerous than a sword or spear. 

You tilt your head back, speaking with a curling tone and cat-like smile. “Crown prince.”

It’s a whorish greeting, but isn’t it meant to be? You hear him huff out a breath, you can’t tell if he sounds annoyed or amused. You don’t stay close enough or long enough to find out.

Rather, you push off Mydei, an immovable wall of muscle really, and leap back into the center of the room. In a swift motion, you undo the barely-there knots of the fabric on your wrists and ankles. It’s practiced, you’ve practiced this part, because it really would look clumsy if you did it wrong. 

They’re all dropped into a smoldering heap in the fire basin in the middle of the room. From your waist, you swipe a small bottle tied there. You take it in one go, the burn of harsh liquor coating your mouth like its own layer of flame. 

In a single motion, you spit into the fire pit.

A high plume of flame follows, lighting the residuals of your garb and the logs and kindling you laid out long before your dance. 

As the flame explodes and you raise your hands above your head, the crowd roars. 

And your crown prince remains silent.

...

After you dance, the Kremnoans of Okhema do one of two things. Party or bathe.

Today, you’ve chosen to party. Mainly because Mydeimos hasn’t ditched the gathering as he usually does. Which affords you the perfect opportunity to bother him.

It helps that you immediately have a few goblets of wine.

You’re handed one almost immediately as the torches are lit after your dance. It’s thrust into your palm with a slap on your mostly bare back from one of the spirited, older women who always attend your dances. Your biggest supporters, really. 

The alcohol helps chase off some of your self-consciousness too.

What you wear during your dances is... revealing. Worse than revealing, it's really nothing at all. Your chest is partially bound in silks. The skirt tied around your waist billows where it falls over your upper thighs. The little shorts you wear underneath would be entirely indecent if you wore them alone.

(You suppose that even these garments, despite how scantily clad they make you feel, are somewhat generous covers, given that when the bibasis was performed on Castrum Kremnos, the dancer would be essentially naked.)

(And Okhemans are far too prudish for such dress despite their love of public bathing.)

You down the rest of your goblet, wiping over your lips with the back of your hand. A pleasant buzz settles in your blood and behind your eyes, it makes staring down Mydei all too easy.

Some of your aforementioned aunties are crowding him, talking his ear off, it looks like. His arms are crossed over his chest, which is really doing some insane things for his tits, and despite the fact that the aunties are definitely in their cups and talking relative nonsense, the crown prince listens diligently.

He’s a good man. It’s too bad that you enjoy messing with him so intensely. 

As you approach, you half-bow, spreading an arm out wide as you. “Crown prince. How rare of you to linger like this.”

The aunties giggle at your dramatics. Mydei looks unamused. Not blank-faced, not angry, but a third thing you can’t identify well in your state. Perhaps disapproving— that seems right. This feeling of his is entirely directed at you; the aunties have been spared from his ire.

More for you.

“He’s been waiting for you,” one of the aunties slurs. “‘Says he’s worried. Aren’t you lucky?”

“Cora—!” Another of them admonishes, slapping the other woman’s shoulder. “Don’t interfere!”

You smile at Mydei, burgeoning with an otherworldly amount of mischief. 

“Waiting for me? I’m honored. Are you looking to share a drink? I’m sure I can find something—”

“I don’t drink.”

“Ah, yes. Your delicate sensibilities—how could I forget? Pomegranate juice, then?”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Suit yourself.” 

One of the aunties, Cora, hands you a half-full goblet, and you take a heavy gulp. It’s honey wine, rich on your palate and sticky in your throat. She takes it back from you, scuttling off with the rest of her group. They’re giggling like school girls as they do. You lick your teeth, sucking off the last sweet wine. “What did you need from me, Mydeimos?”

He stares at you with a scoff. His arms are still crossed, but it doesn’t seem like he wants them to remain that way. The crown prince isn’t the type to be tongue-tied, so you find it curious that he seems to be. You tilt your head and invade his space. Your palm falls over his chest, the thump of his heart like a drumbeat. 

“Don’t—”

“Loosen up, my dear prince.” You gesture around you. “It’s a party. Even if you won’t imbibe with the rest of us, enjoy the festivities.”

“I have better things to do.”

“And yet, you’re here, waiting for me, apparently. And you still haven’t told me why, either.”

“Let us speak elsewhere.”

“Oh, something needs to be said in private? How brazen.”

“That’s not—”

“I don’t think of you as particularly prudish— why not just say it here? I’m sure you can keep your voice down.”

You tilt on the balls of your feet, leaning your weight into him. He bears it without flinching. When you sway, blood too slick and lush to not to. Mydei steadies you with a hand on your waist. His hold there is far too gentle. You could call it tender, though you’d blame such a description on the wine roiling in your veins.

You grin up at him, smitten. His face is flushed, red painted onto his cheeks, melding into his handsome features, both high and low. The staining flush fades into his hair and melds with the firelight. 

“You’re drunk,” Mydei says. It’s simply a fact.

You hum and nod. “I would certainly hope so, by this point in the night.”

“I had hoped you’d be sober enough to be able to take this seriously for at least a moment, but I thought too highly of you, it seems.”

That makes something odd and painful twist in your chest. Mydei looks at you like you disappoint him— all the time. Not as though you’re a nuisance, but that you’re more trouble than you’re worth. It’s a look you’re used to, but the expression rarely matches his words. He’s terribly polite with his own people, and you are one of those, and so he is polite with you, even if his face looks like he’d rather be scolding you.

As he is now.

You push off of him with a scoff.

“Fuck off,” you snap, harsher than you mean to. “Find me in the morning. Perhaps I’ll be ‘serious’ enough for you then.”

He says your name as you spin around, ready to scamper off into the throng and forget that Mydeimos has a unique dislike for you. 

He snatches your wrist— actually the middle of your forearm. You flinch with the contact, spinning without thinking, kicking into his stomach as a reflex. It’s a messy move, one born of muscle memory rather than technique. The liquor in you makes the motion sloppy.

Mydei catches you, holding you up with a wide hand under the back of your knee. Your breath catches.

“You burned yourself,” he says.

His gaze flits from your wrist, burnt— scalded. He’s being dramatic— to you, all disapproving again.

“I’ll find a healer later.” You attempt to break from his grip, but he holds you there. 

His gaze is lit with fire of his own, lightning that cracks the sky and shatters the land. It pierces you, running through you. It’s immediately sobering.

There’s far more than disapproval in it.

You jerk, stumble, and fall on your ass. Your head— spins— fucking ow— and you accept someone’s hand— not Mydei’s— and rise on shaking legs. You feel like a fawn, cloven-hooved and clumsy as you walk backwards away from him. The mouth-drying wine won’t be enough to make you forget about— this. 

He calls your name once more, but you’re already fleeing the scene.

...

You avoid Mydeimos the next morning. And after that too. You avoid him at all times, actually, with an expressed amount of effort that is legitimately difficult to keep up with. 

It’s for the best— you tell yourself this often as you avoid his most frequented locations. You dodge the Chrysos Heirs when you see them out and about, worried Mydei will pop up just as easily as they seem to. The Kremnoans tend to prefer the hot baths, your crown prince is no exception, and despite your own partial nature to the steaming, almost bubbling baths, you don’t go near them. Instead, you resign your daily soaks to the more populous open bath and deal with its just-above-tepid temperature. 

The aunties notice. The uncles, too. You’re a notable figure in the Kremnoan population— the dancer who flirts with flames and dares to show the world. 

The type of dance you do is a dying art.

It’s why Mydei took note of you, you think. Your performances are spectacles. They have been ever since you were skilled enough to twirl on your own and not be afraid of the flame licks. These days, you spend your days teaching the young Kremnoans who want to learn. Or practicing yourself while the little ones watch. It’s less of a performance then and more of a demonstration. 

Your… selfish interest in Mydei started when he began to show up at these informal lessons. You like to think that this is mainly because you were holding them at one of the training arenas that he frequently sparred with that snowy-haired Chrysos Heir at. He made a habit of watching you spin in the daylight— not with your usual fire, just the yellow-white glow of Kephele’s Burden. It’s only you and your steps, the taps of your bare feet on stone before you throw yourself in the air. 

You really enjoyed his attention back then.

Because— you respect Mydeimos. How could you not? You’re not dumb, and even if you don’t keep up with all the political intricacies of the relations between Okhema and the displaced Kremnoans, you know Mydei is willing to do just about anything for the comfort and safety of his people. That includes you and your unseemly vulgarity and provocations. 

You know that just beyond your range of conscious awareness, Mydei is protecting your dying dance. 

As much as you respect him, you must torment him. A little. Because he is so damn stoic and impenetrable. He revels, yes, he’s battle-forged, revelry is vital, but there’s a part of him that holds back from the other side of the coin of carnality. There is violence and pleasure. You tempt him with the latter.

It’s really... really easy to. He’s built like a fucking brick-laid wall. He always uses scented oils after bathing. Seeing him after a hot bath is fucking lethal. Slick with oil, smelling of herbs, spice, and his own unique musk even after luxuriating in Okhema’s best baths. God forbid you stare at him and the gleam of his tattoos; you’ll be done for. He takes good care of his hair too. One of the aunties helps him trim it every few weeks; her wife rebraids it whenever she sees him out and about.

Mydei is also very... cute. You’d never say this outloud as some of the traditionalists around you would probably consider it treasonous. But thinking that the crown prince is cute is not a thought crime, and you can’t silence the little, cooing feeling you get around him sometimes. 

Despite who he could be, Mydei remains so kind-hearted. One might not see it if they weren’t looking for it. But you do. The way he entertains the children of your people so easily. He will weave them explosive tales of battle and valor. He ‘spars’ with them too— which is really just him letting the kids beat him up until he throws them off him (lightly) with a battle cry, meant only for play and not bloodshed. He lets the Kremnoan grannies tease him and pinch his cheeks when he thinks no one is looking. 

And he looks at you with pride.

Maybe— your desire is simply to please him more. And your cultivated sex appeal is an avenue to that. And it’s just... flirting. That’s all it’s meant to be! Your purpose when dancing is to be enticing and prideful; it’s what you embody. You don’t find it to be too out of bounds to impress yourself on Mydei for a bit of playful flirting.

It had been playful, anyway. 

...

You’re hiding in a private bath, late in the evening. Scrutinizing the burn scars on your wrists, slick with rivulets of water, dripping lazily back into the steaming pool below.

You burn yourself all the time— at the very least scald. You don’t understand why Mydei made such... a fuss about it. About you. It irks you. 

This isn’t how you’re supposed to play together, Nikador slain.

Mydei— he fucked up the rhythm. You’re supposed to antagonize him, and he’s supposed to take it like a good, stoic crown prince despite your behavior probably annoying him a great deal. You’re supposed to not care, dance into the crowd, and make ‘fuck me stupid’ eyes at him, and neither of you are supposed to do anything about it. You don’t fucking want to do anything about it.

Mydei has apparently decided that he’s done playing, you think.

A bathhouse worker announces herself before ducking inside of your room. She carries a goblet and a plate of cut fruits. Blush fans out over her rounded cheeks. 

“U-Um,” she stutters, sandals slapping the wet tile of the floor. “Mydeimos requested these be sent to you. And that he’ll be waiting outside the bath to speak to you. He said it’s urgent.”

You grimace and roll your skull. The back of your head bumps the tile behind you, not hard enough to ache, but hard enough to thump. 

“Please tell him to leave me be,” you sigh. “And you can take the fruit.”

“I— Um.” This poor girl. You rise from the bath, the light, thin cotton of your bathing dress clings to the curves and edges of your body. Stretching, you paw at your nearby waist bag. You have a handful of balance coins you can give her for the inevitable trouble you’re causing her. 

You extend your arm as far as it will go, and your bag is still a little too far out of reach. The bath is simply too luxurious to get out of fully at this moment, and you huff before throwing one leg up and over the side of the tub.

You arch your back, stretching low, and just barely snatch the leather belt of your bag. 

And, fates aligned, Mydei enters the room. His presence emanates over the steam-filled. Your poor bath attendant looks like she could pass out. And clearly— clearly— Mydei was not expecting to see you tummy-down, ass-up, arched on the bath tiles while nearly naked. 

He flushes crimson, matching the reddest parts of his hair. You don’t fare much better— your cheeks heat, and you immediately slip back into the water.

“Mydeimos—” You sound shaken; you are. “How brazen. I’d kindly ask you to leave.”

He— stutters, already shuffling back. “I— will be waiting outside. Have the decency to speak to me yourself.”

You snap back at him, “And you have the decency to respect my modesty.”

Mydeimos stares at you. His pupils slitted. They cut into you like a blade. It makes you feel too exposed.

Your modesty has never mattered to you before this moment. He knows this. So do you.

He turns, leaving you with the click of metal boots on tile. “Find me later then.”

You won’t be, actually. You’re going to be avoiding him twice as hard because clearly he wants something from you and you have zero intention of giving it to him. Even knowing what exactly he wants, actually.

The poor attendant looks like she has forgotten how to breathe. You crawl back to your bag and hand her a lump of coins with an apologetic look on your face. You imagine it’s quite pathetic. You must be quite pathetic. Turning down the crown prince, slick and indecent in your thin robes, and heavily tipping an attendant to both apologize and encourage her to stay quiet.

She seems to get the idea and scampers off, leaving you alone with the tray of juicy, ripe fruit and a goblet of what is undoubtedly pomegranate juice to taunt you. 

...

Mydei is at your dance that same evening.

You see him before the torches are snuffed. He sees you too, you think, but you force yourself to ignore him in favor of your performance.

It only half works.

The cloth around your wrists is bound such that the outer layers burn slowly and an inner layer is soaked with a viscous, fire-retardant liquid. It keeps you mostly... mostly unburnt. In the old days, in Castrum Kremnos, dancers like yourself wore the extremity burns that came with your art with pride. They were indicative of prowess. You’ve found that Okhema is less accepting and prideful when you walk around the streets with fresh wounds. So, you’ve become very diligent in wrapping your wrists and ankles to prevent actual, lasting injuries. A few flame bites don’t scare you.

However, this evening, you’re unnerved by Mydei’s unwanted presence. His gaze feels like a brand, hot iron tucked into gemstone embers, a silent threat that you’ll be burned by something other than your own controlled fire. 

Frustratingly, you know that if you asked him to leave, he would. He’d probably just be waiting around a corner for the remainder of the night, ready to stalk you down like a big cat.

Mydeimos remains, and you attempt to dance as usual. But the whistling of the aulos and the drumbeats feel a little wrong, and you’re embarrassingly off-beat. You stumble more than once but disguise the blunders with a well-timed lunge or leap. The fourth-ish time you misstep, you turn on your heel wrong, and pain shoots up from your foot to your leg. It hurts badly enough that you snap your jaw shut, teeth clattering against each other. Your leg gives out, and your knee crashes into the stone floor.

The most sober of the crowd seem to still— this isn’t part of your usual routine. You rise and try to make it seem natural, but your next step— fucking hurts— and you crash to the ground. The wrapped cloth around your limbs begins to slip off, you fully put your hand onto the burning strip of fabric that has been shed with your stumbling.

“Fuck—” You curse under your breath and flinch away from it. 

You don’t even realize Mydei is there until there are large, hot hands under your arms, hauling you back and away. You— fuck him— fight against him, elbow and kick at him, but he is the indomitable crown prince, and he is not moved by what are essentially the swats of an angry kitten (you are the angry kitten).

With a dizzying amount of dexterity, especially given the low lowlight, he tugs the remaining flame-ridden cloth from you. He snuffs it just as easily. It all happens so quickly that you can’t protest properly, can’t curse him out either. The torches are relit just as Mydeimos stands, dragging you up with him, still hoisting you under the arms like you’re nothing more than a doll. Or corpse.

“This performance is over.” His words won’t be questioned even as you begin to snarl at him under your breath. “Take part in your regular merriment all you wish.”

‘Regular merriment’ is the two barrels of wine that have already been popped open and dipped into. 

The crowd still manages to cheer (traitors, all of them), the aulos and drums resume, and despite your protest, Mydeimos drags you from your stage, your theater, and you have a sinking feeling that your one-sided game has come to an end.

...

It becomes immediately clear that you cannot run from Mydei now. He has corralled you, cornered you so efficiently. Your egress has been smashed, no alcohol to blame or drunkards to weave your way into. 

You cannot hide from him as he drags you away.

Well— not drag. Carries. Over his shoulder, specifically.

You protest— because how could you not? All of your kicking and snarling doesn’t do anything more than get Mydeimos to throw you over your shoulder like you’re nothing more than a sack of grain that he’s helping a passerby move from one place to another. Except you’re not a sack of grain, you're a vaguely tipsy dancer who would much rather be enjoying the afterparty.

Mydeimos only sets you down once you’ve sufficiently punched his spine and lower back. It doesn’t affect him, and he carries you all the way to the hot bath without issue.

He sets you down on one of the massage tables; he treats you more gently than a sack of grain then. His touch isn't unkind and he makes sure you settle, unwobbling, on your backside, legs dangling off the edge of the table. One of them is already swollen around the joint of your ankle.

Mydei frowns— he notices too. He drops to his knees to inspect it. 

With an uncomfortable amount of reverence, he scrutinizes the injury.

“Mydeimos.” You hope to interrupt his... overt concern. “Stop that. Stop this. It’s unbecoming.”

Mydei, with one hand cradling the underside of your knee, lifting your foot closer to his face, and the other cradling the sicklish instep of your foot, flicks his gaze to you. It moves back down to the injury, to the burns that marr the skin there. There’s a ring of thickened, textured skin from your fire dancing. You never saw them as— a bad thing. Battle scars, you thought of them as.

With the way Mydei is eyeing them, like they’ve personally offended him, you can’t help but feel an edge of... guilt for allowing yourself to be injured like this. You usually don’t care. Scars are nothing to be ashamed of— your mother taught you that when she was stabbed in the gut by a Furiae tideling. She still wore the revealing tops she adored, the ones cut to show her stomach and the molted, gnarled skin there.

Your little burns are nothing against that. Yet, Mydei looks at them, looks at you, like you’ve been grievously injured. 

“I should forbid you from your dance,” he says, voice clear and irrefutable. “This is unacceptable.”

“Fuck you.” You kick him with your other leg, not hard but enough to startle. “No. That’s— stupid.”

“You’re hurting yourself.”

“Nikador slain, Mydeimos. It’s a few minor burns, once a week, in exchange for the joy and excitement of our people— your people— I say it’s a fair trade, don’t you think so?” 

“No. It’s not.” He drops your ankle, futzes around under the massage table, and pulls out a long bandage. The kind that stretches and holds pressure. He wraps it gingerly around your swelling foot. From the stash that you didn’t even know was there, he grabs a salve. Gauze and bandages too.

You frown. With a lurching tilt, you attempt to snatch the supplies from him. “I can do this— my fucking— self—”

Mydei rights you with a single hand against your sternum. The metal of his gauntlet is slick with condensation from the bathhouse air but still a bit chilled against your skin. 

He stares at you. That sharp gaze of his leaves you defenseless, uncomfortable in your skin. 

“You cannot be trusted with your own well-being.“

There’s… something in the way that he says it. A finality to his words, a statement of absolutely unflappable fact, he provides you. It makes you feel… small. And foolish and weak.

“Yes, I can be.” You sound defensive, it makes you cringe inside yourself. “I’m perfectly capable of handling my ‘well-being,’ thank you very much, Mydeimos.” 

His jaw locks, tightens. You see the strain of it in the tendons of his neck. He— he still hasn’t let go of the fragile skin and bone of your ankle. As you sober up, increasingly quickly given the conversation you’re having, you’re aware of the ache in your limbs. The sting of burns that you… may have ignored. But it’s your choice to ignore them! 

In a rush of motion, Mydei stands, still holding your leg. The flow of the action pushes you back, flattening you to the massage table so that you’re forced to lie on it. When you try to at least get on your elbows, keep your tender belly somewhat less flat and exposed before you lose your composure any further—

Mydei stops you. A hand laid over your sternum pushes you back down. The sharp points of his gauntlet tease into your skin. A threat that you’re sure many others have felt before under his hand.

You didn’t think you’d ever be one of them, not like this. 

“You are not a fool, nor are you stupid,” he says. “And I would think that you have enough sense to put aside your childish ego when it comes to something as paramount as your own health.” 

“It’s not— it’s not a childish ego—“ You feel like you’re being flayed open under the heat of his gaze and touch. “It matters to me— and to others—“

“There are far safer ways to indulge your dancing.” Mydei fingers drum over the bones of your ankle. “Your performing peers have almost entirely put aside dancing with live flame.” 

“Cowards.” You spit, voice trembling. 

“No, they’re just more honest than you.” Mydei leans forward. He eclipses the haze of steam and low, warm light of the room. “They don’t want to experience such pain in order to provide joy. You disregard that pain in favor of… what?”

“Fuck you, Mydei.” You really push up against him now, but it’s unmoveable. “Let me up—“

“Attention?” Mydeimos stares at you, grips your ankle harder. “Is that what you crave so badly?”

“I ‘crave’ my ability to move and exist as I wish—“ 

“Clearly not,” gently, but firm all the same, Mydei squeezes your twisted ankle. A half-formed sound escapes you as pain rockets up from the appendage. “How would you expect to move, let alone walk, when you’re injuring yourself so carelessly?” 

“Let me up—“

Mydei’s grip on your ankle tightens. It— hurts, actually. More than a little. An involuntary noise, a squeak, a fucking whimper bursts up from your throat. 

“You have a liar’s tongue.” Mydei tells you. 

His gaze flicks to your ankle. Then back to your face. Then back to your ankle. He squeezes— harder. He’s still not putting anything close to his full strength into it, but you have the bones of a dancer, the body of a mover, not a fighter.

He’s… not going to—

“Mydei—“ you feel paralyzed, frozen. So unsure in your belly and behind your eyes. 

He’s not going to break you, is he?

Mydei pushed your ankle the wrong way. You can’t help but squirm, attempting to tug yourself away. He is unyielding. Your words of protest are stuck in your throat. 

“What you really want,” he says, “is just a game, isn’t it? The feelings of others. A drunken sport for you, is it?” 

“That’s not—“

“Don’t lie.” It’s a threat, you realize. Mydei's hulking form moves closer, pinning you fully. Your legs are forced around his body, bent at the knee. It would be an intimate position under other contexts. 

Not this one. 

“A-And so what if it is?” You manage to crack a smile, nervously looking between Mydei and your ankle that— he wouldn’t, would he? “Flirting a little— it’s within my right, isn’t it? I’m not hurting anyone.”

Mydei frowns at that. 

“How callous of you.” 

It clicks then. It’s like you’ve been dunked in the cold bath, not the hot one that you’re flattened so close to now. Immediately, you’re sober, you’re so alert it feels like your heart is going to tear out of your chest. 

The swirl of emotions in your chest is overwhelming— shame— fucking shame— fear, hot on your tongue too. Sadness at your misunderstanding; you didn’t mean to hurt anyone. 

“O-Oh.” Is all you can manage to squeeze out. 

Mydei inspects you. He has you where he wants you, you think. You’re immobile, forced to reckon with whatever he presents you. You can’t do anything but take what he says— and it’s Mydei, so of course you believe him. Something awful grows in the pit of your stomach, like a fungus that crawls along the lining of your guts. The backs of your eyes sting. 

“Do you understand?” He asks.

You’re certain that he’s going to break your ankle. Shatter it right then and there. 

“S-Sure.”

Mydei stares at you, then lets down your ankle and releases it. Free of pressure, the promise of something far worse than being pinned is not quite gone, but it’s... somewhat diffused.

Mydei opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by the laughter. The floating, high kind, fueled by wine and merriment. A gaggle of girls stumble into the baths, you recognize them as some of your regular attendees. They hang off each other, bracing themselves on the railing down to the bottom platform, to the bath and the massage tables.

You freeze, Mydei looks unphased. 

The girls notice you and— gasp. Audibly. The fucking dramatics.

“Oh my gods,” one covers her mouth, the strap of her dress slipping down her arm. “We didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re not—” you rush to say, pushing against Mydei’s hand. 

It’s a jolting movement, one Mydei doesn’t fully expect, and, perhaps by reflex or perhaps with some repressed intention, the claws of his gauntlet dig into your chest and he pushes you back into the damp wood of the table. 

Blood pinpricks where the gauntlet digs in.

Mydei notices, scowls, and then an unreadable look takes over his features. He lets you go without another word and departs wordlessly but swiftly. He looks back at you just before exiting.

His gaze pierces you. It’s a promise, it’s a threat, it’s a death knell that every fiber of your being tells you that you must avoid.

...

You do see a healer the next day. Or, rather, you contact your usual girlie, requesting a house call. You did manage to drag yourself to your little home the night before, but walking on the sprain was a pointedly bad idea.

She fixes you up with a splint and gives you a bit of ointment to put on the small wounds on your chest. The cuts spread out from between your collarbones, all the way down to your sternum. Your healer, a doe-eyed blonde, tells you that they’ll scar in the shape of a star (“How pretty will that be?”)

You have to make sure it doesn’t scar.

Your encounter with Mydei... unnerves you. 

It’s not like you haven’t seen the crown prince intense before. You’ve spied on him and that Deliverer Chrysos Heir more than once during their spars. Mydei strikes with blows that would maim an opponent with any less strength and finesse than the other. He fights with intention, and he speaks the same way. Mydeimos bears a heavy crown and an even heavier burden, and he’s constantly vying for control and sway between the elder Kremnoans and the seats of Okhema. He does not do this with pretty words; he does so cuttingly. He is kind to those he wishes to be kind to and lethal to those he wishes to be lethal to.

You’re not sure which side you land on anymore.

It’s a bad idea, continuing to attempt to ignore him. But this time, it feels more... paramount. Less childish and more like you’re trying to save yourself from something bigger than the fallout of your brazen flirtations.

You lock the door and hide in your little apartment for four days.

It’s coward behavior, but truthfully, you don’t know what the fuck to do.

You don’t want to face Mydei. You don’t know what will happen if you do face him. You’ve already canceled your dance for this week, citing your injury while thinking of Mydei’s disapproval of you performing at all.

You shouldn’t care so much about his opinion. 

You haven’t before— it’s not like you weren’t somewhat aware of his disapproval. Or, his perceived disapproval. In your mind, the reason why he always left your performances before their end, before the carousing and revelry, was because he was too disgusted by the overtly… enticing nature of your dance and flagrant disregard for your safety to stay. 

You have always disregarded his… disdain? Lack of interest? That’s half the reason he was so fun to tease, or attempt to tease. Getting a rise out of the crown prince was one of your pleasures for a while.

Now? You’re… perhaps a little scared to get a rise out of him. Your ankle still throbs, bruises have bloomed under your skin where he gripped so fiercely. You’d, actually, like to avoid attracting his attention at all for the time being. You don’t want the crown prince to have any opinion of you. The ideal situation would be for you to rot in your apartment for as long as it takes for Mydei to forget about... whatever all that was, and you can go back to your dancing in peace. 

However, you cannot rot in your apartment forever. One must eat, and your stash of bread and olive oil runs out very quickly. Not to mention that you’re... perhaps— going through some very big, complex emotions, and nothing soothes like a carb smothered in high-quality olive oil. You’ve been indulging and your empty pantry is the consequence.

You venture out of your apartment on the fifth day, wearing a cloak to cover your face (rather dramatically) and heading to Marmoreal Market during its least busy hours. It earns you some odd looks, but you don’t particularly care. You’re in your hermit era. Your ascetic era, actually, because you’re going to make the cask of olive oil and two loaves of bread you purchase last for at least a month. 

... Okay, maybe not complete asceticism, because one of your favorite vendors has a fresh batch of sesamous rolls out, and you’re just a mortal, human person, and you cannot resist the supernatural call of a flakey, nutty pastry when all you’ve eaten for a week pantry basics.

So, you procure six. Which is excessive, but you make decent money as a dancer, and you’re kind of going through something.

With your wares secured, you start to head back to your home. Your safe haven where you can pretend the crown prince didn’t consider breaking your ankle. Or bedding you. Or some unholy combination of the two. You can’t be sure and truthfully, you don’t really want to be sure. 

(It’s unfortunate that the lionesque crown prince has been on the prowl for you.)

His voice, low and rough, bounces off the marble of Okhema’s inner hallways. You freeze when you hear it, panic lancing through you. He’s not far and it seems he’s rounding a corner, talking to— fuck— Cora, damn woman.

You scamper back up the hallway, looking desperately for a place to hide. A pillar to duck behind, a cart to hide under— fuck, you’d slip into a pond if it would allow you to escape this impending interaction. 

Mydei, however, is a warrior and far faster than you in every regard. The hallway is relatively empty, and the best cover you can find is behind a not-so-large pot and vining, flowering plant that curls through one of the open air windows. It’s— not really cover. But if Mydei wasn’t looking for you, he wouldn’t see you.

Except, Mydei is very clearly looking for… something. Probably you. Scanning left and right, up and down as he walks. Cora chatters by his side, her arm looped through his. Traitor, you think. You thought Cora was on YOUR side. But, apparently not. 

(It’s easier to blame her for things she doesn’t even know then acknowledge any of the unpleasant feelings that have been creeping up your throat the past few days.)

You flatten yourself to the wall, praying Mydei doesn’t see you.

It’s foolish, really, because one look in your direction and his eyes lock onto you. Regardless of your cloak and shadow-covered face, he recognizes you. You curse under your breath and kick off the wall. Running off is paramount. You can (probably) lose him in the markets and their growing crowds. 

You’ve never been known for your speed or stealth, however. Only the grace of your steps. It doesn’t help that your splinted ankle is already aching from all of your walking. 

Before you’re two steps from your hiding spot, there’s a hand on the nape of your neck, tugging you backwards. You choke, grasping at the cloak’s tie around your neck. It only takes a single motion to loosen it, and it drops to the ground. You whirl around to curse at Mydei, who is still staring at you along with a very mischievous-looking Cora.

“Oh, dear,” she says, hiding a smile behind her palm. “I fear I may be about to intrude on something.”

“You’re not.” You straighten yourself up and overdramatically (or perfectly dramatically) brush dust from your robes. “This is actually harassment. Cora, could you escort me home, please?”

You give her a pleading look, probably looking like a sad, wet puppy, but she does not waver. Instead she looks even more pleased, giggling to herself as her frizzy, silver-grey curls bounce around her jaw. 

“If this is harassment, I ought to get into the business of being harassed.”

“Don’t joke, please.” Mydei frowns. “And what would Sara think of such pursuits?”

“She’d attempt to join in, Mydeimos!”

You turn, ready to leave this weird, flirting-but-not-flirting exchange. Mydei seems engrossed enough, but he still shoots out a hand to grab your shoulder. You curse, ready to snap at you, but he’s at your back. A furnace-like presence that eclipses everything else in your line of sight.

“I’ll escort you.” Mydei says it in a way that brokers no argument. 

“I’ll pass, thank you.”

“It’s not an offer.” He tells you, stooping so just you can hear. His tone isn’t harsh, but it’s unignorable and sharp enough to pierce. You shudder. The phantom pain from the healing bruises on your ankle makes itself known.

You sigh, looping your arms with Mydei, reluctantly, like it’s the worst fate in the world. Cora howls as you do. Mydei looks rather unimpressed. Your theatrics don’t seem to phase him, not actually— rather, whatever he is seeing underneath your performance is what’s bothering him. 

You wish you were drunk. Maybe you should’ve bought wine along with your sundries. 

It’s too late to regret now as Mydei steers you away from Cora and the vining, budding plant that could not hide you from the eyes of your undying crown prince.

...

Mydeimos does not, actually, take you back to your apartment, much to your chagrin. He leads you into the baths through a back entrance. There’s no chatter between the two of you as you walk. You have no interest in attempting conversation when you are being dragged through the bathhouse somewhat against your will.

It’s only when you think of the blessed loaf of bread and fresh baked goods that you start dragging your feet.

“Mydeimos,” you huff. “The steam in here will ruin my groceries. Unless this is some shortcut back to my apartment that I’m unaware of, take me home.”

“I will.” Mydei continues to walk because you, tugging on his arm, really does next to nothing to stop him. “After we talk.”

You sigh. It’s not really worth it to fight him on it at this point. Maybe, after you talk or whatever, you’ll be free of his oppressive presence and can go back to dancing (and maybe even forget about his stunt at the hot bath. Maybe.)

Mydei drags you far into the bathhouse, down hallways you don’t recognize. The marble molts from white and grey to black and silver. It’s almost warm beneath your feet. Part of you thinks to ask for more details of where you’re being led, but you think better of it. It gets quieter and quieter. The air feels thicker.

Eventually, you find yourself a private bath. Far larger than the ones available for rent in the main bathhouse. The basin seems deeper, wider, with a current curling in the water from somewhere you can’t identify.

You eye the round bath and its blueish, perfect-looking, steaming water, then look up to Mydei with a scowl.

“We’re in private.” You extract yourself from the loop of his arm and cross your own over your chest. “What did you wish to talk about?”

Mydei looks at you, deadpan. You revel in the reaction. “Do you enjoy being daft on purpose?”

“No, actually. Though, I would very much enjoy forgetting about the... events that followed my dance.”

Mydei frowns at you and clicks his tongue. It’s then that he decides shedding his already objectively indecent outer (and inner) robes is the best course of action. You scoff and turn away from him. You do not need to see this man naked. He already wanders around half-naked and you have enough mental images of his likeness stored in such a state to not need to see him entirely undressed.

There’s a slight splash behind you, and it’s only then that you turn around. The churning water that comes up to just below his tits protects some of his modesty. Bare minimum decency, really.

You frown so hard that you think you might get a headache.

“Get in.” Mydei nods to the bathwater, steam already making his hair frizzy.

“Absolutely not.” You frown. “For a litany of reasons, I will stay on dry land while we ‘talk’, Mydeimos. Allow me this much.”

Mydei stares at you. He looks at you with the same precision and violence that a lance piercing a fragile chest would have. It makes you freeze in place. 

It’s only then that you become aware of how close you are already to the bath’s luxuriously large basin. How Mydei, far stronger and swifter than yourself, is not all that far away from your tender, healing ankles.

Your gaze snaps from your feet back to him. It’s already too late.

In single deft motion, he has you by the calf and pulls you into the bath. One of his arms shoots out as you crash down, you feel it on your back, up your spine, to guard your head and neck despite plunging you into the uncomfortably deep bath. You yelp as you hit the water, half-drowning as your head slips under the water. Mydei hauls you up a moment later and drags you next to him. 

You must look like a wet cat. You feel like a wet cat— a pouting one as you stare at him incredulously. Your light clothes are soaked and— indecent. Fucking indecent and half-floating in the water with the current and heat of it. 

“What the fuck—” 

“I wouldn’t have had to do that,” Mydei interrupts, stern in a way that makes your stomach flip, “if you didn’t keep running away.”

“I’m not running away.” (You are.) “You just cannot let this fucking— thing go. This a you problem.”

Mydei looks sick based on his expression. You lean away from him in the bath, crossing your arms, horribly aware of your own exposure. 

You feel like a cornered animal.

“You’re so—” Mydei sighs. His composure is fracturing. Part of you is deeply enchanted by watching this occur and the other is horrified by it. You’re so close to him, so bare to him. It makes your skin itch. He breathes out through his teeth then stares at you. You feel his gaze down to your marrow. “Your obstinance is infuriating. But, you’re aware of this, aren’t you? Are you taking pleasure in the trouble you cause?”

“No—?”

“I don’t believe you,” Mydei’s tone is scaring you. “You revel in this. The affections you give and how you dash from the consequence of your kindness, whether it be bad or good to you. You run from the recompense. You cause reactions only to turn the other way when they actually occur. To yourself, even to your own body. It’s been difficult to watch. Unbearable, even. You look away from your own discomfort with such dexterity.”

“Choke,” you say reflexively. 

It’s clearly the wrong thing to say. Mydei’s jaw locks.

“Must I give you a taste of your consequences in order for you to understand their severity?” 

“I think—” You drift away from him in the bath. To the otherside of the pool, hopefully creating enough distance that you can slip away. “That you should go spar with that snow-haired one who clearly wants to fuck you. How about you blow off some steam that way, yeah? I’m sorry for flirting with you and not sticking around for anything else. Just kinda my thing, you know?”

“It’s—” Mydei pinches the bridge of his nose with his uncovered, ungaunleted hand. “Is that all you think this is about?” 

Seeing the bare skin of his muscular forearms pre-massage table incident would’ve probably had you salivating and causing problems. Now, like this, exposed and all too aware of how your clothes are sticking to your skin under the water, the sight brings you nothing but distress. He’s strong beneath the little armor he does wear.  

“Look,” you interrupt him, kicking away from him (with your bad foot— ow—) to a distance that feels safer, “Even if I was flirting with you— I don’t owe you anything beyond that. It’s just... light-hearted, yeah? Besides, you’d know if I wanted you in bed Mydei.”

This— strikes him. You can see in the way his expression darkens. It’s a good distraction. Mydei may be a brutal fighter, but there’s a tender heart there. You admired it, prior to him tossing it aside to pin you down and nearly break one of your limbs. 

“Would I?” Mydei asks, his body coiled tight.

You heft yourself up out of the bath and sit on the lip of it. The air is much cooler than the hot, hot water. Steam curls off of your skin.

“I would’ve just asked if you wanted to fuck.” You shrug, attempting nonchalance. You have no idea if it's landing.

You’re mostly lying. You haven’t had anyone in your bed in months. Physical pleasures that drift so far, so seriously, haven’t interested you in quite some time. You get enough contact from the revelrous dancing following your performances and the dirty, frantic kisses you share with strangers on the way home. This carnality never follows you past your apartment door. 

Back when you were fucking, more regularly, it was long-term partnerships. This whole flirting with no strings attached thing scratched an itch in the back of your brain entirely polar from that. 

You don’t bother explaining any of this to Mydei. It— it feels too late for that. 

“Do you only know how to lie?” He asks.

You look away from him to the condensation-slick stone and dark tile of the floors. They seem far more interesting than affording this guy any amount of further eye contact.

“Depends on who you ask, I guess.” You shake your head, tracing a vein of marble with your eyes. “For what it’s worth— I’m sorry for playing with your feelings. I didn’t realize you’d take all this so seriously. That’s my folly, and I’m sorry for the trouble it’s caused you.”

Silence follows.

Your words crest over the light gurgle of the ever-filling bath. The syllables lay heavy in the air. You don’t know how you really expect Mydei to respond. All you hope is that he lays this stupid heart-to-heart, intervention nightmare to rest and you can go back to wallowing in your apartment until your ankles and wrists heal enough for you to resume dancing (with flame still, by the way.)

In the seething silence, you stand with a sigh. You decide, actually, that this encounter is done. Hopefully Mydei got his scolding out of his system and whatever hurt feelings linger in him can be resolved by that so-called ‘Deliverer’ blowing his back out in a few hours.

You get two steps from the bath before you realize you are terribly, horribly wrong. 

Mydei grabs your ankle. The sprained one, the one that is swollen and wrapped because you stopped wearing your splint early because it was annoying. Pain shoots from the limb and as he yanks, you drop. There’s no cushion to the fall other than how you catch yourself on your hands. The sting is immediate and you nearly crack your skull on the tile. 

You turn to give Mydei a piece of your mind, because what the fuck— but he’s already rising from the water. Naked, half-hard, and so much bigger and stronger than you are.

It all hits you then. 

The situation at hand, really. How much you’ve pissed this guy off, how far you’ve pushed him— the fact he brought you to the depths of the bathhouse to a private room to have this conversation. ‘Conversation’, you realize too, is generous.

This is a duel, one you were destined to lose.

“No—” You push up from the tile, scrambling on the slick surface, but in a single move, Mydei has you pinned on your tummy. A hand splays out between your shoulder blades and he climbs to straddle your hips. Just over your ass. The garment you’re wearing is so thin and the panties you’re wearing are just simple cotton. They’re soaked through.

“Mydeimos— wait—” You need to stop this. It’s vital, it’s vital— you need to run.

“I’ve given you an opportunity to listen. I’ve explained how you ended up in this state.” He applies pressure to your back. It squeezes the air from your lungs with exhales against your will. “And yet, you can’t even do that much. What you do hear— is devoid of the actual intent that I know you understand.”

“Let me up, Mydei!” You shove at the ground. Mydei gathers your wrists in one large, scalding hand and pins them to your lower back. His grip burns more than your flame ever did.

He leans down over your body, flattening you. 

“You have no idea how to take care of yourself.” His voice is hushed, sticky in your ears and you whine. He’s— he’s stupid and dumb and you’re scared— “Mind and body, you’re so reckless with yourself and care not for the harm you inflict on yourself. And on others.”

“Mydei, p-please—” You’ve been reduced to begging this quickly. Your pulse rabbits under your skin.

“You were given many chances.” Mydei hand drifts down your back, following the slope of your spine, the curve and bow of it. “You were presented many opportunities to acknowledge your behavior, really acknowledge it, and you still didn’t. I know you’re not truly ignorant to your own patterns. You wouldn’t be so adept at turning away from them if you were ignorant.”

You try to kick your legs up. Your feet hit Mydei’s back with no effect. 

“As a result,” his words are rough and silken all at once. “You’ve forced my hand. You must be shown the consequence of your actions.” 

You squeak out his name, turning your head under the pressure of him. When you finally meet his gaze, it’s impenetrable. Your— stupidity, foolhardiness— idiocy and indifference have brought out a side of the kind-hearted crown prince that you never expected to be on the receiving end of. 

Dread pools in your gut and you claw against the floor.

...

You know it’s not just about flirting. 

It’s about the wounds. It’s about the way you care not for how many mornings you wake up hungover with the taste of someone else’s spite and berry wine still clinging to your teeth. It’s the way you don’t mind the burns you get, that you ignore the sting and aches you get from your art. You don’t eat sometimes, entranced in learning new steps to a new melody. It’s how you cozy your way up to anyone who suits your fancy and will give you the time of day. It’s about how, despite how legitimate their affections may be, you twirl from the potentiality of closeness and back into your flames. 

If you didn’t know these things before, you know them now, on the tiled floor of the private bath. 

You tremble, grasping at the slippery ground for any type of purchase as Mydei pushes a third finger into your cunt. 

It’s too much, too big, too fast. Mydei’s hands are a warrior’s, strong and rough from years of training, and you feel the texture of them as they work their way, with some difficulty, into the clutch of your cunt. Each callous drags against your opening and you drop your head on to the tile, barely restraining a pitching cry from the back of your throat. 

Mydei, for his part, fucks you with his fingers slowly. You’re not all that wet for him, despite how he’s alternating between slipping his other hand under you to rub your clit and petting over your hip as if to calm a startled animal. 

You are a startled animal, really.

“I y-yield—” you choke out, again. You don’t know how many times you’ve said it at this point. Your throat feels dry despite the damp air. “I yield—!”

Yielding won’t stop whatever Mydei is doing— you know this, but you have to at least try and resist.

He hushes you in a way that isn’t tender, but isn’t cruel either. His thumb strokes over your side and you barely keep yourself from crying. You bury your face in your arms.

For how much you don’t want this, Mydei isn’t being cruel with his touch.

There’s force behind how he is pinning you down. How his legs are braced over the backs of yours, how one of his hands presses into the center of your spine to keep you belly-down. He bears down on you unrelentingly.

But it’s not cruel. It’s not harsh— just— unignorable 

His fingers drag on your insides, pressing against your sweet spot with an infuriating amount of tenderness given your predicament. He’s drawing desire out of you, coaxing you into a state you have so diligently avoided.

The delirium of carnal pleasure. Fucker.

A noise lodges itself in your throat. You can’t tell if it’s one of discomfort or desire. 

He continues like this, fingers curling in you with enough gentleness that you could, under different circumstances, fool yourself into thinking it was the touch of a proper lover. The pump of his fingers in and out of your cunt gets easier, wetter, much to your dismay. You don’t want to admit that there are little, pleasurable sparks beginning to curl from your toes up to your spine. 

You hope that what’s making you slicker is blood and not your own arousal. 

Mydei strokes your back as his pace increases, each thrust into your insides begins to punch. Each stroke and curl is directly over your sweet spot. He’s learned your body so well, so quickly.

“Fuck you—” You spit at him, breathless, unfortunately. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!”

He sighs behind you, squeezing your hip in a way that you’re sure will leave a bruise. “Even like this, you deny yourself?”

“Especially like this!” You shout, your voice bouncing off the tiles. “You c-could’ve, like, I-I don’t know— asked me to dinner or something first.”

Mydei stills behind you. His fingers are deep in your cunt as he does, too warm and keeping you too full. He shifts forward, you can feel it, feel the looming shadow he casts over you. His hand tangles in your hair, dragging you from where you’ve been hiding in your arms. Pain nips at your scalp and you gasp with it.

Mydei is nose-to-nose with you, his gaze hot and piercing and uniquely infuriated.

“If I had, you would have said no.” His lips press to your cheek. “Even if you had wanted it.”

He’s the fucking worst— he really is.

Mydei doesn’t drop your head as you squirm beneath him. His fingers move again, harder, faster, pumping in and out of your hole with sick, twisted squelching sounds. You’re slick, you’re wet, and you are undeniably... enjoying this. On some level. Somewhere. And Mydei’s right, isn’t he? That, had Mydei propositioned you traditionally, you would’ve turned him down. You might’ve even laughed in his face. He probably has known that reality longer than you’ve been aware of it yourself.

You have no retort; you can only glare at him.

It’s hard to maintain your disposition like this— as pleasure rolls over itself in your belly and as Mydei is slowly undoing all of your carefully kept defenses. Maintaining— nonchalance has, more or less, gone out the window.

Mydei wants that, you understand. He wants to break you down, and it’s working.

You lose yourself in the feel of it, in the unrelenting weight and presence of Mydei at your back and his fingers in your cunt. It’s hard to think beyond that and the glowing sparks of pleasure that make you drip. It’s— a little hard to breathe with all the steam. And maybe you’re breathing a little too frantically from the shock of being penetrated and not really wanted it. Maybe your own helplessness has made you more a prey animal than a dancer.

You feel the heat in your gut coil tighter, hotter— burning— as he curls his fingers just right, rolls the pearl of your clit with a haunting amount of dexterity. 

“I h-hate you—” you sob, giving one last, valiant attempt at bucking him off of you. “— Mydeimos—” 

Mydei growls. Something angry and more animal than you’re used to. A swoop of something akin to terror shudders through you. Mydei doubles his efforts at taking you apart with nothing but his hands.

You come around his fingers. Your cunt flutters around his digits and the sickening wet sound of flesh and slick goes static in your ears. A sound is ripped from your throat, one that you can hardly hear as pleasure overtakes you.

Before you can really come down, Mydei flips you, so you’re on your back with your legs spread. He kneels between them. Still naked. Fully hard. The tip of his cock is a raging purple, wet with pre.

“You still cannot let go of your liar’s tongue?” He grabs your jaw in one hand. The gesture is firm, but tender, in a way that’s so him. 

You whine— you can’t make yourself form words. Your so-called ‘liar’s tongue’ is too thick and heavy in your mouth.

He looks at you then— examines you, assesses you. Your chest heaves as he does, shivering in the sticky air.

“One more opportunity,” Mydei says. “Listen well, flame kin.”

You nod with a rolling, loose neck.

Mydei strokes over your cheek. “Admit that you revel in your own suffering.”

You whine, trying to close your thighs. Push him away— please, Nikador slain—

He continues, “Admit that you seek your own suffering and push away pleasures. If you can, which I know you can, this ends.”

“That’s basically just admitting that y-you’re hurting me, you know.”

“I’m giving you what you want, apparently—” Mydei’s hand finds its way to your throat. It doesn’t squeeze, but the threat of pressure looms. “Pain. Even if we both know that that’s not really what you want, is it?”

Something weird knots in your insides. You want to push Mydei away, but you know it won’t work. You want to run from this bath, but you know that won’t work. Mydei has you in his grasp, under his predator-like gaze and you cannot escape it.

Your attempts have been feeble. Your sharp tongue hasn’t done you any favors either.

“What do you think I want?” You ask him, voice shaking and breathless all at one.

“Pleasure,” Mydei says, so matter-of-factly. “You’re just too rabbit-hearted to allow it.”

You want to lambast Mydei, it’s a knee-jerk reaction. But you abstain. You’re too tired, too worn down by... everything.

“Fine,” you say, far too softly. “I—I would prefer to hurt than feel good, most of the time. I know it’s not great. Are you happy?”

Mydei sighs.

He looks vaguely disappointed and for a very terrifying moment, you think that that’s not enough. That he’ll find some other way to wring more of your very fragile truth out of you. You’re not sure you could take it, truly. You feel close to shattered— the heart of you fears how else Mydei would push you.

He rubs below your eyes and pulls his thumb back wet. You didn’t even realize you had been crying.

“I’ll accept your answer.” Mydei says. “But know that I am watching— and expect a change in your behavior.”

“S-So no flames?” You swallow. “And w-what, no revelry?”

“No flames.” He reiterated. “I’m certain the Grove can create some alternative that is safer. And you may still revel, but if you wish to entangle yourself with the physical, you will find me.”

“And what if I don’t?”

“Then we’ll find ourselves back here.” He nods to the bath. All of its cruel tile and stone. Your ruined bag of groceries, tossed into a corner. There’s a massage table in the corner you hadn’t even noticed. “And you will receive the carnal from me, regardless.”

The part of you that is used to twirling and spitting is quiet. Dead, maybe, if not dormant. You rub your eyes and think about your bed. About the pastries that are soggy and inedible at this point. Your isolation and the fearfulness you’ve carried over simply being seen.

(How running and hurting has worn you down and how unfair it is that Mydei saw it so easily. And, in retrospect, maybe he was quite patient with you.)

“Okay.��� You sniffle. “I-I agree.”

Mydei sighs again. This time, it’s pure relief. A knot comes loose within him so visibly. His slick shoulders sag and he sinks on his knees just a fraction. You, for your part, collapse into the tile. Boneless, wrung out, and slick still dripping out of your core.

...

It’s after one of your dances, sometime later. Normalcy has taken a new shape and you have allowed it too. 

(Though, you hardly had much of a choice. You’ve been leashed.)

Your body is... mostly healed. Your ankle still aches sometimes. On your worst days, you need a cane. A perfectly crafted piece from a Kremnoan artisan, commissioned by Mydei when he noticed the way your limp persisted.

(When you saw that the healer Chrysos Heir about this persistent injury, she had been quite perplexed. The wound was entirely healed, a sprain shouldn’t linger like yours has. ‘It must be psychosomatic,’ she had said.)

You still dance. You still revel. Even without flame licking your skin, you still lunge and leap. Your revelry is, perhaps, more subdued. You do not sidle up to potential prospects so brazenly. Truthfully, you don’t entertain any suitors at all these days. Either because you don’t look for heated gazes the way you used to or those gazes aren’t turned to you as often anymore. 

(You suppose that even if your new leash isn’t visible, it’s still noticeable.)

You do not antagonize the crown prince in the way that you used to. You would say that your roles have flipped, but that isn’t entirely true. 

You used to tease— Mydei does not tease. But he does take.

You often find yourself as you are now— laying, stomach down, with Mydei overtop of you. He cages your skull in with his forearms braced on either side of your head. His breath is hot and loud in your ear as he presses his cock into your dripping cunt. 

You groan in unison, your sounds far more pitchy and desperate. 

Mydei isn’t too rough with you these days. He fucks you well when you need pleasure. You’ve gotten better about going to him for it rather than him having to track you down and fuck you stupid in a shadowy corner. These days, you end up in a bed. Surrounded by his scent usually, being stretched and opened with his fingers and tongue. Pleasure is given to you in heaps, and you have found it is much easier to accept it than attempt to run.

(Not when the lion-souled crown prince has made you his quarry.)

When Mydei grabs your hips, bare-handed, you keen. You sink into the bed, arching your back into a slope that angles his cock just right inside of you. Your toes curled as he fucks you hard and deep. He might be praising you for your good behavior. Words are being panted in your ear, but you feel a little too out of your body to tell what they are. 

You feel even further from your flesh when Mydei’s rhythm begins to stutter. You feel like a different person, experiencing this connection from a thin, spidery tether, when he spills inside you. The gush of sticky warmth, followed by the feeling of being— full— keeps you far away. 

You’re brought back when he presses a kiss to your nape. Then another to the side of your throat. He turns you easily, gently, easing onto your back. 

You feel so exposed like this. Belly-bared, chest heavy and dewy with sweat. Between your legs feels, somehow, sticky and numb all at once. Your lips are parted with each heaving breath, a little too fast, a little too prey-like. 

Mydei looks at you with a fiery reverence that scares you a little more each day. 

“Beautiful,” He breathes, his braid half-undone and bangs sticking to his forehead.

You don’t get to digest the comment before he’s nestled between your legs, thighs up on his shoulders, eating his cum out of your cunt like it’s his last meal. He’s slow with it, but firm. Always firm, always unyielding in what he decides is true and right. Before all of this, you admired him for that resolve.

Now? You’re not sure if you scorn it or love it.It hardly matters, anyway. 

You come on his tongue while he sucks your clit. Your voice cracks and shatters, made raw so easily. Your vision crosses and you tug on his hair with enough force that it must hurt, you think.You think about apologizing for it, but you choose not to. Or maybe you’re simply too wrung out. 

Mydei pulls up and away from your core. His lips are slick with your slick, wet with his own spent. He grabs your jaw and kisses you, filthy and slow. The mingling taste of you keeps you just tethered enough to writhe and keep your legs spread for him, in case there is more to be had.

He breaks from you, panting, and pulls your head into the crook of his neck. It’s a gesture that feels like it should come from a lover, not whatever Mydei has become to you. Your keeper, your jailer— maybe a lover, too. Someone with such a cruel title wouldn’t treat you as gently as Mydei does.

(It’s easier to think this way.)

The smell of him invades you. Gone is the light scent of incense and fragrant oils that permeate the room, and all that remains is unique, familiar musk of Mydei. Sweat, polished metal, and bur

You lean into the hollow of his throat. It’s better to embrace, rather than to resist.

(Your ankle throbs.)

For some time, you stay like that. Eyes shut and world slow, you shiver as the high of ‘pleasure’ wears off and leaves you off-kilter. What tethers you to your reality, your relatively new, somewhat uncomfortable reality, is Mydei. It’s always Mydei. The heat of his touch, the piercing nature of his attention, and the specific flavor of uncomfortable tenderness he reserves for only you. 

It’s not so bad. It’s less painful in some ways. There’s no more flames licking your ankles and wrists— the only embers that are allowed near you are the ones within Mydei’s own gaze. 

(Maybe— it’s just a different type of pain. One was yours to wield and torch yourself with, and the other is a scalding reminder that leaves no visible mark.)

Mydei must notice you’re too deeply in thought. His hand cups the nape of your neck, his thumb rubs little circles around your spine. He’s warm like a hearth, kind like one when he wants to be, too. You knew that before, and you know it even better now.

It’s better, you remind yourself, to work with your conditions the best that you are able to. It’s better, it’s better, it’s better.

You lean into Mydei’s warmth and go slack. You hear him breathe a sigh of relief as you do. 

[minswriting]

Just the thought of loser gooner spencer..

nsfw | mdni | spencer reid x reader | edging, masturbation, cam girl reader

spencer reid was a highly intelligent person, spending his days working cases and using his high IQ to help catch serial killers. it was rare he ever had time to himself, time to unwind. and when he did, he usually spent his time reading, learning, studying something insignificant, and last of all, jerking off.

today was one of those rare days off and with all of the stress he had wound up throughout the last few weeks, he needed a day to let it all out. especially, when all he thought about the last few days was his favorite cam girl, you.

you had posted a video earlier in the week, a three hour long video of yourself riding your dildo and spencer was itching to watch it. it was practically all he could think about at any given point in time since he had seen the notification. he knew he was pathetic, especially when it came to you.

spencer sat at his desk in his bedroom, laptop open to your onlyfans page as he got out his lube and tissues. if he’s gonna goon, he’s gonna do it right. he pressed play on your video before grabbing his lube, squeezing a reasonable amount into his hand before smearing it on his cock.

you looked gorgeous in the video, all naked and sprawled out, dildo already inside of you as you fucked yourself nice and slow. spencer’s mouth practically watered at the sight, seeing your glistening pussy through the screen. he knew he shouldn’t be obsessed with some random woman on the internet and yet, he just couldn’t help it. not when you were the most prettiest woman he’d ever set eyes on.

spencer began stroking himself nice and slow, following your rhythm as he did so. your soft moans came through the speakers, sending sparks down spencer’s spine. god, you were so fucking hot. anytime you stopped fucking yourself, spencer stopped moving his hand. and whenever you started back up, he’d start back up.

there was one moment when you were fucking yourself with your dildo so hard and fast that spencer assumed you’d allow yourself the luxury of cumming. but when you suddenly stopped, whining at yourself from the lack of movement, spencer was absolutely enamored with your self control. he had been so close too but he instantly stopped the moment you did.

by the time spencer got to the last 30 minutes of the video, his cock was so angry and red, almost purple as it begged him for release. he’d been whining and moaning, matching every single movement of yours in this fake little fantasy as he imagined fucking you for hours, denying both of your orgasm for so long.

and when you did finally allow yourself the pleasure of cumming, spencer was enthralled. the way your body convulsed, the loud moans escaping your lips, and the way you squirted around that dildo as you came made spencer wish he were the one you were cumming on. and when he came, he came with such a loud moan, borderline cry, that he was sure his neighbors knew he was doing. he painted himself with his cum, rope upon rope hitting his stomach and chest. when he was finished, he sat back in the chair, breathing heavily as he felt his mind clear and shoulders visibly deflate as the stress left his body.

if he could spend everyday edging himself to you, he would. but he knew he couldn’t.

and the following week, when you posted a one hour video of you overstimulating yourself, spencer was more than ready to fuck himself until he was dry.

[laswells-ashtray]

For most people, asking your partner about their past sexual partners is purely an act of self punishment but John's curiosity cannot be abated.

Spending years repressed and denying himself the littlest of pleasures, he has to wonder what Nikolai got up to as he helplessly pined for a man who was living in a tyrannized prison of his own making.

That's how he finds himself enthralled with the story of a drag queen in an alley outside of a Belgian bar who had Nikolai choking on her cock and thanking her for cumming on his face.

He's almost hesitant to ask, a faint flicker of hope burning in his chest.

"Did you like it? Her leading, not having to be in charge for once?"

The pilot nods, answering with a honesty rhat most wouldn't offer.

"Yes, it was an enlightening experience for that age. And she had the biggest cock I had ever seen."

Whisky burns his nose as he snorts it in a fit of laughter but it spreads a warmth through his chest. The desire to be bold sparks inside of his mind.

"What if I want to stick my cock down your throat one day and have you thank me for it?"

Nikolai doesn't skip a beat before answering with a sly grin,

"Only if your heels are as tall as hers were."

[cybermindz]

. ۫ ꣑ৎ contains. nsfw, explicit : fem!reader, oral (fem receiving), praise ♡, light smacking, pússydrunk! sugu ♡, manhandling (?), usage of petnames (baby, pretty, sweet girl), wc : 800+

suguru’s eyes are intense and he damn well knows it too. acutely aware of how they affect you, especially when he’s busying himself in between your legs much like now, lapping at your soaked cunt. his violet irises ogling, studying each face twisting reaction he can pull from you, how you can't help but shy away, unable to watch as he’s working you over to reach that sweet obliterating bliss.

he uses it to his advantage every time when your head lolls back against the plush pillow — quick to have one heavy hand on your inner thigh to keep you from shutting your legs while another snakes up your body — muscled arm long enough to tug on your nape, causing you to prop up on your elbows with your head ducked down to focus on him again.

suguru’s cat-like gaze is downright feral, his eyes unflinching and unrelenting — never leaving your face. it’s vicious, so zealous and sharp that a shiver runs up your spine and he’s just smugly drinking up every drop of everything you’re displaying. devouring you completely, almost like a predator taking in his prey. to his displeasure, you instantly shut your own eyes tightly with a sense of embarrassment from the angle. the way his tongue was making your puffy pussy glisten so lewdly makes your whole body tingle with an unbearable heat.

“nuh-uh open your eyes, pretty baby,” he murmurs in that deep, honeyed voice against your clit, making you shudder as a white flash of euphoria shoots through your core from the vibrations. your cheeks are flushed — reluctant yet so completely entranced. “watch me, wanna see you looking at me.”

“suguuuu,” you shook your head desperately in his grasp with a pitiful whine. his eyes narrowed into slits at your defiant action, his grip on the back of your neck tightens just a little. it's a subtle warning, but there nonetheless — not afraid to exert his power or authority on you.

“eyes on me sweet girl,” he momentarily latches his mouth off of you to repeat himself, face now close to yours you can feel his breath fanning on your cheeks. his tone is gentle but still firm, leaving no room for argument. “don't make me ask you again, you know better. don't be silly.”

he can see how overwhelmed you’re feeling, the bashfulness radiating off of you but he's desperate for the sweet sight of you, needing to witness how far he’s managed to make you a pleasured-drunk mess. the only time he wants to see you look away is when your eyes are rolling back as you cum for him. he’ll be damned if he won't be able to take in every single little expression on your sweet face, see every bit of emotion cross through you.

as soon as you flutter your eyes back open, suguru immediately locks onto them with that same fierce, fixed stare. "theeeerre you go, good girl." the praise leaves his lips in a deep rumble, almost sounding like a purr. another low guttural “very good,” reverberates deep within suguru’s chest before he’s delving in again, your thighs trembling in response.

his ministrations would go right back to being feverish, his tongue working you thoroughly, and his fingers on the back of your nape slowly loosens into a more gentle hold, the feeling completely opposite to the way he was consuming you. to the point of it almost feeling out of place, but it works in calming you down.

he’s got you completely hostage, you’re mesmerized by it all as he continues to keep you enthralled in this intimate moment. and just to tease you, he changes the pace into a more sensual one. his mouth slowly moving at an almost torturously agonizing tempo, wanting to keep you in this overwhelming state of helpless bliss.

suguru feels like there’s sparks going off in his brain, his body feeling like it's buzzing from how good it feels. the taste of you, the array of cute sounds and expressions you're making feeds into his already insatiable hunger — wanting more and more of you. he's in absolute heaven almost drunk on having you in such a state and he can tell just how lost you are in the moment too, eyes practically glazed over and powerless — unable to formulate a single thought or look away with both his clutch and heated gawking.

practically focused on you like a laser, watching you so closely. almost waiting for the moment your eyes would close — taking in every little detail, every little movement you make. and if your eyes go half-lidded just even slightly, he always makes sure to give you a little reprimand, the sensation never failing to shock you out of your almost trancelike state — with either a well placed nip on your sensitive clit, or a sharp smack on your inner thigh.

“you get distracted so easily,” he’d say in a mocking tone, thumb softly caressing the side of your neck. “can’t focus for me huh? can’t even stay awake…you’re just so damn sensitive, baby.”

© 𝐂𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐙 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works.

[shannonbarczak]

A Spark of Enthrallment

Dear Readers… It’s been a bit, huh? I had hoped to release the second book in The Warwick Witches series this month. A Spark of Enthrallment has been written and edited for a little while now. Unfortunately, due to unforeseen circumstances, the book was pushed back for release. Not long after publishing A Flicker of Magic, my beloved companion, my stalker, our households second vacuum, my foot…

[mytheoristavenue]

Aki, Denji, & Power Period Comfort!

Summary: Having four roommates in a two-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment is complicated enough, but it's even worse when you discover you're the only one to have a period.

Warnings: All platonic, fem!reader, period comfort, fluff, takes place just after season one, just three idiots trying their best

🌸 None of you were very enthralled when Makima ordered you to move into Aki's apartment, seeing as it was already overcrowded. He had half a mind to pile you in with Denji and Power, or make you sleep in the living room but Makima convinced him to accommodate you properly. To his dismay, that meant sharing his room with Denji and letting you share with Power.

🌸 As much as you hated the arrangement, you adjusted. Luckily, Power tended to end up sleeping on the floor in a nest of blankets and dirty clothes, cuddled up with her cat, which gave you the bed to yourself most of the time.

🌸 That came especially in handy in times like these. This was the first period you'd had since moving in and it was especially bad. You'd been in terrible pain all morning, curled up with a hot water bottle like it was your lifeline. Luckily, Meowy had sensed your discomfort and came to cuddle with you for a change.

🌸 "Cat thief!" You heard from your roommate as she stirred awake to find her beloved companion's betrayal. "Unhand my darling Meowy!" Yeah, you definitely weren't in the mood for her crap today, lifting the cat, much to it's dismay and setting it on the floor.

🌸 "It came to me, jeez," You groaned, pulling the blanket over your head. "Not trying to steal your cat, you psycho."

🌸 Before you knew it, the feral girl was pressing her nose into Meowy's fur in pursuit of something, turning her face to the air, sniffing it as well. "The scent of blood is in the air, did you hurt my cat?" She asked accusingly before giving a smug grin. "I see, you tried to take him and he scratched you, is that it?"

🌸 "No, dipshit, I'm on my period." You groaned, patience already thinner than trace paper. Power gave you the most condescending look she was capable of, explaining that a period was a grammatical symbol of punctuation, not a physical thing you could lay on. You paled, staring at her blankly. "Power, do you not have a menstrual cycle?"

🌸 "Of course not!" She huffed. "Fiends are incapable of organic reproduction! Such is a human weakness!" Great, the only other girl in the house had no clue about girl problems. You went on to explain a few things to her, such as what a period is and why it had you so disgruntled. "Ahh, so that explains your paler complexion, you're suffering from blood loss!"

🌸 If there is only one thing Power understood, its blood and how a lack there of can affect the performance of the body. She thought to herself before getting an idea. "Iron, you need iron!" She decided, scrambling to her feet, darting to the kitchen.

🌸 You couldn't help but laugh. She wasnt not the brightest, especially when it comes to human affairs, but it warmed your heart to see her so eager to help solve your probelm, even if she didn't fully understand it. Just as you were about to get out of bed and see what she was up to, you heard a voice that makes you cringe.

🌸 "Yo, stop pullin' everything outta the fridge, dumbass!" Your shoulders slumped, knowing Power would surely explain her antics to Denji, who you were certain would be disgusted.

🌸 "Unhand that contianer, I'm on the hunt for red meat!" Your roommate shouted, sparking an altercation. "(Y/N)'s life hangs in the balance! She's bleeding out, she needs iron!" Her words seemed to quell his irritation and before you knew it, he'd barged into your room, panic written all over his face.

🌸 "Holy shit, are you dying?!" You couldn't hide your annoyance, pinching the bridge of your nose as his eyes scanned you worriedly.

🌸 "I'm not dying, I'm not bleeding out, and my life does not hang in the balance." You grumbled, brow twitching. "I'm just on my period."

🌸 "Oh, gross," The look on your face told Denji he'd made a mistake with that comment and he was quick to backtrack. "I-I mean, uh, it's cool, it's totally natural! I-I think..."

🌸 "You're an idiot." You deadpanned, pointing out the door to usher him out. To your dismay, he came right back with a stale pillow and blanket. He nervously fluffed the naked pillow and shoved it behind your back, spreading the blanket out on top of you. You couldn't stay mad at him, he was trying.

🌸 "Oh shit, periods like- hurt, right?" He thought aloud, leaving again and returning with a bottle of generic painkillers. "Oh wait, you need a drink, uh, hold on." He tossed the bottle at you and scrambled back to the kitchen, before bringing you a soda.

🌸 "Can I have some water instead?" You asked politely, trying to hide your amused smile. He looked between you and the soda can, puzzled.

🌸 "I mean, I guess," He accepted suspiciously. "What, you don't like soda anymore?" Before you can explain to him the link between the pain and the caffeine in the drink, Power bursted into the room, shoving him to the side and pushinng a plate of raw red meat into your lap.

🌸 "You dumbass, humans can't eat raw meat, it's bad for us!" Denji scolded, grabbing the plate and handing it back to her. "You have to cook this shit!"

🌸 "I don't know how to cook!" Power argued back childishly. "Besides, the bloodier the meat, the more iron it will restore to her bloodstream! It has to be raw!"

🌸 "Listen, humans can't digest raw shit like that! If (Y/N) eats that she'll probably die of salmonella or somethin'!" You didn't have the heart to explain that that's not how such a bacteria was passed on, but you did agree that, knowing Power's hygiene habits, she could give you salmonella.

🌸 You groaned, letting them bicker until the front door opened, slamming shut. "Why the hell is my kitchen in shambles right now?" Aki bellowed prompting both of your 'care takers' to scurry away.

🌸 "(Y/N) is dying of blood loss!" Power informed him, urging how dire the situation is.

🌸 "Nuh-uh, dipshit, she's just on the rag." Denji rolled his eyes at her concern.

🌸 "And that means you destroyed my kitchen and piled all the raw beef we had on one plate, why?" Aki narrowed his eyes at the pair. "Mind explaining further?"

🌸 "She has to build up her iron levels!" She growled, irritated that nobody is listening to her expertise. Denji continued to argue, thinking surely, she's full of crap.

🌸 "No, that's actually true," Aki admitted with a heavy sigh, already beginning to clean up her mess. "Red meat contains iron and when you lose a lot of blood, you develope an iron deficiency. Eating iron rich foods help replenish your iron levels faster." He explains, finally putting Power's words in a way the boy would understand.

🌸 "But she just can't eat a fuck ton raw meat!" Denji huffed, more irritated that he was wrong than anything else.

🌸 "Also true," Aki sighed, taking out a skillet and setting it on top of the stove, pulling the plate closer. "Look, I'll take care of this. Denji, go run a hot bath, Power, you go see what kind of products she uses and what snacks she likes."

🌸 Power came back and asks you what you prefered for this time of the month. After both of their tasks are completed, Aki sent them both to the nearest corner store with a specific list of what to buy.

🌸 After they left, he peered into the room calmly. "Denji ran you a bath, go ahead while I make you some food." He suggested kindly tilting his head towards the bathroom. You thanked him, relieved to have someone who sort of understands.

🌸 By the time you got out if the bath, you were much more relaxed, muscles no longer as sore. To your suprise, your fuzziest pajamas were sitting on the sink along with a warm towel. Exiting the bathroom, you realized Denji and Power were back, bags still in hand.

🌸 Aki waved you over to the table, inviting you to sit down with them all. When you did, he served you a portion of broccoli and beef. After lunch, he took the dishes, giving the other pair a chance to pass off what they bought you.

🌸 You didn't miss the pink in Denji's cheeks when he handed you a specific bag, tied off at the top. You correctly guessed that it was the one containing the products you'd asked for. Aki walked back over and sits back down as Power starts to hand you snacks.

🌸 She piles your arms with junk food, decaffeinated drinks, and dark chocolate. "Aki forbade us from buying anything with caffine!" She explained, annoyed, as if the idea was inconvenient for her specifically.

🌸 "Caffine will make you feel worse than your already do." He explained, passing over a still packaged electrical heat pad and a small stuffed bear. "These are just for comfort."

🌸 After spending a bit of time them, thanking them for their help, you decided to curl up in bed and test out the heating pad. You most definitely didn't expect to find your bed with many more blankets and pillows than you'd left it with. It had effectively become a nest of comfort and Meowy was already waiting to do its part in helping you recover. The sight made your eyes water a bit.

🌸 Power had tried to cuddle with you as well, reasoning that her body heat would also help, but Aki quickly shut her down, banishing both her and Denji to the living room. To ensure they left you alone, he sat on the balcony, watching them while blowing through a pack of cigarettes. Though he'd tried not to let on, he was a bit worried about you, texting you frequently as the day drug on. He'd seen you take bullets with less trouble so it was hard to imagine what kind of pain had you doubled over in bed.

🌸 'You okay?' 'Need anything?' 'Idiots being too loud?' He'd silently check up on your throughout the day, never going to physically check unless you'd left him unanswered for longer than an hour. He wanted to let you sleep if you could.

🌸 When you felt better, you were sure to wear your mood outwardly to show them how well their caretaking had worked. You thanked them endlessly in the next few days, always willing to spend time with them to show your gratitude. Power was happy to have you at full strength again, and to once again be the center of her cat's attention. Denji was glad he would no longer be subjected to your mood swings, at least for a while. (also that Power would sneak him some of your snacks after she deemed them unnecessary due to your period ending.) Aki was just relieved to see you felt better, being the 'dad friend' of the house.

🌸 Ranking of how they handled it:

🌸 Power: 7/10

Very willing to help, just clueless of where start. She feels a kinship with you, being the only other girl in the apartment. Blood is her area of expertise, so she knows a surprising amount about what will help on a logical level, she just doesn't really get how to safely put that knowledge to practice.

🌸 Denji: 5/10

Doesn't really care as much as the others, but they're freaking out about it so it must be important! He's mainly concerned with your pain. Knowing he's seen you take some serious blows that left you with little change in demeanor, it makes him a little nervous to see you so pale and dizzy. He doesn't really know how to help, but he's not opposed to learning. He secretly does think it's pretty gross, but when Aki explains he'll have to know this stuff if he ever wants to get a girlfriend, he's a over it.

🌸 Aki: 10/10

Knows exactly what you need, thanks to his experience with the women around him, especially Himeno. She definitely overshares with him enough for him to understand what to do. He knows the fundamentals and is able to steer the other two in the right direction. Very knowledgeable and level headed, but a bit of a worrier. Will text you if you are in the bathroom too long and will remind you to pack products before you leave for work.

Let's face it, me writing for Chainsaw Man was only a matter of time, I've been cooked since the first episode.

[crimsonbubble]

Stitching Desire

cw. nsfw, afab!reader, dilf hongjoong, designer hongjoong, kinda sugar daddy joong vibes, fingering, possessiveness, marking, vibrators, nipple clamps, bondage, oral, face sitting, creampies, breeding kink, car sex *not proofread, just pure horny

[HOW TF DID I GET HERE BRUH]

dilf!hongjoong who is a devilishly handsome older man. from his lean body to his salt and pepper hair. from his pretty hands littered with protruding veins and rings to his rosy lips, and from his love-struck eyes to his thick-ass thighs.

dilf!hongjoong who is a hopeless romantic. he always goes all out for date nights; gotta make sure his pretty lady is well wined and dined before he thinks of doing anything else.

dilf!hongjoong who is the human embodiment of the word gentleman; offering his arm for you to cling to when you're walking together or keeping his hand against your lower back to guide you gently, holding his hand out to you when you're walking up steps in heels, carrying you over puddles and uneven terrain.

dilf!hongjoong who has you model all of his prototype designs, who always takes your feedback well and incorporates your ideas into his pieces. he even makes special pieces just for you to wear. he adores seeing you wear his designs; it sparks his possessiveness.

dilf!hongjoong who indulges you all the fucking time. nothing makes him happier than seeing his baby happy. it doesn’t matter what it is, as long he gets to see the smile on your face.

dilf!hongjoong who finds it increasingly amusing to tease you. he’ll sit with his legs spread just to make you ogle at his thighs; especially when he knows his pants hug his legs so well. with this, he loves to have you on his lap. it makes it easier to play with you.

dilf!hongjoong who purposefully wears chunky rings so when he fucks you with his fingers, you feel the cold metal press against you. he’ll have you sit with your back to his chest while in front of a mirror so he can make you watch him play with your wet pussy. he’ll lewdly spread your folds and tease your clit with the metal of his rings.

dilf!hongjoong who adores how flustered you get when he praises you. he rewards you with praises for everything you do, and he loves to see you avoid his eyes as he keeps telling you how good of a job you’re doing.

dilf!hongjoong who fucking loves to have you on top. he loves seeing how fucked out you get when you’re fucking yourself on his cock. his hands never leave your body, they’re either on your thighs, hips, or tits. that being said, he also really likes your tits. like he really does. Loves to hold you to his chest so he can play with your nipples while you ride him.

dilf!hongjoong who can’t keep his lips to himself. he’s a kiss fiend; he wants to steal kisses from you all the time. he’s always down for a good make out session. especially if you're on his lap and grinding your hips into his. Loves the messy makeouts and heavy grinding when you’re both needy but too enthralled with one another to take any clothes off.

dilf!hongjoong who has an ongoing possessive streak. which means that he’s constantly littering your skin with hickeys; but on days you need to look presentable, he’ll settle on having you wear a necklace with his initials that he did in fact design. who knows, he may even give you a matching anklet to dangle around your ankle when he has your legs on his shoulders.

dilf!hongjoong who always eats you out, no matter the time of day. sit on his face, grind your clit on his nose, ride his tongue, make yourself feel good on him; who knows, he may just cum untouched if you ride his face.

dilf!hongjoong who loves to use sex toys and accessories on you. bullet vibes, rabbit vibes, egg vibrators, nipple clamps and all. maybe even some fuzzy handcuffs, silk ribbons, or, his favourite way to tie you up, his ties.

dilf!hongjoong who can’t stop himself from stuffing you full of his cum. your body just reacts to him so well, he can’t help but give you all of his cum in exchange from your pretty moans. becomes absolutely mindless when he cums inside you; he needs to do it over and over again until you’re satisfied.

dilf!hongjoong who has fucked you in the backseat of his car and will do it again. he’s the type to calmly finger you while he drives. like he’s all nonchalant and whatnot, while you’re writhing in the passenger seat when his fingers curl into your sweet spot.

[mintwithchoco]

What You Need

tripleS Yooyeon x Male Reader

Word Count: 3260 words

Categories: smut, oral, facial, dom-ish!yooyeon (?) idk, she's just desperate to get that d

Inspired from;

“My go— Yooyeon! We’re still filming, we can't do this!”

“Shut up.”

There's nothing that can stop Kim Yooyeon from getting what she needs. She may seem cold and calm on the outside, but once an interest is sparked within herself, she'll do whatever it takes to reach it, no matter the situation. 

You know that you’re fucked all around when she sends you that look from afar a few minutes ago. Might as well blame it all on her at first for wearing that pink top, showing off her tight figure so well, forcing you to never peel your eyes away from her. She's bold and relentless, and it shows by the way she’s metaphorically fucking you with her eyes while filming, and you can only curse silently behind the camera, catching the secret message. It can only get worse from here on out (or better actually) as once she gets out of the frame, she walks past you quickly while whispering, “Fuck me, now.”

She slams the door shut as soon as she gets you inside the cramped bathroom. Before you can do anything to resist, she forcefully closes the distance between your lips by wrapping her arms around your neck. If you wanted to, you could just break out of her embrace and run out of the door. Instead, you have been poisoned by the emanating warmth of her body, the softness of her skin touching yours, and the sweetness of her lips, making you fall deeper and harder into her.

“Yooyeon—” She doesn't let you speak in the downtime of the makeout, dragging you back in as soon as she gets air in her lungs. “We can’t—”

“Don’t fucking lie. I know you’re craving for me too.”

You recoil at her undeniable statement—that voice is dripping with way too much arousal. “What if someone hears us?”

“I know, but, please,” Yooyeon’s hands rest on your shoulders. “Just for a while. I really need you.”

Fuck, she really knows how to make you submit. Those bright brown orbs, begging for her needs are crumbling your morals apart, inviting you to commit this wicked act that can potentially end everything you have in life. But if it does come to an end, I guess ruining your career with a pretty lady such as her isn't as bad as it seems, right?

“Damn it,” She shrieks when your hands scoot over her butt and squeeze them gently. “Let's make it quick, and quiet.” 

You overlook her cute little smile as your lips crash into hers again. The tides have now turned around with hunger filling you up almost immediately, overpowering the girl’s lust, evident by the way you’re aimlessly caressing every single part of her. Fear runs through your veins due to her moaning resoundingly into your mouth, afraid that the muffled noise would alarm anyone close by. Though, it was quickly diminished by her delicate fingers groping the raging tent on your lower half.

“Mmm, you’re so fucking hard already.” Her tone is now deeper than before, and it arouses you even more.

You try your best to control your ragged breaths as the pressure is building up in your bulge. “You’re the one to blame. God, you look so pretty.” 

Another thing’s for certain is that you are addicted to leaving your marks all over Yooyeon. You generously land kisses on her neck nonstop while slowly sliding the straps off her shoulders. She giggles away, but also does the equivalent to you by slipping her hand down into your pants and continues her massage through the fabric of your boxers. Unfazed by this, you yank down her top to reveal a white bra, and you waste no further time to knead the covered breasts. Her soft gasps are like a muse to your ears, enthralling you more. Yooyeon is obviously weakening under your touch as her attempt to pull down both your pants and boxers fails as it only comes off halfway. 

Yooyeon’s expressions are fucking up your whole self entirely. You eventually finish off what she wanted to do, letting your cock feel the humid air in the bathroom. She feels the warm shaft throbbing in between her thighs, already leaking out with precum. While you reach behind to release her boobs from its fancy confines, her fingers are quick to wrap around your shaft and stroking it to full hardness. The white undergarment then drops to the tile floor, joining in the built up pile of your clothes.

Her husky voice rings in your ear once again. “Sit down. I wanna taste you.” 

The toilet is turned into a makeshift seat as you oblige to her request, sitting down on the cold surface. She quickly kneels down in between your legs, the raging shaft is now right in front of her breathtaking visual. You can never imagine that this innocent goddess would be a vixen in disguise, the one who triggers your hormones into this sexual overdrive. The contrasting thought has been completely erased however, as Yooyeon begins her oral teasing on your tip, drawing small circles while collecting your precum on her tongue.

“Holy shit—” is all you can utter when Yooyeon wraps her lips around the cockhead, finally getting a feel of her warm mouth. She starts slow and small, only taking in your tip momentarily before building herself up to take you in deeper. With her hands stroking your thighs, your sensations are heightened, the extreme pleasure shivering down your spine forces your head to unwillingly fall backwards.

And if that wasn't enough, she draws you in with her words. “Keep your eyes on me.”  

You muster up the will to look down, and you have never been more than grateful to witness Yooyeon doing wonders to your cock. Showing no signs of slowing down at all, this girl is filling up her wet cavern with the entirety of your length, her cheeks puffing up whenever she brings it to the sides of her mouth. You find it rather cute somehow, but it doesn’t falter the groan that leaves your lips every time she sucks you hard, and releases you by the tip. 

Her tongue rests on the underside of your shaft, vigorously licking it up to the head, and down to the base. She takes you in for the second time, and this time she's not holding anything back. Her head bobs furiously at a gradual pace on your shaft, making it fully covered with her saliva. The way her mouth perfectly envelopes with the shape of your cock is agonizingly pleasurable and mysteriously fascinating, as she never seems to gag whenever you hit the back of her throat, only leaving a great amount of spit when she disappointingly leaves your shaft.

“I can suck on this all day. It's so perfect.” The unexpected compliment compels your cheeks to turn slightly red.

Your eyes are blessed with the sight of Yooyeon’s handiwork; fingers delicately running up and down your lubricated shaft and her oral fixation; swirling her tongue around the swollen cockhead. While your whole soul is tearing apart when her dazzling orbs lock upon yours, pairing it with that small smirk and nose scrunch, her visuals clearly contradicting the sinful work she's doing. It goes to show how much she's enjoying herself, the desire that has been building up for the past couple of days finally breaks apart, thanks to her resilience.

You couldn't handle it anymore, plus your time is getting much thinner. Your hand creeps up to her chin, and you lean over to catch her lips amidst her strokes, sharing multiple kisses. As you suck on her lower lip, you slowly guide her into your lap. Your cock brushes against her midriff, which in return emits a low moan from Yooyeon, realizing that her clothed vagina is in the close proximity of the pulsating length. 

“Get this off me please.” 

Easier said than done. You’re too busy leaving kisses all over her neck, taking in all of her floral scent and having a hand full from squeezing her tits and tweaking her nipples. Nonetheless, the free hand manages to remove her shorts by pulling down on different parts of it. You didn't bother taking off her matching panties however, as it is deemed essential in her disheveled look. 

You let out a satisfied breath. “Fuck, I can't get enough of you.” 

With a steady grip on her waist, you dive your face into Yooyeon’s chest and engulf her right nipple into your mouth. Your hardness throbs upon the whine she lets out while your tongue does its best to stimulate the brown nub. The left side deserves some love as well, and a set of fingers playing around it is enough to induce an effect. Her small moans are being played into your ears directly, and it motivates you to worship this goddess to the fullest. You feel her hand pressing your head further in as you switch sides of your gratifying assault, this time attacking her left nipple in a similar way. 

“Mmmh, fuck! More, I nee— ohh yes, you’re so fucking good.” God, everything that she does never fails to make you swoon.

The heat in between her thighs could not be ignored anymore, and you know just the right way to deal with it efficiently. By bringing her body closer to yours, your cock makes contact with her crotch, and it drives the both of you to cloud nine. You soon realize how soaked her panties really is—it wasn't hard to make her grind against your shaft. The slickness from earlier’s blowjob really adds to the mixture of pleasure, as each sway of her hips is met with audible squelches. The dopamine courses quickly throughout both of your bodies, and it intrigues you to fall deeper into her sinning.

Yooyeon shrieks when your fingers pull her panties to the side, exposing her glistening pussy to you at long last. Even through the really tight space in between your bodies, your eyes manage to send the image of her lips fully covered in her juices, and dripping down on your cock to your brain. Continuing her hips rhythm onto yours is her breaking point of being discreet, as the skin-to-skin sensation makes her shamelessly spit out every curse words that she knows. 

“Please, please, please, just— oh!” Yooyeon’s desperation is cut off when you tease the opening to her hole with your tip. 

You really want to break her apart furthermore, but your rational thought comes forward in the heat of the moment, as you automatically place a finger on her lips. “Lower your voice, don’t want anyone to hear us.” 

Yooyeon snarls, “Fuck that, let them hear us if they want to. All I need is you inside me. Now.”

There's not a single resistance, let alone purity nor innocence left. Sinners are what both of you are, drowning into the depths of eroticism, unable to rise back up to the risks of reality. You grab the base of your cock steadily, carefully letting it glide on her lips to slightly spread them apart. Holding onto your shoulders, Yooyeon prepares herself mentally and physically to take in all of you, although her body is trembling just from your teasing. It didn’t take long for you to penetrate her pussy with just the first few inches, and it sent both of you to heaven in an instant.

“Fuuuuck…” Yooyeon cries out as her tightness surrounds you the lower her hips descend. Halfway inside her walls renders you to bury your head in her neck, its wetness and warmth is truly remarkable. The pleasure elevates when you feel her fluids leaking onto your crotch once you’re fully buried deep in her.

“You’re so fucking tight, oh my god.” You moan into her ears, before your hands familiarize itself with her slim waist. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

Enchanted by your words, Yooyeon grinds her hips as much as she can, squealing in delight even in the smallest of motions. Her walls continue to constrict you with all its might, yet the pain only drives you into wanting more. And that’s exactly what the goddess did, as she began bouncing onto your lap in a slow rhythm. Gripping on her thighs and planting both feet harder to the floor, your hips began to move in a different wavelength than hers, forcing her to take a considerable amount of your length inside.

“You're— fuck, so big, so fucking big! Harder!” 

If it wasn’t for the loudness, it's possible that someone may have noticed the suspicious amount of time this room has been occupied. That thought wasn’t in any of your heads whatsoever—breaking it off right now would be meaningless. The risk of being caught in this moment is rather thrilling, and it certainly helps the pressure that’s been building inside you to grow.

“Yesyesyesyesyes!” Her screams resonate within the tile walls. Immediately, you muffle them with a passionate kiss before she gets even more vocal.

Yooyeon has truly lost herself. She doesn't even notice the way her hips are driving faster and harder, her filled pussy continuously seeping out her juices. It’s a breathtaking view from any angle that you can catch with your eyes. Looking up from her ethereal yet depraved expressions, down to her divine body jiggling with each thrust, to the point of impact on both of your crotches—it would be a shame for you to not let out your deepest groans to make her truly understand how you feel.

A sense of dominance comes across your mind. You own her as a whole, and no one deserves her more than you. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop. Fucking cum for me.”

You don’t intend to slow down. As your hips begin pushing up into her roughly, Yooyeon tightens the embrace around your shoulders while profusely moaning into your ears. Eventually, your tip hits deep inside a certain area in her pussy, prompting her body to jerk violently. You stay there for a while before fucking into the same spot once again, this time with much more intensity, sending multiple streams of pure dopamine into the angel who has been tainted with lust.

“Fuck, please, please, make me cum! I wanna cum all over you!” 

Your shirt is now soaked in sweat, but that doesn’t deter your adrenaline in the slightest. The force of your thrusts continues to rock Yooyeon’s petite frame, and you gratify her need to reach her climax by latching your lips on her erect nipples anew, the right one being the first. You expertly divide your attention on both tits, and your tongue swirls around them swiftly, letting you taste the saltiness of her sweat. The mix of slick friction on her lower half, the tenacious teasing on her chest and the wordless groans she lets out is enough to lead her into the well-deserved orgasm.

“I’m cumming, oh god, I’m cumming!”

One powerful thrust followed by a high pitched scream, and she explodes on contact. The massive gush of her nectar washes all over your crotch and thighs instantly, while her pussy torturously contracts around your cock, releasing everything that she has. As her body becomes weaker throughout her peak, your thrusts into her haven't died just yet—you’re yearning for the same high that she reached. The wetness escalates, as her squirting prolongs itself to stain your shirt and your seat below. 

Still shaky from her climax, Yooyeon struggles to speak up, but her point was acknowledged. “A-Are you c-close?”

You simply nod, and in some way, she manages to come back to her senses to get off from your lap and sink down on her knees, just like earlier. Without any warning, she shoves your cock into her mouth once more, taking away your breath and compelling you to lean against the toilet tank. Her head bobs with precision, not going too deep nor too shallow, but close enough to keep you on this euphoric flow. The unanticipated head is proven to be the consequent snap to your own release, apparent by the excessive heaving of your chest and the twisting tension in your stomach.

“Oh my god, Yooyeon!” You groan out loud just as Yooyeon stuffs you deep in her orifice, her spit drenching you all over and your tip hitting the back of her throat. She withdraws from you with a gasp, and strings of drool trails itself from her lips to your shaft. Her fingers wrap around you straight away, moving back and forth expertly, assisted by the tormenting slurps on its underside. 

“Fuck, you look so adorable moaning away like that.” She means it well, given by the increased pace at her strokes, licks and sucks on your member. 

There’s nothing that can turn both of you away now. She’s getting what she needs, and you’re on the brink of manifesting it to reality. “Shit, Yooyeon, I’m gonna cum!”

“Cover my face, please? I want it all over me.”

Her gaze full of admiration and wonder is the last thing you see before your vision becomes a blurry mess and your vocal cords let out a shattered grunt, marking it as the last step over the edge to your release. In a split second, long streaks of white cum spurt out of your cock, painting all over the godly facial features of Kim Yooyeon. The hot semen marks its territory on her sharp nose, her flushed cheeks, her closed eyes and most importantly, her slightly ajar mouth.  

As the last few drops land upon her chin, you take in the beautiful mess that you have created. You wish that you could save this deep memory—or rather, engrave it into your brain somehow of Yooyeon’s gorgeous look, completely covered in a coating of your semen, and it eventually drips down to her breasts and shoulders. It is truly a magnificent sight to behold, and you can never ask for anything better.

“Wow…” you weakly mutter while Yooyeon sucks the remains of your cum out of your tip. On top of that, she swipes some of the mess on her face with her fingers and licks it off cleanly to get a proper taste of you.

“Delicious.” Yooyeon responds with a hearty giggle. “Thank you, darling. This is what I really need.”

The cleanup didn’t take very long, as the essentials for it are already arranged in the room. Yooyeon quickly settles herself, so in order to avoid any suspicions, you ask her to join in with her members first. She agrees, and leaves you with a sweet kiss on your cheek before going outside.

Although Yooyeon is able to sneak out the door silently, a tall figure creeps up behind her unnoticed.

“What were you doing in there?” Yooyeon jumps in shock and looks behind towards the well-known voice.

Her nervousness was blatant. “Uhh, I had a really bad stomach ache—”

“I saw everything unnie. You didn’t lock the door.”

Yooyeon sighs and facepalms herself for her recklessness. “Shit. Don’t tell anyone please! I’ll do anything!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” She smirks. “But you need to keep a secret for me too!”

“What are you— Hey!” She runs off into the bathroom before Yooyeon could say anything further. “Aish, this girl…”

While you take your sweet time in cleaning up and recovering yourself, the door suddenly opens up. 

“Excuse me, is this where I get to fuck?”

Your eyes widen upon the unexpected encounter. “X-Xinyu?!”

===========================================

note; now THIS is a fucking BFH. goodness gracious, yooyeon fucked me up in so many ways with these pictures.

i did kept my promise of having a longer story this time, even though this was definitely not in the plans LMAO but yeah, next one will be much more longer, more epic and definitely, more seggs. shoutout to @chunksworld for the quick beta read!

like always, thank you so much for reading, hope you guys enjoyed this one, and have a flawless day! <3

[youngpoetpoe]

Summer Magic

Irene x Seulgi x Male Reader

Buy me a ko-fi.

The sun beats down on the private rooftop pool, its turquoise water shimmering, the city’s hum a distant buzz beyond the hotel’s sleek glass walls. You lean back against the pool’s edge, arms spread, the cool tiles biting your skin, a smirk curling your lips. As Red Velvet’s new manager, you’ve wasted no time bending the group to your will—sweet promises, sly gaslighting, a few well-placed whispers about their careers, and now they’re yours, hooked, ready to do whatever you want.

Wendy’s off hosting SBS Youngstreet, her radio voice probably charming the airwaves, leaving Irene and Seulgi here, ripe for the taking, their eyes already glinting with devotion, their bodies primed for your touch.

Irene steps into view first, her petite frame a vision in her Summer Magic outfit: a yellow checkered dress with thin straps, the neckline dipping low to show off her perky chest, the hem cutting high to reveal her tight midriff and toned thighs, paired with white shorts that hug her slim hips and accentuate her firm ass.

Seulgi’s nearby, dipping her toes in the water, her figure wrapped in a blue checkered dress with a palm tree accessory clipped into her long, wavy brown hair, cascading down her back in glossy waves. The dress clings to her toned abs, cutting off to highlight her thick, dancer’s thighs and round ass, paired with white shorts that ride high, emphasizing her curves. Her tan skin contrasts Irene’s ivory glow, her wide, expressive eyes locking onto you with a playful spark, red lips parting in a shy smile—she’s the group’s heart, but you’ve turned her vibrant warmth into a desperate need to please.

“You two look fucking edible” you say, voice low, cutting through the pool’s gentle lap. Irene’s blush deepens, her fingers fidgeting with her shorts, her leader’s composure fraying under your gaze. Seulgi giggles, a nervous edge, her tan shoulders rolling as she steps closer, water splashing her bare feet.

“You’ve been teasing us all day” Seulgi says, her voice bright but trembling, her accent soft, her eyes darting to Irene like she’s checking for permission. “At the shoot… those looks.”

Irene steps forward, her bare feet silent on the tiles, her dark eyes narrowing, a flicker of jealousy at Seulgi’s boldness. “He’s our manager now” she says, voice firm but soft, like she’s reminding Seulgi who’s in charge, even if she’s just as enthralled. “We do what he wants.”

You grin, sliding into the pool, water cool against your heated skin, your swim trunks tight against your hardening cock. “And what I want’s right here.” You beckon them with a finger, your tone smooth. “Get in.”

They obey, no hesitation. Irene slips in first, her movements graceful, water rippling around her slim waist, her crop top soaking through, clinging to her tits, nipples hardening under the wet fabric. Seulgi follows, less controlled, splashing slightly, her blue top darkening, outlining her abs, her shorts sticking to her thighs, water beading on her tanned skin. They wade closer, their eyes locked on you, Irene’s dark and commanding, Seulgi’s wide and eager, both ready to serve, their rivalry simmering in the way their shoulders brush, a silent I’m better.

You pull Irene to you, her petite body light in the water, her bare shoulders slick under your hands, her black hair floating like ink. “You’ve been dying for this” you murmur. Her breath hitches, pale cheeks flushing, and she nods, eyes half-lidded, lips parting. You kiss her hard, tongue plunging, claiming her mouth, her moan soft, muffled, her full lips soft but urgent, pressing back, her hands gripping your arms, nails digging into your skin.

Her hand slides down, finding your cock through your trunks, fingers wrapping tight, jerking you briskly, the water sloshing with her rhythm, her strokes fast, precise, like she’s proving her worth. The pleasure’s sharp, a hot jolt through your core, your cock throbbing under her grip, her pale fingers a blur under the water, her leader’s control showing even now, every move calculated to make you groan.

Seulgi’s on you before you can speak, her shoulder brushing Irene’s, a quick glare passing between them, her warm lips latching onto your nipple, sucking hard, tongue flicking, wet and sloppy. Her brown hair sticks to her neck, water dripping down her bare shoulders, her blue crop top soaked, clinging to her firm tits, her teeth grazing your skin, sending sparks down your spine. She’s eager, messy, her moans vibrating against you, her hands roaming your chest, fingers tracing your abs, desperate to please, her submissive streak a stark contrast to Irene’s command.

“Fuck, you’re both so good” you rasp, voice thick, Irene’s tongue tangling with yours, her hand pumping your cock, Seulgi’s lips sucking, tongue swirling, the dual assault frying your nerves, water splashing, warm bodies pressed close, their skin slick, glowing under the sun.

Irene pulls back, panting, her lips glossy, eyes burning with lust. “Seulgi, get down there” she orders, voice sharp, her leader’s tone cutting through the haze, her hand on your chest, fingers splayed, holding you steady. She smiles at you slow and wicked, her dark eyes locked on yours and full of intent, her pale skin shimmering.

Seulgi dips her head with a quick, eager nod, her long brown hair shimmering in the sunlight before she slips beneath the surface, the turquoise water swallowing her in a ripple of light. Her tan fingers glide over your thighs, parting them with a slow, teasing pressure, the warmth of her touch sending a shiver racing up your spine. Then her lips find your cock—soft, warm, a sudden blaze against the icy pool water that clings to your skin. She draws you in deep, her mouth tight and slick, her tongue tracing slow, deliberate circles that make your breath catch, bubbles rising in soft bursts around her. Her blue checkered dress floats up, the fabric swaying like a stage costume caught in a dream, her white shorts inching higher, the curve of her ass breaking the surface as the water swirls in lazy spirals.

Irene’s hand stays on your chest, her touch firm, grounding, her smile widening, eyes glinting, like she’s savoring the control, the way you’re losing it. “Like that?” she purrs, voice low, her lips close, her breath hot, her pale shoulder brushing yours, her crop top soaked, clinging to her slim frame. You nod, groaning, her hand sliding up, fingers brushing your neck, her gaze never wavering, lust and pride mixing, as she watches Seulgi work you below.

A low groan escapes your throat as her tongue flicks faster, the heat of her mouth wrapping you in a pulsing rhythm, each swirl sending a jolt through your core. The cold water bites at your skin, but her lips—those red lips that flash perfect smiles on music shows—stretch around you, sucking with a steady, hungry pull, her throat tightening in waves that make your cock throb harder. Your fingers dig into the pool edge, the tiles sharp against your palms, a grounding sting as your hips twitch, chasing the fire building in your gut. The wet sounds of her mouth, the faint pop of bubbles, the sight of her dancer’s body swaying below—all of it blurs into a haze of sensation, your balls tightening, pleasure surging like a tide you can’t hold back. Irene’s hand on your chest is a steady anchor, her eyes boring into yours, her smile teasing, knowing you’re about to break.

A growl rumbles in your chest as Seulgi's throat clamps around you, a perfect sheath molded just for your cock—a cock that’s already claimed every Red Velvet girl, from Irene’s stern lips to Wendy’s soft gasps, Yeri’s shy whimpers, and Joy’s eager moans.

But Seulgi’s different—her throat grips you like it was made for this, made for you, her neediness a raw, pulsing thing as she sucks harder, her lips stretching wide, tongue flicking with a hunger that’s all-consuming. The cold water sharpens every sensation, her warmth a blazing fire, your cock throbbing harder with each tight pull, pleasure spiking through you like lightning. Your fingers dig into the pool edge, tiles cutting into your palms, the sharp sting grounding you as your hips buck, driving deeper into her throat, her muffled gags vibrating through you.

Her hair fans out underwater, a shimmering cascade that gleams like it does on stage, her palm tree accessory bobbing with each thrust—a reminder of the vibrant idol she is to the world. But here, she’s not Red Velvet’s Seulgi, the dazzling performer with a voice that captivates millions. She’s your slut, her throat a willing vessel, her body trembling with the need to please you, to take every inch you’ve given to her bandmates, to prove she’s the best. The thought sends a surge of heat through you—your cock pulses, nerves alight with every frantic suck, every desperate swirl, pleasure coiling tighter, hotter, an inferno ready to erupt as she worships you, her idol perfection now a dripping, needy mess just for you.

Seulgi surfaces, gasping, water streaming down her face, brown hair plastered to her tanned cheeks, eyes wide, desperate for air, her lips parted, panting, her blue top clinging, nipples poking through. You’re teetering, cock throbbing, ready to blow, but Irene’s hand shoots down, grabbing Seulgi’s wet hair, shoving her head back underwater with a sharp “Finish the job you whore.”

Seulgi squirms, body thrashing, bubbles exploding, her hands clawing your thighs, nails scraping, panic mixing with need, her mouth finding your cock again, warmer now, tighter, her throat contracting, sucking harder, lips locked, tongue wild, the cold water amplifying every pulse, every flick. Irene’s hand remains on Seulgi's head to keep her underwater, while her other hand stays on your chest. Her smile is now gone, her eyes dark and commanding, her black hair dripping, pale skin glowing, her crop top clinging, her voice a low growl—“She’ll take it all.”

A guttural groan tears from your chest as you lose control, hips bucking hard, your cock pulsing with each surge, hot cum pumping into Seulgi’s mouth in thick spurts. Her throat works to swallow every drop, the warmth of her mouth a stark contrast to the cold water, her lips trembling around you, bubbles rising in frantic bursts as her body jerks, gasping for air yet locked onto you, refusing to let go. Irene leans in, her lips crashing into yours with a fierce urgency, her tongue plunging deep, swapping saliva in a hungry exchange, her moans vibrating into your mouth, her hand gripping your neck, nails digging in sharply, her pale skin flushed pink, water dripping from her black ponytail, her white shorts riding up to reveal her toned thighs.

The pleasure blinds you, your cock convulsing in Seulgi’s tight, unrelenting seal, Irene’s kiss a possessive claim, your hands tangling in Seulgi’s wet hair, fingers twisting as you shove her down, burying your cock deeper, her throat choking around you, cum flooding her in waves.

You release Seulgi, her head breaking the surface, gasping, coughing, water streaming down her tanned face, brown hair plastered, eyes watering, lips swollen, cum and spit dripping from her mouth, her blue top soaked, clinging to her heaving chest. She’s panting, trembling, but her eyes lock on you, adoring, submissive, like she’s proud she took it, her shoulders shaking, water beading on her skin.

Irene pulls back, licking her lips, her dark eyes glinting, a satisfied smirk curling, her pale skin shimmering, black hair slick, her hand sliding down your chest, possessive. “Good girl” she murmurs, glancing at Seulgi, her voice sharp, praising but edged, like she’s reminding her who’s boss. Seulgi nods, breathless, her smile shy, her hands gripping the pool edge, steadying herself, her shorts riding up, ass peeking out, water dripping.

You lean back, chest heaving, cock softening, water lapping at your waist. Irene’s flushed face, Seulgi’s cum-streaked lips, water beading on their bare shoulders, their soaked outfits clinging, shorts barely covering their asses, the pool’s surface rippling, their eyes locked on you, hungry, devoted. Irene’s hand lingers on your chest, her fingers tracing your skin while Seulgi’s gaze is softer, eager, her vibrant energy subdued but burning, both ready for whatever you demand next.

“Fucking perfect” you say, voice rough, pulling them closer, their bodies warm, slick, pressing against you, Irene’s pale skin cool, Seulgi’s tanned skin hot, their bare shoulders brushing, their rivalry simmering in the way they lean into you, each vying for your touch. The sun’s high, water’s cool, and their eyes scream they’re yours—hooked, enamored, your words and whispers all it took to break them, their short shorts and crop tops a wet, clinging tease, their hair dripping, lips parted, ready for more.

Irene smirks, her black hair sticking to her neck, her hand sliding lower, brushing your thigh, teasing, her voice a soft taunt. “Think Wendy’s missing out?” she murmurs, her tone playful, knowing Wendy’s stuck at the radio station.

Seulgi giggles, breathless, her brown hair plastered, her cheek brushing your arm, her voice softer, eager. “She’d be jealous” she says, her hand resting on your hip, fingers light, like she’s staking a claim, her eyes flicking to Irene, checking her reaction.

You grin, pulling them tighter, water splashing, their bodies a slick, warm tangle, the city’s hum a faint backdrop. “She’ll get hers” you say, voice low, promising, your hands roaming their bare shoulders, fingers tracing their soaked tops, their shorts, their skin, already planning the next round, their eyes lighting up, ready to obey your control absolute.